up (which I film in ECU to capture her eyes which are relentlessly flickering, as if she’s lost a diamond earring she’s bought but hasn’t yet paid for, and I hope the red tinge of the blush that spreads up her neck from that hollow in her breast bone actually comes out). Until, finally, the Janes make their move downstairs where no doubt they locate Soft Core and Indie Classics and spend some time discussing how good Divine was in Shampoo (not the Travolta version, right?).
Duchovny says, with his hands in his pockets and his head craned back so he can look out the windows, which shows the lower part of the street: “It’s like looking into another world from down here.”
Oh, reeally! . . . Dare I say: Poke alert!
“This,” I say to myself, “I just got to get.” So I come over closer, behind Documentary and Foreign. But Duchovny, who actually knows exactly what I’m looking for here, stares up at me as if I’m trying to assassinate The President.
“Don’t get any closer with that thing, it’s libel to go off,” he says dumbly. I imagine him shot in Panavision with the colors all saturated and the balance wacked. Deep purples. Hard reds. Bug greens. Frozen blues. All primary colors.
“Yep,” says Duchovny, staring up into the street again, “it really is like we’re integral to the street down here.”
Jesus!
“Excuse me,” I whisper desperately, “but this is not a genre film.”
Holding the box, with which I somehow get stuck, I sit my phone on the top of the display for Polanski’s The Ninth Gate, but without a clamp (which worries me, but what choice do I have?). Then I move along next to the two of them while knowing what I’m probably getting, entirely for Karen’s benefit, is completely offset framing and no headroom; but I’m thinking of Hitchcock’s fixed camera in Rope. I’m thinking that Hitchcock did it in Rope, and so maybe something will come of it. Maybe something good will come of it.
Karen is passing along the shelves of Rom-Coms, Thrillers, Sci-Fi, slotting in this DVD and that one, BLU-RAY, old skool, each one, alphabetically!
She says: “I feel like I’m replacing the thoughts of the people in the street.”
I refuse outright to react to this.
Slotting into place a copy of Scholondorff’s The Handmaid’s Tale, she says: “When Margaret Atwood did this it was a great piece of feminist literature, but this. . . .”
“This is crazy,” I’m telling myself. “My film’s going to be a comedy if I’m not careful.”
“It’s like axing the last fingers off the statue of the Venus de Milo,” Karen says, picking up a copy of The Naked Lunch.
It’s occurring to me—because all of a sudden I realize that my film’s being directed by me and I shouldn’t be expecting anyone else to know how it should be composed and, certainly, it’s up to me because I’m directing it and I’m also technically directing it. I’m set designing it, I’m engineering it, I’m mixing it, I’m propping it, I’m lighting it, I’m booming it, I’m vision controlling it and I’m FX-designing it—it’s occurring to me that what I have actually been doing is shooting myself.
“Well. Well. Well,” I say, standing there replaying what I’ve done.
And there I am. A cameo. I’m to the left of frame with the light from the street catching my face equally on the left side. I’m wearing a Futori denim floral shirt, a pair of Evisu jeans and a neck tie from Angels. My hair is cropped now and looks black though really it’s dark dark brown like the hair on that pastel-loving guy (Christopher Marciello) in the Explorer Sandal ad. In the center is Karen and she looks, to be honest, absolutely brilliant. She’s wearing a pink Etam satin slip dress and a pair of black flat-fronted trousers from The Dispensary. Her hair is pinned in three places so it hangs over her right eye, but is bunched up over her left ear. She has on buff colored lipstick which makes her lips look like pure skin, like her lips just pick up where the rest of her leaves off.
Karen calls: “So, Ciaran, how is it looking?”
“Awful,” I lie. “It’s looking awful. Too much red.”
“Oh, God,” I think, “I can’t stand this.” Every shot visually brilliant. Pans. Zooms. Dollies in and out. Trucks. Arcs. Elevates. All having to be in the right place now. Everything properly paced. Height. Body position. Every frame matching every frame. Seamless continuity. All the possibilities covered. And veritè. Very very veritè. Overmodulated sound. Cutting on my movement. Just lingering now and then on one thing or another. The sequence disordered but every message clear. Karen. Duchovny. Campbell. Tyler and Paltrow. And now Nicolas Cage, who is coming into the shop wearing three days of facial growth, a black suit, a bad shirt (bamboo pattern, Fijian), and a look like he’s going to eat the gherkin right out of your bun, leading in Holly Hunter, who is not his wife, and followed by, and this I do not believe, Woody Harrelson. I mean, that is Woody Harrelson isn’t it? I see Detective Rick Santoro, Jack Singer, H.I.McDonnough, Smokey: the whole Cage oeuvre playing out right in front of me. I could get it wrong any second. And then what? My film will be nothing more than daytime TV. It will be no better than Quantum Leap. No better than The Six Million Dollar Man. My film will be nothing then.
“When’s lunch?” says Karen, abruptly.
Duchovny smoothly checks his Heuger. “Now,” he says. “Now . . . if you want.”
7
Cooking a meal on a small student budget doesn’t have to be a problem. Under any Financial Aid options, it is still entirely possible to construct something interesting, tasty, and also nutritious. Take for example this recipe, among others:
Andean Mountain Bread
(10 Servings) To be served with meals or combined with ale to give that keeping the cold out winter boost. The cardamom seeds are optional but are authentic, and the whole thing should be served on a rough cloth if possible. A sweater can work, if it comes down to it.
400 ounces cornflour, plus extra for dusting
1 tablespoon of salt
2 tablespoons of cardamom seeds
1 tablespoon pumpkin seeds
1 tablespoon caraway seeds
Cooking Time: 25–35 minutes
1. Combine the flour, salt and seeds in a bowl. Add, at steady slow pace, 15 fl oz of tap water, mixing all the while until the texture is soft but firm. Knead for 30 minutes. Form a smooth ball. Put it under cloth for 30 minutes
2. Split dough into 10 equal balls. Smooth and flatten into pancake style. Cover with cloth.
3. Bring griddle pan to warm on a medium heat. Put two breads at a time in a griddle pan. Pat down with palm of hand. Do not allow seeds to burn. Turn each over and over until brown (2 minutes). Remove from the heat and place on woven mat. Keep covered with cloth.
4. When all are cooked serve immediately, while still warm.
(Library Shelf: Z03478: Nitinia Lugushi, Warm Tastes from Down South, Condominium Books, 2006)
8
I can’t believe they made me cut that
