when it is impossible to escape her. She intends — she announces to me and to anybody who cares to listen — to paint Terence Stamp in drag in the outback, and she will not accept rejection easily. Her timing is far from perfect. My only interest is in building the kind of momentum which constantly overcomes obstacles, and I see any distraction — in the form of press, photographers or portrait painters — as the enemy of that objective. As well as being an intrusion, which will lead to a closed set from now on, this is also not the right evening to approach Terence. He has seen some rushes on film — although we are transferring to tape for editing, we print selected takes whenever we are concerned about lighting or focus — and he is not pleased with his appearance. Brian would light him a little more flatteringly, glamorously even, but Stephan keeps whispering in his ear that he wants to see every wrinkle.
After an interval of nearly nineteen years, I am about to become a father again. I decide that while the cast and crew travel to Broken Hill on Thursday — and for those driving the trucks, part of Friday — I will miss the Friday afternoon and Saturday filming and, if the baby has not made an appearance by Monday, take the morning plane to Broken Hill. The airline timetable in both directions does not leave any latitude for impulsive travel, but it will become even more difficult to return from Coober Pedy, the next town along the route, so I will fly back to Sydney the following weekend.
I call the office in Broken Hill on Friday afternoon. Everybody has arrived, although the people who flew found that most of their luggage was removed from the plane, to be sent on later through Adelaide, and those who drove Bus Priscilla and the make-up truck both had to stop to change tyres. The latter vehicle broke down as well, arriving late when it needed to be early to do the ‘girls” make-up for the walk around town.
At the final birth class in a series which Andrena and I have been attending, the instructor does a demonstration on whatresembles a small hot water bottle sheathed in a child’s cardigan. She refers to it as ‘a knitted uterus’, an object so absurd I consider how effective it might look hanging from Bus Priscilla’s rear view mirror like a pair of furry dice.
*
It is my responsibility to ensure that every aspect of the film works at its optimum, and to engender a support structure around Stephan that permits him to concentrate on getting the best results. I express my point of view when I have one, and sometimes we will argue, but it is understood that he can take it or leave it. Although I am not above pulling the plug at the natural end of a working day, a director should feel completely secure during a film shoot, and while I do not delude myself that I am useful all the time, part of taking responsibility is to be present, so on set is where I like to be.
Sue Seeary and the production co-ordinator Esther Rodewald — both friends of Stephan’s for some years who understand his whims without surrendering to them — are running a remarkable two-person production office. In a strange echo of our first impression earlier in the year, Broken Hill is hosting its first golf tournament that weekend. Consequently, apart from the crew located at Mario’s Motel — a functional rooming house behind his baroque Palace where we will be filming — everybody is engaged in a perpetual shuffle of hotels, and the production office is leading the way by changing almost daily. It will not be the last accommodation crisis.
On arrival, I watch the footage which was shot in my absence. Although the drag walkabout in Broken Hill will cut together well, and Hugo’s long confessional around the campfire has been beautifully performed in a single set-up with only one cutaway, the film’s first real piece of wide-open-spacesbravura — and therefore, in terms of moments achieved so far, the highlight — is an
After an interval of nearly nineteen years, I am about to become a father again. I decide that while the cast and crew travel to Broken Hill on Thursday — and for those driving the trucks, part of Friday — I will miss the Friday afternoon and Saturday filming and, if the baby has not made an appearance by Monday, take the morning plane to Broken Hill. The airline timetable in both directions does not leave any latitude for impulsive travel, but it will become even more difficult to return from Coober Pedy, the next town along the route, so I will fly back to Sydney the following weekend.
I call the office in Broken Hill on Friday afternoon. Everybody has arrived, although the people who flew found that most of their luggage was removed from the plane, to be sent on later through Adelaide, and those who drove Bus Priscilla and the make-up truck both had to stop to change tyres. The latter vehicle broke down as well, arriving late when it needed to be early to do the ‘girls” make-up for the walk around town.
At the final birth class in a series which Andrena and I have been attending, the instructor does a demonstration on whatresembles a small hot water bottle sheathed in a child’s cardigan. She refers to it as ‘a knitted uterus’, an object so absurd I consider how effective it might look hanging from Bus Priscilla’s rear view mirror like a pair of furry dice.
*
It is my responsibility to ensure that every aspect of the film works at its optimum, and to engender a support structure around Stephan that permits him to concentrate on getting the best results. I express my point of view when I have one, and sometimes we will argue, but it is understood that he can take it or leave it. Although I am not above pulling the plug at the natural end of a working day, a director should feel completely secure during a film shoot, and while I do not delude myself that I am useful all the time, part of taking responsibility is to be present, so on set is where I like to be.
Sue Seeary and the production co-ordinator Esther Rodewald — both friends of Stephan’s for some years who understand his whims without surrendering to them — are running a remarkable two-person production office. In a strange echo of our first impression earlier in the year, Broken Hill is hosting its first golf tournament that weekend. Consequently, apart from the crew located at Mario’s Motel — a functional rooming house behind his baroque Palace where we will be filming — everybody is engaged in a perpetual shuffle of hotels, and the production office is leading the way by changing almost daily. It will not be the last accommodation crisis.
On arrival, I watch the footage which was shot in my absence. Although the drag walkabout in Broken Hill will cut together well, and Hugo’s long confessional around the campfire has been beautifully performed in a single set-up with only one cutaway, the film’s first real piece of wide-open-spacesbravura — and therefore, in terms of moments achieved so far, the highlight — is an
Similar Books
