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The AntiChrist Returns to The City of Angels

Updated on February 3, 2020

The Cast Party

This story began under the title of My Untold Short History With Oliver Stone. Please go to this link to read it:

I continue my story with a new title, inspired after fellow writer Steve Rosse1 told me that he "hated" my previous title: The Art of Silence and Genetic Karma, the title of the book that I was writing when I first met Oliver Stone and Richard Rutowski in 1992.

Disclaimer: This blog is based on a true story and my recollection of events, to the best of my knowledge.

Excerpt from Oliver Stone's book A Child's Night Dream

~ I ONCE MADE love to an angel.

She descended in the midst of the Peter Pan night, and alighted on my jeesus-cold floor. She told me in the sweetest of voices that she'd had a long and tiring trip, but that she was happy at last to be at my side. She approached the bed where I lay. My hands were poxed with chickencold, and I watched her in stony disbelief. Her fortune of goldenbrown hair, high-peaked, cascaded down her shoulders. Loops of locks fell about her perfect chiseled face, dimples dancing on her cheeks. And in her eyes there flickered like cinema frames of modesty, lust, and drollery.

I said to her something like, "jeeze, an angel.".......

I once made love with an angel, but I don't remember where or exactly when or how to find her again. ~

Phuket, Thailand - 1992 7:47 PM

I was a bundle of nerves wondering when to approach Oliver Stone, who was sitting with his entourage of about eight men. Eric and I were sitting at a nearby table with our close friend's Canadian Mike and his Thai wife Pat Stark.

Mike, an ex-helicopter pilot whose nickname is appropriately Dragonfly said: "He is alone. Go now."

I turned around and saw Stone sitting by himself. It was now or never.

Since I had never been to a cast party before, I had no idea how to dress. I was thinking shit, upon entering the jammed packed room an hour earlier. My bright magenta silk blazer made me stand out like a neon light. Not one person was in a blazer.

I had no idea what Stone looked like and had to ask Mike to point him out to me. The Director was standing in the corner, dressed in black and surrounded by people. It was obvious that I would have to wait to talk to him.

Eric and I got on the dance floor and I tried my best to relax and just enjoy the music. I love to dance and knew that Stone couldn't miss me, dressed as I was. My dance moves have been described as overtly sexy or dorky depending on my mood.

I reigned in my hips and did my best not to fuck the air with them. My short black mini-skirt kept creeping up my thighs. Hip to the left, hip to the right, pull down skirt, repeat. My long legs have often been admired by both men and women. My editor James Ekhardt even described my legs in one of his books.

I could feel Stone and the other men watching my performance.

My editor had told me that Stone didn't particularly like journalists, which only added to my growing fear of actually talking to him.

The moment was now.

I got up from our table and slowly walked over to him. He gave me a blank look, neither inviting nor menacing. I introduced myself and couldn't believe it when he invited me to sit with him. Within what felt like seconds, his entire entourage reappeared and sat back down at the table.

Stone introduced me to James Riordan and the other directors and photographers, whose names I have forgotten. I remember co-producer Clayton Townsend, mainly because over the years I have often read about him in relation to Oliver Stone. Perhaps we even talked while he was in Thailand, however, it is hard to remember who I talked to during the last 3 weeks of the filming of Heaven and Earth.

Stone asked me who I was writing for and where the interview would be published. I told him that I was writing for a few different publications in Asia, and would publish my story on him in Time magazine or Rolling Stone. I told him to pick one. He smiled, perhaps thinking that I was truly naive if I thought that I could get published in Time Magazine or Rolling Stone, having only published a few articles at that point. I told him that I had written a letter to him requesting an interview.

"So give me your letter," Stone said.

I told him that I didn't want to bother him with my letter at his cast party. Could I drop it off at the Amanpuri the following day? Then out of nowhere, Richard Rutowski, who was sitting across the table from me asks: "Are you married?"

What the hell did that matter? I told him that I was, and that my husband was right over there, pointing to a few tables down from where we sat.

Richard looked in Eric's direction and then basically undressed me with his gaze and told me that he could help me with my letter.

Translation: Come to my hotel room tomorrow and blow me or fuck me.

Some of the entourage appeared to be entertained by Richard's antics and watched to see how I would react. I was growing more and more uncomfortable. Richard was attractive enough, but not really my type. Would he actually help me reach Stone, or would he just come on to me? I stayed silent and Richard told me that he was staying at the Pansea, the hotel next to the Amanpuri.

"Come by at 4 pm. My bungalow is on the beach."

Well that sure is convenient. Meet you at your bungalow. The invitation to fuck was clear to me and everyone around the table.

I excused myself thinking how Hollywood the last 10 minutes had been. No surprise. Later in the evening I was sitting on a couch near the bathrooms with Eric. Richard walked out of the men's room not expecting to run into my husband and I so soon after his proposition to me. I introduced him to Eric, who then went into the bathroom leaving me alone with Richard on the couch.

"Jesus, that was like a movie scene,' Richard exclaimed.

"Why?" I asked.

I can't remember why he thought our exchange with Eric was worthy of a movie scene, but sitting there with him on the couch, I suddenly felt less scared of him. Maybe he won't hit on me. Maybe he will help me get the interview. Maybe it snows in Rangoon. I was lying to myself and I knew it.

I walked back to the now nearly empty open patio where the cast party was and saw Oliver walking out of the hotel alone. I thought he looked tired and sad. I watched him walk away and wondered: Could I trust him with my innermost thoughts? He certainly had been kind to me at the cast party. I knew Richard was dangerous, but I also felt that he was safe. I knew that he would hit on me, but my plan was to stay focused on my letter and getting the interview.

Step one was getting the interview. Step two was pitching my idea about a movie to save Thailand's tigers.


1I first met Steve Rosse (a young American author living in Phuket) in 1990, at a BBQ at Aussie Ivan Murray's house. I had read Steve's stories in the Phuket Gazette and was extremely impressed by his writing ability and sense of humor.

Similar to most people who end up living in Phuket, Steve had discovered the Thai island paradise while on a 3 month holiday and without giving it much thought, decided the small Mango was a far better place to live than the Big Apple.

In 1988, he thus paused his film and television career, packed his bags and landed in Phuket without a job, nor a trust fund. For most of the next decade, Steve earned his living as a freelance journalist and columnist. He wrote a column called "The Rock", for The Nation, Thailand's Independent Newspaper, for five years.

He also worked as a Public Relations Manager for the Boathouse, shortly after I quit the position. The job was perfect for him because he was able to essentially double dip working for the Boathouse and using his office to work on his freelance stories.

Eventually he published a few books including Expat Days Making a Life in Thailand. Here is the link:

His dream life came to an end in 1997, when he quit writing and moved "to Iowa for the surfing," wrote Rosse.

Iowa for the surfing. Hilarious!

Heaven & Earth

Heaven and Earth

Before my editor had asked me to interview Stone, I was working on another story on Thailand's endangered tigers, based on a series of interviews that I was conducting with Michael and Sophy Day, the Founders of the Tiger Trust Foundation. Yorkshire Television was also in Thailand filming a documentary The Tigers of Thailand, based on the two years of "extensive research into the illegal trade in both live tigers and tiger body parts" which the Days had just completed.

One night before the cast party, Eric and I were having drinks with the Days in Patong, Phuket's most well known watering hole. In the middle of drinking my Leo Beer, I had this crazy idea that maybe, just maybe...I could get Stone interested in making a movie about the Days and Thailand's vanishing tigers. Mike Day was planning to write a book called Fight For the Tiger, that would describe his undercover adventures in Russia, Hong Kong, China and Thailand. I was certain his book would make a phenomenal movie and would further our cause.

I didn't have a clue if Stone cared about animals or the environment, but a seed was growing inside -- an idea, a dream. A dream to reach Stone's soul, a man whom I knew next to nothing about, besides that he had written Platoon and Midnight Express. Thus, armed with only one newspaper article and a few tidbits of information gleaned from my editor James, I drove home and started working on my letter to Stone.

I published this article after meeting Oliver Stone and Richard Rutowski.
I published this article after meeting Oliver Stone and Richard Rutowski. | Source

Crossing the Rubicon

Our home in Phuket was a one bedroom condo within walking distance to Kata Beach. On my desk I had a calendar with daily words given to me by my mother-in-law Jean Nuechterlein. The word for the day was Rubicon1. My original letter was coincidentally written on Veteran's Day.

As I was writing, rain began falling in a torrential downpour. I glanced over at my father's good-bye letter from Geneva and listened to Stevie Wonder. A few hours later my confession was finished. I had 12 hours to decide if the Rubicon line was worth crossing, or not?

Would I give Stone, a perfect stranger my vision of the truth, or would I throw it away?


1From Merriam-Webster - Definition of Rubicon

  1. : a bounding or limiting line; especially : one that when crossed commits a person irrevocably

In 49 B.C., Julius Caesar led his army to the banks of the Rubicon, a small river that marked the boundary between Italy and Gaul. Caesar knew Roman law forbade a general from leading his army out of the province to which he was assigned. By crossing the Rubicon, he would violate that law.

"The die is cast," he said, wading in.

That act of defiance sparked a three-year civil war that ultimately left Julius Caesar the undisputed ruler of the Roman world. It also inspired English speakers centuries later, to adopt two popular sayings; "crossing the Rubicon," and "the die is cast."

Eric and I on Kata Beach. I am wearing a Hash House Harrier's t-shirt.
Eric and I on Kata Beach. I am wearing a Hash House Harrier's t-shirt.

Child of War Woman of Peace by Le Ly Hayslip

Denver - May 19, 2016

The other day my 16 year old Vietnamese neighbor Brandon returned the Uncorrected Proof of Le Ly and James Hayslip's book Child of War Woman of Peace. I had given it to his mother Mai back in 2013, but missed it and asked for it back for this book project.

The uncorrected proof was formerly owned by Richard Rutowski, who was the associate producer for Heaven & Earth. How I came to be in possession of this book, Richard's screenplay Surrender and The Confession of Hector Ruiz-Hildalgo ~ A Novel by Silvio Valdez will be explained later in this story.

Brandon and I talked about Vietnam and also about his book report on the Pentagon Papers. We searched my bookshelves for a few books that might be useful for his paper and came up empty handed. I gave him the Kissinger book that my father Art had given me decades earlier, which I could never quite read. Every time I attempted to read it, my mind kept repeating: lies, lies lies. Recently, I asked Art why he gave me that book. He explained that he once respected Kissinger. He definitely does not now.

A few days later, Brandon texted me via Facebook and asked me if I needed the Kissinger book back? I told him to keep it. He wrote that it was one of the books that was required on his reading list next year at George Washington High School and that it was expensive. I was happy to save him some money, but was perplexed that Kissinger would be required reading. What are we teaching our children in America?

This uncorrected proof was originally owned by Richard Rutowski. He didn't mean to give it to me, but I did accidentally become the owner of the blue book in 1993.
This uncorrected proof was originally owned by Richard Rutowski. He didn't mean to give it to me, but I did accidentally become the owner of the blue book in 1993. | Source

In Sanskrit Prisana means Enigma

The Pansea Resort, Phuket - 1992 ~ 4:05 PM

Richard led me into his beach bungalow and sat down on his bed inviting me to sit down. I sat on a chair near the end of his bed and handed him my 3 page letter.

"First of all," he advised. "3 pages is too long. It should only be 1 page."

"I know," I replied. "Just read it."

Minutes passed in silence. I watched his face as he read my confession knowing he had expected something quite different. In the background of my thoughts, the rhythmic sounds of the waves rushing onto the shore outside his bungalow soothed my mind.

I was surprised that the interior of the immaculate bungalow, looked nearly the same as when I had stayed at the Pansea in 1984. Back then, there were only two high class hotels on the island: The Amanpuri and The Pansea.

Richard finished the letter and said, "Well that made me horny."

There it was. How do I know exactly how people will react, even before they know? I inhaled. My heartfelt painful letter explaining WHY I wanted to interview Stone had made him horny. Well, at least it didn't bore him. I think I told Richard that he was an asshole, but it's hard to recall what was said that afternoon. Maybe I only thought it.

He told me that he would give my letter to Stone as is.

The drinks were poured, Sade's No Ordinary Love was playing on the cassette player on his nightstand. He asked me a few questions about the letter, my father and my life in Phuket. I was getting hot and took my black jacket off. Underneath, I wore a small tank top.

"My husband didn't want me to dress too revealing," I told him. "He told me to keep my jacket on."

"Why did he let you come here?" Richard asked.

"Because he knows me," I replied.

Note, I did not say because he trusts me.

Eric and I share a deep love for each other, but often in the far past I had a problem with monogamy. I thought it was unnatural and unrealistic. I didn't believe in marriage because it felt too much like ownership.

I had my first affair in Denver at age 26 with a handsome Mormon. His name was Kevin and he was nearly a pro-golfer. When I met him, he had only recently divorced his wife. We saw each other a few times after my shifts at Caldonia's, a well known BBQ restaurant and bar near my house.

Many other affairs followed eventually destroying any hope of my marriage working. Pandora's box had been opened. I could close the lid and be faithful for a few years, but almost like an alcoholic, temptation would get the best of me sooner or later.

Richard was about to make his move when I stopped him. "I can't do this," I told him.

"Then why did you come here?" he asked.

"To give you my letter and to see if you would really help me to get the interview," I offered.

He read my mind. I was lying to myself.

"Have you heard of Enigma?" he asked, changing the cassette.

My name Prisana means Enigma in Sanskrit. In Thai, Prisana means mystery or puzzle. Strange that he should choose Enigma for his seduction tape. How did he know?

Commenting on my letter Richard said: “You write stories within stories.” Again, he was right. I was writing him into my story within a story.

NOTE: This story continues under the title of Midnight Express into the Lion's Den


We're Going To Lose This War

© 2016 Prisana Nuechterlein


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