Last week, In a Movie: Part One ended with this question: But how would I do in the production process?

 

So how did you do?

 

That’s a complex question, 9. For context, my only previous exposure to movie/TV production happened in 1998. I was in the studio audience for an episode of Veronica’s Closet. A friend who worked the “A” Camera got me in. He gave me a tour- -several sets lined up cheek-by-jowl on the sound stage, the backstage craft services area with water and snacks, etc. He then settled in with his two-man crew (a focus puller and a dolly grip). I took my place with hundreds of other audience members on the hard metal bleachers overlooking the set.

 

This sounds quite interesting.

 

I think you would have enjoyed it, Lily. The cast came on the set to our cheers and made their bows. The director called places. Excitement surged through the audience as the actors did their first “take”. . .and then another. . .and another. Lesson one: Recording a movie or television show involves a lot of repetitive action and an abundance of fine tuning. Adjustments were made to blocking, timing, camera angles, even to the script when we didn’t laugh enough at the jokes.

 

They were rewriting the script on the fly?

 

Not the plot, just the jokes. For this, a pod of writers rushed onto the set and brainstormed. The jokes they liked best were tested as replacement lines and the line that got the biggest laugh made the cut.

 

Once the director was satisfied with the scene everything was reset for the next one. Lesson two: A very small percentage of TV/movie-making time and effort involves the actors. A lot of time goes into moving cameras, checking the set decoration and props, adjusting focus, light and sound, and probably a dozen other things.

 

Eventually the actors returned. The process began again. And again. And again. Hours went by. The audience shifted in their seats, wishing security wasn’t so tight so they could go outside and walk around for a while. Some of the actors got rummy with fatigue and blew their lines. The guest star, a young woman I’d seen in an action movie, had the unnerving tic of bending her ankles halfway off the platform sandals she was wearing, making her look insecure and clumsy from the waist down.

 

She would never get away with that in live theater!

 

Exactly, Lily, but when the episode aired months later, the magic of editing had concealed all of that. Lesson three: Even if the actors blow it, editing room magic can make them look better than they actually are.

 

Back to March, 2025. With the three lessons from Veronica’s Closet in mind, I expected to do a lot of watching and waiting during the shooting of (working title) Espresso Yourself.

 

My first scene, shot in the kitchen of the director’s grandparents’ house, took a half-day. While the crew set up, director Tori applied layers of color to the bend of my right inner elbow, creating a livid bruise suggestive of recent IV ports.

 

 

The acting space was tight- -the kitchen floor a snake bed of sound equipment cables, the sound technician scrunched down on the kitchen floor, holding the end of a long boom mic to pick up the sound of the home espresso machine I operated. A crew member was specifically assigned to grind fresh beans and refill the water reservoir between takes. Of which there were many, some for adjustments to my performance, others for technical matters such as the mic boom sinking into the frame or a jiggle when the camera panned in down the track.

 

 

It was a lot to absorb. What I remember most from that day was the incredible amount of kindness, patience and tact the director, producer and crew had with each other while sorting out technical and artistic matters. True confession: It gave me faith that Millennial and Gen Z folk can and will craft a brighter future, and that art will still be made- -by humans- -in the increasingly digitized world.

 

Day two was voice over recording. This happened in a downtown studio with the many-hatted assistant producer/sound guy/continuity person/art director (Aaron) and Tori there with me. A sound technician who would work on the shoot the following day was there, too, getting oriented to the project. Most of my lines in the movie are voice overs, husband Ben reading dead (!) wife Maggie’s journal. Tori, without giving me line readings, coached me through saying each line several different ways. The writer in me silently wondered which takes she’d choose and how that would shape the storytelling.

 

The third and final day for me was also the last day on the shooting schedule. Our set was an office in the Walla Walla University administration building, re-imagined as the home of Ben and Maggie. My scene partner (Seattle actor John Fisher) and I got acquainted while the crew set up and Tori reapplied my arm makeup. I was acclimated to waiting, and watching the crew at work. The scene- -edited into the movie as several pieces of flashback- -is John and Maggie at home one morning, the one that will be her last. The earlier espresso making scene is part of this timeline. Of note: the movie is now titled Love Between the Lines instead of Espresso Yourself.

 

 

This time all the details, and the kindness, patience, and tact that went with them, lasted from 8:30 A to 5 P. For me, that is. John had another scene or two; after that the crew had to load out.

 

 

I stayed in touch with producer Sam, keeping tabs on how the project was going and how she balanced this with graduation, married life, and moving to a new place all at the same time. The screening happened the day before graduation in a black box theater on campus.

 

Honestly, I was awed by the professional quality of the finished project, and finally got to see the other actors do their scenes. Marion, one of the friends who recommended me for the movie, sat next to me, which helped me stay grounded. When Maggie’s scenes rolled around I held my breath- -stage actors are notorious for being highly critical of how they look, sound and move on screen, and I am no exception. But. . .I worked on suspending my disbelief, considered how all the bits and pieces that are a movie tell the story together. Everyone in the audience was crying at the end, myself included.

 

Two personal notes about the screening. First, six weeks prior I’d seen Mom for the last time. I “take after her” as they say, and the resemblance between dying Mom and dying Maggie was clear. Second, a brief shot near the end of the movie shows a picture of Maggie holding a cat. It is a photo of me and Hoosegow from 2015, both of us younger, fuller faced and more kittenish than now. I thought about how, when we lose someone we love after a long decline, our minds start to dissipate the images of their final days and replace those with how we remember them at their full vitality.

 

Mom, I remember.