Ask the location manager if she’s found a park with trees and benches and a man-made lake. Tell her there has to be a man-made lake.
Tell the idiot he has to add an outdoor scene at a park with trees and benches and a man-made lake. Tell him people should be doing all the things one does in a park.
A father and son flying a rainbow kite. Teenagers tossing a football back and forth. Married men meeting younger women. Recognizable everyday American people. Overweight women engaged in futile exercise. Old men playing chess and sailing model boats on the man-made lake. Shit like this.
Tell him the scene should be about a widower shopping for tube socks.
If the location manager is attractive, communicate this in no uncertain terms. Tell her, You are attractive. Then see what happens.
Never employ the word
Style your hair in such a way that it looks unstyled, unkempt. Wear glasses on the bridge of your nose. Maybe a sweater draped over your shoulders.
Take Star and the actor out to dinner. Take them to a quiet restaurant where you can hear one another talk. Make them comfortable. Connect. Reference Buddha, Vishnu, Martin Luther King Junior and Senior, L. Ron Hubbard. Pretend to listen. Pretend to eat solid food.
Note the lack of talent, chemistry, depth. Figure ways to use this.
Recall a time when directing a motion picture seemed like a great opportunity.
Recall a time before that when painting a picture seemed like something one could do every day.
Do not discuss the film with a family member.
Decide on a palette and communicate this to the cinematographer. Tell him every scene involving the dog should feel somehow yellow.
Never say Action when you want action. Say Go instead.
See the actor making this more difficult than it need be. Call him over. Put your arm around him. Call him son. Say, Son, I can tell you all kinds of stories. I can reference this one and that one and some other ones. I can comfort you, shock you, cajole you, threaten you. None of this matters, son. Ask him, You know what matters, don’t you, son?
Before he has a chance to answer, shake your head and walk away.
Turn to an assistant, if there is an assistant nearby, and say, Can you fucking believe this guy?
Never bellow for an assistant.
Always keep antacids on hand. Otherwise, tell the assistant to always keep antacids on hand.
Compile a list of items the assistant should always have on hand.
Remember painting landscapes in the park. Remember the brilliant mornings, the way the light. .
Remember everyone is beneath you. The AD is beneath you such as the camera operator such as the script girl such as the best boy. Communicate this by keeping hands in pockets and never looking anyone in the eye.
Tell whichever yes-man is closest you need a ride to the park. That you need to think and the best place to think is the park. Tell the yes-man to drive you to the park.
Always repeat yourself.
Make an appointment with the doctor. One shouldn’t have to take twelve pills to digest a decent meal.
Tell everyone within earshot that we are a family here. That we have to hunker down and pull together. That we sink the swimmer as a unit.
Let the DP talk about lenses in that ridiculous accent. Look bored. Ask about the tracking shot, the two-shot, the over-the-shoulder. Tell him, We shouldn’t push in like this. Reference Willis and the guy Fellini used, if Fellini used a guy.
Go over budget. Talk about the money people, the bean counters. Dismiss them with a wave of the hand.
Have at least two drinks before watching dailies.
Do not let anyone speak to you while watching dailies.
Take your pills. The woman at the pharmacy called them enzymes.
Consider what else you could be doing with yourself. Consider where you went wrong.
There are no minions when painting a picture.
What the fuck is an enzyme?
Never discuss the project with anyone who identifies himself as an associate producer.
While rehearsing, always remain standing, with arms folded. Sometimes pace while muttering. Say, Listen people.
Say, This scene is about a man taking digestive enzymes. It’s about digestion.
Make friends with whoever is in charge of craft services.
Do not explain yourself. Someone will want to know why he should cross downstage and sit on the sofa. Someone will want to know why he should smoke a cigarette or bounce a ball. Someone will ask ridiculous questions like, Was he an athlete growing up? Did his parents smoke in the house?
Call nearest living relative over forty and ask him how’s his digestion.
Conduct brief meetings with the editing team. Go to the studio where they work. Sit backward on a rolling chair and tell them, This isn’t a music video, people.
Tell the woman who is in charge of craft services that you need bland, easy-to-digest foods. If she asks like what, tell her to do her job.
