I am writing this now from a plane some 3 or 4,000 miles up in the sky- where I will be spending the majority of my summer. The tour for Hatchet publicity, festivals, appearances, and Spiral’s various premieres will be taking me everywhere and back again. This past weekend was the kick off with my trip to Canada’s Fantasia Film Festival in Montreal where both Hatchet and Spiral had their Canadian premieres. But before I get into that, let’s talk about yet another flight gone wrong, shall we?

For those of you familiar with my blogs- flying and I just don’t mix. In fact, even right now…we are going through such turbulence that every word I type is spelled wrong and will have to be re-written later. But the flight from Los Angeles to Montreal was….”classic Adam Green”. While waiting in the airport I couldn’t help but notice an overwhelming odor of hot trash. Was the airport trash seriously on fire? Did someone scale a fish 4 weeks earlier and leave it under a seat? No- it was the super friendly French couple sitting in the terminal who did not believe in deodorant. Now, in my world travels I have learned great tolerance for different cultures and their customs. I totally get that certain cultures don’t believe in deodorant and hey…I’m heading to a country filled with French/Canadians and therefore I gotta just suck it up, right? Well, maybe. But in my mind the airplane itself is still neutral ground and therefore I have every right to be an American prick about stuff like this. If you don’t want to clean yourself in your own country- totally cool. On a plane going from here to there? You better get yourself some Old Spice if not something of higher quality. But I shrugged it off. Some hundred or so people on the plane, what are the chances that they would be sitting near me?

“Bonjour!” I get to my seat- and there they are. Right next to me. This was gonna suck. I mean, seriously, what could be worse than 6 hours of breathing in someone’s nasty B.O.? Before I could even think that question- I found out something that is worse than breathing in someone’s nasty B.O..

Apparently the little Hassidic Jewish boy seated across the aisle from me suffers from motion sickness. And when I say “suffers from motion sickness” I’m talking ‘Stand By Me pie eating contest’ sickness. Nothing had even happened yet! I think they had merely closed the airplane door and “Bleeeeeeaaaaach!!!” Aviad McPukeiwitzbergstein was tossing his gefilte fish and matzo balls like a model at runway camp. Thankfully, young Aviad’s parents had packed lots of bags for him to yack in as there was no way the ‘airline brand’ little white paper lunch bags were gonna cut it for 6 hours of chunks. But to make a horrible situation even worse, they packed SEE-THROUGH ZIPLOCK FREEZER BAGS! So not only did you have to hear him throwing up- but you had to SEE it happen! Between Les Miserables next to me and the stank of this kids Hebrew hurl- I started looking for ways to kill myself on the plane. Wouldn’t you know, these days you can’t get a sharp object on a plane no matter what? So suicide was not an option. I buried my face in my own armpit (which smelled fucking great, FYI) and closed my eyes shut until it was over.

5 hours later.

So I get to Montreal (an hour late because it was an Adam Green flight), wait in line for customs for another hour, and then the luggage carousal broke down. But I could SEE my bag just on the other side of the little black rubber flaps separating the mysterious back room and the baggage claim. So I tried to just reach in grab it. My hands were almost lopped off. Airport security apparently does not like it when you reach over the line and into the back room. It’s as if they’re afraid that the Prince of Darkness is behind there and you may reach in and help pull him out into our world John Carpenter-style. So everyone else gets their bags and leaves. But I’m left standing there looking at my bag while an armed guard stares me down. 45 MINUTES LATER the carousal started up again and my bag moved the needed 7 inches past the flaps and I was on my way.

Saturday night was the Canadian premiere of HATCHET. I had been hearing about the Fantasia audience forever but I had never had the chance to get up there and see everyone. Keep in mind, the horror fans who see Hatchet typically lose their shit at several points during the film. Doesn’t matter where we are showing it- it somehow always turns into a rock concert. But I had never seen anything….ANYTHING…like the fans in Montreal.

When I got to the theater there was a line 700 people deep stretching around the corner and way down the street. Every seat in the theater was filled. But not only that- there were kids stacked in the aisles breaking every fire hazard rule in the book. The air was electric as the rock music blasted on the speakers. Finally, Mitch (the festival coordinator) took the stage and introduced me. He was so excited and talking so fast that I couldn’t follow it, but all I know is that the crowd loved it. They went crazy! At some point I heard my name and I made my way front and center. The theater exploded with the warmest welcome I’ll probably ever get in my life. I had to shorten my opening speech because the applause spread was so much longer than I ever imagined. After every sentence I said- there was an outbreak of applause and cheers. So I wrapped it up and took a seat.

It was like watching a fucking Metallica show! The laughs were enormous and the cheers and screams were louder than the sound system. People were pumping their fists, stomping their feet, and losing their minds as Victor Crowley went after each victim. And when it was done Mitch once again called me back up to the stage…and the crowd gave a standing ovation like I had never seen. The film has gotten a few standing ovations in it’s year long tour- but to see a theater filled with 6 or 7 hundred people all stand up on their feet and cheer like that…it was overwhelming. No, that’s not even the word. I don’t know what the word is. But here I am trying to keep my shit together and be cool and act professional- but I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was literally fighting back tears as I started the Q&A which lasted about 35 minutes long. I told stories from the set, shared the details of my MPAA crucifixion (hey, it’s another country- so I’m allowed to divulge details there), and answered every question they could ask. At the end, I finished with the infamous “Dee Snider story”. I’ve only told it at one other screening- which was the Tribeca Premiere…but there was no way I could not tell it to that crowd on Saturday night. For those that don’t know the story yet- come to Comic Con where I’ll be telling it again- or look for it on the DVD. It’s a very emotional and inspirational story for the other people out there like me who have big ambitions but no easy means to accomplish them. Anyway- when I finished the story…boom…once again, a second standing ovation this one even longer than the first. I said thank you 80 times and then moved outside to the lobby where I signed and took pictures with every last person who stuck around. I got home around 2:30 in the morning and crashed. What a fucking night!

The next night was SPIRAL’s Canadian premiere. When I got up in front of the audience I asked “was anyone at Hatchet last night?” and they all applauded. “Oh shit.” (I thought.) See, Spiral could not possibly be more different than Hatchet. It’s an art-house psychodrama. It’s not particularly scary, it’s not funny, there’s no gore, no swearing, no boobs…it’s a very serious and dramatic film. A tragic and disturbing love story, if you will. So I always get scared that the Hatchet fans are gonna walk in expecting to have their heads spun around and then find themselves bored. But thankfully, that was not the case. The crowd was really able to switch gears and watch a completely different type of film. It was a much more intimate experience than the madness of Hatchet the night before- and the Q&A was exceptionally fun because it was so conversational and honest. When you’re standing in front of 700 people you sort of need to “perform” and entertain- whereas a Q&A for 50 or 60 people who stick around is a lot more personal. It was another great success- though a very different kind of success. I only wish that my co-director (Joel David Moore) could have been there as well, but he’s off shooting Avatar.

Pictures and video from the weekend in Montreal are supposedly coming my way soon. When I have it, I’ll post it on here. But for now…here’s a picture that Dread Central took about halfway through the second standing ovation on Saturday night.

To those who were there- thank you for a response that I will never ever forget. And for those still patiently waiting for September 7^th…it will be here soon enough.

Xo xo

-GREEN

Last week we wrapped production on a project that I’ve been keeping quiet on for the past few months.  Today the Hollywood Reporter formally announced it, so now I can share…

MTV PARTNERS WITH OUTFITTER FOR WEB SERIES

By Gail Schiller
May 3, 2007

For the past decade I’ve been subjected and abused by my lifelong friends in the form of a primitive masochistic human event known as the “wedding”. I want to try and get right to the point here and not beat around the bush. I HATE WEDDINGS. There. I said it. Why the fuck should I have to be inconvenienced, bored, and made to suffer both physically and financially because of someone else’s mistake? You’re in love and you think you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with someone else- awesome. Let’s face it people- statistically 1 out of 2 marriages fail. In fact, the first wedding I went to is already over. Kaput. Fin. And I dropped over $1500 on that mistake! You know what? From now on if you invite me to your wedding, I want a money back guarantee. I want a voucher that says “Should this fling come to an abrupt end with irreconcilable differences or (better yet)…should I ever come home to find my wife with some other guy’s baby batter all over her chest…I promise I will reimburse you for every dime you shelled out at my expense.” And I don’t care how “special” you think your day is and how beautiful you and your new husband/wife look or how glad you are to have everyone there to witness your love…nobody really cares. You want your friends to bare witness to your love? Make a sex tape and put it on-line. At least that way I can bare witness to your love without having to fly anywhere- and depending on where I’m watching your tape and what kind of shape your wife is in…maybe I can actually get something out of it while I’m at it.

I’ll spare you the dollar amounts I was forced to pay to attend weddings right out of college- when I was still trying to break-in here in Hollywood and was so poor that I spent nights sifting through my own feces to try and find nourishment. I’ll spare you the story of the ‘destination wedding’ from hell where I traveled to a 3^rd world country and was forced to sleep in a hallway because I was the last one to call “not it” and get a bed in an actual room. I’ll even spare you the story of the wedding at Jimmy Hendrix’s old mansion where the bride did too much blow before stepping up to the alter and wound up telling everyone in attendance to “fuck themselves and get out”. (It was later discovered that she was in fact a HE at one point- but that’s a whole different blog for another day.)

But a point I simply MUST get across is that the whole “Maid of Honor” speech HAS TO GO. I don’t care that you pulled me away from my life, made me travel, drop thousands of dollars, get dressed up, rent someone else’s clothes, dance to ‘Love Shack’, and sit through canned ‘vows’. DO NOT MAKE ME SIT THROUGH ANOTHER MAID OF HONOR SPEECH. When did this travesty start? Whatever happened to a solid “Best Man” speech, a toast, and a sit-the-fuck-back-down-and-eat wedding? It used to be that the “Best Man” would get up and give a quick heart warming speech about his buddy and what the bride means to him. He would get everyone laughing (and if he’s halfway decent) a little teary…and then we would move on to “Love Shack” and “We Are Family”. But NO!! Now, in an effort to be equal and not shown up, the “Maid Of Honor” has to attempt a speech. And it always ends up being this teary stupid rambling about shopping, inside jokes, a list of other female names who you don’t know or give a shit about, and a final blanket statement about “sisters”. Sometimes they are REALLY sisters in which case they should be slapped for being so obvious. But other times they think they are delving into ‘cinematic speech gold’ by referring to their friend as a “sister” and should be slapped for going there and thinking it is a good closer to their weak speech. If I’m gonna pay all this money and travel the world to be there…I want to be entertained goddamnit! Don’t subject me to this bullshit. I like me a good speech. Deliver on this small detail and I am a happy guy. But now all of a sudden everyone who ever knew the bride and groom has to stand up and talk? Bullshit. I was at a wedding where the “Maid Of Honor” actually got up there with a notebook. Sorry, bride and groom. If your guests of “honor” can’t even commit to memory how they feel about you or get it out on a note card or two….they shouldn’t be talking in the first place. THINK OF YOUR GUESTS! This is a show, goddamnit! Entertain us! And I have no shame in the fact that from here on in I am asking if the reception includes an open bar before I accept or decline the invitation. “Hey thanks for coming all this way to be here- now pay $8 for a Bud Light.” Fuck you.

If I were to actually try and write out all of my wedding horror stories it would be a novel. In fact, that’s it. Right after I write the book on dating- I’m gonna write the book on weddings. I’ll call it “My Big Fat Inconvenient Hassle of A Fucking Wedding”. The next time I am bitching about weddings, people will be all like “What, did you write the book on weddings?” And then I’ll be all like “Yes.”

I can’t wait to get married. Not so much to live happily ever after- but to get back at every friend who made me go to their wedding so they can see how much it sucks. Give me a solid Bar Mitzvah, Sweet 16, funeral, or circumcision any day…but NO MORE WEDDINGS PLEASE, for the love of God. And before you all start leaving comments about me being heartless and not believing in love…I’m not heartless and I do believe in love. I just don’t believe in the rituals surrounding it and how they ruin everyone else’s life. At MY wedding? Pyrotechnics. No joke.

Now that we have all of that out of the way…let’s begin the story, shall we? I started writing this blog from the floor of LAX. A childhood friend who I love dearly decided to tie the knot…in a place that’s not within 4 hours of a major fucking airport. So unfortunately, the only way to get there involved some sort of layover. I hate layovers more than I hate having to fly next to a sweaty nervous suspicious looking person of Middle Eastern decent, OK? Layovers suck cat ass. So not only were my girlfriend and I looking at a full day of shit- but now, the city we were supposed to transfer in was having some “weather”. So there we were….HOURS later….sitting on the floor of the world’s nastiest airport. At this point we’ve already missed our connecting flight and have had to face the fact that we’re gonna be spending the night in a hotel in my ‘layover city’. Of course, I’ve already paid for the hotel in East bum-fuck where my friend decided to get married…so I’ll be paying for TWO hotel rooms in two different states- and a car rental that I won’t be using. Fucking awesome.

Eventually we arrived in Chicago. As expected, we had missed our connecting flight and we were looking at spending the night there. So we wait in a line and talk to the “ticketing agent”. We explored the option of flying into a neighboring state and driving in to the wedding…but unfortunately, my girlfriend had checked her bag and it was nowhere to be found by this point. So we agreed to fly out in the morning. The “ticketing agent” gave us tickets for the next morning.

“So do you guys put us up in a hotel now or anything?”

“No.”

“What about a distressed rate or something?”

Turns out the “distressed” rate is at a hotel an hour away that costs $120 a night. Someone explain to me how that is a distressed rate? So- a $60 cab ride later and we arrive at this hotel. We step into the elevator to find that we are standing in a floor full of vomit. Yes, you read correctly. We were standing in an inch of someone else’s half digested food. Needless to say, by the time we arrived at our floor- we were pissed. But no, the adventure was really just beginning as we discovered that we were actually in the movie Labyrinth and each hallway lead to more mystery and staircases…but no actual room. At one point David Bowie actually leaned over the rail and sang to us. On any other night it would have been cool- but not tonight.

So we get to our room. Finally a shower. Unfortunately- this particular hotel only provides COLD water. I know, what was I supposed to expect for such a low rate of $120 a night? So no shower for us- but that’s OK seeing as how all of our toiletries were in a big suitcase with red cherries all over it somewhere over the United States. Don’t even get me started on the fact that you can’t carry toothpaste onto a fucking plane anymore. You know what? If a terrorist could figure out how to take down a plane with a tube of Crest- I’d be more than happy to die on that flight. I mean, come on. That takes talent! My last words as I plummeted to my fiery death would be “Nice, dude!” He would retort: “Chaaalam Dirkadirka Jihad!”…which actually means… “Fuck you, you filthy Jew. I don’t care if you’re impressed with my toothpaste bomb making skills- the whole point of this was to kill Americans…not to impress your Hebrew ass.”

So no shower. No clothes. Shoes full of vomit. Man, were we hungry. But strangely enough- there is no food in Chicago. I swear to God. We approached the front desk and asked where we could go get some solid Chicago Deep Dish Pizza and the woman actually chuckled. “Not at this hour!”

It was 9:25pm.

Refusing to believe her, we made our way to a nearby restaurant. Sure enough, she wasn’t lying. Everything on the block was closed. One place even said “Open ’til 11pm”. When I inquired why the sign on the door said that…the waitress responded “I don’t really know.” The city of Chicago is now up there with weddings in my book. What a fucking terrible place. And FYI- eventually we did find pizza and you know what, Chicago…? Your pizza sucks. Go to New York and get some real pizza. Fuck you, fuck the Bears, and fuck your kick-off return in the Superbowl that you lost. I still can’t believe that the “Windy City” has to close their airports because of “wind”. Needless to say, by the next morning- we were ready to leave Chicago. (Note: it had now been 24 hours since we left Los Angeles and this is all for a fucking wedding.)

Another $60 cab ride and we are back at O’Hare. The lines are long. But we were smart and thought ahead. We got there early. So we get up to the ticketing booth and find out that our “ticketing agent” actually booked us on another airline.

“Oh, see the fine print here on your American Airlines ticket? These are actually for United now.”

Boss. So we’re out the door and on a train to get to the United terminal. It’s OK because we still have plenty of time. Of course, when we get to the escalator…it’s broken. Just one more kick in the balls. We finally get to the United terminal to find that the wait time for a ticketing agent is roughly 3 hours. No Fast Pass like Disneyland. Just a big “Fuck you, hope you enjoyed our escalator- have you tried our Pizza yet?” We’re never gonna make our flight. So I do my best to try and get ahead in the line. Thankfully, everyone in the mid-west is severely over weight, so I was able to snake my way up into the line by hiding beneath their fat. I tried bribing my way to the top with free tickets to Hatchet. When that didn’t work I tried to get Rileah to take her shirt off. When she wouldn’t cooperate- I spied an emergency phone in the corner that connects you directly with an agent. There was hope!

I picked up the phone and it had me enter all kinds of numbers. My ticket number, my confirmation number, the entire script for the movie “Number 23”, my favorite number, my birthdate, and my social security number. At that point it connects me to an agent who right off the bat asks me for ALL OF THE SAME NUMBERS. This may be slightly off topic…but why the fuck do phone services make you enter all of that info if they’re just gonna ask you for it again moments later? Are we hamsters? Do we just need to be “kept busy” because the Michael Bolton hold music is not enough? Who’s the corporate asshole, who said, “I know! Make them enter numbers while they are on hold! That way they won’t realize how long they are holding because they’ll be so busy!” Finally, the agent pulls up my info. Turns out that the tickets our “ticketing agent” gave us are NO GOOD.

“Why would she have booked you on a United flight? That makes no sense. You’re not in the system at all. She probably just wanted to get rid of you because it was so stressed over there last night. Go back to American Airlines and see if they can help you.”

Now I’m out for blood. I don’t want a manager. I want the fucking President of American Airlines! I want George Fucking Bush! I’m so mad my sweat is afraid to come out.

We walk back up the mile long broken escalator (somehow in Chicago you go UP both ways), get on the train, and head back to American Airlines. Now it’s mayhem there. Turns out their trick tickets could only divert the masses for so long. We wait in another line. Our flight is now long gone. (Note: it has now been 30 hours since we left Los Angeles and Chicago still sucks.)

When we finally get to an agent she informs us that there are no available flights out of Chicago heading where we are going for the next 2 days. (American Airlines had just joined Weddings and Chicago on my list.) The best she could do was put us on stand-by.

So there we are…stuck in Chicago. No way out. I was going to have to call my friend and tell her that I was going to pull a Tom Hanks and start living in the terminal. I would not be making her wedding. Of course, right after I did so…miraculously, two seats opened up on a full flight. Turns out 2 other people had missed their connection and would now be stranded in the airport of doom. Haha, fuckers! Welcome to Chicago! Have some pizza! We’re taking your seats!

Once aboard we realized we were on one of those “Buddy Holly” airplanes. But we didn’t care. After all, death was a welcome sight after spending the night in Chicago. Christ that city sucks as much as the band. We squeezed our eyes closed and prayed for safety. 38 hours after we had left Los Angeles…we arrived in East Bum Fuck.

The wedding was fine. Awesome “Best Man” speech. No “Maid of Honor” speech. No “Love Shack.” And a goddamn awesome open fucking bar. I’m writing this now from the airport in East Bum Fuck as we wait to board and complete our adventure. Hopefully we don’t have the same problems on our return flight. But to all of my friends who read these blogs, get used to seeing this from me:

“Unfortunately I am unavailable to attend your wedding on <enter date here> as I have another event scheduled that day. Enclosed please find a $5.00 coupon good towards anything at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Please note- the coupon is not good on Yankee Candle products, but you can probably get a nice magnet with it. Congratulations on your big day and may you both live happily ever after. – Adam Fucking Green”

Before I even get started here I just have to say…WOW.  You guys are the f’n greatest.  I get more Myspace’s (or whatever the fuck you call these things) than I can handle.  So first of all- THANK YOU.

At the same time, even though there is no humanly possible way to write back to every single person who writes to me…I still get the occasional letter where someone is all hurt because they didn’t get a personal response.  And I honestly do feel terrible about that.  I mean, I’m not like cutting myself at night or anything, but I do feel badly about it.

So what follows are some frequently asked questions and my answers to them.

1. Why did you write back to my friend but not me?

Probably because your friend was a “she”, and she was hot.  But in all seriousness, perhaps your friend caught me on a day when I was procrastinating while writing or perhaps your friend asked a very specific and easy to answer question.  Like “What is your favorite song on side one of Debbie Gibson’s ‘Electric Youth’ album?”  (LOST IN YOUR EYES for those who are also interested.)  When I get asked broad questions like “How do I write a script?” or “Any advice on how to make a movie?” it’s really, really hard to come up with an answer that I can type out within a few minutes.

2. You’ve written back to me a bunch of times but now you don’t.  Are you mad at me?

Probably.  But in most cases it’s really just a matter of time.  Also, as much as I enjoy the interaction- I unfortunately don’t have the luxury of time for a pen pal these days, so for those who fire back email after email…after awhile it gets hard to keep up with.  Not to mention, I try very hard to PERSONALLY respond to everyone and not send generic form letters back like some others do.  And to be quite honest, I’m simply not witty enough to come up with more than a few original replies to the same person.  After the 5th or 6th letter where you don’t necessarily ask anything specific, I’ll have to start sending back T-shirt order forms for my high school band cause I’ll run out of neat things to say.  Honestly, I barely have time to clean my cat’s litter box.  Which they’ve resorted to living in.  Filthy creatures.

3. Where do you get your concert shirts?

At the concerts.  And while we’re on this subject- this is just how I have always dressed.  It’s not a fashion statement and it’s really not even all that cool.  I’m not selling any of them and I don’t want to buy any of yours.  That being said, if someone wanted to SEND me a free ‘Don’t Tread On Me’ shirt from Metallica’s ’91 black album tour…I’d accept it.  My friend’s dog ate mine a few years back.  He’s an asshole.  (The dog, not my friend.)

4. Do you have a girlfriend?

You’d have to be the world’s worst internet stalker to not be able to figure that one out.  So on laziness alone- I don’t answer that one.  Though I am more than willing to disclose information about every single aspect of my life including my fear of Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup, my inability to pee in public bathrooms, my undying love for Britney Spears, and my psychotic nightmares that I wake up screaming from…this is one of the things that I do like to keep personal throughout all of this.  Of course for those who really, really know me- it’s a different story.  But unless you have my phone number or hang out with me on a regular basis or actually KNOW my girlfriend…please don’t ask personal questions about her.

5. Can I have your phone number?

No.  Wait.  Maybe.  Depends on what kind of pictures you send me.  But most likely no.

6. Do you charge for autographs and how do I get one?

No, I do not charge for autographs as I think that’s ridiculous.  Though I won’t always be able to control the situation (certain conventions have their own arrangements)- I do offer a way for you to send a self addressed stamped envelope to my production company and get a free one in return.  All of the details are on my official website: www.arieScope.com .  This desire to never charge for simple shit and to stay accessible to people all stems from an experience I had back in 4th grade.  I spent an entire day crafting a fan letter to KISS…and all I got back was a T-shirt order form.  Though I’m now grown up and realize the absurdity of thinking that Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley, Peter Criss, and Ace Freehley were actually going to write back to me…I’m still gonna try as hard as I can to never be ‘that guy’.

7. Will you read my script?

No.  And please don’t take offense.  It’s honestly a legal issue and the only way to stay protected is for me to pass on looking at any material that isn’t solicited through my representation.  Believe me, I KNOW it sucks.  It’s just the way it is.

8. How do I get my hands on a copy of your first film, COFFEE & DONUTS?

If you check the COFFEE & DONUTS MySpace page (located in my Top Friends) you’ll see a blog that explains that.

9. What’s going on with HATCHET, SPIRAL, etc, etc…?

Anything that I CAN talk about is already out there in various news or interviews.  If I haven’t said it- then chances are I can’t tell you yet or I don’t know either.

10. Why the choice to follow HATCHET with an ‘artsy’ film like SPIRAL?

I needed the money and Joel David Moore triple dog dared me to do it.  But seriously?  I’m always going to do what I feel inspired to do and take my own chances.  Though I (thankfully) have many opportunities to jump on jobs that could easily make me lot of money – I do what I feel like doing.  I totally get that there’s a lot of die hard horror fans who are anxious for another ‘genre’ film- and I fucking LOVE you guys for that.  But I have other sides to my personality that I need to follow.  I’ll never ask that you respect the films that are outside of the genre you love, but I do ask that you respect my decisions to pursue other things from time to time.

11. Would you ever do a remake?

It all depends.  A horror remake?  Probably not as there’s nothing left to remake thanks to Hollywood.  But I never say never.  There’s a lot of movies I grew up on that I’d love to put my own spin on- but for the time being, I’m content creating my own original stuff.  The slogan for HATCHET (“It’s not a remake.  It’s not a sequel.  And it’s not based on a Japanese one.”) was never meant as anything more than a tongue-in-cheek jab at the state of the genre today and to capture the feeling of what the spirit of the film is.  I’m not anti-remake.  But I’m not actively pursuing the chance to do one either.

12. Are you friends with ________?

Why do you care?  If you want gossip on someone, pick up US Weekly.  Please don’t ask personal questions about celebs I may or may not be close with in real life, I’m not going to answer them.

13. Will I do an interview for your national magazine, website, high school news paper, etc?

Absolutely.  I don’t care what the source is, if you care enough to have me be your subject matter- I’m down.  I only ask that you don’t contact me here for that stuff.  Contact my reps or the PR firm for whichever distributor is handling the particular project you are interested in.  If you need that sort of info- just ask.

14. Will you put me in your TOP FRIENDS?

As many of you have experienced, the whole “Top Friends” situation is a HUGE problem.  Just know that I have enough trouble juggling the slots for the friends I see every day…it’s not going to be worth the hassle of switching it up every few days.  Besides, I’m not really even famous so being in my Top Friends doesn’t mean you’re going to get some sort of great exposure for your career, film, band, etc.  Go ask one of the porn stars or model chicks to put you in their Top Friends and you’ll get some serious exposure.  Besides, they’re way more fun to look at than me.

15. I found the HADDONFIELD page on MySpace.  Is that really you singing?

Yes.  HADDONFIELD was the band I had back in Salem, Massachusetts prior to my first film being picked up out here in LA.  Unfortunately, those crude sound board recordings are all we’ll ever have.  We’re not getting back together and I don’t have a new band that I’m starting.  In fact, I only put up a MySpace page for HADDONFIELD because I wanted to use one of our songs on my own page for a few weeks.  No, there’s no shirts left.  But yes, I do entertain offers to perform at bar mitzvahs, weddings, and circumcisions.

16. What is your favorite breakfast cereal?

Cocoa Pebbles.

17.  What are your cats names?

Tyler, Perry, and Chewbacca.  The first two were named by me out of my respect for the greatest American rock n roll band of all time.  I’m still proposing the arguement to change Chewie’s name to Whitford…but I keep being shot down.

18. Why do you have cats?

I still don’t really know.  I was never really a “cat” guy though I’m sure a lot of my friends would call me a pussy.  I think I’m just an ‘animal’ guy and given my current lifestyle and work schedule- these cats make sense.  Trust me, when I settle down some more and can properly take care of a dog…these cats are going straight to the vet to be put to sleep.  Except for Chewy.  He’s going down a well.  (Unless I get to change his name to Whitford in which case he will be worthy enough to die with the rest of the band.)

19. Do you still do stand-up?

I haven’t in over 2 years now.  Stand-up is a serious, serious commitment.  For real comics- it’s like a sport where you’re constantly training and practicing your craft.  I was never really serious enough about it.  I literally started doing it because it was one of the few things in life I was afraid of besides bees, sharks, and angry Islamists.  It was a fun time while it lasted- but I just can’t dedicate the right amount of time to it these days.  I’ll return and do it again sooner rather than later.  But in the meantime, please don’t put me on the spot at a convention or screening and say “Hey!  Do some stand-up for us!” and get everyone to cheer and wait for it.  I had a date years ago where the girl I was out with kept saying “Do something funny!  Be funny!”  So I raped her.

20.  Did you really mean what you said about the cats?

No.  In middle school I brought my Sea Monkey’s to school and someone spilled them on the ground and stepped on all of them in front of me.  I had to be sent home because I couldn’t stop crying.  I’m telling you, when it comes to any sort of animal- I’m a certified wuss.

Rest in piece, my little friends.  I miss you.

——————————-

If you have more questions- go on and ask them and I’ll do another one of these lists from time to time.  It’s definitely going to keep the emails more managable!

Love to you all-

Green

OK, so I’ve been real busy with a million different things and I’ve sucked at writing back to you all.  I haven’t updated the HATCHET website journals in like 3 years, I never update my blog, and I didn’t issue a comeback to the witty comment you left on my MySpace page…I know, I’m sorry, I suck.  But cut me some slack here.  I could list off all of the projects on my plate right now but I’m afraid I’d re-read it and then throw up on myself in fear.  The two I need to acknowledge however, are of course HATCHET – “When the f*ck is it coming out, Green?”- right?…. and GOD ONLY KNOWS – “Green, you’re doing a romantic comedy next?”  Yes.  I am.  Blow me.

You’ll be happy to know that I actually saw the final press release for Hatchet’s acquisition and theatrical release.  I shit you not.  It’s in my email’s inbox- right now.  In fact, if I didn’t care about pissing off the powers that be- I could easily just go ahead and post it here in a matter of clicks.  But I can’t do that.  Honestly, I have no idea what they’re waiting for now.  My guess is the news will either come out before I finish writing this or perhaps they’re just gonna hold off until after the holidays when people are actually reading the trades again and not just using them as wrapping paper.  But either way…it’s all sealed up and done.  Yes, you’ve heard right- end of 1st Quarter, nationwide theatrical release.  (That means March/April in a theater near you.)  I noticed in this month’s Fangoria magazine that they threw the term “limited” next to our release.  They also had our release listed as January.  Just so everyone knows- limited is when they only make like 12 prints, run it in a few cities for a few weeks, and then hit the DVD.  Our release is not limited.  The intention is for WIDE.  Whether or not they open it wide right away or ramp up to a wide (known as “platforming” for you non-industry savvy folks)  is their game-time decision…but our release is not supposed to be limited.

But wait- how about that spread in the December Fango though?  Did you guys check that shit out?  Funny how 20 years ago if someone had told me my movie would be on the cover of Fango and have a 6 page spread inside it- I would have been the happiest kid on earth.  And here I am bitching about the fact that they used a wrong word to describe our release.  Who the hell am I?  What have I become?  Hold on, I’m getting there.

So GOD ONLY KNOWS.  Yes, it’s true.  My next film is a romantic comedy.  My horror friends and fans are in shock, I know.  No one really seemed to flip when I said I was doing SPIRAL- but then again, because that can be described as a “dramatic thriller” it seemed OK.  But throw the words “romantic comedy” out there and you’d think I was at the Laugh Factory yelling the “N-word” at a crowd of patrons.  Oh, I know– cheap Michael Richards shot- but the guy’s asking for it.  I actually had sympathy for him when it happened because I know how frustrating it must have been to be doing stand-up and getting heckled.  So he just yelled out the most offensive, shocking thing he could to ‘shut the heckler up’.  I was like, damn.  Kramer messed up big time- but I know he didn’t mean it.  Then he goes on Letterman and tries to defend his actions by bringing in Hurricane Katrina and (my favorite part) “AFRO-American tensions”.  I was like…woah- say that again!?  And he did.  “AFRO-American.”  What is this, 5th grade social studies in 1975?  Who uses such a term these days?  Might as well say “I didn’t mean to offend the Darkies”.  Sorry, Kramer…you kind of deserve it.  And I feel no shame in taking a cheap shot at you.

But moving on, yes I’m making GOD ONLY KNOWS and it’s a romantic comedy.  It’s a script I’ve been working on for years now and is one that is extremely close to my heart.  I’d say it’s my favorite thing I’ve ever written- but I haven’t written everything I’m going to write yet.  Or maybe I have.  Like, what if this is seriously the LAST thing I ever write?  Don’t laugh.  I actually do lose sleep over it.  Everything I finish, rather than be happy about it- the first thing I do is start fearing that I’ll never be able to do it again.  But here’s what I can offer to HATCHET fans…GOD ONLY KNOWS is a romantic comedy, sure.  But the emphasis is on “comedy”.  It’s a romantic comedy that is actually going to be funny.  Don’t you hate when your girlfriend takes you to go see something that’s in the “romantic comedy” genre…but it’s not funny at all?  Why don’t they just call those movies “romance” films?  I suppose because even the gayest dude in West Hollywood wouldn’t be caught going to see the new Julia Roberts “Romance” film.  But throw “comedy” in there- and suddenly, it’s cool.  Plus- who doesn’t like comedy?  Every now and then I meet people and they ask me what I do and when I tell them I hear “Well, I don’t care for horror films” or “I’m not a fan of gore”.  But when’s the last time somebody said “Jeez, you know, I’d love to go see that with you…but I just can’t stand funny movies.”  So my pledge to you is this …no, no one gets disembowled in GOD ONLY KNOWS…but you will laugh your ass off.  You’re gonna like it.

So I’ve been in casting for the past few weeks.  That would be a whole nother blog- but the point is that it’s tiring and long and boring at times…but god DAMN have I gotten to meet some great actors this time around.  When we were casting for HATCHET, the two roles that we had the toughest time with were “Misty” and “Jenna” because they required nudity.  For whatever reason, we were getting tons of hot girls coming in- but they weren’t funny.  5 months later, we found Mercedes McNab and Joleigh Fiorevanti and- well, the movie is what it is because of actors like them.  They’re fucking precious.  And anyone who disagrees with me can see the end of paragraph 1 and blow me a second time.  But GOD ONLY KNOWS, not being a horror film…we’ve had the cream of the crop coming out.

By the way, what the fuck is “crop cream” and why does the thought of it make me feel dirty?

But casting is amazing.  The two leads are now set but we’re holding on announcing until we properly announce the film.  Both are actors I’ve wanted to work with for a long time.  The female lead is one of my favorite actresses and, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful stars in Hollywood.  The male lead may as well have grown up with me cause I’ve felt like I’m best friends with this guy since I first met him several years ago.  It’s about time we’re making a movie together.  In January…we shall reveal all.

But in the midst of all of this…I get a call for Jury Duty.  Getting a jury summons in the mail is almost like getting blood results back in the mail that say you have an STD.  (If I knew what that was like.)  Thankfully, in my life experiences I’ve steered completely clear of women that would make me itchy…but IF I ever HAD gotten bad blood results in the mail…I have a feeling it would be just like getting that jury summons.

And now people are going to comment on this and say shit like “Dude, just throw it out.  They can’t prove that you ever got it unless it was sent registered mail.”  Well, where the fuck were you when I was calling in my acceptance of the summons?

So suddenly casting and life as I know it is on hold…and I am on my way to jury duty.

Let me preface this with the fact that I was at a Twisted Sister show the night before.  So by the time I got home and actually went to bed…it was close to 3am.  So at 5:45 my alarm goes off and I am on my way.  The one thing I know, is that I am not going to be late.  But when I get in my car, I realize I only have about 20 miles left before I am out of gas.  Now I drive a Mustang…so pretty much starting the car uses half a tank of gas and I’m used to this.  No problem.  I go and get gas.  Then I realize…shit, I have no cash on me cause I spent it all last night.  So I run to a cash machine.  At this point I’m still OK on time.  But then I get risky and decide I’m gonna hit up Starbucks and grab a coffee for the road.  Unfortunately, we don’t have Dunkin Donuts here in Hollywood.  But that’s a different blog.  I get there and head up the walkway ramp.  Only too late do I realize that there’s a homeless man blocking my path.  “Do you gots any money?”  I keep moving.  I get inside and order a Venti Gingerbread Latte and tell them my name is Bob Balls.  (And fuck you for laughing at my Gingerbread Latte order.  Jews like the taste of Christmas, too.)  It takes them 15 MINUTES  to make my coffee.  Apparently the Gingerbread Man himself was needed to make the latte and those wacky Starbucks employees just could not seem to catch him.  But finally, I have my steaming sweet cup of overpriced Christmas gayness in my hands and I am out the door.  “Do you gots any money?”  I’m back to the car.  Here’s where it gets good.

I put the drink on the roof and reach in my pocket for my keys when…WHAM!  A bird shits on me from out of nowhere.  Now, understand- I am not near trees or even power lines.  I am in an empty parking lot in Los Angeles where birds haven’t hung out since the 50’s.  And I’m not talking about a little round white glob of goo with a black center.  I mean full-on Sea-Gull at the beach in the summer-time-splatters.  It went all down my chest, splashed on my face, into my coffee, and against my driver’s side window.  I felt like Allister when someone would con him into saying “I don’t know” on You Can’t Do That On Television.  My first instinct was to fight.  I turned to the sky and actually yelled some shit like “Let’s go, Bitch!”  Only then did I realize that the bird was long gone.  In fact, thankfully, no one had seen it happen except the homeless guy.  It was a rondom act of violence.  A drive by shitting upon.  I’m now going to be late.

So I run back up the ramp to go inside and get some napkins.  “Do you gots any money?”  Inside I vigorously try and rub the bird excrement off of my black T-shirt.  But it only turns the shirt whiter and spreads it around.  I give up and head back to my car.  “Do you gots any money?”  No, but here…have a Gingerbread Latte on me.

I ran to the car as he shouted homophobic remarks at me for ordering a Gingerbread Latte.

But now I’m faced with a dilema.  Do I use the shit to my advantage and hope that the Jury Warlords will send me home?

Think about it.  “Sir, do you feel you can judge this case fairly and honorably?”  Sure thing.  But did you notice I have feces on my face?  Is that going to be a problem, your Honor?

But what if they didn’t accept being shat upon as a worthy dismissal excuse?  Well, then I’d have to move to the orginal plan of wetting myself during role call.  Not to mention I’d be sitting with bird deuce on me all day.  I needed to turn back, go home and change.  As the Gingerbread Latte hit the rear window of my beautiful but now defacated-on Mustang…I tore out of the parking lot and headed home for a new offensive T-shirt.  Sadly, Rileah had not done laundry and the most offensive shirt I could come up with was one that simply read “Paramount Pictures”.

Needless to say, I was late getting there.  But have you ever heard the old wives tale about how “if a bird shits on you it’s good luck”?  I always thought that was a line of horseshit written by someone way too obsessed with the ‘bright side’.  Don’t you hate those people?  “Well, look on the bright side-”  NO!  Fuck you!  There is no bright side!  If we had gotten here 2 minutes earlier, they would have still been serving breakfast and now we’re gonna have to eat french fries instead of hash brown patties.  Why does God hate me so??!

I always thought that saying being shit upon is “good luck” would be like trying to say that being raped just means that someone “really, really likes you”.  Both suck.  And unless I’m in a German shit-fettish video- I don’t want to see or smell shit…let alone wear it.  Christ, I’ve spent three years trying to teach my cats to clean their own litter-box because the smell of it makes me gag.  But do you know what?  I didn’t get selected for Jury Duty.  And I didn’t even have to wet myself.  My name just never came up.

And all because a bird shit all over me.

I know what you’re all thinking.  “Oh look at him, all born again.”  But this isn’t something retarded or completely ficticious like those people who claim they found Jesus.  No.  This is way better than that.  I found…well…I found shit.  And it saved me.  Call it an act of God or simply file it away under mere “Christmas magic”…but I can see through the rain now.  Fuck you Jury Duty.   But God bless you Mr. Sickly Sea-Gull.  I hope you’re feeling better tonight.  Because of you I can get to that second Twisted Sister show on-time tomorrow night and not be delayed by Jury Duty and all it’s Juryness.

And with that, I am back to work.  Happy New Year to all of you.  I am so sorry I can’t write back to everyone who writes to me but I am just unbelievably busy these days.  I do read every letter you send and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the support.  2007 is going to be huge.  HATCHET and SPIRAL will both come out and GOD ONLY KNOWS will shoot.  I know I say it alot, but I promise- big news is just around the corner.

Peace to you and yours-

Adam

OK, so I’ve been sick for what seems like 2 months now.  Between the lack of sleep and the non-stop traveling, every time I start to get better I get on another plane and catch something else.  The worst part is that the moment that I get on a plane I can usually spot the sickly douchebag coughing up his life that is ultimately going to make me sick.  But today I suppose it’s me.  I am the guy that is going to make some other poor soul sick.    I am the sickly douchebag.

All I can think of when I’m on these planes (aside from my intense fear of death, flying, and silly jihad) is that scene in the movie OUTBREAK where they actually followed the disease out of one person’s mouth, through the air of the movie theater, and into someone else’s mouth.  Fucking gross.    The fact that I keep getting sick everytime I fly means that I’m sort of indirectly making out with a total stranger nearby me on the plane.  I hope it’s at least a SHE and that she’s hot.  But have you ever noticed that there’s never good looking people on planes?  And if there are…they’re certainly not sitting next to you.  They walk down the aisle looking right at the number above your head and you’re like “please god, please, let her be sitting next to me…” but no.  She walks right by you and Muhammad the over weight un-showered coughing king sits down next to you and starts eating pickled eggs.  And the worst part is that you never even see those hot people again.  I swear they pass your seat and then exit the back of the plane.  The pilots must be like “Alright, send the models walking down the aisles.  Let’s get that guy’s hopes up in the middle seat of aisle 48.  Anyone remember how to land?”

I’ve had some pretty awful experiences on planes…but I suppose one has never gone down into the ocean and I survived only to be eaten by sharks…so I haven’t had it THAT bad.  (Yet.)  But today I am about to embark on the longest flight of my flying career.  Los Angeles to Barcelona.  I leave at 5:50pm today and land at 5:45pm tomorrow.  I lose a full day of my life.  Does that mean that my birthday comes a day later next year or maybe it just doesn’t count?   But thankfully I was introduced to a wonderful thing called Thera-Flu yesterday.  Has anyone ever tried this?  You just heat up some water, cast a magical white powder into a mug, and 20 minutes later…things just don’t seem so bad.  In fact, I’m pretty confident that if I didn’t have to go get on another flying tin cesspool of infection today that the Thera-Flu may have actually had me all better by tomorrow.  But no.  I can’t even bring the required amount of water needed to create the Thera-Flu goodness because of Umar Mus’ab who I’m probably sitting next to.  Christ, this next day is gonna suck.

Maybe I could be a spokesperson for Thera-Flu?  “Hi, I’m Adam Green…when I’m sanding off a woman’s lower jaw with a belt sander or making two actors throw up in each other’s mouths in the dead of night…sometimes I can catch a cold.  That’s why I look no further than Thera-Flu.”

So Spain here I come.  And why do I do it?  Why do I accept the offers to be flown all over the world with my film to these festivals and appearances?  Well there’s two reasons.   First of all because I’d be an asshole to say no or complain about it.  (Hey, cut me some slack- I can bitch about the flying part all I want.  I’m a stand-up for fuck’s sake.  Air travel and dating is 75% of our material.)  It’s a huge honor to go to all of these places and speak to audiences, tell my story, and answer questions.  Second of all, the best part of this whole career is meeting the fans.  It sounds cliche, but it really is true.  You can get all the good reviews and industry suits knocking down your door- and still doubt them.  But each real person who comes up to you with that look of excitement in their eyes just talking a mile a minute while excitedly gripping your hand…that makes all the bullshit in the Hollywood circus worth it.  And I think anyone who ever takes that for granted has lost their soul.   So yeah, this flight is gonna suck, I feel like I’m gonna die at any given moment , and my eyes feel like someone rubbed cancer in them…but I’m going to get to go hang out with people who are just as passionate about the movie I made as I am.  How cool is that?

At these events, I’m constantly putting on more and more anti-bacterial hand stuff and fans often ask why I smell like a stripper.  Though I’m a sitting duck on the plane- there’s at least something I can do about preventing getting sick from shaking hundreds of hands.  Plus cucumber melon, juniper breeze, and cotton blossom make me happy.  So what?  You want to fight about it?

Which brings me to my last subject.  My ass.  Towards the end of summer my girlfriend and I decided we would not only join a new gym…but go the distance and do the whole personal trainer thing.  I’m happy to say that even with all of this non-stop international travel and the 500 projects I have going on…I’ve been sticking with it.  I gotta admit that I still think it’s weird to pay some guy to stand there and give me odd jobs.  “Run up these stairs.  Hold this and squat down.  Push these heavy weights up and down.  Row with this thing.  Run back up those stairs.”  But I’m sticking with it.

Needless to say- yesterday he nearly killed me and for whatever reason (maybe it was the squats, maybe it was the rowing) my ass hurts like you wouldn’t believe.  I swear I can barely sit down.  Between my constant hacking cough, my bloodshot sleepless eyes, weeks of unshaven-ness, and crippled ass…I kind of look like an elderly, stoned, AIDS victim these days.  How the hell am I gonna sit on a plane for 15 plus hours?  By the time I arrive in Barcelona, Juan Carlos is gonna walk up to me and say “Hola, Senior Green!  It’s a pleasure to…hey, what’s wrong with your ass, man?  And…why does it smell like a fucking strip joint in here?”

But here’s the best part…the screening of HATCHET in Barcelona is at 1:15am on Sunday morning.  Let’s assume it ends by 3am.  (Apparently the Spanish do not sleep.)  That gives me one hour to answer questions, meet fans, and get back to the airport for another eternal flight back home to the USA.  And when I land…I go straight to the red carpet of the CHAINSAW AWARDS.  And when I say “straight to”…I mean like most likely having to change in the airport bathroom when I get off the plane.

So if you tune in to watch the awards ceremony on FUSE …and you see a guy who makes Tobin Bell from SAW look like a John Biestow infomercial…that’s me.  I’ll be drinking Thera-Flu, dousing myself in my girlfriend’s Bath and Body Works products, and holding my ass in agony.

All in the name of horror.