The first week of our three week shoot is in the can.* All said, this has been a magically smooth week, aside from the devastating heat, my terrifying-a-baby thing, and the bumping of one scene from yesterday (which was absolutely jam fucking packed) to Monday, which is super light. The most difficult thing I had to do yesterday had nothing to do with the incredibly emotional moments Hillary and I had to deliver, but rather wrestling with a pair of button fly jeans. I have never worn a pair of these hilarious remnants until this film and the mechanics of buttoning up one's fly is foreign to me. That's being politic; it was like watching a bear trying to put on cowboy boots. At one point, thirty seconds out from action, I was struggling to get my misbuttoned fly buttoned and Jillian offered to help, as it is, literally, her job. I politely refused, as not being able to achieve this feat would have made me feel...less than. Everything.
One potential disaster did rear its head yesterday when an insane neighbor called the police on us twice. Once before the sun had even set, and once again around 9:30 or so. The cops told James, our heroic 2nd AD** that this was the quietest film shoot he'd ever seen. On the second call, however, he said that, if the cops are called a third time, even if we are doing nothing wrong and all our permits are good, we'd get shut down. Thing is, this neighbor is selling their house, and wants everything to look perfect. Now, just saying, if I were trying to sell my house and wanted everything copacetic, I would go way out of my way to not call the fucking cops on my neighbors, lest they make the neighborhood seem...less hospitable to potential buyers. Just saying. But, after Monday, we're moving on from this location and that particular piece of shit can go fuck themselves with other, smaller pieces of shit.
Looks like I will not be making it to Mother Feather and that is just fucking crushing. Can't believe I thought I would have free time while out here... So, I'm tossing atound the idea of having a thing next Saturday somewhere conducive to everyone and seeing folks then, although, as we are shooting in Anaheim in a week or so, I might be able to get Alan on the set so we can shoot our own little movie. Probably about coke and whores. Or cake and whores. Or cake and candy. Whatever the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences thinks is hotter these days.
Now, I'm off to get a high colonic, an asshole bleaching and re-tightening (because one's asshole can never be too tight)***, some lunch, an earthquake, and then California uber alles.
* This is a saying from the early days of film referring to what would happen when a reel of film was finished. Basically, the reel of film would be placed in a large can and then covered in the branches of an ash tree until everyone forgot about it. And then, several years later, someone, usually the producer would say, "Oh shit, whatever happened to that can of film?", then everyone would panic and try and find it.
Sometimes, the old ways still live on...
** AD stands for "anno Domini", which, in Latin, translates to "assistant director".
*** And I know what you're thinking: "Paul! If you're newly bleached asshole is too tight, you won't be able to poop!" Guys, I'm superfamous, I have a guy for that.
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