It is easy to forget, as the saying goes (I'm sure somebody said it, somewhere, sometime), that Los Angeles is built in the desert. I went to bed Sunday night in an apartment whose thermostat read 92 degrees, and when I woke up I immediately put on jeans and a T-shirt, and trundled off to the first day's filming, quite crazed, I'm sure, with lack of sleep, excitement, fear and curiosity. Today, and for the next two days after, we are filming in a bowling alley in Tarzana. Well, not in the alley itself, but in the alley's bar -- it is perfect for the scenes in which it is needed, and even has pool tables, which are required. We are in the parking lot at 5:50. It is still dark but as we watch, the sun slips over the eastern mountains (what are they called? I don't know. I never bothered to look it up. Maybe the Los Angeles Mountains, for all I know.)

So we were here before dawn, and one by one the crew arrives from the distant four corners of the Los Angeles metropolitan area. The bowling alley was supposed to have an employee here to open the door for us (the alley doesn't usually open until 9:30--like anybody's really going to bowl at 9:30 in the morning on a Monday). We look in the glass door -- it is very dark in there. We mill around the parking lot. I smoke a lot (see, there's that motif again).

There's a bunch of people now, everybody milling around, saying hi -- many of them know each other from other movies or TV shows they've worked on -- or introducing themselves. Most are youngish -- for many people, this is there opportunity to move up a rung on the ladder of experience. People who have been 2nd assistant camerapeople before get to try their hand at 1st AC, that sort of thing. It is one of the lures of doing a deferred payment gig -- which means none of us get paid until the producer sells the movie and recovers his costs. Which really means, I'm assured by one and all, that this is a freebie. They do it for the experience and because they like Lee, or because they like the person that likes Lee; department heads bring in their own crews, doing favors for people who are doing favors.

And there's a lot of us by now. How many people actually sit and watch the entire end credits of a film, right down to the copyright logo? And not just on Waterworld, but on Howard's End -- hundreds of people are involved in making a big budget movie, and even here, today, on this cold morning in the parking lot of a bowling alley in Tarzana at 6:20 in the morning working for free there are over 35 people. And the cast isn't here yet (they'll roll in at a comfortable 8:00).

6:20. Lee is pacing, mad -- we haven't even started and we're behind schedule. We should have been inside by now. He glares into the darkened door again. Frustrated. He reaches down angrily, grabs the door handle, yanks it. The door opens. It is not an auspicious beginning. The alley employee is sitting in the alley, waiting for us -- he got here early. The door has been open this whole time. The only thing one can do, of course, is laugh, and everyone does. Uproariously. Even Lee. It is the joke of the hour for the next few days, and it helps to lighten the frustration that had been building.

And the crews go to work. They swarm, they move, they build, they plug, they jerry-rig. Film sets are a constant buzz of activity -- it is too expensive, minute by minute, to ever be sitting on your ass, and especially not in a situation like this. We are not a studio backed picture. We can't go overbudget and over schedule and have some studio exec be mad at having to eat the extra cost. We can't go over budget or schedule. Period. There is no contingency, no back-up, no make up exam. Do or die.

Dramatis Personae: Some of the major players, just so everyone has a scorecard. Lee -- the producer. Parris - the director. Think Tim Burton in looks. He was my nemesis, my Prof. Moriarity in pre-production (and not only mine). Chris Faloona -- Director of Photography. The DP is responsible for getting the shot the director wants -- in terms of technical camera stuff (angles, lens, framing) and lighting. In this case Chris was also the cameraman. Outside of the Big Five (the writing team of myself/Charlie, Lee, Kerry, Parris, and one more whom you haven't met yet, to be named later) there is no individual more responsible for the completion and for what I feel is going to be the success of this project than Chris. Talented, a workhorse, and singularly pleasant under the most grueling circumstances -- he snapped only once (and you'll hear about it) and immediately apologized to everyone involved and even those who weren't. A true professional. Liza Sheehan - The production designer, responsible for the visual look and dressing of the sets, etc., and all artistic elements therein -- art, set design, etc etc. are all under her supervision, and in most cases were done personally by her. The Fifth Member of the Big Five (and by the way, that is my own wholly immodest and post facto term and was not used by anyone, not even me, on the set. But I think it not unfair to distinguish between those who worked for weeks or months or more, and were involved in the creative shaping of the project, and those who, however hardworking and talented, were responsible for the actual production process. This is not a qualitative judgment. End of weaseling.), Liza, along with Chris, was "the big find" of this production -- it was said by more than one crew member that they were the two mainstays of the production process. Plus she let me bum cigarettes off her, so she was my pal. Mark and Tracy Axton -- More lifesavers. Mark was the Unit Production Manager (UPM) and later filled in on other positions, and, like Chris, was not only singularly able but unflaggingly pleasant and even-tempered. He had, I think, the hardest job of all, and performed it admirably. Tracy was Production Coordinator, which meant she handled all the paperwork, kept the business aspects of the production running smoothly, and generally kept everything straight. An art department person by inclination, she filled in here as a favor -- scut work is never fun, and she did it with a smile.

So do we have some of the main players in our minds? There are others, those who will come and go as the days past, or those whose introduction will come later for space reasons. But let it be said here and now, this was (with a few minor exceptions) the James Brown of moviemaking -- the hardest working crew in the business. I would stack them, in talent and energy, against anyone. And I wasn't alone in that sentiment.

Let the narrative continue. Those of you unfamiliar with the reality of moviemaking (as opposed to those of us who are now old hands at the game!) might at this point think, 'okay, they have the bar, they have the crew, the cast will be there shortly. Roll camera, say lines, move on.' Ah, my naive friend, the truth is so different. Film is the ultimate business of 'hurry up and wait' -- each shot (not each scene -- each shot. Next time you watch a movie, look at how many different shots there are per scene -- how many different camera angles, focal lengths, camera moves, etc. A minimum of several in a short scene, potentially many in a big scene. Sometimes only one really complicated one, which may be the hardest of all.) has to have its own lighting, its own set dressing, etc., and each of those things has to be consistent (look for the 'continuity' person in the credits, and that is one of several people who handles this job) with the other set ups for that scene: if the glass in this shot was half full, it has to be half full when you shoot the reversal angle, or in the final cut the liquid level will be jukin' up and down like some crazed disco dancer. Or the bandage on somebody's hand might disappear then reappear. (I'm not going to tell you what scene that happens in and maybe they'll have been able to fix it in post production...)

For a simple scene that might take half an hour. For our most complex scene it took almost four hours of set up (that was in the bookstore -- be patient, we'll get there.) For example, the first shot is at the bar itself -- so every table in the place is moved out of the way against the far wall, and the gaffer, key grip and their crews go to work. (The gaffer is the head lighting guy; the grips are the equivalent of stagehands -- the people who haul the stuff around, set it up, haul it away again. It is harder and more complicated than it sounds. See, isn't this educational?). The next shot is a reverse angle, looking at Sam and Parks from behind the bar, out into the room. So all those tables have to be moved back into place and 'dressed' and lit, and extras placed and blocked, etc. And then you shoot a scene that lasts maybe a minute and half, and you shoot it a couple of more times, and then you move on to the next shot.

But by God, we've begun filming.

We're going to be at the bar for three days, because 18 pages or so of the script take place there. One interesting plus -- Mike the Bartender (who started out as a character with no lines and turned into a character in three scenes with maybe a page or two of dialogue by the final draft) will be played by Ron Ross. For those of you who may remember the sitcom "Nightcourt," Ron played the bailiff named Dirk (not Bull or Roz, the two main bailiffs), who was kind of a sad sack character. He's about as close as we get to a celebrity on this shoot. He's a nice guy to me (though many on the set don't like him, including Lee and Parris) and as it turns out from Detroit, so we talk about Michigan over lunch one day.

The negative -- today is the first day I'm seeing the script really played, and it's rough. I stand there grinding my teeth listening to Brian's interpretation of Parks. Parks is all about control, except for one moment when he loses it, and people almost lose their life. Brian asks me, before shooting begins, "So, what advice do you have for me." I tell him, diplomatically (after having heard his reading the day before), "Don't be afraid to underplay the character. Let the words do the work." He ignores me. He plays Parks as twitchy, on edge, exploding left and right. I smoke a lot. Lee asks about it at one point, and suggests I say something to Brian, but I respond, I would like to think, vaguely professionally, in that I firmly believe it is the actor's prerogative to interpret the material he is given. On top of which it is way too late in the game for me to come in and say "rethink this whole character you just spent the last month creating, you have five minutes, go." So I bear down and grin spastically every time a crew member asks what it's like to see my work being performed.

Brian has no respect for the written word. He comes from a background in soap operas, where, because they film 60 pages a day, there is a tendency to "get the gist" of a scene and let the actors paraphrase and/or simply get from point A to point B as best they can. So Brian changes lines, throws things in, leaves things out. This in a character whose every word is carefully thought out (not just by the writers; I mean, he's the kind of character whose every syllable has an intended effect). Brian's throwing in "I mean, man..." and "C'mon, man..." and at one point when he is supposed to say "Relax, Sam. You didn't kill her. You didn't even know her, right?" He says, "Relax, Sambo..." SAMBO??? WHO THE FUCK WROTE SAMBO???!!! I am literally stunned. By the time I am recovered enough to even think about going to Parris with my objection to that little insertion they have wrapped the scene and are moving on. I tell Lee, who was out of the room. He is livid; he agrees that that kind of addition is completely inappropriate, and he urges me to be more aggressive in talking with Parris.

We have only one crisis on the first day of shooting -- Sarah, the acting First Assistant Director, is standing on the bar moving a light (if this was a union shoot, that would not be allowed, by the way. But here, everybody did what had to be done.) and falls. She lands on the edge of the bar with the small of her back. Jesus, it looked like she should have snapped in half. But she jumps up and is okay and the medic sits back down. Yes, we have a medic on the set -- several crew members are surprised at this on such a small shoot, but Lee says any set is just an accident waiting to happen. This man planned, and it paid off later.

I actually spend an hour and half or so outside watching the grip truck. We have a semi that carries all the equipment and a portable generator truck to power all the equipment, and it is one person's duty to stand out there and make sure nobody steals stuff. Usually this job is given to a Production Assistant (the lowest member on this totem pole -- PA's basically do the scut work, and as in any army are completely indispensable) but I'm out there smoking a cigarette and Lee asks me to spell the PA, Frank, who's been out there, so I say okay. I thought he meant for a few minutes. Oh well, always glad to do my bit. Did I mention that LA is in the middle of a heat wave? And I'm standing in jeans next to a white truck and a white wall. Stick a fork in me, I'm done. The temperature hits about 105 that day, so where I was standing had to have been in the neighborhood of 200 degrees. Not a very nice neighborhood. I vow tomorrow to wear shorts, and my ugly legs be damned. Of course, inside the bowling alley, the air conditioners are blasting and it is 40 degrees. I also vow to wear a coat tomorrow, and my fashion sense be damned.

The only other oddity that day is this -- by 9:30 a.m., there are at least a dozen people in the bowling alley. Bowling. I believe every one of the thirty five or more crew members all said the following at some point that day: "Bowling? At 9:30 on a Monday morning? Don't these people have a life?"