"The P.W.K." (Part One)

NOTE: I wanted to be up front with you concerning my writing process here. There is a great deal about the technical filmmaking process that I am unaware of. In writing this story, I have done my best to emulate such knowledge by way of a basic, functional approach. I always write from my heart, choosing to believe in my own innate abilities and not putting much stock in anything else. Of course, if you have some form of extensive knowledge that you would like to share with me, please do!! It could only strengthen the experience for everyone else in the process. I can always make small adjustments later. Either way, do enjoy the tale, and let me know what you think about it. \m/, B']

"And that's a WRAP!"

The Director's words ignited a fury of cheers. Our crew was more than ready to leave the set behind for at least a little while. Truth be told, I was nursing a real loathing for the place myself. With its reputation, I couldn't see anyone desiring to spend more time here than necessary.

Not with its recent string of petty thefts and defacements holding such an odd affection with the crew.

You see, trouble like this made even our caterers wary. George and Ernie could barely set their prop chef's hats down, for fear their trademark image could well be in jeopardy. There were already enough lewd and suggestive comments--not to mention drawings--about the Brothers spread about the bathroom walls that their paranoia was high. Nobody knew who was behind such acts of juvenility. So, in effect, anybody could be a target.

I spotted the boys amongst the sea of suspicion. They were already well on their way to clearing out. George was packing up their supplies as Ernie sealed the food trays with plastic wrap. George's pace was almost a foil to his brother's, who appeared more methodical in his ways.

I walked over to the Director, who was talking to Fake Shemp #13. The double looked distraught. The Director was nodding sympathetically as he listened. The words became clearer as I got closer.

"...that I'm begging you to write me out of this film," he was saying. "I know its late in the game, Weston, and I'm sorry about that. But I'm in fear for my life here." He was holding something in his hand, but I couldn't see what it was.

As I closed in, the Director flicked his gaze up toward me. The double immediately spun around, terrified. I barely kept my smile at bay.

He staggered backward and the Director caught him smoothly. He was quite strong.

He turned the man around, and steadied him. He brushed off his shoulders, then gripped them. "Marty," he softly intoned. "You know I can't do that."

The double immediately began to fidget. The Director remained calm and collected.

"Marty," he began again. "You're overworked. That's all. Principal photography is done. Our budget has already been exhausted. It's over. Everything will be fine. Just go home and get some rest. We'll talk about this on Monday." He rattled him gingerly. "Okay?"

They stood there for a minute while the double cooled down. "Okay," he finally agreed. "Alright. We'll talk about it on Monday." He stuttered out an exhalation. "Okay. Thanks a lot, Weston." He left.

The Director looked at me and exhaled himself. He bulged his eyes out humorously as he did so. "Talk about double trouble, right?"

"It certainly sounds like it," I seconded neutrally. "What's got him so on edge?"

The Director shrugged amicably. "Oh, he thinks somebody is after him because of the long list of doubles that he replaced. Seems finding out he was the 13th and final replacement holds some real significance for him. Like it's disastrously bad juju or something." He laughed and eyed me squarely. "Apparently he only found about this out today. Wants to be out of the movie and everything now. Hell, I didn't even realize it until he brought it to my attention. If I did, I would have found another kook to fill the position." He laughed again. "But you know how it is, Dennis. Unfortunately we can't just fold in to every silly superstition that somehow catches on, regardless of when it does." He paused as a sly smile began to touch upon his face. "After all, there are limits to method acting, as you know." He grinned broadly at his perceived wit.

I couldn't resist the smirk that arose on my own face. He was right, of course. As the Casting Director, I had to deal with a grand share of actors, many of whom had their own unique approaches to the art process, and were perhaps a bit too exuberant with them at times. I respected them all deeply, and considered it the lowest point of my job when I had to let all but the eventual winner go.

"Yes, I know," I said. "Believe you me."

He regarded me for a moment, still grinning, then looked at his watch. "Well, I've got a wrap party to direct now." He shook his head. "It never ends, Dennis. It never ends." He turned to leave, then stopped himself. "I'm sorry. Was there something you needed to talk to me about?"

I considered making further folly of the situation, but decided against it. "No. Not at all. Just seeing what all the hubbub was about."

The Director nodded. "Yes, of course. Never a dull moment, Dennis. Never a dull moment." He tipped his hat to me and left.