Well, not too long ago, lyrics from Poe’s “Walk the Walk” refused to leave my head:

Watched his dream walk across a silver screen
And he was standing there when the theatre went pitch black

Dear world I’m pleased to meet you

Hey everybody when I walk the walk
I gotta back it all up I gotta talk the talk
Hey everybody when I hear the knock
Don’t wanna measure out my life to the tick of a clock

Hey everybody–can you walk the walk?

I wanna walk to the beat of my own drum

That’s how I felt today.

We got grabbed at the red carpet and, because of that, got shit seats. Um, hello, director here. Really? Well, whatever. My two concerns were that everyone got in (which I think they did, and if not, oops) and that there were no technical issues, which there weren’t.

So, Friday’s screening is, sorry, all about me. I’m sitting in my choice of seats and if some old lady is sitting there, her ass is getting tossed into the aisle. Yeah, maybe you paid $10 for your ticket, but I paid $5,000. You can suck it, bitch.

Whew. OK. Hostility over.

Despite being practically inside the screen, it looked unbelievably awesome. Actually, someone (oops, headache, forgot your name) asked if we shot on super 35. Hee hee. Okay, ego stroke. For Kurt, too. And thanks to Walt we got a red carpet shot of me and my actors. Truly awesome. Don’t know if I’ll ever see it, but awesome all the same.

I’m not going to talk about the other films (though “Recently Deceased” was pretty awesome, and though my wife wasn’t a fan, I liked “The Mark.”)

At the end of the program they had a Q&A and someone asked what the key to the film was. And I’m thinking, um, ow, my head hurts, big screen in my kool-aid, hurt, haven’t eaten today. So I flubbered out some nonsense about coming to your own conclusion. Key? Really?! Even now I don’t know what the key to the film is. My best guess, without just blurting the whole meaning out, is the newscast. I think, if anything, that unlocks the door. After that key clicks, it’s up to you.

Of course, after that, I had no interest in talking to much of anyone. I just wanted to go and let it settle and soak in for a little bit. And I wanted a drink. And a smoke. I wanted to lie down and sleep it off and wake up the next day and deal with it then.

All I’ll say is about half way through, right when there’s, like, Mike Minnick’s pathetic mug 20 feet tall, from then to the end, I was in a perpetual state of almost crying – for lack of a better word, fucking verklempt. I think my threshold had been reached. This was my dream. And there it was, dancing the fuck out of that silver screen.