Liz is depressed. It’s Friday night and it’s been a long week.
She’s lying on the couch in the dark watching TV. A writer is speaking about his latest book. The interviewer asks what drew him to write about destitute people living in the underground tunnels of New York. The remote is close by. She’s managing with her left hand as her right arm is encased in plaster.
She also has both feet in plaster. The previous Friday she had her bunions done. The surgeon said, ‘It’s a painful procedure. I would advise you to have them done one at a time.’ But Liz thought, if it’s that painful, it’d be better to get it over and done with in one go. But the surgeon was right. It’s been excruciating. It’s been seven days and still, she can do nothing but lie on the couch and swallow painkillers.
How her arm ended up in plaster, is another story.
Liz is a small person with a large presence. She’s comfortable giving orders. Her strength creates an illusion about her size. Charles thinks of her as a big woman but this week, carrying her about in his arms, he’s been reminded of her true dimensions. Less like a lioness, more like a sparrow, he has felt protective.
Charles has been in charge of the domestic realm – chief cook and bottle washer. An unkind person might say, ‘He’s off the leash.’ He said to Olivia, ‘This week, I’m the captain and you are my first mate.’
He’d made arrangements to work at home so he could be nurse. He’s his own boss, so it was no big deal. Charles designs instructional DVDs. He’s working on one called The Installation and Maintenance of Home Sprinkler Systems. The client approved the script a while ago and he’d always planned to shoot it in the back garden - so things had worked out well. He reassured Liz that the filming would not disturb her. ‘We’ll be quiet as mice. I’ve got our lunches planned and the crew can take care of themselves.’
Monday. Mid morning, a van arrived with boxes of sprinkler equipment. Charles popped his head around the lounge room door, ‘It’s the Art Department. I’ll just get him sorted and then I’ll get lunch on the go.’
Liz could hear him giving instructions.
‘I want a pan of the basic fittings from camera left to right. We’ll start with a close up of the poly tube, then the four-way flow. You can arrange the joiners, elbows etc how you choose but I want the 300 millimetre risers last and we’ll do a dissolve.’
She wasn’t used to hearing him talk like this.
Leaving the Art Department to get on with the job, he slipped into the kitchen, tucked a tea towel into his belt and began preparing lunch. Not normally welcome in the kitchen, he was excited by the novelty. ‘I’m not useless.’ he was occasionally heard to say. ‘I was a scout leader you know.’ It was the old scouting recipes he planned to use this week. He cut a thick slice of bread and made a hole in it with a biscuit cutter. He then melted two large tablespoons of butter in a pan and slapped it in, then cracked an egg into the hole and cooked it till the white set. He slid it onto a plate and arranged it on a small tray with a knife and fork, paper serviette and a glass of water. He placed it carefully on Liz’s lap. ‘There you go. Enjoy. A one-eyed Egyptian – B-P’s favourite.’
He hardly had time to make himself some lunch when another van pulled into the drive – it was the crew. He popped his head around the door again, ‘It’s the crew.’ Liz wanted to ask who B-P was but he’d gone. She heard him giving instructions again.
‘For the opening shot I want a bird’s eye view of the garden then a zoom to the poly tube. Then we’ll pick up with the pan. Tod, you’ll have to go on the roof for this one. We’ll put you in a safety harness and anchor you to the chimney. I want these shots finished today because tomorrow we’re working with the Talent.’ Charles was looking forward to tomorrow. Normally he stood in front of the camera and delivered the information himself but this time he’d convinced the client to pay for an actor. ‘An actor will give the whole thing an edge. Make it a bit of fun for the DIY man.’ Sean is the only actor Charles knows so he engaged him for the job. ‘But I’m not really and actor. I’m a puppeteer.’ said Sean. Charles thought that was splitting hairs.
Liz must have dozed off for a few hours. The painkillers were good. She was woken by Charles calling to the crew, ‘OK. THAT’S A WRAP FOR TODAY.’
Back to home duties. Within an hour of the crew leaving, he and Olivia had a load in the washing machine, a load in the dryer (‘I can’t use the line this week, the Art Department would have a fit!’), the dishwasher was hard at work and dinner was in the oven.
Around six he served up three large aluminium balls on three plates. He took one into Liz. ‘What’s this?’
‘A spud egg. Do you want sauce?’
No reply.
He watched as she unwrapped the potato, sliced into it and found an egg cooked inside. ‘Yes. I think sauce would be appropriate, thankyou.’
He and Olivia took their plates out into the garden, lit a mosquito coil and ate their spud eggs with HP sauce.
Tuesday. After Liz had struggled to dress, Charles carried her to the lounge and made her comfortable. ‘I’ll run Ollie to school, pick up some DVD’S and be back before the crew arrives.’
He was as good as his word. The vans were pulling into the driveway as he returned. Charles knows what Liz likes – musicals and dance movies. ‘I’ve got Carmen the opera and Carmen the ballet, what would you like first?’
She really didn’t fancy either at 9.00 am. The thought of watching women on point made her scalp creep. But it wasn’t a real question. He’d loaded the ballet into the player and was heading out the room. ‘Lunch at 12.00,’ he called over his shoulder. Sing out if you need anything.’ Then she heard him giving instructions.
‘The Talent will be here this afternoon. Meanwhile I want a montage of the jets, misters and drippers …What’s this nozzle doing here?’ he held up a nozzle so everyone could see what he was talking about. The Art Department looked uncomfortable. ‘Look at this everyone. This is a nozzle for hand hosing. What is this DVD about?’
Silence.
The Art Department muttered, ‘Sprinkler systems.’
‘Exactly. Hosing equipment should not be on the set. I hope I’ve made myself clear. Strike all hosing paraphernalia immediately.’
Charles left the crew to decontaminate the set and went to the kitchen to begin preparations for Liz’s lunch. He didn’t want to get caught up filming and not have something for her at midday. No pills on an empty stomach. Who said men can’t multi task?
When Sean arrived Charles introduced his friend to the crew as ‘the Talent’. He said, ‘I want the camera on the dolly and tracks, we’ll do a midshot of the Talent walking and talking from the clothes line to the shrubs.’
Then the oven timer went off and he excused himself. While the crew prepared the shot, another aluminium ball was placed in the centre of a plate, arranged on a tray with a glass of water and a bottle of sauce. He placed it on Liz’s lap and hung about to enjoy her gratitude and surprise. Peeling back the foil she found a baked onion! Slicing the onion, she discovered the egg. ‘It’s an onion egg. B-P loved onions. I’ll bring the desert now so I don’t have to interrupt the shoot.’ He was back in a flash with a steaming can of sweetened condensed milk, wrapped in the oven mitt so as not to burn his hands. ‘Boil this stuff for two hours and it turns into caramel. You didn’t know that did you?’
Liz picked at the onion and listened to Charles’s voice. He was directing Sean. ‘Starting at the clothes line, I want you to walk over here as you say, “For ferneries and flowers, grass, greenhouses and even pot plants, the key to a successful watering system is planning.” Tod will be on the dolly and track with you as you walk.’ Then to the entire neighbourhood, he called out, ‘QUIET ON THE SET. THIS IS A REHEARSAL ONLY. AAAND ACTION!’
Then the oven timer went off - again (a reminder that he had to give Liz her pain killers), the phone rang (the Guide Dog Association wanting a donation) and then the doorbell chimed. It was George from next door, wanting to know if his chicken had come over the fence.
When Charles returned to the set, Sean was waiting for him, agitated. ‘I can’t do this. I’m not comfortable. I’m not Bert Newton. I’m a puppeteer. I speak through my puppets.’
Charles breathed deep and sucked in his cheeks while he thought. He prided himself on his ability to deal with what life threw at him. ‘OK. We use a puppet. It’s brave. It’s novel. I think it could work. TAKE FIVE EVERYONE.’
Sean fetched a large case from the boot of his car. It was full of puppets. Charles felt a little out of his depth. “Which one do you think could talk convincingly about sprinkler systems?’
Sean pulled on a glove puppet, a scruffy dog and immediately went into character. ‘W w well Sniffy ii is very p p popular.’
‘Nup. We can’t have a presenter with a stutter.’
Next came out a marionette with a blue and white striped shirt and a beret. ‘Bonjour ladies. I ‘ave a little pop up spreenkler erf my own.’
‘Nup. The accent is too distracting. Men will be the main users of this DVD. Do you have anything with a bit of masculine appeal?’
He pulled out a little tractor. He untangled the strings. ‘Broom broom. My name is Philbert. I am small but what I lack in size, I make up with brains and courage.’
‘Excellent. I think we’re onto something. Let’s see how Philbert looks on camera. POSITIONS EVERYONE. REHEARSAL ONLY.’
Sean resumed his position by the clothesline and on action he manipulated Philbert’s bonnet so it looked like he was talking. ‘Broom, broom … For ferneries and flowers, grass, greenhouses …’
‘CUT. Philbert is looking great. Only one problem Sean, we can see you.’
‘No you can’t’
‘Yes I can.’
‘You can’t.’
‘Why can’t I see you?’
‘Sean spoke slowly and clearly as if Charles was a bit thick. ‘In puppetry, it is the convention that when the puppeteer is in black, he is invisible.’
‘Well it is the convention, in the medium in which I work, that what is in front of the camera is visible. And I am telling you – I can see you!’
Charles took the Art Department to one side. ‘I’m going inside to make my wife a cup of tea. While I’m gone could you please make the Talent invisible.’
The Art Department went to work. He was enjoying the challenge. He decided to camouflage Sean. Greenery was the obvious solution. As filming had already commenced, he couldn’t alter the back garden, that would upset continuity so he took his small saw to the front garden. Although he has a keen aesthetic sense he knows bugger all about plants. This is in contrast to Liz who does and she prides herself on her collection of exotics that includes magnolias, camellias and azaleas.
On Charles’s return to the set, the Art Department was tying the last branch to Sean’s leg. ‘Excellent! We should have time for one more shot before it’s a wrap. We’re losing light fast.’
Philbert was word perfect. He filled the screen with personality and wit and Sean felt comfortably invisible.
Charles was exhausted. He looked in on Liz and said, ‘I’m off to get Ollie from after school care. Do you mind if we pick up some take away?’
‘Japanese would be lovely,’ she called out as he slammed the front door.
‘I honestly wish I hadn’t heard that,’ thought Charles.
Wednesday. He was carrying Liz into the lounge. He misjudged the corner between the bedroom and the hall and knocked one of her feet. The crew and Talent arrived on the dot but just as they were ready for the first shot, the rubbish truck came rumbling along, followed by a street sweeper, followed by the postie on his motorbike with squeaky brakes. At last there was silence. Charles called ‘ACTION’ and the oven timer went off reminding him to give Liz her painkillers. As he tipped them into his hand, he though how tempting they looked.
Lunchtime. Charles was back in the kitchen. He buttered some bread rolls and smeared them thickly with vegemite. Then he chopped an onion into course rings and sprinkled them on top. He squeezed the rolls together again and arranged them on a plate. Handing them to Liz, he thought she looked pale. ‘Here you go. Lunch will take your mind off yourself. B-P called these Flame Throwers – eat up and breathe out.’ And he was gone.
‘The talent is wilting. Can that be fixed please? While that’s happening can someone dig a hole in the lawn and we’ll lower the camera into it. I want a pop up sprinkler’s point of view as it pops up.’
While the crew was busy Charles took time to check his shot list. It was apparent they were behind schedule but a good director is flexible. With a few swipes of the pen and a change in the script, he deleted the entire section on misting sprays and had Philbert say, ‘Broom broom. You may refer to the booklet that accompanies this DVD if you would like further information.’ No one could accuse Charles of not being able to think on his feet.
The pop up’s point of view looked terrific.
Liz had fallen asleep during a program on the top ten living landscape artists over sixty-five when she was startled by a loud and desperate squawking.
‘CUT. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?’
‘IT’S OUT THE FRONT,’ she shouted from the lounge.
The crew dropped everything and followed Charles down the drive. Sean rustled behind careful not to tangle Philbert’s strings.
Something flew out of the bushes, passed them and ran into the back garden. It was a Rhode Island Red. The men followed in pursuit but it was fast. However the chicken was foiled by an obstacle course of cables, cords and poly tube and this gave them a chance to surround it. The poor thing was in a dreadful state. Its head was stuck in an empty sweet corn tin.
They were just closing in when George stuck his head over the fence. ‘What you doing with my chicken? Yesterday you say you no see chicken now you put can on head! I report you.’
Lying like a stranded whale on the couch was too much for Liz. The shouting and squawking drew her to her feet. She looked about for something to use as a walking stick. She could just reach the didgeridoo leaning in the corner, and with that as a support she hobbled painfully to the back door and called out, ‘WHAT’S GOING ON?’
The men lost focus; the chicken sensed the lapse in concentration. In a split second it was airborne and heading for Liz. It was a bull’s eye. THWACK. Straight into the solar plexus. Winded, she lost her balance and in an attempt to brake her fall, she broke her arm on the step. There she lay, speechless with pain.
The client kindly extended the deadline
So that’s why, on Friday night, Liz is lying on the couch with two feet and one arm in plaster watching an Arts program on the ABC. So what drew the writer to the subject of destitute people living in the underground tunnels of New York? The young man leans back, stretches out his skinny legs and takes a leisurely sip of water. ‘I’m a middle class person. I live a middle class life with a middle class wife and kid. My own life doesn’t interest me so I don’t see how it could be of interest to others. Middleness doesn’t make a good story.’
‘You’re not wrong!’ Liz stabs the remote and the TV goes to black.
B-P or Lord Baden-Powell, was a lieutenant-general in the British Army, writer, and founder of the Scout Movement.
No comments:
Post a Comment