It’s almost time.
I’ve gotten the majority of my affairs in order; sublet my pace, moved the majority of my belongings back to Long Island, trained my sister to take over my day job for the summer (thanks, Missy), I’m even fairly organized and almost packed. Crazy, I know.
The last couple of weeks have been stressful, building up to Saturday. Before I got the gig on the Cape this summer I was asked to be in a film by the screenwriter who wrote Shankman’s. The project was a Cop short, a parlor scene. Based on how amazing his script for Shankman’s was I signed on without even reading the script, trusting he had a witty, brilliant script and a character that was right for me, even a cop. He didn’t disappoint. But I spent most of the process second guessing myself. Never saw myself playing a cop before. On top of all that we – due to schedule restrictions and the fact that I’m leaving in a week – had ONE DAY to film this. 16 pages of dialogue. One day. Oh did I mention the writer was directing and it was his first time doing that? Yeah. I was stressing.
Thankfully pretty much everyone on set had worked together before, on Shankman’s, and we were very comfortable with each other. We had done just enough work in rehearsal that we were solid in our performances, while still being loose and trying new things in the room. We shot it as a teleplay, running through the whole thing from different angles each time. The result was tight, natural performances with some of the best actors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with, and a stellar crew that I would sign on to work with forever.
I’m sitting here trying to describe this experience but it is impossible to do that. The feeling in the room when every one is in the zone, clicking and working off of each other. Knowing what each person was going to do before they do it. Feeding off of each other’s energy. It is the closest thing I’ve had to a spiritual experience. Praise Thespis.
The craziest thing is we got it done! Crew called at 8. Actors got there around 10. On set at noon. In the can by 8:30. I’ve never experienced anything like that. Every one of us to a man was completely spent by the end, having left everything we had on set (and by on set, I mean Adam’s living room). A few of us had a quick dinner and I went home and passed out at midnight, exhausted and satisfied.
Now, as I sit on the LIRR headed in to the city for my last week of day job for the summer, I’m no longer stressed. I’m riding the high from this weekend. But, most importantly, I’m reminded why I do this. Why I live at the limit of my means in the most expensive city in the US. Not that the feeling was ever lost; but over time, as this industry wears on you, as your other life, your survival life starts to take over in the wake between projects; as those waves crash against your rock those feelings fade. And the only thing we can do to survive is to hold on to them. To hold on to those moments. Moments like Saturday. I head in to this week relaxed, rejuvenated, and ready to take on my next project with a newfound energy. And I can’t get there fast enough.
Cape Cod: I hope you’re ready for me.