| Darknet: Hollywood's
War Against the Digital Generation Growing up in a flyspeck town in Southern Mississippi in the early 1980s, ten-year-old Chris Strompolos stared out his bedroom window and dreamed. He fantasized about what it would be like for a whiff of adventure to breeze through his humdrum little burg. On a sticky June afternoon in 1981 he found a vehicle for his wanderlust in the darkness of a local movie theater. He watched, jaw agape, as Harrison Ford outran a rolling boulder, dodged a swarm of blow darts, and dangled over a pit of slithering snakes in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Chris Strompolos was blown away. The movie captured his imagination like nothing he had ever encountered. He thought, I want to do that. And so he did. Chris first mentioned his outlandish idea to an older kid, Eric Zala, a seventh-grader at their school in Gulfport. Chris did not suggest a quick and easy backyard tribute to Raiders that they could pull off on a summer weekend. Oh, no. He proposed shooting a scene-by-scene re-creation of the entire movie. He wanted to create a pull-out-all-the-stops remake of Steven Spielberg's instant blockbuster, which was filmed on a $20 million budget and made $242 million in U.S. movie theaters. Chris and Eric agreed they would have to cut a few corners, given their somewhat more modest savings account, but, yes, of course they could do it! Eric, a budding cartoonist, began sketching out costumes for each of the characters. Soon a third movie-loving misfit, Jayson Lamb, came on board. Jayson was already heavily into special effects, makeup, puppetry, and lighting. He took charge of the camerawork with a bulky Sony Betamax video camera. Eric created storyboards for each of the movie's 649 scenes. The outgoing, slightly chubby Chris assumed the lead role of Indiana Jones. The production took on a life of its own. Months passed, then years. On birthdays the boys asked for props and gear: Chris got a bullwhip, Eric a fedora. Jayson bought a VHS camcorder after a summer of delivering pizzas and saving money. Weekends were spent not hitting a baseball or playing a new game called Atari but in memorizing lines, creating plaster face masks, and filming take after take until they knew they nailed a scene exactly right. Nearly seven years later, they wrapped. The result, according to those who have seen the work—including Harry Knowles, creator of the movie fan site Ain't It Cool News, and Vanity Fair writer Jim Windolf—is a filmic tour de force. In the teenagers' version of Raiders, the actors grow older in the span of a few minutes. Voices deepen. Chris sprouts chin whiskers and grows six inches. He gets his first-ever kiss by a girl, captured onscreen. The girl who plays Marion, the Karen Allen character, develops breasts. Over the course of the movie the kids jump through windows; blow up a truck; sew together forty traditional Arab costumes; fill a basement with pet snakes; create giant Egyptian statues; surround Indy with spear-carrying, half-clothed blond warriors; dress up friends as prepubescent Nazis and Himalayan henchmen with glued-on beards; and kill Eric's little brother Kurt over and over again. In one special effect, an actor is shot, and fake blood oozes out of a condom hidden in his shirt. The filmmakers also made some inspired substitutions: a motorboat replaced a plane, Chris's puppy filled in for Marion's pet monkey, downtown Gulfport stood in for Cairo, a dirt mound became the Sahara. But they had done it, a faithful re-creation of the original film: the rolling boulder bearing down on Indy in a cave in Peru (actually, Eric's mom's basement), the live asps (actually, rat snakes and boas), the World War II submarine, the 1936 copy of Life magazine, the pulse-racing truck sequence. And everywhere, explosions and fire and flames. (Jayson would later explain how they managed to pull off the pyrotechnics: "I'm like twelve years old and was able to go into a store and buy gunpowder." This was, after all, Mississippi.) They had a few misadventures, like the time they built a fake boulder in Chris's room and discovered they couldn't get it out the door. Or the time they poured three inches of industrial plaster over Eric's head to make a face mold; when it wouldn't come off, they rushed him to a hospital to remove it in a procedure that cost Eric his eyelashes and half an eyebrow. Or the time they re-created the bar scene in Nepal where the entire set was set ablaze. Eric played a Nepalese villager whose outfit catches fire, and nobody could put it out until Chris resourcefully grabbed a fire extinguisher. When filming ended and editing was completed at a professional studio, the boys' families staged a world premiere in Gulfport, complete with tuxes and a stretch limo. Almost two hundred friends, family, and cast members turned out to watch the hundred-minute film. But soon their little masterwork became all but forgotten as they parted ways and went on to college and careers. Then, one day in early 2003, it resurfaced. At the New York University film school, which Eric Zala had attended, someone passed along a years-old videotape of the movie to the horror film director Eli Roth. Roth did not know the boys, but he was bowled over by what he saw. He slipped a copy to an executive at DreamWorks, where it quickly found its way into the hands of the master himself. Spielberg watched it—and loved it. Days later, he wrote letters to all three amateur auteurs. "Wanted to write and let you know how impressed I was with your very loving and detailed tribute to our Raiders of the Lost Ark. I saw and appreciated the vast amounts of imagination and originality you put into your film. I'll be waiting to see your names one day on the big screen." Roth also shared a copy of the video with Knowles and Tim League, owner of the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema in Austin, Texas, who were equally impressed. League set aside three days in late May 2003 for the "world premiere" showing of Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation, though before the screening he was careful to sub out the John Williams musical score because of copyright fears. The trailer of Strompolos dodging a giant boulder sparked such interest in the weeks leading up to the event that hundreds of people had to be turned away at the door. Flying in for the occasion were all three filmmakers: Strompolos, now an independent film producer in Los Angeles; Zala, who works in the video game industry in Florida; and Lamb, an audiovisual technician in Oakland. The three men, now in their early thirties, hadn't seen each other in years, and they were a bit baffled by why anyone would turn out to see their childhood project. To their amazement, the screening was packed to the rafters. The audience watched Chris Strompolos with his wiseacre smirk and rumpled fedora capture the spirit of Indy. They watched, mesmerized, as the kids credibly pulled off one scene after another. When the credits rolled and the screen went dark, the audience gave them a four-minute standing ovation—almost twenty years to the day after they had shot their first scene. Knowles wrote on his Web site the next day: "I feel this is the best damn fan film I've ever seen. The love and passion and sacrifice is on every single frame of this thing. . . . This is what fandom to me is about. . . . This is the dream of what films can do. Motivate kids to learn and make it." Vanity Fair's Windolf agreed: "We have been so entertained for so long that we have, in a way, reached the end of entertainment. An audience jaded by one mega-budget blockbuster after another is all too ready for an action movie made with love instead of money." It would be wonderful if audiences everywhere could share the love. Only a few hundred people have ever seen Raiders: The Adaptation. But the boys are older now and wise to the bare-knuckle realities of federal law. A work that bears "substantial similarity" to the original copyrighted work is punishable by up to a year in prison and a $50,000 fine—even if not a dime changes hands. Happily, Spielberg and Lucasfilm have no intention of pressing charges, but the young men are taking no chances. Strompolos no longer passes out copies of the film to those who want to see it. In fact, he has asked those who do possess copies to return them to him, for fear that the remake will wind up in the Darknet. As a lark, Strompolos invited Lucasfilm and Spielberg to include their home-brew tribute in the Indiana Jones DVD boxed set that came out in 2003. The studio passed. Lamb then bought an old three-quarter-inch Sony Betamax on eBay so they could digitize hundreds of feet of old outtakes, and in early 2004 a Hollywood producer bought the rights to tell the boys' story. As for showing their Raiders homage to others, Strompolos tells me, "We have legal constraints. We can't take advantage of opportunities for theatrical release or home video because the intellectual property doesn't belong to us." Thus the law gives us the absurdity that you will be able to watch a
documentary about the teens' undertaking, but you won't be able to
watch Raiders: The Adaptation itself. If you want to see our young
heroes' handiwork, you'll have to wait until the year 2076, when the
original Raiders copyright expires (unless Congress extends copyright
terms yet again). The boys will be teeing off on their 105th birthdays
right about then.
Excerpted with permission from J.D. Lasica from Chapter One of Darknet (John Wiley & Sons, April 2005) The writer: J.D. Lasica is a veteran journalist and independent writer. He is co-founder and executive director of Ourmedia, a global repository for grassroots video, audio, photos and more. J.D blogs about citizens media and digital rights at Newmediamusings and Darknet, and he is a frequent speaker at media and technology conferences. He lives with his wife and son in the San Francisco Bay Area. |
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David Ulin admits to a fascination with seismicity. Penelope Moffet shares memories of Dorland Arts Colony. Wil Wheaton feels the love at his first reading. Kat Meads finds she is a California author afterall. Dayna Dunbar on the road from screenwriting to novels. Pamela Ribon on an unexpected outpouring for Oakland libraries. Gayle Brandeis on the dreaded author photo. Mark Lee tells us what it was like to ride with the Pulpwood Queens. Aimee Liu on the renewed interest in the international novel. | ||
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