The monkey had been picked up yet again for hanging around outside of Helena Bonham Carter’s place screaming, “Let me show you what a real ape is like baby!” Frankly it was getting embarrassing. But the cost of bail and bar tabs was still costing me a lot less than hiring a professional, so I went out to get him yet again.
On the car ride back to TNMC HQ, I told him he was going to have to take on some more dangerous assignments to make up for this nonsense. Specifically, he was going to have to handle some of our hate mail. Not the sort where angry Resident Evil fans are still bitching at us for our negative reviews years after the case. No, I’m talking about the disembodied head of a FOX TV exec that arrived in the mail this week. Now, this isn’t an unusual package. FOX shit cans so many shows early that vengeful fans have been sending me heads for years. Why they send them to me is the only mystery. I’ve been making the best of the situation by saving them in the freezer for Halloween decorations. But this was different, this had been sent by none other than Joss Whedon. The guy has been a little pissed off with us ever since I ran Harry Barber's review of Serenity. Angry filmmakers are one of the built in dangers of the movie critic business and I've gotten used to blowing off their complaints. This however, was a whole other thing. I told the monkey he was going to have to handle this situation. Since he is perpetually about twelve steps behind the times, he agreed readily, not having a clue what was going on. By the time he figured it out I had already locked myself in my office and called Whedon's people to set up an interview.
The little bastard flung poop at my door and cursed my name until Whedon made his rather ominous appearance. I peeked out the window and there he was in the front yard. He was waving a big ass battle-axe in the air and had another head tucked under his arm. The neighbors were not going to like this. They were still a bit grumpy about our commemorative funeral pyre with a full size stuffed Darth Vader costume last summer in honor of the last Star Wars film. They keep whining about getting sick from the burning plastic. That’s what breathing masks are for people. C’mon, get a clue. Anyway, Whedon was out there in the dark screaming, “Harry! Come out! I demand vengeance!” It was pretty corny actually. You’d think the guy would write himself some better lines than that. I told the monkey over the intercom that this was his assignment and go deal with it.
What follows is a unedited transcript of the conversation that followed. I haven’t bothered to edit the piece because neatening it up would kill the feel of the whole event. And stuff this weird just shouldn’t be tampered with.
- John
Joss Whedon: HARRY! (pause) HARRY! Come out ya chicken shit bastard! We got some talking to do!
Monkey X: Hey, keep it down man. We’ve got neighbors.
Whedon: I don’t care. I am here for the one you call Harry Barber. His life is forfeit unto me.
Monkey X: Where the hell did you learn to talk?
Whedon: What?
Monkey X: That is the cheesiest dialog I have ever heard. You actually get paid to write crap like that?
Whedon: Well, yes and no. I mean, I get paid to write dialog but the stuff I write doesn’t usually sound like that.
Monkey X: So why are you laying the Thor shit on me?
Whedon: Um… Well it just seemed like if a guy shows up waving an axe and carrying a disembodied head, he should sound kinda high and lofty. I don’t know. I’m new at this.
Monkey X: Yeah, don’t quit the day job man. By the way, does your pigskin there have a name?
Whedon: He probably had one.
Monkey X: You don’t know who it is?
Whedon: Um… I know I’ve seen him around my sets a lot. I just assumed he was a Fox executive.
Monkey X: So why did you lop his noggin off?
Whedon: To make a point, use him as a warning to others who would cross me. People need to know that I’m a dangerous guy and should be taken very seriously.
Monkey X: But you sent us a head in the mail a few days ago. Wasn’t that a warning?
Whedon: Well yeah, but you never know, sometimes things get lost in the mail. And the post office is pretty picky about what you can mail. It’s not like I could ask to send it certified. And besides, Fox cancels so many shows that fans are beheading their execs all the time. It’s company policy to pad the staff with a handful of extra producers for the inevitable guillotine treatment. I know one executive who hires people to work on shows purely based on how well he thinks their head would look stuck on a pike.
Monkey X: That’s pretty cold.
Whedon: Yeah, but he figures it will happen anyway, might as well make the best of it.
Monkey X: Have they considered trying to let shows build an audience instead of killing them quickly, thus turning fans violent?
Whedon: (laughs violently)
Monkey X: Okay, I’ll take that as a no. Getting back on topic, you’re here because Harry trashed your movie.
Whedon: No.
Monkey X: You’re not? Then why come here demanding vengeance?
Whedon: If I came out like this every time someone ripped my work, there would be hundreds of headless bodies in my yard. You can’t work in Hollywood and have such thin skin. I’m here because Harry trashed my followers, and I can’t have that.
Monkey X: Followers? Don’t you mean fans? Or are you running a cult now?
Whedon: Fans, I meant fans. Yeah. That’s it. Fans.
Monkey X: Okaaayyy. Here’s a good question. What’s the deal with you and teenage girls? Every show you come up with has a super powered teen girl in it.
Whedon: It’s all about giving young women the idea that they really are powerful. They don’t get that message nearly enough from the media.
Monkey X: Oh come on. What a cheesy answer. You’re banging them aren’t you?
Whedon: No, don’t be ridiculous. It’s really about the message.
Monkey X: Seriously? Okay, have it your way. What about Wonder Woman?
Whedon: Oh, her I want to bang. Been dreaming about that since I first stuck the pages of a magazine together.
Monkey X: Somehow I doubt that neither I nor your fans really wanted to know that.
Whedon: Oh come on now, it’s a natural thing, nothing to be ashamed of.
Monkey X: Save that speech for Wrist Wranglers Weekly. Besides, I’m a monkey; there ain’t nothin’ you can tell me about mashing the puppet that I don’t already know.
Whedon: Well put. But you’ve gotten me way off topic here. I’m here to take down Harry Barber for abusing my followe… fans.
Monkey X: Now what is it with your fans? They seem a whole lot more obsessive than the typical sci-fi geek.
Whedon: They just find a real connection with my work. They identify with my characters and come to think of them as family. They tend to follow the actors after they move on, as some sort of residual affection sticks with them.
Monkey X: You don’t invite them over for sleepovers do you?
Whedon: Not anymo… I mean no. That would be tacky and irresponsible.
Monkey X: This is TNMC. We have no standards, you can tell us the truth.
Whedon: I’d rather not. My lawyer said these kinds of conversations can get a guy in trouble.
Monkey X: I never listen to my lawyer. At least before he has to bail me out…
Whedon: I think we’ve talked enough. Go get Harry; it is time to finish this.
Monkey X: He’s not here.
Whedon: What? Where is he?
Monkey X: No clue. He never comes to the office.
Whedon: Shit. Now I went and took Minear’s head off for nothing. Do you at least no where he lives? I could at least put this in his mailbox or something.
Monkey X: Sorry, no idea. He seems aware that people hate him and thus never makes appearances or says where he lives. Can’t say as I blame him really.
Whedon: You can’t print that bit about Wonder Woman.
Monkey X: Oh yes I can. How many of the candidates for the role have you slept with so far?
Whedon: Only about half, some of… Shit. No. None. None of them. I don’t work that way. Really.
Monkey X: Mmm-hmm.
Whedon: Wait a minute. There can’t be more than five or six people who read this stupid site. And I’ll bet most of them will think this is a fake because I’m talking to a monkey. No one will believe it. Print whatever you want. Hell, tell them I make the actresses tie me up with a golden lariat and sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” while riding me like a donkey.
Monkey X: Is that true?
Whedon: It doesn't matter. I have to go. Do you want to keep the head or not?
Monkey X: No thanks, the freezer is full.
Whedon: Crap. That thing ruined my carry on luggage. I don't want to bring it back with me.
Monkey X: There's a store with a big dumpster around the corner, you can ditch it there.
Whedon: Thanks. You're sure Harry isn't here?
Monkey X: I swear to the great bearded sky fairy that he isn't here. Frankly, we never know where he is. It's a lot safer for him to have it so people who read his stuff can't find him.
Whedon: You mean this sort of thing happens a lot?
Monkey X: It's a toss up as to whether we get more paternity suits, sexual harassment complaints or angry filmmakers come looking for him.
Whedon: Great. He'll never surface. I guess I'll just call a jihad of my followe... fans down on him and let them take him out. I really wanted to do it myself. The SOB used the F word on my fans.
Monkey X: Fuck?
Whedon: No, fanboy.
Monkey X: Ouch.
Whedon: Yeah. Well, I'm off. Toodles.
- This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it has a tail that can touch you places you've only dreamed of baby.
