I'm tired. I'm grumpy. I've started to smell a little. The producer sent me out on a mission to get stuff together for lunch tomorrow, and my freaking car broke down. The rest of the crew is alternately underworked or just plain worn out. There are five different things going on in different parts of the house. There are cords, leads, equipment and actors lying around everywhere. In the middle of it all, I’m just trying to not get in anyone’s way. Sound familiar? Then your probably enough of a sucker to be working on the 48 Hour Film comp, Furious Filmmaking.
For some reason I thought it'd be 'cool', and 'funky'. Well, I can tell you that the only thing getting funky round here is my armpits. Funkier by the hour. The stubble is starting to take on a life of it's own, and the only part of me that isn't complaining is my stomach. Thanks be to film crew food.
The car not working is probably what inspired me to get this blog written. Half the crew is away on location somewhere, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to knock out a few words. Mostly because it's better than hurrying up and waiting, and also to get the complaint about those goddamn wheels off my chest before some poor gaffer cops it.
What we’re all familiar with is the idea that teams run on their stomach. Back in the days of the kitchen, if you didn’t feed the front bunnies they got awfully tetchy, and this place doesn’t seem to be any different. The chief goes ‘JUMP!’ and we all jump. The producer goes ‘PAPER!’ and I grab paper. So, as long as you have whatever someone needs, right then and there, you’ll not be yelled at. Too much. And food is the key to not being yelled at, full stop.
Off I go to the supermarket to get some provisions for tomorrow, on the order of the producer, and take my marvellous Honda Civic. Ok, well maybe not so marvellous. Freaking piece of crap. I get to the bit where I’ve got the food to the car, but the damn thing won’t work. At all.
Now, knowing that I’ve had a few issues with the starter motor I figure that I can put start the sonofabitch no worries, but I forgot to bring an offsider. This means I’m forced to kind of haul the Civic out of it’s park, wheel it backwards over towards the hordes of elderly drivers looking on, and looking pissed off in that sour-faced, might have inadvertently urinated in my slacks look that only the elderly can get, and then try to crash start.
Naturally it’s raining. Once I get up enough momentum I manage to leap into the car and get it to turn over. Of course, I’m a little wet, a little sweatier, and a whole lot more tired than when I started out. But like the trooper I have to be, I’m back on set, helping tidy up for the next scene.
And mind you, we’ve only been going for 21 hours. That kitchen-handing stamina will be coming in useful, I reckon. And so will the kitchen cooking skills. They’ve roped me in to make lunch for a tired and grouchy crew tomorrow, and I’m thinking that Che’s Famous Roast Chicken Sandwiches will be the go.
Maybe they’ll give me a credit, “Famous Chicken Sandwiches, Dr. Che”. It’s better than the original credit, “Undie Monster”. That one will take a little explaining.