DAY 20
Saturday, September 19, 1998

First Day of Second Unit Production

Cascade View Elementary (Again), Snohomish, WA
7:16 AM
Jesse P. Howard, Director

Well, it is later than we used to get here all those days ago in August. Yet, it is only beginning to show signs of becoming light out there. A slight drizzle has me a little worried, but it is not supposed to rain. It is funny how we have come to trust a weather man more than our own senses. "It's raining!" says one. "Yeah, but the weather said sun." says two. "Oh, good, I feel better." Yeah, but look, it is raining, who cares what he said yesterday.

I am very excited to see the kids. I think that is the best part. It feels like a reunion with a life that is blurry like a dream. I feel that I am returning in some way to a home. My life is so different now. The film shoot has been over for a few weeks, Kate left yesterday for the east coast, I am teaching at SAAS instead of SCDS, and my life has the strange flavor that a brand new food has. Exhilerating and new, but not the same as the fare to which I had become accustomed.

I have high hopes for this weekend. I feel positive about our ability to be improved since August. More fun, less stress, more productivity. I want to spend more time with the kids. They are the reason to do this for me. Who knows what may come, but I am dedicated to the experience, come rain or shine. (No matter what the weather man says.)

jph

Cascade View Elementary, Snohomish, WA
Coming up on three
Quinn Thomsen, Documentary Comptroller

I was worried about the stress of coming back to the set. Like everyone else on the set, or everyone I know well, the return to normal - not THE LAST the end - life means a lot of work. The creative energies of the school year beginning and our school drama production. A return to routines with friends... But here we are, back at Cascade View. I'm happy we are. I love working with these kids, with this group of people. I had a dream last week sometime where we were doing just what we're doing now, sitting, chatting, waiting, working. I laughed when I told the actors at school, I just didn't realize what an enjoyable dream it had been.

Home, Seattle
Wednesday, September 23,
12:54 PM
Cindy Lamb,Publicist

Greetings From the Tiger Balm Capital of the World
or
Why Do Ya' Think They Call 'Em GRIPS?

Yes, my thighs have finally stopped pulsating. Sounds sexy, don't it? Well, it's not.It's got everything to do with my most recent occupation and revisited gig as a production assistant. A "P.A." I'm a PEEEAYYYY again! The any/everything category of a PA basically means preparing, dragging, hoisting, cooking, pushing stuff for people who have asked the impossible of themselves and invited others to assist in the insanity. I love it. On the set of The Last the end, I've had a blast and learned a few new tricks. Not bad for an old dog, eh? And they said it couldn't be done.

Had a twenty-something moment this morning with my mom, back in the rural south, on the phone. She was so excited to hear about this film I was working on. She knew I hadn't been on a film project for several years and felt confident enough to talk a little shop with me.

Mom: "So, are you doing the long hours?"
Kid: "Yeah, ten to fifteen but I love it! It goes by fast."
Mom: "Those people seem very nice."
Kid: "Definitely good people. The brothers make it all very homey."
Mom: "Do you think lots of people will see the movie?"
Kid: "Yeah, I do, but it will have to find a place with the critics to establish its direction before it's released."
Mom: "How much are they paying you?
Kid: (pause) "Why, nothing! It's deferred contract...uh, a lot of people do it. I bet they''ll make some money on distribution."
Mom: (pause) "That's if people like it?"
Kid: (competition pause) "Yes. Yes, they'll like it."
Mom: (pause..she's heard this before) I put up twenty quarts of pickle relish today and boy is my kitchen a mess!"
Kid: (she changed the subject abruptly...I lose.) You know how messy pickles can be.
Mom: (she's taking the pickle bait...I win.) Really, it is!

Gawd, just when you think your mother thinks that the only thing ever made in Hollywood was Little House On the Prairie, she comes up with all this showbiz savvy. Criminy! Makes you wanna try and burst her bubble every now and then, though.

"Oh, mom, you didn't know that Michael Landon isn't Little Joe anymore? He was big as a whale and had man titties???"
or
"Mother, the Walton's backyard isn't out in the country, it's in the middle of Burbank."
or
"Hey, mom, it's not so bad out here. After all, John Boy was a writer...remember? Mom?"

Anyhoo, I had another great day on the set Saturday. It was a 6am - 8pm shoot and the main crew did tons of set ups in all. Meaning, once every scene was set up with lighting, sound and wardrobe, it was shot and then moved to another location where the entire look had to be rebuilt. I helped drag materials in for a dolly track and set up a makeshift cafeteria under a grove of trees as well. Too much fun. We had these big chunks o' lumber in different shapes ala a kid's building blocks which are used to level and steady the dolly rails. They're called "cribs and wedges" and when you want some you have to yell to the equipment truck. I told the grips and best boy that it sounded like a law firm...nyuk. We should be considering using Cribs & Wedges as our fakey-time law representation on the credit roll. Har! And yes, there are no apples in the apple boxes. What a wonderfully askew world.

I hope everyone can check in on the website for The Organic Family from time to time and catch the action and intrigue of the Production Notes. Photos of the cast and crew are on as well not to mention Real Time footage coming soon to a monitor near you...

...I have to tell you guys about an experience on the film that took place on two different days but had an entwined moment. I was in charge of locking down the cemetery entrance. The crew was set up in the far corner of the property and were having a bad enough time cutting the takes for airplanes. Nothing like trying to shush a twin engine aircraft from two thousand feet below. Todd sent me and my radio off to the entrance to guarantee no passage to noisy traffic during a particularly sensitive (uh, money shot) scene. The sun was going down very slowly behind a grove of pine and willows and the two kids seated on the concrete bench amidst the headstones were about to have an epiphany. (Having an epiphany is what we'd LIKE to call the director's reaction to losing the battle with the sunset and Piper Cubs but we all know that the proper term is Hissy Fit.) My job was to ask people in vehicles to either wait for a few brief moments or park on the other side of the cemetery. Hey, how hard could it be? No one had been by here but us and I could use the walk anyway. I strolled over the lumpy grass, inspecting the stones and markers for unusually short lives and goofy names. I'm a religious sort, y'see. Har. On the way over, I saw where the sun was bouncing off several bright objects. Hmm, no traffic, I'll see what all this reflection is. I got closer and could hear tinkling and bonging chimes hanging from a couple of cherry trees. Very sweet and pretty sounds in the light summer breeze indeed. Even closer, I noticed where some light hearted person had placed several colorful pinwheels in the ground. They were spinning blues, reds and silvers across the setting suns' beam.

I got up to the chimes when I noticed every stone, some standing some flat, was surrounded by little plastic toys--cars, dolls, sunflowers or furry notions like bears, elephants and frogs. It wasn't until I stood in this seemingly macabre sense of humor family's plot (or so I thought) that I realized I was smack int the middle of the Children's section of the cemetery. All of a sudden, a bitter wash of sadness ran down my neck and back. I looked down at my feet and there were several Matchbox cars and trucks, just the kind that Peter loves to play with, parked atop the pink marble stone of a little boy. Let's see, an army jeep, a jump truck, a corvette...Winnie the Pooh looked on as a good parking attendant might. I moved my frozen feet out of the now-puddling rush that had melted from my spine. Pictures embedded in the smooth rock of tiny infants, toddlers and school age children looked out at me. Some pictures had been taken before God took them--family album or nursery school pics. Others of the newborns were taken after death but were dressed up to look sweet and natural. Hell, they'd just been born and that's as close to death as you get until the other end so those little ones looked very much at peace. I noticed a little girl's name, Hallie Rood with the inscription, "our little angel." Strange, how children are our little angels whether they're living or dead. Hallie's family had set up a cluster of toys to keep her company that rivaled a Christmas tree morning. Of all the toys and flowers, one of them had been toppled by the wind--a ballerina doll about eight inches tall. She was non-descript--no promo signs of a Disney movie or cartoon character, just a blonde dancer in a pirouette.

It was probably the toy that always fell down seeing that she was balancing on one foot. I bent down and gently set her upright. Ah, that's better. All of a sudden my head burst into tears and I wanted out of there. Not because they were dead but because their parents were living. How horrible it must be to lose a child. My ears were stuffy with snot and tears but the chimes continued to jingle and the pinwheels blew and whistled with color. I walked back to the gate...gawd, how long had I been standing there? Had any cars gotten through? I gulped big ol' seal lion cries in hopes no one would see me. Just Hallie Rood but we were tight now, seeing as I righted her little dancer. The radio screeched. "Cindy? Lock her down, we're rolling in two!" I squeezed the box and uttered a responsible "Got it!" into the speaker. I stood by the gate and waited till my tears dried. Good grief, already. The minutes passed by and the radio informed me that one take after the other was occuring. At about the third take, a pick up truck pulled in. I kindly nodded and waved them over. A middle aged man in work clothes and dirty cap drove and a young boy was in the passenger seat. I told him we were shooting a film over in the north corner and the micorophones could pick every little noise up--would they mind waiting a moment. He just drawled, "We've just come to see my uncle and his granddaddy" then motioned with a fatty arm to the immediate right. "They're over there."

I'd been in this cemetary for four hours by now and was able to say, "Oh, of course! They're in the new section!" "Yes ma'am." he replied. I waved him through. They pulled over, parked and went over into the grass to stand by the first stone. They stood side by side, both man and boy removing baseball caps and holding them behind their backs. Just alike, probably father and son. Well, guess who bursts into tears again. Great. The radio squeaks with Todd's voice. "Take four!" They got in the truck and did the same at the next grave about a hundred feet away. On the way out, the catering truck arrived and I had to stop them, too. At least they were crew and had become used to waiting. The roasted chicken inside the van wafted into my senses. Here came the pick up truck again. I waved him over and leaned into his window. I asked about the men they'd come to see--if they were veterans, seeing as how this was Great American Republic cemetary with stars and a cannon at the front. Yes, they were. I told them about my grandfather, Loren D. "Papa" Flanagan, one of the last great WW1 vets in Russell County, Kentucky. One of the doughboys. That was the only way a boy from the tobacco patch would ever get to see France. The man and the boy listened on.

Then they told me about their whole fam damily being in this yard and he proceeded to point in every direction saying "My aunt's over there, dad's over here, uncle's over that way..." and so on. I just felt that I had to stop and chat with them in order to regain a little dignity for them. I walked back to the set. They nailed it on the fifth take. The sun was now behind the hills and the moon was high. We all took our dinner on the grass. I dished out chicken, baked beans, potato salad, fruits, vegetables and juices. We made the shot before dark. Everyone, no matter who they are and how much money they have, works for the sun.

Now, briefly, I was papering a city block with flyers of our intent to close down severals streets on Monday. We had to show our permit copied on the page and I made 60 copies at Rite Aid. Yes, Rite Aid should definitely be in the thank you credits! I've re-stocked their paper tray three times now. I was crossing the street when I saw an elderly woman knocking at a house door with her cane. In the other had, a second cane was used for more balance. I kept walking, rolling flyers, petting dogs and talking to folks about the film. They'd all read about it in the Snohomish paper, The Tribune, and had lots of questions for me. I answered them as best I could. On the way down the other side of the street, I noticed where the elderly woman had gotten a helping hand back across to her house by another old lady. They were both watching me and I nodded. I heard a bump and saw where the most elderly woman had placed her canes at different levels and fell over. She was rolling around on her back and the other lady was just asking her if she was okay. I put my satchel down and walked over to help. I bent down and saw the 80 something woman was probably okay, just confused or pissed. I said "Hi, my name is Cindy and I saw you fall. It's a long way down, isn't it, ma'am?" She looked up at me with that lizard face that you get when you're aged and smiled. "Why, yes, it IS!" A Mason jar of chowder had rolled a few feet over in the grass. I gathered it and the few pieces of mail she was carrying and gave it to the other woman. We got her up on her feet and put the canes back into her hands. She just kept saying thank you, thank you. Maybe she falls all the time, I dunno. She turned and walked away with her 60 something friend who waved and smiled sheepishly. I think they both got distracted watching a stranger trapse around the neighborhood and weren't paying enough attention when her canes got entangled. I still felt her frail ribcage in my arms long after I left the scene in the yard. Interestingly enough, I'd picked up two fallen ladies that week--the dancer and the old woman. Righted them and went on my way feeling kindly good and mostly sad. Old people and toys are a lot alike. They're vulnerable to the elements, often get ignored yet bring great joy. Hmm. So not all days are happy on the set.

MUCH LOVE AND BIG WET BRIMS
FROM LAMBO AND HER NOR'WEST CATS

[ HOME | BACK TO THE TOP | NEXT DAY ]