On the shores of Neptune – Curse #0932

Posted on May 10, 2010


The director barks action and I put on ‘black and white’. Black and white is a look that the director demands, and I’m not going to say no. The guy is crazy and you can’t say no to crazy when you’re stranded on some island with only him, some tin house, a pet monkey, and a bunch of camera equipment filming an experimental film called “On the Shores of Neptune”.

On the shores of Neptune? What? I thought Neptune was a planet composed of a great deal of ice. Unfortunately I agreed to this during a very happy ‘happy hour’ back on the mainland. I’m not even an actor and I don’t like science fiction. By the time I sobered up it was to late to say take me home.

“You’re my only actor,” the director says. He’s only wearing a pair of chinos and a feathered hat, cranking some strange style of camera as I get into frame.  The whole thing makes me very uncomfortable because he rubs his belly after every take. “I’m going to need you to play all the parts except the love interest. Get your costume on.”

It’s about a hundred and fifty six degrees outside, but I put the costume on. “What love interest?” I ask him.

“She’s over there, sitting by the shore,” he says. I look hard but don’t see anyone.

I shake my head. “There isn’t anyone there,” I say.

“She’s over there! Damn, look at those legs. Aren’t they nice? Say they’re nice!” he demands.

This is insane but I go along with him. You have to play by crazy’s rules. “Oh yea. Damn boy. Look at those thighs. Look at those toes. Shes a real beauty.”

“That’s enough. Stop looking. Now! Let’s shoot some evil villain. Give me your best shot.”

And I do just that, but it comes out all forced and looks somewhat benign in the director’s required black and white look.

“No! No! NoOoO!” the director shouts. Some seagulls fly overhead. I can hear the director’s pet monkey from the tin house banging some pots. He wants a banana. The director is a banana and shouts, “Try again!”

I try again. I throw back my hood and strain hard, causing veins to bulge. “Give me your woman, hero!” I scream.

More noise from the tin house. The director yells, “QUIET ON THE SET.” The banging in the tin house stops and he turns his attention back to me. “That’s passable for now. We’ll come back to this later. I want to see hero now. I want you to point to tell your friends the way you need to go to rescue the love interest.”

“Okay,” I say. I point in the direction of the invisible love interest.

“Good, good. You can point,” he says. The sound from the tin house starts again and now the monkey is hissing loudly. He throws the pot out the window. “God damn monkey,” the director says but he keeps cranking his camera, rubbing his belly. “Okay,” he begins. “Show me sassy. Give me sassy, man. This film is going to be killer. Give me hero’s father. Show me expendable minion. Give me dancing girl in space bar. I want to see Neptune sea monster. Come on! Do it! Give it! You’re an actor now. A thespian. It’s a curse, but you’re a natural, kid. You’re going to be a star.”