This was our first creative writing assignment this semester. First we
described a memorable movie scene, then we had to write about an incident
or situation in our lives that made that scene memorable. This is what i
Picture an aging hipster superspy, deep-frozen and transplanted
into a conservative post-AIDS world. Give him a
sidekick: the fabulously frigid Vanessa Kensington, daughter of his
old sidekick and twice as snacky. One horny teenage boy in a man's
body, and one Spice Spy who hasn't come to terms with her own
sexuality. Now, send them both to Vegas on some kind of mission to defeat
evil. What do you think will happen?
Well, old Burt Bachrach hits are swelling and filling the world
with wistful Sixties melodies about love sweet love. Vegas has the dynamic
duo in its clutches, blinding them with delirious neon, and the forces of
evil are momentarily forgotten. Champagne flows like money in the city of
chaos and chance, and the pair are whirled back to their hotel room as
drunk as goats. Austin has reached a peak of lecherous charm, bouncing
around the room rowing imaginary canoes and pretending to trip over the
threshold only to fall neatly on the bed. Vanessa is momentarily
uninhibited enough to come on to him, but he refuses her.
Because he can't take advantage of her drunken state.
Finally, she curls up next to him and he tells her wistful bedtime
stories about her mother until she falls sleep.
I am Austin Powers.
Not many people know this. They all think that it's just a
movie. I can tell you this, cause you'll just think it's some kind of
metaphor. But the truth is in here, if you know where to look.
I sold my story to Hollywood and they spray-painted it with
day-glo daisies and dressed it up in twisted retro plotlines. But there
are still glimpses of the real story in there. That scene with Vanessa,
where Austin shows his true colors as a sweet human being instead
of just a sex machine? That was me. That big scene they cut out
where he has a lengthy affair with Scott Evil and learns the true
location of Dr. Evil's lair? That was me too.
There's more lying in shreds on the cutting-room floor, about
my superspy origins in a small private college in California, about the
years in England taking hormones and preparing for the sex-change
operation. They masked a lot of stuff in parable and parody, too. The
fembots used to be Dr. Evil's drag queen army, and his evil lair was
in an underground queer nightclub at the height of the Swingin'
Sixties. They preserved a little bit of that in Frau Farbissima's little
coming-out story, but the entire true transgendered nature of the
tale was thrown out - something about it being too "sensationalistic"
It doesn't matter, though; in reality, Dr. Evil has been thwarted
yet again, and I'm back undercover, in reverse drag at another
California women's college. The woman thing was always drag for me
anyway. My true self was the hardcore swinger, the wannabe lech-
boy who can't bring himself to treat women as alien and inequal like
he's supposed to, the secret agent man who leads entire streets full
of police officers and passers-by in spontaneous musical numbers. I
know you still don't believe me, but just think: what better candidate
for a superspy than a multigendered, criss-crossing, bisexual,
hippie-wannabe who regularly bends the truth like it's Jello?