THE MADNESS
internet issue v.1.1.b
May, 2005
vol.3.0.2005
This particular newsletter was never sent out, or really completed. It was just too long in between letters, and I couldn't get a grasp of all (if any) of the meaningful details. It's included here as a testament to my confused melancholy.
Introduction ------------------------------------------------------
This newsletter is sent out to friends, family, and other folks who have expressed an interest in being kept up to date on my life. If you are uninterested in receiving emails of this nature from me, just respond to this with some sort of indication for your desire to be removed from "the list", and I'll honor it without taking offense. I hate reading most newsletters, myself. You could just send a "remove" in the subject line, or send a detailed and expletive laden rant, and you won't have to worry about any further disturbance of this impersonal nature.
Recently -- Personal News ------------------------------------------------------
Oh, dear reader. Has it been a full year since last I wrote such heart-touching narcissism to you (plural-ized, though no less personal in feeling or meaning, I assure you)? I feel a bit ridiculous sending this thing out, as all of the news other than this burgeoning rant is months old...if not a full year, and most of it not quite as spectacular as I'd hoped it to be. You see, for a full year, now, opportunities have been popping up, rearing their enticing little heads, with promises of BIG NEWS on the horizon...only to sink quickly and quietly from whence they arose, with no explanation nor a twitter of proof that they'd ever been seen by anyone but myself, these glimpses of hope. Still, it beats working, I guess.
I hate what I'm becoming as I age here in Los Angeles, and begin to feel that brooding desperation to "make it" in one way or another. Or, at least, that's how I was feeling when I wrote that sentence about nine months ago. I can still remember feeling that way, but the tsunami of desperation that I saw looming in the distance never quite hit with the shock and awe that was expected, leveling out somewhere past the breakers, and ending up as a gentle lap upon my shore, just now, after re-reading it and remembering "oh, yeah. I was feeling that way, huh?" Anyhow, them's my vulnerable innards, ya coyote. Stitch me up, or feast on 'em, at your will.
Recently -- Crap ------------------------------------------------------
So, if you are like me, and think about nothing other than me and my well-being and what am I up to today and gee-I think I'll reread that newsletter from a year ago for the thirtieth time this month making it the three hundred and sixtieth time since I received it because its so damn fascinating the life of this person(end of run-on hyperbole), perhaps you'll recall that "Dance, Voldo, Dance" had then recently made its international debut at a gaming conference in Australia. Only a few weeks later, my web server started going crazy, and within a week I had well surpassed my 15 gb bandwidth/traffic limit. For you the technically and/or mathematically challenged, this means that 900 people downloaded the video in that time...which was a great increase in my traffic, and was overwhelming at the time. Within two months, that number grew to at least 200,000. It's slacked off significantly since, but the traffic is still regular, and it was fun while it lasted. A few newspaper blurbs gave nice boosts to the ego, and there were even a few weeks where it looked like I might end up being interviewed on TechTV, but I guess they couldn't get legal clearance for the music and such. Anyhow, the whole boring and ultimately uneventful story is now tediously chronicled on my website, with one rider note, here: SpikeTV has now contacted me for the same sort of crap, though they aren't pursuing me in nearly the fervor of lackadaisical interest of my other suitors. Ah, the whims and fancies of the entertainment industry, my fickle mistress. Actually, not so much a mistress as that girl I had a crush on in ninth grade, who only dated "men". Ha!
Oh, I hate my life.
"The Perfect Lie" (alternately "Mr. Fixit" and "The Master Dater") is a little film starring the David Bore-hee-haw-ness of "Angel" fame. I worked on it for a few days back in the '04. No big news there, really, except for the nice relations forged with the on-set production team. A nice group of guys, a couple of which helped me out on the short film, to be mentioned below (thanks Dan and Jared!). Anyhow, this feature film, of which this paragraph is the point, is supposedly going to get some sort of theatrical release, and word on the street is that it's pretty funny. I guess they cut around David's performance; either that, or the director is a fucking genius (how preciously ironic, having to look up the spelling of that word). My most fond memory for that film is working in the office the day before the reshoots, and answering the phone this one particular time. The voice on the other end asked for our first assistant director, and I, having been properly trained in manners and phone etiquette just that morning, asked who was calling. After about three seconds (I exaggerate not, dear reader) of full silence, the voice responded in a stoney, entitled huff: "David". Well, of course. I should have known right away. Stupid me, cow brained lummox. Life's tough all over.
I would likely have worked for weeks, rather than days, on that film, if I hadn't been hastily attempting to complete a twenty-one page premier issue of my all-ages comic, Angie (now to be titled, if ever published, "Every Day Is Saturday"). This was my first big disappointment of the year.
And, without further segue, I may now mention that the "Chomsky and Mailer" strips were well received in their first appearance of Too Much Coffee Man ( http://www.tmcm.com ), prompting me to pump Shannon Wheeler, creative power-house behind the TMCM Empire, for a continual spot in his magazine, and he must have been sleepy or drunk or recovering from a traumatic head wound, because he agreed, granting me another two pages for more of my "Calvin and Hobbes" parody. This all happened way back in the September-October period of last year.
Sometime early this year, one of the producers from "The Perfect Lie" saw fit to hire me on for a two (or was it three) day stint on Mars Volta's music video, "The Widow". It was co-directed by the guitar player and a friend of the band, and they did an alright job with it. It's got to be tough, learning your way around the set, and who to talk to to get what done, all on your first day as a director. I don't think the second day was that much easier. A lot of the credit for the outcome has to be given to Joe Rubalcaba, the first A.D., who did a great job in making sure they got what they wanted. Explaining to them how to cheat shots, and what not. I really need to work on making these job descriptions more interesting, don't I?
I find it difficult to remember what it was like before I looked behind the curtain. The thought of what a thrill awaited to be in near proximity to all those names and faces from all the screens, big and little, that pervade our lives. Well, baby, as she says in the song, the thrill is gone. As I always say, though, it still beats working. Don't get me wrong. It's difficult, challenging, and a score of other synonyms that you wouldn't have the patience for. But what fun, when you get with the right group of people. Enough so that it makes the obscene salaries and free smorgasbord of food all worth it.
Speaking of which, in December I shot a spec spot (definition: a commercial that I was not hired to do, but pursued the creation of, anyhow, as a sort of portfolio piece) out on the beach of El Segundo. It's referenced, though not yet viewable, on my website. It currently awaits the musical scoring...which is another story.
And then in January, my short film, "Closing Time", which has been thus far rejected by both Cannes and Jackson Hole film festivals. I'm a bit burned out on it, so I hope you'll allow me to keep this paragraph free of further details.
Finally, I apologize for this mishmash of late news and tedious rambling. I hardly blame you if you skipped to this part, or now hate me for having read all the way through to here. Still, it all had to be said, and if there's anything for which you'd really care for clarification, I'd be happy to tackle your questions on a more personal note.
Yours in Existential Angst,
FC Brandt
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