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We see MATTHIAS squatting against a wall in the courtyard, his eyelids drooping as he watches the party scene unfold. We see MARIO in the kitchen, spotting an open energy drink of IAN's on the counter that could potentially spill and ruin an adjacent camera. He moves the can to a table. "Makes me nervous," he mutters.
Around midnight, crew members begin swaying with exhaustion. Empty drink cans litter the floors. IAN and CRYSTAL tell the cast and crew they should leave. Nobody does.
Shooting continues until 2:30 a.m. We see most of the crew departing in cars that disappear into the fog. IAN tells MATTHIAS and MARIO about Plan B. MATTHIAS, at first, doesn't like the idea, and MARIO, although his face doesn't show much emotion, is heartbroken. IAN tells both of them that they should continue working on the scripted film. It could still pan out.
So all night long, while he should be sleeping, MARIO slaves away on yet another draft of the script, still seeking to construct a cohesive story around the scenes they've shot. CRYSTAL drives home to take a shower, turning over alternate endings in her mind.
IAN spends the early morning hours alongside the editors, staring at footage. We see a progression of the completed scenes: disjointed images of people at a party, beautifully shot but totally incoherent. There's no narrative, nothing connecting one character to the next. One of the editors refuses to work on the documentary, and the other isn't so hot on the script, so IAN assigns one to each project. He now has two full-blown movies cooking, and they both must be finished in a little more than 24 hours. We see IAN curl up on the couch in the basement, where the house's occupants are watching a movie at full blast, and immediately fall asleep. CUT TO:
A digital clock reading 5 a.m.
In the pre-dawn blackness, IAN drags himself off the couch. He looks exhausted. He has slept for 30 minutes. He slips on a black sweater and wakes up PETE, MATTHIAS, JESSE, and a wiry gaffer.
We see them driving together in a car, their faces pale from lack of sleep. IAN asks, "You're sure we have the camera?" They arrive at the Muni stop at 19th Avenue and unload their equipment to shoot the crucial opening scene of the documentary: IAN waking up on the platform. Then they realize: Their camera has no battery. PETE and IAN make the 15-minute drive back to the house. We see the battery lying on the ground, uncharged. PETE picks it up: "Completely dead." CUT TO:
The kitchen. A digital clock indicates 5:30 a.m. It's another race against light. PETE and IAN sprawl on the floor, their faces pressed to the battery, willing it to beep and indicate 50 percent life. BEEP! They grab the battery, run to the car, and race back to the Muni stop.
MATTHIAS has designed a complex shot, timed to the sun coming up on IAN's face as he lies on a bench. IAN holds his position in freezing wind for more than an hour. When the sun finally comes up, it proves that the cosmos is officially aligned against the 48-hour movie project: Because of the sun's position on this particular day, it is all but obscured behind a roof across the street. Only the tiniest triangle of light appears on IAN's otherwise shadowy face. "What are we supposed to do, triangulate the sun's position?" he asks.
Whether it's from lack of sleep, lack of hope, or both, the five of them sit down and start laughing. It's the kind of laughter that verges on crying, and it doesn't stop for half an hour. Nobody talks, nobody jokes; they just shake their heads and laugh like hyenas as the sun continues to rise. And we FADE OUT.
ACT THREE
We see the street in front of the Sunset District house. IAN is carrying a container of gasoline. It's 7 p.m. Sunday, and the day that began with chaos at the train station has just ended with the final scene of the scripted movie. Not everything has gone well, however: The car they were filming in ran out of gas, and IAN and PETE have just returned from the corner station. Both of them sport stubble and dark bags under their eyes. PETE, however, has felt no ill effects from his run-in with the taxi last weekend: "I don't know why, but I feel good. Whatever happened, my head has definitely cleared."
We learn that last night, MARIO rewrote 2 1/2 pages of the script, figuring out ways to flesh out parts of the story that badly needed it. MARIO is finally leaving, his eyes bloodshot and a backpack slung over his shoulder as he waves goodbye to IAN. The footage is in the hands of the editors now. After a hectic but productive day of shooting, thanks largely to Mario's heroic efforts on the script, there's an open debate on set about whether the scripted movie or the documentary is stronger. Which one should they go with? CUT TO:
CRYSTAL, one hand on each of the editors' chairs, her eyes flicking back and forth between two computer screens. Her brows scrunch as she studies the documentary footage on one monitor and a rough cut of the dramatic movie on the other. It's the wee hours of Monday morning. Soon the postproduction people must begin burning DVDs. IAN sits on the couch, face puffy and lips cracked. It's decision time: Should they submit the drama or the documentary? The key crew members have weighed in with their preferences. CRYSTAL, her throat raw and her diminutive frame sagging, makes a final case for each option, reiterating the stance she's articulated several times this evening.
