hazy commercial days.
i am in the midst of working on a shoot that will wrap at 3AM. call was at 9. 18 hours. insane.
earlier, standing at the edge of the studio by the door, david carradine picks up some cheese and a strawberry, and looks up at me, muttering a noise like a soft "mmmmmm." and again. "mmm."
he then exits the building with a long cigarette.
the producer looks at me from afar and whispers, "rachel, follow him out there."
i quickly push open the door and he is making his way down the alley, through the gravely puddles, barefoot.
he deftly crosses the cobblestone street and wanders into the red star, a bar across from the studio.
meanwhile, they are ready to shoot.
calls go out on the walkie talkies, cumpled voices breaking the thick humid echoey air.
"we lost david into the red star."
and there he sat, two shots with no shoes.
twenty minutes later he emerges after being accosted by a bachelorette party.
he passes me and darkly breathes, "i got mobbed in there."
i say, knowing full well he entered the bar to be mobbed on purpose, "i think it was the bare feet."
"no," he says, with utter seriousness, " i don't think it was that."
he enters the studio once more, repeating his attention-getting lament.
"i was just mobbed."
as the door closed i could see all the faces turing to meet him and forcing their mouths into upturned crinkly laughter.
adam, the wardrobe assistant walks by.
"it must be nice to have people always pay attention to you."
it seems that is what actors perpetually desire.
earlier, standing at the edge of the studio by the door, david carradine picks up some cheese and a strawberry, and looks up at me, muttering a noise like a soft "mmmmmm." and again. "mmm."
he then exits the building with a long cigarette.
the producer looks at me from afar and whispers, "rachel, follow him out there."
i quickly push open the door and he is making his way down the alley, through the gravely puddles, barefoot.
he deftly crosses the cobblestone street and wanders into the red star, a bar across from the studio.
meanwhile, they are ready to shoot.
calls go out on the walkie talkies, cumpled voices breaking the thick humid echoey air.
"we lost david into the red star."
and there he sat, two shots with no shoes.
twenty minutes later he emerges after being accosted by a bachelorette party.
he passes me and darkly breathes, "i got mobbed in there."
i say, knowing full well he entered the bar to be mobbed on purpose, "i think it was the bare feet."
"no," he says, with utter seriousness, " i don't think it was that."
he enters the studio once more, repeating his attention-getting lament.
"i was just mobbed."
as the door closed i could see all the faces turing to meet him and forcing their mouths into upturned crinkly laughter.
adam, the wardrobe assistant walks by.
"it must be nice to have people always pay attention to you."
it seems that is what actors perpetually desire.