My movie debut, Part Two
Trip Start
Feb 22, 2007
1
22
38
Trip End
Jul 19, 2008
Crac des Chevaliers,
Syria
Monday, April 30, 2007
Appetites sated, the film crew went busily about their business once more. The location had now shifted to a lower floor in the heart of the castle grounds. With darkness now fully upon us the lighting for each shot became more critical and it was a painfully slow process to get right, though for a while it was interesting to observe how painstaking it all was. At first we managed to stave off our boredom with the anticipation of getting on screen. However, after a couple more hours of waiting around without a word of comfort from the film crew, we became increasingly restless. At least during this time we got to see Crac des Chevaliers by night - it shuts to the public at 6.30pm each day - which offered splendid views over the surrounding hillsides, their lush coats glistening silently under a lambent half-moon.
The stars that night, though, were in the castle not the sky (sorry, terrible pun!). Yup, having finally set up the new location, good old Mustafa and Dalia were now busy plying their trade, and before long we were finally beckoned down to the set to join them. There we were met by the 'first assistant director', a grotesquely slick man who was so far up his own arse that even his perfectly-kept goatee could not mask the innate smugness etched upon his face. Yet our instant and collective dislike of this smug bastard did not stop each of us from trying to cosy up to him in a pathetic attempt to secure a 'part' in the movie.
a. Film at Crac 1
He looked each of us over pretentiously perhaps sizing up whose back would look best in the background of the shot, or who could best walk across the camera line! Then Orphee, my fabulously-French (by which I mean wonderfully arrogant) French friend, stepped forward and announced to Smug Bastard that he was actually Serbian and should by rights be first in the movie. Smug Bastard took a double take then enquired as to where in Serbia he came from. "Do you know Belgrade?", asked Orphee. "Yes, quite well", responded Smug Bastard. "Oh", said Orphee, slightly caught out, "well I'm from a village not far from there". "Hmm", mused Smug Bastard, "which village?" "Do you know 'Shlichvilli?'", offered Orphee, saying the first Balkan-sounding thing that came into his head. Smug Bastard replied in the negative and, before he had chance to probe further, Orphee pre-empted him: "well, you should go there - it's very beautiful at this time of year."
Orphee's bold approach paid off and Smug Bastard gave him the first role. To the rest of us, Smug Bastard simply said "you can rest" - it was a phrase we came to despise by the end of proceedings. We were all jealous of Orphee... until we saw what the role was. He and one of the girls among our group had to walk across the camera shot in the very far background. What's more, they had to re-enact this insultingly crap role about ten times until Mustafa and Dalia finally got things right in the foreground.
Consigned to the sidelines for the time being, the rest of us watched with interest as the scene unfolded.
a. Film at Crac 2
I can only say that it was a blessing that we could not hear their lines, because the facial expressions through which they delivered them would have made even the worst day-time soap actors look positively Shakespearean. Between the two of them, Mustafa and Dalia seemed to achieve an impossible union of being wooden and hammy at the same time. Mustafa provided the wood, delivering his lines through the same 'look how white my teeth are' rictus grin every time. Dalia, in turn, delivered her lines with pantomime hand movements that provided so much ham one wondered how she ever made it through customs in this Islamic country.It was already heading towards midnight by the time they'd set up the next shot, so slow and inefficient were the crew in achieving the correct lighting etc. As they prepared to start shooting again, Smug Bastard came over once more to arbitrarily pick more 'Serbian' tourists to fill the background. At last my moment was upon me and, having picked another guy (Jean-Marc) and me out of our still-eager crowd, Smug Bastard instructed us as to our 'roles'. I was to pretend to take a photo of my friend and mime some random words. Not quite the 'tourist weeping and pleading for his life at the hands of terrorists' role that I'd been hoping for, but at least I was actually in the foreground of the shot.
Jean-Marc and I advanced tentatively onto the set whereupon we were given our instructions as to our positioning, timing, and use of facial expressions.
a. Film at Crac 3
Despite the fairly trivial nature of the 'role' I was still a little nervous, as we were surrounded by an army of film crew as well as all the cameras and lighting equipment and stuff. "And... action", announced the 'and action guy' as he clicked the 'and action' clipboard thing. It was all over very quickly it seemed and we only had to redo the scene twice, as Mustafa and Dalia somehow managed not to fluff their lines on this occasion. The night proceeded on slowly; each scene taking an age to set up, then Smug Bastard coming over and picking more Serbian tourists from amongst us. As the night wore on, however, we were getting well and truly sick of all the waiting and the novelty of having one or more of our body parts appear fleetingly in a film that we'll likely never see anyway was rather wearing off. Plus, the further past midnight it got, the more obvious it became that they had never planned to put us up in a hotel at all, let alone a bloody 5-star. So we spent our time on the sidelines lobbying either to get taken home or to be taken to a hotel, as none of us had been informed about the lateness of the filming, and indeed some among us had been told they would be back in Damascus by the evening (which had already past).
Sensing there was unrest in the Serbian ranks, Smug Bastard tried to subdue us by offering us more interesting roles. Julian, who by now had appointed himself spokesman of our cause and who was busily trying to initiate an 'extras' acting strike, was offered a 'speaking' part.
a. Film at Crac 4
With our mini revolution seemingly faltering, Julian accepted the role and he and a couple of the girls from our group stepped forward for their moment of glory. There was to be a series of gunshots from the terrorists, from which Mustafa, Dalia, Julian and co. were to run away screaming. It was quite a cool little part really in the context of the pap we'd been handed earlier. That said, it was only a brief distraction from our growing rebellion and, as the clock approached 3am, our anger and resentment finally seemed to register with the film crew. Both Smug Bastard and the guy who had originally accosted us on the streets of Damascus came over to try to resolve the situation. With Julian as our spokesman, we demanded either to be taken to a hotel at once, or to be driven back to Damascus at once. Smug Bastard and Damascus Guy in turn pleaded that they still needed at least some of us to stay for tomorrow's filming (which would again take place after dark). We also established, following their own admission, that they had not booked any hotel for us. So, the hotel - 5-star or otherwise - seemed out of the equation.
There was now a heavy movement in favour of driving back to Damascus at once, though a few among us decided they wanted to stay for a second day of filming. Julian, however, was so pissed off with the way we'd been treated, that he started lobbying among those wanting to stay in order to convince them to leave too. This behaviour caught the attention of Damascus Guy who promptly ordered Julian off the set.
a. Film at Crac 5
Julian refused and, with that, Damascus Guy caved in to our wish to leave, instructing us to go down to the bus and wait. The more jaded among us did so willingly but Julian and I stayed behind, as we had still not resolved the other issue of the money we were owed for our day of filming. Damascus Guy told us to go and wait with the rest of the group at the bus, and that he would pay us once we were in Damascus. "La, akeed la. Biddna al-masari halla!" (No way, definitely not. We want the money now!), came our emphatic response. After another heated argument, Damascus Guy finally and reluctantly came with us to the bus where the others were ready and waiting to leave. So, with the clock now at 3.30am, we were finally on our way back to Damascus minus six stupid fools who decided to stay for another day of filming, and minus the promised 5-star hotel. Oh well, at least we were getting paid our 1000 SYP ($20) as promised. Yet, as we settled in to the drive home and Damascus Guy started to subtly hand out the money to only a select few of us, we realised something was awry. Predictably, Julian waded in and demanded an explanation from the man. "You!" exclaimed Damascus Guy, waving his fist angrily in Julian's direction, "you causing me problem big!" He then proceeded to explain that, when accosting us on the street, he had made different deals with the different sets of people, only some of whom he had agreed to pay.
We insisted this was ridiculous and that he could not expect to pay some and not others while we were all sat there together on the bus. Then suddenly, in a fit of pique, he made the driver stop the bus. Claiming he did not have enough money to pay all of us, he then phoned back to the film set to try to resolve the matter. So there we were, in a stalemate once more, at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Finishing his phone call, he explained to us that if the remaining people wanted their money we would have to go back to the film set. Tired, jaded and pissed off, we then started arguing with each other; half of us saying we should go back, on principle, and get the money, and half of us saying we should continue back to Damascus. Eventually, because some of those wanting to continue were the same people who had not been paid, we decided to carry on home.
So, at exactly 6am with the light of day now fully upon the city, we arrived back in Damascus. The relief that met us when we exited the bus was so strong that it felt, somewhat ironically, like we'd just escaped some kind of terrorist hostage situation! We said our good-byes to each other and headed our separate ways to our homes and, as my head finally hit my pillow at 6.30am, I was left to reflect upon an entirely unforgettable day.
And the film's name, in case you ever get chance to see it upon its release:
'at-Tanas' (The Assassin)
Comments
Brilliant
Absolute genius mate. You have the oratory skill of someone who is a great orator. =]
Actually did laugh out loud. Can't wait till the film comes straight to DVD. I reckon it was probably an upmarket porn film, and that you should have stayed for the second day. You might have been in on the action - perhaps as the 'pizza guy' who's trousers accidentally come undone =[]