J: My friend left his Atlanta Braves hat in my messenger bag over the weekend. They say when you take another man’s hat, you steal his power. Who says this? Hatters, mostly. Or people who keep important documents in their hats. If you keep your birth certificate and social security card in your hat, and someone steals that hat off your head, like a grifter on a fire escape, or a more experienced grifter’s monkey (who belongs to a grifter who’s sick of waiting around on fire escapes until someone with a hat full of valuable paperwork walks by), then that is a classic case of hat-power theft.
If you also stored a miniature Chan Marshall in your hat, then you can add Cat Power theft to the list of charges, detective. I hope you don’t mind if I call you detective, Myke. It’s just that I’m so distraught over the loss of my Lil’ Chan Marshall, or “Lil’ CM” as I call her. Which gets confusing, because there is also a tiny basketball player who lives in my hat named Lil’ CM.
Every day, I’d bang on my hat with a stick and yell, “Somebody better shoot some hoops or sing me a song or I’m throwing this hat in a fire!” I guess I deserve to have my hat stolen. Anyway, I’m deputizing you as a detective. Or detectivizing. You’ve been detectivized.
M: The late afternoon sun choked through the blinds behind my desk, cutting my office up into lines of light and dark. I leaned back in my chair and kept the light to my back. I preferred it that way. I was reaching into my bottom drawer for the handle of Wild Turkey I kept there for just such an afternoon when he appeared in my doorway. The college ruled light show hit his sneakers, his belly, and stopped just at his neck. He loomed, his face obscured in shadow. He opened his mouth and I immediately knew he was trouble.
“You the guy who does the detectivizing?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Who wants to know?”He launched into this story about lost hats and miniature indie rock singers. He sounded pretty lost himself. I poured myself a drink while he yammered and thought about the angles. Would I rather have a tiny alcoholic Chan Marshall to drink with? She could sing me “Nude As The News” when her stagefright wasn’t so bad. Or would I rather keep the new, soulful, sober Marshall under my brim? Reworking the classics and working the stage like a confident, tomboyish Scottish highlander with wild red hair and killer aim.My aim ain’t so good these days. If I was gonna take this schmoe’s case, there’s no telling how crooked my sights would get.
J: According to Wikipedia, the red-headed girl in Brave “defies an age-old custom, unleashing chaos in the kingdom. After consulting a wise old woman for help, she becomes cursed and is forced to undo the spell before it is too late.” Now, I’m not an expert on wise old women. Though I did purchase a Sarah McLachlan CD in the late 90’s and I once skimmed the back sleeve of Jewel’s book of poetry. I guess they’d be considered wise young women. Especially Jewel, if the synopsis of A Night Without Armor is any indication.
I actually majored in Wise Old Woman Studies in college. But I had to switch majors, because the classes were at seven thirty in the morning and the professor was way too political. I was expecting him to give lectures on merging your actualized self with the spirit of the primordial Earth-goddess Gaia, and instead he was all, “Where’s the birth certificate, Obama?!” Which was strange, because I went to college in 1998. Guess he was just a birth certificate aficionado.
But let’s say you’re a wise old woman, and a girl with a wild mane of fiery hair comes up to you and is like, “I want to shoot a bear in the face with an arrow, and I want to get out of an arranged marriage. Can you help me defy an age-old custom?” (This is conjecture on my part based on the trailer, the heroine seems to be caught in some kind of feudal child-bride system and it looks like there’s definitely going to be bear shooting.) And then you try to do this would-be warrior princess a favor, but you accidentally unleash a curse instead. Can you still be considered a wise old woman? This seems like more of a dumb old woman kind of thing. I once asked a dumb old woman to watch my iPhone at Starbucks and the next thing I knew, Siri was chanting an age-old prophecy of never-ending darkness in a forbidden tongue. Though that might have just been a result of me connecting to the Starbucks wi-fi.
By the way, ‘How do I shoot a bear with an arrow?’ and ‘How do I escape my pre-selected husband?’ are the top two Google search terms in the country where this movie is set. So I’m guessing Alabama? I know, Alabama is a state, but there’s always secession, am I right, Alabamians?
M: Secession is pretty serious unless you call it what everyone else calls it: leaving. If I wanted to round out a hissy fit with a temper tantrum, I’d make sure to yell “I’m seceding this room!” as I knocked the tray of Ritz-based hors d’oeuvres out of some guy’s hand. Which is just the kind of slapstick humor that got the short-lived sitcom Dumb Ol’ Woman and the Bear cancelled after just three episodes. I’m still waiting for that to come out on Blu-Ray.
Which gives me an idea for the poor Disney company to finally make a little bit of money from these movies they’ve been putting out. When the Blu-Ray release comes out, market a tie-in with a nod to the protagonist’s tonsorial nightmare she calls a hair-do: release a special “Red-Ray” edition–which is basically just the DVD. They could charge a premium for what would come to be known as the “Dumb Ol’ Woman Edition.”
J: I should release a “Dumb Ol’ Woman Edition” of Scene Missing. It would actually just be the regular site. Well anyway, time for you and I to secede this movie trailer review. All this cracker talk is making me hungry. And you’ve got some detectivizing to do.