Many thanks to everyone who left comments about my visit to Southport and the set of The Waterfront, the new Netflix television series. It's good to know that so many of you share my love of behind-the-scenes "cinemagic."
I was back on the same set of The Waterfront this morning, but much to my dismay, no one was there. What! Even though my sources, who are never wrong btw, my sources say filming will take place today--but nada.
But all is not lost. I strive never to let my public down. You are much too important to me. My sources made me aware that another film project is underway in Southport. You may have heard the name, Capsized?
And so, with my brain working like a finely tuned large language model artificial intelligence chatbot, I left the familiar Southport yacht basin and headed down the barricaded Brunswick Street to Morningstar Marina, the set for Capsized.
Closer to the marina, I could see what appeared to be the entire crew assembled on the deck overlooking the bay. I recognized it as the party that kicks off the first day of filming on any set. It was exciting. I was pumped!
When I arrived, I walked onto the set like I was walking aboard my yacht, if I had a yacht. I suppose this is the place where I might write, What could possibly go wrong? Or I might tease you with, Hilarity ensues.
I might have written something like that, but the words would have misrepresented the heavy-hearted feeling that filled me when a security guard blocked my way and asked me,
"Didn't you see the signs that say, closed set; authorized personnel only?"
Well, what could I say? What was there to say except maybe, "Oh, ah," and that's what I said.
All the magic happens behind the curtain.
You know that I'm addicted to the magic of film production, and the thought of being turned away, like Adam and Eve from the Garden, reminded me that at times like these, what's called for is a higher power. I pulled my magic 8-ball out of my pack and consulted it about my prospects for success.
The answer floated up out of the darkness. Time will tell, it read. It's this kind of nonsense that makes people seriously doubt the reliability of divination.
As I walked around the dock, kicking sticks and leaves into the water, I was approached by someone coming from the direction of the party.
"Hi," he said. "You're not part of the production team, are you?"
"How does everyone know that?" I asked. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yeah," he said, "it's easy to tell you're a civilian. Would you like to help me with my lines?"
"I suppose so," I said.
Beau, that's his name, told me he would be in the first scene to be filmed. Beau and two other extras would provide a believable facsimile of a boat rental crew. He had only two lines to rehearse. He was to tell the other workers to "Cast off the lines," and when the ropes had been untied and stowed, he would say, "Good job, boys."
Not exactly Hamlet, but you wouldn't have guessed it from the way he went on about it. I'll bet I heard his lines at least a dozen times before the Second Assistant Director sent for him to join the other extras in the staging area.
I always strive to spread goodness and light to the deserving and undeserving alike. And so, thinking I could improve relations with Beau, I called to him as he walked away.
"Beau," I said, "you might want to speak up a bit, your voice is a little soft, and elocution is what you want on camera."
I don't know how I thought of the elocution gag. It just floated up like a message from a magic 8-ball. Still, I thought it a good bit of fruit cake and congratulated myself for thinking of it.
"That's it, boys!" said Beau--not in the script, of course--and his loud remark walked all over whatever it was the stars were saying to each other as they boarded the houseboat.
The action began. I was able to see the people on the dock, but I was too far away to hear the calls to "Rolling" and "Action."
Only a minute into the scene, a stormy exchange between the stage manager and director. It was about Beau's lines. It seems his volume control was set too high.
Not exactly Hamlet.
Normal activity resumed, and I could see Beau and the other two extras gabbing on the dock. The director walked out to give Beau some direction, and Beau seemed to take it big. He was pumped but not in a good way!
He seemed to think he was judged unfairly and took out his frustration on a crab crate, which he kicked off the dock and into the water. It was plain the atmosphere had hotted up and there was a goodish deal of je-ne-sais-quoi on the set.
Beau came over to my table. He looked steamed. Not actually leaking at the seams, but not far from it.
"What'd the director say?" I asked.
"Never mind what he said." The whole thing's your fault."
"What's my fault?"
"Me not working out. He told me I'd be paid for a full day, but that it would be best if I leave the set now."
"Too bad," I said. "Well, tomorrow's another day."
"Do you think it's funny?" he demanded, but then he stomped away without waiting for a reply. I couldn’t help but wonder what his problem was. It wasn’t like he was going to win an Oscar nomination for "Good job, boys."
The whole thing was not one of my personal best, but it wasn't all my fault. I'm not a movie-maker. Still, I wondered if I should bother coming back the next day.
"Let's see what the 8-ball has to say about it," I said aloud, giving the ball a shake.
Count on it, was the answer that floated into the view window. And, everything considered, I'd say it had been a big day for being pumped from start to finish.
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