Aaargh, I'm too slow. NYC artist/novelist Jonathan Santlofer has written a fictionalized account of a murder among the Irascibles.
My longtime screenplay idea is similar; a murder mystery set in the NY artworld of the fifties, featuring Grandma Moses as the common-sense folksy granny navigating her way through it all and solving the crime. It was to be called Murder, She Painted.
Bummer!
3 comments:
hahahahalarious.
Here's a twist on your Grandma Moses story, Martin, no charge to you -- make a million on this one, just buy me the Escalade with the Spin-Tek rims when you hit the big-time:
Hammering through the stone walls of her basement with her bare, bony fists, Grandma Moses discovers a hidden chamber. She peers within, puffing hard on her stogie until it glows like a floodlight. Her astonished eyes behold walls lined with gold. An ancient brown robe lies to one side, dusty and full of holes. A suspiciously snake-like staff stands against the wall nearby. Puffing harder on her stogie now as burning embers near her lucious, ruby-red lips, America's Folk Artist stumbles upon two tablets of stone, crumbling with age, inscribed in ancient Hebrew. Grandma Moses is shocked to discover that, quite contrary to her Protestant upbringing, she is the last living descendent of the one, the only, Moses Moses (Moses, for short).
G’mar Tov, everybody!
Woah, the ending really got me! I was thinking she was going to become a Harry Potter wizard.
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