A Working Actor's Lament (Chapter 17)
"A Man, A Movie, and a Mission"
He thought the end was near. He was at least hoping his exit ramp on the road of life was getting closer to the headlights of his future. After thinking this, he realized that he was making no sense at all, the way a pack of wolves sounds to the peacock who desperately tries to understand the growls of her attackers. He thought, "Yeah, sort of like that."
Anywho...
The filmmaker had planned everything, right down to the last edit, the last color correction, the last infinitesimal sound...he was finished. Finally, a final copy had been finalized. Finally. He was walking away from the editor with what can only be described as the proverbial "triple threat": one version of his cinematic baby on his newly acquired external drive; one on a DVD, where, if the sun hit it just right, it would reflect a rainbow to the heavens, angels faintly heard behind the clouds; and one on a MiniDV cassette tape that was just a tape. A menage-a-trois of joy and delight, if you will, that would end up being the bane of it's own existence.
Key, turn, open, close, walk, box, open, insert, cord, power, boot...he was ready to see if all the trouble was worth the 10's of 100's of cash he had spent to give his "lucid" dream life. As the sweat beaded on his brow, the way sweat beads on a brow, he opened the folder marked "Lucidity PIX LOCK". His hands trembling, like a child who was just about to touch the hot stove again because of his short term memory, he clicked and waited. As he sat there with the nothingness that was coming across his screen, a thought of monkeys playing in a field of lilies passed through his cerebral cortex; where it was going he did not know. As the folder opened, he noticed those beads of sweat gathering over his eye. He noticed them because they were over his eye, there was no way to miss them.
The film started...but paused...then started again...pause...start...pause...pause...pause...like the paws of a puppy trying to walk for the first time, then crashing to the ground, only to try again with the same conclusion to follow.
How could this be? Why would this happen? Where is Rerun from "What's Happening?" What's happening, indeed.
The filmmaker did not feel defeated, for only one of the "trois" was bad. What are the chances of two, or even three, of the copies he had in his possession being worthless? As the tray that held the DVD closed and locked, he knew he was about to find out. Just then, a bead of sweat rolled off his brow onto his jeans, his newly washed jeans that were now dirtied from the salt water stain. He remember how he hated salt water.
The film started...but paused...then started again...pause...start...pause...pause...pause...like the paws of a puppy trying to walk for the first time, then crashing to the ground, only to try again with the same conclusion to follow.
The filmmaker was having another French moment, but this one felt more like a deja vu. As the tears began to well up in his eyes, he had two lingering thoughts: how could this have happened, and try not to get anymore salt water on his jeans. He knew he had but one copy left; however, he had no way of watching it to make sure that puppy paws were not there. Then he remembered watching it while sitting with the editor. He remembered not seeing any puppies, no dogs, or wolves, or peacocks. Nothing. He had a "clean" copy. A worthless, clean copy. He had no camera that he could put the tape into to burn his own DVD or to upload to his external drive. He searched for a French saying to fit this predicament but none came to mind, then Voila!!! It hit him, and if only there were a French word he could have used.
He knew that the dubbing company that helped him last year could make a DVD copy for him from the MiniDV he had in his possession. It could not be more than $5 to add his film onto a glistening sphere of metal. He jumped into his Toyota Corrola, the way a baby kangaroo jumps into their mother's pouch, puts on their seatbelt of fat and holds on for the ride of their life, and he was off.
Quad One Video, the destination. Would they be open? Yes. Would the salesperson be helpful? Yes. Would it be $5?
As the filmmaker woke up in what could only be described as the bed in his apartment, suffering from an obvious coronary, he asked his lovely wife what had happened. Her hair flowing down around his face as she looked down at him, she told him about the salesperson; about how he informed the filmmaker that a DVD copy from a MiniDV tape would cost $40; about the sweat and tears rolling down his face as he blubbered his way back to his car, no DVD copy in hand. As she went to get him a glass of cold water, he laid there on his comfy, king-sized tomb of despair, thinking of the monkeys in the lilies. What did it mean? Would he ever know?
He rolled over and put his face into the soft pillow and began to weep. Between the sweat and tears he was now producing, he knew he would have to wash the sheets. Damn, that salt water.
He thought the end was near. He was at least hoping his exit ramp on the road of life was getting closer to the headlights of his future. After thinking this, he realized that he was making no sense at all, the way a pack of wolves sounds to the peacock who desperately tries to understand the growls of her attackers. He thought, "Yeah, sort of like that."
Anywho...
The filmmaker had planned everything, right down to the last edit, the last color correction, the last infinitesimal sound...he was finished. Finally, a final copy had been finalized. Finally. He was walking away from the editor with what can only be described as the proverbial "triple threat": one version of his cinematic baby on his newly acquired external drive; one on a DVD, where, if the sun hit it just right, it would reflect a rainbow to the heavens, angels faintly heard behind the clouds; and one on a MiniDV cassette tape that was just a tape. A menage-a-trois of joy and delight, if you will, that would end up being the bane of it's own existence.
Key, turn, open, close, walk, box, open, insert, cord, power, boot...he was ready to see if all the trouble was worth the 10's of 100's of cash he had spent to give his "lucid" dream life. As the sweat beaded on his brow, the way sweat beads on a brow, he opened the folder marked "Lucidity PIX LOCK". His hands trembling, like a child who was just about to touch the hot stove again because of his short term memory, he clicked and waited. As he sat there with the nothingness that was coming across his screen, a thought of monkeys playing in a field of lilies passed through his cerebral cortex; where it was going he did not know. As the folder opened, he noticed those beads of sweat gathering over his eye. He noticed them because they were over his eye, there was no way to miss them.
The film started...but paused...then started again...pause...start...pause...pause...pause...like the paws of a puppy trying to walk for the first time, then crashing to the ground, only to try again with the same conclusion to follow.
How could this be? Why would this happen? Where is Rerun from "What's Happening?" What's happening, indeed.
The filmmaker did not feel defeated, for only one of the "trois" was bad. What are the chances of two, or even three, of the copies he had in his possession being worthless? As the tray that held the DVD closed and locked, he knew he was about to find out. Just then, a bead of sweat rolled off his brow onto his jeans, his newly washed jeans that were now dirtied from the salt water stain. He remember how he hated salt water.
The film started...but paused...then started again...pause...start...pause...pause...pause...like the paws of a puppy trying to walk for the first time, then crashing to the ground, only to try again with the same conclusion to follow.
The filmmaker was having another French moment, but this one felt more like a deja vu. As the tears began to well up in his eyes, he had two lingering thoughts: how could this have happened, and try not to get anymore salt water on his jeans. He knew he had but one copy left; however, he had no way of watching it to make sure that puppy paws were not there. Then he remembered watching it while sitting with the editor. He remembered not seeing any puppies, no dogs, or wolves, or peacocks. Nothing. He had a "clean" copy. A worthless, clean copy. He had no camera that he could put the tape into to burn his own DVD or to upload to his external drive. He searched for a French saying to fit this predicament but none came to mind, then Voila!!! It hit him, and if only there were a French word he could have used.
He knew that the dubbing company that helped him last year could make a DVD copy for him from the MiniDV he had in his possession. It could not be more than $5 to add his film onto a glistening sphere of metal. He jumped into his Toyota Corrola, the way a baby kangaroo jumps into their mother's pouch, puts on their seatbelt of fat and holds on for the ride of their life, and he was off.
Quad One Video, the destination. Would they be open? Yes. Would the salesperson be helpful? Yes. Would it be $5?
As the filmmaker woke up in what could only be described as the bed in his apartment, suffering from an obvious coronary, he asked his lovely wife what had happened. Her hair flowing down around his face as she looked down at him, she told him about the salesperson; about how he informed the filmmaker that a DVD copy from a MiniDV tape would cost $40; about the sweat and tears rolling down his face as he blubbered his way back to his car, no DVD copy in hand. As she went to get him a glass of cold water, he laid there on his comfy, king-sized tomb of despair, thinking of the monkeys in the lilies. What did it mean? Would he ever know?
He rolled over and put his face into the soft pillow and began to weep. Between the sweat and tears he was now producing, he knew he would have to wash the sheets. Damn, that salt water.
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