The Most Disturbing Horror Movie I Have Ever Seen

Specifically, , a documentary about screenwriting.
Seriously.  (And I think they were just going for the Script/Crypt sound-alike thing in the title for laughs without realizing they’d made an actual horror film.)
But retracing my day to happier beginnings …
A super-productive morning (I cannot reveal more yet) and then a trip to the UPS Store.  My Nemesis/Embodiment of My Inner Child was ill but there were 2 surprise checks and the tickets to my beloved Simone Dinnerstein arrived (I realize this is the first time I have ever ordered tickets to anything so far in advance that I didn’t need Will Call), and lots of other good news.
[FYI, I find it amusing that I asked if Susan would like a CD of the concert music before attending and she only wants it after.  I, on the other hand, am constantly listening to recordings of the two Bach Partitas and the four Schubert Impromptus on the program in endless, joyful preparation.  Nonetheless, it seems we both adore the video on Dinnerstein’s site, and I personally find it more moving each time I watch it.  She is one of my truly GREAT inspirations.]
This afternoon, one of the most extraordinary, constantly getting more impossible beautiful sunsets ever on Susan and my beach walk with Belle.
Dinner at Houston’s where Belle was gifted not only with dog treats (first time EVER) but also with some filet mignon bones.  Here are the bones and here is how they looked 20 minutes later, all consumed during my phone conversation with Dan.

But beyond my beautiful Belle’s carnivorous tendencies, what was TRULY disturbing was TALES FROM THE SCRIPT.
First of all, Hollywood Screenwriters are the biggest bunch of WHINERS the world has ever seen.
I am reminded of Hafiz’s great line “To complain is to live in the Suburbs of God.”
These people are beyond suburban.
I don’t want to dwell on it –– I already feel I need a second shower –– but at about 1:20 into the 1:45 minute film, there’s a section where the writers do admit their lives are pretty great, that they are extraordinarily well-paid, and that they do get to make films.
A few writers within (William Goldman, mostly, and a little John August and Bruce Joel Rubin) are refreshing.
And William Goldman does deserve INFINITE credit for the best line about anything ever written:  No one knows anything.
I don’t regret watching the movie at all, and I watched it specifically as preparation for re-entering the Screenwriting Universe for adapting my novel.
I view it not so much as a cautionary tale about the industry, but as a cautionary tale about attitude and outlook.
But honestly, if this were a movie about dentists –– 1:20 minutes of annoying things about the profession (and I’m sure there are many) –– about how they don’t get credit or respect or are disregarded until an emergency … then who would watch?
The third Schubert Impromptu (the one in the Dinnerstein video, but I have only the Barenboim recording until her new CD drops in two weeks) has started again as I write this.
Like the sunset (and unlike complaining), somehow both infinitely and expanding beautiful.
I’m repeating it now for a third time, to make sure it washes away all the complaining, bitterness, and fear.
To refresh ourselves further –– and  perfectly fitting for the new year –– Dinnerstein’s title for her new 1/31/12 CD is “Something Almost Being Said,”  taken from a poem by the also great Philip Larkin:
The Trees by Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.