Fiction: Abigail Pepper (part 2)
In the weeks that followed, I felt the odds of getting the film made dwindle even further. If Abigail Pepper had stayed on board, we could have started the whole process again at a different time. Now there was nothing left to do but stop pre-production and cancel the already recruited crew. It felt like I failed as a team leader. At first I thought that was a shame, and every now and then I was overcome by a fit of despair, but soon I no longer cared.
That was also because ten minutes after Abigail hung up, I got a bad news call about a dear relative with whom I had spent many vacations in my youth.
This meant that I would hardly have any free time in the coming period, with many trips to the eastern part of the country on the weekends. It's nice to have a steady job, but if you want to make movies in your spare time, those kinds of interruptions are disastrous. It seemed like life was trying to push me in a different direction quite roughly and I soon decided to just go with the flow. Panta rei, according to the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, everything flows, nothing stays the same, and you cannot step into the same river twice, as Plato would explain later in his Dialogues, since the work of Heraclitus has not survived, but is only passed on by his famous colleague.
Films also sometimes vanish into thin air. Films that had been made were sometimes lost. Or canceled at the last minute, like Batgirl. And movies that weren't made only lived on in the writer's head.
Joy of life already existed in my head, but it would stay there. It’s something that happens to every filmmaker, no matter how successful they are.
Only on occasion does a film, as it were, rise from the dead, such as the Don Quixote film by Terry Gilliam, but usually it is over and done with.
Like a real Calimero, I discussed my sad fate during a pleasant dinner with some filmmaker friends much more successful than me. They made sympathetic sounds and said the right things, but I kept feeling that egg cup on my head.
I have known Marten since I worked as a runner for the production of the TV series Grey Skies when I was young. I picked him up in the morning to go to set and in the evening I delivered him back home. This created a bond between us and although we sometimes didn't see each other for years, we now found ourselves together again to celebrate the birthday of a mutual friend.
One of the other attendees, a lesser-known filmmaker named Mark van Arkel, said that he had just received money from the Vevam, which allowed him to move forward for another six months without using his savings. Which, of course, was a dangerous attitude to adopt. Mark was already in his fifties, that elusive age when according to many it was better not to become unemployed, because it became more and more difficult to get a job.
On the other hand, it was also the age at which Marten and Marjorie, as well as their good friend Mikel, said: if you want to change course one more time, you should do it now. And I get that, I really do.
I was caught between job, family and caregiving for my sick relative and sometimes dreamed of disappearing into thin air and starting over somewhere else.
But laws and practical objections stand in the way between dream and deed, as Elsschot already wrote. To be honest, I didn't see Marjorie, Marten and Mikel as Three Musketeers who would start their dream bed and breakfast in the Ardèche. They could fantasize about it to their heart's content until the late hours while enjoying a good glass of wine, but in the end an idea like that was mainly a starting point for a new film, about people who wanted to change their life and swing for the fences.
When you've worked so long to achieve a privileged position, you're not going to give it up. You would rather expand that position a bit further. So you just keep going until you drop. Because you have the best profession in the world, no matter how great the frustrations can be when you are once again waiting for money or dealing with an unwilling lead actress called Abigail Pepper.
The time I had left with Uncle Gerard, however, made up for a lot. I was a kid of the nineties and he was a huge movie buff and when he noticed that I also liked watching movies, he decided he should educate me a bit.
Gerard had a huge VHS collection and together we watched all the popular movies from that time: Forrest Gump, Pulp Fiction, Babe, Sense and Sensibility, Leaving Las Vegas, etcetera. It didn't matter to him that he had often seen those films several times. We sometimes watched a movie twice in a row and talked about it when we went for a brisk walk in the woods after being indoors for most of the day.
The love for film remained, even after I got too old to stay with my aunt and uncle. He was pleased that I later made some films myself, he also watched most of them out of politeness, but he mainly associated the medium with all the major Hollywood productions he had seen. During his illness we sometimes watched an old movie. I saw tears welling up in his eyes during the romantic drama Il Postino, but afterwards he said that the films reminded him too much of the old days, when Auntie was still alive, so we stopped. Movies may be the most important sideshow in life, but they’re no cure for cancer.
It happened well after the cremation of my beloved uncle, but sometime after Easter a small miracle happened. Joy of life got back on track, with the intended cast no less, and as you might expect Abigail Pepper played her pretty little heart out.
This is how it went down: six months after our quarrel, Annabel called me out of the blue. I saw her name and number appear on my mobile's display and I immediately thought, 'That must be a mistake.'
Her voice, however, sounded unusually timid. I decided to just say nice things and make sympathetic noises as she began to offer her condolences on the loss of my beloved uncle.
For a moment I wondered if this was her sole reason for calling, but it turned out that Tjeerd, who had seen (and liked) my Facebook post about the funeral, had talked her into it. He didn't have much going on, so he read my script again, liked it even better before and decided he still wanted to make the film.
He was unusually pissed off that Abigail had blown his opportunity to star in my film. I grunted in agreement, but Abigail wasn't finished yet. She'd tried to live without meds for a while, only to find out too late that she'd gone pretty crazy even for her. She had even walked her dog completely naked at night. Something she only became aware of when a drunk asked her if she was cold. Then she had run back home, leaving the man and the dog in bewilderment. It was quite a journey to get back in, because of course she didn't have a key with her. Had there been a camera, the recording would undoubtedly have gone viral, she said a little defiantly, which actually made me doubt whether or not the whole incident had really happened, or only in her head. Actors need to act, or they tend to go crazy.
I mean, who runs out into the street without clothes in the middle of winter?
However, Abigail now wanted to persevere. She had decided that working was good for her. She had already discussed the dates that Tjeerd and she were both free and she could imagine that after a rough period I was ready for some fun again. She wondered aloud if I was available on the dates suggested by Tjeerd and her. I said I could make it work, of course. I didn't even have to look at my calendar for that.
Finding an elderly actor wouldn't be that difficult either, he probably had nothing more to do at his age than sit behind the geraniums, so he could adapt nicely to our shooting schedule. Abigail had cast off her trepidation and sounded like her own bossy self again.
Fine, of course. I was already happy that everything had turned out for the best within a single phone call.
Shooting my own film after all that felt like a celebratory lap. I liked the fact that I could go to the set early in the morning by bike. The filming took place in Amsterdam, a fifteen minute bike ride from where I lived. The assistant director had offered to pick me up by car, but I declined politely. Could the kid stay in his bed for ten minutes longer.
On my way to the set I got a cup of coffee at a site that was just opening. Although the coffee really didn't taste like anything, I felt perfectly happy for a moment.
Initially I had planned to have a lot of visual fun this time, with all kinds of impressive push-ins and pull-outs. However, my new cameraman Kelvin ('nomen est omen', as he put it) convinced me that we had better keep it sober. In his view, the visual plan really had to serve the actors.
I thought this sounded a bit yellow, but once more I allowed myself to be convinced. I had specifically asked for a young Director of Photography as I thought he would be a bit more experimental compared to the old guard I used to work with.
But today's youth was not so wild. I also didn't want to seem hipper than thou, something that often happens when older people want to come across as innovative at all costs.
Oh well, as long as the people around me were happy, I thought, as I discreetly poured half the coffee away in the street and deposited the cup in the waiting bin.
If I cycled a little faster, I would still be on set at the call time I set myself.
Meanwhile, the premiere of Joy of Life at the Amsterdam Film Festival was fast approaching. But even though everyone on Facebook had congratulated me on the selection, no one had called or emailed me if I might have the time and the inclination to start a new project. A new round of Telefilms was coming up, but the deadline was already near and I lacked the courage to approach a producer myself with a plan. Everyone knew that broadcasters and producers were in cahoots and that selection was often made on non-artistic grounds. Not that anyone would ever admit it, but we all know this is how it works.
The Amsterdam premiere of Joy of Life turned out to be a resounding success. The first lines of dialogue immediately sparked some laughter, causing the whole hall to follow suit and at the end there was a deafening applause. I couldn't be happier. All the misery of the past year was forgotten. Abigail flew around my neck afterwards and gave me two big kisses on my cheeks. I beamed. It felt like we were really BFF’s now. No idea if we'd ever make another movie, but never say never. Apparently Abigail could also be overjoyed with a successful role in a short film.
My husband gave me a kiss and the kids also seemed to liked it, even if it was because they recognized a few people from TV.
I turned my attention to Tjeerd and the older actor, Gerben, who were also very happy with the result and even thanked me for the roles I had written for them. I felt flattered, especially when Tjeerd told me that it was so nice to spend two days working on a short film, with material that the actors could really sink their teeth into, scenes that they could play over and over again, without fearing that they would have to stop and go to the next one without being satisfied with the last one. With many series it was a matter of a maximum of two takes, we'll fix the rest in post, and on to the next scene. Often these were assignments that paid well, which was nice, but Abigail and Tjeerd never had the feeling that they were really doing their best work. I soaked up the positive vibes eagerly, and sometimes when I'm down, because something isn't working, or when I'm thinking about Uncle Gerard again, I look at the framed premiere photo on the desk in my study at home. The film will soon be forgotten, but that photo will remain there for a longer while. That snapshot is the best proof to me that it all really happened. I now realize all too well that you have to cherish these kinds of memories.
It doesn’t always happen that all the emotions at a premiere not only sound positive, but also feel completely genuine and you never know how long it will be before you can bathe in such a warm glow of goodwill again.