Some days even Ms. Cranky can’t be cranky. Like yesterday, working with a gifted young filmmaker, who I love, love. Love. Everything flows. There’s no tension. It’s all good vibes and very efficient, but done in a gentle way. A female director. Love that.
I’ve worked with her a few times. Sometimes I’ve read a script she’s given me and thought, “How the hell is she gonna do that?” And she does. Easy. Like pulling a star out of the sky and walking down the street with it. I swear. With no budget. Yea! Love this kid. She’s all imagination.
But I will admit, since this is anonymous, that I broke method for vanity yesterday. When I got zapped with the laser beams coming out of the male leads eyes, (STOP LAUGHING!) I was supposed to fall dead on the floor. Falls are no problem. I took classes at Martha Graham. Everybody was always falling all over the place. So I fall. Dead. I broke method when it came to the close up of me lying on the floor. I held my stomach in. I mean I was wearing a Lycra top, lying on my side, and I could feel the remnants of Thanksgiving spilling out and creating a little pouf. I KNOW DEAD PEOPLE DON’T HOLD IN THEIR STOMACHS. I decided to risk it and do it anyway, and not have the poufy stomach on film for everlasting eternity. I really hope you can’t tell, because if you can, I will look like a real retard, you know? People will be watching thinking, “Oh, the dead body still wants to look good. That’s weird. Vanity after death.” Or maybe vanity before reality? Don’t tell Mr. Inscrutable. He won’t talk to me for another eight years.
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