Plan Nine From Hollywood

Bud Crisco was not about selling popcorn or movie tickets. "Nah. Leave that to the eggheads upstairs," he would say between puffs from his cigar. "I’m about making movies. You know, the kind you can bring a classy broad to and she won't get bored or nothing."

Most of Bud’s movies were of the drive-in variety. That’s not to say that Bud never got his shot at making classic films. "What do you mean? Attack of the forty foot killer Cockroach was a classic."

And although Bud’s accomplishments went unrecognized by his contemporaries, the critics, and almost anyone who had attained the equivalent of a high school education, for a special breed of people, Bud’s people, his movies meant the world: they were difference between a Friday night drinking turpentine and a night of blood filled entertainment, between making it with your cousin and not making it with your cousin.

The difference between plenty of tentacles and too little tentacles was measured in the gasps of slack jawed yokels. And, for the far off planet of Salvadares, his movies would bear such close resemblance to their own style of classical blob dramaturgy that he was considered in his own right a classicist; monuments were erected in his honor.

In Bud Crisco’s small world, somewhere between Hollywood and the drive in, he was a legend. It was only Bud’s girlfriend, who, after reading the reviews of one of their recently released movies, made Bud think about his artistic style of film making. To which Bud’s producer vehemently replied, "What do broads know?" But this did not satisfy Bud, who was deeply concerned by the sudden discontentment of his companion and star actress-- none other than Beatrice Brazire, who was, as Bud described her: "one of those French actresses, or maybe she’s Asian. I get the two confused. Anyway, she’s hot stuff. She’s got it where it counts."

Whenever Beatrice would complain, Bud would drink and go into one of his creative streaks, producing more movie scripts whose titles included the words Forty Foot. To which Bud later explained, "You see it has to be exactly Forty Foot or else you lose the script’s credibility. C’mon, who’s going to pay to see a thirty-nine and a half foot woman? Unless she has tentacles. Number one rule: tentacles make everything better."

But to each new script Beatrice would only complain. "No more Forty Foot anythings," she would often say, throwing heavy things toward Bud.

"What about tentacles?"

"No more tentacles."

"But..."

"No more tentacles. I want to do Shakespeare."

Bud would slap his face, and say in exasperation "Shakespeare? You want to do Shakespeare. Oh Beatrice, not the Shakespeare."

"I want to play Juliet, or King Lear’s daughter, what’s her name."

Bud would just shake his head and drink. The scripts would pile up and still his French or Asian star would refuse to play in his movies. Bud would cry sometimes at night as his visions of Forty Foot llamas and snakes went unrealized. And so, when the studio called and asked him for his next script he brought the studio heads none of the scripts he had worked so hard to create; instead, he brought them King Lear-- a production script by Bud Crisco.

He would never work for Honk and Horny pictures again.

"I’m finished, do you hear me Beatrice! I’m finished, and it’s all thanks to you and this Shakespeare guy. What is this King Lear? It’s terrible-- no tentacles, no ray guns. Where’s the drama Beatrice?"

"Shut up Bud. I want to make King Lear and I want to play Cordelia."

"No studio will hire me to do a Shakespeare movie, Beatrice."

"Then we’ll do it in the theater, Bud. We’ll do Broadway."

Bud’s mouth dropped open. "So now we’re going to do a Broadway show. I love you’re Beatrice, but you’re tearin’ me apart."

"What about me Bud? Do you think I like being the blond broad everyone leers at in your B- movies?"

"B-movies! B- Movies! My movies are classics! Gone wid' da Wind, Citizen Kane, War a da Worlds, none of them hold a candle to Bud Crisco!" he pronounced with calamitous shout. And then Bud became sullen. "But...I’m finished now. Who would hire me now that I’ve gone the way of the Shakespeare?"

Beatrice thought about this for a second. "I’ll hire you Bud-- hire yourself. The two of us combined, we got enough money to make a production. Except this time no B- Movie, no forty-foot animals, no tentacles. Bud, this is your chance to be the director you could have been."

Bud Crisco’s eyes grew wide. "By god, you’re right. I’ll show those bums at Honk and Horny pictures...I’ll make the greatest production of King Lear ever. It’ll be marvelous. We’ll get all the regulars: Johnny Crotch, Armand the make up guy, Bill Star will do the special effects. It’ll be brilliant! Broadway, here I come!"

And so, with his cast from Honk and Horny, Bud Crisco began production of King Lear...which faltered and stumbled through months of preparation. Throughout rehearsals Bud would cry: "It needs to be spectacular!" And so he hired dance coordinators and pyrotechnicians, but it was when Bud hired the London Symphony orchestra that he eventually had to give up his house. And so, he took up living in the theater’s janitor closet. With two weeks left until opening night, Bud still didn’t have a good King Lear. "Johnny Crotch just isn’t cutting it," he proclaimed. "I wonder if we can afford Marlond Brando-- I hear he works for hamburgers now." But Bud Crisco knew there weren’t enough hamburgers in New York to get Brando to work in his production-- a production that just wasn’t spectacular enough.

"I’m ruined again!" he would yell during rehearsals, as the actors tripped over their lines, and lights would explode on stage. "We need more dancers," he would proclaim during dance numbers. And when the actors still tripped over lines, he would hold a gun up in the air and say: "next person who messes up a line gets one."

In part it was the actors’ deaths, the cover- ups, payments to the mafia, but mostly it was Bud’s need to make what he was doing spectacular that drained all of Bud’s energy, along with his bank account. One week before opening night, Bud found himself sitting alone in the theater, his face buried in his hands. "What am I going to do?" he said to himself. He stood up and pointed a finger to the sky. "This is all your fault, isn’t it? Just because I stole from the church poor box all those years when I was struggling as a director. What da you know, you’ve never been thousands of dollars over budget on a production before. You probably had millions of dollars to do this whole Earth thing. Probably came under budget too. That’s probably why we have little things like caterpillars. If you were really almighty, you would have made them forty foot caterpillars. Wait a minute? You’re the almighty, the G-man, the guy with unlimited power: you could fix it so a couple of lightning bolts come down during the show, you could make a couple of dancers spontaneously combust in front of the audiences’ eyes. You could do that. You’re the God. You like helping out the little guy; that’s probably why caterpillars are so small—you probably wanted to make some creatures you could help out from time to time. That’s why I’m not 40 feet tall. Oh boy, do I need your help right now. What da ya say? Can you help out Bud Crisco? Please. Just this once."

Bud waited for an answer, he listened intently as silence beat steadily on his eardrums. It was the most patient he had ever been, because he knew that it was only a matter of...

Footsteps. A man in a suit.

"Mr. Crisco, I represent a very powerful client who wishes to help you fund your production. Please, come with me."

"Where are we going? You’re not taking me to hell are you?"

"We’re just going to my office."

Bud Crisco materialized spontaneously in a stuffy office with no windows, a single desk, a single ceiling fan, and a big blob with tentacles, who was accompanied by two other smaller blobs.

"Mr. Crisco, I’d like to introduce you to my client-- Mr. Zultac, ruler of the planet Salvadares."

Bud’s eyes grew wide. "Tentacles, look at all those tentacles! It’s great!"

"Mr. Crisco, my client is a big fan of your movies and..."

"Who isn’t?"

The man in the suit, annoyed, adjusted his tie and continued. "He would like to commission you to make a movie of his life."

"Yeah, well you see, I’m doing this King Lear thing and I’ve worked my ass off on it..."

"Mr. Zultac insists that you make his biography Mr. Crisco," the man in the suit said, somewhat sterner, trying to make Bud understand the immediacy of his venture.

"You, script read." Zultac said, as one of his tentacles handed him a script.

"I already told you-- I can’t do a biography right now. I’m working on this King Lear thing."

"I’m afraid Mr. Zultac will insist on devouring you if you don’t make his production."

Bud Crisco rubbed his chin. He went deep into thought. He thought, and then he thought some more. "All this thinking is making my head heart. I need a drink." The man in the suit went to his cabinet and brought out a bottle of whiskey. He poured Bud a glass, and handed it to him.

What would Beatrice think if I dumped her King Lear to do Zultac: the biography? Bud thought to himself. Bud looked at his whiskey, and he was sure he could see Beatrice shaking a finger at him. "But he’s going to eat me Beatrice!" he said out loud to the glass of whiskey. Then he thought he could hear Beatrice whisper something to him. "What was that?" He put his ear up to the whiskey glass. "That’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that." He looked at Zultac, swallowed the contents of the glass, and then said, "Zultac baby, read this." He produced a copy of King Lear from his pocket, and placed it in one of his tentacles.

"This not Zulac biography."

"But it is. In all its abstract beauty it is your life! A mighty ruler: King Lear, King Zultac, it’s you, ya great big gelatinous blob you."

Zultac opened the play. "Me King Lear is."

"It’s brilliant in the second act you digest Johnny Crotch. All your bodyguard friends can be in the fight scenes. Bring your ray guns. Bring lots of things that explode. It’s gonna be spectacular!"

The man in the suit turned to Zultac, and waited for a response.

Zultac bellowed, "Crisco genius is."

"Marvelous!" Crisco shouted.

"Great, let me just draw up the contracts and…." Zulrac grabbed hold of his agent with slimy tentacles, devoured him, and laughed. Crisco couldn’t help but laugh with him.

"Hey, save that magic for the stage big guy."

King Lear, a Bud Crisco production, sold out opening night, and literally brought the house down. Zultac allowed the crowd and the critics to survive via force field so that they could give Bud Crisco, Zultac, Johnny Crotch, Beatrice Brazire, and the rest of forty foot Productions a standing ovation. The critics raved about King Lear, which was called in retrospect "a product of Crisconian genius."

"I told you I’d make you a star Beatrice," Bud said to his one and only love after the production.

"I always knew you could do Broadway."

"Me Zultac love Bud Crisco."

"Right back atcha you beautiful blob of…whatever it is you’re made of." And then, Bud saw Zultac’s green slime turn red.

So what are you going to do next Bud Crisco? "It’s a funny thing you should ask. I got this idea for a comedy. You see this guy, played by Zultac, goes on this blind date with this girl who turns out to be a forty foot giant, who comes from this planet..."

This has been a

Bud Crisco

Forty Foot tall production.

Copyright © 2002 by Daniel Clausen

Bio: Daniel Clausen is a student at the University of Miami and works at a coffee shop. He has a small mouse named Orson which he bought on a whim.

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