How about a remake of "Sunset Boulevard?"
We'll call it "Bel Air."
Instead of the Norma Desmond part made famous by Gloria Swanson, Joni would
play a singer/songwriter who hasn't had a big hit in ages and is desperate to
win back the mass adoration of her glory years by getting back to her folkie
roots.
The Bill Holden role of the down-on-his-luck writer would be played by me, of
course. And Larry Klein is my choice for the part of the faithful butler.
The film would open with me -- dead and floating face down in Joni's pool,
yet somehow narrating the movie from the grave. As detectives fish my bloated
and lifeless corpse from the water, I tell the viewers a little bit about how
my bullet-riddled body ended up there. "You'll read about it in the late
editions, I'm sure," I say in voice over. "You'll get it over your radio and
see it on television because an old-time folk singer is involved -- one of
the biggest."
The scene would dissolve to a time a few months earlier, with me driving my
Tacoma while being pursued by from repo men from Toyota Leasing. To ditch
them, I pull into the driveway of a mansion in Bel Air. Larry, as the butler,
sees me and announces, "Madame is waiting." Mistaking me for a poorly dressed
pet undertaker, Larry brings me to a room where a mysterious lady with dark
glasses is mourning a dead cat. After I tell the woman and Larry that I am
not a feline mortician, I notice that the lady behind the dark glasses is, of
course, Joni.
"You're Joni Mitchell," I say. "You used to be in the music business. You
used to be big."
"I AM BIG!" Joni exclaims bitterly. "It's the music business that got small."
After dissing the music biz some more ("Look at them in the front offices,
the star maker machinery! They took the idols and smashed them. And who have
we got now? Some nobodies.") Joni tells me that she has been writing again,
and is working on a new album of folk music -- tentatively titled "Salome" --
for David Geffen.
I tell Joni that I had no idea she was planning a comeback, and she barks, "I
hate that word. It's a RETURN! A return to the millions of people who have
never forgiven me for abandoning the dulcimer."
When I mention to Joni that I am an ad writer, she decides that I will be a
perfect collaborator for the "Salome" project. "Jingles," she laughs, "that's
what they want nowadays -- jingles!" She asks me my astrological sign --
Taurus -- and determines that I will be easy to dominate. Joni then shows me
some of her "Salome" lyrics, which are truly dreadful, and offers me a
freelance writing gig for $500 a week -- including a room above her garage,
plus all the champagne and caviar I can handle. Since I need a place to hide
from the Toyota Leasing thugs anyway, I take the assignment and move in
immediately.
As the weeks pass, Joni and I smoke many cartons of cigarettes while working
on the new album. She is very generous and buys me lots of fancy clothes,
including some very flattering Miyake suits. She even presents me with a gold
cigarette box inscribed "Mad about the Smurf." When I protest that she's
being too extravagant, Joni explains that money is no object, and that she
owns all the rights to her songs which, she reminds me, people are always
covering. "Pumping and pumping and pumping out covers," she coos.
It soon becomes apparent that Joni is falling head-over-heels in love with
me, and as time passes, her behavior grows stranger and stranger. What's
more, the album project gets worse every time we work on it. ("What rhymes
with Salome?" Joni asks me in one scene. "Cafe au lait?" I suggest. "You're
brilliant!" she cries as she covers me with kisses.)
We eventually book recording time, and Larry drives us to the studio. As
we're pulling into the parking lot, David Geffen sees Joni and drags us all
in to a session in progress. At first Joni assumes that Geffen is there to
check out her new stuff, but she soon discovers that he is there to work on
another project that has nothing to do with her. Joni is humiliated and
blames me for everything.
We go back to the mansion in Bel Air where Joni slaps me, kicks me in the
shins, and then shoots me three times. I fall into her pool, dead, as in the
opening of the movie.
In the final scene, Joni tunes her dulcimer as she is being led away by the
police. And just before the credits roll, she stares eerily into the camera
and says, "I'm ready for my sound check, Mr. Geffen."
--Bob
