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Michael Garcia Mujica

"Currer Bell is neither man nor woman, but an abstract thing, an artist."

• Michael Garcia Mujica, Lead Educator in Arts and Film History.

Echoing the sentiment about Charlotte Brontë's pseudonymous voice, Michael lends his expertise not only as a writer and visual artist but also as a Lead Educator in arts and film history. Based in Coral Gables, Florida, he is the principal of Vintage Brooks, Inc., where he passionately revitalizes the legacy of silent film star Louise Brooks. His acclaimed blog, Naked on My Goat, serves as a living tribute to Brooks's enduring influence in film, her profound writing, and her broad appreciation for the arts.

Just as Brontë made an indelible mark in literature despite the societal constraints of her time, Michael accentuates Brooks's trailblazing spirit within the film industry. In his role, he ensures that Brooks's iconic voice continues to resonate within the cultural lexicon of the 21st century, celebrating the intricate victories of women in the arts, both past and present.

Explore more about the abstract persona of Charlotte Brontë in Michael's piece, "The Abstract Persona: Understanding Charlotte Brontë's Pseudonymous Journey as Currer Bell."

“I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so whatever the sex of the author may be. All novels are or should be written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man.”

• Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

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Latest posts by Michael Garcia Mujica (see all)

• Lost Souls in the City of Dreams: Angelo Badalamenti’s Love Theme and the Fragile Illusions of Mulholland Drive - September 1, 2024
• Exposing the “Debacle” of Thomas Gladysz: A Parallelistic Examination of Obsession and Missteps - August 30, 2024
• The Cult of Personality: Vincent Lesh and Thomas Gladysz - August 28, 2024

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and locations depicted in this story are entirely fictional.

With that being said, we invite you to sit back and enjoy this entertaining tale of mischief and mayhem on the set of The Gold Rush. While the events depicted in this story are entirely fictional, they capture the humor and spirit of the era and pay homage to the iconic films of Charlie Chaplin.

In the hallowed halls of the film industry, where seriousness and solemnity reigned supreme, two young actresses, Louise Brooks, and Clara Bow dared to bring a touch of mischief to the set of the iconic film, The Gold Rush. With a plan to inject levity into the day’s proceedings, the duo decided to prank the one and only Charlie Chaplin by swapping his real liquor with a prop whiskey, labeled “Pickle Juice” by the master comedian himself.

As they stealthily crept onto the set, the mischievous duo of Louise Brooks and Clara Bow could hear Charlie Chaplin grumbling about the long day ahead. Without missing a beat, Louise nudged Clara and whispered, “Time to sprinkle some fairy dust on this gloomy scene.” A devious grin spread across Clara’s face as she replied, “Let’s make Charlie feel like he struck gold.”

Silent as a pair of swans gliding across a moonlit lake, Louise and Clara tiptoed onto the table. The two actresses deftly swapped out the bottle, savoring the thrill of their mischievous scheme.

The filming was grueling and Chaplin was completely spent. As he took a swig from the switched bottle, his face contorted in disgust. “Blimey!” he exclaimed, spitting out the sour liquid. “That’s not whiskey, it’s me bloomin’ wee-wee!” he sputtered, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

Louise quipped, “That sure gave the gold rush a whole new meaning,” and couldn’t help but cackle.

“Ha! Good one, Louise,” Clara replied, clapping her hands. “I bet it’s got more bite than a jackrabbit in a dogfight!”

In the midst of the confusion, Louise and Clara cut off the power as part of their prank.

“Uh, ladies,” Chaplin called out, “I think I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

“You’re never too old for a little mischief, Mr. Chaplin,” Louise teased.

“Besides, who needs electricity when you have us to light up the room?” Clara added.

Amidst the enveloping darkness of the set, Louise and Clara deftly snatched Chaplin’s iconic bowler hat and cane, taking him by surprise. “Careful Charlie, we don’t want you tumbling over like a drunken acrobat,” Louise chortled with glee, donning the bowler hat while Clara tapped the cane on the floor like a metronome, setting the rhythm for their impromptu performance.

Clara quipped, “Now, let’s give Chaplin a run for his money!”

Chaplin heard their voices and exclaimed, “Who said that!?”

“Evening, Charlie,” Louise said, tipping the hat with a grin. “Hope you enjoyed the pickle juice.”

“Very funny, ladies,” Chaplin said, trying to keep a straight face. “But you do realize that my wee-wee is a private matter.”

As the room was aglow with a warm luminance, the flickering of lights caught their attention, unveiling the mischievous duo in their stolen props. Amidst the chortling of Charlie Chaplin, a portable gramophone was spotted nearby, and in a harmonious syncopation, Louise and Clara decided to set the needle upon the groove. The scratchy timbre of the music reverberated in the air, enchanting the atmosphere with a nostalgic tone. They twirled and swayed, engaging in a whimsical dance of the Charleston. The clacking of their heels resonated on the floor like the marching of horses’ hooves, as they moved rhythmically to the beat of the music, exuding an aura of revelry and merriment.

The hullabaloo caught Chaplin off guard, causing him to blurt out, “Well, tickety-boo! What’s all this about?” in his distinct British brogue, with a few gibberish words thrown in as he struggled to make sense of the chaos.

“Looks like you got yourself into a bit of a pickle,” Clara joked to Chaplin.

The onlookers cheered and clapped as Louise and Clara danced away, with Chaplin joining in on the fun. “Well, at least it wasn’t someone else’s pickle,” he joked.

As the euphoria died down, Chaplin sat down with Louise and Clara to talk to them about their motives, “Girls, why do you always have to be so mischievous? Don’t you know the risks?” he asked with a hint of sternness.

“Of course we do, Charlie,” Louise replied with a smile. “But life’s too short to take everything seriously. We just want to have some fun and make people laugh.”

Chaplin looked at the two young women, his eyes softening. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. Life is too short. Let’s have some more fun!” he declared, grinning from ear to ear.

The boisterous trio kept dancing and jesting late into the night, the legendary Gold Rush now infused with a new aura of mirth and delight. As the night wound down, Louise and Clara exchanged a knowing glance.

“Whoops-a-daisy! We’ve really given Chaplin quite the surprise,” Clara remarked with a sly grin.

Louise giggled. “It just goes to show that even the best-laid plans can go awry.”

Clara turned to Louise and said, “Well, at least we didn’t give him the ol’ vinegar strokes.”

As Chaplin watched the mischievous pair depart, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Those two are quite the handful, but they certainly know how to inject some life into a set. I’ll have to keep a close eye on them,” he mused with a wry smile.

And as the set resumed its usual hustle and bustle, the memory of Louise and Clara’s hijinks lingered in the air like a fragrant, elusive aroma.

As for the pickle juice? Well, let’s just say that Chaplin never forgot to double-check the label before taking a swig again.