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Filmmaker's Diary:
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Miami.
Shit.
I'm still in Miami.
Every minute I sit in my brother's living room watching Laura (the Peruvian version of Jerry Springer) I get weaker. And every minute Charlie squats in the bush he gets stronger.
I'm waiting.
Waiting to go home.
To end a very long and at times trying "vacation".Vacations back home in Florida are not really vacations at all. Too much to do. Too many people to see. And as I think has been established, I'm a lazy, lazy man. I'm so lazy, I'm not going to bother coming up with a punchline for this joke. But this particular vacation featured a mission. And when it was over, I'd never want another ...
My wife and I rented a white Ford Taurus from some lowlife weasels at Budget RentaCar and drove the 57 clicks up the Florida Turnpike from Miami to Gainesville. A long, snake-like road leading me straight to Kurtz ... I mean Ned.
"Are you an assassin?"
"No. I'm a filmmaker."
"You're neither. You're a grocery cl---" Alright, that's enough. [Neditor:
This diary entry isn't about sucking -- it IS sucking!]
So I was worried about seeing Ned and showing him the project so far. As it is right now. Some of it works very well, but most of it is just a work-in-progress. There just ain't enough progress. Ned seemed pleased enough with its current state, albeit a little embarrassed about how the camera captured the way he behaved at certain points during the weekend. I think he's afraid that he will come off as a mean, morose, whiny, arrogant asshole. But he couldn't be more wrong.
He's not mean.
The thing is, some parts of the film are not really edited: they're just assembled. So there are some scenes that are just long stretches of footage that I've left almost untouched because I haven't decided what to lose yet. And a couple of those scenes are of Ned just talking. Working through his thoughts and emotions directly following the Last Show Ever. I think it's the backbone of the film. Ned thinks it's torture. And for him I'm sure it is. I know I've spent many an hour curled up in the fetal position (which, incidentally Ned does not do) [Dude, if I could bend that far, I'd never leave the house], struggling with one demon or another. It's just that nobody ever filmed me doing it. That's one of the unique qualities of this story. We see this just happen to him. It's just hard for him to watch.
But I think the real reason I was feeling such anxiety about this visit is that by showing what I've got so far, I'm also showing what I don't got so far. I'm absolutely haunted by the fact that I'm not finished yet. It's killing me. And I know it's killing Ned. I frankly don't know how the rest of the band feels. I usually think they don't give a shit, but I hear otherwise from Alyson, and Dave actually sent out an e-mail featuring a link to this mess, so maybe they do. [Hey, man, i've emailed you too... -mjm aka webmonkey] But the nature of my life at the moment just does not allow me to move at the pace ... oh, fuck. Now I'm whining.
I gotta get back to L.A.
Some highlights from the rest of my trip:
-My wife was bitten by a cat named Atticus. She was just trying to save his
life.
-Thanks to a long, mostly one-sided conversation with someone who shall remain
dickless, I now know what a migraine headache feels like. It's like your eyes
are being squeezed every time you move. Or breathe. Or have a thought.
-Someone charged $1600 worth of hotel stays in Chicago on our atm check card.
You see the number was no doubt stolen when we gave it to, you guessed it, those
lowlife weasels at Budget RentaCar. C.S., proceed immediately to the Hotel Monaco
and tell them to start taking photo ID! [Again with the mysterious
Chicago C.S. connections! Man, what if C.S. isn't a real person at all but some
sort of spooky projection of all our strengths and weaknesses? And what if George
Washington was invisible and had a robot friend? How about a show like Hollywood
Squares, but with children? Answer me!!]
Actually, the trip hasn't been that bad. We got away for a while, spent good time with the family, even got some fishing in. But it's all just sort of dampened by my worries about this film. And the play I'm about to start directing when I get back. I just haven't been able to relax enough. I like to relax. Ned couldn't hang out at all. He wanted to be doing something every moment, getting things accomplished. He said he's still trying to make up for those nine months he wasted in his mother's womb. Me, I prefer peace. Of course, that explains why I don't get things done, and why at 35, I'm still trying to get my acting career to actually resemble a career.
Oh shit, my acting career!
I love my family and all. But I've gotta get the fuck out of here.