Monday, July 24, 2006
Day Seven: July 24, 2006
Wardrobe, Part 1
There’s a huge statue.memorial of sorts in front of the hotel. You can see it to the left of the photo above. Nice hotel, right? I can’t remember if I mentioned that it’s formerly a headquarters for communist hacks. I don’t know what makes a communist hack vs. a communist professional. So anyway, this memorial has a plaque which says something about September 13, 1847. No one I ask seems to know what happened on that date. Or maybe they know but I’m not allowed to know. I checked on line but couldn’t find anything. Maybe I got the year wrong.
Back out to that huge studio today for a full day of watching dozens of Romanians parade around in various costumes and wardrobes just for our amusement. It must be a humiliating procedure to have to put on some outfit and then stand in front of a bunch of Americans as they critique things like tie color and sleeve length, and debate the merits of double vs. single breasted jackets. Fortunately, few of them speak enough English to know what’s going on. I wonder if right now, some Romanian is typing a blog about his experience in wardrobe and saying, “I was saying how stupid they were but fortunately, none of them speak enough Romanian to know what’s going on.” The first guy who came in was really really enthusiastic. He sat down and listened to our comments to Georgianna (wardrobe goddess), and then offered up some comments of his own. What a guy!
The highlight of the day for me is when my grandpa for Big Trouble shows up. Remember him? The guy who I said was the spawn of Fyvush Finkel and Abe Vigoda? We have him dressing for a number of things, including a pill-rolling, wheelchair bound patient in a hospital gown. Odds of client approval? 230,000,000:1
Wait, something is amiss. Liz, Robert and I have just been informed that we will only be doing some of the wardrobe today. We’ll have a pre-prepro meeting this afternoon and the rest of the wardrobe will be done tomorrow. So that kills our day off. Some reason was given but it didn’t make much sense. In some universe of production, it makes perfect sense. But in my universe which exists of trying really hard to stay awake, it just sucks. But you know what they say in Romania…actually, I don’t either.
Christy and Sarah showed up with Stephanie and Kelly in tow just as Robert, Liz and I were involved in a heated, well overthought discussion with Tom about chairs. It was really fascinating stuff, especially when everyone comes to some sort of concensus that makes sense. Tom may have been faking agreement though. And Robert…wait, where’s Robert? He went outside to watch some kids play Cosmic Catch. Yes, Cosmic Catch! The game which will be a huge it or a huge failure. There is no in between for this baby. Sarah and Christy want to watch the kids play to make sure they’re right for the commercial. This process should have taken 10 minutes but was actually much longer than that. And it was really hot outside. You know what? The clients are sure they have the right cast and the kids had fun. So while I sweat through my shirt, the kids had a blast. Anything for my clients.
Cosmic Catch. Batteries not included. Each sold seperately.
Upon reentering the building, the lovely Larissa offered me a cappuccino. So I said yeah because what else am I supposed to drink on a hot day whee I’ve just come from running around outside? Stupid. There’s water around here somewhere but Romania’s not really big on ice. From what I’m told, none of Europe is big on ice. I think to join the European Union, you much renounce the use of ice. Romania is well on their way. So Sarah notices my cappucinno and asks where I got it. I go off in search for Larissa. I check all of these rooms, including the wardrobe room where a woman was getting changed. I didn’t know, I swear. I mumble a number of apologies while Sarah laughs and I tell her to get her own damned cappuccino. Just my luck: I barge in on the only woman in Bucharest who wears a bra.
We’re planning on going back to Balthazar tonight for dinner. Liz, Robert, Topher and I were there the other day and wanted to share it with the new people. I am told this just as I’m checking my e-mail and I see I got the new Café Grey menu. I wonder what’s for lunch today? Hmmm, something only called “Carribean.” Sounds ominous. And our lunch has just arrived. It’s………..pizza. (http://www.ilovewavs.com/Effects/Music/Loser3.wav) Remember the pizza from casting night? Yeah, it’s pretty much the same. And yet Sarah and I casn’t stop eating it. I wonder if the Carribean thing is good.
Poor Kelly. Every shoot needs a wet blanket to keep us in line and unfortunately, that wet blanket is Kelly. It could be Stephanie but she’s only here for a couple of things, like Yahtzee Turbo. It’s an adult-directed spot so the rules of kid advertising do not apply. Kelly knows that creatives hate the legal comments we get butnow she really knows how much. During our pre-prepro meeting, it was dog pile on the Kelly (http://members.tripod.com/~JB5353/looneytunes/dogpile.wav) as she was forced to listen to us try to work around the rules.
There’s an odd odor floating around the room. But no one seems to notice it. It’s not a constant odor. It comes and goes but no one is reacting. I check myself several times. Not me. I’m thinking it might be Tom because when I lean forward slightly, I can smell it off of him. He does a nice job covering up when I open a game box and he says the game smells. Yeah, right.
Then we’re leaving and Liz smells it. But Tom is nowhere around. Robert thinks it might be his feet. But it isn’t. Then I smell it in the van. Is it Christian/Orlando? He wasn’t in the meeting so that’s impossible. We do smell something much worse all of a sudden. Christian/Orlando says it’s the chickens. Note to self: order the fish tonight. Upon returning to my room, I determine that the smell may indeed have been me. Weird because I never smell when I sweat. But I guess I do in Romania. And it’s only the back of my shirt that smells. I’ve really gotta start watching what I eat.
Posted by Michael Liebowitz