Welcome to the horror show.
A. called me up at 7:35 this morning (the fucking bastard) to let me know that V. was going to fire J.
Of course, it required little or no further prompting from myself to determine that he was in fact lying as per usual (although he no doubt considers it exaggeration or perhaps hypothesis). She is actually being given one more chance to fall in line, according to V., and if she fails then she will be let go.
All this drama over a meaningless short film.
The evening went down a little something like this. I arrived a little late and met "the entire cast." Now, I have chosen to put double-quotes around the phrase "the entire cast" because on this occasion "the entire cast" excluded the stripper who is to play my girlfriend and the fellow who will play my best friend, Kevin. Ideally, the latter would be present since it is with him that I have most of my scenes. Also, our director showed up a good half-hour to forty minutes late.
It was at this time that I learned there had in fact been no casting changes since our last script-reading. This fascinated me because I was sitting in A.'s kitchen when he supposedly picked up the phone and told V. to cast M. as the goth chick and allow our cameraman to play the role opposite me (which he read like a champ). I started wondering whether A. just picked up the phone, dialed a Pizza Hut, and then pretended to be speaking to V.
In front of everyone, I caught his attention and stated in a quiet, accusatory fashion, "You're powerless." Without context, none of the bystanders had any clue what I was talking about. A., however, knew exactly to what I was referring and gave his usual dim-witted, incompetant shrug before taking another sip of his Pale Ale (A., who has given up alchohol and cigarettes, spent the entire evening drinking and smoking).
So, we did an initial read through with A. performing the role opposite me. As per usual, I have some difficulty with my lines which are largely deadpan and reactions to Kevin, whose delivery is completely different every reading since the actual actor is never present. But what's far worse is that the original actress planned for the goth role is as bad as I predicted, if not worse (considering how she stumbled over the word "machismo"). And, the actress playing our Southern hick cop gives a completely flat, not even vaguely Southern delivery. At this rate, I wasn't even worried about looking bad because there was far worse.
J., the Assistant Director, then broke us up into key scenes and sent us off to rehearse in various sections of the house. A., despite his grumbling, was forced to go down in the basement with me and continue reading the Kevin role. We had gone through my big scene once or twice and were brainstorming some ideas when J. came down to join us.
What ensued was both extremely painful and very entertaining. She started giving me tips on how my character should be performed (suggesting I deliver the first line in the film "as though [I was] grabbing [my] crotch"). But what's more, she began to insist that I tone down the one bit of over-the-top comedy I have. Tone it down to a degree that it was no longer funny and ceased to be in the spirit of the entire joke (and possibly the film, since over-the-top performances abound). A. disagreed with her. She disagreed with him. And I shut up, leaned back, and watched two people argue without actually arguing. The Assistant Director and the Writer were tap-dancing around ripping each other's throats out. It was both beautiful and terrible to see: the awkward silences, the suggestions of how it "should be played," the subtle power struggle between creator and implementor.
And I did not even bother to volunteer that I actually wrote the particular joke in question (after A. asked me what I would recommend to punch up the script).
After she departed, encouraging us to read through it again, A. went off about what a bitch she was. He was unable to continue reading because he was fuming and talking about "dropping out of the project." Meanwhile, I'm thinking "what the hell did he get me involved in?" I only agreed to this because of him. We headed upstairs and he grabbed V. in the backyard.
"Uh oh. There's a fire." That was B., the guy playing a reporter, commenting as we watched A. raving at V. through the kitchen window.
When they returned, there was another read through, many threats about how we were all to be "off book" in two weeks time, and some wardrobe discussions. Things mellowed out as people started talking about pornography, bukkake and the like (as inevitably happens around V., his smut-loving girlfriend, and their theater-folk friends). People were escorted out of the house and I stayed behind chatting with A., L., and this guy B. about what was going on.
It seems that V. is completely passive-aggressive in his handling of things (not an ideal trait for a director). Much as he initially agreed with A. regarding the casting changes but then did nothing, he is agreeing with everything his A.D. says but planning on contradicting her at some unspecified later point. She is already outside her purview, arguably, by deciding how lines should be delivered when she has no concept of the real director's vision. She also has demonstrated, up to this point, no sense of humor whatsoever, which seems an issue when directing a comedy. Regardless, the job of an A.D. is largely an organizational one; she shouldn't be squashing delivery of lines and arguing that actors playing cops not carry guns because of her personal issues.
I learned from A. that V. is still insisting that he will be casting the cameraman as Keith, as per my suggestion. But, instead of telling his assistant director this, he is allowing her to continue operating under the assumption that her own friend has been cast (despite failing to show to two script-readings). J. is even setting up a special rehearsal for just me and this other fellow, the guy who (according to V.) will not get the role. It's completely puerile.
Also, it was generally agreed among the four of us that the script is not strong enough, the acting is still too flat, and there currently is not enough time scheduled for further rehearsal or script rewrites. It was agreed that things are falling into the shitter. And it was agreed that V. is deluding himself because this is never going to get accepted into the eight different festivals he has lined up.
Overall, a big mess filled with unnecessary drama.
And I think standing in the cold all night exasperated my own illness as I seem to be a font of congestion.
Of course, it required little or no further prompting from myself to determine that he was in fact lying as per usual (although he no doubt considers it exaggeration or perhaps hypothesis). She is actually being given one more chance to fall in line, according to V., and if she fails then she will be let go.
All this drama over a meaningless short film.
The evening went down a little something like this. I arrived a little late and met "the entire cast." Now, I have chosen to put double-quotes around the phrase "the entire cast" because on this occasion "the entire cast" excluded the stripper who is to play my girlfriend and the fellow who will play my best friend, Kevin. Ideally, the latter would be present since it is with him that I have most of my scenes. Also, our director showed up a good half-hour to forty minutes late.
It was at this time that I learned there had in fact been no casting changes since our last script-reading. This fascinated me because I was sitting in A.'s kitchen when he supposedly picked up the phone and told V. to cast M. as the goth chick and allow our cameraman to play the role opposite me (which he read like a champ). I started wondering whether A. just picked up the phone, dialed a Pizza Hut, and then pretended to be speaking to V.
In front of everyone, I caught his attention and stated in a quiet, accusatory fashion, "You're powerless." Without context, none of the bystanders had any clue what I was talking about. A., however, knew exactly to what I was referring and gave his usual dim-witted, incompetant shrug before taking another sip of his Pale Ale (A., who has given up alchohol and cigarettes, spent the entire evening drinking and smoking).
So, we did an initial read through with A. performing the role opposite me. As per usual, I have some difficulty with my lines which are largely deadpan and reactions to Kevin, whose delivery is completely different every reading since the actual actor is never present. But what's far worse is that the original actress planned for the goth role is as bad as I predicted, if not worse (considering how she stumbled over the word "machismo"). And, the actress playing our Southern hick cop gives a completely flat, not even vaguely Southern delivery. At this rate, I wasn't even worried about looking bad because there was far worse.
J., the Assistant Director, then broke us up into key scenes and sent us off to rehearse in various sections of the house. A., despite his grumbling, was forced to go down in the basement with me and continue reading the Kevin role. We had gone through my big scene once or twice and were brainstorming some ideas when J. came down to join us.
What ensued was both extremely painful and very entertaining. She started giving me tips on how my character should be performed (suggesting I deliver the first line in the film "as though [I was] grabbing [my] crotch"). But what's more, she began to insist that I tone down the one bit of over-the-top comedy I have. Tone it down to a degree that it was no longer funny and ceased to be in the spirit of the entire joke (and possibly the film, since over-the-top performances abound). A. disagreed with her. She disagreed with him. And I shut up, leaned back, and watched two people argue without actually arguing. The Assistant Director and the Writer were tap-dancing around ripping each other's throats out. It was both beautiful and terrible to see: the awkward silences, the suggestions of how it "should be played," the subtle power struggle between creator and implementor.
And I did not even bother to volunteer that I actually wrote the particular joke in question (after A. asked me what I would recommend to punch up the script).
After she departed, encouraging us to read through it again, A. went off about what a bitch she was. He was unable to continue reading because he was fuming and talking about "dropping out of the project." Meanwhile, I'm thinking "what the hell did he get me involved in?" I only agreed to this because of him. We headed upstairs and he grabbed V. in the backyard.
"Uh oh. There's a fire." That was B., the guy playing a reporter, commenting as we watched A. raving at V. through the kitchen window.
When they returned, there was another read through, many threats about how we were all to be "off book" in two weeks time, and some wardrobe discussions. Things mellowed out as people started talking about pornography, bukkake and the like (as inevitably happens around V., his smut-loving girlfriend, and their theater-folk friends). People were escorted out of the house and I stayed behind chatting with A., L., and this guy B. about what was going on.
It seems that V. is completely passive-aggressive in his handling of things (not an ideal trait for a director). Much as he initially agreed with A. regarding the casting changes but then did nothing, he is agreeing with everything his A.D. says but planning on contradicting her at some unspecified later point. She is already outside her purview, arguably, by deciding how lines should be delivered when she has no concept of the real director's vision. She also has demonstrated, up to this point, no sense of humor whatsoever, which seems an issue when directing a comedy. Regardless, the job of an A.D. is largely an organizational one; she shouldn't be squashing delivery of lines and arguing that actors playing cops not carry guns because of her personal issues.
I learned from A. that V. is still insisting that he will be casting the cameraman as Keith, as per my suggestion. But, instead of telling his assistant director this, he is allowing her to continue operating under the assumption that her own friend has been cast (despite failing to show to two script-readings). J. is even setting up a special rehearsal for just me and this other fellow, the guy who (according to V.) will not get the role. It's completely puerile.
Also, it was generally agreed among the four of us that the script is not strong enough, the acting is still too flat, and there currently is not enough time scheduled for further rehearsal or script rewrites. It was agreed that things are falling into the shitter. And it was agreed that V. is deluding himself because this is never going to get accepted into the eight different festivals he has lined up.
Overall, a big mess filled with unnecessary drama.
And I think standing in the cold all night exasperated my own illness as I seem to be a font of congestion.