by Parnell Hall
Which again shouldn’t have been surprising. After all, Sidney was a documentary film maker, who was used to working with amateur actors. Hell, in a documentary, everyone’s an amateur. So Sidney knew just what to do.
First off, he didn’t start with the master. He started with MacAullif alone. He aimed a camera at him, slated it one thirty-eight double papa, or some such bullshit, and then proceeded to roll film while he told MacAullif what to do.
“All right, Sergeant, here you go, you’re walking your beat, that’s all you’re gonna do, you’re gonna walk down here and look these benches over. Only one thing—you can’t look like that. You look like your jockstrap’s on too tight. Is that the problem? You send wardrobe the wrong measurements? Don’t worry, we can fix it. Hey, wardrobe, get in here. We need a new jockstrap for the sergeant.
“Hey, that’s a good look, Sergeant. Now look at the bench over there. Take your time, you’re an officer of the law, you don’t have to do squat if you don’t want to. But you wanna hassle someone, hey, that’s why you took the job in the first place.
“Good look, Sergeant.
“Now, you’re lookin’ at this guy, he sits down, picks up the newspaper. And you’re lookin’ at the newspaper coverin’ his face. The headline says, ‘Escape.’ Hey, that’s good, but you didn’t read the headline, Sergeant. I can tell ’cause your lips didn’t move.
“That’s it. Now, stand there. Tap the nightstick into your other hand. Nice and easy. And you’re sayin’ to yourself, this is Sidney Garfellow’s head I’m tappin’.
“Good. I like that. The controlled rage. Smoldering power. Just the right sense of menace.
“And ... You walk on. Slowly. Just walk away.
“And ... Cut.”
Absolutely brilliant. Not only had he loosened up MacAullif and coaxed a performance out of him, but some of that footage could actually be used. After all, this was a movie, You could cut in any bits you liked.
It occurred to me, this was how Sidney must have won his Oscar nomination. The people in his documentaries he must have talked to the same way. Well, not kidding them about their jockstrap being too tight, but just talking to them while they were on camera, getting responses from them that he could cut into his film.
It was a disturbing thought for me. This Sidney Garfellow, whom I’d come to think of as an opportunistic, egocentric schmuck, was actually a gifted and talented director.
Anyway, after he’d finished with MacAullif, Sidney rehearsed and shot the master. This was a long dolly shot, starting on Jason in the north end of the park, and dollying with him as he makes his way down the block hiding in the shadows behind the benches, until the camera stops moving and pans to include MacAullif standing and watching him. At which point Jason sits on the bench and picks up the paper. MacAullif walks over, looks at him, taps his stick a few times, and walks off.
It was a long continuous shot, and if Sidney hadn’t worked with MacAullif first, there was no way they would have gotten through it. But by now MacAullif actually seemed to be having fun. And if his performance wasn’t letter perfect, that didn’t matter, as long as he kept going. Because there’d be enough takes, close-ups, and what have you to cut to, to get a shot where his performance was good.
Anyway, things went well. So well, in fact, that Tommie and Alice stuck around. Which was something in itself. Hanging out on a movie set was usually about as much fun as watching paint dry. So the fact Tommie and Alice lasted the morning was significant.
They also opted to stay for lunch. I think Alice had probably had enough, but not Tommie. The kid was in serious danger of becoming a movie groupie. They’d finished the street scenes before they broke, and Tommie wanted to know where they were going next.
The answer was, to shoot more street scenes. Lots more street scenes. None of them as interesting as what we’d just shot. The scenes scheduled for after lunch were simple shots of people walking down the street, walking into buildings, walking out of buildings, and what have you. And an occasional reaction shot of Jason Clairemont watching someone doing that. In short, exactly what I’d written for scene one thirty-eight, only without the embellishments. That scene was wrapped.
So was Sergeant William MacAullif. He emerged from the wardrobe camper in plain clothes and sporting a shit-eating grin, and was immediately engaged in fending off compliments from everyone from Sergeant Clark to Clarity Gray. Naturally, Alice, Tommie, and I chimed in.
“I think you’ve found a new career,” I told him.
MacAullif gave me a look that told me if my wife and kid weren’t there he’d tell me to go fuck myself. Instead, he joined us in the lunch line, and proceeded to blush splendidly each time someone else came up to compliment him on his performance.
Lunch was set up in Needle Park. In the later part of the morning, while Sidney had been shooting reverse-angle shots of the bad guys across the street, Papa had driven the catering truck around to Seventy-third Street and set up the hot trays in the north end of the park, which was where the cafeteria line was now wending its way.
There is an unwritten rule in the movies—production eats last. Producers, directors, production managers, writers, and scum of that type. Because production people are theoretically working save money. And the crew and actors are working for the production trying to save money. And the crew and actors are working on the production trying to make money. And the crew and actors have the unions protecting them and governing when and how they eat. And production people don’t.
Within this class structure, there is no rule that says a crew member has to defer to an actor, and in many cases they don’t. But another unwritten rule is most crew members will defer to a star. And in Jason Clairemont’s case, when he wasn’t being brought his lunch as on the Intrepid, the crew had been happy to bump him to the front of the line. And the nerdy twerp superstar had accepted this preferential treatment as a matter of course.
But not today. It turned out today’s filming had inspired a sense of camaraderie. Which I must confess feeling somewhat jealous about, since I had nothing to do with it. But everyone had had a good time, spirits were high, and Jason Clairemont, in a rare display of graciousness, had not only seen fit to be one of those to compliment MacAullif on his performance, but had also opted to stand in line just like one of the gang.
Which is why he was there when it happened.
As I said, we were in the cafeteria line where the steam trays had been set out in a row, flanked by two long folding tables holding trays, plates, silverware, rolls, butter, and what have you. Papa, Mama, and the girl were all manning the steam trays, dishing out food to the cast and crew filing through. With the three of them serving, it was moving pretty quickly, but it was a long line and we had a ways to go.
While I was waiting I found myself standing next to Clarity Gray. Which is when it occurred to me, what with MacAullif making his acting debut and my wife and kid being on the set, it had totally slipped my mind to find out about getting Richard Rosenberg into a screening. So I asked her if he could come tonight.
To my surprise, the answer was no. And Clarity wasn’t the type of person who liked saying no. Her nose wrinkled up, and she fidgeted a bit, and then she explained. What with the accident Friday with the sandbag falling and all, there’d been no dailies Friday night. So we were a whole day behind. We had two days worth to watch, and tonight was going to be a double session. It would be a real grind, people would be apt to get testy, and it would be a poor night for visitors to come.
However, tomorrow night would be fine.
I agreed to that readily enough, and shuffled along in the lunch line.
As I did, it occurred to me that by coming tomorrow night, Richard Rosenberg would get to see the footage of Sergeant MacAullif. I figured he’d like that.
Then it occurred to me that what they were screening tonight, which he wouldn’t get to see, was Thursday and Friday’s footage. Which just happened to include the topless bimbo on the boat and the
nude shower scene.
I figured if he knew that, Richard would be somewhat less than thrilled with shots of Sergeant MacAullif.
Anyway, there I am in the lunch line thinking Richard won’t be going to dailies tonight but I will, and I’m standing there next to my wife and kid with visions of naked breasts dancing in my head.
And I hear Alice say, “Look who that is.”
I have to tell you, I was totally disconcerted. Bad enough to have my lecherous daydreams interrupted by my wife, but why did it have to be that? “Look who that is.”
It’s the type of thing Alice is always doing to me. Because I’m so poor at faces, and she’s so good at it. Usually, like I said, she does it in the movies, nudges me and says, “Look who that is.” And there’s some actor up there on the screen and I haven’t the faintest idea who he is because he has his hair combed different. Or sometimes it will be on the street—”Look who that is,” and I haven’t a clue. Whether it’s the father of one of Tommie’s classmates, or someone I went to school with, or some celebrity I don’t recognize, or what.
Anyway, I’m jolted back to reality by those dread words, and find myself in a cafeteria line holding a tray with a plate, knife and fork, and paper napkin, and my wife next to me holding a tray and looking up into my face expectantly. Good god. Look who that is? Who the hell could she mean?
There were a lot of people around us, a lot of possibilities, but they weren’t possibilities. They were all people I knew. Aside from the caterers, the only people in the immediate vicinity, the only people near enough to count, were:
Clarity Gray.
Jake Decker.
The attractive first AD.
Sound man Murky Doyle.
And Jason Clairemont.
38.
I SPOKE TO SERGEANT CLARK DURING LUNCH.
He was skeptical.
Then Alice talked to him.
After that, he was a little less skeptical. Alice has that effect on people.
After talking to Alice, Sergeant Clark began dragging people away from lunch to talk to them.
First he talked to Jake Decker.
Then he talked to Sidney Garfellow.
Then he talked to Murky Doyle.
Sergeant Clark’s face was grim when he finished. He had a few words with me and MacAullif, got in his car, and drove off.
He wasn’t around for the filming that afternoon. Neither were Alice and Tommie. I sent them home. On the one hand, it was going to be dull. On the other, it might be dangerous to have them stay.
Tommie, who hadn’t been told why, was mighty reluctant to leave. I felt bad about not telling him. He’s a good kid, but still he’s a kid. I left it to Alice to work her magic. I don’t know what she said to him, but by the end of lunch I saw them out on Broadway hailing a cab.
Good.
One less thing on my mind.
Now I could enjoy filming my movie.
Sure, Richard.
Fat chance.
I stuck close to MacAullif while we filmed the afternoon street scenes. He stuck close to the catering truck, mainlining coffee as if it were going out of style.
What a day it had to be for him, making his acting debut in the morning and cracking a murder in the afternoon.
If that’s what we were doing. The thing of it was, there was no word from Sergeant Clark. He didn’t catch up with us at Columbus Circle, where we filmed Jason following a bad guy out of Central Park. He didn’t join us on West Fourteenth Street, where Jason hails a cab. And he wasn’t there in SoHo, where Jason follows a bad guy into a loft.
That left only the shot on Wall Street, where Jason follows a bad guy into an office building. When Sergeant Clark didn’t show up there, we grabbed the shot and then wrapped.
I got in the car with MacAullif and we headed back uptown to watch dailies of the bimbo in the boat and the broad in the shower, Hot Babes Two and Four.
We never got to see ’em. When we got there, Sergeant Clark was waiting outside. He’d spent the afternoon tracking down the information, and he’d got it. So instead of watching the dailies, we sat in his car and went over what we had.
Which wasn’t really much.
“It’s all conjecture,” Clark said. “There isn’t a shred of evidence.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s true.” When Clark said nothing, I said. “You know it’s true.”
“Of course I do,” Clark said. “But I can’t act on that. It’s not enough for a warrant. It’s not enough for anything.”
“So what can you do?”
Clark shook his head. “Forewarned is forearmed. The only thing now is to watch, wait for another attempt.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“The alternative is more questioning. Pointed questioning. But if I do that, I tip my hand. And with nothing to go on ...”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So we have to wait.”
I shook my head. “No good.”
“Oh? Do you have a better suggestion?”
I took a breath. “I have an idea. I doubt if you’ll think it’s better.”
“Let’s not get hung up on semantics,” Clark said. “If you can think of a way to force the issue, please tell me now.”
I did. I’d had all afternoon to think about it, and I’d come up with a plan. Which I must say I rather liked.
I didn’t expect Sergeant Clark to go for it though. Not conservative, conventional, by-the-book Clark. I was surprised he was even willing to listen.
I was floored when he went along.
But it occurred to me, the first time I’d met Sergeant Clark he’d let me pull my harebrained scheme just to see what would happen. Only, that time I hadn’t known he was on to it. Hadn’t known he was even around. But he’d let me do it all the same.
Still, it was quite a shock when he agreed. I guess it was exactly as he said—he had no plan of his own, other than wait and see, or resume questioning, and toward that end my scheme couldn’t really hurt. If anything, it would only accelerate the process.
We batted it around some, there in the police car outside the warehouse. Then we got out of the car and waited on the sidewalk until dailies were over.
Then we picked up Jason Clairemont.
39.
THERE WERE STILL TWO AND a half weeks of shooting left, but for all practical purposes the picture was over Tuesday night. From my point of view, anyhow. Everything after that was just anticlimax. But that night I will never forget.
It was the night we screened the MacAullif scenes.
Richard Rosenberg was there.
So were Alice and Tommie.
So was Sergeant Clark.
And of course Sergeant MacAullif.
And all the usual suspects:
Sidney Garfellow.
Clarity Gray.
The attractive first AD.
The gaffer.
The art director.
The DP.
Sound man Murky Doyle.
And Jason Clairemont.
Complete with bodyguard.
Dailies were held as usual in the warehouse, threaded up on the interlock projector by the multitalented gofer, Dan. For tonight, extra folding chairs had been rounded up from the set to accommodate our visitors, and the girl from the catering truck was on hand with a coffee urn and a tray of blondies, so to a large extent the atmosphere was that of a premiere.
This was enhanced by the fact I’d been unable to reach Richard Rosenberg other than to leave a message about the screening. So he was totally unaware of the latest developments, and was in high spirits when he arrived. The sandbag falling was news to him, and he had a great deal to say on the subject, and probably would have said it had not Sidney signaled Dan to start the projector and turn off the lights.
And suddenly, there we were in the dark watching Sergeant MacAullif’s performance. A round of good-natured catcalls and applause greeted his first appearance. Richard, seated next to me, was grinning from ear to ear.
The first time MacAullif walked over to Jason Clairemont and stood there tapping his nightstick, the place went wild.
It calmed down after that. After all, dailies are a boring thing. We saw the same scene again, take after take, and every ten minutes the reel would run out and we’d have to turn the lights on and sit and wait while Dan threaded up another.
By the fourth reel Richard had had it. The reel we’d just watched wasn’t MacAullif anymore, just pickup shots from the afternoon of Jason following people everywhere, which was really boring.
“I think I’m shoving off,” Richard said.
I put my hand on his arm. “One more reel.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Stanley?”
“Trust me,” I told him.
Richard shrugged, sat back down, and proceeded to needle Sergeant Clark about their bet.
Clark said nothing. And neither did I. And Richard remained in the dark. If he’d known the body had been identified as an actual homeless man, I’m sure Sergeant Clark never would have heard the end of it. But Richard didn’t know that.
Among other things.
And so he continued to banter.
And the projector began rolling and the lights went out.
There was a moment’s pause while the leader ran through the projector. Then the film hit the lens.
You could tell at once this footage was different. First off, it wasn’t a street shot, it was an interior. Shot right here in the warehouse. And it wasn’t shot with a camera dolly—from the slight movement of the picture, you could tell it was handheld. And the lighting was different—in fact, it was bad. As if there was none. As if the film had been shot with existing light.
As to the shot itself, it was a medium close-up of Jason Clairemont. Only he wasn’t dressed as Rick Dalton, karate master. He was wearing his regular street clothes.
One other difference—no camera slate. No scene one forty-two, take one, or what have you. Jason just started speaking. Without any slate at all, he began the following scene:
INT: WAREHOUSE—DAY