Vinton here, but sadly the bulk of this post is not by me or my lovely wife Helga. But since Dean Anderson has agreed to post our work, so we don't have to personally go on the GRID, we have no choice but allow him to post this short story.

SPECIAL EDITION by Dean Anderson

Elisha stared at Bogart's lips. He was waiting for the words, "Play it again, Sam."
That was Elisha's cue; he shouted, "Rick didn't use to say that! He used to just say, 'Play it'! They changed it!"
People shushed him. One woman yelled, "Shut up!" quite shrilly. Someone threw popcorn.
That was okay. He was used to it. There was the time in San Francisco he was arrested for smoking in the theater. He still remembered every time Rick and Ilsa lit up, so he brought a pack of Nico-frees to a Saturday night screening. He smoked when they used to.
The cops pulled him out of his seat about the same time Louie closed down Rick's Cafe Americain.
In Chicago, his life had been threatened. Now he usually felt he was getting off easily anything less.
He first saw the film on videocassette. When he talked about "videos", kids scratched their heads and called him a crazy old man. Sixty wasn't old his book, but they called crazy no matter what he talked about. Maybe it was the trench coat and fedora he wore.
The audiences always shouted him down, hit him, kicked him, spat on him. Well, not always. There was that one time in New Orleans.
That time, when the patriots at Rick's countered the Nazis' singing with "God Bless America", Elisha countered with a boisterous, loud, not-quite-in-key version of "Marseilles". And it seemed every single person in that packed house on Bourbon Street sang along.
Perhaps it was that one glorious moment that kept him traveling from city to city as Casablanca celebrated its hundredth anniversary with a special edition released to theaters. (He remembered his parents outrage at "Director's Special Editions", but those weren't nearly outrageous as the "Government Special Editions".)
Something kept him going, in spite of the abuse from audiences. Nothing any audience member, usher, manager or cop would ever do could hurt him as much as the pain he felt when he saw Bogart and Bergman board that plane.

Fin


Vinton here again. This story seemed to be negative toward the technology that allows the censorship of films. I those machines coming out of Utah that edit out foul language and nudity out of films are wonderful things, even if it is Mormons that produce them. Films are bad enough, but when they have material that makes people watch them, they're even worse.
Helga here. Unlike my husband, I vehemently oppose censorship. Unless it is censoring racism, sexism, or homophobic material. Or Rebulicanism. Then there is a place for censoring because it protects people's feeling which is really important. Til the universer brings us together again, with regards, Helga