Dinner with thieves. It’s 3:00. The film crew’s still perfecting camera angles, lighting, and table arrangements. I’ve taken my seat as requested, so cameras can be adjusted behind me.
I’m antsy. Bob’s irritated. All invitees arrived on time at 2. They’ve been asked to wait in a nearby café. But for how long? They’re our guests and I’m feeling rude.
The restaurant has closed to the public. Its owners and staff stand in the back, arms crossed, unsmiling. Its lighting has been draped with black or white fabric and our own lights have been arranged on large stands. My eyes bounce from the frenzied crew to my watch to the prominent tanks of live seafood bubbling noisily. Sound man Michele frowns at the hum but, as a homeboy, he knows he can’t ask the restaurant owner to turn off the vital air supply to the pricey perishables.
Bob and I were skeptical as the taxi cruised along the unfamiliar streets of this neighborhood. This small restaurant, chosen by Andy, is the best-looking address on the street. Inside, its homey atmosphere is comforting. We can’t help wondering: are the owners relatives?; if not, do they know who today’s guests are?
We thought this gathering would just be a dinner, maybe a party, but it’s more—it’s an ad hoc film set. The crew are now trying to rig a camera to fly over the table. Our producer and official whip-cracker, Kath, is putting on the pressure to open the doors; but sound must be perfect. Lighting and cameras must be just so. I’m wondering if we’ll have any guests at all by the time they’re ready. Finally, at 4:00, the thieves are called in.
They arrive smiling: Frank, and his brother Ed; Andy, and his brother Lou; Lou’s son-in-law Marc; and Clay. Handshakes and hugs all around, as at any dinner party. Then Andy goes straight for Bob’s pockets, feeling him up. With a flourish and a spin, he whips out a wallet from Bob’s breast pocket, laughing. To complete the charade, he hands it off to Marc, who skulks away. The room cracks up. Applause.
Frank has dressed for the occasion, in a purple silk shirt. When we first met him on the bus he was clean-shaven. The next day in the park he signed a release agreeing to be in our film. Now he has a mustache. Has he grown it as a disguise? For a debonaire film-star look? I forget to ask him.
Part one of this story. — Next installment
Rick: You’re right about the restaurant’s sign being illegible. Your wink tells me you get it, but to my other readers I want to protect the reputation of the secret location and admit that I am the element, and it is I who have worn out the lettering.
I WISH we’d had a hair and makeup person! But I guess a documentary documents, so in the film we’ll look like ourselves, not glorified versions.
Yep, the director said “action” and “cut” and all the rest. It was especially cool when he used the local language, when directing the thieves’ demos.
I think we will make a fascinating “Making Of” film, too.
y e l m: Thanks for your compliments!
Just when the tension becomes unbearable in the first part of your story, you give us release with laughter and fun. Perfect story telling.
Rick’s comments are all right on! We’re next in line for that DVD.
Those restaurant guys – they need to work on their facade. The sign above their entrance is all worn out from the elements. You can’t even read the name of the establishment anymore! ;)
‘The crew are now trying to rig a camera to fly over the table.’
Loves it!
Did you guys all get makeup as well? Did they say things like ‘action’ and ‘OK that’s a cut’ and ‘OK that’s a wrap’? That’d be so cool. ;)
Not to be ironic, but this is the stuff movies are made of. Seriously. This is absolutely great and we plan to buy the (autographed) DVD version with the director’s cut and Bambi’s and Bob’s commentary. Plus of course lots of special features. Maybe a double DVD set?
Anyway: great work and great writing as per usual. Thank you for sharing. x