Keepin' it reel...
Jim Frange is a really cool guy. He is so cool. When he says his name there is a blankness in his eyes that's sincerely humble. And all this even though he travels all around the world helping out on some of the best films being made. He has some tattoos on his arm that would surprise you with their originality, and their colors. And his girlfriend, Leiah, is hot, actually beautiful, like carved from soapstone. Anyway, this was photocopied from his journal and sent in to us at 1430, who never leave the building.
The last shot was made, the last roll was snapped into its canister, and then came the time for the whole crew to rest. But for me personally, the end of the film, the questions it left unanswered, inspired me towards ideas for my own film, so much so that when G. (a producer) walked past me, I grabbed her by the shoulders and said, "G. its perfect! We need to make a postapoclyptic film, 'chaos vs those who make films!'” She was pretty tired though. Believe me I would not even have grabbed her like that if the camaraderie and the just-born nostalgia that surges out after the finishing of a film were not the mood-shaper of the moment.
She had turned away from the last shot, its black column of smoke framing her pale face and white summer dress, and walked toward me, intending to pass by with a smile, but instead I put my arms on her clammy shoulders and kind of forced my gaze into hers. Such was my enthusiasm, I guess. “Forces of chaos vs. the guerilla filmmaker!” I said. “Chaos vs who?” she said, already shaking her head in tired protest. I let go her shoulders and she walked on.
That was pretty easy shrug off though. Minutes later I was lying with my girlfriend in a double cot under the big canvas tent, eating grapes. She asked “Do you think we made it into the last shot?” (We were in this scene as extras)
“No, I don’t think so. We were in so many previous shots that it would have gotten repetitive. Besides, I turned and caught a glimpse of the camera, and it wasn't really pointed in our direction.”
Soon scrapes of metal on concrete announced the arrival of R. a cameramen, the one, in fact, on whom my future hopes are pinned. He came towards us dragging his camera and the folding picnic table to which it was attached. Of course, the director of this project is of a generation to which application of the word 'guerilla' is redundant, and R. had been folding and unfolding the legs of the picnic table to change camera angles for the entire shoot. He had his trademark mustache and cap, he seemed to have a chill thing going on. To my suprise, he came and laid down under our cot. In a few moments his hand appeared beside my shoulder, open. I understood, and gave him some grapes. It was chill. I basked a couple of minutes longer. My girlfriends face shone.
Then I mused outloud to R.- “wouldn’t it be great if you and I, with your mobile camera, made a kind of postapocalyptic film, where filmmakers are clotting together against the chaos that wants to break everything apart?” His hand appeared again. “I think it would be great if you gave me some more grapes.” My girlfriend and I laughed, we wouldn’t give up. Tonight, instead of grapes, they’rd be wine, or beer at least, and I would be clapping shoulders instead of placing hands on them, I would be grasping hands instead of placing grapes in them. And anyway, I thought, there’s always DV and the power of love.
The last shot was made, the last roll was snapped into its canister, and then came the time for the whole crew to rest. But for me personally, the end of the film, the questions it left unanswered, inspired me towards ideas for my own film, so much so that when G. (a producer) walked past me, I grabbed her by the shoulders and said, "G. its perfect! We need to make a postapoclyptic film, 'chaos vs those who make films!'” She was pretty tired though. Believe me I would not even have grabbed her like that if the camaraderie and the just-born nostalgia that surges out after the finishing of a film were not the mood-shaper of the moment.
She had turned away from the last shot, its black column of smoke framing her pale face and white summer dress, and walked toward me, intending to pass by with a smile, but instead I put my arms on her clammy shoulders and kind of forced my gaze into hers. Such was my enthusiasm, I guess. “Forces of chaos vs. the guerilla filmmaker!” I said. “Chaos vs who?” she said, already shaking her head in tired protest. I let go her shoulders and she walked on.
That was pretty easy shrug off though. Minutes later I was lying with my girlfriend in a double cot under the big canvas tent, eating grapes. She asked “Do you think we made it into the last shot?” (We were in this scene as extras)
“No, I don’t think so. We were in so many previous shots that it would have gotten repetitive. Besides, I turned and caught a glimpse of the camera, and it wasn't really pointed in our direction.”
Soon scrapes of metal on concrete announced the arrival of R. a cameramen, the one, in fact, on whom my future hopes are pinned. He came towards us dragging his camera and the folding picnic table to which it was attached. Of course, the director of this project is of a generation to which application of the word 'guerilla' is redundant, and R. had been folding and unfolding the legs of the picnic table to change camera angles for the entire shoot. He had his trademark mustache and cap, he seemed to have a chill thing going on. To my suprise, he came and laid down under our cot. In a few moments his hand appeared beside my shoulder, open. I understood, and gave him some grapes. It was chill. I basked a couple of minutes longer. My girlfriends face shone.
Then I mused outloud to R.- “wouldn’t it be great if you and I, with your mobile camera, made a kind of postapocalyptic film, where filmmakers are clotting together against the chaos that wants to break everything apart?” His hand appeared again. “I think it would be great if you gave me some more grapes.” My girlfriend and I laughed, we wouldn’t give up. Tonight, instead of grapes, they’rd be wine, or beer at least, and I would be clapping shoulders instead of placing hands on them, I would be grasping hands instead of placing grapes in them. And anyway, I thought, there’s always DV and the power of love.
posted by M.N.V.L. Local 1430 at 10:32 AM
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