It's extremely aggravating that at the moment I make a blog about this film, stuff (remember: shit) stops happening. If I'd made this, say, in July, or even the beginning of August, I could have regaled you with myriad fantastic and exotic stories about our wacky adolescent antics. Instead, you get fire drills and gummy worms.
Join me, then, on a journey. A passage through space and time, to a "when" that was considerably more interesting and a "where" that was considerably more ghetto-fabulous. I refer to our city of Waterbury, CT, and it was the end of June, just before our movie's first
The cast: Alex, Aneta, Nick, Ian, myself. Setting: cruisin' the streets of Waterbury in the Noble Green Beast (note to self: write post about car on a later date). Our intent: finding the ideal location in which to film the rape of Aneta's character. The first location we decide to examine: under the overpass by the high school.
On the way there, a conversation along these lines occurred.
ANETA: Let's go visit Marissa. Doesn't she live by the high school?
ME: Well, yeah...
ANETA: Then let's go.
IAN: But...
ALEX: Underpass...
ANETA: NOW, dammit!
And away we were.
(Important background information: Marissa is an ex-girlfriend of mine; forget "an", she is the ex-girlfriend of mine. We dated for nearly two years throughout high school, breaking up right at the end of senior year on relatively good terms. I will refrain from saying anything disparaging about her to total strangers, but suffice it to say that Aneta and Alex are both not big fans.)
We arrived at Marissa's house only to find that she was at work. Prepared to admit defeat, I moved to pull away from the curb, but was met with cries of protest from both director and writer.
ME: What?
THEM (humorously paraphrased): It's...beautiful...
And thus it was discovered that the ideal place to film a rape scene is Marissa's back yard, in front of her garden shed.
Before I realized just how serious they were, Alex and Aneta were out of my car and trespassing on Marissa's property, fully immersed in a conversation about just how to shoot this particular scene and keep Alex out of jail.
The problem is, the house wasn't empty. Marissa's mother had had an aneurism some 5 months earlier, and had just recently returned home full-time from the long-term care facility. I know this because her family and mine have a long, entwined history (note: explain this later too, maybe along with the car), and thus anything that we did that was seen by said resident (e.g. trespassing, illegal filming, raping a teen girl) had a direct route back to los parents. I also knew that it was impossible to get Alex and Aneta to turn down this perfect set that Providence had provided them (the hell do they care if I'm found dead in my bedroom after a particularly nasty bit of domestic violence?). What to do?
I had the car, so the remaining passengers and I took off.
ME: There. Let's see what they do now. Morons.
IAN: Yeah...what do we do now?
Naught but a minute later we were back, negotiating a compromise.
NICK: Now about we just go check out the overpass?
ANETA: How about we go to Cheshire and pick up some prostitutes?
And away we were.
And thus it was that we found ourselves on our way to Cheshire, the Connecticut equivalent of Mayberry (except much richer, and with a few more murderer/rapist/arsonists), looking for hookers we knew didn't exist, in broad daylight. It also helps that I had the most knowledge of our group about the geography of Cheshire, and even that is sketchy at best.
NICK: Why don't we stop for lunch?
ALEX: Know any good places, Chris?
ME: Let's just wander around downtown and see what we find.
IAN: This definitely isn't downtown.
ME: Wait a sec, Meriden? How long ago did we leave Cheshire?
ALEX: OH GODDAMMIT!
We eventually found a place to eat, a horribly obnoxiously painted pizza parlor (the entire exterior was a vibrantly striped red, white and green) with no other customers, a single waiter wandering around, and absolutely no light besides that which could find its way around all the drawn shades. The food, however, was excellent, and pretty affordable. Too bad none of us remember the name of the place, or have any idea where it actually is.
So after a full day of "location scouting", we decided to return to Waterbury and film the scene in my backyard.
All kinds of crazy stuff (shit!) like this happens while we're filming, and I wasn't even there for half of it. Maybe it's karma, which has it out for Alex for being an overall jackass. Maybe it's just the high concentration of crazy-people-per-square-inch ratio we maintain. It just never seemed to stop.
This is why you should be as excited for Drinking The Bleach: a Guide to Household Suicide* as I am: It's all about the anecdotes, baby.
More stories to come. Maybe I'll get a guest writer to tell about some of the better times I wasn't around for. Cheers.
*Once again, not the title of our book. Until you tell me, Alex, I'm gonna keep making up new ones.
EDIT: If you're liking the blog, if you hate it, if you just want specific Bleach info, feel free to post comments and ask questions. I'm itching to know whether we actually have readers or not.
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