'2010' junket full of fun, film
By SHAWN BEHLEN
Staff Writer
ir
r V
I our smoking is just really not helping
my child," said the irate mother pointing to the
six-month-old boy nuzzling at her breast.
"Well, your exposed breast just really isn't
helping me either," drawled the the chain-smok
ing, obviously homosexual man seated on her
left.
That conversation between the two people to
my right occurred soon after the plane left Hous
ton. I was headed for Los Angeles and 24 hours of
fun, film and freebies. Those two were just a
small sampling of the people I would encounter. I
don't think I will forget
them or my trip for
quite a while.
First, let me explain
how this little vacation
in filmdom fell my way.
Mgm called The
Batt a while back and
invited one person to
Los Angeles on a press -—
junket: a screening of
"2010" and an interview session with the
filmmakers and stars. MGM would pay for every
thing but souvenirs. Now who am I to turn down
such an offer? It was the perfect opportunity to in
vestigate payola firsthand.
So, with no trepidation and many braggartly
statements of, "I'm gettin' the hell out of Dodge,"
I drove to the airport and boarded a DC 9. Now, I
have flown before and expected some oddities
but that plane was a world unto itself.
First, there was the pain incurred from biting
my tongue in a failed attempt to not laugh at the
aforementioned mismatch of the century. Sec
ond, there was the born-and-raised-in-Los-An-
geles electrician on my left who spent the trip ex
plaining to me why Texas and all things Texan
were worthy of a nuclear bomb. And third, there
was the pilot.
Earlier, back at the airport, I had noticed that
Continental pilots were on strike. Or rather I no
ticed the signs the strikers were wearing. We're
"Som/ about that, folks," the
pilot says. "When I got on the
runway, I saw that another
plane was already there. Imag
ine that."
talking true subtlety: "Experienced pilots are on
strike, who's flying you today?" and "Lemons are
meant to be squeezed, not flown." Those mes
sages came back to haunt me when the plane
came down for a stopover in Austin. As it
touched the runway, I was suddenly thrown back
in my seat as we roared back into the air at an
89.999 degree angle.
"Sorry about that, folks," the pilot says three
minutes later over the intercom. "When I got on
the runway, I saw that another plane was already
there. Imagine that."
The problem was that I could imagine that all
too clearly. Anyway, the plane eventually made
its desrination (one
hour late) and it was
time for my big chance
as a film critic.
The first event
was a little get-together
in MGM's hospitality
suite at the Century
Plaza Hotel (where they
shacked us critical
types). At this time, the
24 of us (20 from the United States, four from
Canada) who were "university press" met each
other and proceeded to amaze one another with
our film acuity.
"That film just blew me away with its meta
physical symbolism, Shawn. What did you
think?"
"Well, I kinda liked it."
We started on a long voyage of mixed drinks,
watched clips from upcoming MGM films and
discussed the various colleges from which we
hailed.
"Texas A&M — Sherrill's sure not winning
much, is he?"
We also watched the "professionals" with
envy.
"Bob, how ya doing? We go to Chicago next,
right? And then New York?"
Next, was the bus ride to Westwood for the
See "L. A." page 10