Thomas Sherred: E for Effort

After we knew approximately what had happened and where, we used our notes to go back to what had seemed a particularly photogenic section and work on that awhile. Eventually we had a fair idea of what we were actually going to film. Then we sat down and wrote an actual script to follow, making allowance for whatever shots we’d have to double in later. Mike used his machine as the projector, and I operated the Trucolor camera at a fixed focus, like taking moving pictures of a movie. As fast as we finished a reel it would go to Rochester for processing, instead of one of the Hollywood outfits that might have done it cheaper. Rochester is so used to horrible amateur stuff that I doubt if anyone ever looks at anything. When the reel was returned we’d run it ourselves to check our choice of scenes and color sense and so on.

For example, we had to show the traditional quarrels with his father, Philip. Most of that we figured on doing with doubles, later. Olympias, his mother, and the fangless snakes she affected, didn’t need any doubling, as we used an angle and amount of distance that didn’t call for actual conversation. The scene where Alexander rode the bucking horse no one else could ride came out of some biographer’s head, but we thought it was so famous we couldn’t leave it. We dubbed the closeups later, and the actual horseman was a young Scythian that hung around the royal stables for his keep. Roxanne was real enough, like the rest of the Persians’ wives that Alexander took over. Luckily most of them had enough poundage to look luscious. Philip and Parmenio and the rest of the characters were heavily bearded, which made easy the necessary doubling and dubbing-in the necessary speech. (If you ever saw them shave in those days, you’d know why whiskers were popular.)

The most trouble we had with the interior shots. Smoky wicks in a bowl of lard, no matter how plentiful, are too dim even for fast film. Mike got around that by running the Trucolor camera at a single frame a second, with his machine paced accordingly. That accounts for the startling clarity and depth of focus we got from a lens well stopped down. We had all the time in the world to choose the best possible scenes and camera angles; the best actors in the world, expensive camera booms, or repeated retakes under the most exacting director can’t compete with us. We had a lifetime from which to choose.

Eventually we had on film about eighty per cent of what you saw in the finished picture. Roughly we spliced the reels together and sat there entranced at what we had actually done. Even more exciting, even more spectacular than we’d dared to hope, the lack of continuity and sound didn’t stop us from realizing that we’d done a beautiful job. We’d done all we could, and the worst was yet to come. So we sent for more champagne and told the blonde we had cause for celebration. She giggled.

“What are you doing in there, anyway?” she asked. “Every salesman who comes to the door wants to know what you’re making.”

I opened the first bottle. “Just tell them you don’t know.”

“That’s just what I’ve been telling them. They think I’m awfully dumb.” We all laughed at the salesmen.

Mike was thoughtful. “If we’re going to do this sort of thing very often, we ought to have some of these fancy hollow-stemmed glasses.”

The blonde was pleased with that. “And we could keep them in my bottom drawer.” Her nose wrinkled prettily. “These bubbles— You know, this is the only time I’ve ever had champagne, except at a wedding, and then it was only one glass.”

“Pour her another,” Mike suggested. “Mine’s empty too.” I did. “What did you do with those bottles you took home last time?”

A blush and a giggle. “My father wanted to open them, but I told him you said to save it for a special occasion.”

By that time I had my feet on her desk. “This is the special occasion, then,” I invited. “Having another, Miss… what’s your first name, anyway? I hate being formal after working hours.”

She was shocked. “And you and Mr. Laviada sign my checks every week! It’s Ruth.”

“Ruth. Ruth.” I rolled it around the piercing bubbles, and it sounded all right.

She nodded. “And your name is Edward, and Mr. Laviada’s is Migwell. Isn’t it?” And she smiled at him.

“MiGELL,” he smiled back. “An old Spanish custom. Usually shortened to Mike.”

“If you’ll hand me another bottle,” 1 offered, “shorten Edward to Ed.” She handed it over.

By the time we got to the fourth bottle we were as thick as bugs in a rug. It seems that she was twenty-four, free, white, and single, and loved champagne.

“But,” she burbled fretfully, “I wish I knew what you were doing in there all hours of the day and night. I know you’re here at night sometimes because I’ve seen your car out in front.”

Mike thought that over. “Well,” he said a little unsteadily, “we take pictures.” He blinked one eye. “Might even take pictures of you if we were approached properly.”

I took over. “We take pictures of models.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes. Models of things and people and what not. Little ones. We make it look like it’s real.” I think she was a trifle disappointed.

“Well, now I know, and that makes me feel better. I sign all those bills from Rochester and I don’t know what I’m signing for. Except that they must be film or something.”

“That’s just what it is; film and things like that.”

“Well, it bothered me— No, there’s two more behind the fan.”

Only two more. She had a capacity. I asked her how she would like a vacation. She hadn’t thought about a vacation just yet.

I told her she’d better start thinking about it. “We’re leaving day after tomorrow for Los Angeles, Hollywood.”

“The day after tomorrow? Why—”

I reassured her. “You’ll get paid just the same. But there’s no telling how long we’ll be gone, and there doesn’t seem to be much use in your sitting around here with nothing to do.”

From Mike “Let’s have that bottle,” and I handed it to him. I went on.

“You’ll get your checks just the same. If you want, we’ll pay you in advance so—”

I was getting full of champagne, and so were we all. Mike was humming softly to himself, happy as a taco. The blonde, Ruth, was having a little trouble with my left eye. I knew just how she felt, because I was having a little trouble watching where she overlapped the swivel chair. Blue eyes, sooo tall, fuzzy hair. Hm-m-m. All work and no play— She handed me the last bottle.

Demurely she hid a tiny hiccup. “I’m going to save all the corks-No I won’t either. My father would want to know what I’m thinking of, drinking with my bosses.”

I said it wasn’t a good idea to annoy your father. Mike said why fool with bad ideas, when he had a good one. We were interested. Nothing like a good idea to liven things up.

Mike was expansive as the very devil. “Going to Los Angeles.”

We nodded solemnly.

“Going to Los Angeles to work.”

Another nod.

“Going to work in Los Angeles. What will we do for pretty blond girl to write letters?”

Awful. No pretty blonde to write letters and drink champagne. Sad case.

“Gotta hire somebody to write letters anyway. Might not be blond. No blondes in Hollywood. No good ones, anyway. So—”

I saw the wonderful idea, and finished for him. “So we take pretty blonde to Los Angeles to write letters!”

What an idea that was! One bottle sooner and its brilliancy would have been dimmed. Ruth bubbled like a fresh bottle and Mike and I sat there, smirking like mad.

“But I can’t! I couldn’t leave day after tomorrow just like that-!”