Blue Mountain Day Four: Rain Continues

I spend 12 hours in a trailer with no heat, as the rain turns the earth to mud, and a damp chill runs through our little encampment.

I am into hair and makeup at 6:30 am as they want to shoot the reverse shot of the unfinished scene as soon as they can. As soon as they film this establishing shot - me, watering flowers, looking up at Andreas in the wagon, Anne running past me towards her husband - I can go. The shot will be in the can. I'm told this is very important as it establishes everyone in the household. I am vital to this scene!

We never get there.

I am officially considered part of the actors now and so I can hang out in the ladies' trailer, which is a step up from sitting outside under a tarp. Nonetheless, there is something wrong with the power hookup to the trailer so it is very cold. The Unhappy Costume Lady pins up my skirt so it doesn't drag in the mud, and I'm given a parka. We light tea candles to keep warm.

Eventually the ladies have to go down to set and I am alone with my thoughts, my magazine, my crossword puzzle, my script for the solo show I'm performing in Edmonton, my research reading for the job I'm quitting.

As I run into Andreas over hot chocolate at the craft table, he insists I move to the men's trailer - "there's no one in there," he explains, and the heat works. You can't sit in the cold! It's not human!"

He is trucked off to set and I figure I might as well keep warm. Hey, it is toasty in the men's trailer. Lucky bastards. I sit at the winnebago's kitchen table and read the paper. Eventually a German man I haven't seen before comes in. I look up, smile. He looks confused. Then decides not to question it and goes to lie down in the back. I go back to the paper. Eventually Andreas comes back, and sits across from me, reading the German equivalent of Time while I work on my crossword puzzle - no chance the Germans will want that from the Globe. But I'm content. Andreas chuckles - he is reading an article about a place in the Middle East where camel racing is so competitive that they get children to ride the camels - being so light they don't slow the animals down. And others go further and drive their camels with remote controlled robot jockeys perched on top of the humped beasts. Very strange. More unknown German men come through, stop briefly when they see me, then continue on their way. I smile and say hello, but they are less interested in cutting my food than Andreas is.

There are delays and things rearranged all day. The rain doesn't stop and so they have to film a scene inside a church, where they were going to shoot outside of it. The church is empty so the crew has to spend several hours dressing it first before they can cram everyone in there and shoot. There are piles of extras today, all huddled under tarps or in the drafty church up on set. When lunch is called I wander down to craft services. I am instructed to go ahead in the line. I get into a little bit of a "No, no, YOU first," competition. But the extras know their place, and the crew shuttles me ahead of them, out of the rain.

After lunch the ladies have reconvened in the girls' trailer. One of the set guys has found a space heater and it's starting to warm up in there. One of the A.D.s comes down and asks if I can return on Saturday morning between 9 and 12 to finish shooting the scene I am waiting for. Saturday between 9 and 12 is exactly when I am teching my solo show in Edmonton.

It becomes a point of stress - I feel a bit like I am between a rock and a hard place. They hadn't checked my availability til now, and I'm unavailable. I don't want to hold up a multi-million dollar German movie for my little show that might make $3000 if I'm lucky... but on the other hand, I don't want to get up on stage in my own country and look like an asshole because I don't know what I'm doing - I have only this time to set the lights and see the stage before I perform in Edmonton.

As if I don't feel bad enough, the producer, a small dark woman named Winka, comes into the trailer. "It's very important!" she says, and smiles like she's talking to a child. "Make it vork!" She leaves.

Sonsee and Anne are very supportive. "I'd be mad as hell if I were you," says Sonsee. Both of these beautiful delicate flowers have a tough-as-thorns side. I like them a lot. I think I will try to be more like them - more assertive, and more physically beautiful. Or maybe I'll just call my agent and let her sort this all out and keep warm in my parka.

The ladies are called back down to the set, and I am alone again. I see Andreas briefly as he is herded back into the truck. He smiles, "I will see you soon!" He waves, the car door closes, and the truck drives off. That is the last time I will see him. An anti-climactic ending and not one I would have written had I a choice. I had pictured perhaps a hug, or a thank-you, or an email exhange, or a "next time you're in Europe," or an invitation for dinner, or at least a last long wistful glance from those hazel soap star eyes. Even a hearty handshake would have done. Some kind of closure.

On Saturday, as I am teching my show in the Legion in Edmonton, and my director is setting the lights with the technicians, I stand on the stage and imagine Andreas on the plane back to Homburg, back to his sick dog, back to shooting in a couple of days for one of his two television series he stars in, one as a helicopter captain in the army... He is friendly to the flight attendants, and overly helpful to his neighbours. The lights dim in the cabin, and as the plane begins its long journey over land and ocean, he puts on headphones, sits back, and closes his eyes.

I hope the dog is waiting for him.

- Falcon.