Greek lesson 

FROM: Irwin R. Scheiss, Chief of Production

TO: Sheldon Molotov, Vice President of Creative Development


I trust that you read Variety this morning. If you did -- and you better have, because that's what I'm paying you for -- you no doubt noticed that the Greek-wedding picture is now closing in on 150 mil. This is a mo-freaking-mentous turn of events, Shel. The implications are enormous, and not just for broads with mustaches. Do you know what that picture cost to make? Bobkes, my friend. No, wait; scratch that. Less than bobkes. What bobkes finds in its sofa cushions, that's what it cost. I'm talking very little here.

In fact, our business hasn't seen a profit margin this wide since we let those five Florida kids make that witch movie for us a few years back. I'm blanking out on the name here, but you know the kids I mean. The witch kids. The ones who went to Maryland to shoot, so nobody would know they were from Florida. You remember.

But this fat-Greek stuff is something else again, Shel. It's the kind of Cinderella story that reminds me why I love my job so much. It's a come-from-behind story, an underdog's story. And most important of all, it's a story that proves to that big world out there that they can still depend on the movies for constant surprises.

That's why we have to have 10 more pictures just like it ready to go by next May.

Here are a few ideas I jotted down on a napkin over the weekend:

My Big Gay Commitment Ceremony -- What do the ladies love almost as much as a wedding? A good faigelah, that's what. The missus, she's crazy for that Rupert Everett. Dunno why; maybe it's the whole forbidden-fruit thing. (Better copyright the title "Forbidden Fruit" while we're at it, Shel, just to be on the safe side.) Anyway, I'm thinking we come up with a script that has Everett getting hitched to that swish from TV -- you know, the sword-swallower from "Will and Grace." But of course, we fade out before the honeymoon starts. I want this thing to play in Tulsa.

My Big Left Foot -- Nothing says "weeper" like Daniel Day-Lewis gimping his way to the altar. Plus, we've got the whole Irish angle to work with. Ever seen how one of their weddings turns out? Think "body count." Think "potential crossover into the action market."

My Big Swingin' Dick of a Bachelor Party -- I've been trying to get Hanks to commit to a "Bachelor Party" sequel for 10 years now, but the little pisher won't even take my calls. Here's how we grab him once and for all: We tell him he can co-star with his kid. (Yeah, the little no-talent from "Orange County." The one with a face like a MoonPie. What can I say? You gotta do what you gotta do.) See, Hanks' character now has a son, who's all grown up and ready to have his own bachelor party. Who do his friends turn to for help and guidance? His dear old Dad. After all, Dad's been there. He knows how important male bonding really is. He has experience making every party guest feel welcome. And he knows where to get the best whores. Have those whores double as bridesmaids, and this one's gonna make a serious run for the family dollar. (Shel, you were at Charlie Sheen's party, right? Use that as your treatment.)

Anyway, those are just some rough sketches. Feel free to embellish with your own creative ideas and get back to me. Remember, Shelley, if we keep the overhead down, the sky's the limit as far as our take-home goes.

Speaking of take-home, did we ever cut a check to those Florida kids? If not, better get on it. Damned if I can remember their names.

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