It was a dark and stormy night in Hollywood. Three men sat around a table in a smoke-filled room. One said, “Let’s make a movie.” Another said, “Let’s make it a western.” Then the third man said, “Sounds great, but I won’t do it unless we offend Christian mothers on every possible level.” He stared around the room, making eye-contact with each of the other men—glaring them down—until at last, finally, they nodded.
“We’ll open on a naked Barbie,” said one.
“A decapitated naked Barbie,” said the second.
“With no legs,” said the third, still glaring. “And we’ll make sure it’s clear the hero wants her.”
“Ave Maria!” gasped the cleaning lady, offended.
Third man glares at her: “Then we’ll cue Ave Marie,” he growls. “And after that, we’ll really get going.”
The rest of the night was spent discussing how to include smoking, drinking, hanged birds, discussion of cats and dogs mating (together), birds needing to mate, enlarged prostates, “great big mammograms,” damn, hell, son of a —–, a brothel called The Soiled Dove, and so forth.
“Randomly throw Las Vegas into it,” said one. “Christian moms hate Las Vegas.”
“Put Rango on the toilet,” said another. “Make sure everyone knows he’s defecating, then have him run off with toilet paper stuck to his rear and trailing for many yards.”
“Tell the girl to sign the damn paper!,” said the third, and have her yell back, ‘Go to hell!’”
“A lady’s got to wave a Bible,” said the third, “and she’s got to be a prude.”
“Put a cross on that book she’s waving,” the first man said. “We want to be clear it’s a Bible, right, and that she’s not just a schoolteacher with a book.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and then a man starts to laugh. Because laughter is contagious, the others join in. Finally, what’s funny comes out: “I’ve got it!” says the third man. “The town is thirsty, right? ‘Cuz there’s no water. So we’ll bring everyone out to worship at the water pump. They’ll all shout, ‘Hallelujah!’ and then”—here he laughs again so hard he has to dab his eyes to wipe the tears—“we’ll have the Mayor say, ‘Acolytes, it’s time to pray to the Holy Spigot!’”
The men laugh until they cry. Then, while sirens blare outside the studio, the men continued to enlarge on their offensive plan. Ugly creatures, slow plot development, tedium. A prayer of gratitude to the Great Spirit of the West. They’d throw it all in.
But then the question: “If the ladies are offended, how can we get them to bring their children?”
“We’ll make it a cartoon,” said the Third Man. “And we’ll hire Johnny. Ladies can’t resist Johnny, even as a lizard.”
Not as horrible Nutcracker in 3D, but truly awful. Not for children. Not for anyone. (Currently the number 1 movie; four stars from Roger Ebert.)