At 03:49 PM 10/4/97 CDT, d. wrote:
>Scotto,
>
> We were following kangaroo shit here, expecting it to lead us to the
>nearest Walpiri Sign Language, when we found a copy of the New Yorker
>Magazine in mint condition. We spotted this right off as made up by
>the people who gave you The Gods Must Be Crazy, so turned it into the
>Lost & Found, but not till we had read that Scott A. Moore had become
>the *second* 23-year-old filmmaker to wipe out Hollywood's profit picture
>in as many months, the other one being the maker of Gravesend, whose name
>escapes them, even. Your picture, Escape From Iowa, is the most intersting
>idea I heard of anent places to escape from, especially the seventy-or-eighty
>story underground parking garage beneath Sioux Falls.

excerpt from "There Are No Worse Places To Escape From Than Iowa"
article by Veronica James
published in the New Yorker, June 11, 1995

(begin excerpt)

We continue the interview in Scotto's penthouse suite in Manhattan, a place
as far-removed from the grimy angst of Waterloo, Iowa, as possible.  He is
in a chipper mood; "Escape From Iowa" has been nominated for Best Actor
(Tyler Hayes Stilwill), Best Screenplay, and Best Picture.  He doesn't seem
fazed that he's been passed over for Best Director, a nomination that
usually accompanies the Best Picture nomination.  "This directing thing's no
big deal," he says.  "I mean, it's my first movie; I hardly expected to get
*all* the nominations.  That day will come, certainly, but I can wait."

We sit in his kitchen, snacking on Triscuits and cheddar cheese; despite his
new fame, his midwestern tastes haven't changed all that much.  Except, that
is, for the drugs: since leaving Iowa, his access to recreational
pharmaceuticals has increased exponentially, and he has made full use of his
new resources.  Consequently, he says, "You can expect my next film to be
much more experimental.  I really want to bring the psychedelic aesthetic to
the screen in a way that's never been done before."  He's already working on
the screenplay to what he calls "a massively cool" project called "Lullabye
for Thunderstorms," based on his novel of the same name.  It will likely be
the first time in recent history that a novel which won the Nobel Prize for
Literature is adapted into a blockbuster Hollywood adventure film, but
Scotto is full of such surprises.  "Everyone keeps asking me who's going to
play the twins, and I have to keep saying, over and over again, that Melody
and Laurel will be playing themselves.  This isn't some kind of joke.  It's
my reality we're talking about!"

That afternoon I accompany him to a recording session for the followup album
to his Grammy-award winning a capella debut CD, "Voices".  For four hours,
he builds rhythm tracks, doo-wopping and lalalaing over and over again.
After a rift with producer Daniel Lanois over synthesizing bass voices on
the last album, Scotto has chosen Bill Laswell to produce this time around.
A lot is riding on this record, in Scotto's mind.  "By the time you realize
you've reached your 15 minutes of fame, 13 minutes are up.  I think this
record wants to be a sort of 'filing for an extension' on that.  I think
I've got a lot in me.  I think I could keep making music til I'm 90, you
know?"  Of course, his idol Debbie Gibson once said the same thing, and look
where she is now.  "Well, yeah," he concedes, "but she was making pop
music."  And what are you making?  "This stuff is timeless," he says with a
straight face.

The next morning, we meet for breakfast at his suite.  His aide is bustling
around, giving him papers to sign, informing him of appointments.  At one
point, the Secretary of State calls to confer with him about a diplomatic
assignment. Apparently, the Secretary of State calls often.  "I'm just a
consultant, really," Scotto says.  "I have a unique perspective; I'm not
locked into that whole Beltway machine, but I still have a strong sense of
what should be happening."  In the next month, Scotto will be called in to
negotiate an especially tricky settlement between Republicans and Democrats
over military spending, and President Clinton will attempt - without success
- to appoint Scotto as his new Chief of Staff.  "Hey look," says Scotto
without apology, "I'm an artist, not a politician."

That afternoon we take a cab to the United Nations building, where the World
Scrytch Association is holding its semi-annual summit.  Ever since Scrytch
escaped its containment zone in early 1992, the planet has relied on this
savvy group of scrytchers to identify the spread of the pathogen and warn
outlying areas of danger.  Scotto sits on the WSA advisory committee, a
group which makes regular recommendations to the UN and various world
governments; it is a collection of power that rivals the NSA for sheer
unadulterated influence, and more than once, the term "shadow government"
has been used in reference to the WSA's activities.  The WSA is currently
embroiled in an internal struggle, as committee member Darren Bauler has
proposed using the resources of the WSA to wage an all out jihad on most of
western civilization, something clearly not allowed under the International
Scrytch Charter of 1993.  But a more pressing issue is the upcoming launch
of Free Station Julia by the multinational corporation known as InfiniTek -
widely regarded as the Enemy by all members of the WSA advisory committee.
The meeting is closed to reporters, and afterwards, Scotto's mood is
decidedly dark.

But his busy day is not quite over; aliens from the Andromeda Galaxy are
scheduled to arrive that evening around 7:00, and Scotto will be hosting a
dinner party in their honor...


(end excerpt)