Manifesto of a True Visionary

He’d seen it a hundred times at least, but something about watching Cabaret made his winky tingle. It might have been the glamourous dresses or possibly the gravitas of that damn accent but more than likely it was the stirrings of ambition.

Conch Kim-chi IV had fallen in love with movies as a little boy -finding inspiration in the greats like Indiana Jones and Look who’s Talking Too.

But there was always something missing. “These American movies”, he would exclaim through a mouthful of salted caramel popcorn or a mustard drenched hotdog, “they lack the pazazz!” His advisors would nod earnestly, any other reaction would of course mean certain death by apple squad. Better to be on the safe side.

The solution came to him like an egg from the Supreme God of Raengmyon. “Holy Buckwheat! I shall do it myself!” He was after all the greatest leader of all time. And, so naturally he would make the greatest movie of all time. A real movie. And of course, it followed that he would be its shining star. They would have his name imprinted next to his others in Pinonayank station. Hell, they would plaster him on the ceilings, it would be his gift to his pinions.

He began immediately. Well, rather his entirely confused advisors began immediately. Entire film sets sprang up overnight. The strongest of workers were released from the keep-you-busy-and-brain-dead camp and enlisted to build expansive sets. Using the already existing, but entirely useless buildings he had used to fool those who shall not be named, he had a set that would rival any Dollywood production almost overnight.

Of course, he was not satisfied and managed to do away with almost half of his cabinet before he was finally satisfied with the build. And then of course, there was the casting. A delicate balance of expertise would be required. A beautiful woman but not one so beautiful that would make him feel short or pudgy. Obviously, he knew that he was neither, but naturally, being a gentleman, he didn’t want to show her up.

Nope, he decided. None of the actors were talented enough. And, all of the 500 women drafted into audition were simply not good enough.

“I shall make it alone,” he announced to a jittery advisor. The spate at which his comrades had fallen was obviously testing his nerves, but Conch Kimchi didn’t notice. He was far to busy reciting his hour and 27-minute-long monologue. The people, he declared would absolutely revere it!

Thousands of loyal citizens gathered in the central square for the grand opening. The gymnasts twirled and spun in enforced synchronisation. A true spectacle. Then the much-anticipated movie poured out of the big screen. The audience was silent, stifling yawns, wishing beyond anything that their brains were being deadened back at camp.

Finally, the film ended in a panoramic view of the city with the benevolent face of Conch Kim-chi IV staring out towards Pinonayank mountains looking pensive by way of scratching his chin.

“A true Leader. A visionary for all time” The title read.

In that singular moment, Conch Kimchi had an inkling that he looked like a bit of a twat. A strange and disconcerting feeling which invariably didn’t last very long at all. Less than a minute overall.

After appleating the rest of the cabinet and demolishing a giant-sized bag of jalapeno pretzels, he immediately formed another. New people aren’t hard to find.

This time, he vowed to the sky that he would truly make a movie worthy of his greatness.

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