[boom]

I had been on acid since breakfast and guarding the merry-go-round in my uncle’s Vietnam helmet was my only responsible choice. It was 2007 and my friend Ellen’s bachelorette party was raging sloppy and I knew everyone were incredibly vulnerable. Donned only in bridesmaids dresses, my friends cavorted in the dangerous wilds of San Francisco slurping mimosas out of baby bottles and occasionally exposing themselves as the ride careened at a seemingly impossible speed as legs and arms flailed in a tangle of chaos and light trails. Ellen was coming round on some chipped white beast of a horse and as she swung round she crossed her eyes, her tongue sticking preternaturally to the side and screaming, “BLAAAAAH!” and vanished from sight.

Acid is serious business. Everything vitally important. You have a hyper-knowing about many things that swarm your mind. I knew we had to be at the restaurant by 2 and we were dangerously behind schedule. I knew if we kept this up someone was going to get Hepatitis. What I didn’t know was that today I was going to pitch a TV show to a woman named Colette whom I’ve never met. Life does this to you but when it arrives you realize you are a professional dammit. But that moment had not yet arrived and I have to get these assholes on a bus.

We descended upon the restaurant around 2:30 and the staff looked grim. We told them what to expect didn’t we? Well, too late now. We were here and there was nothing to be done but order and keep the stick spiders in my periphery at bay. I’m just praying that our presence is not going to end in an insurance claim.

The acid was beginning to wane, but I still had to keep my sausage from repeatedly crawling off the plate. “Stay,” I muttered under my breath as I stabbed it to the plate. Little bastard, I’m your boss. People’s energy was beginning to diminish, but professionals always have the second half of the game already planned out. Mine was to take the hit of Ecstasy. It’s called candy flipping and transforms the missional voice of the acid into the groovy dance of joy with a kick of energy. And that’s when Terry showed up.

Terry was my friend from the film industry who was renown for designing anything thrown at him and was constantly under some iron clad non-disclosure agreement. He was also the only sober one here.

“Colette’s here.” I stop mid sausage stabbing and stare helplessly. “You should pitch your show,” he said calmly. Colette was the producer he had told me about after I had told him about my idea for a show two weeks back.

“Terry, I’m…”

“Really high? Oh, I know.”

Okay, let's do this. I somehow have to stand up first and it’s shockingly off-putting. The floor feels spongy and everything is suddenly incredibly loud. I manage to get a foothold and floor remains put. I try to compose myself but I realize any attempt to look normal is pointless. Fuck it, just pretend like the pitch doesn’t count and you’re just going to tell a story to a friend.

Colette was a slight woman with wispy blond hair in jeans and a painfully tasteful jacket. I’d call her unassuming except for the fact she holds the power to shoot this show down like a clay pigeon if I botch this. She extends her hand.

“So, you’re Kevin. Terry’s told me so much about you.”

“It’s all lies.” She laughs. Good, that was disarming.

“So he’s told me some of your idea but not much. I like what I’ve heard so far so convince me.” Unfortunately the ecstasy is now kicking in. Terry’s cruelly grinning and my face feels suddenly hot.

“Okay, before I start...full disclosure.”

“Oh, I know.”

“That obvious?”

“Oh, yes.” I nod. Okay at least we’ve gotten the basics out of the way. I breathe and look up. I’ve rehearsed this in my head a number of times and praying my syntax is coherent.

“It’s about the art of the explosion. Namely cinematic explosions. Not just creating them but all the painstaking planning and work that goes into making them. The explosions we all love from our favorite movies where everything changes but giving them a comedic twist. Say a souped up wiener mobile thunders across a barren desert at 140MPH dodging apocalyptic fire tornadoes, and just when it seems clear of danger, a small army of bunnies in masks wielding weaponized carrots appear, causing the car to veer wildly out of control. It rolls and detonates in an unraveling explosion of fire, metal and hot dogs. How would a team do that? What would the build and staging involve and how do we ultimately film it like an actual movie but make it funny? Every episode would feature some absurd idea but vary from week to week. Everything from miniature explosions, found objects to large scale explosions like in Apocalypse Now. Anything we can think of. We can even use comic-style graphics to show the mechanical dynamics of each detonation meshing of personalities with the Explosion Of The Week. It’s a blend of visionary ideas, quick-witted humor, human expertise, education, and very, very large cinematic explosions.”

“Okay okay,” Colette laughs. “I know you have a team so who are they?”

“The show follows a team of real world friends who are all comedic jackasses but are each experts in their own fields. We’ve got TJ . He’s the demolitions guy. Ex Navy Seal, built like a fuckin’ truck. And he only has one eye.”

“Did he lose it in a war?”

“No, frozen nitrogen accident.”

“Oh.”

“Then there’s Syd. Syd is an electrical wizard and makes Tesla coils for fun. When I say he’s a genius, he’s a genius. And then the builder guy is Johnny Amerika. Johnny can weld, build, fix anything. Like true problem solver and inovator. He also drives around a motorized couch around his workshop.”

“What about you?”

“I’m the one who leads the team but has no skill-set whatsoever but has all the stupid ideas. Like walking in and saying ‘wiener mobile. High speed roll with bunnies. How do we do it?’”

“So, you're the everyman but weirder,” she says. “The guy on the couch at home watching the show.” I’m shocked.

“Yes, exactly! Okay, then there’s finally Karen at Reel EFX. Reel EFX is one of the top effects shops in Hollywood. Mostly commercials, but did you see Swordfish? That 360 degree shot of the terrorist attack? That was them. They have all the toys we need but we all answer to her.

“So, she’s like Charlie to your Charlie’s Angels except in reverse since you’re all dudes.”

“Precisely...” I say.

“What would you call it?”

“[boom] All lower case and intentionally understated.” I write it down on a napkin. “Basically the formula for the show would be (Vision + expertise + education + funny) x fire = [boom]”

“I love it, but it sounds expensive.”

“It’ll be worth it. Look, basically we’re the kids that always wanted to blow up our own Death Star and now we get our chance.”

“Well, Terry probably told you but I have a production company looking for content to pitch right now. Good guys, creatives who've sold a number of shows so they have a track record. Look, write the whole thing up and get it to me next week. Can you do that?”

“Fuck yes I can.”

“Great, then we’ll get the ball rolling. I’ll introduce you to the crew. I’ve got to run off for dinner now, but I really love this. Just do it.”

And that’s how it happened. Just like that. Terry grins and pats me on the back. “Well done, Kmo.” Maybe I did do well but I’m too high to have any objectivity. Right now we have to get this drunken crew back on the bus for Children’s Museum Night, if they even let us in, which they shouldn’t, It sounds like a night of potential arrests and hospitalizations, but I can’t worry about that now. I have a show to make.

In the next days after I sober up, I write out the one-sheet pitch with sample episodes. Anything that could be blown up and made funny I list in detail. I tighten up the structure of the show. I write in the pitch, “[boom] is a build show shot in verite style, with A and B plot-lines. Cameras will be on the move much of the time to enhance the action of the build and create a sense of immediacy. The A story is the reality of the explosion from concept, planning, build, test, fix, and finally, the "boom." The B story is the fictional element and will be a potential wrench in the plans. For example, A: The team is creating the narrative of being attacked by zombies and must blow them all up using devices they construct. B: It's the day the host's parents come to visit the set and want to see what their son has done with his life. Additional conflict comes from the sheer challenge of the host's often-absurd vision of what they’ll be blowing up. And although the program is both visual and educational, the personalities are the soul of the show.”

The pilot episode? "Oh Sh*t, Zombies!!" - Forced to move their lab to an abandoned wooden house in the desert due to not having a budget yet, our team is attacked by zombies. Using every means at their disposal, they construct a deadly and ingenious arsenal of fire and firepower to wipe them out. When that fails, they call in the napalm strike a la Apocalypse Now. Recreating shot for shot the scene from the movie. The host immitates Robert Duval's iconic lines but they come out, "You smell that son? You smell that?! I love the smell of zombies in the morning. They smell like...well, rotten chicken, some old broccoli... and a little bit of poop." He stares down in consternation. "Someday this show's gonna end" and walks off with the boom operator as body parts rain down on them.

Cut out to the cast and crew celebrating how ridiculous and awesome this was. Repeat this with a new stunt every week.

[boom] - The show that always ends the same way

I pull together photos of the cast making us look like rock stars. I run it all by Colette who suggests some tweaks but otherwise it’s ready. She sets a meeting with the production company for Thursday, two days away. “Relax,” she says. “Just be you. You are the pitch.”

Gus and Roger were with Big Wave Productions. The shows they’ve sold were mostly sports related, but it didn’t matter to me. If they wanted to do the show as I envisioned and sell it then that’s all that mattered.

I’m nervous as hell as I meet Colette outside the office. “Let’s make a show,” she beams. Gus and Roger hang casually at their desks, the office filled with editing equipment and covered in posters from their shows. They are both warm and immediately disarming and I make my pitch just as I did before but except without all the drugs. I watch closely how everything I say is landing. They’re laughing and even clap at some moments which I take as a good sign. And it was.

But I still think that’s what everyone says to your face till they tell you to fuck off in an email. But I’m not getting that, this seems genuine. I show them photos of the crazy things we’ve done already. That this is us in real life. Shooting a twenty gallon fish tank filled with gasoline on a side of a cliff which plummeted into a cave filled with wooden pallets and spray cans which caused such a detonation that the pallets flew a hundred yards over our heads and behind us while rock and debris rained down on us for a full minute. They looked at me stunned.

And I share this one for good measure. Me nearly blowing myself up at the Burning Man festival.

“You actually did this shit?”

“We do this shit all the time, Gus. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”

Then everything gets very very practical. If this moves forward there’s liability, budget, contracts. They are concerned about the expense, but seem hooked. I say that we wouldn’t be doing things to the scale that would be in the movies and actually the sillier and cheaper it looks the better as long as the explosion works and it plays like a scene.

I bring it home. “Look, everyone loves explosions and no reality TV is doing them... but they will and soon. And these are not explosions for explosions’ sake, they are a transforming part of a narrative. Everything changes after an explosion in a movie. The villain got away or there’s a setback or the heroes are victorious. That’s why to movie element is crucial, not just for comedy but for story. Listen, if someone else does a show featuring people blowing things up they won’t have the movie element and people will get bored with it. Mark my words. Now is the time for this show.” They look at each other and nod. I think we’ve got them.

And we did. They want to shoot a “sizzle real” which is basically a short promo featuring the concept and highlights of the show. A contract is signed and shooting will happen in two weeks. The guys are excited as is Karen and the Reel EFX crew. There will be intros for each of us, highlighting or skills, our projects and why we’re passionate about this whole ridiculous thing. We’ll shoot at Real EFX as they show off their toys which includes a fire tornado machine. Then finally a day of us blowing something up something that simply looks cinematic. Just proof of concept. Gus and Roger agree.

It’s happening. Potentially the break I’ve been dreaming of my entire life. As a working artist I’ve lived through bouts of poverty with small islands of success, but this would change everything. I dream of taking my parents to Paris, getting a car without rust and simply having a show that was ours. I never cared about fame, I just like making things that are excellent. And it’s not like we’d be getting rich off this at first. Everyone thinks that if you are on a show you get paid millions of dollars but it isn’t true. For a first season reality show you’re only paid $2000 a week which is industry standard. I’d of course get a creator/writer fee. It’s only when you get renewed that the real money comes in. But none of this is guaranteed of course. Studios could hate this or think it’s stupid. Anything could go wrong. My doubts begin to creep in but no, I say to myself. Stay confident.

It’s a Thursday when shooting begins.

Johnny Amerika is zipping around the parking lot in his motorized couch. I nearly crash it. Syd talks about how none of his toys survived childhood because he wanted to see what they looked like on fire. The comedic banter is working and it comes naturally. Gus and Roger are laughing at least and Colette is nodding in approval. Then we gather in my warehouse to discuss how to do the scene. I suggest that we simply go to the desert with as much propane, diesel and gasoline that we can carry and blow up a cheap used car along with anything we could find. Just prove that we can do it and deliver the biggest explosion we can on a budget. A friend has already volunteered his beat up KIA which he was going to donate anyways. Gus and Roger agree.

The next day we shoot at Reel EFX and meet Karen and her crew. They show us all of their toys….the fuel propellants, hydraulics and their proprietary camera rig they used for Swordfish. It’s a slick, professional operation and it’s clear that Karen is a no bullshit personality. She is the perfect counter to our jackassery. She lights up the fire tornado as the finale and we shoot it in slow motion. It’s a wrap for this portion.

Everyone feels ramped up, but there are concerns. This is going to be expensive and it’s uncertain if a studio, even Discovery, will lay down the cash for a bunch of unknowns. But we either do this or we don’t.

A week passes and I get a call from Colette. Gus thinks we have what we need with no need to shoot the effect scene.

“How can we prove we can do anything without us doing it?” I ask.

“They think you guys are all strong and funny enough on your own without shooting anything more. They said the Reel EFX footage was really strong.”

“This is about expense right? They just don’t want to spend the money.”

“Possibly. I don’t know. A sizzle reel is just the concept.”

“But it’s a concept about us blowing things up without blowing anything up.”

“I know I know but…”

“Then why can’t we just have some footage of us just blowing something up? Forget the car even, for $300 we can make some incredible explosions. Hell, I’ll even pay for it.”

She’s quiet for some time. “Okay, let me talk to them, but they seem pretty set.”

I’m tempted to just gather the crew and head out to a dry lake bed with all the fuel, some broken mannequins and a high powered rifle and just film it ourselves. But maybe they’re right, maybe they do have what they need but my trepidation is high.

I’m not in control of this and I have to trust my dream to them. Two weeks pass and it’s official - there will be no more shooting. They are cutting the sizzle reel and we just have to wait. Then it arrives and with great nervousness I open it up. The opening is slick and fast cut with us excitedly talking and intercut with fire tornadoes and Johnny Amerika skidding around on his couch. Then it cuts to the title.

“Hollywood Blows.”

Fuck is this? It’s not just a likely porn title but basically says that Hollywood sucks which is the exact antithesis of what we’re tying to do. The rest is fine I guess. I’m portrayed as the weird looking guy with no skill set but does have vision. I’m fine with that, whatever, it’s true. But I’m incensed.

Colette is my go between but I call up Gus myself.

“Hollywood Blows? Seriously? What is that?”

“Look, it’s catchier. It sticks in the mind.”

“It’s not catchier, it’s off-putting and offensive. Who’s going to go for a show with that title? Don’t make me Google it.”

“Kevin, just trust us on this. We can always change it back later. We just have to hook them first. Look, we’ll make a cut with the original title, okay?”

“Thank you. When do you start pitching?”

“Next week. Already early conversations sound good. Discovery is looking for the next companion show for Mythbusters. Those guys are over it and they are looking for the next big thing. They think you guys might be it.”

Okay, maybe I am being over reactive. They know this business better than I do. “Well, just let me know where and when and I’ll be there.” There’s a long pause.

“Well, just leave that to us. We’ll let you people’s reactions.”

“But I’m the creator of the show. I need to be there.”

“I know, but we’ve had problems with creators being there in the past. Please, just trust us.”

I don’t like this at all. First, no showing what we can do, then the stupid title and now this. They eventually send me a version with the original title but I know it’s just to appease me and they aren’t going to use it. Now comes the hard part – helplessly waiting. Two weeks pass and I hear nothing. Someone has to like it don’t they? It was an offhanded idea but now it means the world to me. Then I get the call from Colette. The news I didn't think possible.

Everyone passed and they refused to say why.

Despite my early misgivings, I default to insecurity. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I don’t have the presence to carry a show or maybe it was they pitched the show badly or tried to force it into the typical reality TV format which it’s not shaped to fit. And there’s no way to know now. I’m crushed and so will be the guys. I put off telling them for days.

Then I find out through a friend who knows one of the producers at Discovery that they passed because of liability. We can’t show kids how to blow things up.

“What the fuck?” I say. “That’s one of the easiest things to adjust! Just say we’re using special substances that only professionals can get and no kid is going to get his hands on detonation cord.”

“I know, I know but that was what I heard and you can’t pitch again. Once someone passes that’s kinda it. Sorry, brother.”

I’m furious now. This is why I wanted to be in on the pitches. I could have shifted gears and fixed that shit in thirty seconds. Fucking dammit. Doesn’t matter, it’s all over. It feels like a cosmic letdown. No show. No Paris for my parents.

In short order over the next year reality shows started featuring explosions but with all the mistakes that I warned Gus and Roger about. Explosions for explosions sake and they grow dull. Two years pass and I’ve slowly gotten over it. We’ve all moved on to new projects and life goes on. Then Discovery comes calling again.

A new production crew there asking, “Whatever happened to those guys who wanted to blow things up?” I’m not sure if I’m excited or annoyed. But Discovery apparently has caveats and I talk to Gus.

He lays it out matter of factly. “So, here’s the thing. People don’t like shows that take place in LA so it has to be located somewhere else.”

“Um, fine whatever.”

“And also explosions aren’t testing well now so…”

“I told you,” I say angrily and realize that maybe I’m not as over it as I thought.

“I know you did. So it has to be more ‘bang’ than ‘boom.’”

“Fuck does that mean? More ‘bang’ than ‘boom.’ It doesn’t make any sense. What?”

“Well, here’s what we’re thinking. You guys have a company that makes these sensational effects for rich people parties.” It sounds incoherent.

“Like what?” I ask in a tone you use when someone wants to simply tell you about their pancakes that morning.

“There’s a millionaire CEO of a toilet paper company and his wife is having her 50th birthday party and he wants a toilet paper cannon to launch these rolls like streamers over the guests.”

“That’s stupid. No one’s going to watch that. Besides it’s all totally fake and people are going to know that.”

“Well, Discovery is giving us a lot of money for a reel. You guys will all be able to pull off something on screen finally.”

“I dunno, Gus. This just seems…”

“Well, do you want to do this or not?”

“Let me talk to the guys and see.”

My heart isn’t in this. It won’t work. Even if it did, how many episodes with this stupid concept could we even come up with? Ultimately the guys are willing to try but then there’s another stumbling block. The title? “Bang Masters.” For the love of all that is good and holy this has fail written all over it. What's with the bizarre obsession with porn adjacent titles? At least a Google search turns up only the Van Morrison album. Still a stupid title.

So we move ahead and prep begins as Johnny, Syd and Tj create the TP launcher. The location is secured and we begin filming. But already it feels off. It’s contrived and we’re forced into the stereotypical reality TV format. Side interviews are shot where we are given pre-scripted lines to repeat and to make it more noisome they want us to do the cliché “hero shot” where we all walk in slow motion towards camera. It’s an overused trope from twenty years ago, but everyone still does it for some puerile reason. TJ and I initially refuse. But eventually we either agree to do it or shooting stops. No choice really so we shoot the fucking thing.

But ultimatly the shot is kind of a funny because it’s self effacing and ridiculous with ribbons of toilet paper flapping around us like paper wings. Johnny Amerika is quick and masterful in fixing a compressor on the fly, Syd rewires a control panel to modify pressure while TJ quips one-liners. And once we pull off a successful launch I’m excitedly yelling to turn up the pressure to maximum turning the entire set into an improvised shooting gallery knocking over whatever I can. When I volunteer to get hit myself weilding a broadsword, Syd calculates pressure and velocity drops but Gus and Roger draw the line for liability reasons. Too bad, it would have been a good gag.

A gag like this in fact... Yes, that's me being shot with a potato cannon. Another proof of concept. Let the record state I did have a parasol for protection.

But if nothing else we prove that we work comically and competently as team. But we all knew it wouldn’t be enough and as predicted Discovery passed and I knew we’d never hear from them again.

In the years since, I’ve been approached twice for reality shows. FOX's “Utopia” and Discovery’s “Darkness.” Both were ill-conceived and both were unceremoniously canceled before I could be cast and I was grateful for it. And with that I was officially done with “Reality.”

What I've come to conclude is that reality TV is with rare exceptions a soulless quagmire born of shallowness and exploitation. It’s social pornography, shot by the numbers and crafted specifically to keep you mindlessly watching and the mold cannot be broken. Ultimately there is no reality in reality TV. Actors are cast to clash and told what to do and what to say. Talent must perform within specified constraints and producers will craft you into what they want you to be. If they want you to be the villain they will find the footage out of hundreds of hours to make you so. I know this for a fact. Remember Jerri Manthey of Survivor fame? That’s exactly what they did to her and I know this because she and I have talked about it.

Yet after all of that, I still grieve the loss of [boom]. But even if it got picked up it likely would have been ill-born and forced to be something I never wanted. But still, every so often, as with this challenge, I’m reminded of the dream.