- jointly exhaustive: everything must belong to one part or the other, and
- mutually exclusive: nothing can belong simultaneously to both.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
|I thought so...|
|I guess so...|
|I know so...|
|Say it ain't so...|
actors arrived from Montreal. When I inquired to my "producer" as to when the other half of my cast would show up, he told me, "Oh yeah, I meant to tell you. They won't." I asked him if there was a particular time when he wanted to advise me that half my fucking cast got cold feet three days before we start principal photography. First burst of sharp abdominal pain. As we look at some of the locations, I noticed a very pretty blonde sitting behind the check in desk of the gymnasium. We chatted for a bit, as it felt really good to gloat to a pretty blonde. She told me that she was studying theatre and that if ever we needed help, she'd willing to give us a hand. I could see right away that she had something special and, after telling my "producer" of my intentions, I offered her one of the lead roles. My instincts were right as she put in a spectacular performance and was more or less responsible for finding us the rest of our cast. This film would have sunk faster than the Titanic if it hadn't been for Nancy Vanessa Gillard. I slept a little easier that night. The alcohol helped. The next day, my "producer" told me we had to talk over coffee and discuss script changes. Script changes? "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" We sat down at a local coffee shop and he told me that the entire third act had to be rewritten because of financial limitations. Yeah. He tells me this two daysbefore we start principal photography. Second burst of sharp abdominal pain. I know why he chose a coffee shop to do this in. It was like a public breakup where the "dumpee" has to show restraint considering the nature of the locale. I wanted to create a scene. I wanted to create a murder scene. I barely touched my coffee. Those who know me should realize how angry I was. I walked back to the campus, contemplating suicide, when one of my newly acquired actors, a certain Ashley Conn, saw me and started to talk about how excited he was to be a part of this thing. He had read the script and loved every word. I told him that I had to rewrite a lot of it because my "producer" bit off more than he could chew. A pattern that would show its ugly face again, you will soon find out. Ashley, Ash for short (yeah, another one), fired back that he believed I would come up with something even more awesome. His enthusiasm was more addictive than heroin. I rewrote the ending and was very proud of what I came up with. Again, it wasn't Shakespeare, but it wasn't insulting either. I made a bunch of copies and gave them to my cast. My AD handed me the first few days schedule. We rehearsed quickly on the Sunday. The changes seemed to work. Actually, they worked really well. We were as ready as we'd ever be. Ash loved the script and had become one Hell of an ego booster for me. He's somebody that made a difference in my life, in fact, he is the old friend I chatted with the other day. His performance in the film was my favourite part of it. He's someone who would have had a VERY bright future if the film hadn't imploded (As it turns out, Ash got his Masters and is now making a much better living than he would have ever had if he had continued acting...). Wait a minute. Imploded? What happened? Patience. I'm going to go make myself a cup. You'll have to wait for another time...