When a Stranger Calls

By Mark Ramsey | 2006/02/05

What’s up, everybody!

So my agent’s like, “I got you an audition for a movie,” and I’m like “no way,” and he’s like “you’re on the phone the whole time,” and I’m like “what century is it set in?” and he’s like “one with phones” and I’m like “what kind of riddle is that?”

So he sent me the script, and I’m like “what’s all this?” and he’s like “it’s words!” and I’m like “I didn’t go into acting to read, I went into it so I could bus tables and starve! It’s either that or pageants, and I’ve never seen a pageant in a DVD collection.”

It’s, like, a well-known fact that only ugly people read stranger_phone.jpg

because a book has no choice but to face them. When US magazine puts famous readers on their cover and the Academy hands out “Best Supporting Loser Who Hangs Out in a Bookstore” I’ll change my tune. Until then, whatEVER!

So my agent’s like “we’ll implant a memory chip in your brain and you won’t have to memorize anything,” and I’m like “make it a chocolate chip and bring it on!”

Then I’m like “what’s the movie called?” And he’s like “When a Stranger Calls.” And I’m like “Is it about telemarketing?” But he’s like not listening because he’s busy snorting coke off a plaster cast of Steven Spielberg’s ass.

So I go to the audition and tell them I’m mad experienced in the use of a telephone, but they’re like “you’d have to act” and I’m like “like an actor?” and they’re like “um, YEAH!” And I’m like “I’ve watched Nicole Richie, and I know how to blow chunks in twenty-seven different languages.”

And they’re like “Why should we hire you?” And I’m like “because I’ll do it for the same price they pay me at Subway,” and they’re like “you’ve got the part.” And off I went to makeup faster than you can say “oven-roasted chicken breast with under 6 grams of fat.”

So I show up for shooting, the cameras roll, and I get my first call from the heavy-breathing creep:

I’m like “Hello, Tiffany?”

And he’s like “This isn’t Tiffany.”

And I’m like “Who is this?”

And he’s like “Who is this?”

And I’m like “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

And he’s like “Why not, we have to stretch this thin concept to 90 minutes.”

And then he’s like “have you checked the children,” and I’m like “Oh my God, I’m cast as a babysitter, we’re two-thirds through this movie, and I’ve never even met the children!”

And because I’m now an actor like Dustin DeNiro I’m like all temperamental, so me and the director get to talking and I’m like “if a heavy-breathing murderer is calling the house, why would my character keep answering the phone?”

And he’s like “just do it.”

And I’m like “But why don’t I *69 his ass?”

stranger_hand.jpgAnd he like consults with the screenwriter, whose balls are draped over the shower rod like hosiery, and together they conclude my idea would make entirely too much sense.

And he like reminds me that this is Hollywood, like the same town that turned Frankie Muniz into a secret agent, and I’m like…humbled.

So the set is a big-ass house by a big-ass lake with a big-ass guest house and a remote-controlled big-ass fire and a big-ass kitchen that’s more likely to be used for cooking tax evasion schemes than a hearty dinner, from the looks of it.

And I’m like, this crib has everything but an indoor koi pond, bird refuge, and tropical rainforest!

And the director’s like, THOSE ARE RIGHT OVER THERE!

That’s tight!

This director made Con Air and, as he puts it, “now I’m making thinner than air.” I, like, don’t know what he means by that, but he only says it after sucking down a bottle of Tequila.

Gotta sign off now. The studio is skipping a press junket and taking the cast and crew on a mall tour instead.

Have you seen the ad campaign?

When a Stranger Calls. It, like, cures zits!”

That’s hot!

Photos Copyright ©2006 Screen Gems

Contents and Design by MovieJuice Copyright ©2006 All Rights Reserved


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