Lights, Camera, Body Bag

"So I've been up in Hollywood all day and I still can't find a body bag...":  this was the Future Director's preoccupation earlier this week as I worked my way through a foot-long hot-dog.  "Really, you would think that in this town it would be easy.  I mean, I have the syringes and the drugs already."  

Now, before you start freaking out thinking that this has become a 'snuff blog', be reassured that this is in fact, all in the name of art.  Namely, the art of visual fiddling (Woody Allen, Francis Ford Coppola, Orson Welles:  fiddlers all).

Lest I digress (snuff and fiddling in the same sentence, that should cause some interesting traffic on Google), let me tell you that this was for a 60-SECOND movie.  Yet it took all day.  And apart from actively ravishing some chicken wings (we were in Compton, of course there was good chicken...) my job as set-bitch assistant to the Future Director involved the following:  cleaning the floor, flower arranging, being a plastic surgeon and a hair-stylist, wardrobe-monkey and er, my personal favourite, dog-sitting (really, the dogs in this town:  so tired).

Honestly, this thing spent more time attached to my boob than... let's just leave it at than.

Anyway, it is going to be one hell of a one-minute movie, you can be certain of that.  Of course, I'll let you judge for yourself:

Did you guess it was about the dangers of Hollywood?

Because a dog got an agent before me...

It all started with this:

Let me put you out of your misery.  This dog looks exactly like the dog in Turner and Hooch.  I know this because I wasted minutes of my life debating what film the dog had starred in with the Handsome Neighbour whilst out shopping.  This, my friends, takes Hollywood star-spotting fuckery to a whole other level; one I am not entirely sure I am proud of.  Of course, neither of us could remember the name of the movie which is why, sober as a judge on an average Wednesday, I find myself IMDb-ing a dog... 

FYI, this is not the dog that starred in Turner and Hooch, that dog died in 1992, with more film credits to his name than I and most of the waiters in this town.  Why must this be?

Now I think of it, the dogs are everywhere.  Take a recent copy of the intellectually trying 'Star' magazine.  Breaking news... this dog also has an agent (and someone signed off on copy about it):

And this one gets to hang out on set:

I think I'll just give up now and write a screenplay about an American that inherits a frog's legs factory.  That should sell...