They're for the crew.That's the first thing you learn about a
wrap party when you're a
writer.
All those in-jokes that happened on set, the bonding between endless takes, the day-player who couldn't remember the lines or had weird B.O., the arrangement of words that stopped meaning anything on take four, the cast member who always had the giggles and couldn't ever seem to stop...The day it rained and rained and there was no rain cover and you just had to be outside for the shot - you're never part of that. Most likely you're up in the office surrounded by empty cans of
Diet Coke, staring at the bile yellow walls and that picture of
David Hasselhoff and
Gary Coleman doing the 'thumbs up,' pounding out pages. (Alright, that last part is pretty specifically me, but let's just zoom past that.)
Someone clever who I work with recently opined that
writers are kind of like the leper priests of a television production: no one was really sure what we did or how we did it,
but we do not walk among you. We perform a vital function, but are very much apart. Very occasionally someone would wander by the room where we were breaking story and say something like,
"you guys have a great job" or something like that. But most of the time, it's not like that. It's just a small group, you don't get to join in on the reindeer games, and like the misfits and weirdoes of old, it's left to you to make your own fun. It's hard to explain to anybody how half the useless, filthy crap we talk about -- all the
YouTube mashups, hotlinks, downloadable outrages, and images you can't ever unsee (grim operatic abstractions that stupefy everyone) lead to story breakthroughs, but they do.
About a month and a half ago, they installed a nice wardrobe seamstress in a corner desk near the writers room. I can only pray that her sewing machine was very loud.
The other thing that's interesting about writing on a production train is that things ease off for you
first. Episode 21 was my script. I kept the prep crew there late one night going from a
WHITE draft to a
BLUE draft to incorporate changes that grew out of something
I had screwed up in the writing. It took longer than I thought to fix it after the cast read through. They never once complained (to me, I mean.)
But then they
shot the blue. There were no other major changes. I was mostly...
done. The last episode was written by the
Showrunner. We all gave our notes, and moved on, and now it's shooting, and...
...we sit and wait for something to go wrong.
And it rarely does. Because once a script goes to production it's just a blueprint like the one-line schedule or the call sheet. I'll always remember the first set I was on when I was handed one of my scripts reduced to the tiny sides they use for reference. To see the script reduced to its tiny little form -- perfect for sitting unread in your back pocket -- well, that was a serious eye-opener. A great little attitude shift. There may be a call to fix a line here or massage something there...but they tend to be easy fixes.
(One example from my Episode 21: a line that referenced the characters as children going to somewhere specific -- it tracked in the script because the character was written as early forties. They cast an actor who was considerably older. It works for the part, but not for the line. I'm sure you can see that any fix for that line is not particularly onerous.)
I always intend to go to set more than I do. When the train's still running, it's cause you just don't have the time...there's another draft, and notes on someone else's draft, and then you have to read a second or third draft...) And once the script train slows down you're up against the very real sense that on a set
there's nothing for you to do. You're the only person there not doing a job. And that gets a little weird. At least it does for me. You can of course learn by watching how things are staged, and seeing the director work, and I guess if you had active pretensions toward directing it might be useful...but I'm not sure I've got any of that impulse now. When I think about directing, it's way down the road. I'm learning too much about the thing I'm good at. I feel I'm at a point in my career where I can finally play
Smoke on the Water like a pro on the
guitar. Why would I now pick up the
clarinet?
So the leper priest slinks off to the edges of Molokai, and thinks about the packing he's got to do, and what he's going to ship back first, rather than try and buy another suitcase. I've got a little over a week left in Vancouver, and suddenly there's a bit of sun, and there's other reasons to stay, too. But... my home's back in Toronto, and I know that eventually the odds will be against me and one of you nutbar Vancouver drivers are going to take me out, so... What to do? What to do?
Well, even though there's still four days left to shoot, on account of Easter being next weekend, tonight's the wrap party for Season One of
Blood Ties. So, you know, I guess I'll go to that.
There's an element of gearing up for the wrap that's kind of like the leper priests showing up at the potluck. I've been at parties where I barely came up with a couple of concepts and had a wonderful time. And I've been at a wrap where I co-created the series, and felt like I had less connection to it than the stills photographer.
That's just the way it goes. It's nothing personal. And wrap parties do have one amazing thing going for them, if you're a writer:
free booze. I know at this point in my life, there is absolutely no reason to still get excited by the prospect of cost-free libation, but I can't help it. Writing is hard. And cocktails are
just so yummy.So tonight, the priests conclave for
Sushi at the legendary Vancouver sushi place I haven't been to this trip, and then we head
en masse for the party where we'll undoubtedly be greeted like...
...those weird people who nobody really understands what they do.
It's okay. Fans will continue to think that the actors come up with their own best lines, Online trolls will continue to blame anything they don't like on the writers, Day Players will continue to suck up to the stars by talking about how much the stars "fix" the scripts. Everyone will continue to obsessively read the online reaction, blow past all the positive stuff and pick on that
one mean, awful, ignorant, bile-ridden turd blossom; followed immediately by swearing off anything on the 'Net for a week. Human nature will out.
There are the other compensations. Sometimes, like now, as they shoot Episode 22, you get to see an actor be
really excited by having something new and different to do. Sometimes another actor comes up and shows you just how closely they're reading the script by a telling comment and suggestion that work.
Sometimes maybe it's just seeing the exhausted showrunner grabbing a microsleep in his chair, the pressure easing, knowing the end is near. Or maybe it's the fact that when he's not dozing, he's taken to shouting
"Spartans!" every few minutes.
Tonight we drink in hell! Anybody? No. Mm. Okay.
When it works, when you've got a good team, and the egos support and mesh and don't clash, you kind of get to have your own wrap party all the time. And all you have to do for that is face the blank page.
Every...single...day.Okay, maybe it's not a great trade.
But at least the drinks are free.