and the words STAR WAGGON in bold blue letters emblazoned across the outside. I pointed mutely.
“Private trailers for the actors. Also makeup, wardrobe, some are even set up as schoolrooms when you’re shooting with kids. You’ve arrived as an actor when you get a private one. And trust me, size matters. Your costar’s better not be bigger than yours.”
“Wow, is everything out here about perception?” I asked.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Outside several of the buildings were whirling red lights mounted on tripods. There would be the harsh ring of a bell, and the light would start spinning. “I’m guessing that’s some kind of warning?” I suggested.
“Yeah, it tells people that they’re shooting so no one blunders in from outside.” Jeff was whispering, and I guiltily put a hand over my mouth. “You’re fine. You weren’t exactly shouting.”
We reached a building, and Jeff led me up the steps and through a heavy metal door. I took a step and stumbled. Jeff caught me under the arm. “You have to look down on a stage,” he said. I followed his advice, and saw massive cables snaking across the wood floor. There were voices calling from overhead. I stood still so I could look up. Men were on catwalks probably thirty feet above the floor, adjusting lights and placing gels.
Three men began pushing a flat across the floor with a howl of wood on wood. Set dressers scurried through setting up a vase of flowers on an end table, plumping up pillows on a sofa. In another area a man was pushing squibs into holes in a flat, and covering them with wood putty. In the center of it all was the director with a device hanging around his neck that looked like a light meter. As the light changed he would pick it up on its lanyard and look through it.
You didn’t have to be a movie geek to have heard of Boucher. Though young, the director had burst onto the scene three years before with a celluloid ghost story that had terrified audiences around the world. Now his name was heard in conjunction with Spielberg, Scorsese, and Nolan. He was the new face of movies.
Standing on his right was a young woman with a walkie-talkie; on his left was a big man with a shock of curly black hair and his own light meter. He and Boucher would occasionally lean in close and exchange a few words.
“Okay, who are the two people with Boucher?” I asked.
“The girl is Debbie, his assistant. She’s taking notes on everything that’s discussed. The other man is Christian Alter, the DP.”
“What’s a DP?” I asked
“Director of photography. It’s his job to light each scene. He does that in consultation with the director, but he brings a lot of his own ideas to the table. If you’re an actor you want to be very, very nice to the DP. They’re the ones who make you look good.”
“I thought makeup did that,” I said.
Jeff flashed me a grin. “That helps too, but in a pinch I can do my own makeup. I can’t go reset all the lights, and the DP and the gaffers can do something subtle. Light you from below so you look like you’ve got a double chin. Little tricks, and you, as the actor, won’t know until the movie’s released. And then you’re wishing you’d been nicer.”
“Be nice to people on the way up because you’ll meet them on your way down,” I said, quoting my human father.
“Exactly. Words to live by in Hollywood.”
“Anywhere, really,” I countered.
“Yeah, good point.”
The meeting broke up and Jeff led me over to Boucher. The lights overhead flashed off the sweat on his forehead.
“Tom, I’d like you to meet Linnet Ellery,” Jeff said.
He held out a shovel-like hand and gave me a startlingly shy smile. “Hi. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This is very exciting.”
“First time?” Boucher asked. I nodded.
“It’s thrilling for the first hour. Then it gets really boring when you are just watching. But enjoy it before the disillusionment sets in.”
“Thank you, I
“Private trailers for the actors. Also makeup, wardrobe, some are even set up as schoolrooms when you’re shooting with kids. You’ve arrived as an actor when you get a private one. And trust me, size matters. Your costar’s better not be bigger than yours.”
“Wow, is everything out here about perception?” I asked.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Outside several of the buildings were whirling red lights mounted on tripods. There would be the harsh ring of a bell, and the light would start spinning. “I’m guessing that’s some kind of warning?” I suggested.
“Yeah, it tells people that they’re shooting so no one blunders in from outside.” Jeff was whispering, and I guiltily put a hand over my mouth. “You’re fine. You weren’t exactly shouting.”
We reached a building, and Jeff led me up the steps and through a heavy metal door. I took a step and stumbled. Jeff caught me under the arm. “You have to look down on a stage,” he said. I followed his advice, and saw massive cables snaking across the wood floor. There were voices calling from overhead. I stood still so I could look up. Men were on catwalks probably thirty feet above the floor, adjusting lights and placing gels.
Three men began pushing a flat across the floor with a howl of wood on wood. Set dressers scurried through setting up a vase of flowers on an end table, plumping up pillows on a sofa. In another area a man was pushing squibs into holes in a flat, and covering them with wood putty. In the center of it all was the director with a device hanging around his neck that looked like a light meter. As the light changed he would pick it up on its lanyard and look through it.
You didn’t have to be a movie geek to have heard of Boucher. Though young, the director had burst onto the scene three years before with a celluloid ghost story that had terrified audiences around the world. Now his name was heard in conjunction with Spielberg, Scorsese, and Nolan. He was the new face of movies.
Standing on his right was a young woman with a walkie-talkie; on his left was a big man with a shock of curly black hair and his own light meter. He and Boucher would occasionally lean in close and exchange a few words.
“Okay, who are the two people with Boucher?” I asked.
“The girl is Debbie, his assistant. She’s taking notes on everything that’s discussed. The other man is Christian Alter, the DP.”
“What’s a DP?” I asked
“Director of photography. It’s his job to light each scene. He does that in consultation with the director, but he brings a lot of his own ideas to the table. If you’re an actor you want to be very, very nice to the DP. They’re the ones who make you look good.”
“I thought makeup did that,” I said.
Jeff flashed me a grin. “That helps too, but in a pinch I can do my own makeup. I can’t go reset all the lights, and the DP and the gaffers can do something subtle. Light you from below so you look like you’ve got a double chin. Little tricks, and you, as the actor, won’t know until the movie’s released. And then you’re wishing you’d been nicer.”
“Be nice to people on the way up because you’ll meet them on your way down,” I said, quoting my human father.
“Exactly. Words to live by in Hollywood.”
“Anywhere, really,” I countered.
“Yeah, good point.”
The meeting broke up and Jeff led me over to Boucher. The lights overhead flashed off the sweat on his forehead.
“Tom, I’d like you to meet Linnet Ellery,” Jeff said.
He held out a shovel-like hand and gave me a startlingly shy smile. “Hi. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This is very exciting.”
“First time?” Boucher asked. I nodded.
“It’s thrilling for the first hour. Then it gets really boring when you are just watching. But enjoy it before the disillusionment sets in.”
“Thank you, I
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