Friday Night On Set

IS A MAGICAL place.

When it's not batshit tense, I mean.

Friday night on set, when you're in no danger of NOT making your day, means a day that starts a little later. So people got to go out Thursday night. There's a few coded smiles and other inscrutable expressions. You arrive and the Director's wearing sunglasses. Could be a bad sign. Could just be that he's a stylin' guy.

The actors are loose. People might have even gotten some sleep last night.

You stare out at the Eastern gap and BAM, right there -- a police boat pulls another boat over, and you think, "Wow. You don't see that every day." And then if you're a writer, your mind goes to the cop asking the guy to walk a line to prove that he hasn't been drinking and how badly that could go really fast...

The silliness starts a little early. Video village, crammed in a little room -- you hear a peep of "sing, sing a song...sing it loud, sing it strong." The makeup pros are their usual lovely and charming selves. The between scene-chatter goes to the arcane and confessional. "Where were you in 1986?" "86?" you think. "Why '86?"

You don't ask though, because maybe that would spoil it.

The D.O.P. works his newfangled genuine asian-tea making contraption like Toscanini. And it does look kind of good.

About four, the sailing school starts and suddenly the gap is full of sails, sails everywhere. It's pretty and wistful, because you're not out there riding the waves yourself. The summer's slipping by and you're sailing through another workday, instead. The EP sits in for a moment and talk turns to how they see the boats go by every day and "you know what we should do! we should HAVE A PARTY ON A BOAT!" The makeup pros have the perfect band.

Well, of course they do.

The afternoon's work is a series of short scenes -- all with comedy runs in them. It's fun and loose watching the actors play. There's only one heavy scene to be done, and it's the reason we started late. We need it to be night.

People furtively discuss the upcoming hiatus. Who's going away? Who's going to stay in town? Good God Almighty Why would you stay in town in August?

They're putting up the coverings on the windows. We're going to shoot day for night for the scene. Maybe we'll get out of here before midnight. That would be nice.

The looseness continues. An AD explains the intricacies of "bag tag." He twirls his headset mic -- long, on the end of a cord -- like it's some fearsome ninja weapon. I pretend to be horrified. The AD watches one of the set PA's go by with a predator's eyes. "I'm gonna get him good," he says. We laugh, as men do when it's someone else's bag in danger of being tagged.

Lunch comes. There's a read through for the next script. I am monumentally pleased that my slightly off-color joke survived. There's another joke in there that's a matter of some controversy. I vote for 'in!' We shall see, we shall see.

I'm called back to set because an actor has a problem with a line. There's a little lump in my throat. On the other hand, it's actual, real life, honest to Betsy work. I hope this isn't going to be a problem.

The actor has a problem understanding the line. We've discussed a couple of other things this week, and made adjustments. I talk it through again. Just a minor massage gets the meaning I want in a way that the Actor is comfortable saying. There's a couple of other moments like this, where we change a word here and a phrase there. I'm not precious about any of it. In most cases, the things the actors want are small and manageable. There's a part of me that recalls, remembers that less confident writer of a few years ago -- the one who'd roll his eyes or stew or steam when an actor asked for a line change. I fight the hot wave of shame I feel thinking about that guy. The line is massaged. All is well.

Two of the actors explain to me the intricacies of "the blocking game." That's where when you have a scene where there's lots of coverage or where it's going on at the same time as something else - you try to clear your exit from the scene as soon as possible. Making sure you're not in the BG of the shot at a key time can make the difference between two hours sitting there being a human prop in the background, and spending two hours in your trailer watching "Robot Chicken."

"Of course we shouldn't be telling you this," they say. "Now you're going to specify so-and-so's there the WHOLE TIME."

I chuckle and say, "Oh, no, nothing like that. But you know writers, we're always working, filing it away, seeing if we can use it later." I say it so casually that they probably don't know that they've been warned. You know, like those signs that say "You may be filmed" when you enter a sports arena, or "do not remove this tag under penalty of law."

Well, now you're busted, boys. Suck it.

The looseness continues. There's a name-drop off -- gentle mocking at the hands of one of the performers who zealously discusses the subject of his A-list friends. Stories told of embarrassing encounters with bigger stars, foolish things said with sweaty palms.

Then the oysters arrive -- courtesy of the grips and electrics. They're crazy delicious. There's more talk of other bands, other parties to come. What we'll do and where and when. More lemon? Oh God, yes. Try it with the other sauce.

A glass of wine would be great right now. I mention that as far as I can tell, it's almost gin'o clock. The AD says, "You can't do that kind of thing in the workplace." But she smiles when she says it. We protest, but know she's right. Whatevs. It's Friday night and we're almost done.

The night's come early because we're lit for night, windows covered -- and we've been that way since 5 pm. I've been sitting and having fun and watching the scene play out so that when I emerge from the studio for a moment, I'm almost a little shocked to see that the night has actually descended.

I go back in and watch some more and get that tiny flash again, that momentary buzz where the pain of writing the script and the four outlines and the cards that didn't make sense and the subplots that wouldn't fit in and the plot point that wouldn't stay put and the arguments over this tone and that all slide away into mist and you get that whiff, that first rush from standing there and realizing that all these people are going back and forth trying to shoot, light, setup and act something that you made up out of your own fool head. How the hell did that happen?

I mention it's way more relaxing being here, on set. The Director smiles and so does the D.O.P. Seems like the other writer said that not so long ago, too. They think it's one of the oddest things they've ever heard. Set can be described as many things -- but relaxing usually isn't one of the words that leaps to mind. How do you explain the feeling you get, the joy of watching other people work, realizing, "hey, for me the heavy lifting's over?"

There's the 5 dollar Friday hat going around. 5 bucks gets you in. I'm in. Then we're moving out for the last shot of the night -- last shot! And it's only 9:30!

One more oyster? Oh no, I couldnnn--sslurrrp.

SUV's pull up. People get out. Walk into the building with purpose. Reset, let's do it again, we're trying to beat the rain. Again. The trucks start rolling by themselves. Nobody called Action. One more time. The A-Monitor is fuzzy and not coming in well. It only reads when you grip the antenna way down the shaft, and you know, jiggle it around. We all offer pointers on how to work it. The AD rolls her eyes. She's been doing this a long time. It's Friday night and the Men have reverted to boys. And the grips and electrics passed out the oysters, so you know, there's some kind of mojo happening...Oh yeah. Sing it loud, sing it strong.

One more time -- a great take. A big pause. "Check the gate."

The energy rises.

"Gate's good."

Guest Actor is wrapped for the episode. We clap. He waves on the way to the trailer. The AD smiles.

"That's a wrap."

Director reaches in and pulls out the five dollar winner. It's one of the Sound Guys. He looks surprised. .

I head for my car, and the night is humid and clear, the rain having just taken the edge off -- just a little. But there's enough edge to go around.

I look back at the studio as I start the car.

My car explodes.





No, it doesn't.
But that would be a cool ending.
Nothing so dramatic though. I drive off into the night. I feel like listening to some hip hop.
Friday night on set is the best.