Dark Star was a John Carpenter sci-fi comedy about people exploding planets in space, and O'Bannon hadn't simply written it, but also designed and supervised the special effects. It was this (not his writing) that got the attention of weirdo director Alejandro Jodorowsky, who at the time was working on an ultimately shelved Dune film. O'Bannon was brought on Dune's production where he met a creepy Swiss artist working on the film's set and character design. His name was H.R. Giger, and you might find his work on Dune a bit familiar.

H.R. Giger

To put this guy in perspective -- upon their initial introduction, H.R. Giger immediately offered O'Bannon opium. And when asked why he himself took it, Giger bleakly responded "I am afraid of my visions." If Werner Herzog had night terrors, it would be personified in H.R. Giger's ghastly Scandinavian gaze. His paintings are what Satan uses to get an erection.

Dune was sci-fi failure #2, and after production was closed down O'Bannon found himself running out of work, and consequently money (which is commonly a thing you get in exchange for work). In what was no doubt an act of pre-hooking desperation, he and Shusett dug up yet another old failure -- a story about monsters attacking a WWII bomber (which later became a segment in the 1981 animated "film" Heavy Metal -- a series of events we've previously discussed).

Like some kind of mad scientist, O'Bannon spliced this story with another failed horror script about bug monsters, added a re-written scene from Dark Star, and somehow churned out Alien. Meanwhile, H.R. Giger was developing a terrifying artistic portfolio based on his childhood nightmares -- one example being a painting called "Necronom IV."

H.R. Giger

That's one of two nightmares that will come into play, this first fruition appearing in an H.R. Giger art book that O'Bannon gave to Ridley Scott while developing Alien. Nightmare number two came from Shusett who, after a day of writing, woke up in the middle of the night with the idea that the alien could impregnate a crew member through their throat -- meaning that nearly every aspect of these creatures was quite literally the stuff of nightmares.

20th Century Fox

Arnold Schwarzenegger threw his hat into the governor ring and came out with a whopping 48.6 percent of the vote. This was in October of 2003, and along with shaping the future of California, it panicked a butt-ton of producers who had previously attached the hulky destroyer to upcoming films. One such producer was Jerry Weintraub, who had cast Arnold as the Yul Brynner role in an upcoming remake of that enduring '70s sci-fi cowboy classic, Westworld. As we're sure you can guess, this did not end up happening, and the project was shelved indefinitely -- or in producer-speak, "until someone big enough shows interest in it." That took two years.

Variety

In 2005, Weintraub once again set his sights on this ridiculous film -- this time with the director of The Cell attached. This, unsurprisingly, did not make Westworld the exciting filmmaking opportunity that studios were scrambling over, and so Jerry moved on to another project while letting his baby degrade on the back burner. That project was a little TV movie about Liberace starring Michael Douglas, Matt Damon, and Matt Damon's glittery thong.

In the biggest plot twist yet, the HBO-made Douglas/Damon smooch-fest was a hit... causing Weintraub to turn to the network for a Westworld series. The rest is excessively naked history. And hey, Schwarzenegger is finally available now, so maybe they can throw him a bone and cast him as a background extra or something.

Superman was a hit, but this didn't instantly result in every single over-pantsed defender getting his own movie -- remember, it would take over a decade for even Batman to get one. However, the Donner flick did nab the attention of a five-year-old named Kevin who, like five-year-olds tend to do, became enamored with this genre of mighty punchers. His fandom eventually turned into a job at the Donners' Company as Lauren's assistant. As she puts it, "one of the main reasons Kevin managed to get himself an intern position at our company was because of Superman: The Movie, [that freaking nerd]."

Lauren went on to make a few disaster films, like Volcano and the harrowing You've Got Mail, before becoming inspired by her husband's action background and buying the rights to the X-Men franchise in 1994. Feeling his intense ray of nerdiness, she gave her then-assistant Kevin a producing role on the first X-film, where he instantly became "a walking encyclopedia of Marvel." Usually that just makes you very good at internet message board arguments, but in Kevin's case, it led him to this:

Alberto E. Rodriguez/Getty Images for Disney

That's right. It's Kevin Feige -- not Bacon as you were all no doubt guessing. Having been inspired by that first Superman film, Feige beelined directly to the Donners before getting thrown into X-Men and scooped up by Marvel. It was there that he continued to read an endless number of comics and work closely with directors making Spider-Man, X2, and Daredevil until 2005, when Marvel decided to make their own studio. In 2007, Kevin was named the chief of that studio and began to develop what would go on to be this jumbled mess of media:

Marvel

The Marvel Cinematic Universe gave way to an entirely new method for making movies, now being applied to Star Wars, Lego, and even the goddamn The Mummy. It's completely changed franchises and made a once-bankrupt Marvel Studios the hottest goddamn game in town... all ironically thanks to a fucking DC Comics movie. Thanks a bunch, you sulky jerks!

Also, it was started by this lady:

Fresno Pacific University

Her name is Jo Ellen Misakian, and back in 1972 she was hired as a librarian aide at the Lone Star School in Fresno, California. While there, she noticed that the naturally reading-averse students all loved the same book, so she helped them start a petition to turn it into a movie. After attempting (and failing) to contact the author, Jo Ellen decided to just take a shot in the dark and mail the book to a known director instead. The book, by the way, was The Outsiders -- the basis for the very first of the Brat Pack films, which kicked off the stellar careers of actors like Cruise, Lowe, Emilio Estevez, Patrick Swayze, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, that other guy, and that other other guy.

Warner Bros.

And this never would have existed as a film if it wasn't for Mrs. Misakian, her plucky kid pals, and the fact that she totally fucked up mailing their petition.

You see, after deciding Francis Ford Coppola should direct the movie, Misakian found his New York address in the reference section of the Fresno library and mailed a copy of the petition there -- but Coppola was living in Los Angeles at the time. The New York address was outdated and unused... and, consequently, got very little mail. However, it just so happened that Coppola was in New York that week, and was able to personally see the letter for that reason.

Jo Ellen Misakian

According to a producer there at the time, "It was lucky for the kids that we were in New York when it was sent over." Eventually, Coppola read the attached book, optioned it, and then began production on the film, all while maintaining a correspondence with the librarian who first sent it to him.

Fred Roos

In the end, the film was attributed to Misakian and her class -- the closing credits saying, "The film The Outsiders is dedicated to the people who first suggested that it be made -- librarian Jo Ellen Misakian and the students of The Lone Star School in Fresno, California." The Brat Pack was born, and like a thousand careers started... all because a librarian sucked at tracking down someone's more-current address.

Then, one day in 1997, Silveira was asked to contribute right before a deadline (what kind of backwoods magazi-- oh, right). Without any prepared jokes, he remembered the opening lines to an old unfinished novel he had been working on years back. With the clock ticking, John spun the words into a fake classified ad and submitted the following:

Backwoods Home Magazine

Yes. That ad. Silveira had created what would later become a meme that would inspire Colin Trevorrow to make an indie film called Safety Not Guaranteed, about a dude looking for a time-travel partner. Not long after, director Brad Bird was being approached by Disney and Lucasfilm to direct the next Star Wars film -- and in turning it down for Tomorrowland (yikes), Bird recommended they watch Trevorrow's little movie.

In short, two major sci-fi franchises ended up being completely dependent on an indie comedy director who was inspired by some joke-writing weirdo in Southern California. And speaking of stuff Spielberg once touched...

It was on this film that a young Joel Coen was working as an assistant editor while trying to make his debut with a script he co-wrote with his brother. While there, director Sam Raimi convinced the Coens to shoot a fake trailer for their script, which subsequently led to them finding investors for the movie -- eventually called Blood Simple. You might recognize this as the pivotal moment leading to decades of amazing films like The Big Lebowski, No Country For Old Men, The Hudsucker Proxy, and certainly not Garfield (common mistake).

Meanwhile, while casting Blood Simple, the brothers went to see a play called Crimes Of The Heart. It featured Holly Hunter, who they immediately wanted to cast... but couldn't, for scheduling reasons. However, Hunter went home from the audition and mentioned the film to her roommate: Frances McDormand. Frances, of course, would go on to kick ass in the role, marry Joel Coen, and play one of the most badass baby-ovens to ever point a gun at Peter Stormare.

Gramercy Pictures

And it gets weirder. Because while Holly didn't get the role in Blood Simple, she would later move into a Silverlake home with both Coen brothers, McDormand, and Raimi -- who at the time was writing Evil Dead II on the porch. Cut to a few years later, and a young actor named Bill Paxton got a phone call from his friend James Cameron asking if he had heard of Evil Dead II. When Paxton said no, Mr. Titanic rushed him to a local showing, as any loyal friend would. After falling in love with Raimi's slapstick horror style, B-Pax auditioned for the director's follow-up, Darkman. You with us so far?

According to Paxton (who later worked with Raimi on A Simple Plan), while he got super close to landing the role, he "made the mistake" of informing another friend about the movie as well. It was Liam Neeson.

Universal Pictures

Neeson got the role and killed it as the titular rubber-faced rage goon in Darkman, which was then seen by a stage actress named Natasha Richardson. At the time, Richardson was putting together a production of Anna Christie, and thanks to Darkman, she pursued Neeson to play a role. Not only would his performance in the show end in a marriage with Richardson, but it would grab the attention of a director in the audience... who at the time was casting an upcoming film called Schindler's Fucking List.

Universal Pictures

YEP. Liam Neeson's entire career exploded because Bill Paxton was dragged to a screening of Evil Dead II and fell in love. Consider this yet another reason he's going to be deeply missed. RIP, you ultimate badass.

David is an editor and columnist for Cracked. Please direct all your goddamn "hellos" to his Twitter account.

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