A Letter to Ryan Werner and Lizzie Nastro/ On Human Centipede

As Nora taunts by sending me "accidental" emails of her exploits in Venice, I'm happy to report that Jack and our new friend Ana conspired to prepare the most "mejor" Thanksgiving dinner, augmenting all with bacon!  What an idea!  Following an accomplished effort at teaching the house dog how to swim, Frankie had the foresight to Entertain us with Human Centipede!  If you have seen it,  it's a crowd pleaser!  If you haven't, I'm not entirely sure where to begin.

Because we're thoroughly in the "in" in New York with regards to those who are in the "in" in the very important world of independent film which Ted Nope so eloquently and accurately documents, we know the folks behind the release, and we, the collective in Colombia, have transcribed the following public letter to the man behind the Centipede (luckily not in the middle, if you know what I'm saying), Ryan Werner.

11/26/2010

Dear Ryan,

Thanks in advance for effectively  publicizing your film, HUMAN CENTIPEDE.  As we browsed the selection of bootlegs at the local Super Market, it immediately caught our eye.

While we held off for a week to view, we did find time to screen it towards the end of our Colombian Thanksgiving.  It certainly made me appreciate how good it is to be an American. I'm quite excited for the betterment of humanity in that you're so eager to involve yourself with the sequel.  I think the whole world, including children, will most certainly benefit from such a work of art.  It stands in line with other works in your catalog.  To quote Mark Borchardt in MODUS OPERANDI, "Job Well Done!". 

Like the best of cinema, its intrinsic social value was demonstrated by its altruistic nature which far exceeds the reaches of our living room.  Without pause I can say it really instilled solid values in Andres, our eight year old neighbor, particularly when the antagonist allowed the woman to be fed.  I mean, despite his apparent deviant nature, what a Nice Guy!

You, as a curator, have reached deity status in my book, and Godard would be proud, if He by some odd chance remains unaware of your promotion of such a piece, and its availability in a town as remote and small as Santa Marta.

To say independent cinema can't change the world is simply false!

Firm handshakes, sturdy pats on the back, and lemondrops for all,

Nicholas Shumaker

dictated and then written

CC: Mike Plante, Elizabeth Nastro, Jack Turner, 8 year old Andres from across the street

Jack Contra Horses

Sometimes the best way to combat stress is with a good home cooked meal!

Pictured below is Jack munching on an afternoon delight known as Horse Balls.  His surliness was fully mediated by a healthy dosage and the day became better for all, besides DP Michael Simmonds who was shocked to find out that an NYU professor had installed a camera in the back of his head.  Someone beat him to the punch!

A good day indeed!

Sunday Funday are Still Workdays/AKA an Ode to the Magical Bean

As anyone knows whose followed the blog, with rare exception, we're pretty much working non-stop to get Frankie's movie off the ground in a timely fashion. In the process, the work weeks extend to the full seven days, and we've toiled in the office as Sundays (as football games and, by proxy, the entire season) slips beautifully by!  The Horror!

But there is salvation with the Bean.  Pictured below is Jack on a conference Skype call in the States from our new Sunday office--The Pool!

Yes.  When life serves you lemons that command you to work all day, turn them into lemonade that you can drink by the Pool!

Once again, none of this would've been possible without the Bean.  Thanks Bean!  We love you!

P.S. -- Frankie is Skyping with Mark Borchardt whose elated that the Packers are railing the Vikings right now!

Introducing the Male Strippers/Or How I Learned to Keep Waiting and Love the Internet

I'm not sure who played this gag on us, but at around 7pm, following a somewhat hostile takeover of the new office, we responded to several knocks at the door.  Curious, Frankie opened it, and four uniformed men walked in.  As we had been waiting for the internet the entire day, we were surprised to find four men in uniform as opposed to one man not in uniform.  Immediately, panic enveloped my chiseled body, and I had a sneaking suspicion that Nora--in her infinite cruelty that began with the dismissal of Frankie's opus--had commissioned four male strippers to surprise us, clad in Internet installers outfits, knowing full-well through an earlier communique that we'd toiled all day for the Holy Grail that is the Internet Service.

But again, reality rendered me incorrect.  As Colombia turns, four men are regularly delegated to install WiFi service in Santa Marta.  After two hours of work, some headscratching, some beer drinking, lots of knee slapping, and some serious ponderings, we had become best of friends, and another amazing cultural exchange had been achieved.

Amen to these fellows, and may the Lord bestow many a Blessing on Them and their Kin!

Introducing the Crew

As the days turn to weeks, I think it only appropriate to provide you, dear followers, with kindly introductions to our dedicated crew.

This is Camila.  She is from Bogota and very nice.  Even though she just flicked me off.

To clarify she is in the foreground of this photo.  She is not the more frumpish looking woman purchasing liquor, nor is she the man who appears, with head rested against guarded glass, to be asleep.  Of course she's not because she's a she and he's a he!

Oftentimes, though, she becomes very tired (sueno) because she has to tolerate us.  Like today for example.  What a tenuous day it's been!  We've weathered or are weathering the likes of an office move, a negligent landlord in the new office who promises us wireless but hathn't delivered (hathn't is not a word but sure should be,) and a long walking trip to the grocery market to purchase a "magical bean" which temporarily allows us internet even without a wireless connection.  Oh if all places in the world could only provide such a magical bean!  But alas, Colombia does.  Oh how we love our magical beans!  What would life be without it and its blue blinking light that admits our ability to download your fanmail!  I love you Bean!

And alas, per norm, I digress.  This post was not meant as an homage to the magical bean.  Rather it was to lift the tired spirits of our wonderful coordinator, Camila.  She has learned to tolerate our cultural insensitivity, our terrible ignorance of her native tongue, and our inability to ever stop.

This is a picture of her!  She's Great!

My Father the Bartender/Ruminations on Homesickness

My Dad stayed at my apartment last weekend and, amongst other social functions, carved out some precious hours to visit George, Johnny, Don Hill, and all my friends from the Greenwich and Spring barrio.  Reviewing these, I have a tinge of home sickness, but luckily early swims on the beach and hours perfecting my bronze.

In any event, I'm unsure as to what time these were snapped but love them I do and will continue to.

A hero, that father of mine....

Mike Plante! WTF?

As a producer, sometimes it is of the utmost importance to master the skill of the hard sell.  Especially when dealing with talent.  While it would appear I have failed in the case of Nora, I still remain confident that her management and agency will allow her the personal agency to make the appropriate decision.

My more realistic and immediate concern is the refusal of my friend, Mike Plante.

Mike is an old friend of mine.  We've seen many cities together at many times, and romped together through many an awkward terrain.  While he appears to appear like a corporate stooge in the above picture, you'll see that his athletic prowess and sense of victory rivals mine, as pictured below, making him today's best candidate to Be An Actor!  Sweet!

As is readily apparent his grit and determination rivals only Spartacus.  And it is for those qualities that Frankie sculpted the perfect role for our moustached wingman.  And yet, over the last six months, he, like Nora, has rejected every overture for a tailor made project that will propel his star meter to the heavens that house his bowling score.  What the fuck gives?

Please, fellow readers, facebook or email me and I'll provide his details so you can harass him into the film.

I Would Make a Sweet Boyfriend!

I've taken my first day off in two weeks.  I spent the day soul searching on the beach, playing in the waves, and existentially questioning my very existence.  Wow!  Not really your typical day off!

In NYC, it is my habit to wash away these ruminations at the Ear Inn or Pao.  But here in Santa Marta, the only "local" I can really imagine is the strip joint down the road, The Pink Flamingo, and I can't really in good faith, health, or conscience  qualify it as such, despite its many diverse offerings.

In any event, the lack of work time has led to some pretty fucking serious self-examinations--thanks to Chris Smith, I'm comfortable being a reality show.  To the point, it was somewhere between my second tussle with the playful ocean, an pleasant afternoon nap in the shade, and a scolding by Eva in Paris that I realized something--I would make a sweet boyfriend.

Here are the main reasons why:

(1) I'm on production frequently so you wouldn't have to see me and thus wouldn't get annoyed by me.  Getting annoyed with your partner can really be a thorn in the side of a healthy relationship.

(2) If you need your space you can always send me to the bar.  They know me there.

(3) I more than likely wouldn't stray as I'm certainly not getting any younger.

(4) I have gray hair which points, at least in a superficial way, to me being mature.

(5) Assuming you have a mother I can entertain her with stories from weird places.

(6) I live in an apartment.  Right now though I'm living in a house that feels, again, like The Real World.  So if you enjoy reality television, you'd essentially be dating a cast member!  How sweet is that!

(7) If you're insecure about eating, I will finish your cheeseburger for you.

So ladies, be you single or taken, chew on this for a minute or two and get back to me.  If you have referrals please email them to me with pictures (both head shots and full body shots--think casting).  If you can think of more reasons why I would make a sweet boyfriend, please send them to me and I'll weed through them.

Until tomorrow...

A Week in Photos

Locations Meeting

Frankie Versus The Couch

Me in Repose

6AM - Backyard of our Finca

Jack Befriends the Enemy (aka Glasses Killa)

and finally the obligatory weekly installment of our shirtless driver, Manuel

The New Finca: A New Dog, Broken Glasses, Sex Shops, and Rekindled Friendships

Readers.

I am appalled at myself for the delay in communique but work has domineered more of my leisure than it previously had.  That apology aside, let's not shit around and proceed wildly, henceforth:

(1) We've changed location to a finca on the water that has a dog.  While I like the dog a tremendous amount, on the first day whilst at work, he took advantage of my glasses and destroyed them.  Below you'll see Jack's failed attempt to put them back together.  Said dog in question also has fleas, which may or may not aiding Jack's hair to appear so peculiarly.

(2) While I typed away at the office and squinted through contracts, Frankie continued his scout with the team.  Today took him to the police station, where he modeled the following "extras."  Pictures forthcoming.

(3) It's been really amazing to reunite with my Canadian producer friend Ken.  He and I used to play squash in Cuba and partly inspired me to (try to) produce.  Last night we ate street food and drank tequila in plastic chairs on the beach.

(4) We've located the only adult toy store in Santa Marta.  Just saying.....

Hasta manana.

An Open Letter to Chris Smith - Part 2

2 November 2010

Dear Chris-

Despite our recent communique, dated 1 November 2010, I entered our fridge last night after a day of duress to cleanse my frustrations with an ice cold Aguila.  I reached into the box, and removed the first one.  Strategically, your cinematographer obviously dismissed my last missive by wrapping a release around my frosty one.   I can only imagine you that you, a man of ethics and accountability, did not authorize such an action.

Regardless, not cool.

Your genocide against trees must end.

As an aside, I need your help convincing Nora Zehetner to be in the film.  Perhaps we can discuss over that Something Special that is warranted for signature.

Kind regards,


Nicholas Shumaker
cc: Christopher Thompson

An Open Letter to Chris Smith

1 November 2010

Dear Chris,

No matter what you do you will have to personally present me with a release to obtain my signature.  Releases planted underneath my pillow, inside of my shoes, in my jacket pocket, and other clever places including in my drawers and taped to my bedroom door will not be signed and promptly shredded.  Most importantly, obtaining my signature while sleeping, as was attempted last night by your able cinematographer whose braces inflicted flesh wound seems to be mending well, will not happen (see picture below).

Your behavior is committing homicide against trees, an offense sadly not punishable by anyone besides Vice President Al Gore.

Let's save some trees knowing that I will consider signing when you come down to Colombia and we meet again, akin to Berlin, face to face over a Something Special.

Until then, I remain,


Nicholas Shumaker