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A middle-aged Latino actress emerging from the bathroom. "The toilet splashed all over me," she says. The first scene is complete.
But IAN's ability to hold the production together is about to be sorely tested. We move behind closed doors. In a rear bedroom, the film's director, CRYSTAL MILLER, who wears a jean jacket with a furry collar, confronts IAN. CRYSTAL, who describes herself as an anal-retentive who starts worrying about a dentist's appointment two months in advance, has been smiling steadily all day behind her wire-rim glasses, calm under the pressure of an unconventional grind. But now she drops a bombshell.
She refuses to shoot the script. She tells IAN: "It just doesn't work."
ACT TWO
The back yard of the Sunset District house. It is 5 p.m., and the sun is rapidly sinking against the horizon. An autumn chill has set in. Actresses ask for sweaters to wear over their thin dresses as they wait for the cameras to roll. The crew sets up a huge piece of equipment called a Jimmy Jib, a crane for the camera. MATTHIAS still hasn't eaten, and he asks MARIO to get him a bite. IAN and PETE compare notes. PETE found a Muni stop at 19th Avenue that could serve as a train station in a pinch. The script is better now, the result of constant reworking by several different members of the crew: There's a different premise, a new main character, and a completely transformed ending. CRYSTAL is happy with it, and has agreed to continue directing. IAN consults a list. Out of 18 scenes, they've shot four. He asks about the scene with a car. Hasn't been shot, PETE reports. IAN's face falls. He grabs an assistant cinematographer: "You're shooting this scene. I'll direct it."
IAN buttonholes two actors and hurries to the street in front of the house. Neighbors poke their heads out of windows, curious about the commotion. Passing cars slow to a crawl. The crew films the scene, in which the sleepwalking Pookie crosses the street and is nearly hit by a car. In fitting with the time-crunched theme of the weekend, the actor playing Pookie -- who hangs out all night in a bathrobe and never complains -- must finish all his scenes tonight because he's flying to Mexico at 6 a.m. The two writers, who have watched their original script die a long, much-revised death, wear gloomy frowns as they watch the shoot.
RUSTY: I don't want any credit for this. You can just credit me with the characters.
JOSH, sighing and shaking his head: I haven't even read the whole script. We just kinda wrote it in pieces. We bombed it.
RUSTY: Things shouldn't have been as late as they were, but it's nobody's fault. I still think it can be done. There are some good people here, some very professional people. And I like the new ending: Apparently the two male actors are going to do an on-screen kiss.
CUT TO:
Back yard. As the sun sets, the crew prepares for a beautiful, golden-hued shot of the party guests. Clapboards snap. MATTHIAS yells, "Quiet on the set!" In a few takes, the scene is wrapped. But that's the only exterior shot they can get. Darkness has fallen.
Inside the house, there's more bad news. In their curtained-off room, the editors have begun reviewing footage from the afternoon. We see the bathroom scene, marred by a light flare and a boom mike moving across the frame. We see IAN's and CRYSTAL's shoulders sag. We hear her lament: "Everything changed the minute we didn't get that log line." CUT TO:
A rear bedroom, dark. IAN, PETE, and CRYSTAL go through the depressing inventory of which shots they have and which shots remain. They've already agreed to shoot "day for night" and move much of the outdoor party sequence into the brightly lit courtyard and pass it off as an interior. But IAN and PETE tell CRYSTAL that they suspect this is not enough. "At this point, I just want a product, something I can burn on a DVD," IAN says desperately. And then he and PETE drop a bombshell of their own.
For the past three hours, PETE and IAN have been operating under the assumption that their movie will fail. And so, they inform CRYSTAL, they have developed a Plan B: The behind-the-scenes documentary will become their project, telling the story of IAN's disastrous film shoot. They could even incorporate the log line: shoot IAN waking up on a bench at the train station, wondering why he's there, then flash back to the documentary footage that sketches the disintegration of the 48-hour project. It's risky, but what do they have to lose? At this rate, the scripted film will never be finished anyway. CRYSTAL embraces the idea.
There's one problem: They can't tell the cast and crew. If work stops on the scripted film, there won't be a behind-the-scenes story to tell.
We see a montage: The crew works through the night. IAN, PETE, and CRYSTAL share their true plan with only a few of their fellow students. JESSE, the documentary cameraman upon whose slender shoulders the project now rests, has mixed feelings about how important his role has become.
JESSE: On one hand, it's like, "Wow, I'm doing the movie now." But also, it's like, "Oh, I'm doing the movie now." Fifty people are here, and if we blow it, if we don't show what their work deserves, then I'd feel really ... dishonorable.
By necessity, IAN must conduct a disinformation campaign with much of his crew. We see IAN chatting in the driveway with the actor playing Pookie, their faces illuminated by the harsh lights spilling out of the courtyard. IAN steers clear of any discussion of Plan B. He's bantering about the meaning of cinema, how Man's ability to appreciate film separates him from the animals. Typical words, perhaps, from the mouth of a film student, but IAN's ability to look beyond the immediate chaos and cling to his idealistic view of Movie Magic is somehow heartwarming. "I can go out and get a real job, do what everyone else does, but then I'll be 90, sitting there, wondering what could have been. So I'm just going to go for it, give it everything I can, and I'll have a good time doing it."
