3-18-02: I am sick as a dog. A dead dog. I spent this past week in Chicago with the wonderful amateur moviemaking comedians from GMP Pictures and Blanc Screen Cinema -- they are fans of my movies, I'm fans of theirs, and they decided, out of boredom I think, to pay far too much to fly me up there for a week. Together we fought through the worst week of movie shooting in the history of the entire world. It was a study in illness, injury, vomit, violence, depression, and pain. It resulted in a wonderful movie. But a satanic illness caught us early on and the cast was so sick throughout, especially me, that at times the director and I lost our voices to the extent where we could not physically play the part anymore. Still, we continued shooting, because we are insane. It was the "Apocalypse Now" of amateur movies. The final movie is a comedy about a nerd, a punk rocker, a safari-hunter (me) and a man who turns into a gorilla, who reluctantly save the world. We decided, on a silly whim, to call it "Gorilla Interrupted."

  This is our production notebook of pain.
 
Garrett Gilchrist writes:

GMP, BSC, and OCP are cursed !!! and shooting.  
« on: March 11th, 2002, 11:11pm »    

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  We are doomed. Do not attempt to rescue us, for by the time you read this, we will already, most likely, be dead.

 For the first time in history, the heads of GMP, Blanc Screen Cinema and Orange Cow Productions were gathered under one roof, for one movie. Jay Bauman, Rich Evans, Mike Stoklasa and Garrett Gilchrist, in a script written by (GMP's) Mike Stoklasa and added to by (Orange Cow's) David Ashe. The top minds in amateur comedy schlock, working together at last.

  But we did not realize that our movie, our set, our house was cursed.

   It is now just before midnight, monday night, March 11th. As I write this we are still trapped in our third day of shooting. I have lost my voice completely, and Mike Stoklasa can barely speak above a whisper. I type this because I cannot speak it, and someone must know what is going on here.

  We have realized that what we are creating is the greatest amateur comedy ever made, but we have also realized we will not survive this shoot.

  On the first day of shooting, I managed to bite straight through my lip, busting it open and covering the ground with blood. After having Diet Coke poured on my head, I fell off an immensely heavy rolling chair and with the help of my body weight, the chair proceeded to crush my right arm until it turned purple, with black lines running down it, and could no longer be used for anything except feeling pain. I now only have the use of one arm, my left arm, but even that has a pointer finger that is completely split open down the middle (cut on some broken glass I think), and the arm is now bruised and purple for reasons I am no longer sure of but may involve demonic possession. Jay Bauman, on his first ever visit to Mike Stoklasa's house, had an extreme allergic reaction to ... well, what he had the reaction to is unknown, but was the first sign of this movie's CURSE. His left eye immediately swelled up to grotesque size, bursting out of his eye socket, a red and purple bloodshot mess. He is now, like all of us, catching a cold apparently given to all of us by Rich Evans, and will probably, like the rest of us, be completely unable to speak within a few hours. He attempted to survive by subsisting entirely on doughnuts for a day, and is now unable to move due to a severe stomach reaction. Mike Stoklasa is now delusional -- unable to concentrate the entire shoot, he has a splitting headache and he, like me, is starting to see strange visions -- hallucinations, light flashes, trails of light. We are all coughing. Constantly. Stoklasa has been feeling nauseous but is unable to vomit and purge himself. He has realized he is losing his mind. I have already lost mine. My eyes no longer work properly -- everything is a blur. My mind is a blur. The demons WILL NOT GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

 Rich Evans is dead. The kind of amateur movie schlock ignored advice that this movie was cursed and that he should not try his traditional silly stunts. While destroying his entire house in an attempt at a wacky montage, Rich, already bleary and confused due to a lingering and possibly demonic cold (that has now claimed all of us), had a bookcase fall directly on his head, twice, was beaten mercilessly, transformed into a human lamp, and fell down the stairs. It made for great footage, but when we asked Rich how he was doing we realized he was dead.

 Well, not entirely dead, but he hasn't moved in 72 hours and has been declared medically brain dead.

 We are cursed. The movie is fucking brilliant, but we are cursed. If we are able to survive and finish this movie, it will be genius on a level GMP, BSC and OCP fans could only dream of.

 But the four of us are dying, and our end is just a whisper away.

 Goodbye ...  

Mike Stoklasa writes:
on: March 12th, 2002, 9:33am

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The reports of Rich Evan's demise have been greatly exagerated. Actually Rich Evans is now feeling 100% better and I feel like shit. The evil cold is being passed around, but we are having fun nevertheless. I think so? except that first night where I got all weird. And then there was the downtown chicago incident where strange men tried to sell us drugs and it was colder than the depths of hades, but I'm told we're getting some good footage? It is now beautiful and nice out and my voice doesn't work.

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Jay Bauman writes:
on: March 12th, 2002, 12:40pm

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The spirit of Guy McConnell is with us throughout the making of this schlock epic.  

So Rich isn't sick anymore.  I'm not sick anymore.  And now Mike is sick.  It's beautiful outside now and not cold anymore.  This has probably been the weirdest movie shoot I've ever been on.  I feel like a squatter punk sleeping on the floor of Rich Evans' house, surrounded by trash from the mass destruction that has ensued over the last few days.  Every room in the house has been destroyed.  And it's only going to get weirder when we head up to my home of Milwaukee tomorrow night, where we will be shooting a scene with actual prostitutes and shooting scenes with Lisa Renley that may destroy not only our actress-director working relationship, but our friendship as well.  

Mike Stoklasa will destroy us all.  I wonder if that was his plan all along?

Jay  

Rich Evans writes:

on: March 12th, 2002, 12:45pm »    

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I'm dead.  


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Garrett Gilchrist writes:
on: March 13th, 2002, 3:22am

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I am now dead as well.

Mike Stoklasa is dying, slowly.

It is now 3:48 AM. We have just wrapped shooting. I threw up halfway through. My voice is now completely gone, I cannot even whisper a dull, wheezing cry for help. Mike Stoklasa can make a strange sound that sounds like he's gasping for air, but his voice is otherwise gone. It will be completely gone by tomorrow morning, if he wakes up tomorrow morning. He is delirious and unable to think or concentrate, as I have been for several days, and we fear he will crash himself into a tree on the way home. He is NOT fit to drive.

Rich Evans broke my nose with a small tree. Accidentally. Two large scars now adorn my face where my nose was cut in three pieces by the tree, its cartilage knocked out of joint. I bleed now for no obvious reason, and my entire body is bruised. I feel nauseous all the time. Mike and I keep passing out and fainting, at least three times every day. Sleep is now a foreign concept -- we have been shooting for four days straight, deep into the night and then waking up two hours later. I may not wake up tomorrow, even the rest of the doomed souls have become worried for me since I am no longer able to digest solid food. I could take my nourishment through a straw, but I would simply throw up. The cut on the pointer finger of my now-useless left hand has become infected. The entire finger has swollen up and become purple. Both my arms were green when I woke up this morning, now they are black. I threw my back out of joint flinging myself at the garage door yesterday, but at least I flung myself there on purpose (my back still hurts constantly and I am lying on the floor as I type this now actually). Today, I was so confused and disoriented that I threw myself at a wall accidentally, and knocked my jaw partway off my face. My ears hurt, constantly. We went to the top of the Sears tower and my ears started to make a strange cracking noise suggesting that actual bone is breaking inside, or had broken. My lips are now a dark brown color and are all one big scab, both of them -- I'm not sure why. Parts of my lips keep falling off. My mouth constantly fills with blood. I am not sure about the exact locations where I am in pain because my entire body hurts. My knees are a mess of cuts and black blood, and my left leg is bruised, cut and battered underneath that bloody mess. My right leg was previously damaged, it is now damaged further. I was walking with a limp, but I now cannot really walk well at all without screaming silently with my now-nonexistent voice. Thank god the other cast members can't hear me -- I scream silently in my brain constantly now, and will continue to do so all during the night, and they need sleep.

Rich Evans' mouth is always dripping with blood now, he drools red and is still not really moving, though he has stirred occasionally, rolling off the bed and then back on again. He occasionally wakes up and screams as if he is possessed by satan, just a long long long string of the most frightening obscenities you have ever heard. We have captured this on camera, in case he never wakes up again. We fear he may never wake up again. Yes, he is sleeping again now. "Sleeping." They call it. God, what a crude language we have.

I think aliens are talking to me.

I accidentally punched Mike Stoklasa in the nose, face and chest during my overexuberance as we shot what was supposed to be a cute behind the scenes video. I think I may have broken his nose, but at least it will now match mine. Stoklasa has now lost his voice completely - did I already say that? - and is now sinking further and further into madness. Nothing he says makes any sense anymore, so he generally lies twitching in the corner as the rest of us attempt to make this movie. He is constantly clutching at his head, because of the intense pain inside it. He falls over a lot. He can't really stand up too well.

Jay Bauman is completely fine, the little pigfucker.

Oh wait, he says he has a hole in his sock.

I'm dead, and he has a hole in his sock.

That little pigfucker.

Oh fuck. I have to throw up again. Oh fuck, my stomach hurts so goddamn much. My whole body hurts.

We have not been eating. We have simply been consuming Robitussin, spearmint throat drops, hot water, and hot water with honey in it. A lot of hot water with honey in it, in hopes that our voices will return. This is why I threw up today.

The honey shit doesn't fucking work. I thought it would at first so I tried to do a scene where my character was screaming. This sad high-pitched squeak came out. Jay Bauman said it was funny, that I sounded like a girl. I want to kill that little fuck.

I spent the rest of the night trying desperately to scream. The script is no longer a concern as none of us can concentrate enough to read it. We spent ten fucking hours just having Jay turning the camera on and screaming (or trying to scream), in front of a bluescreen. This has nothing to do with the plot, but we hope that if we shoot in front of a bluescreen, we can matte in a real location or background later that will explain what we are doing.

This will not work. This is our final descent into madness.

Mike Stoklasa is already there. Mike Stoklasa has gone insane.

I went insane some time ago.

Oh god, oh cruel cruel god, why do you torture us like this? Why don't you fucking kill us right now, you pigfucker god?

Jay Bauman can still talk, so we are giving him all the lines in the script. The little fuck. I wanted to say that shit.

Today and yesterday we shot scenes that are more brilliant and great and beautiful than anything that has previously appeared in any amateur movie, ever. I think. I am not sure if we were actually shooting, or if the camera was on. Maybe I just hallucinated the whole thing. I hallucinate a lot now.

Two of us are dead. One of us is insane. And I'm gonna kill the last of us.

This would have been the greatest amateur movie of all time. It still will be, if any of us survives it. Maybe Jay Bauman can finish it on his own when we're all gone. And take all the credit, the little asshole. And say he loved us when we were alive.

I will knife him while he sleeps.

Goodbye.  


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Jay Bauman writes:
on: March 13th, 2002, 7:18pm »    

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Mr. Gilchrist's comments may seem far-fetched, but aside from a few exaggerations, it is fairly accurate.  This entire experiment has been the most chaotic and self-destructive film shoot I've ever been on.  It has been riddled with sickness, arguing, and vomit.  

We finished up shooting in Chicago tonight.  We will soon leave for Milwaukee, my town, where things should be smooth sailing from here on out.  No more throwing people down the stairs.  No more hitting each other in the face with oversized potted plants.  No more trying to squeeze out one more shouted line of dialogue when our voices are gone.  For you see, Milwaukee is a city of love and hope, unlike Chicago, which is a city of dirt and sin.  

Yes,  I think things will be much brighter once we cross the Wisconsin border and get away from this house of madness...this evil, sick world of filming in Chicago, Illinois.

Fuck Chicago.  I'm going home...

-Jay  

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Jay Bauman writes:
on: March 17th, 2002, 2:26am »    

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Well, tonight marked the last night of shooting for this wild and crazy movie which may or may not now be titled "Gorilla Interrupted."  

I thought things would get better when we arrived in Milwaukee.  

Things didn't get better.

Everyone's enthusiasm went down even more.  Nobody seemed to care anymore, at least not on the surface.  

Last night was horrible.  I was half asleep whenever the camera wasn't on.  Mike was dead.  Garrett was dead.  Rich was dead.  All excitment was gone.

But then something happened...everyone got some sleep!

It's 3 in the morning now.  Mike, Garrett, Rich, and Lisa Renley have all just left my house.  Garrett flies back to LA tomorrow.  We shot all afternoon and got great stuff.  It was a joyous last day of filming, the first one where everyone had their energy back for quite some time.  Tonight, nobody got hurt.  Nobody passed out.  Nobody puked.  Everyone just laughed and enjoyed themselves.  And my friendship with Lisa Renley wasn't destroyed.  

Garrett's voice came back and he ended his scenes on an upbeat note.  The manic Garrett that I know and love had returned after days of illness.

Mike's voice came back and he showed some enthusiasm towards the project again...forthe first time since the second day of shooting.  He will make this movie work in editing.

Rich was pretty battered from spending yesterday walking around the woods in barefeet and stepping on lots of broken bottles.  His foot was ripped open.  He was dead tired today, but he deserved the rest.

And I had my second onscreen kiss.  The first was with Mooshoo the plastic doll head.  This one was with Lisa Renley.  It was much better.

So we ended our long, disasterous trail of amateur filmmaking dreck on a positive note.  It was a good evening.  I think we have a good, silly little movie on our hands.  This was the biggest headache and most exhausting shoot I've ever been on.  It was hell to make, but ammusing hell.  I wouldn't have changed a thing.

-Jay


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Jay Bauman writes:
on: March 19th, 2002, 1:01pm »    

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Well, the week of madness is over. I got sick Monday morning. Threw up twice. It held out on me until everyone was gone. I guess God knew it'd be funny to make us all diseased, but figured at least one person should stay slightly energetic the whole time just to keep things moving. THEN he made me get sick. Ugh. I'm doing better now though. Despite all the suicidal tendencies everyone had, I still had a great time.


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Garrett Gilchrist writes:
on: March 18th, 2002, 4:41pm »    

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Hard to believe it's over. The whole "Gorilla Interrupted" shoot seems like a very very strange dream. I think we made a movie. I think it was about this nerd, this punker, this safari asshole and this guy who turns into a monkey trying to save the world. I think. But I woke up this morning next to the woman I love, back in L.A. with no sign of the blood and vomit of Chicago, or the depression and suicide of Milwaukee, or the wonderful people I'd spent the past insane suicidal week with.

Did this really happen? Why the hell would Mike and Jay want a no-talent hack like me involved with their movie? As an ACTOR, no less, and god knows I'm not that ...

Did Rich really kill himself throwing himself down a branch and thorn and broken glass covered hill 28 times, in zero-degree weather with a t-shirt on? Did he really destroy his entire house on-camera? Did I really get my nose smashed in? Did Mike really spend the entire week with green hair shouting obscenities in a faux-British accent, and say toward the end of it that if he died right now he wouldn't care?

Gorilla Interrupted, ladies and gentlemen. A tale of romance, anarchy, punk rock, random destruction and a guy in a monkey suit. We killed ourselves for this movie, we were dead when we shot it, and it still turned out a billion times better than it had any right to, every single day.

It was great spending time with Mike, Jay and Rich -- even in a state of waking unconsciousness and death. Can't think of any other moviemakers I'd rather have vomited for. Great to meet Lisa Renley, who is remarkably easy to work with and did a great job as usual even as we stumbled like sick vomiting zombies around her ... great to hang out with Jesse Sorgatz (and sneak him into the movie three times) and with Kyle Laurent (who isn't in the movie because he left the first night) ... I left with a bad headache, a terrible cold that isn't going away anytime soon, some stolen videos and hazy memories of time well-spent. A good movie, the most painful shoot of all time.

Oh, and a Mike Stoklasa character y'all may just like more than Big K.

So there you have it.

Jay Bauman
Rich Evans
Mike Stoklasa
Garrett Gilchrist
and Lisa Renley
in
GORILLA INTERRUPTED.
conceived and directed by Mike Stoklasa
screenplay by Mike Stoklasa
and David Ashe




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Garrett Gilchrist
http://pythonet.org/fredshow

Watch "Groins of Darkness," Jay Bauman's documentary about the shoot!
(7.39 MB, 5 minutes long, fast connections only)

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