Four of us — Paul (assistant director), Brian (script supervisor), Christie (director of photography) and myself (director) — sit in a tent as the rain pours outside, pelting the nylon like a drum. If last weekend was the calm, this one is — literally — the storm. During Sunday morning’s last shot, threatening clouds erupt and the rain comes down in mischievous torrents. We stand our ground, defying the elements, a tarp shielding the camera, Steven’s costume getting wetter by the drop. The clothes on the scene’s clothesline are flapping furiously in the wind. The crew waits, poised, until Randy (on sound) gives me a condemning shake of his head — it’s too much.
“Okay, equipment into the van, quick! Let’s head back to base camp.””
No matter how much preparation goes into a film shoot, you can only hope to stay on the ride with a thread of grace.
Christie and I race up the mountain, off-roading in the truck; I point at a curve in the road, and we both recognize what the shot should look like. It’s a soaring feeling to communicate without words — translating bodies, rocks and trees into geometrical arrangements in the camera frame. Leading up to this weekend, the two of us have been cantankerous old army generals, kept away from the trenches for too long, in a preproduction period spanning six long, difficult months. But on Saturday at 8 a.m., with our faces looking back at us from the video monitor and the second shot of the film in the bag, I know the good old days are back.
So much of film production, especially for one that is low-budget, is the journey from A to B.
“It’s hard to separate the finished product from the process,”” says Paul as we sit in our sleeping bags, reminiscing our last project while his car runs outside, charging the generator batteries. A roar of laughter comes from outside the tent, where the rest of the cast and crew are playing cards by lantern. Paul gives me a look.
“Everybody has fun except the director,”” he says thoughtfully. I smile. We don’t have a truck for the scene, the script must change to meet the location, the set materials are in the car with flat tires, someone needs a Band-Aid, the new shotgun has to be emptied of live rounds — all the final responsibility of the director.
But, of course, a director can only be successful with an engaged crew. At around 2 p.m., nestled in a gulley of boulders, I am throwing my version of a tantrum: “This is not what I want. This is not what I want at all.””
I have grown too impatient to communicate. “I think she wants the purple to be all the same color,”” says Devon (on camera), referring to the purple cloth that is ruining my shot by being two colors at the same time as the sun hits it at different angles. Funny how suddenly I am being referred to in the third person. Salomon (art director) and Josh (actor, Minnesota Kid) take a peek from the corners of their eyes as if they think I am holding them responsible. After a moment of agreement, Norbert and Jake trek back down to the equipment to grab flags to block the sun. We adjust, we shoot, we wrap.
On the way out of town, we stop at a local all-American diner. We are scratched, bruised, sunburnt and exhausted; nonetheless, we are laughing and pouring black coffee down our throats, holding onto the last moments of adventure before weekly life resumes. I hope that everyone comes back next weekend for the rain scene, the night shoots and the car chase yet to be filmed on this journey out west.
Readers can contact Oakley Anderson Moore at [email protected]
