“I have to take my shoes off and crawl into bed with two men on-camera this morning. What socks do you think I should wear?” I asked my sleepy feline sidekick Pretty at 5:30AM who gazed at me slit-eyed blankly. “Traditional black? Store-bought bright white? Or maybe orange Skull and Crossbones?” I sing-song suggested (myself clearly favoring the latter). But not one for early morning banter or wardrobe selection before full sunrise (and me taking a shower) Pretty summarily ignored me in catty preference to returning back to snoozing directly on her face.
Perhaps it wasn’t the usual discourse in everyone’s household, but who’s to say?
Yet lying comfortably on the bed on stage I closed my eyes and listened to the quiet hum of the television crew as they lit the eerie glow of an alarm clock before me; and curled up with my fellow Stand-ins (and NO, you don’t get to add a “Bow-chicka-bow-wow” soundtrack here) we three spooned happily atop the mattress, along with one spectacular pair of camera-friendly-cream-colored argyle socks. (What can I tell you, Pretty has excellent discerning taste when she’s awake.)
“Everything looks fantastic!” our Director shouted happily to the crew.
And with that, I exhaled a long held breath for the first time in two weeks.
>>><<<
Swimming through the amniotic fluid of the re-writes for the birth of this new show, I scrambled to keep up with the changes sent down to us by the Triangle of Powers That Be. The energy had become frenetic; the crew was anxious and by at least one account – that being our frowning hovercraft (aka UPM) constantly checking his watch – we were painfully behind schedule.
But despite the mayhem and myriad of multi-colored pages to be collated into our scripts, one elegant scene had remained untouched…
I had watched the rehearsals extensively in order to properly recreate every movement of my gorgeous actress, but by my own standards I failed miserably in my note-taking process as to her precise actions. The impetus to bring our Stars together had been so well-written that despite my efforts to remain steeled to the necessary fastidious of what I should have been writing down, I instead sat glued to my chair with a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat as the bitter-sweet scene unfolded.
So I suppose it’s no big fat surprise that having poodled off to Craft Services for a brownie the next afternoon (don’t know what The Universe has against me eating brownies but I’m beginning to think it’s some sort of cosmic joke) I heard my name being shouted on stage. “She’s with the producers working on some more re-writes, so you’ll have to be her with the rest of the cast for the dancing scene” my AD informed me.
Crap.
But refusing to let on that I had been so mesmerized by the performances that I’d slacked off in my duties, I headed to her opening mark and waited patiently for her cue; palms in the air, come what may.
What WAS surprising however, was the ease at which the moments played out. Between the impeccably written dialogue, the emotion I felt having watched the scene vis-à-vis the emotion of being IN the scene, and the kindness I felt from our Hero who gracefully choreographed my positions for cameras easily, we finished the scene hand-in-hand, smiling cheek-to-cheek.
And with that, I exhaled a long held breath for the second time in three weeks!
>>><<<
Striding onto our sound stage the well-dressed gentleman hugged our Director affectionately. They had apparently known each other for years, and as she gleefully introduced our cast with great humbleness to him, I hovered nearby, always invisible yet visible as necessary (that’s kinda part of my job).
“This is Asaad Kelada!” she beamed, as he graciously greeted all the actors pleasantly.
(Back-story: If you’re unfamiliar with the name, please note that he is a famous Director whose credits have appeared on nearly every sit-com I have ever loved since the ‘70s!)
Staring at the legendary man, I could feel my Ethel Mertz Syndrome beginning to bubble to the surface once again… The words had already begun to formulate in my pea-brain; an incongruous string of thought something akin to “On screen your name me see when eight years old when I was and still all sit-coms therein your name!”
But call it a conciliatory brownie from The Universe, I sat stupidly quiet in my chair; Ethel temporarily stifled, yet apparently, um, still APPARENT in my eyes.
“Hi!” he smiled to my face, evidently conscious of my unbridled enthusiasm.
“Hi!” I gushed (never more thrilled in my life to say absolutely nothing else!)
And watching him depart the stage, I clutched my script joyously to my heart knowing that for a simple Midwest girl who grew up loving and watching sit-coms, absolutely anything is possible. DREAM HUGE!
“Wow…” I muttered to myself, embracing our brief encounter as an historical souvenir to be cherished in my humble collection of Hollywood experiences.
And moving to my side (I assumed to share the moment of awe) our amiable DP stared after the man silently for a long moment before speaking…
“So, who’s Asaad Kelada?” he asked sincerely.
>>><<<
Looking forward to whatever next may take my breath away,
~Pooped Ethel P Dawg
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