Many people seem to forget that Quentin Tarantino did not write Pulp Fiction alone. His longtime friend Roger Avary provided stories and revisions to the screenplay, but somehow Tarantino got all the credit. And then they went their separate ways.
In September 2009, Roger Avary lost control of his vehicle and killed a friend who was with him. He was sentenced to a year in prison for vehicular manslaughter. Fade out.
His Twitter account stayed active though during his work furlough hours. As someone wrote, “My friend is tweeting from the inside. It’s riveting, horrible strange. Jail in 140 character lumps.” It seems he’s been found out now though, caught after two months of sneakery.
The screenplay bits that #34 wrote on Twitter were particularly interesting. A selection:
7:36 AM Sep 26th, 2009
FADE IN:
1:06 PM Oct 29th, 2009
The building is an imposing example of the Brutalist architectural movement. The windows are designed so as to not let too much light in.
12:19 PM Oct 30th, 2009
The channels on the Rec Room television cannot be changed, and it’s inexplicably always tuned to Fox.
8:52 AM Nov 2nd, 2009
The breakfast oatmeal comes in large sacks with a picture of a horse on them and labeled “Not intended for human consumption.”
4:38 PM Nov 2nd, 2009
Night falls, and the only real activity is an endless recounting of the terrible and pointless events that brought us all to this sad place.
9:30 AM Nov 10th, 2009
The Loudspeaker calls “Meds!” and the inmates fly, desperate for any kind of drug: Ambien, Xanax, Mobic, Valium, Benzodiazepene, etc.
9:11 AM Nov 11th, 2009
Papa Smurf is in for a white collar crime that I view almost as a duty against corporate tyranny. Hardly an infraction worth his punishment.
8:51 AM Nov 13th, 2009
Repoman, who is Emilio Estevez’s doppelgänger, teaches #34 how to slimjim & hotwire a car. BTW, the only anti-repo car is a BMW X5 AWD.
9:13 AM Nov 14th, 2009
Yeyo was released at Midnight. He was kind when #34 was first so afraid — and taught him the “Politics”. ‘Tis bittersweet to see him go.
9:02 AM Nov 20th, 2009
Nightly, every few hours like clockwork, a guard’s flashlight beam strikes #34′s face, perhaps to ensure lack of proper rest and exhaustion.
9:28 AM Nov 22nd, 2009
Sickness spreads throughout the facility like brush fires, and #34 is helpless to avoid the outbreak and inevitable infection.
And his last message before we can presume his Twittering was discovered:
9:17 AM Nov 24th, 2009
#34′s new roomie, EZ, takes Yeyo’s old bunk, locker, AND number. He regales awesome tales about his former life as an Oxnard gangbanger.
I am left to wonder how much of it is exaggerated, how much is intentionally vague for dramatic purpose. How much is regret tearing him apart in his endless recounting of the terrible events? What does it feel like to make one impulsive and stupid decision that ends a friend’s life? If I were to speculate, I’d say it would be one of the most painful turmoils imaginable.
