real,” Niles said, taking a long pull on his pint. “It’s like a spoof broadcast. Insane.”
Bob chuckled dryly. “That’s what happens when you invite fictions into the world. They bring fiction with them. This isn’t much different from that Dexter Morgan business.”
“Well, they got to him in time,” Niles muttered. Bob gave him a sideways look. “What?”
“See, this is my point,” Bob said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m just wondering if you understand what you’re getting into. This isn’t some literary fantasy where you get to meet your own character and have a beer with him while he tells you how great a god you’ve been. Bringing someone imaginary into the real world isn’t a thing you can predict.” He pointed his bottle at the screen, where the reporter had finally recovered his wits enough to go back to the studio. Needless to say, the hunt for the killer Holmes was now the top story. “Look at this. Because somebody decided to translate me, even though there was already a ‘Bob Benton’ out in the world, we get this, this knock-on effect. And now we’ve got a situation where there are about fifteen different Sherlocks running around LA and one of them might be a killer. I guarantee that’s not how Malcolm and the rest of the bright boys at Nestor saw this whole thing working out.”
“We-ell...” Niles considered. “It’s not like there’s already a Dalton Doll. And if I make one, there aren’t likely to be any more...” He frowned. “So really, I’m not sure how this applies.”
Bob sighed. “I’m just saying that your actions are going to have consequences. The guy you invent is going to exist in the world – the real world, not just some movie where the worst thing that can happen is you get a bad review. I mean...” He pointed at the screen. “Let’s say Sherlock Holmes did just kill someone. I’m betting you can trace that back to some bad writing on somebody’s part. Whoever translated that guy is going to get lawsuits up the wazoo.” He hurriedly threw up his hands, noticing the look Niles was throwing him. “Not that I’m saying you’re a bad writer...”
“No, of course not.” Niles scowled. “Since when does The Black Terror talk about people’s wazoos?”
Bob smiled. “Well, there you go. Bad characterisation. Like I say, Niles, you’ve got to watch what you put in here.” He tapped his head twice, then turned and signalled the barmaid. “Same again over here, please.”
CHAPTER FOUR
From the screenplay for THE DELICIOUS MR DOLL (1966), by Hutton H Hopper & Jean-Paul Vitti:
INT. DOLL’S “PLEASURE PAD” – NIGHT.
DOLL opens the door to usher KITTEN into the room. She slips off her MINK COAT, holding it in the air until the AUTOMATIC COAT-STAND rises out of the floor and hooks it. Underneath, she’s wearing a very short, VERY low-cut MINI-SKIRT DRESS made from GOLD COINS and GOLD-EFFECT GO-GO BOOTS. We get a GOOD LOOK. Doll SMILES.
DOLL:
Somebody oughtta put you in Fort Knox, sweetheart.
KITTEN:
Fort Knox couldn’t afford me.
DOLL presses one of the studs on his WRIST COMMUNICATOR and a ZEBRA-SKIN LOVE SEAT lowers itself FROM THE CEILING.
DOLL:
I’ll bet. Take a load off those dynamite stems, baby - drink?
KITTEN nods. As she SITS, DOLL moves to the AUTOMATIC DRINKS CABINET.
DOLL:
One Old-Fashioned. Substitute White Horse for Bourbon, hold the cherry.
(He looks her over, particularly HER LEGS)
And a Pink Squirrel for the little lady.
A hatch in the device OPENS, revealing THE TWO DRINKS. DOLL takes them both, handing the PINK SQUIRREL to KITTEN.
KITTEN:
You know my drink. Impressive.
DOLL:
Some things you can tell about a woman.
KITTEN:
Oh? Like what?
DOLL:
Like maybe somewhere along the line she’s gotten her pretty head all filled up with a load of fancy doubletalk.
KITTEN:
And I suppose you’re just the man to talk me
Bob chuckled dryly. “That’s what happens when you invite fictions into the world. They bring fiction with them. This isn’t much different from that Dexter Morgan business.”
“Well, they got to him in time,” Niles muttered. Bob gave him a sideways look. “What?”
“See, this is my point,” Bob said, choosing his words carefully. “I’m just wondering if you understand what you’re getting into. This isn’t some literary fantasy where you get to meet your own character and have a beer with him while he tells you how great a god you’ve been. Bringing someone imaginary into the real world isn’t a thing you can predict.” He pointed his bottle at the screen, where the reporter had finally recovered his wits enough to go back to the studio. Needless to say, the hunt for the killer Holmes was now the top story. “Look at this. Because somebody decided to translate me, even though there was already a ‘Bob Benton’ out in the world, we get this, this knock-on effect. And now we’ve got a situation where there are about fifteen different Sherlocks running around LA and one of them might be a killer. I guarantee that’s not how Malcolm and the rest of the bright boys at Nestor saw this whole thing working out.”
“We-ell...” Niles considered. “It’s not like there’s already a Dalton Doll. And if I make one, there aren’t likely to be any more...” He frowned. “So really, I’m not sure how this applies.”
Bob sighed. “I’m just saying that your actions are going to have consequences. The guy you invent is going to exist in the world – the real world, not just some movie where the worst thing that can happen is you get a bad review. I mean...” He pointed at the screen. “Let’s say Sherlock Holmes did just kill someone. I’m betting you can trace that back to some bad writing on somebody’s part. Whoever translated that guy is going to get lawsuits up the wazoo.” He hurriedly threw up his hands, noticing the look Niles was throwing him. “Not that I’m saying you’re a bad writer...”
“No, of course not.” Niles scowled. “Since when does The Black Terror talk about people’s wazoos?”
Bob smiled. “Well, there you go. Bad characterisation. Like I say, Niles, you’ve got to watch what you put in here.” He tapped his head twice, then turned and signalled the barmaid. “Same again over here, please.”
CHAPTER FOUR
From the screenplay for THE DELICIOUS MR DOLL (1966), by Hutton H Hopper & Jean-Paul Vitti:
INT. DOLL’S “PLEASURE PAD” – NIGHT.
DOLL opens the door to usher KITTEN into the room. She slips off her MINK COAT, holding it in the air until the AUTOMATIC COAT-STAND rises out of the floor and hooks it. Underneath, she’s wearing a very short, VERY low-cut MINI-SKIRT DRESS made from GOLD COINS and GOLD-EFFECT GO-GO BOOTS. We get a GOOD LOOK. Doll SMILES.
DOLL:
Somebody oughtta put you in Fort Knox, sweetheart.
KITTEN:
Fort Knox couldn’t afford me.
DOLL presses one of the studs on his WRIST COMMUNICATOR and a ZEBRA-SKIN LOVE SEAT lowers itself FROM THE CEILING.
DOLL:
I’ll bet. Take a load off those dynamite stems, baby - drink?
KITTEN nods. As she SITS, DOLL moves to the AUTOMATIC DRINKS CABINET.
DOLL:
One Old-Fashioned. Substitute White Horse for Bourbon, hold the cherry.
(He looks her over, particularly HER LEGS)
And a Pink Squirrel for the little lady.
A hatch in the device OPENS, revealing THE TWO DRINKS. DOLL takes them both, handing the PINK SQUIRREL to KITTEN.
KITTEN:
You know my drink. Impressive.
DOLL:
Some things you can tell about a woman.
KITTEN:
Oh? Like what?
DOLL:
Like maybe somewhere along the line she’s gotten her pretty head all filled up with a load of fancy doubletalk.
KITTEN:
And I suppose you’re just the man to talk me
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