Up up up up. But I want more sleep. Up.
Went to Monmouth yesterday. Good coffee. Pint of water first. Ah that’s better. Monmouth coffee on in the stovetop.
Pulling on clothes. Can I reuse this sock? Collared shirt or T-shirt? Shorts today. Odd socks? Expedience. Drink coffee. Oh. Wait yes ok I’m awake because self tape. Shirt off. Shorts off. Rethink.
Record a soundtrack in bed. Then record another. Shave. I’ll be doing these to myself with me doing voices. Bite me.
Director first. Playing one. Calling the shots but not actually how they would be called on film. Time is shifted on that medium. Sticky up hair. Directors wear scarves. Hmm. Barclay tartan cravat. Corduroy jacket. No need to do hair. That’s me as a director with 5 minutes prep. Haven’t got time to do it better really. Lines. Record. Edit. Send. Done.
Ok. Now this next guy. He’s an actor in WW2. Gets a job pretending to be a famous general. I haven’t a moustache. Do I even look like him? Surely it is cast already. Still worth doing it I guess. He was a bit of a boozer this actor even though the general was teetotal. He did a good job of it. He’s army, but all I’ve got is navy. One of granddad’s coats. His tie from HMS Repulse, where he was torpedoed by the Japanese. Shove a bit of water in my hair. Haven’t got time to get this perfect. Fuck me it’s hot in wool. “Pleasure to meet you sir” FOREHEAD.
Same frame. Same light. Same fucking face, these were about ten minutes apart. Oh fuck and they want an ident with a full body shot and a clean frame. We don’t all live in fucking Saltburn darling, more’s the pity. I persuaded Maddy to handhold something that will have to do. Could have cleaned up cushions from the wide shot or worn a lower half that matched the upper but this is a crapshoot. It’s enough that I put on shoes. I’ve done them barefoot in the past as honestly what are you asking us to have here? Must we all live in vastness?
Two auditions done and it’s not even morning yet really. Maddy was sitting working on Chinese visas at the kitchen table throughout and I wished she wasn’t. Made me self conscious a little but largely didn’t negatively impact things – if anything it made it quicker to film as the social anxiety aspect was present hence why I didn’t want her there. Brian was kind enough to leave.
Spot of editing – top and tail. I’ve stopped giving too much of a fuck about getting the perfect take cos it’s an absolute crapshoot these days at this stage. I remember in 2002 seeing a role I was already cast in being advertised on the front page of PCR with a casting director who had been taken off the project. She was taken off because the director was fed up of being served the same old people from the same old agencies. But a ripple doesn’t cause a storm.
These parts are one line two line parts and I imagine they go to literally hundreds if not thousands of people for tapes. I’m allowed to play these parts according to the unspoken rules of agentranking. Esta is known in the industry and I’m not alone in loving her. They could still go to friends of the director these parts, and maybe they are already cast … but if there’s anything left it is a level playing field depending on what order they watch the tapes… I wonder how big the odds are. I’m conflicted. I’ll give a shit but I’m not gonna give you a clean landscape background for the ident as you literally have to live in a wind tunnel.
It would be lovely, of course, to do what I’m supposed to be doing, and sometimes these tapes do land. All you need is one ball bearing from the shotgun cartridge to hit the clay pigeon. Thinking about it won’t help though. So I pack up the tripod and change my clothes again. I’m awake now. Day. A day. A waddadaidai.
Into Bergie on a hot afternoon. First I have to get my festival stuff out of him to make room. I’m aware that the designer I’m collecting for needs things to be just-so. I don’t want her to slam herself to the negative when it isn’t immediately possible for me to pack the car. I’ve already made it clear to her that she can’t send the costume rail intact up three flights of stairs. She wanted us to put it in a van upright.
I collect fine. Then to The Arts which has no loading bay. I reverse dangerously onto the pavement and Brian appears as if from nowhere to wordlessly start carrying this crap. This is our understanding and our deep friendship now and I hold it tight. Unloading could have been an absolute bastard, but I know it and he knows it and between us it was ok. He had a house manager who had a brilliant hairstyle and did absolutely diddly fuck tomato apart from look at me like I was in the wrong place. He walked up some stairs in front of me. He had nice hair. Useless fucker. Brian and I slung all the heavy stuff up all the stairs. I even noticed that Brian had left two bags on a landing thinking that hairstyle might take them the rest of the way. Nope. We took one each, Brian and I. Nowadays nobody does more than they absolutely have to. This is how the world dies, honestly, I can’t make sense of it. How has everyone got so partitioned that you can call it boundaries where really it’s totally just laziness?
Anyway, I went for dinner with good people. Bedtime.
AlBarclay 