Friday
3:00 pm
Thanks to Mary and Paul, I’m chillaxing at home, saving my
energy for the weekend, and doing important stuff like buying soda and
napping. I feel quite serene because we
have an amazing, eager team and I keep reminding myself it’s all for fun.
5:00 pm
I start receiving texts from the Kick-Off event at Liberty
Station. One from Mark Perino is
particularly enigmatic: “I have one
green chair in the shade.” Later, he
tells me that he knows I hate to wait in the sun, which is just a typical
example of his thoughtfulness. David
says, “Ate some street tacos. Pretty
good.” I wish I were there, but I’m
conserving my energy. I make a sandwich
and put tomorrow’s snacks, some Advil, baby wipes, Band-Aids and sunscreen by
the door. Since this is the first shoot in years that happens out of the sun,
the kit won’t end up being that necessary, but as I learned in Girl
Scouts: “Be Prepared.”
6:30 pm
Driving to our Brainstorming location at North Park
Vaudeville Theatre (huge shout-out to Jeff and Summer for letting us assemble
here!) when the calls and texts start rolling in: We’ve got Film de Femme! This is sort of a made-up 48 Hour Film Project
genre which is intended to feature strong women. It’s often interpreted as “Let’s put them in
bathing suits and then give them guns!” but I’m psyched because we have a lot
of women acting this year and I know we’ll come up with something
different.
7:00 pm
Opening the theatre, switching on lights and A/C, and I hear
our elements: Character: Alice or Alex Downing, Coach. Prop:
a flashlight . Line of
dialogue: “Sometimes that’s all you
need.” The ideas begin to surge through
my brain like a very insistent drug, or maybe that’s just the heat.
7:05 pm
A moment of reflection before the storm. I relax in front of the stage, making notes
on Film de Femme in my phone. I write
“Badass Moms” and “What if women’s mags had opposite messages, like eat whatever you want and sit around all day and be general bitches? “Going back to high
school no longer a nerd but a badass?”
We don’t end up using any of these.
7:10 pm
My illustrious AD, Eva-Maria, has arrived. A moment while I bow down in her temple. She’s still a teenager, but she was sheer
awesomeness all weekend. Completely my
“I’m right on top of it, Rose!” (Don’t
Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead shout-out, anyone? Anyone?) doppelganger, even remembering to
hand me coffee at appropriate intervals.
She’s even in film school so I could count on her for editing ideas,
too. Heck, we could have made a badass “Film
de Femme” just about this girl. She
quickly proposes a Fight Club parody that gets everyone excited, but is
ultimately abandoned. Part of the
problem is I don’t remember the movie, except for Brad Pitt and some soap, so
I’m not much help.
7:15 pm
Almost everyone has arrived and the room is humming with
productivity. We have some new Toads
this year, including the amazing Angelina as our first-ever dedicated Craft
Services babe (seriously, no one was ever hungry for a second on her watch) Kris,
a GoPro colleague of David’s on second camera who can rival Mark for the Ray o’
Sunshine award, and Sam, a member of the Becky
Shaw cast, who is the nicest guy around but played Daryl Hammar expertly
because he’s just that good. With our
fabu returnees from 2014’s also delightful shoot (including Will, Eva, Kam,
Dan, Benjamin and Mark Petersen) and rounded out by the old guard (Rachel,
Tracy, Kate, Mike, Marie, Benji, Mark, Julianna, Cheryl and, of course, yours
truly and David) we are very much the fortunate Toads.
8:00 pm
Brainstorming in full swing.
The Fight Club idea is going strong, along with some others that I no
longer recall. I do remember scheming to
get all the men in loincloths, which seems to be an annual quest—see how power
corrupts? I call the meeting to order by
going over our policies and plans for the weekend, which puts me in my happy
place. Speaking of which, the Rehm
family is back onboard, and true to form, they are movers and shakers. Kam has lined up several very
alluring-sounding locations and my relief is palpable since even two days ago I
figured we’d be filming in our house.
9:00 pm
We huddle in break-out groups, fleshing out ideas. I am sitting with Grace and Julianna (who
have just raced over from a concert), Kate and Angelina (I think?) We toss
ideas back and forth, getting progressively discouraged because we can’t
exactly find the plot line. I have been
referring to our previous three films as our trio of gorgeous-looking films which
people watch intently and then wrinkle their brows and say “Wait…what happened
at the end?” I am determined that won’t
happen this time even if I have to bludgeon people over the head with my plot
structure.
9:30 pm
OMG. Something
happens. I don’t remember how or why or
exactly when. But we have this idea
about an office, and some women, and a boss who is a douche-y art collector who
is scammed in a con that ends up benefitting a foundation for women in the
arts. By Jove, it could work.
9:45 pm
All the break-out groups are sharing. There are a lot of good ideas, but everyone
(grudgingly or otherwise) concedes that ours is the most fleshed-out. So we are ready to rock with writing. Kate, Kam, Julianna and I have already
discussed working back at my house, and Eva is going to manage the business end
(messaging about props and costumes, and whatever needs to be fetched from
Wal-Mart.)
10:00 pm
“Who has a hideous painting in their garage?” About 10 hands go up. It appears to be a little-understood societal
ill. But that’s our good fortune,
because we need a bunch of ‘em.
10:15 pm
We’ve arrived at the house and there’s some guinea-pig
cuddling, chocolate-eating and chia-seed debating that must be done before we
settle down around the kitchen table with our various writing implements. The men are doing their impenetrable
tech-talk in the garage. Someone is on
my laptop so I go look up “how to critique art” on my computer in the office. I have this hankering to make jokes about
“naïve art” and want them to be accurate.
Those never happen.
Saturday
12:00 am
Friday nights are always blurry. Julianna is typing away, doing
a great job capturing the spirit of our intended scenes. This year I don’t want a “tight” script with precise
dialogue, because I’m freakin’ wordy and then we have a hard time cutting
it. This year, we’re going to storyboard
a general plot arc, with some humorous elements, and then improv the hell out
of it. Poor Eva is gamely attempting
these storyboards, but the plan falls apart when we can’t even agree what’s
happening in the first one. Still, the
loose structure and improv dialogue plan remains.
12:30 am
I send everyone home, except Kate who had volunteered to be
my writing partner, and Julianna, who is spending the night on account of not
yet having a license. Too many people,
and fun gets in the way of art. I nudge
Kate once her dad is sort of obviously snoozing next to us, and they depart. Julianna and I plug away for another couple
hours until I just hit a wall.
2:30 am
Don’t know what really happened in that two hours, except a
general ennui about life. I announce
that we’re done. Julianna is
understandably shocked by this assessment, since there isn’t actually a story
yet. I tell her that I swore I’d sleep
longer than an hour this year, and that the whole idea was to improv and change
it up, right? It doesn’t sound that
convincing to me as I say it, and she’s skeptical but exhausted, so we both
retreat to our sleeping corners and call it a night. David is snoring like a lumberjack but I kick
him and pull the covers over my head.
5:00 am
I need to wake up in an hour, but I already feel anxious and
alert and, for tradition’s sake, like bloody hell. I doze off again just in time for…
6:00 am
horrible Apple harp noise what was I thinking
6:30 am
Standing in the shower, brain furiously churning to match my
stomach.
7:00 am
Whisper to Julianna that her dad is here. Carl has arrived bearing a painting that will
become “the Mushka Saccarin.” I guess we
never name it. Oops. It’s wonderfully
hideous and will lend itself brilliantly to my crash course in art criticism.
7:30 am
Eva is here, and I ask David to drive her to our first
location--Dan’s office in Mira Mesa--while I take another pass at the
script-in-progress. This is actually a
cover story, since I need to be alone for a few minutes in case I barf. I drink some coffee and stare. Then I feed the piggies. In the couple minutes of silence before I hit
the road, I say to them, “Boys, I wish we could make the entire movie about
you. Then we would win all the
prizes. ALL THE PRIZES!!!” They stare silently in the face of this
effusive gushing. Perhaps modest. Perhaps wondering where their carrot is.
8:00 am
Almost to Mira Mesa, brain a washing-machine of ideas. I careen into a parking space and type
furiously into my phone, the first thing handy.
When I look at these after the weekend, my drive-time scribbles have
become intrinsic to the final script.
8:15 am
Angelina is smiling and setting up bagels in what I will
come to call “The Green Room.” She is a
national treasure, not only procuring and setting up food all weekend, but
taking the initiative to clean up, bring people coffee and—be still my heart—actively
pursue any craving whim I happen to mention out loud.
8:30 am
The talent is cheerful and amped, turning the dressing room
into a fashion show, with outfits, wigs, makeup and jewelry everywhere. I am so happy to see Tracy, mistress of the
perfect Incredulous Face and the whip-smart comic timing. It’s been a while and I’ve missed her. All the ladies have been informed that
they’ll need both “corporate smart” and “fashion-forward formal” wear for this
shoot, though none of them have any idea who they are playing. That’s because I don’t know, either. Sssshhh.
9:00 am
The building is hot.
Start-sweating-instantly hot. For
a moment, I am terrified that we’ve scored an air-conditioned building for this
year’s shoot but will end up sweaty anyway, but Dan and Benjamin to the
rescue. The office is beautiful and
spacious and provides several perfect vantages for our scenes, but the comedy
of its layout persists throughout the day.
At least five times, I wander in the direction of the bathroom, only to
return to the same spot five minutes later without finding it. I also have trouble remembering if we are upstairs
or down, right or left. I feel sort of
dangerously tired and then Eva gently presses a cup of coffee into my hand, and
just the gesture starts me feeling better.
10:00 am
We’ve decided to shoot Daryl’s office scenes first, and have
chosen a swank corner office on the second floor for this purpose. I tell Dan that my vision includes a
completely bare desk, and he looks panicked since it’s currently covered
in…well, desk stuff. Someone has the
great idea to photograph it so we can return it to its original splendor. As I walk down the hall, my eye is caught by
an office where the currently-absent occupant has decorated with a football
helmet, a giant trophy with golf balls stuck to it, and a Coors Light
sign. I announce that I want these
things for Daryl’s office because “it will make him look more douchey.” I suddenly realize that there are actual
employees in the office and I should keep my voice down. Which is why it’s extra-hilarious later in
the day when Dan tells us, “Wow, the guy whose stuff that is…is actually kinda
like Daryl.” I am truly amazing.
11:00 am
As is typical, there are about 4 million things to set up before
shooting a single frame. While this is
going on, I realize that we should block the scene in which Daryl displays his
“Mushka Saccarin” to his secretary. I
don’t really want to make a thing of the fact that I have no idea who is
playing the secretary, nor what either of them might, oh, SAY, during such an
exchange. I end up “auditioning” all the
ladies present, since they’ve all been obliging enough to change into corporate
wear, and it helps me figure out the blocking.
They’re all awesome but Tracy has this face she makes, like she’s just
smelled something not exactly terrible, but like she might shortly DECIDE it’s
terrible, that I find irresistible.
12:00 pm
What happens during the shooting of this scene is new-ish to
me for a few reasons. For one thing, I’m
looking through the camera, (don’t laugh—as a director, I realize I should do
that more often, but the theater is burned in my brain) which enables me to see
the many angles we are getting that I don’t want. For another, I’m sketching out a scene
without specific dialogue, which reveals that both Sam and Tracy are crack
shots at improv, and that it’s really funny when he calls her by about five
different names in one scene. The
name-confusion thing is one of many- spendored things that emerge out of thin
air during filming, and one of the many reasons I love this competition. I feel like I’m better at recognizing gold
than I am at creating it. I’m not an
alchemist—I’m a prospector, and a
damn good one.
1:00 pm
Two office scenes in the can and I’ve been notified that our
lunch wagon has arrived. This is
actually the Rupperts plus Jarrah, who have so kindly brought us a sandwich
bar, chips and cookies, taking time out of their weekend just because they’re
that awesome. It’s really lovely to see
them, and we are all refreshed.
3:00 pm
All the ladies in the cubicle for some bonding before the
scene I’ve dubbed “Daryl Hammer’s Douche Walk.”
Somehow my comment that they might be discussing the tragic departure of
Zayn Malik from One Direction has come to fore and there are even some broody
portraits displayed on the cubicle walls.
Cheryl, Rachel, Tracy and Kate start improv-ing and eventually we hit on
what I believe to be the core issue:
“The Viability of Man Buns.” Sam
has become our graphics guy, and in addition to creating a flyer for National
Foundation for Women in the Arts (NiFWA,
yo!) and an invitation to a “Chrissaby’s” auction for an “Odin Ziggurat” (I get
that from a name generator in which I’ve entered “Norse”) he’s making a sketch
of Tracy so that we can start the movie with aspiring art student Rachel
sketching. The sketch bears a vague
resemblance to Weird Al Yankovic, but it’ll do, and hey, not everyone can draw
Weird Al.
3:30 pm
Sam as Daryl Hammar creates havoc in the cubicle by storming
in and disrupting their peace with his boorish comments. It’s really funny when Sam flings the art
foundation brochure and it perfectly bounces off Rachel’s nose while we’re
filming. I’m a little startled when he comes up with “flower vaginas,” but I
take a moment and realize it makes sense.
He also unwittingly hits on our catch phrase when he exits with “Flip it
up and flip it down, ladies.” I have no
idea what this means, or if it’s something the youth of today are saying in the
streets, but it works and becomes a sort of motif.
4:00 pm
Filming Sam strutting down the hallway, looking into
cubicles, a bit that I’ve dubbed “the douche walk.” He’s surprisingly good at it. I guess he must be an actor.
4:30 pm
I announce that the entire team is moving to the break room,
where we will be filming an emotional encounter between the ladies. I refrain from mentioning that this “emotional
encounter” was never written, lo, never even discussed, so I’m going to have to
wing it. Luckily, my mad winging-it
skillz improve tremendously after two hours of sleep. Also, all four of the ladies really bring it
acting-wise in this segment. As the
camera boys set up angles, Rachel, Tracy, Kate and Cheryl enter one by one to
pour themselves a cup of coffee (in the spirit of the weekend, there is
probably week-old sludge in the cups they’ve found in the cupboards.)
I have been agitating for a song and dance number this year,
and this seems as good a time as any. We
have a small box of vanilla-frosted donuts procured by the wondrous Angelina (I
later taste one and pronounce it “an insulin coma with a hole in it.”) Now, the Cane Toads have a long and
illustrious history with donuts, and I realize I’m looking at four singers (I
have, in fact, sung in musicals with all but one of them) so, like diving off a
cliff, I suddenly belt “WHAT TIME IS IT?”
“DONUT TIME!” “EVERYBODY LOVES…”
“DONUT TIME!” and they try it, and it sticks like glaze. Sam/Daryl enters and steals all the donuts,
and blam! We have our perfect segue to what
I call “the beating heart of the film.”
Everyone seems a little uncertain, but that’s the beauty of being
director—you can just talk a little louder and say “Do it! We don’t have time for discussion!”
5:30 pm
Two quick pick-ups to provide transitions to other
scenes. Kam and I have had much
discussion of which grand home we should film in next—it’s an embarrassment of
riches this year with her locations.
While we’re thinking about it, we film Tracy/Casey leaving Daryl’s
office (a scene that actually took place hours ago, on another floor, but
that’s the magic of filmmaking) and Rachel/Beth teasing her about what she has
to put up with from Daryl, including the name problem—as Tracy walks away,
Rachel calls out “Spacey!” This never
makes it into the film, but we have one of those “only during the 48” arguments
about what situations are appropriate for a finger-heart, before we’re quite
through.
6:00 pm
One shot of all the ladies passing each other in the hallway
(actually the lobby now) doing the “flip it up and flip it down” signal to
indicate the successful implementation of the con. There’s always a moment around six p.m. when
I space out and all the boys behind the cameras, lights and sound equipment make
a decision to shoot a scene about 20 times when I’m fairly certain we can use
the first one. This time, they want the
sound of all the footsteps passing, even though I keep repeating, weakly,
faintly, from my slumped position on the lobby couch, “We don’t need audio…this
scene will have music over it…” No one is listening at the moment, and it’s a
good reminder of how this job requires constant alertness. One minute of inattention and the entire
direction can change.
6:30 pm
Can we make it to Rancho Santa Fe in time for the
sunset? This is asked more often than “Where
are the Red Vines?” when we’re making a 48 Hour film. Luckily, this year I only want the sunset for
mood, not a plot point. After some
posting from Kam and Benjamin, we are packing up and shipping out. There are so many costumes this year that it
takes a while to get everyone’s stuff together.
But eventually, we are caravanning to the Hammar home, excited to have a
few scenes in the can and a fresh start, even if it’s already alarmingly late…
7:00 pm
Driving with Eva, who has been an amazing support system
already, so articulate and thoughtful.
Between her and Kam last year, I have been blessed with hyper-talented ADs,
and it helps me more than they could know.
We chat with Angelina, who is in the process of procuring Five Guys for
the entire team of 20 members, just because I happened to mention I felt like
burgers instead of pizza. It’s like a
dream sequence, only it’s real.
7:30 pm
Arriving at the Hammar home, we can see it’s lovely, and
that we have probably missed our sunset shot.
Ah well, I perk up when I see the gorgeous interior and the
even-more-gorgeous tropical pool setting.
After checking with our amazing technical crew—Kris, David, Mark, Mike,
Benjamin and Will—I get the go-ahead for the ability to light it up. I then proclaim that our evening shoot will
be entirely outside. I love when I’m
decisive—such a rare occasion in real life.
8:00 pm
The gals repair to a thoughtfully-provided green room to
primp. I’m getting excited about all the
wigs Rachel’s brought, and decide that most of the ladies will be in disguise
during these scenes, not just with makeup, gowns and heels, but also hair not
found in nature. The men have to clean
up, too, but they are in line for food quicker than their feminine
counterparts. I eat my burger at a table
near the pool in the thickening twilight, my brain divided between a furious
rolling boil of plans and a viscous soup of exhaustion, heat, and
over-stimulation. For a few minutes, I
just shut down, and for once in my life, eat a meal in almost complete silence
while everyone cheerfully chats around me.
9:00 pm
Okay, it’s not early by any stretch of the imagination, but
the scene is looking very promising. The
women look gorgeous and the men handsome, and they mill realistically around
the stunningly lit palms and crystalline pool, in front of which there are ugly
paintings displayed on stands. It really
does look like a private art auction cocktail party! Not that I have even limited exposure to such
a thing, but that’s my belief and I’m sticking to it! Will plays a cater-waiter with cheese and
champagne grapes on a tray (David has cleverly nestled a GoPro in there, too,
which makes for some hilarious perspective footage) and the ad-libbed party
chatter is perfect. Kris begins to snake
through the crowd with the hand-held, getting some atmospheric “B roll.” I am enamored of this expression and want to
use it to refer to everything from now on, but the boys gently correct me at times—“Not
everything is B roll, Sam. Sometimes
we’re actually shooting the scenes.”
10:00 pm
I had been quite nervous that the Hammars were going to boot
us out when they realized how disruptive 20 people, two thousand pounds of
equipment and a Five Guys dinner were going to be at their restful home, but
they are amazingly cheerful and welcoming the entire evening. They continue to be just as cheerful and
welcoming after their elderly dog leaves a trail of gifts around our set and
David obliviously tracks a bunch of it across their white carpet. For the rest of the night, I start to inhale
the refreshing night air and get an unpleasant surprise. “I never imagined Rancho Santa Fe would smell
like this,” I whisper to Kam.
11:00 pm
The women are cracking me up: the way Rachel cries “Odin Ziggurat is dead!”
is comic gold. Also the way Julianna says
“And I should know: I’m an art coach!”
and the way Tracy says “I just want to slather myself in butter” and how Eva
responds to Sam’s comment about “chiaroscuro” with a high, lilting, “Oh, silly,
I don’t speak Spanish!” Everyone is
having so much fun with their characters and the mood is infectious—I can’t
remember a night shoot as smooth and happy as this one. We shoot a hilarious montage, where one after
another our party guests contemplate the Odin Ziggurat and offer an “educated”
opinion on its meaning. This is the
stuff I live for. With the magic of
editing, it ends up one of the funniest bits in the completed film.
Sunday
12:00 am
A final burst of energy and inspiration hits me, and I start
blocking the final auction scene like mad.
I suddenly know exactly who should speak and what they should say. I make an impassioned speech to the troops,
telling them I know we’re flagging, but that we must not show it in the
completed film. We need to rally and
give it all we’ve got so the auction scene looks genuinely suspenseful and not
lame. Everyone seems to support this thesis. I can feel it in their silent vibes.
12:30 am
Can I just talk Sam Young for a moment? I have just spent three plus months staring
at him being all sensitive and in touch with his feminine side and doing that
VERY convincingly, and suddenly he’s playing this swaggity rich douche and
KILLING IT. David tells me that Sam’s
performance is the talk of the GoPro office, and I’m not surprised. He’s hilarious, and not just in finding the
character—in his adlibs, too. I want to take
credit for his lines, but a lot of them are a surprise to me!
1:00 am
The family remains casual and unconcerned about our
presence, watching TV and chatting in the kitchen, but the wonderful ambient
crickets mask their conversations. I
keep noticing a person passed out asleep in a little corner of the family room
couch, and as the hour grows later, I wonder why he doesn’t repair to a quieter
room. After all, it’s his house. Only later do I realize this person is
actually Steven, Mark’s teenage son, one of our crew members/actors. D’oh!
1:30 am
The mood is still ebullient, but we’re getting tired. The
feet of all the fancy girls are really starting to kill in their
stilettos. A bunch of the final scenes
are shot from the knees up so they can be barefoot. I’m tired, but feeling really good about how
these scenes look and sound. Kam is
sitting with me, expertly taking notes on the best takes. She has no idea how much this helped the next
day, when Benji and I were under the gun.
2:00 am
I believe we have what we need, but I make a stern boss-lady
speech about how no one moves a muscle until Kris, David, Mark and Mike review
the footage and sound. This is caution
built on experience—one year we lost every bit of audio from a car chase and
the resulting “fix” was totally lame.
Also, I have a tingly spider-sense that we’re going to be able to avoid
reshoots and “day time B-roll” (ha!) this year, and I don’t want that
challenged. Everyone chillaxes in the
living room, checking their phones for the first time all day, until we get the
thumbs up. Martini time!
2:30 am
And by that, I don’t mean butlers appear with actual drinks
for the weary masses. I mean Kris sets
us up for a Cane Toad “last shot of the night” group photo, something I often
mean to do and forget. The illustrious
Angelina has efficiently packed up the mess hall and departed earlier, so she’s
the only one who is absent from the this historic moment.
2:35 am
We clean up. I am
determined that the Hammars, who are probably up in their beds at this moment rueing
the day they let some rowdy filmmakers invade their domestic space, will not
find us to be rude and thoughtless guests.
We scour the house for trash and stray items, but we’re not entirely
successful: a few phones and wallets and
keys go missing. One unfortunately
result is that poor Angelina ends up sleeping in her car. She assures me she slept like a baby. Who wouldn’t after a day like this?
2:45 am
Eva has departed with Cheryl, so I’m without my co-pilot for
the first time in a while. It’s a lonely
feeling. I drive away from the house and
am suddenly…plunged into total blackness?
The headlights cannot penetrate the murky depths of this
neighborhood. It’s like we’re off the
grid. I drive about 10 miles an hour so
I don’t hit a bear.
3:00 am
Make it to the freeway, and need some rowdy ‘80s New Wave to
keep me awake. I try to sing but my
voice comes out like a croak. I guess
I’ve been talking a lot? Imagine that.
3:20 am
Finally home. I feel
like I’m floating in a dream space. The
first order of business is our neglected piggies. They stare at me balefully as I fake some
cheery banter about how they must be looking forward to dinner. “Yeah, we were, about eight hours ago,
yo.”
3:30 am
For the first time in years, I am not wearing my
fashion-forward “48 Hour Dirt Socks” (thank you, Kam, Dan, and the Hammars!)
nor do I have the intellectual capacity for US
Weekly, so I set the alarm and pass out.
Eva will be here at 7:30, and something tells me she’ll be prompt.
6:30
Must. Change. Ringtone.
Worst sound ever. Stumble to
shower. Water feels like foreign,
unrecognizable substance slashing at my skin.
7:00 am
Ah, the smell of freshly brewed “Donut Shop” with Hazelnut
creamer. I feel way too sick to
contemplate any food.
7:15 am
Feed piggies. Forgive
me, piggies. I will pay attention to you
during the week.
7:30 am
The beautiful, daisy-fresh Eva-Maria alights on my
doorstep. I offer her coffee. She is thrilled. Before long, we’re talking a mile a minute,
and I am ready to face the day.
8:00 am
Off to GoPro! No word
from anyone. I tell Eva this is pretty
par for the course. They work all night
and pass out around 6:00, usually stirring when we show up with donuts. This time, the Amazing Angelina has already
been in touch to confirm she will be bringing the donuts. Seriously, is she some kind of 48 Hour Fairy
Godmother? On the drive, Eva and I
listen to some sound files we’ve received from Marie. I love every single thing I hear. Truly, Marie is a visionary. Once again, she’s composed (and sung!) a
variety of tunes just based on my vague “something for the douche strut” and
“Kiki the Khaleesi meets the office girls segment.” She ends up scoring the entire film having
never seen a rough cut, just the two short scenes I finally have the presence
of mind to send her. The thing that really wakes us up is a little ditty with a ‘70s beat and a
husky vocal refrain I can’t quite make out at first. “OMG.” I marvel. “Is she actually saying ‘Boobs to the
wall???’” Yes, methinks she is. TOO MUCH LOVE.
8:30 am
We arrive. Angelina
is there but the place is otherwise silent.
She warns me that David has been up all night. This does not sound good, or advisable in any
way. She bought me a Bear Claw because I
was craving one yesterday. THERE ARE NO
WORDS.
8:35 am
I say good morning to my hard-working husband. He looks pretty wrecked. He also tells me that they’ve been plagued by
software crashes and not much has happened yet.
Eesh. Not a happy thing to hear.
8:45 am
I dash around the corner to greet…BENJI! It’s so good to see our editing ninja, who
has recently arrived, having been at a bachelor party the previous
evening. Lucky for us, he doesn’t drink,
so although he’s tired, his brain remains unpickled. I explain that there’s not really a script
this year, so I’m going to make a list of all the scenes, in order, to help him
assemble a rough cut. I have the
invaluable assistance of Kam’s notes.
9:30 am
People are starting to arrive, and everyone is in a good
mood after the fun of yesterday’s shoot.
No one is that worried about the crashes…yet. Mike is here, and ack, I can’t remember what
order people show up. Before the day is
over, we have Mark, Lindsay, Eva, Angelina, Mike, Benji, Cheryl, Rachel, Kam,
Benjamin, Mark Petersen (hi Mark! Thanks
so much!) and forgive me if I’ve left
you out. One of the things that brings me
such naches about the Cane Toads is
the support they offer to one another throughout the weekend. Many of these dear hearts call ahead to see
if they can bring coffee and food, which is so amazing.
10:30 am
I’m happily working with Benji, switching out with Eva, so
we can get the scenes in while making sure that other tasks are being seen
to. Truthfully, I don’t have as much to
worry about this year, because Eva took copious notes about what needs to be
handled on Sunday and she stays on top of the list. For instance, I never even see the on-line
form, because she and others figure it out and even come up with the title,
based on the great song Marie composes for our credit sequence. She and Benjamin, with the assistance of
Angelina and a painter friend of hers, design the concept for the credits, and
do all the fact-checking with Mark Perino’s help.
12:00 pm
Things are humming along.
I’m feeling good about what we’ve edited so far, and I’m once again
dazzled by Benji’s combination of surgical skill and sweet, calm demeanor,
which makes him an absolute dream to work with.
We’re working chronologically, and the office scenes are looking very
funny.
1:00 pm
Taking a little break.
We have more music from Marie to review, and many more people have
arrived and are looking for ways to help.
Eva is scurrying around keeping everyone in touch and on task. I tell David we need a big room next year
with all the computers in it, so there isn’t so much sprinting between
offices.
Kris stops by with one of his daughters, and tells us that
he’ll be back “late tonight” to help.
“What time is the film due on Monday?” he asks the bewildered team
members leaning on the kitchen table. “Um,” I say gently. “It’s due tonight. At 7:30.”
“7:30…” he looks crushed. “Of
course. What part of ’48 Hours’ did I
not understand?”
“Men and math…” Benjamin lobs back expertly, paraphrasing
Daryl Hammar, “am I right?” My favorite
laugh of the day!
2:00 pm
Angelina gets pizza from across the street, and Cheryl
brings Subway for the editors and Rachel brings me a much-needed jumbo iced
latte that I suck down in about five minutes.
I have an interesting few minutes bonding with Angelina about how we’re
both reverends, her for real and me on the internet. We discuss having a wedding business
together, with a website. How fun would
that be?
3:00 pm
The details of the day are hazier than usual. I think it’s because I had much less sleep
than I normally do on the Saturday night.
After being up virtually all Friday night and then working a 20-hour day
on Saturday (22 hours this year!) I generally indulge in about 5-6 hours sleep
Saturday night while the boys are editing.
But this year, I had 3, and I’m feeling it. I’m also getting worried, because the system
keeps freezing and crashing, and David is spending a lot of his secondary
editing time trying to reboot for us, and we’re spending a lot of time….well,
spending time. Chatting and catching up,
waiting interminable tens of minutes for the system to reboot.
4:00 pm
I vaguely remember this being a problem about seven or eight
years ago, but we really haven’t been plagued with editing or rendering problems
in a long time. And now I’m getting
worried. Because it would be one thing
if the rough cut was the movie, but the past three years, the rough cut has
been a 14-minute totally unusable assemblage of scenes that require pain and
sweating to hack into the required 7-minute form. How are we going to find time for that if we
can’t even do the first step?
5:00 pm
I’m getting really flabbergasted and upset. And there are four big scenes yet to be
edited. David takes two off our
plate—the montage and the “meeting Kiki” scene.
Thank goodness. But we still have
the “con reveal” (that one I’m not worried about) and—the toughest scene in the
whole movie—the auction. The problem
with the auction is it’s been filmed a million times, from about 18 different
angles, and it’s the rare scene when a very large group (about 10 people) are
all talking at once, and we have to find the takes where a particular person is
actually SEEN while they’re speaking. I
mean, how lame would it be if we didn’t???
But the system is crashing and crashing and my head is about to explode.
6:00 pm
I ban everyone from the room. People keep rushing in (dude, of course they
do, it’s the 48!) with questions about titles, credits, music, etc.) and I’m
yelling for them to get out. Benji is in
Buddha-focus mode, trembling ever so slightly, a light sheen of sweat beading
his forehead. I picture the auction
scene like one of those animal hedges in front of “It’s a Small World,” and
Benji is poised with a clipper, shearing and shaping with a satisfying metallic
swishing sound while leaves and branches spray out behind him. It’s exciting to watch and contemplate,
except now I’m genuinely scared. The
music isn’t in. I don’t think there’s
been any sound correction. Not sure
where the credits and titles are. And we
need to walk out the door in one hour.
6:30 pm
I stumble out of Benji’s cubicle and encounter Rachel in the
hallway. She asks how I’m doing. I open my mouth to say “Not good” and instead
I start sobbing and shaking. I know some
of you might wonder how on earth I can get so emotionally involved in a
7-minute film every year, but I think the issue is really about the creation of
a microcosm. When your every waking
thought (and they’re ALL waking thoughts) for three days is focused on a single
thing, and all you do during that time is related to that thing, the thing
takes on a peculiarly towering importance.
In a perverse way, it’s kind of relaxing, because all the actual stuff
of life falls away like so many cookie crumbs from your lap when you stand
up. But it also means that the highs and
lows that would seem to be neither to the general populace feel HELLA
extreme. I crumple into Rachel’s
shoulder and she says, in her inimitable Mama Bear voice, “Oh honey. It’s going to be okay.” I’m pretty sure a gang of other people came
over to pile on the comfort at this point.
I cry for a while, and try to stop shaking, as I attempt to explain
thus: “We have to walk out the door in
30 minutes. We’re not done editing. And we don’t even have a rough cut.”
6:45 pm
Like some sort of clarion call from the heavens, the news is
trumpeted from Benji’s office that we are ready to time the rough cut. And when we do, a miracle occurs that is on a
scale with the oil lasting for eight days:
The rough cut (and hell, all we’re going to have is a rough cut at this
point) is 7:36. Only 36 measly seconds
over the limit. With the blood pounding
so noisily in my ears I can barely hear myself, I shout, “Well, that won’t stop
us. Quick: cut that.
Cut that. And cut them walking
away. Done.” Benji and I are smiling at each other in
wonderment while the assorted Cane Toads gather round to whoop and cheer.
6:50 pm
David comes sailing around the corner, shouting that
something is wrong with the sound. It’s
like playing operator. We’re getting
multiple news bulletins passed along the chain but it comes down to this: something bad is going to happen when we
render and it has to do with synching the camera microphones. Right now I don’t really care, since I’ve
just gotten the news that for the first time in Cane Toad history, we have no
need of what Tyler once dubbed “Death by a Thousand Cuts” since, O Holy of Film
Holys, the Rough Cut IS the edited version.
Now I’m just wondering how we’re going to get all the music in there in
ten minutes.
6:55 pm
We’re not. David
assures us he completed the color correction and we are going to render. But there is one of those “it’s just so wacky
it might work” plans in action, which involves sending Mark to the finish line
with the film while we complete the sound here, which will then be uploaded via
computer. WHAT? But a bunch of people are saying it will
work, and there isn’t time to argue anyway.
7:00 pm
The usual heart-pounding, foot-stomping, chorus-shouting,
corner-tearing-around business of waiting for the render. And testing the render. On which the color correction did not
“take.” “WHAT? WHAT?
WHAT? Didn’t TAKE???” This is my Sunday afternoon banshee-wailing
director self. No time to
philosophize. It didn’t take, we don’t
know why, Mark has to go. As he gathers
up the paperwork and runs for the door, I shout, “Do we have credits? OR A TITLE???”
7:07 pm
Mark is only just leaving.
There’s no way in hell he can cross the finish line in time. And what about this sound via email
scheme? Someone softly says, “I can’t
imagine there’s still time for that?” Oh
right. Normally, the first team to the
finish line actually leaves early. This
year, there’s no need for a second team, since the first team probably won’t
even make it.
7:25 pm
I am incredibly stressed.
I keep texting Mark, “Text me when you know! Post when it’s in!” I can’t yet focus on my disappointment about
the technical problems when I don’t even know if we have an eligible film. It would be beyond depressing if we turn in
an incomplete film that doesn’t even qualify when we could have used the extra
few hours to make it perfect but late.
But that’s not an option now.
7:40 pm
ARGHGGGH! But Mark
finally posts on Facebook: “Film is in
on time.” Poor guy had to sprint to the
finish line during the countdown.
Because Benjamin had already sprinted.
But without the paperwork. And the car wasn’t going to park itself.
7:45 pm
Benjamin has produced a tiny miracle, though: he managed to attach our credits to the film
via thumb drive…WHILE MARK WAS TEARING
DOWN THE I-5. Even in my cocoon of
sadness, I take a moment to gleefully marvel at this Hollywood-like
timing.
8:00 pm
The few remaining folks gather in David’s office to watch
the film, wincing each time there’s a weird color shift or jarring, echoey
vampire sound from the microphone glitch.
The film has no title and no credits and barely any music. I can see everyone around the room sag in
disappointment, which is devastating.
Usually, this final viewing is triumphant, with cheers and gasps of
delighted disbelief when a certain line or transition or scene proves even
cooler than we imagined. Not today. It’s a sad day in Mudville.
8:30 pm
We’re cleaning up, dragging our quickly fading bodies
through the dim halls of GoPro, sweeping dirty cups into the trash. The inimitable Angelina has already done so
much tidying that there isn’t nearly as much to do as usual. But offices must be restored, and equipment
distributed and packed, and boxes carried to cars. I stand in the doorway of Jeff’s office (only
minutes before, Benji’s editing suite) and survey the now-empty desktop and
generic corporate look of the computer, the carpet, the chair. If these walls could talk…. I switch off the light.
9:00 pm
David and I share goodnight hugs with Kam and Benjamin and
Angelina, the last Cane Toad stragglers remaining. And then it’s just us. I sit down in a comfy chair, staring straight
ahead. “Well.” “Well.”
“Another year.” “I guess we
should get some dinner.” “Yeah.” Jarrah is spending another night at the
Rupperts, so we are going home to a quiet house. David has some things to take care of, so I
volunteer to pick up Thai on my drive home.
9:50 pm
I dash into the Thai place, blinking my dry eyes in the fluorescents,
just before they close. A woman smiles
and bags up my food while she surveys my disheveled appearance, my ashy skin
and dark circles. “Just getting off
work?” she asks, and then quickly changes her mind, “Oh, been doing housework
all day?”
That did it. I
muster the last bit of my directorial chutzpah and proclaim, “Actually, I’ve
been making a movie all day. All
weekend, in fact. So I’m pretty tired.”
“Oh!” she exclaims.
“My son wants to make a movie!” She calls out and the son appears. “This
lady makes movies.” “I have an idea for
a movie!” he says. “It will have lots of
guns and car chases!”
“Sounds awesome,” I say, gathering up the fragrant food that
David and I will fall asleep before even touching. “Our movie was a little
different.”
CODA: We didn't win anything. But we had a blast at our premiere. There is now a prettified "Director's Cut" of the film, "We Got This," on our Vimeo page. Go to www.vimeo.com/channels/canetoad to check out this and all our films!
