Richard's Online Journal

[07/11/08] Marketing The Fourth Wall

Hurry! Take the shot before they start fighting again!

From: Martin Quick
To: Damien Charles
Subject: 2009 TV Publicity Photos

Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Daimo. If the network’s going to insist on these cast-ensemble shots, you’re gonna have to step up security. We lost four photographers thanks to Sylar ripping open their foreheads to steal their camera mojo. Not my idea of a superpower but hey, I’m not arguing with the bloke. Don’t even get me started on what happened when HRG showed up early for his Series 4 portrait. You wanted him looking cool with that gun of his? Hope you like your new red carpet. The blood just keeps coming back, no matter how much bleach the cleaners dump on the bastard. Regenerators. Nightmare.

Martin Quick
Senior Marketing Executive
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From: Damien Charles
To:  Martin Quick

Nightmare indeed! Good thing I like blood. How’s things going on the BSG shoot?

Damien Charles
Account Supervisor

P.S. Golf with the Riches next Friday. You in?
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From: Martin Quick
To: Damien Charles

Golf: For definite.

BSG: Don’t ask. The sides are more or less at peace right now, so touch-wood we can stick to the productive kind of shooting on the soundstage this year. That’s the good news. The Cylons like the chessboard concept - I think it makes them feel like they actually have a plan - but the humans… holy crap, if you ever needed a reason to turn on your own. If you ask me, they don’t even know what they believe, but by the time we’ve included all the iconography they’re demanding we throw in to respect their silly made-up religion, there’ll be no space for actually selling frakking DVDs. You sure it’s too late to get them all hooked on Scientology? I’ve got spare e-meters…

Tell me you’ve finalised the Boomers’ contract so I can get the photo studio booked. At this rate we’re not going to get this damn war finished until at least 2009, and you know folks aren’t going to wait that long to be depressed out of their minds.

- Marty
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From: Damien Charles
To:  Martin Quick

No progress, mate. The evil ones insist on doing the shoot naked on the grounds that human slave collars like cotton and nylon bring them out in a seriously hot rash, but that good one’s still kicking up a fuss, waving EULAs around, and wibbling about so-called commercial exploitation of her unauthorised copies. FedExed the lawyer that new contract with the provisions about mysterious bars of darkness over the naughtier bits, got a dead cat back by return post. Awesome. Reminds me of my time with NBC Legal.

Booking dinner reservations now. I’m thinking that Thai place by the market.

- D
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From: Martin Quick
To: Damien Charles

BSG: Fine, screw it. I’ll get NASA to grab some snaps of their ships in orbit and send them packing. There must be a couple of Six pics we’ve only used a hundred times.

Dinner: Can we raincheck? I’ve got Greg House coming in at four and I’ve no reason to think I have cancer, leprosy, black death, or lupus. You know what that means. If I’m not out of intensive care in time, get Gillian to sort out our Keith problem. We’ve been sympathetic, especially after the mysterious death of his wife and that whole aborted court-case thing, but enough’s enough. He just ran away screaming when that nice Dexter fellow swung by the office with donuts the other week and nobody’s seen him since. If he’s not back in the office by Monday, he’s dead meat.

- Marty

P.S. We’re having a whipround for Jonty’s leaving do. Still say it’s harsh, firing him for tricking that guy into actually kissing his girl in front of the camera instead of just staring wistfully. Poor bastard never even heard of Pushing Daisies.
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From: Damien Charles
To:  Martin Quick

Boo! Raincheck it is. As for Jonty, I liked that show. Tell him I gave five dollars.

Nah, I’m in a good mood. Act like I gave ten.

- D
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From: Martin Quick
To: Damien Charles

Ten it is. Right, must dash. If anyone needs me, I’ll be down in the sheds, helping detox Mickey Mouse. My kid’d kill me if knew. He’s desperate for an autograph.

- Marty

P.S. House called. It was lupus, not the chlamydia my doctor diagnosed. Can you pass that onto your good lady? She’s not been taking my calls for some reason.

P.P.S. Found Keith. Tell the Bones team their props finally arrived.