Summer is winding down here in Wilmington, and I need to talk to you about something. Sit down. Get comfortable. If you've got a friendly barista nearby, now's the time for a pistachio latte.
By every measure I can find, this has been the biggest film season this town has seen since I've lived here, and not some scattershot pile of small productions, either. Three genuine heavyweights.
Season two of RJ Decker, ABC's 1980s South Florida crime series based on Carl Hiaasen's Double Whammy, is wrapping up as you read this.
A brand-new Disney+ pilot is shooting under the working title Saltwater, about a teenage girl who discovers her mother was a mermaid and must navigate first love and a secret half-mermaid identity in one very complicated summer.
And then there's the big one: the Amazon feature film of The Summer I Turned Pretty, written and directed by creator Jenny Han herself, closing the shops on Cousins Beach for good and sending the whole beloved series off beyond the horizon.
Given that the TSITP movie is the last chance anyone gets to watch Cousins Beach magic being made, you'd think I'd have moved heaven and earth to get footage. Well, I did move some earth, but only because I got lost driving through a swamp.
Still, you’d think I would have a hard drive groaning under the weight of glorious behind-the-scenes b-roll from all three.
I do not. I have one still photo. Four people in a boat, leaving the Yacht Basin Marina in Southport, and they may not have been connected with the movie at all.
What I have, in staggering abundance, is a summer's worth of excuses, which I will now present with all the pageantry they don't deserve.
Exhibit A: Savannah
Back in late spring, Ms. Wonder and I went to Savannah, a city so committed to its moody, moss-draped charm that I briefly forgot Wilmington. Lovely trip. Spectacularly bad timing.
"You left during the single greatest production surge in Cape Fear history," Amy said. "On purpose."
"It wasn't that big, Amy. Besides, I didn't know filming was starting.”
"You never know anything at the time, Hot Shot. That's your whole problem.”
Exhibit B: The Weather Betrayed Me
Then I came home to an El Niño summer determined to test the structural integrity of my sinuses. Allergies and heat that could season a cast-iron skillet do not mix well with standing outside a closed film set for six hours, waiting on a "Rolling!" that never comes.
"You had air conditioning the whole time," Amy said, "in the car that you kept driving away from three separate film sets.”
"That's not the point, Amy.”
"It is extremely the point, Bubba."
Exhibit C: The RJ Decker Fiasco
Don't think I didn't try. I checked TW Cast & Recruit every morning and paid for it. The real call times are between 6:00 and 8:00 p.m., Ms. Wonder informed me. When Amy heard it, she added, at volume, "That's when the secrets are revealed.”
One morning I drove to Cinespace Studios fully expecting to find Scott Speedman brooding in a linen suit near the guard gate. Instead, a woman with a handheld camera shooting pickup scenes for an entirely different film, Pretty Ugly, asked me to move behind a dumpster to stay out of her shot.
I waited there all morning hoping to see Decker. The closest I came to a celebrity sighting was a lost-pet flyer taped to a nearby window — a ferret named Reginald, last seen contemplating his life choices behind a coffee shop.
Exhibit D: Where Has Cousins Beach Gone?
Amy and I once raced to the Yacht Basin in Southport where a restaurant was "closed for filming." We were certain we'd cracked Amazon-level security through sheer genius, although it was a public Facebook post.
We waited out an overcast afternoon before learning that filming didn't start until the evening magic hour. Restless, I proposed a "simple, elegant plan": drive home, freshen up, and come back later.
It was neither simple nor elegant. Ocean Highway delivered a traffic jam of geological patience. We detoured through a real town called Half Hell, missed our exit by eight miles, turned around, and drove back through Half Hell a second time, which, by Amy's math, equaled Complete Hell.
Exhibit E: Saltwater
The mermaid pilot proved the trickiest of the three, mostly because everything I documented turned out to be something else entirely. The lowest point came when I willingly joined a traffic jam on the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge, positive I'd found a closed set, before Amy gleefully informed me it was an NCDOT bridge inspection. Not every mystery is Hollywood. Some mysteries are just infrastructure.
The Verdict
Three of the biggest productions I've been privileged to be near: the finale of The Summer I Turned Pretty, the swashbuckling return of RJ Decker, and a mermaid pilot swimming quietly through the Cape Fear, and I have exactly zero mermaids to show for it.
"You only had one job," Amy said. "Document the productions.”
"I got some footage.”
"You got a ferret, Cowboy.”
"Reginald was a whole storyline!”
"Biscuit Brain!" Amy barked. "It was a lost-pet flyer on a coffee shop window.”
The Rest of the Story
Here's the thing about The Circular Journey: there's always tomorrow. All three productions still have locations left to burn through, and I intend to be on set with the unearned confidence of a man who belongs there.
"I'll be there too," Amy said, and I confess this surprised me.
"Why? All you do on these outings is insult me.”
"It's simple, Monkey Boy. Watching you attempt anything and fail spectacularly is, without question, the finest entertainment I get all year. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
And so, in summation: there's always tomorrow. And apparently, wherever there's a tomorrow, Amy's there too.
A brand-new Disney+ pilot is shooting under the working title Saltwater, about a teenage girl who discovers her mother was a mermaid and must navigate first love and a secret half-mermaid identity in one very complicated summer.
And then there's the big one: the Amazon feature film of The Summer I Turned Pretty, written and directed by creator Jenny Han herself, closing the shops on Cousins Beach for good and sending the whole beloved series off beyond the horizon.
Given that the TSITP movie is the last chance anyone gets to watch Cousins Beach magic being made, you'd think I'd have moved heaven and earth to get footage. Well, I did move some earth, but only because I got lost driving through a swamp.
Still, you’d think I would have a hard drive groaning under the weight of glorious behind-the-scenes b-roll from all three.
I do not. I have one still photo. Four people in a boat, leaving the Yacht Basin Marina in Southport, and they may not have been connected with the movie at all.
What I have, in staggering abundance, is a summer's worth of excuses, which I will now present with all the pageantry they don't deserve.
Exhibit A: Savannah
Back in late spring, Ms. Wonder and I went to Savannah, a city so committed to its moody, moss-draped charm that I briefly forgot Wilmington. Lovely trip. Spectacularly bad timing.
"You left during the single greatest production surge in Cape Fear history," Amy said. "On purpose."
"It wasn't that big, Amy. Besides, I didn't know filming was starting.”
"You never know anything at the time, Hot Shot. That's your whole problem.”
Exhibit B: The Weather Betrayed Me
Then I came home to an El Niño summer determined to test the structural integrity of my sinuses. Allergies and heat that could season a cast-iron skillet do not mix well with standing outside a closed film set for six hours, waiting on a "Rolling!" that never comes.
"You had air conditioning the whole time," Amy said, "in the car that you kept driving away from three separate film sets.”
"That's not the point, Amy.”
"It is extremely the point, Bubba."
Exhibit C: The RJ Decker Fiasco
Don't think I didn't try. I checked TW Cast & Recruit every morning and paid for it. The real call times are between 6:00 and 8:00 p.m., Ms. Wonder informed me. When Amy heard it, she added, at volume, "That's when the secrets are revealed.”
One morning I drove to Cinespace Studios fully expecting to find Scott Speedman brooding in a linen suit near the guard gate. Instead, a woman with a handheld camera shooting pickup scenes for an entirely different film, Pretty Ugly, asked me to move behind a dumpster to stay out of her shot.
I waited there all morning hoping to see Decker. The closest I came to a celebrity sighting was a lost-pet flyer taped to a nearby window — a ferret named Reginald, last seen contemplating his life choices behind a coffee shop.
Exhibit D: Where Has Cousins Beach Gone?
Amy and I once raced to the Yacht Basin in Southport where a restaurant was "closed for filming." We were certain we'd cracked Amazon-level security through sheer genius, although it was a public Facebook post.
We waited out an overcast afternoon before learning that filming didn't start until the evening magic hour. Restless, I proposed a "simple, elegant plan": drive home, freshen up, and come back later.
It was neither simple nor elegant. Ocean Highway delivered a traffic jam of geological patience. We detoured through a real town called Half Hell, missed our exit by eight miles, turned around, and drove back through Half Hell a second time, which, by Amy's math, equaled Complete Hell.
Exhibit E: Saltwater
The mermaid pilot proved the trickiest of the three, mostly because everything I documented turned out to be something else entirely. The lowest point came when I willingly joined a traffic jam on the Cape Fear Memorial Bridge, positive I'd found a closed set, before Amy gleefully informed me it was an NCDOT bridge inspection. Not every mystery is Hollywood. Some mysteries are just infrastructure.
The Verdict
Three of the biggest productions I've been privileged to be near: the finale of The Summer I Turned Pretty, the swashbuckling return of RJ Decker, and a mermaid pilot swimming quietly through the Cape Fear, and I have exactly zero mermaids to show for it.
"You only had one job," Amy said. "Document the productions.”
"I got some footage.”
"You got a ferret, Cowboy.”
"Reginald was a whole storyline!”
"Biscuit Brain!" Amy barked. "It was a lost-pet flyer on a coffee shop window.”
The Rest of the Story
Here's the thing about The Circular Journey: there's always tomorrow. All three productions still have locations left to burn through, and I intend to be on set with the unearned confidence of a man who belongs there.
"I'll be there too," Amy said, and I confess this surprised me.
"Why? All you do on these outings is insult me.”
"It's simple, Monkey Boy. Watching you attempt anything and fail spectacularly is, without question, the finest entertainment I get all year. I wouldn't miss it for the world."
And so, in summation: there's always tomorrow. And apparently, wherever there's a tomorrow, Amy's there too.
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