Moonlight

I have been working on a film, my film. Its kind of like a ‘30’s West-end musical. Cardboard cutout sets, the whole thing being shot in a huge old disused theatre. It’s a hoot, really corny song and dance routines, even involving umbrellas, there is romance, sea-adventure, action. Nobody is getting paid much, if at all, except some of the namier actors. Most of the crew are student film-makers. We are all staying near by, at an abandoned National Fitness Camp.

I have just been wandering around backstage, checking on props and sets for the next days shooting, chatting with people on the crew, feeling great, my vision is being realised. It is time to go see the rushes of yesterdays shooting. Most everyone crowds in, we show them in the theatre on a really big screen. There is the mustachioed hero serenading the heroine under a cutout moon. There is the pirate attack, dozens of extras swinging on ropes across the stage with knives in teeth and swords in hand. There is the Chaplainesque duet. Suddenly there is something odd. Something I haven’t seen before. Something I haven’t shot. Mid-shots of some of the minor actors, but this is cut footage, not just rushes. Very quick cutting, same shot, same actor, different costumes, the slight changes in position and expression between shots combining in spasticcy movements to produce an interesting effect, a little bizarre.

Rushes end. The lights come up. I realise everyone is looking at me, some curiously, some apprehensively, some challengingly, some even with open hostility. What the hell is going on here? I am mildly amused by the footage, it’s a curious little experiment, but we are on a really tight budget. So I am also a little angry. This was done behind my back, secretly, without permission, un-authorised, highly author-ised actually. The culprit? perpetrator? is staring fixedly at me. It is Jean, who is doing ward-robe and is a film student. I know her work. Tres deconstructionist. I was surprised when she agreed to work on "Moonlight". Especially in a traditionally female job. But I had been impressed by her garment work from her shameful design period and asked her anyway. Now what was going on? I ask.

"What does it look like?"

Now I’m really angry.

"You can’t fuck around like this, you know what our shooting ratio is like, we just can’t afford this"

"We?" she emphasises, "can’t afford this?"

I look around, there is more happening here than I thought. Yes, Jean’s clique have moved around her supportingly. There is a confrontation shaping up here. Confrontation? Mutiny! Scumbag mutineers! 50, no 100 lashes each and die screaming with sharp things in their eyes!

"We," I reply, "is ‘Moonlight’".

"That’s all?"

"Yes, of course that’s all, that’s everything, all 300 pages. You’ve read them, you agreed to work on them. ‘Moonlight’ is what we are working on here."

"Listen to the autocrat, fucking patriarch, well some of us think fuck your reactionary, revisionist, indulgent excursion into fantasy."

Silence. Shit. This is more serious than I thought. I look around, try a quick head count of support based on peoples expressions. Double shit, oh fucking endless seas of shit! How did it come to this? How can they not understand? Reactionary, revisionist, indulgent excursion into fantasy? Have they read it?

"Have you read it?"

"It’s not just about your precious script, its about your huge fucking de-collectivised ego. It’s about subdeconstructivist socialism, your violation of cultural desituationist dialectics and some would say the economy of textual society."

Oh, fuck, here we go. I’ve lost them. I can see it in their eyes. It doesn’t matter what she is saying, this has gone way beyond a group hug. I can see even those I thought truly shared my vision, understood what I was trying to say, turning away. Some have the decency to be ashamed or embarrassed, but turning away. Where did I go wrong? The political incorrectness of having an affair with the female lead? I know some felt that "Moonlight" was excessively sensual, but I’ve always considered that a contradiction in terms.

No! This is intolerable! It cannot be allowed to happen. This is my dream!

I wake up.

Fucking bitch!

I get up, light a smoke, storm out to the back yard. How am I going to deal with this? Kill Jean? Messily and perversely. No. When did I lose them? How far back will I have to go to save the situation? I going to have to fuel up for this. I re-read The Woodpecker’s infamous reply to the papers "haha…". I skim some Hunter S., just for the vituperation. I meditate on Hopkins, "Down in the dim woods the diamond delves! The elves’-eyes!"

I know what to do. I go back to bed, lie down and close my eyes.

Rushes end. The lights come up. I realise everyone is looking at me, some curiously, some apprehensively, some challengingly, some even with open hostility. I turn straight to Jean.

"Interesting piece. As elegant a referencing of the Kisekae Set System as I’ve encountered. But undoubtedly as viewers we would have to consider that in a socially constructed sub-ecology of determinist materialised collectivity, the piece could not avoid challenging itself in terms of its use of patriarchalist neotextual theory to attack outmoded perceptions of reality."

She looks at me. Is about to speak, Linda, wonderful ally and lover, interrupts.

"He just said your playing with dress-up dolls is a boring waste of time and money".

Jean stands alone, furious and embarrassed.

Got ‘em.

A babble starts up as everyone starts discussing tomorrows shooting.