Had an odd dream last night… often do, but this one is lingering for some reason. I was watching what I kept thinking was a remake of Neil Simon’s The Sunshine Boys (which I saw a stage version of the other day; more on that in another post), starring Walter Matthau and Woody Allen (who are actually the stars of the theatrical and telemovie versions of The Sunshine Boys, respectively), but I kept being bothered by the fact that in this version, they weren’t old vaudevillians who had to work together one more time, but old handymen. I was particularly distracted by a shot of Matthau’s character falling off the top of a third story roof, bouncing off the layers of roof below, as it was clearly not Matthau that was falling but a stunt man with a Matthau face badly pasted over his. My confusion about the remake was cleared up; this was not a remake of The Sunshine Boys, but of Neil Simon’s The Marrying Man (which makes little sense, as I’m pretty sure it is not about two old anythings getting together, but of two younger things of varying sexes getting together; I suspect both men were taking the slot played by Alec Baldwin in the film, rather than the chanteuse ill-played by Kim Bassinger, based on my memories of having seen that film when it was released.)
So I look up this new version of The Marrying Man, which is still being produced as I’m watching it (perhaps I’m watching dailies?), expecting that there is some superstar director being given the chance to revive it, and it turns out that it’s a guy who has never directed a film before, and his main background is being a burglar. And when I talk to him about my involvement in earlier versions of either Sunshine Boys or Marrying Man, I open a three ring binder to show some information, only to discover that I had hidden $1200 in the binder, and now I have to figure out where in my house I can put the binder, where the burglar/director cannot find it should he choose to come after it, but where I’ll remember I put it if I ever need it.
The brain dumps itself in very odd ways.
(Note to any burglars reading this: no, I do not actually keep $1200 in a binder in my house. Don’t bother.)