Bob, this is hysterical! Thanks for my first good laugh of the day!! PS - i think Larry is perfectly suited to play the butler.
-----Original Message----- From: [EMAIL PROTECTED] [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]]On Behalf Of [EMAIL PROTECTED] Sent: Wednesday, November 14, 2001 1:12 AM To: [EMAIL PROTECTED] Subject: joni as queen of hollywood in "bel air" 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
