Warning: This journal is rated R, for restricted audiences. It contains naughty language and adult situations. If you are under 18, do not read without the consent of an adult.
Too much posse,
Monday, August 10, 1998: Production Day 16
The weekend went well, and although I didn't get much actual writing done (I have encountered a serious time-frame problem in Kill..., basically, the story makes absolutely no sense, so I'll need to figure that out- maybe Leela is involved in a car accident that has a lobotomical affect? Hmm... I did spend a lot of time reorganizing my notes and putting each scene on individual note cards, but then I left a few of them at the coffee shop on Franklin and I pretty much had to abandon the whole project. Fucky.) I have been entertaining a wonderful analogy for my second prong of attack, as PO (production overlord)- but you must bear with me, gentle reader, for it's not as original as I might hope: A Chess game. Eh? Yes, I know, very clever. Here are the specifics: Production assistants are, of course, pawns in the game. Moving up the ranks, we find various minions of production, the crew as it were, filling in the ranks of knights and bishops the little castle things. The royal family roles of King and Queen are filled then with the Talent and creative cast (DP, director, writer, etc), who provide the most crucial elements of the game. (Never mind the whole opponent/white vs. black/other player element, as that doesn't really fit the grand analogy, I'm afraid.) And what do we know about chess? We know that no single piece can mate the King without the help of a second piece (of either contingent!). Thus a pawn, as lowly and disposable as they may be, can in rare instance close the game. This probably has a name in chess circles, but I will at this point refer to it as the Pawn's gambit- gambit being a very professional chess word that most people don't understand, yet respect as the vocabulary of Grandmasters and the like. And who, slower amongst my readership might wonder, is this spectacular pawn that shall gambit such a devastating attack on the Royal Court, mating into check? Why the indefatigable Lloyd Rice, of course. I had a brief conversation with my fellow PA Jerry this morning over walkie detail, and dropped a few hints at my plan. He did not take to my insinuations as quickly as I had hoped, but perhaps my under-my-breath-conspiratorial-jail-speak did not resonate clearly in his cheese and beer muddled intellect. "It's on," I whispered to him as I handed over his headset. I was careful not to make eye contact; our liaison must be carefully obscured, as the straying eyes of our superiors might catch wind of our insurrection and snuff its first embers. "Keep quiet, fire will come when the black bird flies. Know the word," and I turned away from him, figuring that would get the point across quite clearly. Of course it didn't, and the next thing you know he is broadcasting over every walkie channel trying to ask me what the hell I was talking about. By the time I finally wrangled him behind a set wall and smacked him about a bit (not too hard, I didn't want to frighten him, but I realize my ever-intimidating build shall be a crucial component in my power play), the 2nd AD was breathing down my back, asking of me numerous and clearly busy-work tasks, wondering what we were doing arguing and what not. Fate, brilliant angel she be, however, intervened in my favor once again as our headliner, John Malkovich arrived on set. My nemesis danced away, ready to cater and bootshine and suck up to everyone necessary, and I was able to breathe deep and continue reprimanding my first-mate. But it seemed he too wanted a piece of the sucking action by the trailers, and had since disappeared. Oh well. I still have my queen, and her faithful doggy, and I know together we will accomplish what we desire. Note to self: clean up couch area some before Garret starts coming down really hard. Million dollar idea: take one of those dog sweaters, and sew little pouches that could hold remotes and portable phones. When the phone rings our you want to change the channel, just call for ol' poochy.
