Behind the Scenes of "Abandoned in the Dark"

Behind the scenes of the anthology film

“Abandoned in the Dark”

When I agreed to have four stories from my book Abandoned in the Dark adapted into a feature-length anthology film, I tried to envision how the project would come together, from script to screen, from premiere to marketing and distribution. I couldn’t wait to see all the elements come to fruition. For I’ve always been a movie aficionado—a junkie of sorts, one might say—ravenously searching the mainstream and the Indie scene for the most original, imaginative, and provocative films, films that would leave indelible impressions.

June 2014. About to go behind the scenes of “Abandoned in the Dark,” an opportunity of a lifetime. I promised myself I would keep a diary. Nothing comprehensive, of course, just quick random notes. I wanted to glance back one day and relive this momentous occasion. Given the fast-paced nature of a film set, I knew such an undertaking wouldn’t be as easy as I imagined. Notwithstanding any unforeseen obstacles, I was determined to record what I could and share it with curious readers.

My notes are not arranged in a particular pattern, just the way in which they were originally composed.  I remember jotting down a word or two when a thought crystallized, then, upon sorting the details, giving them a semblance of order. Here are my recollections.

Day 1

A humid day, the mercury in the thermometer rising fast. En route to the set—a cabin in the woods—I ponder my good fortune.  Not yet halfway to the location, I couldn’t stop imagining how my life would be if I could work in the film business with some degree of regularity. Going to a job that makes me feel fully alive and inspired every day, working alongside dynamic, creative people whose art functions as a unique form of self-expression and vitality—that’s what I’d been dreaming of.  I couldn’t stop mumbling to myself, “I’m going to the set.” I repeated those lines over and over again, the words reverberating in my head.  Ascending the steep hill toward the cabin, I realized how appropriate the setting would be for today’s segment. Numerous horror films had been shot in cabins, and now, based on the pictures I’d seen months before, of the cabin and the surrounding area, I knew the place would give me plenty to think about.

I arrived at the house nine-thirtyish. I was the first one there, cast and crew not far behind. Walking to the front door, I took in the eye-pleasing panorama. Gnats swarmed me, irritated me, though not enough to diminish my zeal. I noticed an old truck in the distance, buried underneath trees and brush, and an eerie-looking shed nearby.  Any horror fan would have appreciated the layout. The car and the shed gave the impression that the exterior had been thought up and crafted by a set designer. Not the case. Nevertheless the whole scene was almost perfect—imagery to be used, no doubt, in a future story.  I entered the screened porch by way of a slim wooden door and knocked on the main door, waited a few seconds, and was greeted by the resident. After exchanging salutations, I was given the grand tour. And what a tour it was. I’d never set foot in or laid eyes on such a unique structure. I felt transported back to the ’80s, to the set of Friday the 13th.

Actors and crew arrived. Everybody seemed in good spirits, ready and eager to begin our journey. As the cinematographer set up his equipment and discussed the day’s shots with the director, I had the pleasure of meeting and speaking with the actors, all of whom were easygoing and jovial. We chatted about movies, actors they’d worked with, and the expectations of the day(s) ahead. Then, while stopping by the craft services area and the makeup station, I came across props, which left me thinking about the scenes in which they would be used.   

Surrounded by artistic people in a creative atmosphere, I felt my adrenaline jump a few notches. The equipment—the camera, the lights, the rigs, the booms—impressed on me a sense of high art, of purpose, of renewal. Life’s monotonies had gone asunder, I was entranced. One of the rewards of being on set, for me at least, was the simple fact that almost everyone I spoke with was a fan of dark films. We all had been inspired and guided artistically by the same cinematic treasures.  And most of us on the crew, even non-technical members, expressed a desire to pursue the film business, whether by acting, writing, producing, directing—whatever capacity. Having those common goals, in my opinion, bonded us.  The truth is, I felt more chemistry with the cast and crew than I’d ever felt with some of the people I’ve worked with over the years.  Maybe that’s because creative people share a chemistry one cannot find in the ordinary humdrum work world.  Or maybe that’s because I’d hoped my first major film would be transformative from beginning to end. Who knows? Speculation was unimportant now.  My priority: living in the present.

The cinematographer came to the set equipped with a clapperboard, on which would be displayed title, scene number, director, cameraman, date, and other pertinent information. This was my first time seeing the marker up close, and it brought with it a level of seriousness, professionalism, and realism.  It seemed to me as if by simply having specific items on set and observing the way the crew handled them and respected them, that for the duration of our time together we would be operating at a high standard.  The production company even had director’s chairs—three of them—with their logo on the backrest. Nice touch.

The first shot, a driving scene, got under way around 11:45 a.m.  We had to move to the bottom of the steep hill we’d climbed earlier.  Camera set up across the street from what appeared to be a new house which had just been moved in to.  Following the first few takes, the homeowner came out and asked what was happening.  A crew member explained the situation, and everything turned out all right.  Moving along, we faced minor distractions—passing cars, planes flying, a miscellany of outdoor trifles. I was amazed that the slightest sound could disrupt our progress. That plane flying overhead, for example, just at this juncture, could be a nuisance to the sound department.  Several times the boom operator said “hold for plane” while waiting for the aircraft to get out of range.

Rain fell sporadically during the morning hours. The crew coped as best they could, never faltering, never slowing down, demonstrating an exemplary work ethic. Though we’d only just begun production, I felt that I’d already learned a considerable amount. The number of takes became a source of endless wonder. Several were necessary, depending on the scene. Even when a take came off flawlessly, the director requested it be shot from various angles.  A consummate professional in every facet, he knew exactly what he wanted and how to motivate everyone to get it. I could tell he expected the best from the conglomeration, himself included.   

Occasional downtime between shots came in handy. I watched the performers rehearse. The crew had to reset lights and camera, and, in the interim, the actors maintained their concentration.  Some parts called for more intensity than others. After running through a particularly heavy segment, actors joked, made small talk, or walked around in silence. Then, as if not a second had lapsed, snapped back into character at the sound of “action.” Like magic. Magnificent close-ups and point-of-view shots were filmed from every part of the house.

 I moved around the set, came across a few people. Parents of one of the actors came by.  Nice folks. Though they seemed to find being on set stimulating at first, as the day wore on, waiting around had apparently become tedious. One of them yielded to fatigue. I noticed him yawning, slouching in his chair. Maybe he realized that filmmaking is neither as fast-paced nor as glamorous as the media make it out to be. I tried to absorb as much as I could by watching, listening, asking questions. 

Lunch break on the back deck allowed for good conversation; the view from the balcony serene: something to be painted, framed, put on a wall. Fueled by a decent meal, all dove into work. Anticipation soared.  Second round of shooting took place on a picturesque loft.  Big lights were set up in the dark room.  Floor packed with people. Tight area, room became stuffier by the minute. Nobody complained. It was thrilling to be just off camera, out of shot, observing the nuances of performance art, the actor preparing for a challenging delivery.  A dramatic scene started rolling.  The power of the actor’s emotions poured out of him, the timbre of which caused my little hairs to spring up like porcupine needles.  He worked the scene skillfully, his various methods on display. All applauded his last reading. The young girl, too, showed some chops. Filming wrapped around 8:00 p.m. Then I went out to dinner with the production company and a major horror icon, Kane Hodder, who had a meaty part. An eventful day from start to finish, that’s for sure.

Day 2

Indoors today, a beautiful air-conditioned office building. Employees seemed curious about having a movie shooting on premises; they were kind, cordial, and politely inquisitive. Cast and crew arrived charged up. The office, our set, was gigantic, bigger than any room in my house, no overstatement. While the camera crew prepared for the first shot, the actors got their wardrobe together, grabbed a quick bite, and rehearsed.  For rehearsing and makeup we used the capacious conference room down the hall.  The kitchen, sizable and cozy, served as our craft services area. Overall, a very self-contained set. We tried to be respectful of the office workers.

The cinematographer set up a monitor, a decent-sized flat-screen TV, which made it convenient for everyone to see the dailies. I marveled at the picture quality—rich color, superb detail and definition. I kept thinking: If this was how the movie was going to look after post-production, audiences would be pleased.  I couldn’t believe that a small-budget indie film could be so sharp and refined.  The more I saw, the more I heard, the more ecstatic I became. The little kid inside me was overjoyed to be on this cinematic playground.

Hours passed. No hassles from the office workers. No difficulties at all, scene after scene executed without missteps.  By now everyone had found a groove. Passion and enthusiasm remained piqued.  I had only missed one scene early on—a camera panning the office. No concern of mine, technical allowances had to be made. Too many people in the vicinity was not conducive to the wide shot.  Some of us had stepped out, making life easier for the rest.  I used this time wisely, conversing with a supporting actress, picking her brain for information and wisdom, learning what I could on the fly, scribbling furiously anything that struck a chord.

Quick lunch.  No one lingered.  Time constraints must have played a part. The day consisted of running dialogue mostly. The actors were equal to the task, delivering their lines adroitly, seasoned pros all of them.  A few funny outtakes happened here and there, the footage of which will probably end up in the gag reel. The AC had to be turned on and off at intervals to accommodate the boom operator. I was receiving a crash-course in sound.

The last shot of the day underwent minor changes. One of the actors made a great suggestion, and the director slipped it in.  At day’s end, everyone helped gather the equipment and put the office back in order. The whole crew, I could tell, was in synch, collaborating like longtime friends.  I told myself that if I ever worked on a film set again, I wanted to be a part of a team so graceful. The atmosphere was infectious. Ready for more, onward to the next location.

Day 2: continued

Meet-up time eight o’ clock. Everyone gathered at an eerie industrial office building, the perfect setting for a horror/thriller/suspense picture. I strode the long halls, climbed up and down the shadowy staircases, probed the dark corners, my hypersensitive ears attuned to mysterious noises—the building settling, for instance, or infinitesimal creaks coming from unseen nooks and crannies. Unlike this morning’s location, this dwelling was deserted. Woods barricaded much of the property.

The makeup chair, situated in front of the interior set, provided a firsthand look of the artist at work. I had fun watching the transformations and asking more questions than I had a right to.  What can I say, I was intrigued.  I paid attention whenever I could, mindful of not being a pest. One tidbit I picked up: It’s important to remove the shine from the actor’s face without losing their actual skin tone. I watched the artist applying makeup, and I’m glad I did.  Details galore.

I made a habit of being near all the equipment, examining it, trying to determine what function each item served, wondering how a compact camera captured such stunning visuals.  The cinematographer and his crew, disarming and fastidious as they were, might have thought my behavior unusual. Not my intention to get in the way, but I couldn’t resist constant analysis.  Lucky for me, though, nobody fussed.  I wouldn’t have been chagrined if they spoke up.   

Later, a lead actress explained her methods of preparation—how she gets into character, how she sustains her focus, how, with minimal effort, she turns her emotions on and off.  I appreciated her self-appraisal. She had all her lines memorized, including those of her costar. As always, the talent was top-notch.  Everybody knew their business and pushed each other, without being competitive.  I was surrounded by top performers.

A real police car was on set. The vehicle had been rented through a professional movie car company, and came equipped with just about all the specifications of a modern cruiser.  The owner of the company told humorous stories.  He had worked on films with whopping budgets, renting thousands of cars per negotiation. I think he mentioned having contributed to Spider Man, a production which demolished a staggering number of cars, more than one would find in a traffic jam on a major highway.  I don’t remember the total number of cars, but my jaw sagged when I heard the astonishing figure.

Shooting continued late into the chilly evening.  Some of the crew, myself included, bundled up.  I became frustrated: The colder temperatures stiffened my back and then spasms ushered in a long bout of discomfort.  I had no choice but to take a break in my truck, heat loosening the tightness, missing some of the action as a result.  As it turned out, the majority of the exteriors were filmed inside the police car, where the action could be neither seen nor heard.  A small consolation, I guess, and boy did I need one, I couldn’t stand missing anything. But I shook off the pain, persevered. The actress, wearing a short-sleeved shirt, must have been cold, though she said she wasn’t.  She endured, she was tougher than I was.

We wrapped around 2:30 a.m.  Much accomplished this evening.  All night I kept reflecting on how surreal this shoot had been. The places I’d seen, the people I’d met, the new things I’d learned. Once or twice, when alone and with my mind adrift, I couldn’t believe this movie was in production, that I, some ordinary blue-collar worker having less than a decade of writing experience, had somehow found himself amidst a significant breakthrough in the film business, and grateful to have found gifted people capable of bringing my visions to life.

Day 3

A pristine office building. We had full access to an immaculate lobby, two floors; a gaggle of extras on set.  A friend of mine from the Internet came to serve as an extra; her daughter, who had agreed to a small part, accompanied her.  I saw them as soon as I got there, and said hello.  We expressed our excitement and I wished them both luck.  All the extras were patient, cooperative, and psyching themselves up to hit their marks. Waiting around is part-and-parcel of any shoot, but nobody seemed bothered to be on standby.

Kane Hodder arrived on time. Not only was he flexible and well prepared, he made a point of going around the room and presenting himself.  No inflated ego, no airs, no attitude, no demands. From what I could tell, he had a hearty disposition.  When people come to work in this manner, it elevates the mood, which obviously happened here today.  I could feel the energy in the room, the same energy—the euphoria—one feels just before their favorite band comes on stage; or the sensation one experiences when, at the movies, the room darkens, the music rises, the opening scene lights the screen, and you free yourself, your mind, for escapism.

The actors had good ideas. The director listened astutely, incorporating suggestions as he saw fit. I took pictures. I watched, listened, digested as much knowledge as humanly possible.  Though I wasn’t asked to, I helped the production assistants where I could, checking to see if the actors needed anything.  People kept asking me if I was proud of myself for having my stories in the midst of an adaptation.  Not unduly, no. To clarify, sure, I was in a very favorable position, my hard work receiving attention and accolades.  Rather than getting caught up in myself or in developing an ego (which I’ve never had), I chose to consider how I could educate myself and improve, improve, improve.  Pride has become a hackneyed word, anyway, having lost its luster over time.  Better and more substantive and meaningful than pride, I felt harmony.

Outstanding day. Nice pacing. Quality conversations interspersed among the steady workload.  One particular scene came off as a surprise: Actors flubbed their lines.  The crew reset the scene and ran through it again, getting the take they wanted.  One of the actors asked his costar to do a few more takes, and during those takes he purposely mocked him, extracting from it a good laugh. It worked three times.    

No egos to contend with, no laziness, no arrogance or pomposity.  Everybody was pitching in and making a contribution to our independent film.  I doubted that any other shoot could be so pleasurable.  Our camaraderie, our commitment to excellence, was paying off. With the day drawing to a close, all readied themselves for the next shift.

Day 3: continued

Back at the industrial building where we shot the exterior police car scenes; tonight, the focus shifted to interiors. The stage, a very small office, had one sizable window, the bottom panel of which could be cranked open to circulate the air, and that helped. A stuffy room, probably made warmer by all the equipment.  The nearby wall, glass from floor to ceiling, gave the crew and bystanders a nice view of the action.  I watched several takes from behind the large pane. The office itself couldn’t hold more than four or five at a time. Between the camera, booms, lights, cables, monitor, and miscellaneous materials, quarters were cramped.  Everyone, myself included, had to find a decent vantage point and stay out of the way.  For the most part, I was able to stand alongside the set, witnessing hours of fine acting from all performers.  Man, what a show.  Nothing compares to seeing an actor emote live, in the raw, the world around them melting away, becoming silent as a calm early morning, just before sunrise. In those glorious moments, actors seem regal.

Being so close to the action was stimulating beyond words. I could see everything. Any closer, I would have been a part of the scene. Throughout the shoot I had been closer than I thought I could get, just out of frame.  

The evening ran smoothly. One actress had come a long distance to shoot a very brief scene, a scene which, on screen, would last maybe thirty seconds to a minute, although filming it consumed several hours. She and I spoke briefly about the film and the projects each of us had in the works. Then off to work she went.  After she finished and headed home, business as usual on location.  A police consultant monitored the technical aspects of one of the characters, a policeman.   Production team paid close attention to detail, which I respected and admired.  Nothing thus far had been done shoddily. The anthology was in extremely competent hands. I never once felt the slightest consternation, only awe, as well as burgeoning affection for everyone and everything.

Day 4

Production commenced early, in a master bedroom, the whole scene scheduled to take place in only that room.  The tone of this particular scene taught me a great deal about characterizations, timing, and the fine details which often get overlooked.  Two characters, a husband and wife, have just gotten out of bed and are about to begin a typical day. Though the dialogue is sprinkled with some tender undertones, the audience has limited time to become acquainted with the characters driving the story forward.  We, the audience, have to believe, in a span of minutes, that these characters have been married a while; we have to be convinced of their chemistry. Sounds easy, right? Just act casual? Pretend you’re married? I thoroughly enjoyed watching the actors give the scene the necessary layers.  Some might say I was easily impressed.  Well, why not be? I couldn’t help being tickled by each and every nuance.  I was, and always have been, sensitive in regard to the peculiarities of filmmaking and storytelling.  That’s part of the fun, to my mind.

I had been asked to head over to the other location and organize a few things, so I didn’t get to watch the rest of the bedroom scene—a bit of a letdown, I must say, but I was there to help.  How strange it was to have spent only an hour or so getting to know the actress, who would finish her morning’s work and catch the train back to NYC.  She seemed very nice, very bright, and very professional, and it would have been a pleasure to have seen her create the character. What I saw of her performance, I thought was extremely effective, plausible, heartfelt.  Her costar played off her deftly. Before I left, I shook her hand and thanked her for her contribution.

The next phase of shooting took place in a two-floor haunted attraction.  Sets had been built inside.  A dressing room equipped with mirrors and storage was made available to the actors.  Three scenes from two of the short films were on the docket for this location, no exteriors.  All the sets and stages had been built by an expert, the owner of the attraction. I felt as if the cast and crew and I were about to spend the day on the lot of a major studio, that’s how immense and detailed the building was.

One of the shots took place in an elevator shaft, with the elevator car itself lowered to the first floor.  The actor was scripted to lie prone—dead—on top of the car, among cables and mechanisms.  Unfortunately, I didn’t get to witness the shooting of this scene either, as I had been sent to organize an interview with Kane Hodder. This involved meeting the interviewer, finding a suitable place to stage it, and making sure that all conditions were adequate.  This assignment pulled me away from the activities, but I didn’t mind, I was on hand to be of service.

The unexpected can often be humorous.  I couldn’t help laughing at the family of the little girl whose job it was to portray a sick, bedridden child.  Arriving at the location, the family thought that the child should just lie in bed and that cameras should roll, without any rehearsal or preparations.  Funny situation.  I explained to the parents, in great detail, how the scene would be set up, what would happen.  They seemed puzzled, though they eventually understood.  Kind, down-to-earth people, but amusing.  A hospital room, including bed, IV, oxygen tanks, and curtain, had been built in the lobby. Once again, the actors, all veterans, hit their targets masterfully. Kane Hodder was interviewed at the interior entrance of the haunted house.  I listened to the questions and responses, enjoying it thoroughly.

Another scene was filmed in a small room, which on camera would serve as the character’s maintenance office. I was on hand to witness each chilling take, one after another. The lead actor came up with an idea or two of his own, both of which were taken under serious consideration and subsequently used.  Then came a highlight—a surprise. Kane Hodder, whose career I’d followed for many years, called me over.  He wanted to practice his lines for an upcoming segment. There were two doors on this section of the set, one of which we went through.  Standing a few feet apart, in front of a steep staircase, he recited his dialogue.  What a moment. I knew his portfolio well.  I’d seen him portray characters with heavy makeup or masks.  For “Abandoned in the Dark,” he would be performing without being heavily made-up, conveying intensity with his voice and his imposing physique.  I relished the chance to observe his well-honed craft of thirty-plus years.  I felt honored to have written for him a part which differed from some of his other roles… and he left me in awe.  At day’s end, Kane hung around and chatted with everyone, meeting and greeting, signing merchandise.  He autographed my memorabilia, and let me take pictures with him.  He and a couple of his cast-mates wrapped today. And just like that he was off.  A fantastic finish, I didn’t want this ride to end.

Day 5

All gathered at a convenience store located on a side street. We used both interior and exterior.  Before setting up, one of the cameramen showed me some footage of the film that he had put together on his phone, just a few quick clips, kind of like a very short teaser trailer.  Sharp-looking video, artfully made.

Two of the actors had flown in from Florida.  Once they arrived on set and settled in, makeup was applied and instructions were given. The first scene of the night, a driving scene, required a camera to be mounted on the car. Having watched many behind-the-scenes extras on DVDs, I’d seen cameras attached to cars and equipment. But this was my first time seeing for myself how it’s done.  Interesting how it works, amazing in its accuracy and efficiency.  They drove the car around the block a few times, gaining enough footage for the director to review and approve. The weather cooperated. No rain, no wind, no threats looming in the sky. The night was ours.

Much time spent inside the store. Shots took place at the counter and by the large storefront window.  Three actors performed in one small area next to the cashier, numerous shots from various angles.  Lots of subtleties to capture. You’d be surprised at the complexities of piecing together a brief and seemingly undramatic scene. Every scene, regardless of how small, matters—one of many lessons learned.

The latter part of the evening was spent outside, using the main entrance for a couple of longish scenes, in which the couple is bickering while parked in front of the store. At one point the boom was placed through the sunroof of the car, a metal stand anchoring it in place on the ground, a nifty set up. Spectators gathered later in the evening. I could tell they liked being close to the action, watching the cameras roll and the actors perform.  Gosh, they were good. We did not have a monitor on set, for there was no space.  Having been so close to every scene, not viewing the dailies became inconsequential. The night moved along swimmingly. Between setups, I talked with the actors, took pictures, asked questions.  A policeman stopped by the set as we were finishing up, but he didn’t give us a hard time. Soon thereafter, all dispersed. Tonight went by in a flash, too fast, really.

Day 6

Location: a big house in an affluent residential area.  The homeowners were on their way out as I came in.  They’d planned on staying elsewhere for the night, allowing the crew the run of the property.  All the windows had been covered with black plastic bags; we had to shoot night scenes during the day, hence the cover-up.  The house was huge, an ornate staircase at its core, where some scenes would be filmed.  The rooms were big. The kitchen alone would dwarf my living room, no exaggeration.  This house suited the characters and the story we were trying to establish.  How generous of the owners to let us use their house.

We worked on the final short film in the anthology, which depicted a married couple having a heated argument, darkness ensuing gradually.  The energy in the room was palpable; the director orchestrated the scene, instructed the cast and crew.  This particular shot was tension-filled.  Getting close to the actors, watching their body language, hearing and feeling the atmosphere—nothing short of mesmerizing.  Take after take flowed skillfully and methodically. I couldn’t get enough, the actors had completely embodied their characters. My heart thumped with each word, each movement. I was feeling a sweet hypnotic rush. If I could bottle that sensation, it would sell for millions; it would be the best drug on earth.  I overdosed.  I felt giddy, then came clarity:  I had written stories, and those stories had somehow, miraculously, brought all this talent together. My work had a purpose after all. All the years of waking up at 5:00 a.m., sitting at the typewriter, punching out story after story, revision after revision, never knowing if my ideas would ever connect with anyone, let alone a filmmaker, had finally been rewarded.  Though as a writer I’d faced, and continue to face, more than my share of rejection, this movie was the ultimate acceptance.  Endless gratitude to my constituents.

Hours later an elaborate dinner buffet was served. Everyone engaged in casual conversation with a cast/crew mate.  I spent time pondering the goings-on and taking notes whenever I could sneak them in, as well as mingling with my collaborators, none of whom ever failed to have something worthwhile to say, or a good laugh, or a quick anecdote.  We all talked, laughed, enjoyed each other’s company.

Shooting went on late. Supporting actors had small scenes. We worked in two houses. The neighbor’s house served as a secondary set.  Like in other scenes, actors had only a few minutes on screen yet filming their parts took a while.  They, too, were skilled.  I was glad that the segments were not rushed, no shortcuts taken.  Not once, at any time, had I cringed, or harbored frustration at how the film was being made.

A couple of the scenes showing a husband and wife quarreling were quite physical. The actors communicated and rehearsed, careful of each other’s safety.  The actress had to get grabbed, restrained, pulled, dragged, and thrown to the floor—demanding for even the most seasoned pro. Fortunately, she never griped. Neither did the actor, whose scene called for him to get slapped several times. Between takes both actors applied ice to the roughened areas.  A mattress, placed on the floor, provided a soft landing for the actress.  The lead actor was very experienced in stunt work and in the martial arts, so he worked closely with the director to choreograph the violence. The scenes left me breathless. A prop gun was used; it looked real, felt real. No blanks fired.  Concerning the physicality of the scene, the performers did not hold back, exerting the means to create an authentic confrontation.  The hostility, the tears, the fear—a superb assemblage.

Production ran until morning. All in need of a boost, a coffee run had been made overnight. Sunrise soon came, but daylight could not penetrate the darkened glass.  Much of the house had been used, the layout ideal for our twisted tale.  The camera crew exploited many angles. Focus never waned. No complaints.  No whining.  Fatigue wrestled me down.  I closed my eyes for a short time and missed the final frame. I was mad at myself. When I opened my eyes, crew members walked past me, teasing me for having napped through the last shot.  I laughed it off.  In a few hours we would begin shooting at another set. Approximately eight o’ clock. Time to go home and rest.

Day 7

Cast and crew reconvened at a tall, multistory office building, several floors up. We had an entire floor to ourselves.  Today, the final day of production, sunny and hot, air conditioning off, a circumstance beyond our control, but everyone toughed it out.  I met new extras, some of whom were big fans of the horror/thriller theme.  We discussed our favorite films, writers, etc.  The room across the hall from the set, a sprawling, eerie, unoccupied section, would have suited our film had we commissioned it. Abandoned offices, to my mind, are creepy by nature, always showing up in nightmares, at least in mine.  An actor followed me into the area, joked that he could sense I was in deep thought, possibly coming up with a story about the room. I chuckled. He was right, my muse had been aroused for the umpteenth time since the beginning.

I assisted where possible, calling the actors to the set and working with the extras.  Being in a warm, uncomfortable location, I did my best to give everyone their space, though I made myself available. One of the offices, a corner office, was too tight for me to be in. Camera crew, director and producers occupied all the space. I listened from the hallway, glimpsing the action when convenient.  

The follow-up scene, staged in a large conference room, was equally problematic in terms of space.  Extras sat around the table, portraying employees of an engineering firm. Actors, crew, and equipment filled in the rest of the area. No room for bystanders. Everybody sweated profusely. A fan was blowing between takes, although it provided marginal relief.  To make filming easier, I was asked to work with a supporting actor and organize the background.  Extras were told to walk by the open office door, in singles, in pairs, to make it look like a busy office.  The actor and I coordinated with the walk-ons and used hand signals to tell them what to do. Participating in this manner made it impossible for me to see or hear any of the action. Again, no reason to complain, I was there for support, not to groan about trivialities. The actors did as they were told, showcased their skills, and moved on with the day.

All actors except one left before starting the closing segment.  That actor had a grueling night ahead of him, having to film his scenes in the dark.  He was sharp the whole way through. To the extent that I could tell, the AC had not been turned on. Despite the difficult conditions, he worked diligently.  We spent the final hours shooting the conclusion of the first story.  I wondered if the cinematographer used special lenses. But I didn’t ask. Watching the big finish come together bit by bit was fascinating.

I knew the shoot would be over soon, and I wasn’t sure how I’d respond to having one of the greatest events of my life come to an end—like turning the last page of a dazzling book, when you want there to be more.  I’ve learned that good times indeed come to a halt, ready or not. A highlight: I had the privilege of working the clapperboard, a pleasant surprise.

The director said, “That’s a wrap,” and just like that we were done. We applauded, hugged, congratulated one another.  I had a content heart.  My mind was a whirlwind of emotion.  But I had to keep those sensations in check, because in a day or two I would be returning to my menial day job, where I felt no sense of accomplishment or fulfillment. Or pride. How was I supposed to handle returning to that routine, having come off a high, one unlike any I’d experienced before? I had no idea if anyone else on the set was feeling as I was. Probably not, I tend to be childlike at times like this.  I did my best to savor the atmosphere, hoping that if I tried hard enough, I could store this moment forever in my mind, in my heart, and revisit it again and again.  No better way to relive the dream than to write it down and share it.  Even if I never get another opportunity as grand as this, I’ll always have these reflections to transport me back in time, to show me that, yes, I knew what it was like to be, however briefly, in the company of extraordinary people, working together, creating a favorite pastime.  As I made my way to my car, getting ready to go home, I got stomach flutters—a sensation part joy, part sadness, part promise.  Having to let go of the experience, having to say goodbye to brilliant people, was near impossible, but I had no choice.  Rather than dwell on the hollowness in my heart, I turned my attention to what I’d just been given: A gift to cherish, to share, for the rest of my life.  For that I was immeasurably grateful.