dream or actual movie
This happens to me sometimes: I will get a general idea of a movie stuck in my head, and I won’t be able to tell if it is something that I once saw late at night or simply dreamed. It could also be from a movie review I read, something I simply heard about, or the distinct possibility that I have the gift/curse of being able to steal thoughts from others and have yet to accept and master this trait.
Yes, I could also be crazy.
Anyway, when these torment me I will come here to lay out the plot and see if it looks familiar to anyone who happens to stumble across my humble blog. It will be a game we call Dream or Actual Movie. I thought that title up all by myself but have yet to copyright it, so it is free for anyone wanting to develop a board game version.
There will be no prizes. There will probably be no glory or fanfare from anyone other than myself. The best that you can hope for is the sense that you have a keener grasp of your useless knowledge than do I, and that is saying something, as all of my knowledge is useless. You will also have my indebted gratitude, and I will tell you as much in this public forum.
Here is the one that has tormented me the last couple of days:
It is a sort of Tarzan story with a slight twist. A plane carrying a wealthy family crashes somewhere within the deepest and darkest part of the Amazon jungle in South America sometime in the thirties or forties. The lone survivor is a young son—maybe four or five years old—who is able to salvage his beloved hand-cranked record player and sizable collection of records containing children’s stories. Don’t ask me how the records survived. They just did.
Anyway, he is raised by monkeys and lives off the land but differs from Tarzan in that he has the record collection and means to play them. However, (and this is the strange part) he grows up with the record player set at the wrong speed. He is able to maintain his knowledge of the English language through these records, but his speaking evolves into a low and slow motion-sounding style due to the slowness of the records, as these are his only source of linguistics education. He understandably has trouble communicating with the team of archaeologists who eventually stumble across him, though they speak the same language but at different speed.
Wackiness ensues, I think.
Maybe not. It seems like this was either a highbrow sort of comedy or not a comedy at all. I don’t remember, though I do seem to recall that it was low budget and not really worth watching.
Anyway, this is the point where I either dozed off or woke up. You tell me.
Yes, I could also be crazy.
Anyway, when these torment me I will come here to lay out the plot and see if it looks familiar to anyone who happens to stumble across my humble blog. It will be a game we call Dream or Actual Movie. I thought that title up all by myself but have yet to copyright it, so it is free for anyone wanting to develop a board game version.
There will be no prizes. There will probably be no glory or fanfare from anyone other than myself. The best that you can hope for is the sense that you have a keener grasp of your useless knowledge than do I, and that is saying something, as all of my knowledge is useless. You will also have my indebted gratitude, and I will tell you as much in this public forum.
Here is the one that has tormented me the last couple of days:
It is a sort of Tarzan story with a slight twist. A plane carrying a wealthy family crashes somewhere within the deepest and darkest part of the Amazon jungle in South America sometime in the thirties or forties. The lone survivor is a young son—maybe four or five years old—who is able to salvage his beloved hand-cranked record player and sizable collection of records containing children’s stories. Don’t ask me how the records survived. They just did.
Anyway, he is raised by monkeys and lives off the land but differs from Tarzan in that he has the record collection and means to play them. However, (and this is the strange part) he grows up with the record player set at the wrong speed. He is able to maintain his knowledge of the English language through these records, but his speaking evolves into a low and slow motion-sounding style due to the slowness of the records, as these are his only source of linguistics education. He understandably has trouble communicating with the team of archaeologists who eventually stumble across him, though they speak the same language but at different speed.
Wackiness ensues, I think.
Maybe not. It seems like this was either a highbrow sort of comedy or not a comedy at all. I don’t remember, though I do seem to recall that it was low budget and not really worth watching.
Anyway, this is the point where I either dozed off or woke up. You tell me.
posted by Rex L. Camino at 5:45 PM
4 Comments:
either way... that's crap...
so crappy in fact that it was probably a real movie...
;-)
Wow. I'm kinda hoping you dreamed it. It's scary.
But then again, monkeys frighten me. Except the little Rhesus monkeys and gibbons. I think they're gibbons...the little ones that look like hairy precious moments babies. Those are kinda cute.
Hairy precious moments babies.
Now that will no doubt haunt my dreams.
Haha! Hairy precious moments babies.
I think Marcel from Friends was a gibbon, but I am not entirely sure.
The movie/dream sounds like Greystoke:Legend of Tarzan on acid. Or crack. Or substitute crazy illegal drug here.
What probably happened is you substituted some movie you did see with some dream thing like the record player. Or, who knows.
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