Scared Scriptless

by Alison Sweeney

  “McCourt, I have kind of a crazy idea. I know we’re scrambling here, so you tell me if this might work for you.” This is my first time working with McCourt, and each director has a different, distinct interpretation of the script supervisor’s role. Some directors see me as a necessary evil and minimize my involvement as much as possible. They never even want me to speak to the actors. Others see me as their right hand, and I end up doing everything from discussing the script with actors to being consulted on the sequence and specifics of the shots. (Obviously, the latter is more fun for me, but so far no one’s asked my preference.) Since I don’t know where McCourt fits in this spectrum, I try to be as diplomatic as possible.

  “Maddy, if you can get us through this with Hogan Chenny still willing to hire me again, I’m in.” McCourt clearly realizes he’s on thin ice, cutting it so close with another gig back-to-back. McCourt needs to make this work as much as we do.

  “What if you stage the scenes slightly differently so that the wide shots and sequences happen from Ahmed’s perspective? Or at least from his angle. We can get casting to send us a body double to shoot from behind, and then I can keep screen grabs and we can shoot his close-ups later.”

  The silence is deafening. McCourt stares at me—through me, actually. Then he chugs the rest of his coffee in one swallow and crushes the cup.

  “I love it. You haven’t done anything like this yet, have you? I could talk to Hogan about editing the whole episode to be almost in the first person… Ahmed’s take on how it unfolds. The script is already along those lines, since the reveal at the end of the previous episode is that Ahmed is really an undercover American Marine. I think Hogan will love this take.” McCourt continues on animatedly, and even though Frank and I remain standing there, we both know he’s in his own mind now, completely tuning us out. “Maybe we never see Adam in the episode; maybe he is completely in voice-over later? That would be amazing. I can see the handheld shots working everywhere… except…” McCourt grabs his script and starts flipping through pages.

  “Maddy!” I turn to see Billy making his way to us. “What are we going to do? I just talked to Adam. He’s barely coherent now. Even I would have called in. I can’t believe he’s here.” I fight hard not to roll my eyes. Really? Billy is so impressed by Adam’s martyrdom? You’d think no one’s ever shown up at work sick before. “Do we cancel today? Try to shoot the stuff with Lucas and Naveen?”

  Before I can answer, McCourt jumps in. “Billy, this has actually given me a fantastic concept for this episode. I have to pitch it to Hogan first.” McCourt turns to me. “Can you get him on the phone?” Without hesitating, he turns back to Billy while I dial. “You’re going to love this. It’s sort of similar to that movie you did—” But before he can get into details, I hand him my phone.

  “Hogan’s assistant is getting Hogan on the line for you.” McCourt steps away to pitch Hogan in private.

  Billy looks at me for details. I hold up my hands in the international sign for “don’t ask me,” which earns me a disbelieving snort in return.

  “Billy, you know I can’t say anything.” As annoyed as I am, and as satisfying as it would be to vent to the star of the show about the unfairness of Hollywood, I know taking the high road is the right call. So I don’t say, “Well, Billy, it’s funny you ask, but the wildly successful Rian McCourt just took credit for my idea and is now pitching it to our executive producer as his own.” Instead I say, “I’m sure McCourt wants to sell you this idea himself.”

  But nothing gets past Billy Fox. “And when you rule the world…?”

  “I’ll take good ideas from anyone.” I smile, pleased that Billy gets it. “I’ve got to start making some notes,” I say, grabbing my script and notebook.

  Frank squeezes my shoulder as a sign of solidarity. He knows, even if no one else ever will, that it was my idea, but he’s also signaling me that I did the right thing by not making a thing of pointing that out. Frank turns to Billy. “I have a car taking Adam home, Billy. I’m going to have a PA drive Adam’s car back to his place. Should I call his agent? Or his manager? Does he have a girlfriend or someone we can call?”

  The two of them start walking off, so I don’t hear Billy’s reply. They really are making it sound like Adam is on his deathbed, but it seems like they are taking good care of him, so I focus on my list of notes for the change in plans:

  Have casting find body double for Adam

  Confirm with writers’ office assistant what scenes need entire rewrites

  Specialty cameras needed? All week or just Mon/Tues?

  When will we get pink pages?

  Does this change Thurs/Fri schedules too?

  What am I missing??

  My phone starts roaring. Apparently, the T-Rex from Jurassic Park is my new ring tone. Nice. A blocked call could be anyone, and during work hours, that means I have to be brave and answer.

  “This is Maddy.”

  “Hey, babe. What’s going on down there? Is Adam going to make it?”

  “Craig. Hi.” I glance over to McCourt, who is still deep in conversation with Hogan. “McCourt is pitching Hogan an alternate way to shoot the episode. I’m evaluating the script right now. I think we can take him out of most of the scenes today and tomorrow, but we’d still need him for Thursday and Friday.”

  “God, do we know what’s wrong with him?”

  “Frank says it’s just a really bad case of the flu. We should probably have a doctor take a look at him anyway.”

  “I’ll get someone over there tonight. I’ll call his agent.”

  “Sounds good.” With work out of the way, I hang on the line, wondering if the conversation will shift to personal.

  “Did you have a good trip home?” Craig asks.

  “Yeah, thanks. It was amazing.”

  “Good. Good. But I’m sure you’re glad to be back.”

  “Yes, of course,” I say, which is half a lie.

  “Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it. I hope you took a lot of photos. I would love to see where you grew up.”

  “I did. Are you coming by the set this week?”

  There’s silence as I wait for Craig to reply. I hear typing.

  “Sorry, about that. Hogan just messaged me about McCourt’s idea for the week.”

  I grit my teeth at the reference to “McCourt’s” idea.

  “He wants to meet up tonight and go over it with him.”

  I hear more typing in the background. I can tell Craig is distracted, which makes sense. He and Hogan must be going back and forth about how to make this episode fly, and what it means financially. I sign off with him quickly and head back to the production trailer to do some paperwork while the crew essentially starts the day over. A quick glance at my watch shows it’s 11:12 a.m. and we’re already three hours late. This does not bode well for the week.

  Scene 010

  Int. Wrong Doctor set—afternoon

  When we see the first takes of the afternoon’s scenes, I am blown away by Rian McCourt’s unique and artistic interpretation of my basic idea of shooting from Adam’s character’s perspective. McCourt is clearly a gifted director, and the whole cast and crew is excited by how the shoot has evolved the last couple of days. The creativity, imagination and execution he employs definitely have the whole crew whispering “Emmy” by the end of the day. He may be a diva, like a lot of these creative types, but he’s a genius at what he does.

  The Steadicam operator has probably lost five pounds in water weight alone, sweating through these action sequences. The Steadicam is attached to Jimmy, the operator, with a harness, so he can walk around with it. Its fancy technology makes it smooth, not jerky, and it can go places and move in a way that stationary cameras can’t. Rian has been using Jimmy’s skills and several innovative camera angles to shoot everything from Ahmed’s perspective. It’s so creepy and intimate watching the other actors react to the camera lens as if it is Adam. It feels like they are looking right at me. I know it is goin
g to be so unsettling for the audience, in a good way. Our audience will go nuts for this, and knowing that is fueling us through these grueling fourteen-hour days.

  In addition to being time-consuming, this high-concept, more complicated shoot is costing the company hundreds of thousands of dollars, which is why an anxious Craig has been on set with us three evenings in a row now. When he’s not on set, he’s been calling and texting me practically every hour. Always the same question: “How’s progress?” So it’s no surprise to me when a PA brings up an extra director’s chair and slides it next to McCourt’s spot in video village. Soon Craig plops down, frantically pounding on his BlackBerry. It’s 7:30 p.m. and we just started the next-to-last scene of the day. Based on Frank’s initial call sheet, we should be on the last setup of the day and then wrap at 9:00 p.m. Now it’s looking more like 11:00, if we’re lucky.

  Even as our eyes stay trained on the sequence on our screens, I imagine myself as Craig sees me right now. In my left hand, I am holding my notebook with all my notes scrawled everywhere. There was no time for my usual neat handwriting, so it looks like something a serial killer would have written. My script is spread out on my lap, a timer in my right hand, a pencil in my teeth, and a red pen sticking out of my ponytail. There was no time for makeup this morning, as I raced back to the set after grabbing five hours of sleep. I should have at least done something about the circles under my eyes.

  There’s nothing I can do about my slightly insane appearance, so I focus on my script, darting my eyes away from the screen to check the line and then back again. One of the actors playing a terrorist inverted his lines of dialogue, but it still makes sense in context. It’s not worth stopping the take, especially given the snail’s pace we are moving at today. It is something Hogan can decide to fix in the edit and replace with a different approved take, or accept, as the meaning is essentially the same.

  The same actor screams out the last line of dialogue in the script, signaling the dramatic end of the scene where the army of jihadists charges into a meticulously constructed Red Cross tent. The handheld camera acting as Adam’s character runs into the room and McCourt yells, “Cut. Print.” He signs off using the classic old-fashioned term. We haven’t exactly caught up with the digital age—we use the technology, but even I will admit “stop” just doesn’t have the same ring as “cut.”

  Finally I can look away from my notes to say hi to Craig, but he is already standing with his arm around McCourt in a serious conversation. Victor gets off his camera stool and walks over to Frank. Their huddle looks equally intense.

  While it’s fresh in my mind, and since no one has called me over or announced what we’re doing next, I make more notes about the scene and then review what’s coming up. I glance at my watch and start adding up how much more we have to shoot tonight before we can call it quits.

  Frank returns announcing that the second meal is ready. We don’t normally have to break for another meal, but obviously, this is going to be one of many in a week of late nights. Frank protects his crew; that’s why they love him. But he always does a fair and balanced job of looking out for the show, and the producer’s pocketbooks as well, which is why he gets hired all the time. We both know the scene is at a critical point in filming. All the actors have to try and remember exactly how they moved and delivered their lines in that main version, so when we go back for close-ups and other tight shots, it will match. Therefore, now isn’t the best place to stop.

  Frank and I are both trying not to appear as if we are watching Craig and McCourt, but we are. The outcome of their conversation is pretty critical to all of us. When Craig smacks the director on the shoulder in the friendly but firm way that guys do when they’re making a point, Frank and I slide a glance at each other and wait for McCourt to tell us the verdict.

  Craig meets my eyes over McCourt’s shoulder, winks at me, then disappears around the false rock walls that comprise the terrorists’ hideout.

  McCourt starts in as soon as Craig walks away. “This is why I hate TV. We’re making a one-hour movie on a shoestring budget, but they expect it to look like the latest Spielberg blockbuster. You can’t have it both ways.”

  Frank and I both nod in weary agreement. I’m pretty sure McCourt doesn’t expect a reply. McCourt looks at the monitors that show the actors all still in position on set, and I can see his eyes refocus on the present.

  “Maddy, was that last take clean? Did we get a good one?”

  Sometimes you never get one perfect take, so you go into postproduction knowing there’s going to be a lot of editing and fixing to do. But every director would prefer to go in knowing there’s something to fall back on. If you have one clean version of the scene, you know you can build from there. It’s a safety net.

  “Yeah, that last time was clean. I think the close-ups are going to get you better performances, and I know Victor wants to relight for Billy’s angle, but we’ve got the shot.” He’s trying to be subtle, but I catch McCourt doing a fist pump. After all the extra time and work that went into getting that special angle, he needed it to work. I’m happy for him, but there’s no time to celebrate. “So should we go in and get some of the close-ups you wanted?”

  “Catering has the second meal set up for the crew. It’s ready now.” Frank’s voice is low so the crew doesn’t hear the announcement, or we might have a mutiny on our hands. He isn’t telling the director what to do, but it’s close.

  “Some of that action is going to be hard to repeat as it is. We should try to get some of the close-up work done while it’s still fresh in everyone’s minds,” I argue. Frank and I work well together, but sometimes our goals vary. He wants a happy crew; I want my shots to match.

  “When do we go into meal penalty?” McCourt asks Frank.

  Frank looks at the clock on his phone. “We could go another eighteen minutes. We have to break them at eight.” Lunchtime is no laughing matter; there are very specific union regulations about when the crew gets their meal breaks and stiff penalties that producers take very seriously before violating. It’s not a lot of time, but I can think of two setups we can get done that will be critical. I glance at McCourt for the final decision, only to find him looking at me.

  “What do you think, Maddy?”

  I don’t have time to feel flattered that at last he’s asking my opinion. Before he even finishes his thought, I start talking. Eighteen minutes isn’t much.

  “Let’s reset the cameras to their second position. I think we can get these two close-ups done if we go right now.” I circle my script to show him what I’m thinking.

  “Let’s do it. Frank. Get people onto their marks for the second half of the scene. From Billy’s line, ‘We have to go now!’ we’ll take it to the end of the scene.”

  McCourt disappears after Frank to go over the plan with Victor and the camera team. I get my red pen out of my hair and start marking up my script with notes about the additional takes. Craig comes back to video village and takes a seat in his chair, sipping coffee. Still looking at the screen, he asks if we’re breaking for dinner soon.

  “Yeah,” I say, not looking up. The audio guy is still at his station slightly behind my chair. “We’ll break right at eight.”

  McCourt comes bounding around two set pieces and slides into his chair. Frank calls out, “We’re rolling! Quiet on the set.” And then McCourt bellows, “Camera!” prompting the cameras to start moving. A beat later, “Action!” I start my timer as Billy and the others come charging through the shot, and we’re back in business. Seventeen minutes later, we have two of the pickup shots McCourt wanted, and Frank loudly dismisses everyone for the meal.

  All of a sudden I’m starved. Maybe Craig and I can have some time to catch up over dinner. We’ve been so busy all week, let alone tonight, that we’ve barely had two seconds to talk. Those plans are quickly dashed as Craig tells me he is going to eat with McCourt since they have some “things to chat about.” I feel for McCourt. Somehow I doubt an ass-chewing
about cost overruns will complement his dinner.

  “What time do you think crew call will be tomorrow?” Craig asks me. The crew always starts at least ten hours after they wrap (more union rules), so if we wrap at midnight, production can’t start the next day until 10:00 at the earliest.

  “We’ll probably start at ten. I’m hoping.”

  “Do you want to grab breakfast with me? There’s this place that looks good right by my club.”

  “Sure.” Aside from the rare exception this morning, I’m not really a sleeping-in type anyway. “What time?”

  “Let’s say eight-thirty. I’ll text you the address. But you know where Soho House is, right? It’s right near there.”

  Soho House is a super-exclusive club on Sunset Boulevard. Lots of people in the entertainment industry are members. On any given night you can expect to see Leo DiCaprio there, Matt Damon, supermodels, and music legends. I’ve never been inside, but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.

  “Of course,” I say as if I have been there a thousand times. “On Sunset, right?”

  “Yep. I’ll see you in the morning.” We’ve gotten to the edge of the elephant doors that open wide enough to accommodate huge set pieces. Outside, catering is set up and all 200 crew members are gathered. In the shadow of the oversized doors, Craig leans down and kisses me briefly on the lips. It’s nice and his lips are firm on mine, but the whole thing is over before I can process it.

  “Oh hey,” he calls back as he walks away. “Will you do me a big favor? Will you check on Adam and see what we can do to make sure he’s back by tomorrow? I don’t want him feeling like we sent a PA and then ignored him. Make him feel HCP cares how he’s doing, okay? We can’t have any more delays.”

  This falls outside my job description, but I get why Craig asked.

  I reluctantly grab my phone to text Adam. I don’t even have to call the production office since his number is already conveniently in my phone. My pulse leaps as I reread his last text, which I didn’t reply to but probably should have deleted altogether.