|Uh... could you repeat that, please?|
But that was before I received an email from Bonhams Gallery in Los Angeles requesting consignments for their upcoming movie memorabilia auction. Suddenly, I decided that very few of those posters really tugged at my heartstrings after all. Rubber Racketeers, I Ring Doorbells and others of that ilk were mine 'til the day I died. But the rest, well, they could find a better home elsewhere.
So one morning last week, I plowed through the collection, inhaling the cancer-causing microbes drifting off the paper, and started photographing the ones I was ready to sell to another goofball collector.
|Yeah -- right into the|
|And leave a good-looking|
|I come to ridicule|
Caesar, not praise him.
|Note the subtle use of the word "stacked."|
|I thought Adam Sandler was the human bomb.|
I'd never find out. About 20 minutes after I emailed the photos to Bonhams, I received a terse reply informing me that they didn't reach the minimum value required for consignment. Go ahead and say it -- they're too cheap for you fancy-pants auctioneers!
And so the rejected posters were returned to the box and tucked away for another day, most likely my death. Maybe I should have gotten that Citizen Kane half-sheet for $200 when I had the chance. A quick online perusal tells me it now goes for over $9,000.
|From Fire Crackers to Cracked Ice |
to Duck Soup -- it's very logical if you
think about it.
Ironically, the Bonhams' representative who broke the bad news to me was the same one who, last year, was willing to take on my most prized keepsake, the original typewritten treatment for the Marx Brothers' Duck Soup. Almost everything from the story to the characters' names to the title are different from the final version.
I paid 25 bucks for it roughly 20 years ago. Bonhams thought it would get between $2,000 to $3,000 at auction. After giving it some thought, I decided to keep it. My emotional attachment doesn't come that cheap. At least not now.
To read the first part of this essay, go here.