Speaking of bills, I sneak a glance at my watch, not sure exactly how to exit this dinner without the forced intervention of the waiter bringing the check. I certainly don’t want to overstay my welcome; besides, the shoptalk that we unsuccessfully tried to avoid has reminded me that I have new pink pages to break down before Monday. Every week, the script is sent out for the next episode we’re shooting. Whenever the writers make changes to a script that’s already been published, we change the colors of the pages so people know which version is most current—pink, then blue, then green, and so on. The actors are supposed to memorize their lines and understand the overall arc of their character in the episode. The costume designer reads it to develop a concept for what each character will wear and how many different outfits they need. The prop master accounts for any specific items we’ll need—anything from a cell phone to an AK-47. I go through and make detailed notes on everything—action, dialogue, props. I’m batting clean-up for every department to protect the continuity of the storytelling.
Dealing with the pink pages tops the weekend to-do list, which I carefully marked in my notebook today, along with (2) hike with J. I am getting up early on Sunday to meet my friend Janine, who works in editing at HCP. We planned earlier this week to go for a walk in Fryman Canyon. The Los Angelenos call it “hiking,” but I can’t bring myself to do that. It’s really a walk—a nice one for being in the middle of a big city, but a “walk” nevertheless. And yes, even recreation goes on the “to-do” list, which also includes (3) Call Mom; (4) Office Depot—(see Office Depot List); (5) Bug Matthew and Mike about Mom’s b-day.
“Craig, I’ve had such a lovely night.” And it’s true. “But I better go…”
“I did too, Maddy.” We walk to the door, and my heart starts thumping. Do I kiss him good night? Even though we’ve shared a few nice kisses, things haven’t escalated yet. It’s still so new for me. I just don’t feel comfortable in this part yet, particularly since he is my boss. I wish I had a writer’s stage direction spelling out for me exactly what to do.
Suddenly, Craig leans forward, taking the decision out of my hands. He kisses me gently on the lips but pulls away before I have a chance to decide if I want him to go further. We walk silently up his driveway to my car parked on the street, his arm around my shoulders keeping me warm. He’s really taking things slow, and I like it.
“See you next week.” He opens my car door for me, and I slide past him to get in, taking in one last whiff of his delicious scent. He stands in the driveway as I pull away. At the first red light I hit on Sunset, I pull my hair up into a bun and am that goofball smiling to herself. I’ve always been one of those annoying people who actually looks forward to Monday—to a productive workweek, with my organized “Things To Do” list neatly updated every Sunday evening. Now, with flashbacks of Craig’s vivid blue eyes dancing in my head, I realize I have one more reason to anticipate the workweek.
Scene 003
Ext. Studio parking lot—day
As I pull into my assigned space on the studio lot Monday morning, I triple-check my tote bag. Script? Check. Timer? Check. Notebook? Check. This is why my brothers make fun of me and my supposed OCD, but I never forget stuff. I’m not that person who leaves their cell phone right by the front door. That would be my worst nightmare. That’s why I triple-check, so I always remember. But today, more so than most days, I want to be completely 100 percent on top of my game. I don’t normally get butterflies—that’s more an actor’s thing—but I’m actually a bit nervous for Billy’s directorial debut today.
No question Billy is an A-list star with the top-grossing action movies of the past two summers, but last season he started shadowing the directors on The Wrong Doctor, asking questions, studying their choices, and so on. He played it off casually, saying he was curious and loved a new challenge, but I can sense how much it means to him and I know how hard he’s worked to get his first shot in the chair. All of us on set are really psyched for him. It’s nice to see someone you really like take a chance like this. The crew doesn’t often get credited when big-time directors are up there onstage accepting their Emmys, but I can tell you, not one director won a golden statue with a crappy crew behind them.
When I walk onto the set (exactly fifteen minutes early, as planned), Billy looks like he’s already been here for hours. He’s always pretty intense when he’s acting, and I can tell he’s a little nervous now.
“Good morning, Herr Director,” I say in my most absurd German accent.
“Frau Blucher,” he replies with a glimmer of a smile. A Young Frankenstein reference is a good sign, even if he turns immediately back to the script.
“Okay, Captain, I’m ready. Hit me with what you’re thinking for today.” I pull out the call sheet and we talk about each scene we’re shooting. Frank sees us and joins the huddle. Victor, the director of photography, wanders in a minute later, coffee in hand, to lean over my shoulder. Our DP can make any director’s vision come to life; actresses swoon for Victor’s lighting, and his technical comprehension of cameras and angles all are part of his magic touch.
All three of us are impressed with Billy’s approach and methodical plan for the day. We break up the preshoot meeting as the actors in the first setup arrive. Adam Devin walks over to check in at makeup. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in person, and I have to admit, he may be even better-looking than on TV. He’s grown out his hair and a scruffy beard for the role. I check my watch—6:58. He also gets points for arriving right on schedule. I was shocked the first time I witnessed an actor being so unreliable that a PA (not me, thank God) was sent to wake him up after calls, texts, and e-mails had failed to get through to him.
Once, when I was still a PA on 300 Madison, one of the female leads was a no-show as of two hours past her call time. A bunch of us sat around alternating between taking bets on if and when she would actually show up and calculating how much her lateness was costing the production company. The key grip won $200 when the actress strolled in four hours later. I estimated that the lost hours cost $50,000. The director leaned over and told me it was more likely four times that number—$200,000—and she’d merely muttered some excuse about “traffic” as she stumbled into the makeup trailer, never removing her bug-eyed sunglasses. After several such incidents, it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when her character got a rare disease at the end of the season and had to go to South America for “alternative treatments.” Turns out there was no cure for the disease… or her unprofessionalism. Even on a hit show like The Wrong Doctor, which thankfully has a generous budget, every dollar needs to be accounted for—preferably onscreen—especially nowadays, given that the tough economy has affected Hollywood as much as every other industry. Lots of older crew guys have tons of great stories about the “glory days” when there was tons of money to throw around and the crazy excesses of not just the actors, but also everyone in Hollywood. Let’s just say an In-N-Out truck isn’t even in the same ballpark. These days, the studios and executives don’t have the money or patience for anyone who doesn’t respect the schedule. Hopefully Adam isn’t just making a good first impression on his first day.
“Please get the first team out to set. We’re going to block.” Frank’s voice echoes over every walkie nearby, and within a minute Adam and the other actors appear, ready to rehearse. I stay close by, ready to help Billy if needed and make careful notes of what is planned for the scene.
“Let’s just run through the dialogue once,” Billy says to the actors.
I zero in on my script, red pen in hand, making notes and watching Billy work with the cast. Immediately I notice that Adam has a casual way of reading the script. He always has the intent, but he ad-libs a lot too. Ad-libbing is one of my least favorite habits in an actor. First of all, it’s a pain in the ass for me since my job is to make sure each actor follows the script precisely. Second, they never seem to remember exactly what they said so that they can repeat it verbatim on subsequent takes. Third, it annoys H
ogan and the staff writers when things are paraphrased. I make a note to mention it to Billy. As director, it’s his job to address it. The first day has been organized so that Billy can get the hang of things, shooting scenes he’s not in. Tomorrow he’s going to be doing double duty, directing and acting in the sequences. It’s not unheard of, but it definitely creates some new challenges to deal with. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.
The first scene we’re shooting actually comes toward the end of the episode. It’s technically complicated because of the cramped quarters on set and because the action sequence requires so many different camera angles, so we want to do it first and get it out of the way. In this episode, Lucas and Naveen (an Indian medical researcher held captive by the terrorists) hatch a complicated plan to steal a walkie-talkie from one of the guards, with disastrous results. Hogan wrote the scene so the audience can see how little Lucas and Naveen really understand about how serious their predicament is. If handled properly, it will really jack up the tension and reveal just how dangerous the bad guys are, especially Ahmed, whose sadistic charms are introduced.
Billy calls “cut,” and the actors who have “died” in the attack are resurrected for the break. The makeup team inspects gory bullet wounds to see whose need a bit of refreshing with the mix of corn syrup and red food dye that mimics blood. I see Adam shake his head for a moment, as if snapping out of character. Then he looks over at Billy, who is staring at the monitors, looking pleased. “Good?”
I think Billy speaks for all of us when he says, “Yeah, Adam, you rocked it.” Frank looks at me from a few feet away and nods. We’re all impressed. Usually it requires many more takes for an actor to nail a scene, particularly on the first day.
As everyone takes five (or in this case, fifteen), I check my watch—we’re looking good on time. I review the copious notes I took during the scene to make sure I didn’t miss anything. I also took detailed continuity pictures with a small digital camera I keep close at hand. I have a visual record of every prop and how the actor is holding it and every movement they made in the scene. The actors work with the director before the cameras are set up to figure out the blocking, meaning the movements that feel natural for the scene. Once it’s set, they have to match the same movements in every single take. All of the pictures help back up my own memory and provide evidence, should I need it.
I know they mean well, but I’ve developed a sort of motto that has seen me through lots of sticky moments: “Never trust the actors.” I suppose that sounds harsh, but I was burned once in my first job as script supervisor. Talk about learning the hard way. It was a short-lived show about cops going through the police academy. The postproduction producer and director called me down to the edit bay and showed me how the most climactic scene of the shoot wasn’t editing together because the lead actor had been holding the gun with one hand in the wide shot and with two hands in the close-up. I remember so clearly the star being so charmingly convincing, “Darling girl”—said in his gorgeous Italian accent, which somehow transformed into a credible Bronx accent for the show—“I’ve been doing this for decades… everyone knows I hold my gun like this.” The crew around me chuckled, and I backed off… and then I paid the price since I was the one who got chewed out. So now it’s (A) write notes, (B) take pictures, and (C) never trust the actors.
I flip quickly through the pictures. The last one shows Adam looking off-camera with a half-smile on his face as he tucks a gun into his back waistband. My thumb hesitates for a second on the power button. He looks, well… hot.
“Not you too?” Billy startles me, and I almost drop the camera.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re swooning over Adam.” He playfully punches my arm. I have yet to tell Billy about my dates with my boss; Craig and I have an understanding that this should be kept pretty quiet, for now at least. Anyway, I most certainly was not swooning, but I know from years of dealing with my brothers that if I get all defensive, Billy will never let up. So instead, I dramatically fan myself and pretend to drool over Adam’s image on the screen, knowing Billy won’t miss the sarcasm.
“Maybe you’re immune to him, but I think Michelle is going to get me off schedule by jumping in to fix Adam’s hair every two seconds. I’m on to her.”
“You know how it is, Billy. Let them have their kicks. I’m sure Adam isn’t complaining.”
“I’m impressing you today, aren’t I? It’s okay. You can tell me.” He says it with a laugh, but knowing him as I do, there’s a touch of insecurity there too. Even hotshot actors appreciate positive feedback.
“You’re doing great.” I wait a beat… “Finish the episode on time and I’ll be impressed. Until then…”
“I know, I know… Never trust the actor.” He smiles as he walks away and calls everyone back to set.
Scene 004
Int. Crew craft seating—day
“I noticed you and Billy seem to get along really well.” That’s Craig’s hello as he sits down opposite me during our catered meal break.
“What do you mean?” I hesitate before biting into my ravioli.
“Nothing.” He takes a bite of the seafood gumbo I passed up (some things you just don’t eat from the catering truck if you have any common sense). “I’ve never seen you play favorites with directors before.” He swallows. “But I suppose not all of them are People’s Sexiest Man Alive. Are you a closet Foxaholic?” He snickers. Thank God he’s kidding. Or is this a hint that Craig is a little jealous of Billy’s celebrity status? Craig may not be leading-man good-looking—he’s not as tall as Billy, or even Adam, and he’s lean, not muscular—but with his adorable floppy hair and his bright blue eyes, he can certainly hold his own. I decide to act as if this is all in good fun, which I hope it is.
“Yes, you’ve got me. I have to sleep with my ‘Foxaholic for Life’ T-shirt under my pillow since I can’t wear it to work.” Billy gets a ton of grief from the crew because his fans call themselves Foxaholics. It brings us such joy to torture him about it.
“So, Friday was fun…,” he says, and although I welcome the subject change, my eyes reflexively dart around the room to see who’s in earshot.
“Maddy, it’s okay. We’re adults; we’re allowed to date,” he says as if reading my mind. “But I understand that you don’t want to call attention to ‘us’ on set, so we’ll keep a low profile.” He smiles understandingly at me and takes another bite of gumbo. Here I am, having lunch with a guy I’m dating, and any chance of impressing him disappeared about nine hours ago. I tug at my dark red oversized CAL sweatshirt, but nothing will make it actually formfitting. Knowing it doesn’t make a difference, I find I’m vain enough to force myself to sit up a little straighter.
It’s going to be important to stay practical about this whole thing. I don’t want it to get awkward at work if something goes wrong. But the thing I appreciate about Craig is that he seems very practical too. And to be sure, nothing is going to get in the way of his career. So as far as office romances go, this one is relatively low-risk. I hope.
“I had a great time,” I say, taking in his disarming smile. We spend the next few minutes catching up on our weekends, and somehow I’ve already polished off my ravioli. One of the weird side effects of working in TV is that you eat very quickly. My plate is clean ten minutes after I’ve sat down, and I have a ton of work to get to before the crew’s union-mandated hour-long meal break is up. Craig is only halfway through his lunch, and I can’t help but conclude that it’s a telltale sign he’s never actually worked in the trenches.
“Will you be done by eight tonight?” he asks. I know Craig always has his eye on the budget; so do I. That’s why they love me in the offices, but I’m surprised he’s this nervous about Billy.
“We’ll be done in twelve,” I assure him. A twelve-hour day means no overtime. It’s what you always aim for, and based on what I’ve seen so far, I think Billy’s going to bring us in on time.
“Oh, that’s grea
t. But I wasn’t asking for work. Tonight is HBO’s Upfront Party at Barker Hangar. I heard Spago’s is catering. Join me?”
I don’t know if I ate the ravioli too fast or if it’s the thought of walking a red carpet with Craig, but suddenly my chest feels very tight.
“Maddy, it’ll be fine. No one else from the crew will be at this party, and it’s not like they’re going to post our picture together on WireImage, right?”
It would be just my luck to get caught in the background of a celeb’s picture on the popular industry website. It makes me cringe just imagining myself caught in some awkward pose, but my parents would still tape it up on the fridge for everyone back home to fawn over. My few run-ins with the famous red carpet did not go over well. So I avoid them whenever possible. It fits in nicely with my No Actors policy, and it helps me avoid any and all media, particularly the paparazzi, with no trouble. Not that they’re coming after me—they most decidedly are not. But even if you have self-esteem the size of Texas, it’s hard not to take a hit as the photographers practically mow you down to get to some passing celebrity behind you. But this relationship is so new, I just don’t want to get into why I have reservations about going to an event that every wannabe is frothing at the mouth to get in to. So with an inward girding of the loins, and with his promise to be discreet, I accept his offer.
“Great, pick you up at eight, Ms. Carson.”
Scene 005
Int. Maddy’s bedroom—evening
Scared Scriptless Page 3