Studios to Replace Feature Films with Trailers

he heads of MGM Studios, Paramount Pictures, Columbia Pictures, Sony Pictures Entertainment, Time Warner Entertainment, Disney Enterprises, and Universal City Studios called a press conference today to announce a dramatic restructuring of the way movies will be released and promoted in America. The announcement was the final step in a ten-year plan designed to cope with Americans’ shrinking attention spans and the prevalence of Attention Deficit Disorder among American teens, who drive the movie industry.

According to the studio heads, movie trailers will now replace full-length feature films in American theaters. Trailers, the previews for upcoming films that until now were shown for free preceding the main feature, have grown over the last ten years from one minute in length to the four to five minutes of today. While trailers once served to whet an audience’s appetite for a film with only a slight tease of what was to come, they had been gradually expanded over the years to tell the film’s entire story in capsule form. Purists criticized the dumbing-down of the medium and the spoiling of surprises, thought to be the handiwork of inept studio execs. But today’s announcement revealed it to be part of a larger master plan, with major studios gradually weaning film-going America off of the old system both by making the trailers complete experiences in and of themselves, and making modern feature films so unbearably long that watching only the trailer instead would seem like a reasonable alternative.

“This is the completion of a logical progression,� stated Columbia Pictures head Amy Pascal. “For years we’ve been faced with the problem of how to deliver an audience their favorite stars doing the things that made them famous, without all of this plot and writing getting in the way, and without taking up so much of a movie theater’s valuable time. Now we can get the seats filled, get the stars up there on the screen for a few quick one-liners and an explosion, some T&A, whatever, and a few minutes later they’re out the door, buying tie-in key chains and hats and what have you. Filmgoers interested in a more immersive movie experience will still be able to watch the entire film in the Deleted Scenes section among the Special Features on the DVD release. It’s perfect.�

“It used to be, you see the trailer, you get hooked, you go see the movie,� continued Pascal. “If for some reason the movie leaves you wanting more, you go buy the book. Way, way too much work. Now, you eat the sandwich, you get hooked, you go see the trailer. If you still want more, you can watch the whole movie on the DVD, if you’ve got that kind of time. So watching the movie is like what reading the book used to be. I suppose you could still read the book after that, which is the equivalent of what used to be having written the movie yourself, but we prefer if you just start over and buy the sandwich again. Or ride the ride.�

Studios are currently in debates over what to call the new, three-minute long versions of the films, since Americans may still be resistant to shelling out eight bucks to watch anything called a “trailer.� Among the front-runners are “The Ritalin Cut� and “The Director’s Bad-Assed Niece’s Cut.� Others prefer renaming the full cut of the movie “The Marathon Cut� while giving the 3-minute version an appealing tag like “The Buzz Cut� or “Flavor-Blasted.� Still others argue in favor of Reader’s Digest magazine’s offer to sponsor all new films as “Reader’s Digest Condensed Classics,� though some think that a title like “Reader’s Digest Condensed Classics Presents Adam Sandler in The Hockey-Loving Retard� will lose teens who forget what they’re doing before they get done reading the title.

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Things could not be worse, even if I had a head made of cheese in the middle of Amsterdam. Or a head made of pot, if you believe those rumors about our European neighbors. Camembert has fallen in love, making him even more intolerable than usual.

Wait, for as they say, it gets worse. You remember my friend Girl Elvis, who set me up with prescription drugs not long ago, and whose real name escapes my memory? Yes, she's the culprit. Damn her and her sexy manly-yet-feminine sneer, and jaw-dropping rendition of "Suspicious Minds."

As good as her word, she dropped by our Flatbush residence a mere three weeks ago in search of a place to lay her head, expecting I would simply open up my doors because I had made such a promise two weeks before. Audacity aside, I decided to make good on my word, because she looks very strong under those sequined sleeves. I had no idea my life would be turned upside down, and not in a "cute illegitimate kid moves into swinging bachelor apartment" sitcom way.

Instantly Camembert took a shine to her. Perhaps it was that alluring pompadour, or her bassy way of introducing herself when she walks into a room: "Hey, ladies and gentlemen, I'm an impersonator of Elvis Presley." They have to say that now, for legal reasons, she informed me. What man could resist her? Me, that's who. The homoerotic undertones alone have kept me up at nights. But not Camembert, apparently he's exceedingly secure in his sexuality, or some nonsense.

"What do you think of Loretta?" he asked me over breakfast one morning. I launched into an angry diatribe about Loretta Lynn, so-called "Coal Miner's Daughter," before I remembered it was the birth name of Girl Elvis. I then told him exactly what I think of her, that my opinion was strong in no certain direction. "I think she's snazzy," he said.

Disgruntled noise here. He used to think I was snazzy. Or even if he didn't, it was easier to imagine he did when he didn't talk so much. I preferred Camembert when he used to come home quietly from wherever it is he goes and wheels himself into his room, to stay there until I wake him up in the middle of the night to go duck hunting, or whatever escapade has captured my imagination as of late. Now, there's no guarantee he will even be in his room when I want to surprise him! He may be sitting on the couch with his new girlfriend, watching Blue Hawaii. I will not have it. Happiness should not go on under my roof if I'm not getting a slice of it.

Still, I cannot simply kick Girl Elvis out. Again, she looks very strong. I should try to find a way to foil their romance before it begins. I have talked to her about it, and she assures me her intentions are honorable. Or actually, she said, "Camembert… is that the guy who sleeps on the floor in the hallway?" At which point I correct her, no, that's Eugene, I found him in the attic when I bought the house. She insists Camembert or, "that poor little wheelchair kid," is not her type. I think it's all a ruse to further confuse me, and I will not have whatever it is she's making me have.

It's a sad day for Rok Finger when the world doesn't revolve entirely around him and his ever-widening circles. I will command Camembert's full attention once again, or die trying. Or someone might die, at any rate.

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The history of the light bulb is a story of intrigue, espionage and a steamy love triangle gone bad. Unfortunately, that story has been optioned by ABC for a miniseries this fall, so we're going to have to stick to the afterschool special version.

Thomas "Cotton Gin" Edison was a rootin', tootin' six-gun-shootin' eccentric from the crusty butt-crack enclave of Battle Mountain, Nevada. Some may remember the town as the site of Evel Knievel's ill-fated final stunt, when he attempted to jump over the moon in 1983. The crater remains a popular tourist attraction and the center of Battle Mountain social life to this day.

The Battle Mountain of Edison's day was a quieter berg, nestled into Nevada's scenic dirt basin and known to cartographers nationwide as the flattest place in all of the United States. Early settlers exercised a healthy sense of irony in naming a town so flat that twelve people are killed every year by tumbleweeds hauling ass through town.

Little did they know that Battle Mountain would eventually live up to the "battle" part of it's name, when the construction of two dueling gas stations across the street from each other on Mountain Pass Road would mark the beginning of the constant bottle rocket wars across the road that have continued to this day. These skirmishes gave birth to the popular Battle Mountain Eye Patch fashion statement, worn by most adult residents of the town, all of whom had been blinded by bottle rockets. Few visitors to the town last more than a day unless they infer from the shrapnel-strewn storefronts that it might be best to gas up after dark.

But contrary to popular belief, the gas stations weren't the only two buildings in Battle Mountain in Edison's day. The town also featured three houses, a tool shed and a doghouse. The houses belonged to the Edisons, the Turnbuckles, and the Edisons' other neighbors who nobody ever bothered to talk to. The doghouse belonged to the town dog, Ruffles McGinty. Thomas Alvin Edison was born into this bustling metropolis in 1851, and soon made a name for himself as the only kid in town.

Throughout his childhood, Edison was mercilessly teased by the townfolk for his childlike size and pathetic vertical leap. The townsfolk consisted of Mr. Turnbuckle, who ran the Western Gas Station, and the father of the other neighbor family, who ran the Eastern Gas Station. Most of their attention was devoted to the bottle rocket war, but the one thing they could see bandaged eye to eye-patched-eye on was teasing Thomas Edison about his vertical leap.

The alienation and bitter obsessions fostered in Edison's childhood were to serve him well later in life, as he grew into a fine inventor. That's what his mom told him anyway, most of the rest of the town just made fun of him for inventing things that had already been invented, like the derby hat and the shovel.

At the age of eighteen, Edison swallowed his fears and made the move to the big city: nearby Battle Lake, Nevada, a dusty, arid stretch of scraggly, sun-baked land with the population of a little-league baseball team. There he would finally be able to pursue his scientific interests free of the closed-minded milieu and stifling mental environment of small-town Battle Mountain.

Edison blossomed in Battle Lake, spending his days yelling at clouds, digging holes in random parts of town and inventing in his spare time, taking credit for the invention of the marshmallow, the frying pan and nighttime.

As a sister invention to go along with nighttime, Edison decided to invent the light bulb, so he could practice his vertical leap when it was dark. Early attempts at catching lightning bugs in a jar proved effective, but short-lived. After two years of effort, Edison refined his light bulb to consist of an electrical current running through a fishbowl, but found it difficult to develop a filament that could sustain the current for more than a few seconds.

Edison tried anything and everything in his search for a perfect filament, including copper, gold, goldfish, grass, paper, mud, sand, string, underwear, hot dogs, a horned toad, Popsicle sticks, his finger and a neighborhood kid's big toe. After months of experiments, Edison discovered that bamboo coated in carbon worked the best, and he had one last laugh at the neighborhood kids who had told him you couldn't smoke bamboo. His new filament was groundbreaking, and the Edison light bulb burned for a remarkable four minutes before catching the wall socket on fire.

What few people today know, however, is that some English guys had already invented the light bulb fifty years earlier; the innovation just hadn't made it to Battle Mountain yet. After a brief stint as a local hero, Edison tried to take his invention to the patent office in Reno. He was promptly laughed the hell out of town, pantsed and ridiculed for his modest vertical leap.

We might never have known the name Edison today if it weren't for the fact that he snapped, went back to Reno and went hillbilly on the whole town with a rubber hose until it was declared that Edison really was the inventor of the light bulb, never mind all of those bullshit light bulbs everybody over in Europe had been using for years.

Thereafter the name Edison became synonymous with light bulbs and insane backwoods crackers everywhere, a true story of American ingenuity and intimidation that would stand as an example for years to come.

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