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6:10 am:
I'm a commando in the jungles of Vietnam. The air is sticky and bugs are everywhere. I'm leading a POW through the warzone, chopper blades beating overhead as my team gets ready to extract us from the shit storm. Suddenly gunfire erupts. My vision swims red. I hit the dirt and my eyes snap open. The gunfire dissolves into a steady beat of vibration-- it's barely light outside the window, and my cell phone alarm is pulsing under my pillow, against my eardrum.
Time to wake up. Work starts at 7.
6:47 am:
I pull into the crew parking lot. Everyone else is already gone. Turns out when they tell PAs to be there half an hour earlier than call, that isn't a goddamn suggestion. I get chewed out by the one remaining guy, a production coordinator who wouldn't look out of place in the back room of Vinny's Pizzeria with a few members of Cosa Nostra. Then I get loaded into a passenger van and make the four-mile trek to our location: a two-story house, in a quiet neighborhood in K-town.
8:02 am:
Stress level on set is high. The locations people are frantic, because the house is full of antiques-- the rug in the living room by itself is worth more than the entire budget of the film. We don't want to damage that.
Our principals are setting up a scene in the bedroom upstairs. I'm talking shop with the casting director, whose career was made a few years ago when he discovered a major star in a shoestring-budget indie movie that went on to become a pop culture phenomenon. Without naming names, I can tell you that you're a freakin idiot if you don't get who I'm talking about... GOSH.
Then without warning, Key PA is breathing down my neck. I'd been told to "lock-up" the front door during the rehearsal, basically to keep it quiet and make sure nobody passes through-- so I know what's coming next.
"Flood. Pull your fucking head out. When I tell you to do something-- what, you think I'm just full of shit? I'm a bullshit artist, right? Do your job or I'll find someone else who will. Get moving."
9:37 am:
I'm setting up tables and chairs in the backyard. PA Nation is helping me out, along with the other intern, who I'm honestly starting to dislike more and more as the show moves on. Whenever anyone talks to him on the radio, he responds with "Copy copy!" in a ridiculous sing-song tone. Plus it's the way he tries to suck up to Key PA, thrusting himself into situations he doesn't understand so that he can "take the initiative", and inevitably making things worse along the way.
Naturally, Key PA is impressed with the other guy so far. As for me?
"Flood!" He motions me to his side, drilling me with a thousand-yard stare. I jog over.
"What the hell is this?" It's a director's chair, folded correctly and stowed correctly-- or so I thought. I tell him as much.
Key PA has a way of sighing and rolling his eyes that makes you feel like the biggest flooding idiot on the planet when you screw up. He calls over another PA. "Kurt... please show Flood how to fold up a director's chair." He strides away. Over his shoulder I hear him mutter "Jesus Christ."
The PA heads over, barely hiding his smirk. Yep, the intern screwed up again. Thing is he can't really lord it over me too much-- see, his name isn't Kurt. It's Kyle. Oh well, close enough.
10:12 am:
Things start to look up. I'm standing in the back room with "Tina", Bobby Lee's fake wife. Despite my failures thus far, I've been given the task to cue her when to enter the scene. I nail it every time and don't screw up a single take.
By the way, almost every Hollywood actor I've met so far has been similar in some strange, indefinable way. It's a quality they all have-- a strong self-confidence, a powerful "persona" that they project even while not on camera. "Tina" was no different. She was drinking water out of a bottle with a little straw. Her assistant glared at me when I moved her sandals out of the walkway, and quickly moved them to a different spot as if to say "I decide where Tina's shoes are going to sit, damn it."
This scene is pretty funny. I'll enjoy this one when I actually see it in the movie.
12:46 pm:
Lunch. The past few hours have helped repair my damaged rep, but it's still tough to win over Key PA, who seems to be on a mission to baptize me into Hollywood with napalm.
2:23 pm:
"FLOOD!"
Hearing that simple word makes me spring to attention. I run down the street, where I've been posted on a lock-up, toward the crew. Our 1st assistant director is motioning toward me, and the whole crew is looking on. I'm preparing myself for literally anything.
"We need a PA to open the door for Brian when he walks up and rings the doorbell. I'll cue you when he gets there." I notice that she isn't asking me-- she's telling me. "You got it" I respond quickly and head into the house.
The director calls "action". Outside, the lead actor nudges his Hyundai ten feet forward into the frame, gets out, helps his new girlfriend out, and heads up the walk toward the front door. I'm sweating buckets, my knuckles white from unconsciously gripping the door handle. Lead Actor is on the front porch, and 1st AD still hasn't cued me.
I'm staring through the peephole at the two actors as they shuffle uncomfortably-- then Lead smiles and rings the doorbell. Still no cue. Did I miss it? Time seems to stop. In slow motion I see Lead bend over and pick up his new girlfriend. He's holding her in his arms and I'm completely confused. Maybe I should have read the sides--
"Okay Flood, open the door" comes the whisper over my headset. I immediately swing the door open. Lead steps through the threshold carrying his "gf", pretending to greet a loud Korean family, when it's only me staring blankly back at him. "Shut-shut-shut-NOW" comes the order, and I'm not ready for it, but I'm not an idiot either. I shut the door. Lead and I look at each other a few long seconds. Was that it?
Then I hear "Cut! Perfect. Going again."
So we do it again for the next hour and a half. I don't mess up a single take. I'm not sure if Key PA notices, but I know the AD definitely does.
5:08 pm:
We're moving a block down the street to another house, just for a couple of quick exterior shots. Nothing too complicated, so I stay behind to firewatch. It's the last time I'm going to see Key PA and my other fellow on-set bitches. He comes by my chair, shakes my hand and thanks me for stepping up the second half of the day. I tell him I usually start slow in the mornings. He tells me to fix it.
The trick to pleasing him, I think, is to convince him that you understand exactly what he says, the first time he says it. As long as you can pull that off, you can still go ask someone else for help after he leaves, while avoiding looking clueless in front of him.
These Hollywood types are all about getting things done ASAP. "Right now" is a phrase that makes a lot of people happy on set. If something is being delivered you don't say "It's on the way"... you tell them it's "flying in". The PAs are mostly responsible for making sure things move quickly on set-- thus the reason why Key PA is constantly in my grill. And I get that.
In fact, I'm starting to like it. I love rising to a challenge.
6:33 pm:
That's a wrap for day four. It's a Sunday evening, and I have to be back here the next morning at 6:30 am. Ugly, but that's how they roll in this business.
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