Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Hard to believe it’s been more than a month since the London premiere of Third Star. In the weeks since I’ve been home in Florida, London has become something of a dream. My travel journal reminds me it wasn’t, and all the events that magically played connect the dots to get me to the U.K. really happened.
That journal may motivate me to begin writing fiction. Maybe my technical skills will marry my new inspiration and birth a novel. Who knows? Anything seems possible. This summer my life seems divided into Before London and After London, and I hope in a year’s time I’ll still be able to see a difference.
My friend Chas emailed me about meeting at the Third Star screening this Saturday. I have the tickets. She and Scott are driving from center state to Cinematique. This time I only need drive about 10 miles to see the film. We decided to meet in the lobby at 10:30.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Stephanie from Cinematique sent me the links to my film reviews on the theatre’s website, which I duly pimped on Facebook and Twitter. Strange to know that, after this weekend, I won’t write about Third Star any more. The past month’s research-and-writing probably has been more therapeutic for me than enlightening for the reading public.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
A muggy morning in Daytona Beach—a cool, dark screening room was especially inviting. Cinematique is a tiny theatre across the street from a park bordering the Halifax River, about a mile from the beach. If the boys had lived near Daytona, they could’ve driven right up to the ocean and saved a lot of time and energy to get to the sea. I don’t know that I’d want to spend my last day dodging traffic or having to shout heartfelt sentiments over car stereos, though. That would be a very different film.
The theatre kept us away from all that today. Scott and Chas had arrived about an hour early, so we were inside as soon as the doors opened. While the crowd straggled in, we caught up with what we’d done over the past two months. We caught our collective breath when the lights went out and sat close together to watch the film and, surreptitiously, each other. The Daytona Beach audience was loud—both with laughter and sniffles. When the lights came up, Stephanie gave the crowd a few Kleenex moments while she hooked up the laptop for the Q&A. Chas tapped out my question—thank you for answering it, even if it was slightly mangled in e-translation across the Atlantic. The Daytona crowd got into the Q&A. We laughed. We learned. We wished we were in London or Sydney, but that might seem rather stalkerish.
Afterward, Scott and Chas caravanned behind me to the restaurant I’d fantasized about sharing with them. It was closed. The Volvo didn’t want to head beachside. So we walked to a nearby Thai restaurant that ended up being a good choice. Over fried tofu and extra peanut sauce, we constantly (and sometimes embarrassingly loudly) discussed theatre, films, past and future trips to London, the nature of fandom. Inevitably, over a third iced tea, the conversation turned to Third Star. I analyzed symbolism and favorite camera angles. Chas provided an actor’s insight into performance and preparation. Question of the day: Which character would you be? Scott is a real-life Davy. I relate to Miles, and Chas’ outlook on life is closer to Bill’s.
Thunderstorms came and went, the lunch crowd melted away, and the poor server wondered just how many refills I might request. Four hours. And we were still talking.
Chas needed to leave for an evening rehearsal, but their car had a flat. I drove us around the neighborhood in search of a can of Fix-a-Flat. I don’t think our conversation was meant to end. The Volvo is an enabler.
Can found, tire inflated, no more excuses. We hugged and promised to meet in two weeks so I can see Chas in Thoroughly Modern Millie.
Sunday, June 26
Third Star put me in the mood for a beach walk. I set the alarm to go beachside early this morning. Well, 7:30. Early is a relative concept when I’m not teaching at 8 a.m.
Ormond Beach is quieter at this time of day, but it’s never a place for solitude. A coffee in hand, I waded as far on the sandbar as I could go without getting my cutoffs wet. Two egrets glided past me and landed to fish in the shallow waves off the bar. One eyed me as he darted forward to spear a silver bait fish. We’re all endangered species here.
The ocean was almost flat this morning, and a couple of disgruntled surfers lounged on their boards fifty yards out. The tide was coming in, though, and I picked my way through the turquoise pools to get back to shore. Not much good shelling on this side of the state, but a pair of just-opened white angel wings spun in front of me, courtesy of a retreating wave. The mollusk was gone, but the thick, pliable seam between the shells proved it had been there earlier today. It’s a fitting symbol to bring the past few weeks full circle. I carefully pocketed the shells and headed to the carpark. Life goes on.