On an 18-day shoot, with a cast of a couple dozen, the good-byes start soon after the hellos, and we've already bid adieu to several actors who have strutted and fretted--OK, very little strutting, actually, and not a whole lot of fretting--their few minutes upon the stage and will be heard no more until editing, and each parting has brought a little sweet sorrow.
Today was a good-bye day, the last day for an actor in a small but critical role who brought tons of talent and great comic chops to his performance. Almost the same thing could be said about an actor who departed a few days ago, except that his role was much smaller, two scenes, only a couple of lines. Both will remain nameless here, because it seems unfair to name one without naming the other, and to name one would be tantamount to character assassination, or at least an indelicate description of his own character suicide.
The actor who left a few days ago, after arriving a day ahead of his first call, having driven almost 500 miles from his home, was wonderful in his two scenes, but his contribution to the project goes far beyond what you'll see on the screen. He was, in his brief time here, such an enthusiastic member of the team and brought such manic energy to the bit of physical comedy his part required that he is still here in spirit, and his ad libbed lines in that sequence have provided catch phrases (e.g., "Ooh, rub it on my face!") that the actors and crew members have gone to multiple times every day to loosen one another up, to lift the burdens of fatigue or excessive humidity, just to steal a laugh when a laugh needs to be stolen. Without a single exception, this young man who was on the set for a day and a half and will be on the screen for seconds is loved--mention of his name or his shtick is a guaranteed smile producer.
Then there's the guy we saw the back of today. The guy who
failed to show up on day 3 called the director last night at 8 p.m. to say that he wasn't going to make his 9 a.m. call today, that he would be an hour and a half late because he missed a bus. (Yes, right, coming from Chicago, he missed an evening bus and so could not be in Champaign by 9 a.m.; I don't understand either.) So for a second time we had to change the shooting sequence to accommodate him (though to be fair, the other time he showed up late we didn't have to work around his tardiness) . . . and then texted shortly before his revised ETA to report that he'd missed another bus and wouldn't be here at all today.
Stern conversation follows, in which he is ordered to rent a car and bring us the receipt. A half-hour later, he reports that he's working on renting a car, comparing prices. Stern conversation follows, in which he is told to rent whatever he can get the quickest. And we work around him for as long as we can. And then, like those who would escape the Nazis via Casablanca, we wait. And wait. And wait.
At 3:25 a call: the Urbana native has missed the proper exit from I-57. And so we wait. . . .
And now, 3½ hours later, that one is gone, and a rousing cheer has risen to the thespian gods. Unsurprisingly, everyone else on the project--all of whom have been inconvenienced, made to wait, made to rearrange their schedules, had scenes pulled out from underneath them because of his solipsistic disregard of his responsibilities to the team, . . . well, perhaps "hates" is too harsh, though it is a word that has been used. As with the universally loved guy, he is quoted, but not fondly: "I'm gonna do some pushups."
Let me end with an
in loco parentis moment. Actor number 1, I predict, because he already gets the importance of teamwork and shared effort, will be a success as whatever he becomes, whether actor or bricklayer or federal judge. Actor number 2 . . . well, maybe he'll mature, maybe he'll develop a sense of responsibility, maybe he'll discover that he's not the only person in the universe. Maybe.
