Alejandro Adams‘ 4th feature, Amity (which I did cinematography for), finished shooting today.  The film is a day in the life of a divorced Air Force sergeant (Greg Cala) who decides to surprise his estranged daughter by showing up unannounced right before his daughter’s graduation.  She rejects him and he spends the rest of the night hanging out with the driver (Michael Uimari) of his rented limo.

The first scene we shot takes place near the end of the film where Greg has assembled an excitable group of party girls into the limo for late night existential conversation.  Lighting the inside of a packed limo at night is one kind of task.  Handholding a camera for a 64 minute continuous take is yet another.  I survived both.  Party girls, driver and passenger alike, I heard several of the actors describe acting in the limo scene as quite a vivid psychological experience.  For me, the process of doing something strenuous in a confined space for a long period of time without coming up for air can result in an enjoyable mini-trauma.  There’s an etching in my memory, not from the pain of backaches or trying to move in slow motion (have you tried that lately?), but the pain of separation loss when it’s all over and the limo empties.  Something powerful happened in there and we all shared it.  At a certain point I think we all forgot where we were, then remembered, and then wanted to forget again.  Sometimes when I’m on an airplane and everyone around me is motionless or sleeping, often this sensation suddenly comes over me:  “Wait a minute, this all seems very civilized on the surface, but I’m actually in a tin can hurdling through space!  This is crazy and dangerous!”  I want to shake the person next to me and implore them to think about the physics of what is happening.  And then I just forget about it a moment later and go back to reading Skymall.  The shooting of a scene like this is similar; at first I’m engaged for a while trying to “do a good job”, and then later I become conscious that THIS IS STILL GOING ON, and then still later I forget even what it is that’s going on, not even hearing voices properly, as I descend into an underwater wash of the experience of imagery.  It was hallucinatory, and left its mark on me.  But, the wound is only 64 minutes small; luckily they don’t make MiniDV tapes longer than that.  What’s that?  They do?  Don’t tell Alejandro.

We actually did shoot in an airplane, thanks to San Jose State University and Brandon Rose who brokered the location (he also played a sleeping passenger extra, whom I was tempted to shake), but no take was quite as long as the above in a single go. My sensations this day were of a more tactile nature, as the plane was a little dirty inside. It was also somewhat dim. I would have added more fill light but I assumed there wouldn’t be any electrical outlets in the sky so I didn’t even bring my lights. What was most notable about this day (besides the synchronicity of both cast members losing valuable personal items) was a manifestation of the “Filmdozer Effect”: the unapologetic momentum an (indie) production achieves at a certain point after it gets off the ground, wherein a confident attitude of unstoppability becomes the norm. We arrived to the aviation office early, grabbed all our equipment and started steamrolling toward the office door. Our liaison was not there yet. Who was there was an old timer electrician who was nervous about our presence because he knew nothing about it. “I really can’t let you in” he said, as he held the door open for us while we hauled equipment on past. Then he guided us to the hanger itself and unlocked another door for us, saying “I’m really sure I shouldn’t let you in here.” We did not comment and kept marching toward the plane and up the rear stairs. He tagged along with us up and into the plane, again reiterating that we couldn’t be there, yet still eerily bent to our will. After our liaison showed up, legitimizing our presence, our electrician was more at ease and hung around for a while longer recalling how he had witnessed the filming of scenes from “The Rookie” shot on the runway next to us some 20 years back.

I would have added more fill light at Alex’s 49er Inn (a sports bar in San Jose), but we were running out of time as the bar began filling up with patrons who, for a sports bar crowd, were surprisingly cooperative at keeping quiet.  But, I’d never hung out with a 9AM Sunday morning sports bar crowd before, so I don’t have a point of reference.  (I had no idea this underworld even existed.)

We also shot at a scene at Emile’s Restaurant in downtown San Jose, which proved to be engaging on several hallucinatory levels.  It’s the first time I’ve been on a film set where shooting was interrupted multiple times by a crank caller.  Once it finally dawned on us to unplug the phone, we shot with available light with the DVX cameras at f2.8.  My HPX camera is less sensitive but has a cleaner signal, so I pragmatically but surreptitiously set my camera to +3dB electronic gain to artificially sustain f2.8 alongside the other operators, crossing my fingers that any extra video noise induced would go unnoticed.  Don’t tell Alejandro.

We spent the final afternoon of shooting sweating inside an expensively cheap motel room where Greg prepares in the mirror how he will call his daughter and surprise her, while he waits for his limo driver to arrive.  In this and other scenes where he performs alone, Greg Cala shows a tremendous talent for creating fascinating character material without even speaking.  He is unrestrained in his experimentation, carefree with his anger, and transparent in his pain. 

Michael Uimari’s performance as a strong silent type was also fascinating to watch, as he provided the irritation of sensibility along with the benevolence of genuine regard.  His quietness tempts you to mentally turn up the volume, but then he gets you with a loud single blow up over Greg’s juvenile tendencies, pushing the seismographic needle off the charts.

I won’t even discuss any illegal driving maneuvers we used to get shots of Greg on his motorcycle.  Not that there were any of course.  Please don’t tell anyone.