the perfect picture of patience, and endured the lengthy wait that ensued before Nolan finally felt ready to work.
By then, I was pretty sweaty. The breeze from the Harlem River notwithstanding, it was a hot night, and Jilly wasn’t dressed for this weather. (Based on a line in the script about her needing to find someplace to stay before the weather turned cold, I assumed the episode was set in autumn.) I was wearing a low-cut leopard-patterned Lycra top with sleeves that came down to my elbows; an uncomfortably short, tight, red vinyl skirt with a studded belt; purple fishnet stockings; and black high-heeled boots. Completing Jilly’s ensemble was a curly lamb vest. Wearing that vest in this weather was unbearable, so it always stayed on the garment rack until just before I stepped in front of the cameras.
Now that Nolan was pacing around in front of the cameras and revving up for the scene, I let the wardrobe mistress slip the pale, furry vest over my arms and onto my shoulders. A few minutes later, Jilly’s immense purse, containing all her worldly goods, was slung over my shoulder. A production assistant stood nearby with some knee pads, which I’d be using later; I would only have to kneel directly on bare cement in the master shots where my legs would be visible.
In the opening portion of the scene, Conway and Jilly would exchange a page of dialogue face- to-face before he’d rough her up and force her to her knees. We had already worked on the blocking for this, and now I joined Nolan in front of the cameras so the crew could verify all our marks. Television and film work tends to involve a lot of technical considerations, such as making sure you’re in focus, in the frame, audible, and correctly lit on every shot, as well as ensuring continuity from take to take of the same scene being filmed from multiple angles.
Finally ready for our first take—a mere ninety minutes behind schedule—Nolan and I now stood face-to-face, waiting for the director to call, “Action!”
I was close enough to see that, under his recently freshened layer of makeup, the actor looked even redder than before. But our lighting for this scene was so shadowy, I supposed it probably wouldn’t matter.
“Action!”
Nolan turned into Conway in a nanosecond. He grabbed me and shook me, his hot breath brushing my face as he demanded I tell him what I knew. I struggled and prevaricated, pretending I knew much less than he supposed, but I didn’t waste any breath trying to appeal to his compassion. My resistance infuriated him. He shoved me away—so hard that my heel caught in a crack on the sidewalk and I staggered sideways before I fell back against the wall. He pursued me, closing in on me. I knew we were off our marks now, as did he, but the scene was working so well that we kept playing it. As he leaned into me, though, I could see that he was even redder now, and sweating again.
An instant later, Nolan tripped over his lines. He tried to save the moment, but then he swayed dizzily, closed his eyes, and put his hand to his forehand.
He shook his head and, completely out of character now, said, “Nah, I lost it. Let’s go back.”
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine,” he said tersely.
He didn’t look all right. He looked . . . well, not all right, anyhow.
I said, “Are you sure? Because you look a littl—”
“If you could manage to hit your fucking marks, that would be a big help,” he snapped.
I fantasized about stomping on his genitals with my high-heeled boots.
We started the scene again. This time I fell backward into the wall exactly where I was supposed to. But when he pursued me and leaned into me . . . I saw that his eyes were watery, and his gaze was blurry. Nolan uttered Conway’s next line with a thick, clumsy tongue. I kept going, whining Jilly’s dialogue at him. He blew his next line completely, stumbling over a few disjointed words then falling silent.
There was a long pause. My
By then, I was pretty sweaty. The breeze from the Harlem River notwithstanding, it was a hot night, and Jilly wasn’t dressed for this weather. (Based on a line in the script about her needing to find someplace to stay before the weather turned cold, I assumed the episode was set in autumn.) I was wearing a low-cut leopard-patterned Lycra top with sleeves that came down to my elbows; an uncomfortably short, tight, red vinyl skirt with a studded belt; purple fishnet stockings; and black high-heeled boots. Completing Jilly’s ensemble was a curly lamb vest. Wearing that vest in this weather was unbearable, so it always stayed on the garment rack until just before I stepped in front of the cameras.
Now that Nolan was pacing around in front of the cameras and revving up for the scene, I let the wardrobe mistress slip the pale, furry vest over my arms and onto my shoulders. A few minutes later, Jilly’s immense purse, containing all her worldly goods, was slung over my shoulder. A production assistant stood nearby with some knee pads, which I’d be using later; I would only have to kneel directly on bare cement in the master shots where my legs would be visible.
In the opening portion of the scene, Conway and Jilly would exchange a page of dialogue face- to-face before he’d rough her up and force her to her knees. We had already worked on the blocking for this, and now I joined Nolan in front of the cameras so the crew could verify all our marks. Television and film work tends to involve a lot of technical considerations, such as making sure you’re in focus, in the frame, audible, and correctly lit on every shot, as well as ensuring continuity from take to take of the same scene being filmed from multiple angles.
Finally ready for our first take—a mere ninety minutes behind schedule—Nolan and I now stood face-to-face, waiting for the director to call, “Action!”
I was close enough to see that, under his recently freshened layer of makeup, the actor looked even redder than before. But our lighting for this scene was so shadowy, I supposed it probably wouldn’t matter.
“Action!”
Nolan turned into Conway in a nanosecond. He grabbed me and shook me, his hot breath brushing my face as he demanded I tell him what I knew. I struggled and prevaricated, pretending I knew much less than he supposed, but I didn’t waste any breath trying to appeal to his compassion. My resistance infuriated him. He shoved me away—so hard that my heel caught in a crack on the sidewalk and I staggered sideways before I fell back against the wall. He pursued me, closing in on me. I knew we were off our marks now, as did he, but the scene was working so well that we kept playing it. As he leaned into me, though, I could see that he was even redder now, and sweating again.
An instant later, Nolan tripped over his lines. He tried to save the moment, but then he swayed dizzily, closed his eyes, and put his hand to his forehand.
He shook his head and, completely out of character now, said, “Nah, I lost it. Let’s go back.”
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine,” he said tersely.
He didn’t look all right. He looked . . . well, not all right, anyhow.
I said, “Are you sure? Because you look a littl—”
“If you could manage to hit your fucking marks, that would be a big help,” he snapped.
I fantasized about stomping on his genitals with my high-heeled boots.
We started the scene again. This time I fell backward into the wall exactly where I was supposed to. But when he pursued me and leaned into me . . . I saw that his eyes were watery, and his gaze was blurry. Nolan uttered Conway’s next line with a thick, clumsy tongue. I kept going, whining Jilly’s dialogue at him. He blew his next line completely, stumbling over a few disjointed words then falling silent.
There was a long pause. My
Similar Books
The Blackham Mansion Haunting (The Downwinders Book 4)
Michael Richan
Carola Dunn
The Actressand the Rake
A Textbook Case
Jeffery Deaver
The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1)
Lisa M. Wilson
The Green Mile
Stephen King
Unintentional Virgin
A.J. Bennett
Celtic Moon
Jan DeLima
Afternoon Delight
Kayla Perrin