Post by levy on Dec 8, 2021 14:11:12 GMT -5
RIVERDALE SUCKS!
The scene opens to the sight of Johnny Levy deadlifting what looks to be - at minimum - 500+ pounds of weight plates on a barbell. He groans and grunts theatrically as he hefts the bar off the ground over and over again. Beads of sweat form on his forehead, as - on each side - a small audience of shabbily dressed, unkempt, obviously poor, possibly orphaned children ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ half-heartedly at his feats of strength.
Almost like they’re being paid, or something.
The scene appears to be taking outside, but through the miracle of movie magic it’s actually in a comfy, air conditioned studio set!
Johnny is wearing the Greatest Suit of All Time; royal blue, with a pattern of menorahs, yarmulkes, Stars of David and cartoon heads of Mel Brooks emblazoned onto the fabric.
He looks good. Damn good.
Yes he's working out in a suit.
No further questions.
Yes he's working out in a suit.
No further questions.
And as he finishes his third set of 100 deadlifts, he pauses - halfway through the 100th rep - to look directly into the camera with sparkling blue eyes.
“Howdy, y’all.”
He struggles as he carefully places the barbell back down onto the ground, stepping towards the camera; he violently SHOVES of the children out of the frame as he does so.
Don’t get too close to the suit. That shit is pure money.
“Didn’t see you there. Just out here doing the Lord’s work, helping some less fortunate children and giving them a proper role model to look up to, unlike their worthless, poverty-stricken parents. You see, some people really aren’t in a place - financially - to have children. We call these people ‘w-“
Rushing into frame to cut off her client before he gets himself canceled on social media again, Quinlan Kennedy hands Johnny a sheet of paper - after whispering harshly in his ear, of course.
That was a close one.
Shooing her away with a gentle push, Levy’s brow furrows as he reads the words printed on the paper.
“So, these are my teammates for this match? Douglas Crane, huh? Sounds like a nice, normal guy, can’t wait to meet him.”
“He’s not,” comes the smooth reply from Quinlan.
He squints as he reads the next name.
“E.M. Manuel?”
He looks back to his friend and manager with a question, “This one of those Mexican Luchador people, or what?”
“Just… just stop, Johnny…” says Quinlan, sounding like the most tormented, pained agent in Hollywood.
“Now, I’m pretty sure I have a clause in my contract that grants me full creative control over all my booking.”
“You don’t.”
“Well, we’ll have the lawyers look at that.”
“The lawyers quit, Johnny. Apparently the stress of non-stop lawsuits took a toll on them; they’ve all quit the profession to become Priests. Also they’re suing you for damages related to PTSD.”
“...what the f-...”
Johnny stops himself just in time, looking back to the camera and flashing a pearly-white smile. Someone even edited it in post to include a ray of light shining off of one of Levy’s perfectly aligned front teeth.
He turns back to his agent, and lowers his voice to a whisper - which is still picked up by the cameras.
“Get on the phone, see if we can get one of those OJ lawyers.”
Rather than explain that a) that wouldn’t be a good look for a man in the midst of countless public scandals and b) those people probably retired years ago, Quinlan simply brings her hand up to rub the bridge of her nose, as if her entire life as Johnny Levy’s manager and agent is nothing but one giant headache.
Probably not far from the truth.
She strolls off, pulling out her cellphone and entering some phony number to placate her client; lifting the device to her ear and beginning to speak - pure nonsense, of course - as she steps away from the set. Levy’s gaze follow her as she flees, narrow eyes speaking to some inner frustration with the recent events that have embroiled his previously care-free, luxurious life.
Finally, he turns back to the camera; and for a moment, the barely restrained anger is visible in his eyes… until he turns on the ol’ Hollywood charm, and puts on a phony ‘happy go lucky’ expression.
“She’s great, isn’t she folks?”
Johnny steps out of view for a moment, reappearing with a stack of papers in his hand. He licks his thumb and begins to leaf through them, whistling some old Jewish folk song as he looks through the papers.
“Ah, here we go. Says I’m supposed to talk ‘some shit’ about my opponents in the coming match. You know, this is difficult for me, because I’m not used to speaking ill of my fellow man. I think it was Larry David who said ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”
Something off-screen captures Levy’s attention for a moment, and he squints his eyes as though he were looking at an individual standing some distance away.
“No? He didn’t?”
Shrugging his shoulders dramatically, Johnny waves away the mistake with one hand before seamlessly continuing.
“Doesn’t matter who said it. The point is, I’m a good man. A working man. A man of the people. But, at the same time, life is about responsibilities; and I’m too much of a professional to skip the trash talk just because of my morals and limitless goodwill towards my fellow man. So, let’s get on with it…”
Clearing his throat as he throws the stack of papers over his shoulder, Johnny visibly puffs himself up as though he were getting into character. His arms are held far away from his body, as though he suddenly put on a hundred pounds of muscle. Cheeks are filled with air and puffed out, as he inches slightly higher on his tip-toes.
“Listen here…”
“Line.”
From out of view, someone whispers: ‘Archimedes J. Manson’
“Listen here, Archimedes J. Manson. I know an industry plant when I see one, and I know a little bit about something else too: CGI. For all the people keeping track at home, that’s…”
“Line.”
Again, a whisper from off-screen: ‘Computer Generated Imagery… Jesus fucking Christ, how does he not know this stuff?’
“Computer Generated Imagery. You see, a man like myself, in this fine $10,000 suit, this beautiful watch, this face, the whole package: I don’t need to rely on CGI to get ahead in life. But everyone saw you stick your hand into a mirror like this was some kind of darn…”
“Line.”
Again, an exasperated voice whispers to him: ‘...none of this is in the script, Johnny. You’ve gone off track.’
Pointing his finger in the direction of the voice, Johnny smiles and says, “You’re fired, pal.”
A muffled string of curses, followed by a Styrofoam coffee cup sent hurtling in the actor’s direction. Without losing his composure, he ducks his head to one side as it goes sailing past. It does happen to hit one of the children in the background, spilling lukewarm coffee all over their shabby clothes, but who cares about them anyway? The newly jobless individual is heard stomping away, before being seized by security and dragged off-set.
“Fuck it, we’ll do it live!” he shouts triumphantly, lifting one mighty fist high into the air before taking a step closer to the camera and leaning in.
“The point is, Archie, I know all about you and Jughead and all those other clowns over in Riverdale. And I know you probably had something to do with the fact that I didn’t land a role in that show!”
“‘Oh, Mr. Levy, you’re a bit too old to star as a high schooler; perhaps you could play the Math teacher?’”
“Well I’m sorry, but if you think the Adonis in the $15,000 suit is going to pass as some schlubby high school teacher, then you don’t know the first damn thing about show business!”
His composure seems to be cracking during the rant, tendons in his neck and veins in his forehead starting to pulse and stand out from underneath the skin… and then, he seems to catch himself before his friendly bearing is completely shattered. With a few deep, stabilizing breaths, he seems to push his anger back under the surface; trying to dismiss the struggle with a friendly chuckle.
“Whew.”
He turns his neck to look back at the destitute children ‘playing’ in the background, although they seem to be simply shuffling their feet and looking bored and hungry. Probably haven’t had their lunch provided by catering yet.
“We sure do like to have fun, huh kids? All a joke, you see; I’m better than some silly network Teen Drama anyway, those days are behind me! Onto bigger and better things!”
“You’re joke, Archie; and Veronica deserves a real man. I KNOW you ‘ain’t hitting that right’, so step aside, fool! Let a real Kosher KING handle your woman.”
He pauses, to clarify: “Did I use the term ‘King’ right? I keep seeing it on the Twitter.”
There is no response from the crew, beyond some almost audible facepalming.
Ahem.
“At Proving Grounds, I’m going to send your butt packing back to Riverdale High! And, as the kids say, ‘bet’.”
That epic line delivered, Johnny stands around for a moment, looking completely lost as his eyes scan the assembled crowd of people standing behind the camera. As if he’s looking for someone in particular.
“Where’s the guy who tells me my lines?”
A long pause, as nobody seems willing to step up and break the news to him. Finally, someone coughs and whispers: ‘You fired him… like, two minutes ago.’
Johnny narrows his eyes into angry slits, his teeth audibly grinding inside his closed mouth. Finally, he looks back directly into the lens of the camera and says, with a phony, cheerful tone.
“We’ll be right back.”
A ‘stay tuned’ title card fills the screen for several minutes, though it seems someone didn’t cut the audio, as Johnny Levy can be heard verbally berating his crew with a bunch of shit that is probably best left out of this promo.
Eventually, he settles down and the camera feed resumes once again, displaying him back in his original place in front of the group of poor children who mill about in the background.
“Technical difficulties, folks. MOVING ON.”
“Now, as an actor, I have a lot of respect for my fellow artists. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to reveal an industry secret, as it relates to my opponent ‘TJ Thompson’.”
Glancing to either side, Johnny lowers his voice slightly as he leans in, cupping one hand around his mouth like he were passing along a secret to the audience.
“Rap? It isn’t real. The outcomes are pre-determined!”
That said, he steps back and brings his voice back to its usual speaking volume.
“So you’ll forgive me, if I’m not exactly afraid of someone whose lines are all written down ahead of time! That’s the kind of thing you would never catch myself - an Academy Award winning actor - doing! It’s all from the heart with ol’ Johnny Levy, kids, and you can set your watch to that!”
Never mind the fact that he was asking for his lines only minutes ago. Just ignore it.
MOVIE MAGIC.
“Now, last and probably also least…”
Squinting, most likely at someone holding a cue card off-screen.
“Swindle… Shelldrake? This one of those Pokémons the kids are always talking about?”
Shaking his head in disbelief at the ridiculousness of this booking, Levy nevertheless remains a true professional and soldiers on with his shoot!
“Look, I don’t care who his trainer is, what gym he guards, and where on the world map you need to go to capture him. The fact remains, he looks like he’s poor enough to use Public Transportation. I don’t need to worry my beautiful, perfect, blessed head over someone who - in all likelihood - smells like the floor of a bus.”
Pinching the tip of his nose to accentuate his point, Johnny wafts the air in front of his face - as though he could already smell whatever rank stench is sure to roll off of Swindle when they get into the ring together.
“A man like myself - in this amazing, hand-crafted, bespoke, $20,000 suit - up against an up jumped hobo? Who booked this crap?”
Behind him, one of the children - looking even more bored, tired and hungry than the others - steps towards the massively weighed-down barbell that Johnny was just heroically lifting at the beginning of this video.
Grabbing hold of the bar, the child lifts it over his head without the slightest strain on their part.
“Hey, these aren’t real weights!” shouts the child who just - effortlessly - lifted what LOOKS like 500 pounds of weight on either end of a barbell.
Looking as if someone just walked over his grave, Johnny’s façade of niceness cracks as he wheels around to stare viciously at the child. The kid drops the Styrofoam weights, the barbell hitting the ground as light as a feather as he begins to backpedal away from the approaching actor.
Catching up to the retreating child, Johnny grabs him by the shoulders and begins to shake violently, skin turning red and spittle flying out of his mouth as he SCREAMS at the kid.
“GODDAMNIT, YOU LITTLE PUNK, QUIT EXPOSING THE BUSINESS!”
Raising one palm high into the air, the feed mercifully cuts out before the follow-through; static, for only a second or two, before the credits begin to roll over old-timey, Charlie Chaplin-esque piano music.
A JOHNNY LEVY PRODUCTION
DIRECTED BY
JOHNNY LEVY
CINEMATOGRAPHY BY
JOHNNY LEVY
EXECUTIVE PRODUCER
JOHNNY LEVY
WRITTEN & EDITED BY
JOHNNY LEVY
STARRING
JOHNNY LEVY
TRADEMARKS AND COPYRIGHTS HELD BY
JOHNNY LEVY