The Godfathers: Part Two

At long last, here it is. The final Danman Production.



(Watch or embed the full YouTube playlist.)

Originally, this epic sequel clocked in at 2 hours and 40 minutes. Neither you, I, nor the internet had any interest in uploading that much crap, much less watching it. So I decided to recreate the so-called “Director’s Cut” that vanished circa 1998. By simply tightening, trimming, and reordering, I have eliminated 90 minutes.



You read that right. The version here is 70 minutes long and it breaks my heart. When I set out to shoot a feature-length film at the age of 18, this was how it was supposed to look. When I screened it for my stupefied friends, this was the movie I saw. It’s been 16 years, but The Godfathers: Part Two is finally done.



Although the first 30 minutes are too concerned with which gangsters are on which team, the rest of it is somewhat of a revelation. The torture scene, the seduction scene, the Russian Roulette scene, that blood-soaked finale—I’ll just say it. The kid behind the camera was starting to get it.

But it was too late: college had arrived. Like most of my friends, I packed my bags and a day later found myself sitting alone in an unfamiliar dorm room. I could sense it in the frat-house screams coming from across the street and the laughter booming through the wall: I was no longer the big fish. I was something much, much smaller.



The Godfathers: Part Two was my attempt to hold on. If I could keep Danman Productions together, then I still had a tether on my old life. I organized the script around which friends I had access to at college and which friends I could meet back in my hometown on holidays and weekends. It was massively complicated and I threw myself into it. The more elaborate the task, the less time I had to recognize that something big was ending.



The shoot concluded over Christmas break of 1993, during which my new college pal (and begrudging co-star) Tony hauled his ass to Fairfield to film the climax in Ben’s garage during one of the coldest winters in Iowa history. When I yelled “cut” after the final shot, everyone shouted in relief and ran for their coats and cars. And that was that. Danman Productions was finished.



Even tyrannical teenage directors have to let go, and eventually I did. Sure, there were college movies, but they were largely humorless affairs that stir within me almost none of the joy of Danman Productions. After graduation I became a legit filmmaker and author, but as much fondness as I have for my films and books, sitting in my house and partaking of them is not my idea of a good time. Watching Danman Productions, though—well, it’s been 16 years and I’m still not sick of it.



Back then, these movies allowed me to revel in my friendships by just hitting “rewind.” I dare say they are even more important to me now. Today my former superstars are spread all across the country, making a living in so many different ways it makes my head spin. Some of us are still close; others I’ve lost all touch with. But when I watch these movies it feels like I could call up any one of them and five minutes later we’ll be cruising around the square, windows rolled down.



I did add one thing to The Godfathers: Part Two. As an homage to the best friends I ever had, I created special end credits to replace the illegible originals. If you find yourself tearing up a little at the final fade out, you’re not alone. This is dedicated to the tireless cast and crew of Danman Productions. This may not be the movie I originally made, but it's the one I had in my heart.

The Lottery

Here's a weird one for you.

Due to my incalculable fame, a movie was chosen as the special project in my Advanced Speech class. After picking a story--Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery"--all we had to do was adapt it to script form, assign ourselves roles, raid the school's costume room, and shoot the thing. After so recently knocking back epics like The Godfathers and Father Sin, it sounded like a cakewalk.

And it was. But secretly (or not so secretly?) the group setting frustrated me, especially during the process of adaptation. Didn't these fool amateurs know anything about narrative economy? About the amalgamation of minor characters? Perhaps the true gift of this odd footnote is that it makes the usual Danman Productions team look like seasoned pros.

The fact is that I was control freak. I probably drove everyone nuts shooting this. That might be okay if the whole movie was as cool as the opening sequence, but, sadly, the rest is a mess, right down to the incomprehensible climax. It was like hiring David Lynch to direct Dune. It was out of my comfort zone and I didn't play well with strangers.

So, no. Not officially a Danman Production. But who are we kidding?

The Godfathers

Although it would be The Godfathers: Part Two that would implode Danman Productions, this is the one that paved the way for the overdue extinction. Clocking in at around 50 minutes, it was ambitious. Not good, mind you. Just ambitious. (And, thankfully, nowhere near as tedious as the trailer hinted it might be.)



Re: ambition, there's one scene involving eight actors and a camera person. That's nine kids! I mean, that's enough to start a freaking baseball team! If nothing else, it speaks to my curious powers of persuasion back then. What could I possibly have enticed nine kids with? Cookies? Fame? I guess that must have been it. Well, dudes, here's your fame. Let me get back to you on those cookies.



There was only one good reason Matt N. and I got to play the godfathers: we had tuxes. As proud members of our school's chamber choir (and, lord help us, show choir), we were both up to our armpits in bow ties, vests, and cummerbunds. Unfortunately, we grossly overestimated the hilarity of our Brando impressions (though I do kind of think our continual references to stuffing our jowls with cotton are kinda cute).



Probably the oddest thing about The Godfathers is the tone. In the third video, there's a scene between Ben and I that's actually rather sad (and, no, I don't mean pitiful-sad). Large stretches of the movie are weirdly sober. Even the snowy holiday setting contributes to the sense of melancholy. So what was I going for here? Parody? Drama? I don't know now, and I don't think I knew then, either.



Points of (some) interest:

* Stop with the in-jokes already! The Naughty Elephant and the Bastard Chicken Clock both get gratuitous shout-outs.

* I love when Joe gets shot and he squeaks, "Ouch!"

* Best line in the entire movie: "Butthead."

* Jami singing "I'm Too Sexy" in the shower.

* The size of Mike's cell phone!!!

* The out-of-nowhere AmberVision scene that is somehow, totally inexplicably, the most tender thing I ever shot. There's something hilariously resigned about how Ben laments that his sunglasses are "just the old regular kind."

* At 3:37 into the final video, the cold weather became too much for our boombox batteries. The famous Godfather theme has never sounded so feeble. Somehow appropriate, don't you think?

Take note, brave viewers: the first couple sections have enough sound issues to seriously try your patience. But take heart! By the third video things pick up considerably. It's all relative, of course, but you know what I'm saying.

Breakdown: the Eugene Brinkmeister Story

At long, long last, a movie I'm not embarrassed to post!

Long overdue (and sorely welcome) was the debut performance of Matt N. He plays Eugene, a budding lunatic whose dense psychotherapist is too busy shooting up (and smoking joints and snorting coke and weilding power drills) to notice that his client is about to freak the hell out. Nearly every joke in this movie was a reference to something Matt N. and I found funny in our high school Psychology class. For example: "They told me it was to control my salivation!"

The opening credits (set to the Three Amigos theme!) features the only known use of a tripod in a Danman Production. It also features the only voice-over (done by playing a tape recorder next to the camera). And here's a behind-the-scenes story to pluck yer heartstrings: Joe, our resident superstar, had recently had his foot torn off (and reattached) in a pretty gnarly farm accident. He was bedridden for months, but would that stop me from working him into the movie? No way. Thus: "Guest Starring Joe Adam as Professor Higgins."

Word on the street was that the Pyschology teacher continued to show this in class for years after we graduated. Yet not a single point of extra credit rolled our way. That, my friends, is what you call a travesty.

Best quote: "Sorry, doc, I can't come in. It's Bug Week on the Discovery Channel."

Fear

By this point, Danman Productions had become infamous within my circle of friends. Yet I hungered for wider appreciation. Thus, my first "original" story and my first epic: Fear. I was swinging for the fences now. We weren't playing zombies or mad scientists. We were giving "performances." Fear ultimately screened in my high-school English class. Fame was mine.

Fear is about how a mop-wigged, voodoo-practicing Jamaican stereotype (named "Freedom Jones") summons an evil ghost (named "Tyler Fearless") who turns nice-guy Joe into murderous freak. Both Freedom and Fearless were played by my pal Jami. This being Jami's first Danman Production, I exploited him for all he was worth.

Any movie revolving around Joe's descent into madness is bound to be hilarious, and in that regard, Fear does not disappoint. But Joe's emotionless screams and psychotic glares are the obvious payoffs. Far more inexplicably bizarre are the getting-a-can-of-Coke and preparing-some-instant-coffee scenes. Watching these numbing procedurals, you are forced to repeat to yourself, It's only a movie, it's only a movie...

As always, the music selection is the most baffling element, segueing uncomfortably from "Carmina Burana" to the Beatles to Twin Peaks to Don McLean to gangster rap to Phantom of the Opera to Guns n Roses. Say hello to the mix tape from hell.

The Blob

The Garbage Bag would've been a more accurate title. With a flapping Hefty bag as our dastardly villain, we needed a couple of manly heroes. Instead we got Joe in his most peevish role to date and Ben (who had impressed me with his zombie grunting) as the kind of cop who says things like "Drive, fool! Drive!"

The Blob has the greatest final scene of any Danman Production. And that's saying a lot, because the scenes that precede it include inappropriate doo-wop music, special-effects shots with crappy-looking miniatures, and phone calls to President Bush. The final scene begins with Ben saying, "Well, so much for that Blob"--so much, indeed!--and ends with that old chestnut, the maniacal laugh.

"Apple butter, grape jelly, blob". Soon this will be your new mantra.