Monday, June 6, 2011
Look Who The Cat Fucked In
Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. Are you ready for the new week? It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 22 of DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED, the shit hits the fan when homicide detective Bernie Keko drags disgraced cop Carrie Love into the station to be questioned by chief Larry Lipshitz about the grisly death of her latest one-night-stand ...
INT. POLICE HEADQUARTERS - LIPSHITZ’ OFFICE - DAY
Larry sits behind his desk.
Sips his designer coffee.
Damn, that’s good.
Who knew Ethiopia had such --
A sharp KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK on the door.
It opens. Bernie strides in.
Stops. Looks behind him.
Carrie shuffles in. Dishevelled.
Stinking of last night.
Jesus, look who the cat fucked in.
Nice outfit. Where’s your shopping cart?
She goes to a chair.
Pours herself into it.
Didn’t know the rules applied
when I’m suspended.
I found her in a bar, Chief --
Can it, and sit your ass down.
This is serious business.
I’ve got no time for your
‘Divorce American Style’ crap.
You’re here Carrie because we believe
you were the last person to see Ms. Daerr alive.
How could that be?
She was here at the station,
and tons of people were --
Ramirez has a surveillance tape
from the morning she was killed.
You really get around, don’tcha.
Look, I can explain --
And I don’t wanna hear it.
I could give a holy fuck.
I just want you to listen to this tape --
and tell me if Daerr said anything
or did anything that could
shed some light on this madness.
He points to a boombox on his desk. P
Hey there, film freaks!
Welcome to Murder Fone!
If you know the name of the
grisly dead body
you want to see, press ONE.
If you know the name of the movie
that’s being depicted, press TWO.
And if you know the name of
the brilliant auteur, press THREE.
They exchange glances.
Lipshitz rolls his eyes.
SPARKLE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
Time’s up! BUZZZZZ.
Pathetic. You rubes
probably watch reality TV.
The cultural scourge of this
I’m talking Brian DePalma, people!
Brian Fucking De-Palma.
The. Man. Gimmee five.
Gimmee some skin.
Gimmee some skin flick.
DRESSED TO KILL was unleashed on the world
by Paramount Pictures back in ‘82.
Although most critics initially
dismissed it as a blatant,
cheesy Hitchcock rip-off,
it more than holds up today
as an erotic, beautifully shot mis en scene --
a pre-postmodern noir of elegant pacing.
It briefly let Angie Dickinson shine again
in a ‘brave performance’ --
And it was a fucking brilliant plot device
to have what seemed to be a major character
sliced and diced like that thirty minutes in --
Poor, bloody, sexy baby in creamy beige
lying in the elevator, shredded to ribbons --
So, I said to myself, ‘self?
How can I top that?
Guess the meat grinder
takes it to the next level, huh.
Don’t worry. I thought of making
devilled sandwiches out of her --
but even I have some limits.
Crazed, genius serial killer, oui --
depraved cannibal, no.
Oh, and Carrie -- you and Bernie
better get your shit together.
‘Cause the end of the third act
is gonna get VERY messy.
I feel sick.
And oddly hungry all of a sudden.
Did Daerr mention anybody she was mad at?
Or who was mad at her?
Her ex, maybe? I mean, seeing as how
she was a muff-diver,
you might have some
insight into the matter.
Carrie shoots him a look.
Well, look -- here’s the deal.
She’s made it personal,
has some fucked up thing
for you and Bernie.
But unfortunately for me,
you’re off the team for now.
I’d come back to work
if you asked me nicely.
I want you to go home
and think, think hard.
And get your shit together.
Don’t spiral down into a
black void of sex, alcohol and despair.
‘Cause if you do, I’ll kill ya.
Carrie stands. Nods.
Goes to the door.
Called on her shit.
Nice to see you, Chief --
And she’s gone. Larry gets up.
I think you got to her, Lare.
Let’s just hope she doesn’t get to herself.
(points at the door)
I want you and Valentine
to keep checking out those clubs.
It’s our only lead.
(as he leaves)
We’ll get the bitch.
So what does she want
with Love and Keko?
Must’ve had a fucked up childhood --