100 Percent Pure Adrenaline

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The Hud

What day is it? The Date!: January 23rd

THE YEAR?!:2010

When it comes to handling the role of a film director, German born Roland Emmerich is as mainstream and successful as one can get. His movies break countless records worldwide and his resume includes the summer tent pole blockbusters Independence Day, The Day After Tomorrow and 2012.  When attempting to tackle a new creative project, most directors draw from their past. Oliver Stone, director of the classic films Platoon, Born on The Fourth Of July and Salvador, used his harrowing journey through the depths of the Vietnam jungle in which to cultivate inspiration. Steven Spielberg, possibly one of the most respected and commercial figures of the modern film industry, used the divorce of his parents at an early age in which he channeled those feelings of loneliness and confusion into plots involving sons and the absent fathers they sought connection with.

What of Roland Emmerich, though? Little is known about the European director’s direct influences but with a little journalist ingenuity and a lot of fictional fabrications I have uncovered the direct source of cinematic ideas the filmmaker taps into. Its an invaluable object he obtained as an impressionable child which he continues to hold close to his heart. This wellspring of ideas provides an unlimited resource of inspiration on demand for the foreign director.

Frankfurt Germany, 1944. The war for Nazi dominance in Europe rages on. Although whispers abound through various channels regarding the National Socialist’s foundation crumbling beneath them, happily married Dieter and Helga Emmerich pay no mind. They are proud German people with a strong sense of moral balance.  Eat your morning strudels, wear your lederhosen and blindly follow your government’s directions and you will lead a long and fulfilling life, they would often say. Through it all nothing made the couple more proud than their five year old son, little Roland, or Reinlobbinmeinenhiknerstein as his fellow boyhood friends had lovingly nicknamed him. Much like the droves of mentally disabled citizens the S.S. officers frequently brought into the town factory (The black heavy smoke billowing through the chimney tops are the tires we burn to keep our disable friends warm!) soon young Roland would be making a journey of his own.

Roland would be six soon in the upcoming summer months and the Emmerich family were eager to send the shy and obedient little boy off on the journey to make him a man. The parents were ecstatic to finally gas tiny Roland with a Zyklon B. amount of national pride into his lungs they themselves had already been subjected to. His destination? The Hitler Youth Camp.

Unbeknown to the simple living Dieter and Helga, the smallest Emmerich had his own thoughts on the matter. He was a dreamer, a pacifist. The idea of climbing into the mold and having it slam down upon you, stamping their mark and turning you into a predetermined design didn’t interest the young boy. He was a square being pushed into a circular hole, and he struggled with himself to tell his absent minded parents the true feelings he harbored deep down inside.

Roland hadn’t realized what his goal was in life but the small creative sparks made themselves known from time to time. When his father once arrived home after a long day at the factory burning rubber tires Roland was overjoyed when he realized Dieter had brought him a present; two toy cars.  Although the faint stench of human hair exuded from his new playthings the joyous Emmerich paid no mind, immediately running outside in his tiny pair of lederhosen to put his new gifts to good use. For hours the little boy entertained himself with the metal vehicles, slamming the two together over and over against each other until they barely resembled their original form. Eventually growing tired of this scenario, five year old Roland next began taking turns slamming each one onto the ground time and time again squealing with delight. He had found his gift that fateful afternoon. Roland Emmerich was a storyteller.

His mind was set, “No Hitler Youth and no military future.” Day by day it became harder for Roland to hold back his true emotions, knowing the journey to camp was soon nearing. He hadn’t a clue what to do, his parents let off a glow which grew ever brighter as the summer months grew near and he had seemed to shrivel away, dying a little inside through each passing moment. Surely there had to be some way to break the news to his parents and tell them of his true ambitions.

Eating his breakfast strudel one bright spring day the waves of change crept back onto shore and again tickled little Roland’s toes. With the family gathered round the kitchen filling their bellies and basking in the delightful Saturday morning sun there was suddenly a knock at the door. “Oont who could zat be?” Dieter proclaimed in his strikingly perfect German dialect. Excusing himself from the table, Roland’s father made his way for the door in an effort to greet their unexpected company.

Little Emmerich continued eating and paid no mind. Within a short period Dieter was once again in the kitchen looking to seat himself and Helga was quick to inquire to her husband who had been at the door and why hadn’t he let them in to help themselves to the warm and delicious cinnamon strudels. “Can you believe this garbage?” Dieter proclaimed, clutching a book in his hands and shaking it in an aggressive fashion. “These wackos believe the world will soon end and the government will crumble!” Taking a moment to chuckle at his own statement the eldest Emmerich continued. “Don’t those fools realize the Reich will be around for at least a thousand more years! What mindless, brain washing trash they try and peddle.” Dieter turned to his wife, disgusted as if he held one of the diapers Roland filled as a baby. “Helga! Put this drivel in the waste basket where it belongs.” She grabbed the book without haste and threw it into the garbage, treating it as toxic material.

Little Emmerich, always the shy, respectful boy his parents had grown to know and love simply nodded his head as his father continued his rant. “Well, off to burn some tires. Roland, remember to practice today, ok? You do know what I’m talking about, right little man?” Roland looked up to his father who had finished his strudels and now was in the midst of adjusting his collar. “Yes, pappa. Two hundred goosesteps around the house and one hundred heil hitler salutes in front of the mirror.” Dieter stretched out his arm in order to pat his young son on the head. “Good boy.”

With his father off to work and his mother in the middle of laundry Roland’s curiosity began eating at him. Who was at the front door? Why had they angered father and what had they given him? Making a slow approach to the waste basket the littlest Emmerich reached down and clutched his little mitt’s on what Dieter had been in such opposition to.

He quickly ran to his room and closed the door, book in hand. Jumping onto his bed and huddling around his prized possession the youngest Emmerich went in for a closer look, opening the defiled object up and browsing it’s contents. Roland couldn’t believe it.  Flipping through page after page his little mind was in a state of shock. “It’s like they took a blueprint of my career and mapped it out in intricate details for me to use on future projects.” Every page was a building blowing up, a dog falling helplessly into the chasm opened up by an earthquake or innocent children being swept away by a multitude of various biblical judgments. Along with the dozens of pictures littering each page which seemed to scream out ‘Use me as storyboards in your future directorial endeavors!’ were the constant threats warning of judgment day, the apocalypse and the earth’s natural disasters paying back men for their sins. The littlest Emmerich had found his muse, the teachings of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Years passed by and the boyish Roland became a man, in the process keeping his prized possession close beside him at all times and using it as a template for his new found profession. Through the help of Armageddon-minded organized religion, Roland was now a filmmaker helping to spread their word.

Independence Day, The Day After Tomorrow, 2012. All ideas directly torn from the cherished book obtained as a child. Many times his actors would seek inspiration on set, and with a simple wink of the eye and a the turn of a page Roland would fill their struggling minds with ingredients from his recipe book.  Often times Emmerich would meet up with fellow directors at parties and award ceremonies, all clamoring for a taste of his beloved formula. “Your plots are almost of a divine origin!” Esteemed colleges like Martin Scorsese would oftentimes say. “What strikingly original idea will you think of next?” Others like acclaimed director Clint Eastwood would inquire. Filled with an inspirational warmth, Emmerich knew his next plot was only a page turn and another proclamation of the world’s end away.

Of all his industry acquaintances had he formed over the years there was only one he trusted to reveal his secret to,  fellow German native and respected filmmaker Uwe Boll. In what shocked the plagiarizing Emmerich, Boll seemed none too surprised by this revelation, admitting he too had taken all his inspiration from a printed work. In Uwe’s case it turned out to be something he also obtained as a young and impressionable forty three year old, the video game magazine Gamepro, issue seventeen.

With the release of the critically and commercially successful 2012 behind him it was now time for Roland to do what had always worked so well for him in the past; open up his beloved book and work on his next movie based upon the newest page. He sat by himself in his writing room, which was a small piece constructed as part of the giant mansion that the tiny, worn book had helped fund and realizing this he cracked a smile. A nice stretch of the arms and a sip of his freshly brewed coffee commenced, Roland was now ready to use the next chapter of his beloved book for the basis of his new movie.

He opened the dusty tome and flipped the page to the final chapter in the book, shocked at what he set eyes upon. Where were the burning building? The tornado’s? The innocent children and puppy dogs being punished for their horrible sins?  Flipping through the next dozen pages it was all the same; gone were the destruction, fire and brimstone and in it’s place were smiling family’s and green meadows filled with carnivores interacting peacefully with their prey. “FUCK!” Roland screamed, throwing his once cherished book upon the ground. “Mich keinen meinen eemster noonen dracht! Das leiben streicht!” (Translated: What is this Disney bullshit?!)

Roland was a visionary, a man known for high concept films involving destruction and chaos. Had he taken it all for granted? Was this some sort of cruel joke, the book laughing in his face? He walked over to his once prized possession, picking it up and peering into it’s final pages once more before throwing it back down in disgust towards the ground again. He had a reputation, a legacy! How could he make a film with kitty cats and puppy dogs that didn’t end up with them dying cruel, unnecessary deaths?

The filmmaker searched for answers. Maybe he could steal Uwe Boll’s issue of Gamepro! No, no that wouldn’t work. Uwe was so fearful people would realize his works were all borrowed from video games that he kept it secured high up his anal cavity in order to keep it hidden. In fact, this was exactly how Roland had originally found out where the fellow German kept his secret when Emmerich kept bumping into it accidentally. He was out of options. What would he do now, what could he do?

Crying in his kitchen and stuffing his face with the strudel’s he had eaten as a child Roland suddenly heard a knock at the door. “Ich fukken habben” (I’m fucked.) Emmerich proclaimed, realizing it was most likely Will Smith interested in another Armageddon themed role he planned on starring in. Dragging his feet halfheartedly and holding his head down in shame Roland made his way to the front door, cringing at the thought of explaining his situation to the fresh prince of bell air.

Opening the door Emmerich was caught off guard, it was not the guest he assumed but rather someone much different.

“Hi, are you afraid of the impending doom awaiting us all? We as Jehovah’s Witnesses believe…” Glancing down Roland set eyes upon a book in the suited man’s hands. It was a book of close similarity to his prized possession yet much larger in size. His pulse raced. “Excuse me, not to be rude but I have a book like that only much smaller.” The well kept gentleman smiled “Oh, you must have an older edition of the same book. This new printing adds a dozen or so more chapters in…” Emmerich couldn’t contain his glee.  “In the destruction parts? Are there new pictures, new scenarios involving old ladies and men who do other men dying?” The suited man’s voice filled with sorrow. “Sadly, yes, in an act to show how this world will end we have added many new chapters with pictures involving the end of mankind. But only for the purpose of showing why you must…” The director reached for his wallet and grabbed a large wad of bills, shoving them into the man’s breast pocket and grabbing the book from his hands. “Here, here, take it! Take it all!” Roland, possessing the new instrument of script design in hands raced back to his front door. “Would you be interested in a return…” Slamming the door, Emmerich clutched the tome, face shimmering with glee.

He was overjoyed, not only did he have a fresh set of material to work into his next half dozen or so movies he hadn’t revealed the source of his inspiration to Will Smith or any others besides his closeted fellow German colleague Uwe Boll. His reputation as a respected filmmaker hadn’t been tarnished and he had a fresh new supply of material. Emmerich’s secret was safe.