FILM: Scream Until You're Hoarse: Last Few Bricks

Two days of intense pre-production down. Now that I'm actually a physical - as opposed to virtual - presence in the production's proximity, the process is much easier. We've even managed to vastly improve certain scenes. Being here in person has bolstered my already stalwart confidence in the project. Seeing the locations, meeting the cast and crew, getting my hands on the equipment... to put it simply, it feels good.

Perhaps the best news... and, yeah, I all but confirmed this in the last update, but it's too great to refrain from mentioning... Jim Raposa is officially our traveling salesman. The previous not-quite-so-sure tone was due to the possibility the Screen Actor's Guild might not bestow us with signatory status in time... and time was running out, fast. With some help from Jim himself, we made it in before the wire, and could not be more excited. Earlier today Jim met with us to further block a scene, his innovation within his role greatly impressing.

Through stops at our shooting locations and brainstorms at our home base we have made exponential progress with the shot list's refinement and our plans for lighting. We are also taking care of the catering... or, at least, finding a caterer. Due to the last-minute nature of this specific undertaking we are going to end up doing about half of the catering ourselves but hopefully one of the local delis comes through.

Tomorrow we persist and meet with more crew members. Sunday we rehearse one final time. Monday... Monday we shoot. For real. Really real.

Tangentially, the trip up here was excellent. I always enjoy an airplane-related excursion and the opportunity to glance various cities, no matter how briefly... or from what elevation, in fair-weather scenarios. I began with a flight into Philly, where I had a three-hour layover (which I now refer to as my "Story of a Three-Hour Pass"). I taxied to the famous art museum - the driver kind (and enterprising) enough to provide his cell phone number so I could call on him for a nuisance-free return to the airport - and found myself practically alone on the "Rocky Steps". I felt rather foolish running up for the first time... hesitant. Was I the only guy who remembered Stallone's infamous climb(s)? Once at the top, I spent a few minutes photographing museum's east entrance before heading back. Upon regaining view of the below, I saw a bus full of tourists unloading, the tourists rushing to conquer the cascade of steps. More and more arrived, and before my eyes the Philadelphia Art Museum transformed into a temporary community of silently connected strangers. Rarely before have I felt quite as "one" with a particular segment of humanity. Oh, I went inside the museum, too. Plenty of Monet, some Van Gogh, a fascinating modern art wing and, as Rocky himself suggests in the final moments of his fifth outing, a bit of Picasso.

To continue this more diary-esque recounting of my transit in brief... I did indeed call the same cabbie, who let me sit up front with him. He was extremely personable and spoke in great detail about his home country, his views on this one and his plans for the future - what they were and what they are now. He and I talked family, education and economy. At my drop, he said he'd keep my number stored in his cell in case I ever wanted to call and catch up. I have stored his number, as well.

The flight to Boston was unremarkable but made worthwhile for the time it (as the prior flight had, also) gave me time to read Toby Thacker's new biography, "Joseph Goebbels: Life and Death", which is beyond fascinating. I may attempt to adapt aspects of Goebbels' life - particularly his young life - into screenplay someday. Anyhow, I do adore Boston. I have proclaimed this adoration many a time but it never feels over-proclaimed. Although I would have liked to wander the city's unique streets as I have on past visits or even lunch with two friends who now live on them, this second layover was too brief to allow it. I did get to ogle the Prudential Center, my favorite landmark of the Boston skyline for familiarity's sake, and that would have to be enough.

From Boston I hopped the tiniest bubblegum plane I've ever been on. A six-seater. I was asked for my weight prior to boarding, as were the other passengers, so it would be known how much sand to fill the plane's nose with for balance. I sat immediately up front. From my line of sight it looked like I was the co-pilot. Along for the ride was a father/daughter duo promoting a Monster Truck rally. The daughter must have been only nine... maybe ten years old. She had a blister on her lower lip but, giggling, confessed she would tell inquirers that she had but eaten a vanilla ice cream cone and it left a white blotch. She handled the puddle jump to Rutland, Vermont better than her father, who, though ever-friendly, seemed on the verge of protest upon seeing the plane's size (or lack thereof).

As a final note for this selfish entry, it might be mentioned with a dash of comedy that my luggage was lost - presumably in Boston. I do have it now, as it was located and properly shipped post-haste, but it was a first for me and I couldn't help but chuckle. All my favorite shirts - including several I only just purchased - are in that bag!

1 comment:

  1. Maybe your luggage likes Boston more than you and wanted to stay a little longer. They are your favourite shirts for a reason, after all.


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