A first. My wife wakes me at 10:20am and tells me I’m late. I’m blank. I ask, “For what?”
She tells me the movie and all of a sudden I’m back in the present.
I take a 60 second shower and race out. I get to the set—my parents’ house—at about 11am, so immediately we’re over an hour late.
The day gets worse from there. I should have stayed home.
We have the contact problem again. Mark can’t keep them in his eyes. They’re killing him. We get two scenes done. He takes them out and his eye becomes VERY bloodshot.
One punk doesn’t show—we have to call him. Turns out nobody called to give him his shoot time. Our bad.
But then he shows up but looks more like Jesus-meets-Cousin-It than a punk. His hair completely covering his face. We did a take like that and I'm wondering, "What is he thinking?" Don't actors like for the people to see their faces?
We do Jed Weaver’s scene first. He’s a pro—comes in, bangs it out, and he’s gone. My wife stops by and fixes some burgers my mom left before she and my dad went off to Tennessee. We all eat and I try not to think about how behind we are and how the fuck I’m gonna shoot a movie about a black-eyed clown when his eyes aren’t black.
We get later and later. We shoot the punk scene but end around 10pm. I order pizzas. We’re supposed to do two more scenes and then head out to do two pickups we missed because of Johnny earlier in the week.
Mark CANNOT put the lenses back in so we shoot everything reverse of him and he says he, Johnny and Clarence will come back in a couple of weeks to finish it.
Everyone says bye—the clown and crew won’t be back for the last day, and many won’t be returning for the wrap party.
I’m in a bad mood. Two horrible days, and now I have a buttload of pickups to do. Fuck.