Notes From A Burning House

Night has fallen and the fog is beginning to roll up into the Hollywood Hills.  The cast and crew have returned to our Sunset Plaza Drive location, and we are filming scenes involving cars: arrivals and a few departures from the climactic Hollywood party. 

Richard’s HDV camera is a thing of miracles, enough to make a neanderthal like me fall to my knees and grunt in fear and awe.  "Unnggg.  Magic box take pictures.  AND don’t need heavy lighting equipment.  Ug!"   There follow many takes of people pulling up and walking into the house, strategically placing the cars so as to take advantage of security lights on the neighbor’s garage.

Halie is worried about the gas in her car, so Mr. Nelson and Richard send her down to get gas with Amber and her camera in the car, to film them on Sunset Boulevard and driving the car up, up, up into the fog.  Chris shoots Mark stumbling down the street and tumbling over trash cans.  Thankfully, the neighbors do not sic the LAPD on us. 

Gradually, actors are released to find their way down the hill in the dark, to Sunset and their paths homeward.  Meanwhile, the fog is rolling in thicker and faster by the minute, seriously messing with our view. 

There is still an important duet scene to film: in which a loyal brother visiting L.A. from Iowa, played by Mr. Schark, meets a woman with whom he makes a nice connection before getting hauled off by his sister.

This film is being ’scripted’ via actor improvisation, and this scene has not been rehearsed with the director.  While Mr. Nelson is off taking pictures of people in cars, the actors improvise with me watching and for a glorious few minutes or so I feel useful in a way that I’ve been missing for a long, long time. 

The director is improvising, as well, woe betide.  He decides he needs a short scene where Schark interacts with another party-goer, to help him make a transition from an angry mood to something more lighthearted.  Nelson explains this to me and says, "This means you.  Go over there and do a scene with Andrew."

"But Chris, I’m not in this movie."

"That’s just not true."

Richard grins at me, his camera on his shoulder like a pirate’s macaw.  Arrrr, me hearties, I have been shanghai’d.  Submitting, I remove my sweatshirt and  get in front of the camera.  No makeup, just five o’clock shadow and improvised lighting.  Yep, everything is improv around here.

Scene goes something like this, I can’t quite remember: Alg at the balcony, with a drink.  Andrew approaches. 

Alg: Are you enjoying this party?

Andrew: No, I am not.

Alg: Sorry to hear it. 

Andrew: You?

Alg: Well. Actually, I used to live here.  I had to sell the house about three years ago.  (drinks)  Gotta say, I hate what they did to the place.  Come on!  Would you hang that painting there?? 

Andrew: No, no I wouldn’t.  That brass pole is pretty ugly, too.

Alg: Yeah!  I hate that!  (sighs)  You need a beer?

Andrew: Yes I do.

Alg:  I’ll be back.

Thus ends my cameo.

We do a single take of THAT magic and move quickly to get two more scenes on tape before the fog completely covers the city lights, and before we are quite finished it is time to stop. 

Driving down the hill in the fog, suddenly I wonder: Where’s my contract?  What are my perks?  Any swag?  A personal assistant?  Where’s my trailer?  Where’s my coke?  This is ridiculous!  These people don’t appreciate me!  What kind of mickey-mouse enterprise is this?!  Get my agent on the phone!

Oh, right.  Don’t.  Have. One.

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