The Producer

You smirked at the producer as you made it apparent you didn’t care if you upset his carefully oiled spiel. He was half-way through gouging some poor schlock for the funds to make yet another totally mediocre movie.

The producer is a fat man, even his calves are twice the size of hams, and he wears layers of loose black. He is convinced of his own genius and forces it down the throats of those in his midsts. He is like an addict. He is addicted to talking these folks directly out of huge sums of money.

To make barely-watchable movies. Could there be a more frivolous purpose? Don’t forget none of these folks will see their money again. If they did, the producer would go tap old wells. He needs fresh necks upon which to feast with every kill, I mean movie. 

The last flick was a navel-gazing movie about the making of a movie specifically the fund raising and ass kissing elements. Such as when the producer laughs too long after the financier’s unfunny jokes. The emperor’s new clothes, and no one said a word about the obvious. That it was a big reveal. The uselessness of this conman and his urge and need to be great. To be something. To be known. To have a name that precedes him so that when he is introduced he can watch that light gleam inside a person’s eyes as they marvel in the honor of kissing his ring. Which he offers,metaphorically, as he offers compliments, roles in movies, and they are in his trap. Then he begins the sucking.

Recently you tarried beside him when he was engaging in this unseemly behavior. He was in the middle of a ‘pitch’ as it is known. They should call it a theft. “You trying to get money out of this guy!” You say, you laugh, light a cigarette. The producer cuts you a glare, a death ray stare. Damage done you melt away.