The Danny Awards!

When I posted about aborted projects, I forgot The Danny Awards. They were to be Danman's answer to the Oscars, complete with clips of the nominated films, shots of my actors crossing their fingers and looking tense, and, of course, bloated and tearful acceptance speeches. It was pretty much impossible to pull off without editing equipment, so the idea died.

Tonight, I bring it back to life. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to...

THE DANNIES!!!

Who's that good-looking fella in the tux? Why, it's me, your host!

It's my privilege to finally be able to honor the very best of the very worst. The four awards I'll be presenting tonight are:

• Most-Deaths Award (aka "The Corn Syrup Award")
• Danman MVP (aka "The I-Was-Just-Always-There Award")
• Best Worst Actor
• Best Worst Film

No extended opening musical number here. These actors have waited long enough for their overdue recognition--so let's get this show started!

MOST DEATHS AWARD

It took me a long time--a very long time, you have no idea what I've gone through--to tally up every death scene in Danman Productions. When I finished scorekeeping, I discovered a shocking three-way dead heat between myself, Joe, and Jami, with eight deaths each. So who deserves the award?

Not me. I often killed myself off early so that I could spend my time running the camera (witness my hasty demise in such films as Night of the Living Dead and The Blob). And Joe? As my most persistent leading man, Joe's death-count was but a statistical residue.

Therefore, the award goes to... Jami!

With an atypical amount of enthusiasm from the director (and pints of my sticky blood substitute), Jami got strangled, stabbed, and shot (repeatedly). Plus, he complained about it a lot, something you'll see in the mockumentary Sex, Drugs, and Film: The Rise and Fall of Danman Productions - Part One. Jami, for your trouble, please accept this award. Now get over it!

DANMAN MVP AWARD

Who really put in the man-hours? Over the past year, I've dutifully tagged every blog entry with the names of the featured actors. Once you add them all up, you realize three things:

1) I was in everything. Well, no duh.
2) Joe was in almost everything. Again: duh.
3) Julie was in just as many movies as Joe.

What? Say again? Is it possible we have a dark-horse contender for MVP? Well, let me just open the envelope and see... Why, yes, the winner is Julie!

Why does she look so crafty? It's because she knows something you don't know. Who do you think was running the camera all those times I was on-screen? Oh, sure, sometimes it was Jami or Joe, but more often than not it was Julie. Maybe she didn't get the glory, but Danman Productions couldn't have "succeeded" without her. Congratulations, Julie.

BEST WORST ACTOR

Let's pretend--just for a moment--that we were talking about actual acting ability. In that case, it would be a horse race between Shad and Matt N. Those two had chops, and I tip my hat to both of them. Good show, gents.

But the Danman audience isn't interested in chops. They crave bad accents, inappropriate laughter, and that deer-in-the-headlights gaze you can't learn with a lifetime of lessons--it's a gift you have to be born with. This is one award whose winner was long ago foretold.

I present to you, ladies and gents, Joe. [Thunderous standing ovation.]

Joe was as bad in the first film as he was in the last. Despite starring in over 30 Danman Productions, Joe's skills never advanced--and that's why we love him. It didn't matter if he was portraying an abusive father, a psychotic priest, or Dracula, he never knew what emotion to play and could never, under any circumstances, stop laughing. Thanks to him, we're still laughing all these years later.

BEST WORST FILM

You try winnowing down Danman Productions to five worsts. It ain't easy. Obviously, if we were talking "Best Best Film," there's no question--The Godfathers: Part Two puts everything else to shame (although there is an underground contingent that insists The Bastard Chicken Clock from Hell is my Citizen Kane).

After months of tortured consideration, the nominees for "Best Worst Film" are...

The Blob...

Breakdown: The Eugene Brinkmeister Story...

Fear...

Misery...


...and Night of the Living Dead.

And the Danny goes to...Yes! Yes! I knew it! The Blob!



You can watch the entire thing above. And you should. Though not ambitious in any way, shape, or form, this 9-minute ditty is the zenith of everything that makes Danman Productions great: the catastrophically dismal pairing of Joe and Ben, matchbox cars being pulled by string, model houses being attacked by garbage bags... need I go on?

A final hearty congratulations to tonight's winners. I'll see you at the afterparty, where I fully expect to get beaten up.

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.

Chuckles the Clown

You can feel the panic in these final few videos. College was probably only weeks away. Friends were departing. There was hardly anyone left to put in front of the camera. The result was improvisational garbage like this that was more about my need to keep the tape rolling than it was anything else. The sole impetus for this was that I had come into possession of a clown outfit. (What, such things never happened to you?)

I just deleted a bunch of text about how bad this movie is and I'll tell you why. Yeah, sure, this is one painful flick. My accent is something that should be hunted down and killed. I barely knew what a documentary was, much less a mockumentary. But at the end of the day, this was probably the only Danman Production that revolved around a character rather than a plot of irretrievable complexity. Good effort, me.

This was prized in Danman lore for one reason: that basketball shot. Holy crap. I was supposed to miss. Yet somehow I sunk it. Jami's still smarting from it, I guarantee you.

Harvest of Wrath

Recently I was invited back to my high school to talk about my book, and during a Q&A someone asked me to relate my favorite high-school memory. My response: I really enjoyed not going to my senior prom. The answer drew applause, though it was meant as a joke. Now that I think about it, though, it was a better answer than I realized, maybe even the best answer.

I was the model kid: ace student, involved in so many activities that I was president of a couple groups that I never even attended (it's true!), and doer of all things I was supposed to do. As rebellions go, not attending prom was pretty pitiful, but it's all I had--I turned down a few potential dates, and, for what seemed like the first time ever, I did what I wanted to do. And that was to stay home and rent a movie.

That movie was Reservoir Dogs. Now before you start rolling your eyes, keep in mind this was before Pulp Fiction. No one--certainly no one in Fairfield, Iowa--had ever heard of Quentin Tarantino, and my plucking the VHS tape from the bottom rung of the grocery store video wall was pure chance. It blew my mind, and like a teenage Roger Corman, I wasted no time cobbling together a knockoff. (A couple years later in college, every film student would be doing the same. See, I was a vanguard.)

If there was ever a Danman Production in need of a re-edit, this is it. It doesn't help that I start this "thriller" with two-and-a-half minutes of the most flaccid fireworks you'll ever see, followed by even more opening-credit crap. I recommend skipping to the 4-minute mark. Even that is a tough recommendation to make. I'm honestly shocked at how bad this is!

Mostly notable for Jami's surprisingly comfortable turn as biker Bobby McGoon, his legendary (accidental) destruction of my mom's marigolds, and the surprise cameo of cult hero Officer Bill Johansen. A failure, to be sure, but one I reworked (much more successfully) into the climax of The Godfathers: Part Two.

(Hint: You know how in Star Trek, red shirts tipped off those poor suckers about to get vaporized? Same deal in the Danman universe. I knew that fake blood showed up best on white, so that right there is your tip-off: if someone is wearing a white T, they're in for it. Keep this in mind as we move forward.)

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.

Trailers #3

Give me some credit. Even as a teen, I knew I had a future cult hero in Joe. His train-wreck performances quickly became the stuff of legend. White Lightning was a movie purported to be written and directed by Joe, and the joke is that he was as unflaggingly inept a filmmaker as he was an actor. Me making a joke about shoddy filmmaking? We can only hope I was in on the punchline. (Let's also take a moment to thank Joe for his sense of humor about all of this.)

Love Never Dies is next, a sweeping melodrama set to the tune of Gone with the Wind. Just like White Lightning, this co-stars my mom. While her surprise cameos are understandably poignant for me, they're also pretty hilarious - her nonplussed expression when Joe abandons her is priceless. With their equally wooden countenances, she and Joe were truly the perfect on-screen couple.

And then something totally bizarre: the preview cuts away to me as Peter Jennings, relating a news story of Admiral James Stockdale opening fire at a local Wal-mart. Political satire? Seriously? I couldn't tell you, because I have no memory of making this.

Lastly we have Croc-Face. Aside from a lame Fear in-joke, I can't make heads or tails of this one. Fake arms? Dental floss? Believe me, I wish I knew, because I'm sure my future therapist will ask.

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."

Trailers #2

As the feature presentations themselves got bigger and bolder, the trailers that preceded them got worser and worser. As if the preview to Como Estas? hadn't been offensive enough, Como Estats? Dos! claims to be from both Spain and Mexico. I can only hope that joke was intentional.

Following that is a bona fide trailer. See, I was planning something big. Real big. It was called The Godfathers and it was to be my magnum opus. So sure was I that The Godfathers would set the world a-tizzy that I shot this teaser. Unfortunately, the result is hands-down the dullest thing I ever made. Oh my god, is it dull. This did not bode well for the feature film.

After that is a pretty miserable joke called Home Alone in the Field of Dreams followed by a commercial that takes advantage of the early-90s hackeysack craze (remember that?) by focusing on a Japanese sack I had come across with the words "Naughty elephant" printed on it. Look, I can spin backstories all day long, but it's not gonna make these videos any more bearable.

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.