10 Movie

by Parnell Hall

  I had to admit it was an effective technique.

  Aside from that, there was only one thing worthy of note—the credits for Down and Dirty listed the sound man as Murky Doyle. When I saw that, I recalled Sidney mentioning working with him before. And maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but I swear the sound in that documentary didn’t seem as good, and it occurred to me it must have been the other one that got the Oscar nomination.

  Anyway, we watched both documentaries and then we sent out for Chinese food—Moo Shu Pork for us and chicken with broccoli for Tommie—and watched To Shoot the Tiger.

  The dead man was not in any of those three films. I say that with absolute certainty. As bad as I am at spotting people, Alice is good at it. In movie theaters she’s always jabbing me in the ribs and saying, “Do you know who that is?” I never do, but she does. Even if the actor is wearing a false beard, mustache, and two tons of makeup, she knows him. Hell, even if he’s wearing a mask, she’ll know him from his voice, for Christ’s sake. So if Alice didn’t spot the guy, he wasn’t there.

  Which was rather disappointing. I hadn’t really expected the dead man would be in those pictures. On the other hand, I hadn’t really expected he wouldn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” Alice said.

  I looked over at her. Smiled. “What? Like it’s your fault he wasn’t there?”

  “Yeah, I know. But I feel like I failed.”

  “So whaddya think of the movies?”

  “I’ve seen ’em before.”

  “Yeah. Me too. They just seem different now.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, Sidney Garfellow’s an asshole.”

  “You always thought that.”

  “Yeah, but more so. I look at these documentaries now, I don’t see a guy getting an Academy Award nomination. I see a parasite feeding on people’s pain.”

  “That’s a little extreme.”

  “I know. I’m projecting. That’s because two people are dead and Sidney’s treating it like a publicity stunt. It colors my whole perception of him.”

  “No shit. What about the other movie?”

  “What other movie?”

  “To Shoot the Tiger.”

  I looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what do you think of that?”

  “Do you have a point, Alice?”

  “I don’t know. You say your perception of Sidney Garfellow changed. What about Jason Clairemont?”

  “What about him?”

  “That’s a little different situation. Sidney’s movie you saw when? Six months ago. Jason’s movie was when? Two or three weeks?”

  “I saw it last year. When it first came out.”

  “Yeah, but you rented it again. When Sidney got him for the part. Now, I know what you said—it’s Eastwood’s movie, why is this kid so hot, he just happened to be in it—wasn’t that how you felt?”

  “Well ...”

  “I’m wondering if that opinion’s changed.”

  I looked at her. “Christ, Alice. That was before the kid started rewriting the lines.”

  “Right. So what’s your opinion of him now? You just saw the movie, so whaddya think?”

  I took a breath. “He’s a good actor. And I happen to know all the action stuff in there was a stunt double, but even so. He has a good screen presence, he projects sympathetically, and the kid can act. He comes across much better on the screen than he does in real life. In real life he’s a fucking toad, and I’d like to strangle him.”

  “Un-huh. About what I figured,” Alice said. “Tell me, are you capable of being civil in front of him?”

  I frowned. “Of course I am, Alice. Why do you ask me that?”

  “You’ve forgotten, haven’t you,” Alice said. “I suppose that’s understandable, with everything that’s going on.”

  “Huh? Forgotten what?”

  “Tommie’s off from school Monday. You invited us to visit the set.”

  36.

  MONDAY WAS GORGEOUS. IN TERMS of the weather, anyway. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the air was crisp and clear. All perfect for the filming of scene one thirty-eight, Exterior, Street, Day.

  It’s hard to describe how I felt that day. I was torn in so many directions. I mean, first of all, I was making a movie—through everything else I had not completely lost sight of that. I also had Alice and Tommie on the set. As well as that fresh new cinematic face, Sergeant William MacAullif. As well as Sergeant Clark of the NYPD with his ongoing homicide investigation. And not present but still voting, wager participant Richard Rosenberg of the law firm of Rosenberg and Stone. Not to mention Sidney Garfellow, Jason Clairemont, and the rest of the usual suspects.

  But I’m doing it again—telling it out of sequence. My god, am I going to be cursed with this affliction until the damn picture finally wraps?

  Okay, to begin with, today we were filming in the triangular block between Seventy-second and Seventy-third streets, bounded by Broadway on the west and Amsterdam on the east. Broadway and Amsterdam have just crossed each other at Seventy-second, Amsterdam running due north and Broadway angling northwest, resulting in the small block known as Needle Park. Which is not its real name, of course, just the nickname given to it because junkies like to hang out in it and shoot up.

  Today the junkies were out of luck. The movies had taken over the place—lock, stock, and barrel. When Alice, Tommie, and I drove up, there were production vehicles all over the place—trucks, campers, production cars.

  Including mine. It was the first time I’d brought it to the set. For a number of reasons. One, it wasn’t listed on our parking permit (Jake Decker, like everyone else, counting the writer as nonessential personnel), which meant finding a parking space at locations would have been a pain in the ass. And Alice needed it to drive Tommie to school. Today she didn’t-—there was no school, and he was with us. And I couldn’t leave the car at home because it was on the bad side of the street and had to be moved for alternate-side parking. So the first thing on my mind as I drove up to the location was, what the hell was I going to do with it?

  It didn’t help to see the two cops from the mayor’s office busily engaged shooing all other cars out of there. Or when the attractive AD stepped out in the middle of the street and flagged me down.

  I rolled down the window. “I know,” I said. “I’ve got no permit for it, but I had no choice.”

  “No, no,” she said. “No problem. You gonna be here all day?”

  “I don’t know if they are. Why?”

  “We need your car.”

  “What?”

  “Picture car. In the shot. Once it’s established, it’s gotta stay. Can they go home by cab?”

  They sure could. Which solved my problem. About parking, I mean. The AD and the cops directed me to make a U-turn and pull up on the east side of Broadway near Seventy-third.

  I was happy just to have the parking problem solved, but Tommie was positively thrilled.

  “Wow,” he said. “Our car’s gonna be in the movie.”

  So was Sergeant MacAullif. We found him drinking a cup of coffee and eating a doughnut on the other side of Broadway next to the catering truck which was set up outside of HMV. He was dressed in a policeman’s uniform.

  It was the most uncomfortable I had ever seen him.

  Don’t get me wrong, the uniform fit him fine. In terms of size, anyway. I mean it wasn’t like he’d lied to the costume lady about his measurements over the phone.

  But Jesus Christ.

  Oddly enough, he didn’t look like a cop. He looked like an actor hired to play a cop.

  An amateur actor. Nervous, insecure, and terribly hassled.

  That’s what I saw, but that’s not exactly how I phrased it to him.

  “Hey, you look great,” I said.

  MacAullif and Alice had met briefly on one occasion, but I introduced them again.

  I also introduced Tommie. His eyes were wide. “Gee,” he said. “Are you an actor?”<
br />
  “No,” MacAullif said. “I’m a cop.”

  “Really? You look like an actor.”

  That was not exactly what MacAullif needed to hear, and I jumped right in.“Today he’s an actor,” I said. “He’s playing a cop. He’s got makeup on. That’s why he looks like an actor. The makeup makes him seem not quite real. But that’s just in person. On film he’ll look exactly right.”

  I hope I didn’t sound as dubious as I felt. As far as I was concerned, uniform or no uniform, MacAullif looked hopelessly out of character. In fact, the only thing that seemed normal about him at all was the doughnut and the cup of coffee.

  At that moment Sidney swooped down upon us, doing the hail-fellow-well-met routine. “And who are these fine visitors to our location?” he inquired.

  I introduced Alice to Sidney for what was only the third or fourth time since I had begun working for him, then introduced Tommie.

  “And what a fine big boy,” Sidney said. “Chip off the old block. And did you know how important your father is to this production? Did you know he wrote the very words the actors will be saying today?”

  I closed my eyes and prayed that Tommie would not have heard, remembered, or be inclined to repeat any of the comments I had made to Alice on the subject of my participation in this particular movie. However, no such thoughts had crossed his mind.

  “Is Jason here?” he said.

  Sidney’s broad smile indicated Tommie had asked just the right thing. “Yes, Jason’s here,” he said. He pointed up the street. “He’s in his camper getting his costume and makeup on, but he should be out soon. You stick around and watch.”

  Although MacAullif had been there for the whole conversation, Sidney now seemed to see him for the first time. “Oh, and look at this,” he said. He stepped back, spread his hands. “Fantastic. Can I pick ’em, or what? Is that a cop, or is that a cop?”

  It was, from anyone’s point of view, a very unhappy cop, but Sidney didn’t seem to notice.

  “Now, Sergeant, when we start filming, you’re going to be over there in the park walking your beat. Don’t worry about the specifics, when we get the shot set up, I’ll tell you what to do.” Sidney turned back to us. “So, nice meeting you. Stick around, I think you’re going to like this.”

  And he trotted across the street to confer with the DP.

  The door to Jason Clairemont’s trailer opened, and out came the burly bodyguard.

  “Wow,” Tommie said. “Who’s that?”

  “Jason’s bodyguard.”

  “Is someone really trying to kill him?”

  Funny how some things don’t compute.

  I think of myself as a good family man. I love my wife and kid. But I have to tell you, it wasn’t till Tommie said that that it occurred to me they might be in the least danger being on the set. Seeing the bodyguard drove it home.

  I felt a cold chill.

  Still, I tried to appear calm. “Tommie,” I said. “We don’t know for sure what’s going on. That’s why we’re trying to be careful. That’s why I want you and Mom to stay in the background. Not get too involved.”

  “Dad,” Tommie said, giving it the full two-syllable treatment.

  I’m sure Tommie would have had more to say on the subject, except at that moment Jason Clairemont came out of his trailer.

  “Wow,” Tommie said.

  The bodyguard took Jason under his wing and the two of them crossed the street.

  Tommie looked up at me. “Dad, he’s so small.”

  “You have to remember. You’re seeing him next to this huge bodyguard.”

  “Even so,” Alice said. “He is small.”

  As Jason crossed the street with the bodyguard, I noticed something for the first time.

  No TV crews.

  No newspaper reporters.

  The intervention of the weekend had robbed the Jason Clairemont story of its immediacy. Had pushed it off the front page. Not that it ever was on the front page, you understand—that’s just a figure of speech. But in any event, the media had not yet arrived.

  Sergeant Clark had, however. He came striding up to us. Took one look at MacAullif and said, with an absolutely straight face, “Good morning, Sergeant.”

  MacAullif muttered something unintelligible.

  Clark turned inquiringly to me.

  I made the introductions. Which was a bit of an event. Alice had not only never met Sergeant Clark, she had never even seen the man. But I’d certainly described him enough. And not exactly in glowing terms.

  All I said now was, “Alice, this is Sergeant Clark. Sergeant, my wife, Alice, and my son, Tommie.”

  But, oh, the subtext.

  Sergeant Clark and Alice both said the standard pleased-to-meet-you’s, then we all stood there gaping at each other like idiots.

  To save the situation, I jumped in with, “At least no TV crews.”

  “Yes,” Clark said. “And do you know why?”

  I frowned. “No. Why?”

  “Mr. Garfellow and I came to an understanding. Last Friday, when I questioned him. We discussed shooting today. When it turned out he had the street scene scheduled, I suggested that if we were besieged by TV crews I couldn’t guarantee enough policeman to keep the streets clear enough to shoot. You noticed there was nothing in the papers about Friday’s incident?”

  “Sidney’s cooperating?” I said.

  “Fully,” Clark said. He shrugged. “Of course, when he finishes his exteriors and moves inside I lose my leverage. But for the time being, we are controlling publicity.”

  We were interrupted by the first AD calling, “Sergeant.” But it was not Sergeant Clark she wanted. It was Sergeant MacAullif. “Ready on the set, Sergeant,” she said.

  The first AD must have been over her sulk, because she was smiling when she came to get MacAullif. She made the summons to the set an altogether pleasant invitation.

  But you wouldn’t have known it to look at him. MacAullif plodded off with all the enthusiasm of a man going to the gas chamber.

  As I watched MacAullif cross the street, it occurred to me that this was what today was about—MacAullif’s acting debut. That, as to the rest of it, it was of no importance. That, despite the presence of Sergeant Clark and Jason Clairemont’s bodyguard and all that, as far as the murder investigation was concerned, today absolutely nothing was going to happen.

  Wrong again.

  37.

  SCENE ONE THIRTY-EIGHT, EXTERIOR, Street, Day, was a bit of a kick in the face. For me, I mean. Because I’ve been going on and on about Jason Clairemont and Sidney Garfellow and what they did to my script. And then here comes scene one thirty-eight and damned if they didn’t do something that wasn’t half bad.

  Basically, scene one thirty-eight, Exterior, Street, Day, was a throwaway. All I’d written was that Jason Clairemont follows the bad guy from across the street. Which is just a setup for scene one thirty-nine, Exterior, Apartment Building, Day, Jason follows the bad guy home and learns where he lives. So there was nothing special about what we were going to shoot.

  Or so I thought.

  To begin with, I hadn’t picked the location. I hadn’t written, EXT: NEEDLE PARK—DAY, I’d just written, EXT: STREET. It was Sidney who’d decided on Needle Park. And when he began rehearsing, I saw why. It gave him a lot to play with. Instead of your street of storefronts, it had trees and park benches. Perfect for hiding behind or sitting on or what have you. He also had extras sitting on the benches. Not to mention a cop. Which is where the bit of business comes in.

  But I’m telling it poorly again. As usual. Let me just describe the scene. The one Sidney came up with. Or Jason. Or the two of them together. Anyway, whoever the hell was responsible, this was the bit.

  To begin with, Jason is scouting the guy out from across the street. As I had written. To do this he’s walking in the park, keeping in the shadows, behind the benches. All the time he’s walking down the east side of Broadway, keeping his eye on the bad guy, who’s walking do
wn the west. Everything’s going real nicely for Jason until there on the corner, right where he’s heading, who should he spot but ...

  A cop.

  Sergeant MacAullif making his acting debut.

  Bad news for Jason. If he keeps creeping along behind the benches, the cop will get wise. If he steps out and walks along Broadway, he risks being seen.

  The bench Jason is behind is empty except for a newspaper someone left lying there. Quick like a bunny, Jason sits down on the bench and buries his head in the paper.

  The newspaper is the New York Post. And as Jason opens it and raises it over his face, there on the front page is the headline, “Escape.” Underneath the headline is a mug shot of Jason Clairemont.

  The cop, whose attention has been attracted to the man on the bench, comes walking over. He looks at the newspaper, taps his night stick a few times to build suspense, then keeps walking.

  As the cop’s footsteps retreat, Jason lowers the newspaper. And the photograph of his face gives way to his actual face, and that patented, endearing Jason Clairemont grin.

  Damn it, it worked.

  And one of the reasons it worked was Sergeant William MacAullif.

  Which really blew my mind.

  Because I had been feeling sorry for MacAullif. And perhaps a little smug. Because he had been so unhappy about being in the movie, which wouldn’t have bothered me at all. And then when they started filming, MacAullif was actually good.

  Which I should have expected. After all, I used to be an actor, I know what it’s like to perform. You’re always scared to death before you go onstage, and then when it happens you’re fine. MacAullif was not unique in having stage fright. He was just an amateur, so he was no good at hiding it. Also, never having acted before, he didn’t realize he’d get over it. Which accounted for his overwhelming depression.

  But when they filmed the scene, MacAullif relaxed and was just fine.

  And to give the devil his due, the man responsible for this was none other than Sidney Garfellow, who had no trouble extracting a performance out of him.