Maria Paz & Perfect Circle
June 20, 2002
I sat in bed for awhile thinking about this, thinking no, no, don't get up, stay here in bed where it's warm and comfy and you got little Shnookums the Stuffed Puppy beside you. Don't feel like you gotta get up and go write for yer damn website, shit! nobody pays you to do that shit, so why the hell are you feeling guilty for not writing in four days? So what? But then the writer won that argument, now, didn't it? Otherwise you wouldn't be reading this. Well, I'll tell you what got me outa bed. It wasn't YOU ALL because you all don't give a damn. It was Ana Lia and her damned larger-than-life enthusiasm and energy in the face of total defeat, or what would seem to you and me to be defeat. Here that woman is having the bank threatening foreclosure on her house and she's still smiling and kissing my hand and saying, now Cowboy, say it three times for me, I came here to make money, I came here to make money you get the picture. For me she did that. Because lordy, lordy do I need money. But not as bad as Ana Lia. What a miracle of a woman. Up there in that vaulting cathedral of a house in Pine Cove with all that space and glass and a mortgage the size of Texas and a nasty-ass vengeful x-husband making her life hell and what is she doing? She's pacing `round the round table upstairs, pacing, pacing, walking in a circle praying for Paz, for Maria Paz, her daughter, so talented like all her children yet three years ago the main focus of her father's wickedness or whatever, something bad enough for Ana Lia to freak out about and pace in circles praying for her daughter, walking that circle, wearing a circle pattern in that floor that Eisenhower, Sinatra, Elvis walked on long ago when that cathedral of a house was a 5-star restaurant and Ana Lia and her circle of prayer just three years ago, that perfect circle above which now hangs a platinum record for all to see celebrating Paz and the million records sold of the music of her band, Perfect Circle. Coincidence? I doubt it. So tonight it's Darren the Grenade-Tackling Crack Whore and Black Zack and his feisty little girlfriend who I'll call the Gap-Toothed Goth Girl for lack of recollection, and Richard was there, AL's web guru whom I haven't had enough interaction with to assign him a pseudonym, and Salgan the dog and that big-ass house with that 3-story tall fireplace and a zillion square feet of plate glass looking out over this mountain paradise and that cool manzanita-log swing hanging from the open rafters far overhead and me in that industrial strength former restaurant kitchen whipping up cajun jambalaya for the kiddies with hot sausage and chicken and rice and yum yum yum yum yum and good beer and good company and all this sweet summer freedom and anticipation and possibilities and the screenplay that's sure to sell any minute (what with the fantastic proposal I just wrote for it! - see below) and save the house and save me from the nut house and save! save! save! and Ana Lia and me busting a gut and laughing til we cried over some joke I could never explain and happiness, just plain pure ole American happiness, that's what we had tonight, the kind of fuckitall happiness that no friggin 16-penny-nail shootin' Arab suicide bomb sonofabitch or any other bad shit will ever be able to touch. That's right, Mario. Give up. She won. We won. We're still standing and we're still having fun
..the treatment for the screenplay Ana Lia and I cowrote...
Ana-Lia Lenchantin & Rick McKinney
The Bridge is a haunting tale of murder, passion and redemption through music.
Liana is a renowned concert pianist who has lost the passion to play. The Tirol is a mountaintop-mansion with glass walls, a grand piano and a dark past. Unknown to the owner or his small staff, dormant in the glass walls sleeps the imprint of a grizzly murder. When a few notes played on the piano cause the past to replay as reflections in the glass, Liana unwillingly becomes obsessed with solving the murder. The more of the mystery waltz she learns to play, the more the windows give up their secret. The race is on to discover the missing "bridge" in the waltz and identify the murderer before the murderer gets her.
In her quest for answers, Liana finds again the passion she'd lost. But will she survive to perform again?
101 minutes long
10 speaking roles
© 2000 Ana Lia Lenchantin and Rick McKinney
Writers Guild America West registration # 811946