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Filmmaker's Diary:
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Wacky story about Pains of Youth, huh? Well, here's another...
So I'm on the set of the CBS tv show ROBBERY HOMICIDE DIVISION. I'm very excited. I'm working with Michael Mann, Tom Sizemore and D.J. Caruso (the director who did The Salton Sea with Val Kilmer and Vincent D'Onofrio) and it's all going great. I play a serial rapist that the RHD team is pursuing for the whole episode, until they finally find me and blow me away. At this point I've done all of the stuff in my scene except for when I get shot. By the way, it's easily been the best experience I've ever had on a tv show. Usually the stars of these things are so over it all that they could give a shit about working out the scene. If they can get all their lines out without fucking up, that's a good scene. But here the director, Tom Sizemore and I actually figured out the moments and rehearsed it properly before shooting. It was so much fun. And to add to it, Sizemore said to me several times in his bug-eyed, amped-up way "That was good! That was good! You're terrific!" Later on, Sizemore adds to his coolness as far as I'm concerned when he asks me if it's OK if he leaves early and doesn't stick around for my reversals. Actors need their partners to keep playing the scene with them even when they're off-camera in order to maintain the integrity of what they're doing and so they can react truthfully. But again, a lot of stars could give a shit about what some day player needs. This guy's asking my fucking permission! Now, I know I'm not really in a position to demand that he stay (he'd probably leave even if I did demand it), but it's still nice of him to ask. And since the reversal he was talking about was the moment I get shot, I won't really need him there anyway. With guns going off and blood packs blowing up on me, I'll have enough to react to. I say it's OK with me, thank him for asking, and go kick back. Everything is Kool Mo Dee. I'm in the fabled catbird seat.
Funny I should mention seats.
So as I say I'm done with the first part and am waiting to get killed. I'm sitting outside with Nancy Marlow, the 70 year old woman who plays my wife in the show (you've got to see it). Inside, the stars are doing their close-ups of the shooting, so loud gun blasts are echoing all over the dicey neighborhood of Lincoln Heights where we're filming (or taping since the show is on high def video). It's about 3am. We're sitting on a couple of those movie set highchairs provided for the cast. Sitting about a foot and a half in front of us is the wardrobe person, a pretty girl of about 22 or 23. Nancy is actually sitting in Michael Mann's chair, who left about an hour ago. We then have the following exchange:
"Are you cold?" she asks me.
"No."
"Well, it's cold over here."
"That's because it's Michael Mann's chair."
Now, let me just say in my own defense that I meant absolutely nothing by that comment. There was no malice or judgement or anything else like that behind it. I guess I was trying to say something to the effect that she was feeling cold because she was sitting in a chair that wasn't hers. She was trespassing, and that the chair's owner, who in this case happened to be Michael Mann, was trying to ... I don't know what I meant. But it was innocent. As I said, it was 3am. I was punchy. In any event, I thought nothing of it at the time.
About 20 minutes later, the wardrobe person rolled up on me.
"Can I ask you about that comment you made?"
I don't know what she's talking about but it can't be good.
"What comment?"
"You said something about Michael Mann being cold?"
Oh shit.
Suddenly I remember that practically everyone in this crew that I'd spoken to
had worked for Michael Mann on numerous projects in the past. That means everybody
on this set is loyal to him, and that anybody who bad-mouths him is going to
get their ass kicked. That's what this chick is looking to do.
"No," I respond.
"You didn't say it?" she asks, knowing full well that I did.
"No, I mean, I said it, but... I didn't mean anything by it."
"OK."
"It's just one of those dumb things you say when you've been up all night."
"OK."
"I mean, I'm not saying that he's cold! I don't even know the guy."
"OK," she says again, and leaves. But her face shows that she's not
convinced. I keep talking to her even though she's walking away.
"Hey, I've got nothing bad to say about somebody who gives me a job!"
Nobody else notices what's just happened. But even though I'm doing this with as much laid-back cool as I can muster, there's no denying it. I'm smack dab in the middle of a Larry David moment. For the next couple of hours I'm in full-blown paranoia. I stay cool and do my job, but I'm certain that the word has got around that I think Michael Mann is cold and that everyone on the set hates me. I want to go back over to her and explain myself, but that'll only make it worse. That's exactly what Larry David would do. Or George Costanza: so fuck that. I'm able to take my mind off of it for a while as they attach the squibs that will simulate the explosion of bullets ripping through my chest. We do the scene, and I nail it in one take. Everyone's very happy with me because to do another take would mean another 30 or 40 minute delay as they change my clothes and squibs. As I sit there, having blood put on for the last shot of me lying dead on the floor, the wardrobe person comes over to help. This is my chance. But I've got to do it right. And gently, very gently.
"You know, you really freaked me out with that line of questioning earlier."
I say not at all gently.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she says with a smile that gives me hope.
"What did you say?" asks the special effects person. now everyone
around me is listening.
"He just made a bad joke." Thank goodness.
"Yeah, I said some stupid shit, some dumb joke that meant nothing, and
she though that I was bad-mouthing Michael Mann." The people around react
in a warm, but slightly odd way. I immediately find out why.
"I'm just oversensitive, I guess," says the wardrobe person: "He's my father."
[Insert dramatic sting music: Dun-dun-daaaaa!!]