The Ultimate Movie

There are a million screenwriters on a million home computers feverishly hammering away on screenplays they hope to parlay into blockbuster box office returns. Most of these people will wake up tomorrow and go back to work at the video store, but a lucky handful will strike gold with the combination of comedy, romance, violence, and dramatic tension that make producers tremble with Oscar-lust.

Casts and crews will be assembled, back-end deals on profits will be inked, and then the movie-going public - that's you and I - will see a fraction of the movies made, be horribly disappointed with the majority of stories set in motion on the big screen, and head home wishing we'd spent our ten dollars on something useful, like air fresheners or socks.

Still, no matter how many poorly written, poorly acted, and directed films we go to see, the next visit to a movie theater awakes a hunger in our bellies...not for popcorn or candy, or a five dollar soda...but for the ultimate cinematic experience.

It might not ever happen, but if it did, it might go something like this.

INTERIOR     CORELLIAN FREIGHTER     DAY

Indiana Jones, James Bond, and Spider-Man are flying through space in the Millennium Falcon, on their way home to earth after a vacation on the slave girl planet Tata Seven. The crime fighting trio have placed the ship on autopilot and are having a kung fu battle in the zero gravity chamber to pass time.

JONES: Hyaaaaaaah!

SPIDER-MAN: Nice one, sport.

BOND: You nearly knocked over my martini.

SPIDER-MAN: What the...?

The ship shakes violently and the voice of Christopher Walken booms over the ship intercom.

WALKEN: It is I, Christopher Walken. I have your ship in a tractor beam and am taking you to my secret hotel on the moon where I spend most of my time dancing, but today I will use it as a venue to kill each of you very slowly. You've foiled my plans for the last time.

JONES: Oh no! Not Walken! I hate Walken!

BOND: I thought you hated snakes.

JONES: And Walkens!

SPIDER-MAN: Does this lycra make my ass look big?

EXTERIOR     SPACE     DAY

Christopher Walken, piloting a giant Borg cube, speeds toward the moon with the Millennium Falcon in tow. We see the faces of Spider-Man, James Bond, and Indiana Jones pressed against the windows looking on in horror.

INTERIOR     HOTEL MOON BASE     NIGHT

Our three heroes are in the hotel foyer. The balconies are crowded with supermodels cheering for their deaths. Christopher Walken dances out of one of the elevators and flies up to the balconies gracefully.

BOND: Do you expect us to talk?

WALKEN: No, Mister Bond. I expect you to die!!! Mu ha ha ha ha! Mu ha ha ha!! Mu ha ha ha! Meet your doom at the hands of my fiercest henchmen!

The skylight explodes into a billion shards of glass as three figures come smashing through and land in the foyer. The glass settles, revealing them to be Boba Fett, a 300 foot tall tyrannosaurus, and Gwyneth Paltrow's disembodied voice!

SPIDER-MAN: My spidey senses are tingling.

JONES: I just wet my pants. Is that a dinosaur?

BOND: Rex. T Rex.

JONES: Thanks.

BOND: Dibs on the bounty hunter.

SPIDER-MAN: Dinosaur! I call dinosaur!

JONES: No fair! I always fight the annoying disembodied voices. You guys suck!

WALKEN: Welcome to Walkendome, gentlemen! You know the rules! Four men, one dinosaur, and one disembodied voice enter! One man, one dinosaur, and one disembodied voice leave!! Minions, attack!!!

Our three heroes peel away from the center to confront their adversaries separately. Indiana Jones runs frantically in circles trying to evade Gwyneth Paltrow's voice.

GWYNETH PALTROW'S DISEMBODIED VOICE: You were not dead before. When I thought you dead, I did not care about all the plays that will never come, only that I would never see your face. I saw our end, and it will come!

JONES: Mother of god!! My ears!!! My ears!!!

GWYNETH PALTROW'S DISEMBODIED VOICE: The thing with Dickie... it's like the sun shines on you, and it's glorious. And then he forgets you and it's very, very cold.

JONES: Make her stop!! Make her stop!!!

GWYNETH PALTROW'S DISEMBODIED VOICE: I'm trying to be your girlfriend Jerry! I'm trying to win you back! I'm standing on the platform at Limbo Central with my heart and soul packed in my suitcase waiting for the Jerry Frickin Express to roll in and tell me that my ticket is still valid and that I may re-board the train.

JONES: Uuuuuuurrnnnggg.

At this point Indiana Jones is bleeding heavily from the ears and crawling away slowly on all fours. With his last burst of energy, as the disembodied voice of Gwyneth Paltrow catches up to him and burrows itself into his skull, Jones leaps into an airlock and seals the door behind them. There is a shwhooomping sound and through the windows we see Jones and the disembodied voice of Gwyneth Paltrow flying away into space, lifeless.

WALKEN: Dammit! That was my most evil disembodied voice.

SPIDER-MAN: Doctor Jones!!!!! Nooooooooooo!

BOND: He's gone now. Will you fight with me? Will you fight with William Wallace?

SPIDER-MAN: With who?

BOND: With William Wallace. Hey William Wallace, come over here and help us, would you? Sorry about that whole my country invading your country business.

We now see William Wallace in the corner plunking quarters into a Fresca machine. His face is half-painted blue and his kilt is not-surprisingly plaid.

WALLACE: Lower your flags and march straight back to England, stopping at every home to beg forgiveness for a hundred years of theft, rape, and murder. Do this and I will fight that intergalactic bounty hunter for you. Do it not, and every one of you will die today.

BOND: Deal.

And with that, James Bond strides out of the hotel moonbase lair of criminal mastermind Christopher Walken, and heads straight home to England to start his apologizing. William Wallace asks Jim Morrison to hold his Fresca for him, and then joins Spider-Man in the center of the foyer to face the menacing bounty hunter Boba Fett.

WALLACE: Well come on then, helmet-head, let's see what you've got.

William Wallace pulls out a hatchet and a nine millimeter and rushes at Boba Fett, who very promptly freezes time, levitates into the air with his arms extended, and delivers a flurry of kicks to the Scottish barbarian. Wallace counters with a series of spin kicks, but Boba Fett runs up the wall, circles around, and kicks Wallace in the back of the head. Wallace pulls out his broadsword and swings wildly at the bounty hunter. But Boba Fett is too fast, now flying around the room with his jetpack. He fires a grappling hook into Wallace's chest and rips out his heart. Wallace collapses to the floor.

WALKEN: Beautiful! Beautiful!

Boba Fett flies up to the balcony and presents the still beating and not-so-brave heart to Christopher Walken, who starts taking bites out of it as if it was an apple.

SPIDER-MAN: You sick bastard! I'm going to kill you!

Spider-Man slings a web to the ceiling and leaps towards the balcony brandishing a rusty can opener. The tyrannosaurus lumbers forward and snatches Spider-Man from midair in its massive jaws and chews him to a buggy pulp.

WALKEN: Mu ha ha ha ha ha ha!! Dance my supermodels! Dance!

The supermodels, now spraying each other down with champagne, shriek in celebration. The tyrannosaurus stomps towards Walken and then becomes curiously still. A hatch opens at the top of its skull, revealing that is really just a giant robot tyrannosaurus! Everyone is very surprised and excited! Gary Coleman climbs out of the hatch.

GARY COLEMAN: That was too easy.

WALKEN: What the hell? My dinosaur is a robot? That wasn't the deal, Coleman. The contract clearly states that I would have a genuine tyrannosaurus working for me. I'm not paying you.

GARY COLEMAN: Whatchu talkin' bout, Walken?

WALKEN: Guards!! Seize him!

GARY COLEMAN: I'll see you in hell!

Gary Coleman climbs back down inside the robot and closes the hatch.

INTERIOR     ROBOT TYRANNOSAURUS     NIGHT

The control room of the robot tyrannosaurus is lit with a dim green light and we can see a myriad of switches, levers, and display screens. Gary Coleman sits at the controls, accompanied by Winona Ryder, special agent Ethan Hunt, and the Incredible Hulk.

WINONA RYDER: I'm wearing stolen clothes!

ETHAN HUNT: That's privileged information. What's the word, Gary Coleman?

GARY COLEMAN: We've been double-crossed. Hulk, that is the last time you handle the contracts.

INCREDIBLE HULK: Me so sorry.

GARY COLEMAN: Save it. We've got bigger problems.

There is a near-deafening clamor as the video screens show the robot tyrannosaurus being surrounding by thousands of Walken's minions, all banging on the dinosaur and chanting Gary Coleman's name.

ANGRY MOB OF MINIONS: Coleman! Coleman! Coleman!

GARY COLEMAN: That's my name. Don't wear it out.

Gary Coleman flicks a switch on the control panel and there's a high pitched whirring noise. The kind of noise that would drive a komodo dragon absolutely insane.

INTERIOR     HOTEL MOON BASE     NIGHT

The angry mob of minions is making very small dents in the robot tyrannosaur's metallic hide. A whirring noise fills the room as the dinosaur is brought back to life. The mob tries to run away, but it's too late. The robot tyrannosaur springs into the air, splays it's limbs, and pancakes onto the foyer, crushing half of the mob and sending the rest hurtling head first into granite walls.

WALKEN: My precious supermodels!

He clenches his fists, looks upward, and screams.

WALKEN: Now who will star in ads for expensive underwear?!!? The horror... the horror...

The robot tyrannosaur gets back on its feet. Two large rocket thrusters extend from its back and the dinosaur blasts through the open skylight, escaping into outer space.

INTERIOR     ROBOT TYRANNOSAURUS     NIGHT

Gary Coleman, special agent Ethan Hunt, and the Incredible Hulk are all smoking cigars and wearing party hats. Winona Ryder is dancing topless on a table.

GARY COLEMAN: I love it when a plan comes together.

THE END

This movie wouldn't be completed until the year 2024 and would cost approximately 14 billion dollars to make, but with the steadily rising price of movie tickets, that would all be recovered in the opening weekend.

Oscars for everybody!
Universal Remote is a self-syndicated column by Calgary writer Anders J. Svensson.