CONWAY -- In the beginning, one thing is certain: There will be guns.
Particularly because there shouldn't be guns. An hour earlier, at Central Arkansas Library System's Ron Robinson Theater, Little Rock's 48 Hour Film Project organizer Levi Agee stood before a hundred would-be filmmakers and discouraged the use of guns. This came right after representatives from 31 teams drew for a genre (silent, film noir, Western and road movie, to name a few) and right before the revelation of the character, prop and line that every film must include (a fortuneteller, a diary and "It's fantastic. I love it!").
It's 8 p.m. Friday, and key members of Clever Alibi Productions are brainstorming plot. Their film has to be submitted at the Ron Robinson Theater by 7:30 Sunday night. (Fine print: run time under seven minutes; one film will advance to nationals and from there, will perhaps compete internationally.)
Last year Clever Alibi's submission was two minutes late. The team blames this on a Faulkner County combine and haters who tried to run director Scott McEntire's car onto the shoulder as he raced down Interstate 40 at 110 mph.
Clever Alibi is determined to submit on time this year. The genre is thriller/suspense and the fortuneteller is apropos, because right now the group is scattered around a room decked with crystals, fringed shawls and aromatic candles. Brenda Jaynes, 44, actor and production designer, lives here with boyfriend Chris Thompson, 42, director of photography and editor. And Jaynes is a real-life fortuneteller, specializing in tarot and hoodoo (folk magic).
Thompson and Jaynes share the couch. Josh Carr, 36, key grip, leans forward in an armchair, elbows on knees. McEntire, 43, fidgets on the floor, alternating between tucking his legs beneath his body, stretching them forward or rising to pace and act out ideas.
Thompson and McEntire work with computers. Carr works in finance. Everyone except Jaynes, an educator on break, has already put in a full eight hours today.
What they have thus far: Two brothers are enemies but have to work together to uncover a treasure. One of them visits a fortuneteller, and one of them is going to double-cross the other.
"Why is he going to a fortuneteller?" McEntire asks.
"He could be trying to get in touch with his mother because she's dead," Carr suggests.
Thompson says, "Maybe that's the thing. The mom hid the money, Tom's a bit of an idiot, so he goes to a fortuneteller thinking she could --"
Scott interrupts. "Well, he's not an idiot. We need Tom to be Tom. And if Tom is going to be Tom, he's going to be this eclectic freakin' mess that can carry the whole thing."
The man in question, Tom Kagy, is a local actor who has appeared in Sling Blade, October Sky, Shotgun Stories and other films.
"The whole point is, he can't be a rocket scientist and be visiting a fortuneteller," Thompson says.
He is irritated. Thompson likes to outline a story arc before adding details. But McEntire tosses out themes, ideas and sample dialogue, despite not knowing how a character gets from soothsayer to double-cross.
"Is this going to be a violent meeting or a friendly meeting?" Carr asks, almost pleadingly. He's talking about the meeting between Kagy's character and the fortuneteller.
Thompson crosses his arms, and McEntire gulps coffee. The verdict's still out.
By midnight, the men have moved to Thompson's office, a small room stacked with computer and camera equipment. McEntire is at his laptop, typing a script and trying to ignore gearhead conversations and enthusiastically recanted scenes from the 1992 Western Unforgiven. Ideas have been aired and discarded, including binding co-lead Kirby Gocke, 34, and tossing her in a trunk.
A few hours ago, assistant director Jarrod Beck, 33, arrived. A Master of Fine Arts candidate in film at the University of Central Arkansas, Beck is a refugee from a team that fell apart a day ago. He knows McEntire, but he and Thompson just met.
Producer Kayla Esmond, 21, spent five hours trekking among box stores and a costume shop, seeking aquarium tubing to mold into an oxygen mask, a wheelchair (now deemed unnecessary) and '80s clothes for a flashback scene. She also negotiated the use of a late '70s Camaro belonging to someone on another team.
By 3 a.m., the script has been distributed via email and everyone heads home. For some, this means a 40-minute drive to Little Rock.
COUNTDOWN: 35 HOURS
The crew is back at the house, i.e. production headquarters, by 8 a.m. Saturday. The cast trickles in half an hour later.
Gocke wedges her tire in a rut first thing. Jadyn Whitefield, her 8-year-old daughter, bursts into the living room declaring, "My mom is stuck!"
McEntire coaxes the tire free with gear tricks and perseverance. Then he leaves to check on his father, who is recovering from surgery. The crew blocks the first scene without a director.
This scene involves Gocke answering the front door. But each time the door opens, an alarm beeps and no one knows how to turn it off. Carr kneels at the baseboard, tugging on wires.
"Just stop before we tear the house apart," Thompson says. "I can fix it in post."
A few moments later, Thompson calls for first aid. On the other side of the door, Kagy banged too earnestly. Now there's a lump as big as an egg on his wrist.
Jaynes appears with a bag of ice, just as Esmond storms through the door, red-faced and frenzied. ("Kayla has all the subtlety of a freight train," Jaynes once said.)
"My phone is 110 percent gone," Esmond announces.
"You dropped it?" Beck asks.
"I didn't drop it."
She shakes a bag containing plastic tubing. "The lady where I bought this knocked it off the counter. So I have no phone today."
Set activity pauses as everyone absorbs the news. On another day, a broken phone would be an inconvenience. But today Esmond's entire job is to run errands and stay in touch. A broken phone is a disaster.
Beck recovers first. "But you're here!" he shouts, with forced joviality.
"I'm here," she concurs.
COUNTDOWN: 30 HOURS
McEntire has returned and, for the past two hours, they have filmed take after take of the climax. Guns have been postured (at one point, Beck told Kagy, "Ice Cube would be proud"), actors are bruised (Kagy and Gocke have hit the floor repeatedly), Jadyn is bored (her iPad game won't load), the house is too warm (mics were picking up the hum of central air) and Don Pirl, known for his role in True Grit, is flustered. All the actors are flubbing lines, but Pirl is the only one flagellating himself, repeatedly apologizing for slowing things down.
He calls for a line, and British camera assistant Connie Critchlow, 21, reads it aloud.
Pirl scrunches his face in confusion. "Honey, I can't understand a word you're saying," he says.
A few moments later, Critchlow tries to prompt Pirl again. He stares, dumbfounded.
"Can we get someone else on script?" McEntire calls.
By noon they're 50 minutes behind schedule. McEntire makes a plea to his actors.
"We're here," he says, crouching down to demonstrate the energy level. "We have to get here." He bounces on his toes.
By 12:40 p.m., Esmond realizes they need a break.
"Is now a good time for lunch?" she asks Beck. As assistant director, it's his job to keep everyone on task.
Most people retreat to the kitchen, where counters are laden with cold cuts, fruit and muffins. McEntire, Thompson and Beck disappear into the office.
"We're not bad on time," Beck says.
"Pardon my French, but f*** the schedule. We're going to get it done in the 48-hour window," Thompson says.
"There is tonight," McEntire says. They had hoped to finish shooting by 7 p.m., but they could shoot longer if necessary.
"Exactly," Thompson says. "One thing that I don't want to happen is for anyone to breathe anything about being behind schedule. ... I think the schedule is less important than what may be happening psychologically to a friend of ours out there."
COUNTDOWN: 24 HOURS
The climactic scene wrapped around 4 p.m., but as they set up for the outdoor scene, dark clouds floated across a sky that had been sunny all day. After a few takes, the clouds broke. Everyone grabbed equipment and raced to the house.
At 7:30 p.m., the team is shooting the only remaining scene. A corner of the living room has been transformed into a fortuneteller's tent, with curtains yanked from a bedroom window and a rod constructed from lighting stands. Outside, thunder rumbles and the day dissolves into eerie, post-storm glow.
After the scene wraps, some crew members hang out, but there's little for anyone to do. Now Thompson has to cut the clips together, sync the sound and add special effects. He prefers solitude, but McEntire wants a say. They watch footage on the computer, with McEntire scribbling notes about every take.
COUNTDOWN: 11 HOURS
By 8 a.m. Sunday, Thompson is editing and McEntire is online, searching for open-source music. Later he moves to a swivel chair beside Thompson and offers suggestions.
"It's like having someone tell you how to wipe your a**," Thompson grumbles.
The morning fades to afternoon and Thompson is still hunched in front of his computer.
McEntire nervously swivels his chair, occasionally rubbing his eyes. He slept for only about two hours because early this morning, his father returned to the hospital.
By 5 p.m., communication between Thompson and McEntire is intuitive. Thompson makes an edit and glances at McEntire, who somehow conveys approval with his eyes.
The editing dock is littered with granola bar wrappers and cartridges from Thompson's electronic vapor pipes. The deadline looms, a near-visible haze.
In the living room, Jaynes frets over the phoneless Esmond, who left to run errands and hasn't been in touch for hours. Esmond has the paperwork. Without it, they can't submit the film.
A few calls later, McEntire finds Esmond. She's with gaffer/actor Ben Ellis, 22, and actually, they're pulling into the driveway right now.
COUNTDOWN: 1.5 HOURS
By 6 p.m. cameraman Drake Vickers, 22, and Ellis, Critchlow and Esmond occupy the living room, trading war stories from past film projects and applying tongue tattoos from fruit roll-up wrappers.
At 6:20 p.m. Esmond does aerobics.
At 6:25 p.m. McEntire announces that they're rendering. This is the final step.
By 6:36 p.m. McEntire is en route to Little Rock, with no combines in sight. But just in case, Esmond and Critchlow will follow in another car, carrying a backup copy of the film.
COUNTDOWN: 0.5 HOURS
Thompson emerges from the editing room with a zip drive containing a third copy of the film. He plugs it in the TV and those remaining settle in for an unofficial premiere.
The screen fills with Kagy's taut face, all snarl and whirling eyes. He tosses a diary onto a table beside a crystal ball.
"Just figure this s*** out," he says to Jaynes. She's swathed in flowing garments, her face deathly pale and her lips blood red.
Over the next few minutes, there are flickering lights and layered images, dreamy coloring and storm-tossed trees, shiny guns and splattered blood, grumpy old men and a Deliverance-flavored jolt. It's macabre and absurd, foreshadowing and betrayal -- southern Gothicism, hastily consummated.
The credits begin and no one says anything. Then Vickers and Ellis exchange grins, Thompson and Ellis bump fists, and everyone returns their attention to the screen. They watch reverently as their own names and those of friends scroll by.
It wasn't perfect. There were sound problems and other glitches, bits that might have been more polished with time. But it was suspension of disbelief. It was magic, all at once familiar and foreign.
It was the movies.
And it was on time. During a second watch, the text came. Avarice was submitted to the 48 Hour Film Project at 7:19 p.m. Actually, it was better than on time -- it was 11 minutes early.
Screenings continue at 7 p.m. today at CALS Ron Robinson Theater, 100 River Market Ave. Admission: $10. Winning films will be re-screened at 7 p.m. Saturday. Admission: $12. For information: (501) 205-0400 or 48hourfilm.com/en/littlerock.
Style on 07/13/2014