LOS ANGELES, CA, February 13, 2012 – Who needs comedy writers? Late Night talk show hosts? Check. TV Series and Feature Films? Check & Check. Brands, Public Speakers, and Politicians? No doubt. And what makes a great comedy writer?

“I approached our resident Internet guru, Praveen, with a challenge,” said Justo Diaz, CEO and Head Writer of creative content and marketing firm Raging Artists, Inc.  “I contended that a person who rarely interacts with people and has never been on stage can kill an audience with laughter — if the writing is strong enough.” Validated by audience reaction to newly minted comic Praveen Angyan, RA has formally added comedy writing to its roster of services.

“Great writers convert pain into entertainment — call it ‘enterpainment’,” said Raging Artists Founder/CCO Hershel Rephun, a writer and performer whose work spans TV, Film, Radio, the Web and the stage. “The greater the trauma, the bigger the punchline. It’s not about sadness at all, it’s about release.” Rephun, Diaz, and partner Ernie Noh have been writing and performing stand-up comedy for the past six months; now, they have launched another comic in the form of Angyan.

“I’ve watched RA grow as a writing machine for PR, marketing, and now comedy,” said Angyan. “It’s inspiring. You feel if you are not willing to get on stage or write an entire set, then you’re not a Raging Artist.” Like Pixar and Google, Raging Artists’ corporate culture permeates its offices as well as its business model. “The commitment to creative writing is the pillar of the company, and the guys keep pushing boundaries,” he noted.

“Writing is our main service, so we demand that our entire staff write,” Diaz affirmed. “Great writing naturally rises to the top, so we ensure quality through competition.”

Raging Artists now extends the ‘Angyan Challenge’ to all comers. “We can elevate any project with great comedy writing,” declared Noh. “You believe you can reach someone through humor and we want to prove you right.” Speaking globally, said Diaz, “I want to develop a company that lives through comedy and tragedy. That is what defines us.”

The writing team at RA is crafting and work-shopping the material of Angyan, who next appears at Flappers, on February 15. “To a degree, we’re creating a monster,” concluded Rephun, “a monster I’d like to open for at some point.”

Raging Artists Comedy Writing services are available now — cheaper in bulk — while supplies last.

After a wait of many years and an incredible amount of hype, the film interpretation of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ celebrated graphic novel, Watchmen, has arrived.

For the uninitiated, the book and film of Watchmen portray an alternate view of American history, in which costumed heroes not only exist, but are accepted as a part of everyday life. However, things become complicated once vigilantes are outlawed, mainly as a result of Richard Nixon assuming a third term in office in the mid 1980s. The film is set in this bleak alternate decade that hovers constantly on the brink of Nuclear War. Like its literary counterpart, the film opens as a member of a team of retired heroes meets his death, indicating a larger conspiracy, and takes its cue from there. It all follows the source material to a T.

This reverence comes at a price, however, as the film retains the novels complex structure, which may leave those unacquainted with the story in the dark. For the rest of us, though, there is a peculiar thrill to seeing a beloved tale and its characters brought to life with such meticulous care. However, it should be noted that Watchmen is not faithful in every respect: it features an altered ending, as well as a level of violence that exceeds even the book it is based on. Some circles have drawn attention to this, criticizing the film as too dark. But when was Watchmen ever warm and fuzzy? Despite the capes and costumes of its heroes (a word used ironically here), Watchmen is not a throwback to glitzy escapism or even super-hero films as we know them. Instead, it plays out like an elegy: an elegy for innocence lost, for a world that heroes have no place in, let alone the power to heal. The tone of the original Watchmen had the same underlying sadness, and the film-makers deserve credit for not shying away from it.

Like its anti-heroes, though, Watchmen does have faults. One of these is a disparity of tone, most glaring in the first half, as it swings from gloomy parable to outright farce (i.e Nixons nose). Thankfully, though, the film seems to gain its footing as it progresses, becoming almost totally bleak.

I say almost, because there are touches of humor that illuminate this dark film: the problem is with most of them we are not meant to laugh. I almost cringed when Rorschach described the city as screaming like an abattoir of retarded children and people in the audience chuckled. Though the film-makers cannot be faulted for the fact that what sounded powerful on paper may come off as campy on screen, these moments came too frequently. Perhaps with better pacing and a more solid script, the seriousness of the story would be better appreciated. It is a bit hard to take characters seriously when it is so obvious they are spouting lines from a book rather than talking in normal human language.

Happily, the rest of the films mistakes are more minor. These include some unfortunate song choices (99 Luftbaloons? Hallelujah?), but the film interpretation of Watchmen is remarkably faithful to its source material. Clocking in at nearly three hours, though, the movie might have benefitted from a tighter narrative structure, rather than desperately trying to cram in every nuance of an already dense book. The segment in which Dreiberg and Silk Spectre extinguish a fire, and the misplaced sex scene that follows, could definitely have been excised from the film.

Faults aside, Watchmen is a quality film with an embarrassment of riches. It looks beautiful, remains faithful to its source material, is intelligent and consistently engaging, and features solid performances throughout, with the exception of Malin Ackerman, who, pretty as she is, is more wooden than a sea captains leg. The occasional missteps Watchmen takes will probably not prevent it from affecting you. The Comedians regretful tears, and Rorschachs brutal roar will haunt your memory long after the end credits have rolled. Disregard the naysayers: armed with a strong stomach and a working knowledge of a comic book mythos, it is more than worth your time to watch the Watchmen.

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a li fe. We’ve added years to life not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We’ve done larger things, but not better things.

We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is muc h in the showroom window and nothing in the stock room. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete…

Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent.

Remember, to say, ‘I love you’ to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

If you don’t send this to at least 8 people….Who cares?

George Carlin

No one likes a lonely man
The sadness in his eyes
And his smile
Make them think of the one within themselves

Every hour, revolving,
Like the World on its axis
Going nowhere
Who rises and sets like the sun in the morning and night
No one likes to look at a lonely man

Whether he is in a crowd, or off by himself
It makes them feel
Lonely
And they try to shut you away

But don’t worry for me
I feel
Like a cloud
Dizzy
And headed for the fires of the sun

Don’t be afraid
The lonely one is me, yes
But I am not the only one

They could barely contain his might

On the first night

He came to that place

His hair flowed to his knees

And his great arms strained at the fetters in which they were bound

On the final night

Though his locks were shorn

Though his eyes-sockets were gouged

Though his flesh hung in tatters from his frame

His arms made the pillars tremble

And he lifted up his head, and his great cry echoed

Throughout that barren night

So that his captors trembled, and all those who saw

Trembled

And the ovens of Treblinka

And the death-chambers of Auschwitz

And Bergen-Belsen, Majdanek

Neuengamme, Theriesentadt, Bielsko

All trembled to their core

And then he fell silent, and did not struggle anymore

And I will never forget this.

And I can never forget.

M. Rephun (c) 2007

He soared up toward the skies, his soul
Drowning in a light that extinguished him.
He built paper wings, flew into the sun,
And we never saw him again.

Hyperion gathered him into his arms
In a warm embrace that seared his flesh
Until nothing remained but the bones
Gathered in a shimmering ivory mound.

Sometimes, they say,
If you look into the sun
On a dark day
You can see his smile
Flaring on the surface
Ironic, and
Somewhat malcontent

But I wouldn’t do that
It might just
Be the end
Of any future flights you have in mind.

In the month of Heshvan
Red leaves sweep the ground
And a light descends on the courtyard of Solomon
Animals carved from the balsam and cedar of my dreams
Gleam gold and pink in the light
And the King himself stands in a grove
His beard a sheet of marble
Pointed black and straight:

Yes, all is well
Joseph the shepherd sits beneath the moon
The Sabbath meal has been prepared
How clearly I smell the balsam, the myrrh, the sweet incense of this place!

In the month of Sivan
My wife stands in the faltering glow
How fair she is!
Her skin dark like the desert of Lebanon
She is tall like a cedar of Lebanon
Her back straight, her legs like gazelle that leap on the plains
Of Beersheva

Spake the King
Seven swords I hold in my heart,
Each one gleams
With a radiance brighter than the sun
But none outshine the glow of your eyes
Shulamit,
No feather of the rook can shimmer like your black locks
O pure one,
The glow of light fades, with it goes this scene

But listen to the old man,
He knows the secret of our dreams

(c) 2007 M. Rephun

In a dream I saw my beloved
I looked and looked
But she did not see me
Concealed through a veil of memory
Shrouded in strange grey fog,
It was as though she did not see me
As though I were looking at a shell
At the shell of a time gone by

Most of all I was struck by the solemness of her expression.
All around her the people swarmed, the crowd grew and multiplied
Could she perhaps see me, after all?
Or was it through me that she saw
I don’t know…

I opened my mouth,
But no words were spoken
I clenched my eyes
But no tears would form

In a dream saw my loved one, standing
All alone
Or with others, who laughed
While her face remained unchanging, her eyes gazed ever onward
Like a slab on which the drops of my suffering fell
In an endless downpour

In a dream I saw one I loved,
Standing all alone
I looked and looked!
But she did not look back.

I am just a child, nothing more
We are only children, nothing more
But you make me wish I was something more
O delightful shadow
Fair one who sits in silence

(c) 2007 M. Rephun

The stars flow around us
Bright like the planets bright like the eyes of the sun
Burning a thousand years off:

Do not tell me where we are traveling
The diamonds of your eyes, the slender ruby of your lips
Are enough to light the way
For a million years, hovering above the earth
In this discarded vessel
Of the Fates: winding its way down through the ages
And even if we were to travel a million centuries more
To a land where light is only a fading dream

Do not tell me:
To feel you beside me now is enough, yes
To feel you beside me is enough.

M. Rephun (c) 2007

Voices, many voices
In my life there are many voices
But always I am waiting for the one which will call me away
Voice purer than Love
Voice which would shatter all voices.
Yesterday was cold. The snow fell
And I walked under the sky, blue as flame
Listening to my thoughts
Breathing a sweet sorrow
And in the end, I fear
It will come to nothing,
In the end it will come to nothing.

Glances
In my life there are many glances
But always I am waiting for the beat of eyelids
For the knowing flutter of hearts and silences pure as fate
To lead me away.
You are a child
The world excites your fancy
The world, and the eyes of a ringleted girl
Whose love would gratify your most inward desire
Always alone, yet with her you would go
Under the arched pathway of bridges, hand in hand
Girl, Light, promise of all desires
Yet in the end, one fears, it will
Come to nothing, in the end it will come to nothing.

Deaths, many deaths
In our lives are many deaths
Yet always we are waiting for the one which could call us away
Forever, into the shadows.

(c) 2007 M. Rephun