Twenty some odd years ago I wrote an outline for a screenplay entitled “Disney’s Bulletproof Cat.” It was a joke exercise, just something to do. In it, a collegiate chemistry professor was experimenting with bulletproof spray, a gas which obviously makes anything impervious to bullets. Through some hilarious snafu, the professor’s cat gets spritzed with the bulletproof spray and viola — the cat is bulletproof. Hilarity ensued as greedy land developers or mobsters or rival scientists pursued the cat to obtain the secrets… yadda, yadda, yadda.
It wasn’t very good but it did provide me with my own cinematic shorthand: in almost every movie, there’s a moment wherein a screenwriter bulletproofs the cat. It’s the scene wherein somebody lays out the rules of the movie’s narrative or the rules for the means to the act three resolution.
Time travel movies usually provide ideal examples — the Delorean has to be going 88 miles per hour and generate 1.21 jigawatts so the flux capacitor can activate and you can travel through time.
Most recently I’ve grown obsessed with the rules laid out in Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1989). Rufus warns our titular protagonists:
The Clock In San Dimas Is Always Running.
It’s how the screenwriters forced a ticking time clock when the conceit of the movie was that the two guys had a time machine. It’s also a telling metaphor for life itself.
Life is one big bulletproofed cat.
Whatever you do, wherever you go, the clock in San Dimas is always running.
I’ve been “recovering” and “sailing the high seas” and “stuffing my face with desserts aplenty” (and I might add hanging out with my Mom and brother… so basically spending my time in the best possible way in that regard). All the while, the clock in San Dimas, in the world, has always been running.
I missed some world events… albeit not really. It’s all just as screwed up as when I unplugged and got off the grid.
I missed some moments with others and, yeah, that needs to be remedied as I owe a few phone calls and dinners to catch up with some great friends… but that’s a great “penalty.”
But the time away from the road and the miles means I’m out of shape and struggling back toward the running life. The tailbone still isn’t perfect… and many never be. But (pun intended? I’m not sure that’s a pun… I don’t really understand language)… but my butt was far from perfect anyway. Maybe the tailbone thing will give it a bit of mystique. The cro magnon mantra that “Chicks dig scars” makes me wonder if they might not also dig bruised tailbones. I’m guessing not.
The clock is ticking. No more “buts” about it… I need to get out for a short run. Bagan Temple is calling.
Oh, and lest I forget… San Dimas High School Football Rules!