Chapter 41.5: Tickets & Pickets (Patreon)

Chapter 41.5: Tickets & Pickets

Mann Village Theater, Hollywood. October 2008.

Do you know what the best part of a sandwich is? If you grew up anywhere around Europe, there’s more than a decent chance you consider bread the tastiest bit. However, for the majority of the world beyond those borders, it’s the filling in between those two slices that mattered most. 

Lunch wasn’t that long ago, and I’d made sure to fill up. There was no telling what monstrous lemon-lime, truffle sprinkle monstrosity they’d concocted inside the theater. Los Angeles had a weird way of turning perfectly good sweet or salty popcorn into something so wholly unnecessary when the stars came out to cut the ribbon on their newest film. 

So as I stood here, in the middle of the red carpet, one hand in my pocket the other waving at the excited fans around me as I posed for my photo up, I had to wonder why I was thinking about sandwiches of all things?

Maybe it was the flashing lights overloading my brain and inducing some sort of epileptic seizure. But no, I couldn’t blame my culinary quandary on anything but the monkey aggressively clanging cymbals in my head. Can’t call it a hallucination if that’s how my mind operates. 

Or maybe it was the snapping shutters and clicking pens, not to mention the screaming - can’t forget the screaming - that almost overrode all conscious thought, begged my hands to clamp around my ears, and sandwich my head in between them. Some might say that by this point, I should be well and truly used to it; but in complete honesty, it wasn’t so easy to adjust so absolutely. The general advice always given and received is: grin and bear it.

Oh, I was grinning. 

Unfortunately for my patently false ‘well-adjusted modest good boy’ self image, I wasn’t so much bearing as much as I was relishing in the adulation. Another saucy little joke for you. And if you didn’t get it, you better ketchup.

Bored with feeding the paparazzi, I moved off the center of the carpet and made my way over to the starving fans reaching out for me on the sidelines.

“Bas! Bas! Over he-!”

“Couldn’t miss you if I tried.” None of these people manically smashing the capture button on the camera phones we’re getting in for the screening tonight. Which meant that everyone vying for attention had come out just to show their support. So bumping their fists and making silly faces at their lenses was my way of giving them a show for a movie they couldn’t buy tickets to yet. 

“We love you, Bas! Please sign my b-!”

“Wow, someone came prepared with waterproof markers!” The surface I was scribbling on was a lot more pliant than I was used to. Normally, when I was handed a sharpie, I would sign posters - this time wasn’t quite so different because, in all honesty, she deserved to be on a pin-up. 

If only I lacked the sense and shame to write my number down sneakily under my signature. “Where’s your date, Bas? All alo-?”

“How can I be, with all of you here?” then I’d be able to put my money where my mouth is, among other things. 

“Aaaahhh!” Told you about the screaming.

Apparently, I was far from the only one looking forward to the release of Tropic Thunder. Though, unknowingly for the general populace, my wait was about two months longer than anyone else’s. 

Originally, the movie was set to come out sometime in mid-August as it had when I’d seen it the first time.

An arm suddenly fell across and hugged my shoulders. Not the first time it had happened to me and probably far from the last. I would have pulled away. “There he is! Barnaby Cunningham!” Had I not recognized Ben Stiller’s voice. 

Hug, though, was likely a bit of a misnomer to the throng of fingers eagerly thrusting forward to return me to their grasp. I’m sure in their imagination, Ben genially guiding me away looked more like a chokehold, dragging me away from my still salivating army of admirers. “You know, I was prepared to stay there all night.”

“Well, too bad, because I need you more than they do. Tonight’s turn out is stellar.” Said Stiller. “I wasn’t sure about the risk of releasing the movie so long after summer, but it seems to be paying off. And I need you to help keep it that way.”

Ah, that’s why I was thinking about sandwiches. 

Traditionally, when movies are finally put out in cinemas, the successful ones tend to choose their time slots very carefully. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the wrong timing can send the masterpiece into the bin, and the right timing can put hot garbage onto your plate - which the average audience will happily swallow. 

Holiday season was always great. Ideal really. Valentine’s for romance, Easter for the kids, winter for family movies, you get the picture. 

Summer blockbusters were called that for a reason. Lots of people with loads of disposable income lining around the corner. Kids were out of school and their short attention spans seeking anything and everything fun to waste their allowance on. 

Seasonality playing the massive part that it did, Ben, as the key producer of the film, wanted that coveted center bite of time for the year. Domestically in the states, for a war adjacent movie like Tropic Thunder, 4th of July weekend would have been the best possible slot.

Competition, however, was also a vital contributing factor. DreamWorks, who produced and distributed both Tropic Thunder and Kung Fu Panda, basically gave Ben the blanket no for early summer. They wanted nothing to get in between their potential new flagship. Especially one which was built to sell in China. Considering Iron Man had also come out just a few weeks prior to the animated feature, the box office for Tropic Thunder could have potentially been lower during that period. So the natural conclusion was to push it to late summer, hence the August plan. However, this was the year that the superhero phenomenon would hit its stride. And the big Bs would be raked in, starting with Batman. 

Christian Bale’s initial foray in Batman begins three years ago was a pretty solid success, bringing in well over three hundred mil. No one was expecting The Dark Knight to turn out the way it did. 

This was the film that would put the definitive sunrise on Nolan’s career, and the sunset to Heath Ledger’s legacy. Domestically or internationally, it didn’t matter. The Dark Knight, for weeks and weeks after its release, would choke the life out of any other film during its stranglehold on the industry. 

And Tropic Thunder was originally slated to come out during the height of its run. 

Ironic because it was exactly what Ben Stiller and co. were trying to avoid by spurning the second best part of the year to release a patriotic (even if it was parodied) American war film. Thanksgiving. Which, in a very roundabout way, was partially my fault, too. 

Since the Harry Potter movies began, they always released within a year or a year and a half of each other. Which meant they vacillated between a midsummer and mid-autumn release. And not to toot my John Williams scored horn, but Potter was always a juggernaut to be feared. Each single penny of every single billion that my movies made was very, very deliberately calculated. 

Order came out about a year and a half ago, now. So every studio, when planning their release dates, erroneously anticipated another November release for the latest wizarding installment - until it was already too late to restructure their distribution deals. 

Seeing as I had the inside scoop, I didn’t bother remaining tight-lipped. Why mitigate the success of one project when it costs the other nothing? 

So here we were, filling the unrequited spot on the timetable, sandwiched between the other two major release times of the year.

Lucky for us, it also just so happened to fall in the festive time - especially for a movie occurring in Asia, where the entire East was raring up for their own plethora of holidays. Such as mid-autumn festival and Diwali all across South, East, and Southeast Asia. 

Baguettes were great. Banh Mi is better.

Wasn’t long after Ben ambushed me that he was accosted himself. Therefore, I was too. As far as the red carpet went, I enjoyed meeting fans and reuniting with the mates I made while filming. It was only whenever the paps, reporters, and other various hangers on gnawed at my ankles that any energy I had ejected out of my body, usually in the form of verbal diarrhea. “Maria Menounos here with Access Hollywood at the premier of Tropic Thunder joined by the double and most definitely trouble of Ben Stiller and Bas Rhys. How’s everyone feeling tonight?”

“Proud for the most part. We’re all super excited for everyone to see the film.” Ben was all smiles. If the mic shoved under his nose had an ass, he’d be kissing it. He had his charm turned to ten. 

So I could do no less than dial it up to eleven. Before she could park that breath-stained piece of audio recording equipment under my nostrils, I quickly but gently stole it out from her hands. “Why are you asking us, Menounos? You co-starred with us. How d’you think you did?” Maria cameos as the reporter who makes fun of Ben Stiller’s character’s career. Tucking her in under my arm, I brought the mic up to her face and started interviewing her instead. 

Consummate professional that she was, she easily slung her arm around my waist and adopted her new role as interviewee. “Oh, you know me best.” I didn’t. Not even a little. “You guys were lucky you even booked me! Anything I’m going to be in is bound to be a major hit.” 

A sudden loud cheer echoed out. We turned our heads to witness the rest of the cast doing their own thing up and down the carpet. Which was then followed by a small smattering of boos. 

Various advocacy groups were waving signs they were determined to plant as the tombstones to our movie. Except the epitaphs were epithets; accusing us of being ableist and bigots of every variety. 

Clearly, the depiction of simple Jack wasn’t such a simple matter - to them at least. The pressure of Maria’s arm lifted from the small of my back, and I knew she’d be angling to get her mic returned for some investigative journalism. Might as well help her out. 

“It doesn’t look like it’s all celebrations tonight, Ben. What’s your take on this?” Like any good reporter should, I pressed the mic nearly all the way inside Ben’s mouth.

“Well, uh… Bas?” He looked equal parts bewildered and relieved. People seriously needed to expand their range of emotions around me. “I just hope everyone sees that we’re trying to make a point about the industry and extreme actors can go to. It’s satire, but it’s also commentary.” 

Another silk suited arm draped behind my neck tonight. “In my case, I’d say watch the movie first and realize that our hearts are in the right place. Our intent is to laugh with you, not at you.” RDJ smoothly announced himself when he saw I’d hijacked the role of MC. 

But how could I call myself a hard-hitting journalist if I didn’t ask the tough questions on Maria’s behalf? “How would you know? You’re one of the main culprits! I think we better ask someone who has a larger stake in all this.”

Secure in two pairs of arms, I unhesitatingly leaned back as they struggled to cradle me during my abrupt trust fall. 

“Bas, Hey!”

“Woah!”

I craned my neck and yelled at Donald Glover, doing his best not to fumble his first time out at a premiere. “Hey Donald, people are saying you’re a racist!” 

By the time I straightened out again, Donald had rushed over and joined the interrogation. “Racist? Against who?” 

“Racist against you!”

“You’re joking, right?” Wish I were, Gambino.

“No. But I do have a cracking great one if you want to hear it: Iron Man, Kung Fu Panda, and Harry Potter walk into a bar-”

“So not cool to leave me out like this, guys.” Right on cue, Jack Black joined the huddle. 

“Give me that-!” And Maria snatched her Mike back, effectively ending my career as both a journo and stand-up comedian. 

She wasn’t too angry though, because as soon as the main cast had congregated around her, the wider crew also proceeded to pack in around us. Bill Hader, Matthew McConaughey, Nick Nolte, Steve Coogan, Danny McBride, and of course special guest Tom Cruise.

My distraction was successful. I’d waylaid a terse conversation into a group photo. 

Phalanx against nosy newsies formed. We all trundled into the theater together, avoiding any more awkward discussions. 

“Whoever took the picture, I want a copy before the end of the night.”