10 Movie

by Parnell Hall

  See what I mean?

  Granted, I am not the sanest of individuals. I have always been a little crazy.

  Even so, I was relatively stable before I wrote Hands of Havoc, Flesh of Fire.

  14.

  WEDNESDAY MORNING FOUND ME ONE hundred feet up in the air, swaying in the breeze on a six-foot catwalk. The rain had stopped and the sun had broken through and we were on the road again.

  Or, rather, on the balance beam. Jake Decker, in what had to be a major coup, had locked up the location for us, an actual high-rise construction site on Amsterdam Avenue. It was perfect for our purpose. The construction had reached eight stories high, with scaffolding all around, creating a veritable jungle gym, ideal to film an action sequence. There are hundreds of such locations in New York, but what made this one special was Jake happened to know the owner of the construction company and was able to work a deal where the guy would shut down for a day and assign his crew to other sites so we could film.

  “Jesus Christ,” MacAullif said when we pulled up next to it. He pointed. “You shooting up there?”

  “Why? You got fear of heights?”

  “Heights, no. But I’m not crazy. I mean, just look at that. You sending Jason Clairemont up there?”

  “I should hope so. It’s his scene.”

  “This is an action sequence, right? Not much dialogue?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “The script pages are blue. The kid rewrite this too?”

  “No, I did.”

  “Oh?”

  “See, I scouted the location with Jake. Then I rewrote the scene to tailor-make it to the site.” I jerked my thumb in the direction of the construction elevator. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “You kidding me?”

  “Don’t you want to see it?”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “Some technical advice you’re gonna give.”

  “You have a point,” MacAullif said. “All right, let’s take a look.”

  We walked over to the construction elevator. One of the new gofers, not Dan, was waiting next to it. “You guys going up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then wear these.” He fished two hard hats out of a bin, handed them to us.”

  “Do we have to?” I said.

  “It’s the rule.”

  With a clank the construction elevator touched down and the metal grill in front of it went up. Inside, Dan was running it. What that would do for our insurance I had no idea, but that was Jake Decker’s problem, not mine. MacAullif and I got in, Dan pulled the lever, and up we went.

  The thing clanked and swayed, and of course there were no walls, only grillwork. I didn’t mind that much, having been up before, but MacAullif looked rather green.

  The first six floors we passed were more or less completed—at least cement slabs had been poured. But the last two were open air—just the bare beams.

  We reached the top and emerged onto a catwalk on top of the scaffolding. It had railings and seemed sturdy. Still, MacAullif was mighty reluctant to step out.

  “Come on,” I said. “It’s perfectly safe.”

  I don’t think MacAullif was entirely convinced. Still he came, perhaps shamed into it by the fact that there were already about a dozen people on the catwalk. We stepped out and walked down to the other end, where we found Sidney Garfellow taking the attractive assistant director to task.

  “What do you mean, he’s not here?” Sidney said. “It’s your job to see he’s here.”

  The AD was having none of it. “It’s my job to call him,” she snapped. “It’s not my job to drag him out of bed.”

  “Did you call him?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t answer his phone.”

  “Fantastic. So how can you say you called him? It’s not a call if he doesn’t answer his phone.”

  “It’s not my fault if he doesn’t answer his phone. When I couldn’t get him, I called his agent.”

  “What does he say?”

  “He’s got a call for eleven, he’ll be here at eleven.”

  “Who the fuck gave him a call for eleven?”

  “You did.”

  Sidney blinked twice, obviously about to explode. He was saved from the eruption by the arrival of the camera dolly, which came clanking out of the construction elevator pushed by two strong grips.

  To recap the Sidney Garfellow-first AD dispute, the construction site was actually our second location of the day. First thing, we’d gone over to the East Side to pick up the shot of the bimbo entering her apartment that got washed out on day one. That was where the camera dolly was arriving from. And that was why Jason Clairemont had been given a later call. The bone of contention was why that would have been eleven o’clock. It was nine-fifteen now. There was no set to dress and virtually nothing to light. Even with a worst-case scenario, we’d be shooting by ten.

  Without Jason Clairemont.

  During the interruption Sidney Garfellow regained his composure. “All right,” he said. “Let’s make the best of this. What’s the first shot?”

  “One eighty-seven F, Rick and Wickem, dialogue master,” Clarity said.

  Sidney frowned. “There’s dialogue in this scene?”

  “Six-lines. Mid-fight, when Wickem has Rick pinned to the rail.”

  “Why is that scheduled first?”

  “Because that’s the only time your camera’s set up there. The initial fight’s the other end. Then there’s the breakaway, and the run with the camera pan. Then the two-shot on the rail. Then Rick slips away, and we’re back to the other end for the rest of the fight. The idea was to shoot this first, so we only move the camera once.”

  “But we can’t shoot this without Jason, can we?” Sidney said. No one said anything to that. Sidney turned on the assistant director. “Can we?” he snapped.

  “No, we can’t,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Then there’s no fucking point setting it up, is there?” Sidney said. “So let’s pick a shot, move the camera, and find something we can shoot.”

  “That’s going to be a neat trick,” I murmured to MacAullif. “Jason Clairemont’s in every shot.”

  Clarity looked up from her script, said, “How about the spin kick leading into it?”

  Sidney looked over her shoulder at the script. “Rick spins, kicking gun out of Wickem’s hand. Wickem lunges, knocking Rick out of frame. We pick them up on the rail. Fine. Good. So move the camera over here, we set up for the spin kick.”

  I frowned. “Sidney,” I said, stepping forward. “I don’t understand. The spin kick’s Jason Clairemont too.”

  “What?” Sidney said. “No, no, it’s not. It’s the stunt double.”

  “Huh?”

  “Assuming he’s here.” He turned on the assistant director. “How about it? You manage to get the stunt double here?”

  “He’s down on the bus with the other actors.”

  “Fine. Well, you better go down there, tell him his call’s been moved up. We’re starting with the spin kick. Clarity, change the schedule, make sure everybody knows. I’m going for coffee.” Sidney stomped onto the construction elevator. “Assuming the coffee got here.”

  The AD looked ready to explode. She took a breath, then marched onto the elevator, stood there stone-faced as it went down.

  “Clarity,” I said. “What’s with this stunt double?”

  She looked up, saw me and MacAullif for the first time. “Oh, hi,” she said. “Stunt double? Well, Jason’s not here yet, so we’re gonna shoot the stunt double.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” I said. “I was just wondering why. I mean, why a stunt double? It’s not a stunt, it’s just a lousy karate kick.”

  “Yeah, but he can’t do it.”

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t know how to do it. You may not have noticed, but our star is not that athletic.”

  “Yeah, but anyone can learn a simple move.”

/>   Clarity smiled. “Sure. But he doesn’t have to.”

  “Wait a minute,” MacAullif said. “Are you telling me?…”

  “Telling you what?” Clarity said.

  “That fight in To Shoot the Tiger—you mean that wasn’t him?”

  “Of course not,” Clarity said. “He can’t fight.”

  MacAullif blinked. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Hey, could be worse,” Clarity said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re lucky to get him up here at all.” She shrugged. “He could be afraid of heights.”

  At that point the construction elevator delivered sound man Murky Doyle, who’d just heard the first shot had been changed and took it as a personal affront.

  “I’m set up for the dialogue scene,” he said. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the laundry hamper on the catwalk. “I’ve been set up for over an hour. Since I wasn’t called for the street shot, but i was called here as early as they were.”

  “The crew was called here, Murky. The street shot was a pickup.”

  “Right. And my call was here, set up for the dialogue scene. Which I am, except for the body mikes, because you can’t put a body mike on an actor who isn’t here.”

  “You can body-mike the stunt double. That’s who we’re starting with.”

  Murky looked at her witheringly. “Stunt doubles don’t need body mikes. They don’t say anything. They’re stunt doubles.”

  “How about fight sounds?”

  “Not with a body mike. All you’ll get is clothing rustling. We’ll catch it with the boom.”

  With a final withering glance and a shake of his head, Murky stalked to his laundry hamper and proceeded to push it from one end of the catwalk to the other. It took thirty seconds, tops.

  Next up was the DP, who emerged from the elevator as Murky was getting on it. He strode straight up to Clarity and took her to task, talking animatedly for about five straight minutes. Then he turned on his heel, stalked back into the elevator, and went down.

  “Good lord,” MacAullif said. “What was all that?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “What did he say?”

  Clarity said, “I haven’t the faintest idea,” and all three of us broke out laughing.

  About twenty minutes, five grumbles, three bitches, and two pissings and moanings later, we were almost ready to shoot. There were now nearly twenty people on the catwalk, and I sure hoped it was strong enough. That was MacAullif’s feeling too. I could tell by the way he kept close to the construction elevator. Anyway, by that time the following people were in place: the DP, the first assistant cameraman and the dolly grips; Murky Doyle and the boom man; Sidney Garfellow, Clarity, and the first AD; the second AD and his cadre of six stunt men; the production manager; the writer and the technical advisor; and Jason Clairemont’s stunt double.

  Boy, was he a surprise. I wouldn’t have known he was Jason Clairemont’s stunt double. In fact, when he came up in the construction elevator, I thought he was a grip.

  Maybe it was just the sequence. Usually, when you think of a stunt double, you think of the star doing a scene to a certain point, and then the double steps in for him. That didn’t happen in this case. We hadn’t shot any part of this. We’d never seen Jason Clairemont do it. So the stunt double didn’t appear dressed as Jason Clairemont—I mean, I assume he was dressed the way Jason Clairemont was going to be dressed, but I’d never seen Jason Clairemont dressed that way. See what I mean?

  The other thing was, this guy was muscular and big. I mean, hell, unlike Jason Clairemont, he looked like he could fight.

  He was also a lot better looking than Jason Clairemont. And I couldn’t help thinking, Jesus Christ, if someone would just bump Jason Clairemont off, this guy could do the part.

  And maybe save my script.

  Anyway, Sidney Garfellow took the guy aside and talked to him in low tones for a few minutes. I don’t know what he told him, but afterwards the guy came out, took his place in front of the camera, and executed the dandiest little spin kick you ever did see.

  “Great,” Sidney said. “Where’s Wickem?”

  “Flying in,” yelled the second AD and motioned to one of his actors, an ugly, burly type with few discernible features and no discernible neck, as if Sidney had cast a punching bag in the role. The guy shuffled forward, took his place holding a gun, and the stunt double spun kicked it out of his hand.

  “Damn good,” MacAullif said.

  MacAullif was right. Much as I’d lost faith in the production, I had to admit that was a pretty nice move. Get that on film and it was gonna look good.

  “Okay,” Sidney said, clapping his hands together. “Camera ready? Can we shoot this?”

  “All right, lock it up,” the AD said.

  At his laundry hamper, Murky Doyle pressed the button three times. From way below came the sound of the bells, warning the gofers not to send up the construction elevator.

  “All right,” the AD said. “Places, please. Very quiet. This is for picture. All right. Roll it.”

  Murky Doyle had just yelled, “Speed!” when the DP turned from the camera and said something.

  “Cut!” the AD said. “Hold the roll!”

  “What is it?” Sidney demanded.

  The DP said something unintelligible, but it was obviously that he could see the boom mike in the shot, because Sidney immediately wheeled on the sound table and said, “Jesus Christ, can we get some makeup on the boom mike? I mean, if it’s gonna be in the damn picture, it ought to look good.”

  The boom man had been lying down in front of the camera dolly, laying the boom on the catwalk and sticking the microphone up from the actor’s feet. “Sorry,” he said.

  The DP gesticulated and talked animatedly and unintelligibly.

  Sidney translated. “You can’t mike this from below. It’s a kicking shot, for Christ’s sake. You gotta see the feet. You gotta go from overhead.”

  “Sorry,” the boom man said, scrambling to his feet. “It’s just there’s no room.”

  “Make room,” Sidney said.

  Easy for him to say. On the narrow catwalk there was no room. The man had to squeeze himself between the camera dolly and the rail. Standing practically on tiptoe, he aimed the boom mike out over the actors.

  “How’s that?” Sidney asked the DP, who looked in the camera, then nodded. “Fine,” Sidney said.

  “Fine for you,” Murky said. “Let me hear a level. You. Stunt man. Clap your hands.”

  The stunt double clapped his hands together.

  “No good,” Murky said. “You’re too far back,” he told the boom man. “Can you lean in some?”

  “Fine, fine,” Sidney said. “He can lean in on the shot. When we shoot it, you tell me how it sounds. Right now I’m running camera. We still on bells?”

  “Yeah, but hit ’em again,” the AD said. “Murky, three bells.”

  Grumpily, Murky pressed the bell three times.

  “All right,” said the first AD. “We were never slated, this is still take one. Let’s roll it.”

  “Speed,” Murky said grouchily.

  “One eighty-seven D, take one,” the assistant cameraman said, and clacked the slate.

  The stunt double and the bull-necked actor playing Wickem waited.

  The boom man, squeezed between the camera dolly and the rail, stood on tiptoe and raised the boom high above the actors.

  Sidney Garfellow yelled, “Action!”

  And the rail he was leaning on gave way, and the boom man fell eight stories straight down.

  15.

  SIDNEY GARFELLOW WANTED TO SHOOT.

  Unbelievable. His boom man’s lying dead in the middle of the street, and the guy wants to roll film.

  The fact that his cast and crew were in a state of shock didn’t seem to register. Nor did the fact that they were no longer on the catwalk but had been brought down to the street in the construction elevator. All Sidney cared about was not falling behind schedule.<
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  MacAullif was having none of it. “Forget it,” he said. “No one’s doin’ nothin’ till the crime-scene unit gets here.”

  “Crime? What crime? It was an accident. The guy fell.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” MacAullif jerked his thumb over his shoulder where the officers from two patrol cars were attempting to keep the crowd away from the body. “Until someone says otherwise, that’s a suspicious death and we treat it like a homicide. And up there’s a crime scene until someone says different.”

  “Then I’ll shoot somewhere else.” Sidney turned, yelled, “Clarity, what’s the cover set?”

  MacAullif shook his head. “You can’t leave the scene.”

  “What?”

  “You’re witnesses to what happened. You all gotta make statements.”

  Sidney’s eyes narrowed. “You’re working for me.”

  “I’m a cop. I may be on vacation, but I’m still a cop.”

  Sidney Garfellow stuck out his chin, thrust his finger in MacAullif’s face. “Hey,” he said, “I’m paying you.”

  “Right,” MacAullif said. “And you can fire me too. But no one’s leavin’, and no one’s goin’ up there, and that’s how it is.”

  Sidney stared at him for a moment, then turned on his heel and stalked off.

  MacAullif shook his head. “Is that guy for real?”

  “I don’t know. I think he works at being insensitive on the theory artistic geniuses are all pricks. So, what’s keeping crime scene?”

  They arrived just then, four plain-clothes officers in two cars. MacAullif stepped out, intercepted them, and talked to them where I couldn’t hear. After that, two headed for the body and two for the construction elevator. I’d never seen them before, and I’d been at a few crime scenes in my day.

  I walked over to MacAullif. “You going up with them?”

  “No need. They’ll find it okay.”

  “You really do have fear of heights?”

  “No, there’s just no fuckin’ need.”

  I looked at MacAullif. “What you so touchy about?”