Jackie Chan's Werewolf Machine
As the journalists settle down into their seats, whispers float around our heads like humid air. What is the Werewolf Machine, and why Jackie Chan? The internet, in all its remarkable creativity, has come up with so many ideas: a machine that transforms one into a werewolf, a machine powered by werewolves, a mechanical werewolf. No answers put forward as to where Jackie Chan fits in.
The air clears as Mr. Chan takes the stage. He smiles to the audience with that signature grin and then motions off-stage. Two attendants roll in a large object from the right. It's about the size of a phone booth, rectangular, and draped in lilac silk. The attendants hurry off, almost fearful of the strange monolith, undoubtedly The Machine. The lights dim and we begin.
"Hello. I think we all know why we are here," Mr. Chan says. "And there is no better way to explain than to show." He walks over to the object and dramatically pulls off the silk cloth. It looks like a phone booth, as you'd expect, but with a clean modern look, more Apple than The Fly. A touchscreen filled with glossy buttons lines the inside, as the exterior is clothed in a shiny black finish. It looks like it belongs in a sports car exhibition, not a mad scientist's castle.
Mr. Chan twirls the cloth about and snaps it into his hand. He confidently strolls into the device, turns towards us, and winks as he taps the touchscreen.
"And now, I am proud to present to you: My Werewolf Machine." He horizontally slides a door shut. There is a click and the waiting begins. Is this a true werewolf machine? For many self-proclaimed prophets in the industry, this will be a defining moment. Hitler and vampires, their well-groomed facial hair and cleanly pressed suits, will be relegated to the dust of history's rubbish bin, next to the 8-track and Betamax. Now is the Era of the Werewolf, heralded by a Hong Kong comedic action star.
Our thoughts aren't even interrupted by the whirring inside the machine. It sounds like a hard drive spinning, not a crackling Frankenstein device. While Mr. Chan's body is presumably being transfigured, so too does it seem that the whole world is undergoing a transfiguration. The whirring stops. The door opens. Mr. Chan emerges.
His unkempt hair now reaches his shoulders. Wild facial hair sprouts from his chin and lip and cheeks. His finger nails look mildly dangerous. A silence hangs in the room as everyone tries to think of a reaction. A young journalist, I think he's from a blog 'in Colorado', mutters to someone next to him, "more like a hobo machine."
That's the trigger. A thousand laptop keyboards click, and two thousand iPhones are silently pressed as tweets fly into the ether. "Jackie Chan's Hobo Machine," is now the new meme of the minute. False applause and empty smiles greet Mr. Chan as he does a few mock kung-fu moves in his new faux-werewolfized form, unaware of the mockery and disdain. Perhaps Jackie Chan was the wrong person. Perhaps it was a bit too soon. Early adopters will werewolfize themselves, proclaim themselves "hip" as they awkwardly explain that they're not actually hippies. In time, some company will come up with a more fashionable, if not more convincingly werewolf-like, machine, and it'll be proclaimed the 21st Century Revolution by Time and Newsweek.
I trudge back to the hotel after drinks with the other journos. We've been making fun of poor Mr. Chan all night. As I stop to check my phone for messages, I notice someone in the alley next to a Hollywood Video. My first thought is that the werewolves have come early. But the light of the full moon reveals that it's just a hairy bum, urinating on the side of the building. I prepare to walk away as I notice that his urine is landing on a discarded DVD case. The pee glowing in the moonlight reveals the title: The Tuxedo.
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EmCeeGramr is a syndicated columnist for The NeoGAF Times-Picayune. His column,
"Technology in American Culture," runs on the second Wednesday of the month.