First Interview: Bolotran Eyes

To a bar or two of soft jazz piped through the amplifiers, the symmetrical silhouette onstage shaded to Joe and one of his interviewees facing each other in leather recliners.

“When I conceived of this inaugural event I scarcely dared dream of attracting names from among this galaxy’s titans of filmmaking,” our hero declared. “You can imagine then it is an honour indeed to welcome to Nottingham the auteur director of repute, our headlining industry guest and keynote speaker, Bolotran Eyes.”

“Greetings,” said the great man, and then apparently as part of this greeting repeated his own name: “Bolotran Eyes.”

He had three legs, which seemed to be made of granite. His torso and arms were naked, whereas his head was of the same gleaming stone as the lower half of his body and sculpted in helmet-like shape. The otherwise universal onyx of the severe statuesque visage was strikingly offest by the features for which Bolotran Eyes was named, side-by-side opals of staring white. His whole graven bust he briefly swivelled on its neck to turn this starkness out upon an audience of already bemused youth, then retracing the full ninety degrees reverted to Joe.

“Mr. Eyes,” the latter commenced. “It can be no exaggeration to state you have made significant contributions to this quadrant’s creative milieu. I am quite certain I speak for all Nottingham when I say we would be most interested in learning what were for you the most memorable moments, by which I mean those productions you may have worked on or even merely heard of that left an enduring impression, be they of the cinema, or perhaps even television?” finished Joe, trying not to hint at the last point too strongly.

“I have always regraded television as the very lowest of the arts, and those who watch it fools,” was Bolotran Eyes’s response.

This didn’t play terribly well with the crowd, so Joe in hopes of smoothing things over continued: “Film, then, and perhaps you agree that cinema directors such as yourself have in recent cycles been faced with the considerable challenge of adapting your more accustomed output to cater to the needs of an emergent generation unlike any that have preceded it?”

“The only challenge my profession faces comes in the form of feeble-minded Mini-Flashes unable to recognise brilliance, who would rather spend their evenings in front of some mindless big-budget Grindo farce conducting distasteful and base explorations into the second gender,” said Bolotran Eyes.

Nor did this view enjoy any more encouraging a reception than the last. Striving to keep it light, Joe forced an easy laugh and pressed on: “I should perhaps explain, Mr. Eyes, that some of what you may be hearing from our attendees has to do with that devotion to Grindotron cinema faithfully upheld by the Mini-Flash demographic, here as elsewhere in the galaxy.”

“It surprises me the Grindoes have found sympathetic audiences in Nottingham,” commented Bolotran Eyes. “Harbouring as you are a known Toothfire war-criminal, I mean in particular.”

“I would just as soon steer clear of politics,” said Joe. “But at the risk of returning to an equally fraught topic, you might say this reminds me television too has borne its influences on the collective Mini-Flash consciousness. I am no expert, but it appears to me several such programmes of the recent past have lingered long in the memories of their public, though these regrettably seem forgotten by the galaxy at large. So, Mr. Eyes, I wonder if I may repeat my previous plea for any examples…?”

“Television again?” put in Bolotran Eyes, with some spirit. “Then I happen to have the perfect instance. Many cycles ago I secured a spot on one of our few discerning arts channels for something of which I was exceedingly proud, a lengthy and often agonizing expression of my own recurrent desire to rend myself. In ratings-war terms however I was doomed from the outset, thanks to your Mini-Flash friends and those worthies at the Interplanetary Broadcasting Service. For the latter had chosen that same evening for the premiere of their…well, you can understand I’ve no wish to speak the travesty’s name aloud. Our fine listeners will doubtless know what it is I refer to. That preposterous piece of establishment-endorsed zoological vaudeville – ”

No more of this sentence was heard, but this time the Mini-Flashes weren’t airing their grievances. They were giving up a mass cheer. Clearly Bolotran Eyes had at last mentioned something of which his audience approved. Scanning the crowd Joe noted most of the uproar was coming from boy Mini-Flashes around Flashtease’s age, or in other words those old enough to be wearing individual uniforms. Our hero strained to pick out as much as he could of what they were shouting.

“Can we watch it?”

“Have you got that one?”

“Oh, please show it instead of this!”

“Well, really!” spluttered Bolotran Eyes. “I was relating that anecdote in order to prompt the very opposite…!”

Joe jumped to his feet.

“Now perhaps would be an appropriate time to bring this interview to a close,” he announced above the din. “So for his valuable insights – and his well-received suggestion, which shall be taken under advisement – let us offer our guest a round of applause.”

Probably only one specific part of this address secured the hearty acquiescence which ensued, so Joe breathed a sigh of relief he’d thought to slip it in. Our hero couldn’t help recalling his “build again the walls of Nottingham” speech in 2596, and how he hadn’t had to work that crowd in the slightest. Was it interplanetary cultural difference, or had this sort of thing just been easier when he was young? Either way, his interviewee seemed somewhat placated and that was a mercy at least.

“Bolotran Eyes, thank you,” concluded Joe.

“Bolotran Eyes,” that one thanked him in return.