Roman Polanksi: Cowardly Fuckhead

I raped a 13-year-old girl. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I am a nondescript person in France. I have a typical 9/5 job.

Am I guilty of the crime?

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Well? Is he? Of course he is!!

Err, right?!

I Tweeted (lame!) a couple hours ago about how absolutely infuriated I was at the notion that people in the motion picture industry had jumped to the defense of Roman Polanski since his capture in Switzerland. And yes, I use the word capture. The man is a damned criminal. He has been on the lam for thirty years....

Before I continue, I point you to the FilmDrunk take on the whole situation, as it ultimately makes my point (but it's also funny). My take isn't quite as amusing as I've had much disdain for this man ever since I read about his crime. So you're reading it here, folks. This is one of the few times I'm actually taking something seriously.

In summation: Roman Polanski raped a 13-year-old-girl, Samantha Gailey. During the course of criminal proceedings, he pled down to statutory rape. He fled the United States before being sentenced. Since then, he's spent his years making movies and...well, living. His victim has since forgiven him and wished that charges be dropped. I praise her for being so forgiving.

Mr. Polanski? He continued to make films, continued to receive praise. He won a Best Director Oscar for The Pianist. Why could he not accept it at the ceremony? Duh....

Roman Polanski: He's a cowardly fuckhead.

I cannot mince words here; Polanksi was charged and convicted of a crime, pled GUILTY and then fled the United States to live in a country that would not extradite him. He is a coward. He gave videotaped evidence in a civil case so that he would not risk extradition by the U.K. to the U.S.

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My name is xxxx. I raped a 13-year-old girl named xxxx. She is related to a famous Hollywood director. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I like to make feature films for a profit.

My victim has forgiven me.

Am I guilty of the crime?

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Well? Is he guilty? Of course!!

His victim may forgive him, but he has still committed the crime. Who cares who she is or what he does, right? He raped someone and he was caught, charged and convicted of the crime.....

If you're reading this blog, you know I'm one of those wannabe Hollywood dorks. I'm one of Bill O'Reilly's Hollyweird Librulz. I'm anti-war and anti-death penalty. I think the war on drugs is stupid. I even give dumb asses like Sean Penn a pass when he acts like a complete jerk, breaking the No Smoking law in L.A. But ya know what? Sean Penn didn't rape anyone.

I really loved Martin Scorsese, Terry Gilliam, Pedro Almodovar and Darren Aronofsky before today, but at this point I can now see that these filmmakers are so entrenched in the artsy-fartsy version of reality that they can no longer distinguish between right and wrong. These are a few of the folks who have signed a sort of Free Roman Polanski petition.

Honestly, it is quite disturbing that so many filmmaking institutions have come to Polanski's defense. I've read quite a few stories on this, and it seems that only filmmakers are coming to Polanski's defense. It would be my assumption that none of these men (yeah...men) have dealt in any way with rape in their lives. God forbid any of the above film directors have daughters, nieces, or ANY family members who are raped. If they have, I'd be very surprised.

A number of female actresses and directors have defended Polanski as well. I do not honestly know how to explain this phenomenon.

And finally, we will take this into the Third Act....

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My name is Darren Aronofsky. I raped a 13-year-old girl, the daughter of Martin Scorsese. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I like to make feature films which receive great acclaim, even an Academy Award. They also make a great profit.

Am I guilty?

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Yes.

May God please forgive me for being so horribly brutal, but any person who has aligned themselves with such an insipid crusade deserves to have their names inserted into such a treatment....

But if Darren Arronofsy had sex with the unwilling daughter of Martin Scorsese, what would happen? Or vice versa? Would either be so willing to cry foul at the prosecution of the rapist?

We cannot know.

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My name is Roman Polanski. I raped a 13-year-old girl. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I like to make feature films which receive great acclaim, even an Academy Award.

So how has anything changed? From an unknown rapist to a renowned Hollywood filmmaker:

I raped your 13-year-old daughter. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I am a nondescript person in France.

Am I guilty?

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Well?

Is he?

boring writing stuff while i watch football and the emmy's

I've finally hacked my through to a solution on hammering out the treatments of my stories in a fashion that doesn't have me creating temporary solutions that, without a doubt, wreak havoc in the scriptwriting stage - but to be more specific, the problems come when revising.

For all these years I've created unnecessary problems for myself when it came to revising my drafts and finalizing my ideas; when I would write my treatments - and subsequently my first drafts - I would half-ass it when it came to filling in holes in the story. I'm not speaking of plot holes, but rather the simple A,B,Cs of the story. For instance, when I came to a point where it went like so:

Okay. I know what I know in the next scene between these two characters, but I know I'm missing an action beat. But since I don't feel like figuring this out, so I'll just move on. .... Damn! Does this sequence fit with the rest of the story? Does this character arc even seem realistic? IS the theme clear?

These were all questions that have plagued me with every story has has made it to the revision stage. And this is only because I hated so much to bring my excitement for the story to a halt in order to focus on a seemingly minute detail (I know, right? I've previously considered the clarity of theme as a minute detail! Shame on me!).

Now, I don't think this is so much a problem that occurs that the Treatment stage, but more of something that occurs in the brainstorming/spitballing/whatevering stage. I think it's had something to do with me going directly from Idea to Treatment. That is, I never spent much time thinking about all the little details within the acts, so my treatments simply became an extended version of a simple idea, and not a more detailed and intricate execution of said idea.

Does that make sense? Probably not.

Ah, hell.

So what I'm doing this semester is hammering out a screenplay from start. A western in the style of Leone's flicks (especially Duck, You Sucker), as well as The Wild Bunch, Rio Bravo, and The Searchers. Thematically it's closest to Ford's Searchers, as it's a study of institutional racism the Old West.

The key this time around is that I started with just the vaguest of ideas of how I wanted to tell the story. I knew how it started, and I was pretty sure I knew how it wanted end. I had an idea of the main characters and the settings. I had a nice sense of the style I wanted the picture to express. And not much else...

...but I'm taking a lot of time to flesh out the little details one at a time as they come until I have a treatment created organically. The first time through it was one page. The second time it was about three. The third draft was six. I've made two attempts at the fourth run-through, but

started over because I stopped to figure out the tiny little details of just one sequence.

It feels pretty darn good.

Told ya. Boring writing stuff.

We started the swear jar. Now Eamonn's first word is less likely to be an F-bomb!

Carrot top is the joan rivers of the prop comedy world

I just realized that i like sundays a little less than i did before. But it has nothing to do with the actual game

tweet tweet like a stupid bird

Oh yeah! Two other things:

1) I have a Twitter account. I don't know why. (http://twitter.com/nickcolevas)

2) I can post from my cell phone now. This serves no practical use other than keeping a public file of all the insane/inane thoughts that spring forth from my mind. So when you see the little one or two-line blogs sprouting up with no subject line, you'll know I just came up with comedy gold....

...or not. Whatever, dude.

a bit about school and then yelling at stupid andy

I told myself that I would be confident when it came to stepping up in Film I...

...And I was. I didn't even need to up my meds (ooh, lookit me being all hip and tragic and emo, using phrases like "up my meds"). Man, I'm so super cool. I've formed my group and they both seem like cool kids so I'm psyched.

This semester's gonna be pretty badass. Making short films is gonna be good for me, but my writing courses are gonna be a blast. Between the two of them I get to write a feature length screenplay (I've done that before, but I haven't finished one in two or three years) and adapt a short story as well as a myth as a script for a short film. I'm thinking for the short story I want to adapt Gabriel Garcia Marquez' The Trail of Your Blood in the Snow.

I do have one major regret and that is that I can't use one of my scripts because...well, lets say I gave it away -- at least as far as using it at Towson is concerned. I've regretted this for a while now, but it's come full circle. We won't be seeing The Nightmare on film any time soon. Shit, for the first time I ever I feel icky when I'm reading academic integrity policies. Scratch that - I feel like a complete douchebag. People told me that I would regret it. But did I listen? Nope.

I never said I wasn't stubborn or stupid.

Aaaanywho, if any of you jerks wants to be in a few goofy short films (WHAT?! You think I'm gonna waste my serious work in a Film I class?! Pffft!), gimme a shout. Jason and Lauren said I can film in their house.. BUT ONLY IF ANDY FINISHES THE DAMN PAINTING IN THE DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM!! Oh - hmmm....lets see if this will light a fire under his bony butt....

So when we first moved in the Nagy's and I procured the services on one Andrew M. Craven to paint a portrait of Godzilla in the downstairs bathroom, which I would be using for the most part. Andy, being the champ that he is, blazed through most of it in just a few hours.

That was in May.

Now, every time we have visitors they ask, "Is that ever gonna get finished?" My mom hated it at first, but when she came to visit Sunday she goes, "You know, that would look really nice if Andrew would finish it." Is my mom a fan of Godzilla? Only time will tell.

So to you, Sir Craven! I challenge you publicly! Finish this painting by the end of September, or I shall post incriminating photos of you all over this blog - NAY! - all over Facebook! And I think we know what I'm talking about. winkwinkandydressedasababywithdirtydiaperwinkwink

Finish the painting, sir. So that I may you-know-what in peace and tranquility.

But no seriously. This semester is gonna rule.

oh, fudge!

I drove all the way up to Towson to find out that my 11:00AM class had been canceled.

I have to leave the house at 8:30 to make it up here with time to spare.

It's about an hour and forty minutes from Dares Beach to TU.

The parking garages are always full. Finding a spot is a futile endeavor.

I have to park in the overflow lot and walk 10-12 minutes to campus.

And it sucks.

I went to the Union and checked my e-mail.

I saw the e-mail from the professor noting that class had been canceled.

It arrived in my inbox at 7:29 this morning.

Do you know what time I checked my e-mail? 7:25 AM.

Know how I know that?

Cuz I looked at my clock.

And it was 7:25.

Then I turned off my computer.

When I saw the sign on the door, I just sorta chuckled...

...and muttered to myself, "Oh, fudge..."

I dunno. I think it's funny.

We Shoot Horses

Just stopping by to let everyone know that....

1) School starts Tuesday. I'm super-psyched about it. I've done a lot of soul searching in the last few months and I've come to understand that a lot of my depression, anxiety and frustration had to do with me giving up on my dream. Now that I'm back on track I seem, on a day to day basis, to be generally happier. In other words: I'm no longer angry at myself, so I don't project that anger onto others.

I'm taking two writing courses the semester, which is awesome in itself, but coupled with the fact that I've finally broken out of my writer's block (which, it turns out, really wasn't writer's block at all, but rather a mistake in how I thought about writing, but that's another blog for another day.) Long story short, these next few months are going to be very productive me me as a writer and will give me a great chance to really hammer out my ideas in preparation for filming.

And!

2) By the end of the year We Shoot Horses will be blasting your face with the most awesome awesomeness known to know man. 4RLZ. This site came from the ludicrus mind of Andrew M. Craven, so it's sure to be chock full of zombies, Vikings, Godzilla and Ghostbusters references.

I think I'm going to be responsible for blogging/ general writing/ posting pictures of my genitals.

Below is the logo for the blog Andy and I started as a joke.

Happy Birthday. Hope you have a terrific one.

Puddleduck's Learnin' Lesson #1: Oxymorons

Lesson #1: Oxymorons.

Read this.

A dive bar in the East Village? No no no no no. That's not how that works, silly goose!

Uhhh, yeah. You can't have a dive bar in the the East Village. By definition, you can't have dive bars in wealthy neighborhoods and it can't be owned by rich musicians. Hey, it very well could be a good bar...just not a dive bar.

PSH!!! Fall Out Boy? More like Fall Out JERK!!

LOLZ! LMAOZ!! See what I did there?

Yeah, that's a total burn.

the "big" announcement.

The big announcement, okay? Ready? It ain't exciting, trust me....

I'm going back to Towson to get a B.A. in Film Production. Lost story short: I'm chasing the dream I've had since I was in 6th grade.

Aaaaand sooooo.....

I realized that no matter what you major in, know-it-all jerks will ask you, "Well, what are you gonna do with that?" I let that question get to me a few years ago when I was going for a Film Theory degree. They'd ask with a snarl: "And what are you going to do with a Film Theory degree, Nick?"

"Uhhh...write about movies?"

"Are you gonna make a living on that?"

Condescending laughter, of course. Because dressing up in a three-piece suit and having season tickets to the shittiest team in the NFL makes you  successful.

CUT TO:

INT. HOUSE -- YEARS LATER

JERK: "And what are you going to do with a degree in History/Secondary Education?"

ME: "Uhm....teach history? More specifically, U.S. History? Uh...at the high school level?" 

Condescending laughter, of course. Because you continue to buy season tickets, only to watch the Redskins lose. 

It was mid-April when I realized I'd let others guide my decisions for too many years. I was in class when I came to the realization that, however much I love history, I love film more. Further, I was incorporating history into - you guessed it! - ideas for scripts!

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Unfortunately for my wallet, the past few months have had me writing the darkest, pieces I've ever written; I doubt much of the stuff I've been working on will sell with the crowd who made Paul Blart: Mall Cop such a blockbuster.

Fortunately for me, however, the stuff I've been working on have allowed me to fight off my demons. The more I wrote about people drinking themselves to death, the more I came to realize that I was drinking myself to death.

The more I wrote about people who had no faith, the more I found faith in myself. And God.

The more I wrote about death, the more I felt the will to live.

The more I wrote about love, the more I realized how I let insecurity and trust issues destroy the true love I had finally found (I still love you).

The more I wrote about self-destruction, the more I understood how self-destructive I had become.

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It's late. Good night.

I have about ten movies I need to review and a half-dozen other blog ideas to share, so it's not like I've just been screwing around -- okay, so maybe Eamonn keeps me from getting work done....but screw you guys! That kid is adorable...

....How could you blame me for not getting work done??? The kid's so friggin cute! And he's wearin' a friggin' Batman shirt fer cryin' out loud!! HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO GET WORK DONE!?!?!!??!

(I still love you.)

a bunch of trailers (without the crack addict on the steps)

I know, right? It's a cheap shot at crack addicts. I know not everyone who lives in a trailer is a crack addict, but all crack addicts live in trailers. It's science, folks. 

I'm a little late of my semi-not-really-frequent NerdDowns (as I call them) where I just post a bunch of trailers for flicks I'm really psyched to see. So here goes...

Best Worst Movie. 

A documentary about the cult following behind Troll 2. The last time I tried to watch this flick I became physically ill within the first five minutes. It's sort of like the premise of John Carpenter's Cigarette Burns, except instead of turning me into a homicidal maniac it just made me not want to eat my sandwich. Same thing, really.

Sherlock Holmes. 

This one's for all you jerks who kept writing off Guy Ritchie...you're not allowed to see this. By the way, I laughed so hard I snorted at about the 2:20 mark.

Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus.

Why does everyone hate the United States when it continues to turn out the finest works of cinema the world has seen since Contempt, The Bicycle Thieves, and Kagemusha?

Funny People.

Hey! Who thinks Adam Sandler's gonna turn in another Punch Drunk Love or Reign Over Me-like performance and get snubbed by the Academy once more! Ooh! Ooh! I do! I do!

And finally...

Where The Wild Things Are. (Again.) I already posted it, but who cares? This movie is gonna make me feel good...

I still don't know what her height has to do with it.

I still don't know what her height has to do with it...

Wakka wakka!

Oh, Kubrick...

Stanley Kubrick isn't a genius. You can't learn anything from Kubrick that you didn't already know. He didn't invent editing. Or sound. Watch Eisenstein. Or D.W. Griffith. Or any movie made prior to 1970...and you've got the knowledge Stanley Kubrick possessed. But you know what one Mr. Stanley Kubrick did invent? The Auteur Theory.

Oh, that's if you consider that theory to involve plagiarism and bullshit.

Listen: Spartacus sucked. Eyes Wide Shut sucked. A Clockwork Orange was a piece of shit. Barry Lyndon was boring.

"Additional dialogue: Jim Thompson"

Yeah, sure. Fuck you, Kubrick.

I cut this blog short because I believe I need to devote a more extensive blog to the mediocrity that is Stanley Kubrick..

Fart.