Posts Tagged With: Recycling

Who you gonna call?

I’m having a blast while reading the nasty (and somewhat angry) reviews that the Ghostbusters 2016 movie has garnered during the past few days. Of course, you can dismiss a few of them as reviews coming from disgruntled fanboys, but that doesn’t detract from the fun I’m experiencing while reading through their rambles.

I agree with some of these, specially the one that claims “this movie has no right to exist” (I kindly replaced the stronger word the original review used with “movie” so you won’t get ofended).

However, most of the fun I’m having comes from the fact that I once wrote in 1993 a potential Ghostbusters III screenplay (of which I’m planning to post the opening snippet below) and that it would have been something the Ghostbusters franchise would have been proud of… It’d have been funnier movie and I suspect Bill Murray would have loved the screenplay as it placed him in the central spotlight, giving this actor a very meaty lead role, indeed.

However (sigh), it was never meant to be. Although I had submitted several dozens of screenplays to various minor movie production houses, I was never able to get a direct address to Columbia Pictures to send this one at the time, so the damn silly thing just sat in my hard drive until now, gathering mold as years went by. Besides, Hollywood doesn’t seem to fond of dealing long distance with writers residing in South America.

However, not all was a loss. I was able to recycle most of the fantastic scenes I conjured up for this screenplay into my book Fermata Girl vs The Medallion of Doom, though I must admit that I faced  a small problem when it came to adapting for a female heroine the scene in which Peter Venkman would dig into his trousers to find out if male ghosts still had a certain part of their anatomy, but I guess I managed quite right.

Of course, what I’ll share here is not and actual screenplay, but a cineplay, which is a general layout of the entire movie, plot, props, background scenario, camera effects and motions and what is done to who by whom. I suppose that I may end up publishing this one in a FanFiction site one of these days. Without much further ado, the opening of my never read movie script.

Edwin Stark

Signing Off


How to write a real Ghost******* screenplay

by Edwin Stark

NOTE: Any respectable ghosthead can easily replace the asterisks with the missing word and suitably guess who are Peter V, Ray S and Egon S, those incredible characters so masterfully played by Bill Murray, Dan Akroyd and Harold Ramis.



This first scene opens in a desert. Anywhere with lots of sand so we can pass it as an archeological digging site. The camera slowly pans over the horizon. Real moviegoers will feel a cold sting as this will remind them of the opening scenes of the Exorcist. Suddenly, from a hole in the sand, excited and frightened shouts start to come out. A middle east type runs out of it, stumbling and shouting.


A dusty tent, with a portable generator on the side opens up to show the dirty face of Egon S. whose serious mug we should not be able to recognize yet, for he is hiding it under a scraggy turban. Inside the tent we see the most advanced equipment you can build from the special effects department – with gauges and brilliant lights so you will be tempted to press the first button you can put your finger on. Also, a 13 inches black and white TV set, showing some silly stuff, like I love Lucy translated into arabic. The guy

under the turban knows something has happened. He starts to run toward the hole. An excited bunch of guys with turbans and moustaches and filthy beards crawl out of the hole so fast they make one another stumble on the hand made ladder. When the excitement subsides to an annoyed murmur, Egon S. gets closer and starts to climb down. He glances around, to see what scared the heck out of his workers and he catches a golden glimmer. He grabs a brush and starts to remove dust with it. An ugly snout comes out of

the dirt an a crazy smile shows in Egon S. face. He grabs the medallion he just uncovered with a handkerchief and climbs out of the hole. Holding it high in his hand (can we have some Indiana J. music, please?) as a prize, the annoyed murmur is replaced by an angry chant. Egon vigorous pace toward his tent is almost interrupted when a scared worker runs away shouting his lungs out, as if he is calling for someone.


Egon places the medallion on his desk and plugs a probe on it. He flips a switch and a sudden sparks blows up all his equipment and leaves him in the dark. All goes black but the dim image of static in the b&w TV set and a lamp that barely shows us the outline of Egon profile. He taps the lamp and it sparks, regaining some more light. He looks scared, enough to jump because of the scare the TV set gives him when a weird face replaces the final credits of  I love Lucy. It nastily glares at Egon an then disappears.


The crowd grows more restless.


Egon glances out, wondering what to do. The final credits give way to Psychic World, and Peter V. appears on the screen smiling wickedly as we love it. An arabian voice over translates what he says about this week topic.


Egon’s face raises its brows in surprise and he stares at the medallion.


An arabian boy comes running to Egon tent, and he gives him a few coins and a package with tons of stamps glued to it. He says something in arabic and the boy runs away with the package.


Egon looks relieved. He unfold a canvas chair and dusts off some of his equipment. Peter V.’s Psychic

World is gaining momentum with awful jokes impossible to translate into arabic. Whatever Peter is doing, it surely makes him rich enough. Out of sudden, a troop of guys with semi automatic guns trample inside

the tent. Egon nervously notice they carry on their fingers an ugly ring with the medallion’s face engraved on it. He makes a nervous joke.

EGON S.: Whoa! A crash party. I think I don’t have enough potato chips and dip for every one!



Eerie note plays while New York City skyline fades in and the POV slowly gains speed toward it.

The camera knows where its going and sweeps through a window in a luxurious apartment on

Fifth Avenue. Meanwhile, a spooky tune with playful touches plays in the background.


The camera glances everywhere, trying to put together the pieces of the people living here.

Covers of numerous magazines, framed for display, are placed along the wall. (If we are lucky, the studio jerks will still have in file the covers and headlines used in the first movies’ montage) Some of them mention the break up between Peter V and the Ghost******* after they dealt with Vigo. The camera continues its sweep toward a coffee table and on its top lay copies of books written by Peter V. The camera barely allows us a peek, but their dust jackets read “My dinner with Elvis” and “My date with Marilyn”. (Possibly a book  can be named “Jam Session with Jerry Garcia”, but Deadheads could get p.d. off).


The counter of a personal bar. A wedding picture of Dana B and Peter V sits on its beautiful marble top. Everything tells us the guy is loaded and his wife most responsible for the good taste of the furniture. Suddenly, the noise of keys fill the air and someone pass through the POV and drops the mail on the counter. Junk mail and a partially opened package sprawl on the top of the bar, but


the parcel finally breaks up and the WEEEEIRD medallion and a note slip out, the medallion bounces on a bar stool and clings near its legs. The camera keeps playing its silly games of telling us the outlines of things, when we can partially read DANGEROUS and MEDALLION. Just to make us suspect something about it. Anyway, the box is addressed to Egon S, not Peter V. care of the GHOST******* with lots of Middle East stamps clinging on it.


A general view of the back of a well dressed man. He’s calling out someone while slowly turning toward us.

PETER V: Honey, I’m home  (Possibly a cheesy The Shining voice)

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Ahhhh-Ruba! (Part 3)

Okay, we’re did we left off?

Ah, yes, I was about to embark in my pilgrimage across Caracas (while scavenging aluminum cans), so I could burn off the fifteen or so hours I had before I was able to check-in for my plane to Aruba.

Sure, why not? Here we go.

I started in Petare, around the subway station area; it’s the usual filth, with raw sewage spewing out of broken pipes and demolished walkways. This sorry spectacle will last until you walk out of the neighborhood and you arrive to El Marques, a more higher-class place where the filth is, well… classier.

Mind you that I hadn’t done this for almost five years, and I’m a bit shocked after witnessing the many changes which the city of my birth has gone through in that same time period. They chopped down many of my favorite trees and they build a very inefficient, ugly overpass in the most inconvenient locations, robbing that physical spot of the very little personality it had. They renamed a park (just in spite) to a more patriotic denomination and have built many social interest apartment buildings in the most inconvenient of spaces. Ugh.

One incident of note: along the way, I picked up a sizeable amount of scrap metal, specially from a liquor store where a bunch of goons stared with amused grins of mirth as I stuck my head into a trashcan. These idiots merrily pointed a few obvious ones just for getting kicks of seeing this white boy scavenging aluminum cans; I could sense it in their voices. One made an ugly remark about me scraping enough money to eat that night. Bigmouthed as I am, I snapped back with a witty observation that perhaps he’d have a nice fantasy (about me picking up cans) that he could share with a bottle of his favorite brand of hand lotion. The startled expression in his face (and his flushed cheeks) openly told me that my snappy comeback wasn’t too off the mark

Ah, well, in the end I arrived to Plaza Venezuela, where I detoured from my intended route (by a few extra miles) to get rid of my newly-found cargo of scavenged scrap metal. Total amount of aluminum cans I collected: 13 pounds. I was paid a measly 150 bolivars for this, but the same as the bus fare hike earlier that day, this bit of money was destined to help me a little later down the road.

It goes without saying that I made the final stretch of my Caracas trip in the subway (both to avoid seeing a few cans that I may have missed along the way and to spare my trembling legs the tiresome walk)

Anyway, I reached the spot where I intended to board the bus to the airport sometime around 3:20 PM. And another bit of shock waited me there; I entered the Alba Caracas hotel to buy my pass and the female clerk who sold me my ticket kindly (kindly!) informed me that the bus would leave exactly at 3:30 PM. I admit that I was shocked by this… and the fact that the bus actually departed on schedule shocked me more.

I was flabbergasted beyond words!

(T minus 11 hours and 30 minutes to go…)

Well, that was it for now… see you around in a bit.

Edwin Stark

Signing Off

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Ahhhh-ruba (Part 1)

I returned last week from Aruba, after enjoying a six-day stay with Kathryn over there. I must admit that I’m still a bit in aftershock. My trip really began on an early Friday, two weeks ago, even though my plane did depart on Saturday. Why? Let’s face it: getting my sorry ass out of the jungle isn’t for the fainthearted, since I have no friends or acquaintances who could conveniently drop me at the airport during the wee hours of a Saturday morning.

I have every intention to chronicle this trip in my usual ironic way, since it was a very important event in my life, as the series of blog posts that follows will attest.

Miles of Road, Miles of Road everywhere....

Miles of Road, Miles of Road everywhere….

That day started rather ominous; it was raining (as always, duh!) but I was fortunate enough to have a neighbor give me a ride to La Recta de Caucagua, at least saving me from walking the 2-3 miles out of the housing development where I reside. The picture to the left depicts La Recta, which is just a straight three-mile, two-lane highway that connects the only supermarket in the area with the main town. See that red circle, highlighted by a bright yellow and red arrow? That marks the town borders and it’s halfway the road that I still have to walk.

By the way, this picture was taken sometime around 8 AM and the weather was already showing a very bad attitude towards me right then. It was drizzling every five minutes and only the occasional sliver of sun was able to make it through the overcast skies above.

It’s a very lonesome road, with only the sound of the passing cars that rush past to keep you company. Of course, I could have taken the bus from the supermarket to town and save myself the hassle, but why hurry? I had a whole day to reach my intended destination and the prospect of reaching the airport too early didn’t really excite me much.

Aluminum Cans, Aluminum Cans Everywhere...

Aluminum Cans, Aluminum Cans Everywhere…

Anyway, I couldn’t but resist the temptation to do a final roundup of scrap metal scavenging before embarking on this little adventure (as the picture at the right shows). I was opening a can (pun definitely intended) of worms with this, you know; what if the guy that buys them out from me wasn’t open that day? It was early Friday and the locals are known to goof off the day before any given weekend. If this was the case, all my work picking up aluminum cans would be lost. What could I do with them? The guys running the bus to Caracas wouldn’t allow me to board it while carrying two filthy bags smelling of stale beer. Of course, I could conceal them under some brush and come back for them a week later, but my chances of this were few. I tried this ploy a couple of times and the bags weren’t there when I returned for them even only a day after.

I nerved myself and headed straight to the place where I could ditch my crushed cans.

Fortunately, nothing of this happened and I was able to exchange nearly six pounds of cans for the measly sum of 87 bolivars. In the end I was glad of this, since the money proved useful to cover some unexpected expenses I met along the way.

So, I was now relieved of my smelly cargo and it was still early: 9 AM. Where to now?

Onward to the bus!

Well, that’s about it for now. Stay tuned for the continuation of this exciting (YAWN!) journey!>

Edwin Stark

Signing Off


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