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"Okay, I know what you want to do. Want to become the next Marilyn Manson?" The warden tilted his head, rolls of fat squeezing his neck.
Since the filming scope was delineated in black and white on the document, he didn't want to cause trouble for a public figure.
"I think you misunderstood my meaning. Do I look like an idiot who relies on imitating a murderer to gain traffic?" Leon glared at him. "If that guy's music was played to his mother, even his mother would think it's a pile of bullst."
Marilyn Manson, this highly controversial singer, is a representative figure of gothic rock, with global record sales exceeding 50 million copies and countless fans among teenagers.
His music and image sparked intense controversy from the late 90s to the early 2000s, especially after the Columbine High School massacre in 1999, when he was accused of being the "culprit" of juvenile delinquency.
However, so far, he has not won any major awards such as Grammys or Billboard Awards, which means the musicians' association still has a bottom line.
Marilyn Manson has stated in public more than once that Charles Manson is a legend, his apocalypse, and ferryman. The warden didn't want to argue on this topic, secretly regretting that the $50,000 donation was too little.
Escorted by more than ten prison guards, the filming team moved to Area C.
Compared to the noisy and chaotic Area A, it was as quiet as a church here.
Prisoners not living in the SHU sat in their cells; some were petting cats in their arms, some were meditating cross-legged.
Some even watched TV programs in their cells.
Facing the sudden visit of the filming team, no one showed a trace of emotional fluctuation, at most just nodding friendly.
"I never thought anyone could watch Mickey Mouse in this heavily guarded prison?" Leon teased, "Let me guess, these guys' dads are rich? They have a large inheritance to inherit, just like John du Pont?"
"No." The warden walked to the cell of a long-haired prisoner and greeted him friendly.
The long-haired man was about thirty years old, wearing glasses, looking very scholarly.
Holding a kitten in his arms, looking very much like a young John Lennon.
"Then can you tell me what this is about?" Leon asked, "The environment here looks much better than Area A. At least this cat-raising gentleman can have his own cell."
The warden smiled while shaking his head. "Mr. Avery, would you like to introduce yourself to Mr. Leon?"
"No, sir."
Avery tucked his blonde hair, expressionless.
Jorge crossed his arms, looking at the prisoner in front of him who looked like a gay man, and interjected: "I heard rumors about Area C of Pelican Bay on the street, but this is the first time I've seen it with my own eyes. I know once locked in here, either rot to death or go to hell. Anyway, don't think about returning to the free world... So I'm curious what exactly this freak did to be locked up here."
His question was also everyone else's question.
Avery looked like a gay man as soft as noodles. His combat power was not even comparable to a heavier streetwalker on the streets of Los Angeles.
Nor did he look like a big drug lord manipulating transnational drug transactions behind the scenes; he had absolutely no oppressive aura.
"You really want to know?" The warden smiled and lit a cigarette. "Mr. Avery used to have a happy family. He was a good neighbor and a good husband... until late one night, people saw him standing on the lawn in front of his house holding a shotgun, his clothes stained red with blood."
"What did this kid do? Burglary? Killed an old lady living alone?"
"No, Mr. Avery slaughtered his own family..." The warden hesitated, "I mean he murdered all his family members in cold blood... including two children, with a 12-gauge shotgun."
"Fck, what a damn freak!" Almost everyone in the filming team cursed at the same time.
Facing curses and humiliation, Avery made no rebuttal, always smiling.
"By the way, Mr. Avery will be executed by lethal injection in Pelican Bay in nine months." The warden looked up at the execution list on the wall. "Supervised by me personally."
Speaking of this, Leon understood why the conditions of the twenty-plus cells at the entrance of Area C were so superior.
Not only can they keep pets and watch TV, but some prisoners even have Nintendo game consoles.
These are all felons lining up to go to hell.
"Lethal injection? This kind of lunatic should taste the ancient Mexican execution method." Jorge grinned ferociously and approached the iron bars; the prison guard immediately stopped him. "Do you know? When a living person's chest is cut open and the heart is taken out, they won't die immediately. It can beat for at least another 30 seconds, and the brain still has about 10 seconds of clear consciousness to see its own heartbeat rate."
Seeing the topic getting more and more twisted, Leon quickly clapped his hands to signal the team to move on and not waste time here.
Passing through an iron gate at the end of the corridor, entering the deepest part of the Area C cell block.
This is the SHU cell where Charles Manson is held.
Rather than a cell, it is more like a large box made of steel, only 30 square feet in size.
The window on the iron box can only accommodate one hand in and out.
"Everyone, move!" Old Mike clapped his hands. "Everyone get in position. Finish work early so we can leave this damn cesspool early!"
Taking advantage of the gap when the makeup artist was applying makeup on his face, Leon asked the warden: "Can I talk to Manson for a few sentences?"
"No, this requires a special permit." The warden refused immediately. "Talking to that guy is meaningless. He will only discuss the Bible and Divine Comedy with you, express his unique views on philosophy. People like you are easily brainwashed by him."
This remark seemed to be implicitly mocking Leon, but actually mocked the entire entertainment industry.
The warden believed that although celebrities in the entertainment industry enjoy wealth and fame, most of them are empty-headed fools.
Groups with spiritually poor and empty hearts are most easily bewitched by charlatans. A demon like Manson actually became a celebrity across the US after being arrested. Love letters sent to the prison every day are like snowflakes.
What makes people laugh is that most of the letters are sent by leftist female college students from higher education institutions across the US.
Some female college students even proposed to him, expressing willingness to hold a wedding with him in prison.
In the entertainment industry, celebrities being brainwashed by heretical sects or organizations is endless.
"Just chat for two sentences?"
The warden looked at his watch impatiently and gritted his teeth. "Okay... listen, this has violated the management rules. Please don't make it difficult for me."
"No problem!" Leon put on the prop prison uniform for shooting and walked into an iron fence under the guidance of the prison guard.
"Mr. Manson, someone wants to chat with you." The prison guard knocked on the window of the iron box and opened it with a key.
Just as Leon bent down to check, a withered hand trembled out of the window.
The skin was chapped, blood vessels clearly visible, so thin and dry that it didn't look like a living person.
"I have a familiar feeling..." A hoarse voice came from the iron box.
"Don't get excited." Leon patted the back of his hand.
"Let me look at you, young man..." Manson's eyes faced the window, meeting Leon's eyes. The swastika tattoo on his eyebrows was vaguely visible.
His eyeballs were turbid like a pot of porridge, indistinguishable whether the pupils were blue or green.
"Oh my God..." Manson stared straight at Leon and exclaimed in admiration, but no one knew what he was admiring.
Under the gaze of the prison guard, Leon directly stated his intention. "Time is limited; I'll keep it short. Are you interested in participating in the shooting of a short film? This short film will be used for commercial purposes."
"Unbelievable..." Manson seemed not to understand what he was saying at all, tremblingly trying to grab Leon's hand.
Leon's patience gradually faded, frowning and whispering, "Listen, you old bitch, my time is very tight. This is a good opportunity for you to return to the public eye and gain attention."
Manson still answered irrelevantly, constantly gesturing an inverted cross on his chest to pray.
"FCK."
Leon didn't want to waste time on this old pervert, cursing and getting up to walk away.
"How was the chat? Did Manson talk to you about Divine Comedy? By the way, he has been very interested in Chuck Palahniuk's novel Guts recently..." the warden said.
Leon shook his head and made a bold request. "Can you let that old bitch out of the cage?"
"What did you say?" Due to excessive surprise, the warden's eyeballs almost fell to the ground.
"Just a few minutes; we just need to shoot a few shots."
"What do you want to do? Do you want that devil to participate in your MV?" The warden laughed angrily.
"That's right." Leon looked serious and gave an affirmative answer.
Driven by profit, the greedy entertainment industry has done many bottomless things.
Moving the suffering of freaks to the big screen;
Shooting documentaries to defend drug lords;
Molding serial killers into screen idols, etc...
But no one has ever tried to let a top demon like Charles Manson appear in person in an MV.
"Are you crazy?" The idea was too outrageous; the warden digested it for a full two minutes. "I have broken principles for you today; please don't make it difficult for me."
"It doesn't matter; the bottom line is meant to be broken." Leon patted the warden's shoulder; he knew these American bureaucrats too well.
Seeing that the fixed camera positions and scenery had been set up, he continued: "Being a prison guard is a hard job, isn't it? Can't accompany children to be a good father, don't earn much, and even have few opportunities to roll in the sheets with the wife..."
"What exactly do you want to say?"
"I mean, this is an admirable profession." Leon paced back and forth. "I am willing to donate another $50,000 to all the prison guards in Pelican Bay to improve their quality of life. I gave it an interesting name, 'Donut Subsidy.' What do you think?"
A heavy punch of money hit him; the warden froze on the spot.
Seeing him silent, Leon turned to the prison guards beside him and said, "Do you like this Donut Subsidy?"
"Of course... no one wouldn't like it."
"Look, everyone says so." Leon spread his hands. "I don't think you want to be the party pooper."
"Okay!" Under the temptation of $50,000, the warden gritted his teeth and agreed. "But let me remind you, that devil can be released from the cage for at most five minutes..."
"How about ten minutes?"
"Deal!"
"Very good!" Leon snapped his fingers and quickly instructed the prison guard to open the cell door of Manson's cell.
The cameraman followed closely at the same time, not missing any shot.
With a click, the iron door opened, and two fully armed prison guards escorted Manson out.
He wore a worn-out prison uniform, with gray hair, thin as a dried tree branch.
But those eyes were deep like bottomless pits, revealing an unsettling evil.
His gaze wandered constantly as if searching for something.
He grinned, revealing a weird smile, as if welcoming this group of uninvited guests into his hell.
After discovering Leon's figure, he shouted excitedly: "I knew you would be my savior! We come from the same place! Look at this sweet air of freedom!"
In the SHU cell, any second of freedom is precious.
For Manson, the only two hours of release time every day is just moving from one iron cage to another bigger iron cage.
He hadn't been excited for two seconds when he felt something stuck on the back of his neck, unable to move.
"This soft egg is lighter than a woman..." Jorge dragged Manson out like carrying a lamb to be slaughtered and threw him onto the simply set shooting site.
"Gently! Mr. Leon, tell your friend to be gentler!" The warden was anxious, sweat pouring from his forehead.
Although letting Manson, the most famous murderer in the US, contact the media is normal, he was worried that the old and frail Manson would be tossed directly to see Satan.
In that case, his trouble would be big.
"Don't worry, we know the limits."
Old Mike completed the final adjustment of all details within one minute and issued the start command.
Leon wore an orange prison uniform, handcuffed and shackled, walking through the dark prison corridor with a grim face.
The cameraman carried the equipment, capturing close-ups of the expressions of death row prisoners on both sides.
"Fck... this is the weirdest MV I've ever shot in my life. After going back, I have to ask a priest to perform a cleansing ceremony..." Old Mike complained.
The first shot ended here; next was the highlight.
The photographer first shot a close-up of Manson sitting at the end of the corridor in Area C. The next second, Jorge pressed his neck, forcing him to kneel on both knees with strength.
Manson was used to dealing with the media, but always condescending with the attitude of an unfathomable charlatan, never encountered such treatment.
He turned his head and stared at Jorge with turbid eyes, lowering his voice and saying, "I know what you fear, child... I make you feel fear, right?"
Half a second after he finished posturing, a palm like a fan smashed over, slapping his head buzzing.
Slap—"Shut up, bitch ass!" Jorge shook his huge palm. "Fear? What stupid things are you saying? You are not even comparable to an old farmer in the Sinaloa plantation."
The warden almost jumped up anxiously. "Fck! Do you want to kill him?!"
"Calm down; this old thing won't see God so easily." Leon comforted, "Look at him; his eyes are much clearer."
Shooting continued.
After Leon continued to walk forward for about five seconds, Mike issued a command.
The camera pulled back, the field of view became open, and Manson's figure appeared at Leon's feet.
He knelt on the ground hanging his head, completely without the posture of chatting and laughing with journalists on weekdays.
Under the director's dispatch, the photographer ran over賤兮兮 (meanly/mockingly) and filmed a close-up of the swastika tattoo between his eyebrows.
"Cut!"
"Awesome! I can think with my butt that this MV will make music critics collectively climax!"
Hearing the director call stop, the most relaxed person was the warden.
He quickly waved his hand to let the prison guard take Manson back to the cell.
When being taken away from the set, Manson looked back and stared straight at Leon with gloomy eyes. "We will meet in hell; that day won't be too far."
Slap—Jorge kicked his butt again without warning. If not supported by the prison guard, he would probably fall to the ground on the spot.
"Your bluffing witticisms should be kept for children's programs."
Next, the filming team returned to Area A and spent an hour completing another scene—Leon walked through both sides of the cell corridor, and gang members extended their tattooed arms from the windows waving, looking like both worship and provocation.
On the way back, Leon was in a good mood, shaking his head with the beat of Rihanna's new song We Found Love on the stereo.
"Mike, what do you think of today's shooting?"
Mike couldn't hide his excitement. "At first I didn't understand why you went to great lengths to run to a felon prison to shoot an MV, but now, I dare say this MV will blow up the entire industry! Manson's face standing in front of the camera, anyone who sees it will have nightmares!"
Bonnie interjected on the side, expressing her opinion from the perspective of an internet celebrity. "I knew from the beginning that this MV would be a big hit; I'm 100% sure."
"You also understand MVs?" Old Mike asked back, his tone rather disdainful.
"This doesn't require understanding the music industry at all~" Bonnie twisted her butt and sat up straight. "On YouTube, no matter what content you upload, as long as there is a gimmick, there must be heat. Do you know someone got millions of clicks with the stupid behavior of 'counting from one to one hundred thousand'? Someone gained millions of fans by constantly fighting with others..."
"According to you, if I record a video rolling in cow dung, it can also become popular?" Mike sneered.
"Of course, I think if you go a little further and do something more excessive to the cow dung, maybe it will be more popular." Bonnie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Wait and see; no one doesn't want to see the scene of a devil like Manson crawling and kneeling."
"This MV may be criticized by mainstream media, but it will definitely set off viral spread on the internet..."
Leon nodded; the other party said everything he wanted to say.
Half of the heat since the release of We Don't Talk Anymore was hyped up by the gimmick of his breakup with Robbie.