Cthulhu isn't the kind of god that the camera loves. It's rather difficult to get all of him in one shot, he gelatinous, which never photographs well, and, I don't know, they never seem to get the angle right.
As I prepare to embark on another attempt at the Great American Novel which, with luck will be made into a movie (see yesterday's post and the poll on the right) my mind is drawn to Cthulhu's cinematic exploits. Slowly and painfully, with horror at the eldritch sights it might see, is my mind drawn, but it is drawn just the same, to my great dismay.
Dismay? Yes, you see there seem to be three types of people beings in Hollywood: the actors, the technicians and those other, slimy vile creatures that I cannot name, but who exist by leaching off the other entities. They are the true power, the cabal who control all, manipulating, controlling, distorting, destroying, until there is nothing left but the sort of drivel that drives the world insane with Hannah Montana-vampire-werewolf lust, Avatar hypnosis, Pearl Harbor and Titanic distortion, and Godzilla sacrilege.
"Save Cahuenga Peak!" indeed, but from what?
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