Page 2 - Unlikely Stories 2
P. 2

Hitch MacGuffin’s Last Role


          A  few  survivors  of  the  industry’s  upsourcing  remained  at  the
        Motion  Picture  Retirement  Home,  slowly  baking or  basking  in  the
        shade of a ramshackle veranda. It was too hot indoors most of the
        year; the air conditioner would  not be replaced. Nonagenarians all,
        they  had  been  child  actors  when  Logical  Productions  applied  their
        doppelganging  technology  to  the  entire  world  library  of  recorded
        human performance and experience every type of structure or device
        ever designed or constructed, and the totality of the planet’s natural
        features—the  whole  range  of  flora  and  fauna,  geology  and
        topography,  past  and  present.  The  movie  business,  thus  disrupted,
        was not itself spared: all of cinema history and criticism was equally
        digested  by  Logical’s  autonomous  system,  as  were  more  than  a
        century of directorial styles, lighting techniques and special effects.
          The  major  studios’  employees  and  shareholders  witnessed  the
        revolution in shocked dismay. But they should have seen it coming.
        Logical’s  blockbuster  hits  were  produced  in  hours,  distributed  in
        minutes.  Seemingly  new  characters,  plots  and  settings  were  simply
        mash-ups  of  the  successful  components  of  previous  movies.
        Audience  response  had  already  become  predictable,  within  an
        acceptable  margin  of  error.  But  human  psychology,  as  understood
        mid-twenty-first century, included a desire for novelty as well as an
        array  of  emotional  buttons  easily  pushed  by  familiar  stories  and
        denouements. And that left open the possibility of innovation driven
        by  random  forays  into  previously-unexplored  or  long-forgotten
        cinematic experimentation. Flesh and blood might somehow again be
        needed.
          The old  actors lived in  hope  of getting a casting call  for one  of
        those  original  ventures.  It  had  been  years  since  Val  Kerry  gamely
        went  off  to  play  the  part  of  a  rotting  corpse  reanimated  by  a
        perverted gerontophile. The others waited for her return from an old
        sound  stage  in  Burbank,  speaking  in  hushed  tones  of  her  break.
        Another industry credit wouldn’t help any of them—their domicile
        was  protected  against  the  encroachments  of  solar  farm  and
        desalination plant—but it was exciting to imagine going before the



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