Monday, June 22, 2009

Movie premiere at Tim’s place

So I made a movie. Not a great movie, but not a total cock-up either. Could be better, could be worse.
Actually, I just helped on the screenplay. At any rate, after several years of sporadic work on it, it was finally written, revised, produced, shot, edited, mastered, saved onto a disc and couriered to me.
Immensely proud of myself, I told my mate Tim about it. He was keen to check it.
So I cruise down to his spot in Central with my laptop, all ready for the grand premier showing of my debut film.
I’d always imagined my movie premier was going to be a red-carpet event in Cape Town, London or New York, at an independent theatre, with a select audience of credible, respected industry insiders.
Instead it was going to be at Tim’s spot in Central. That’s fine. I respect Tim’s opinion
Tim has these two massive dogs. So Baby isn’t able to come to the premier. She drops me at his front door and goes for a dop at El Dorado in Parliament Street.
The dogs are restless too. “I normally take them for a walk around this time,” says Tim. “I normally take them to Dodds Farm. Tonight I’ll just take them to the school. There round the corner, the old Dagbreek”
Tim’s been renovating his place. So his folks come round to check on the progress of construction. It’s going bloody well. The place is going to look awesome. Cabinet making’s done – cupboards built from recycled wood, new beams in the ceiling, the whole top floor, hectic steep staircase built with his own hands to an unforgiving tolerance.
Concealed lighting, bar counters, restored, luckily there wasn’t any borer beetle in the downstairs floorboards…
The view from upstairs is awesome. Quite romantic, actually. Tim plays me a bit of that Bon Iver album.
“Oh ja.” he remembers, “You must still show me that movie.”
We go downstairs and crank up the laptop. I’m keen to get his opinion on this one part where there might be a bit of overacting. And the tone, generally is quite bleak.
Just after the credits, Tim’s mate Lloyd comes by. The lady from across the road warned him about leaving his scooter parked there. You can’t be too careful nowadays.
He picks a few notes on Tim’s acoustic. He’s more of a vocalist, Lloyd tells me. That reminds me, I must get Tim to play me some of his new stuff.
Tim thinks the lighting grade’s a bit bright and flat. But he laughs at the bleakest scenes, like when the one guy’s getting a revolver shoved up his bum. Maybe it’s not so bleak after all. Black humour, maybe.
His other neighbour comes in, demanding beer. There are a couple of quarts in the deep freeze. Amstels. “What you ous watching?”
Well, we’re watching my movie, about a bunch of PE okes. Three mates from Central. These guys have probably seen this movie before.

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