From France...Days 1-3
I am in Chinon, France sitting in the Maison des Associations which is serving as our Kino lab. Behind me some people are busy filling condoms with fake blood and attaching them to squibs in preparation for an elaborate gun fight. In front of me, a lanky and bearded man sits in an open window sill smoking a cigarette. The room next door is filled with laptops with editing software and camera's plugged into them, people hunched over them with little dixie cups of strong coffee. Me, I have my laptop and a midi keyboard, tying to write a score. In a bit we will all trek over the bridge (a bridge that was built about 1000 years ago) to the other side of town where we all will enjoy food and wine, always wine.
I discovered that whatever the virus that was infecting my throat was, red wine is the cure. The wine we drink is a young wine, made in 2005 from vineyards near the castle that overlooks the town. There are expansive caves beneath this castle, and Sam and I intend to film there. We have been given extensive access to the castle as well, though we may not use it.
I will return to my hotel room to write this, as my battery is too low to do it here. The hotel is more of a bed and breakfast, and it is as awkward as I ever dreamed them to be. More so when the owners do not speak much English, but still, being friendly people, engage in much conversation. For breakfast we had some sort of gelled chicken dish, not nearly as tasty as the cubed ham and eggs that I missed the previous morning. And there was wine, always wine. Okay, that was a lie, no wine for breakfast in France. I think.
I have photographs of this lady that I took the night before. It's for a short film I made, a silent film about love and photographs. Sam just shot one of his, and is editing it now. Two single continuous shots of a man and a woman meeting in one of the winding alleyways of Chinon. We know what will be next, but we have until the next night to make films. It seems we will make a set of very short films.
Sam and another filmmaker from Australia have just walked in to the hotel room and are urging me to go with them for lunch. So I put down this computer, and leave. Seafood salad, quiche and carrots. As we eat, Sam inquires about the age of consent laws in France, while another talks about going back in time to please ladies. From this, Sam and I begin to put together our most trashy storyline ever:
An evil psychiatrist who goes back in time to find various women he is attracted to when they were children. He brutally abuses them, then travels back to the present where they are now damaged, maladjusted people, and becomes their psychologist, and in their sessions, seduces them. Worse yet, the way he appears to these girls, stepping though some sort of distortion in reality, he must look like an angel or a demon or something more terrifying. It's his fetish, and it's a fucked up one. Now he has his eyes set on a colleague. But no matter how many times he goes back in time to try to ruin her life, when he gets back she is even more driven and dedicated. It is his undoing, and he loses sanity. The woman herself, who has actually become a close friend (though not knowing his intentions), has him committed. She cares for him so much, like she would a sibling, that she puts him in the same ward as her identical twin sister. The sister the she never talks about, that is her secret burden to carry. At the end of the story, he sees her in there, realizing his mistake; a wicked little smile crosses his face.
This film will never get made. Just a sick and twisted little story between the two of us, and the various other people at the table who now look rather disgusted with us. We walk back, looking for a one hour photo, but we find none. The camera film will take at least into next morning. I fear for the viability of my movie, the final shot requires this film developed. I don't like cutting it so close to the deadline. I will have to write an alternative ending, a backup to use if time runs out. But first I stop in the hotel room to finish writing this. Then I will meet up with Sam and some filmmakers from Belgium. In their film, Sam and I will play drunken, sea-weary sailors looking for women. This scene will be filmed in the cave, we will sing in French. We wear tattered canvas clothes that smell like camping equipment. And that is where I leave off, for now.
I discovered that whatever the virus that was infecting my throat was, red wine is the cure. The wine we drink is a young wine, made in 2005 from vineyards near the castle that overlooks the town. There are expansive caves beneath this castle, and Sam and I intend to film there. We have been given extensive access to the castle as well, though we may not use it.
I will return to my hotel room to write this, as my battery is too low to do it here. The hotel is more of a bed and breakfast, and it is as awkward as I ever dreamed them to be. More so when the owners do not speak much English, but still, being friendly people, engage in much conversation. For breakfast we had some sort of gelled chicken dish, not nearly as tasty as the cubed ham and eggs that I missed the previous morning. And there was wine, always wine. Okay, that was a lie, no wine for breakfast in France. I think.
I have photographs of this lady that I took the night before. It's for a short film I made, a silent film about love and photographs. Sam just shot one of his, and is editing it now. Two single continuous shots of a man and a woman meeting in one of the winding alleyways of Chinon. We know what will be next, but we have until the next night to make films. It seems we will make a set of very short films.
Sam and another filmmaker from Australia have just walked in to the hotel room and are urging me to go with them for lunch. So I put down this computer, and leave. Seafood salad, quiche and carrots. As we eat, Sam inquires about the age of consent laws in France, while another talks about going back in time to please ladies. From this, Sam and I begin to put together our most trashy storyline ever:
An evil psychiatrist who goes back in time to find various women he is attracted to when they were children. He brutally abuses them, then travels back to the present where they are now damaged, maladjusted people, and becomes their psychologist, and in their sessions, seduces them. Worse yet, the way he appears to these girls, stepping though some sort of distortion in reality, he must look like an angel or a demon or something more terrifying. It's his fetish, and it's a fucked up one. Now he has his eyes set on a colleague. But no matter how many times he goes back in time to try to ruin her life, when he gets back she is even more driven and dedicated. It is his undoing, and he loses sanity. The woman herself, who has actually become a close friend (though not knowing his intentions), has him committed. She cares for him so much, like she would a sibling, that she puts him in the same ward as her identical twin sister. The sister the she never talks about, that is her secret burden to carry. At the end of the story, he sees her in there, realizing his mistake; a wicked little smile crosses his face.
This film will never get made. Just a sick and twisted little story between the two of us, and the various other people at the table who now look rather disgusted with us. We walk back, looking for a one hour photo, but we find none. The camera film will take at least into next morning. I fear for the viability of my movie, the final shot requires this film developed. I don't like cutting it so close to the deadline. I will have to write an alternative ending, a backup to use if time runs out. But first I stop in the hotel room to finish writing this. Then I will meet up with Sam and some filmmakers from Belgium. In their film, Sam and I will play drunken, sea-weary sailors looking for women. This scene will be filmed in the cave, we will sing in French. We wear tattered canvas clothes that smell like camping equipment. And that is where I leave off, for now.
Post a Comment
