"Paint by Numbers": A Hollywood Satire*
*from 2007
One of the benefits of writing down every thought you’ve ever had in your entire life is that, when you’re struggling with something new (in this case polishing off the soon-to-be Christmas classic, ‘Sleigh Queen’, and getting a swimming comedy called ‘Float On’ in pitchable shape) and find yourself in need of Substack material, you’ve got thousands, maybe millions of old words to drag out of the shoebox and into the light/your inboxes. Over the weekend, sifting through an old hard drive, I stumbled on a short I’d written for some junior year writing class. And I thought: Henning, this isn’t great, but it’s good enough for Lifting Fog!1
What follows is a quick lil’ story about the production of a Pixar-esque (I’m pretty sure Dreamworks in the story, though the writing is confused on this point) kids movie called ‘The Hue in You’, about an albino flamingo named Marcos setting off on a journey of self-discovery. The (fake) movie is clearly a riff on ‘Happy Feet’, ‘Madagascar’, etc.; the piece itself was probably conceived as some mash-up of ‘Entourage’ and a Christopher Guest movie. I got so into it that I even made this (again, fake) poster:
I don’t love the fact 21-year-old Henning named the story’s studio bigwig “Larry Eisenberg” but let’s just consider it a dig at Harvey Weinstein, who is a rapist. Anyway, enjoy!
“Paint by Numbers”
Smoke fills the air, distorting my view of the screen in front of me. My boss, Larry Eisenberg, sits to my right. He coughs, loudly.
“Penguins are tapped out. Overplayed. 2007 is all about flamingos, I swear to you. Bright, tropical, sexy – it’s the year of the flamingo. Think pink.”
“All due respect sir, but... wouldn’t it be wiser to move away from birds?”
“Are you shitting me? Everyone loves birds. The color difference is what makes this so unique.” Shifting in his seat, he turns to address me more directly. “First rule is?”
“Don’t piss off your boss?”
“Close, Scott. Know your audience.”
“Right.” As if on cue, the heads in front of us begin to bob in unison. Laughter erupts in the darkness.
“Mr. Eisenberg, this is going to test really well. They’re loving it.”
“Of course they are, I green-lighted the bastard!” On screen, a baby penguin sneezes – more laughter. I can tell my boss is happy. The cigarette limps as his lips purse into a smile.
“Like I said, though, we’re changing species. No more black and whites – next year will be very colorful.”
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The dark-haired one speaks with a lot of confidence. His wiry brother seems more inclined to just chime in.
“It’s called ‘The Hue In You’, right, and it’s all about this flamingo—played by, we’re thinking, like, Zach Braff or Shia LeBeouf—”
“Isn’t he tied up with Indy?”
“Dude, just—”
“Sorry.”
Tom and Mike Gladwell are screenwriters/brothers among various other “slashes” I’m sure they both share and fresh out of film school. I eye them over. Dressed in vintage tees and corduroy jackets, it’s clear they’re image-conscious. They both look at Mr. Eisenberg, who returns a neutral stare. Tom, the brunette, continues.
“Anyway, this flamingo, a little, like, baby flamingo, he lives in the San Diego Zoo—”
“In San Diego.”
Tom turns to stare at his brother. “No shit, Mike.”
Mr. Eisenberg hasn’t moved or spoken once since they arrived. I think he’s enjoying seeing them squirm.
“Conflict:” Tom holds his hands out wide like a goal-post. “Marcos—the flamingo’s name is Marcos—suffers from a lack of pigmentation. He’s—well, he’s albino. And his flock doesn’t accept him as one of their own, you know? He decides to journey outside the zoo to find somewhere he truly belongs. Along the way he discovers... what his true colors are.”
Resting his hands, a smile settles on the writer’s face. His brother nods in approval, then turns to speak to Mr. Eisenberg.
“So he’s not pink.” The boss doesn’t say a word. Both brothers look fit to implode. Tom more so than Mike.
“It’s really the standard ‘we’re all beautiful’ picture, right? Easy, digestable message. Songs—”
“Tom, we don’t write so—” Quickly shaking his head, Tom finishes up.
“Really cutting-edge CGI, definitely the way to go. We think it’s a tentpole.”
Mr. Eisenberg thinks for a moment, moving his face for the first time all meeting. He looks at me as he speaks to them.
“I like it.”
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It’s February and our CGI team can’t get the feathers right. Mr. Eisenberg has two ulcers.
“We are not pushing this back, understand? June 11th or I castrate each one of you myself!”
The McDonald’s deal has been in place for three months, along with action figures and coloring books (for an albino flamingo movie – genius). The San Diego Zoo’s onboard. Six Flags says they’re holding out for more money; thank you, Dreamworks, for that inconvenience. The script is only half done, but we’re hoping the Gladwells can come up with a halfway decent ending. Maybe a big song and dance to cap everything off.
“You said you wanted realistic, Mr. Eisenberg – our machines can only render so much with so skimpy a timetable. It’s gonna take more time.” The boss’ breathing is labored as he puffs aggressively.
“All I want is for the kids to be able to tell that these things are fuckin’ flamingos. Pink, right? Long, skinny legs? Black beak? The rest... no one’s even paying attention.”
The room is silent as Mr. Eisenberg makes his exit. “On time, do what you need to do. Just no anime shit.”
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“I’ve heard enough, Manuel – I’m ready to take my pink butt and flamin-go!”
“Try it again, really emphasizing the word ‘butt’.”
“I’m ready to take my pink butt and flamingo.”
Late April and we’ve finally found our voice. Or voices — Zach Braff signed a couple of weeks ago to play Marcos (he really ‘dug the angst’, he said) with James Garner as his father, Manuel. No big-name actresses were really biting for the female parts, but it doesn’t worry us so much given the demographics. We got Raven-Symone. Is it just “Raven” these days? Whatever.
“Okay, good, but you dropped the ‘go’ at the end – you just said the word ‘flamingo’ with no inflection. That’s—that’s the real selling point.”
“I’m ready to take my pink butt and flaming-go!”
“Great.”
It’s all coming together.
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I’m in the hospital with Larry (the ulcers were bad) when we get the news late Sunday night. The weekend numbers topped out around where we expected they would, which is to say we did... quite well. Pixar is kicking themselves right now, It feels so good saying it again: one hundred forty-five point seven million. Dollars. One hundred forty-five point seven million. I could say it all day and not once lose interest. Yes, the movie’s shit. Yes, we’re playing directly to 4-year olds. Yes... there will be a sequel.
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Outside a theater in West Hollywood a week later, I see a mother and her young son just out of a matinee showing of The Hue in You. The little boy can barely contain his excitement.
“Remember the part where the flamingo put on sunglasses and danced for the polar bears? That was so cool.” His mother is clearly disinterested, but tries not to show it.
“I do, I do.”
“And when all the chimpanzees farted? That was sooooo funny. Can we see it again?”
“Maybe your father would like to go sometime over the weekend.”
“I hope so. Hey, Mom?”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“I’m ready to take my pink butt and flaming-go!”
As her son begins to dance like Marcos the flamingo, the woman notices me standing nearby and shrugs her shoulders. Glancing at her son, she quietly walks toward me.
“Who makes these awful movies?”
More Fog Fiction
“French Fry Free Throw”: A new divorcee gets her groove back at the Santa Monica Father's Office
“Rainbow Road Changed Gay Gaming Forever”: An oral history of Mario Kart’s most famous track, which for the purposes of this work of fiction is actually an expression of Shigeru Miyamoto’s closeted homosexuality
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