Back on set, Ronald found James.
"The boss will be here in two hours. Until then, we continue shooting."
"Wow, so you're still directing?" Jim asked, eyes wide.
"Yes, until the boss takes over. He and his assistant, Gale, will both be on set. We need to hurry. What's the next scene? You're in charge of blocking."
"The next scene is the 'Good Girl,' Kate, hitting on the handsome Tom." Jim handed Ronald the storyboard. "Congratulations, Ronnie.You fucking deserve it."
Ronald nodded and went to find the actor playing Tom: Vincent Van Patten.
At a glance, Vincent was the quintessential American heartthrob: strong, blond, and wearing a green and white letterman jacket. He looked exactly like the dream guy of every high school girl in 1978.
However, there was a discrepancy. In the script, Tom was written as an old-fashioned, oblivious nerd. Vincent, however, radiated athletic, sunny confidence.
Ronald recalled the images from his dream. In the final movie, Tom played the role with a stiff, slightly dull demeanor that contrasted perfectly with the chaotic rock energy around him.
"Wardrobe! Where is wardrobe?" Ronald shouted.
"Here!" Linda, the costume designer, raised her hand.
Ronald pointed to Vincent's chest. "Lose the jacket. Give him a tie. I need him to look like he was raised in a strict, Puritanical family. He needs to look stiff."
"Okay, I'm on it." Linda rummaged through a rack and returned with two ties: one blue-and-green striped, the other deep red.
"This one," Ronald said, pointing to the blue-and-green stripes. "It matches the school colors."
After dressing the actor, Ronald walked over to the camera crew.
"For this shot, we need a ten-second long take," Ronald instructed. "Tom comes out of the building, fully buttoned up. He ignores the dancing students, walks through the crowd, and sits here to eat breakfast. We need a Master Shot from the crane."
Ronald walked the path, pantomiming the action. "He holds an unread novel, totally out of place amidst the joyful chaos."
He turned to the DP. "Mr. Cundey, what do you think?"
Dean Cundey turned to his assistants. "Did you hear the director? Let's get to work."
The red-haired First AC looked at Ronald, blinking in disbelief. The authority in Ronald's voice sounded less like a PA and more like a veteran of twenty years.
"How do you want to shoot the feeling of being 'out of place'?" Cundey asked, testing him. "Camera movement?"
"No... no camera movement," Ronald explained. "Lock the camera off. Keep Vincent in the center of the frame."
Ronald gestured to the extras. "When the other students run past him, they move at normal speed. But I want Tom moving half a beat slower than reality. A smooth, detached rhythm. That will create the isolation."
Cundey nodded slowly. "I like it. You rehearse the actors; I'll light it."
"Thank you, Mr. Cundey."
Ronald hurried back to Vincent Van Patten. With the tie on, the actor looked significantly more rigid.
"Hey, this is your first scene today, right?" Ronald asked.
"Yeah. How are we doing this?" Vincent asked.
"I'm keeping the camera locked on you. You are the anchor. You come out, holding your book like a shield. You walk here, greet the guys stiffly, and sit down. You are oblivious to the fun. Then, you wait for Kate to come hit on you."
Ronald demonstrated the walk—stiff-backed, precise.
Vincent mimicked it. "Enter... book up... walk... nod... sit."
"Perfect. Keep your movements smooth but slow. Like you're underwater."
"Got it. Watch this." Vincent ran a hand through his hair.
"Whoops, hair's messed up. Gigi! Fix him up!" Ronald called the hairstylist.
Acting is a tedious profession; a single stray hair can ruin a take when magnified on a forty-foot screen. Ronald watched Gigi spray the hair back into place, then returned to Cundey.
"Ready?"
"Ready," Cundey said. "I'm using a 20mm wide lens. We stopped down the aperture to compensate for the sun. The brightness matches the magic hour footage."
Ronald looked up. The sun was fully up now, but the school walls blocked the direct harsh rays. The DP had adjusted the f-stop to ensure the exposure didn't jump between shots.
"Rolling!" Jim shouted.
The plot was simple: Kate (Dey Young) sees Tom, makes a lovesick face, sits next to him, and tries to flirt. Tom, who prefers the wild cheerleader Riff Randell, dismisses the brainy girl and reads his book.
"Action!"
Vincent nailed the "underwater" walk. The contrast with the frantic extras was perfect.
"Cut! Beautiful. Moving on!"
Now came the coverage. This was the "Hollywood Method."
They switched to a medium lens for the Over-the-Shoulder (OTS) shots.
First, focusing on Vincent. Dey Young sat opposite him, only her shoulder and the back of her head visible in the frame. They acted out the flirting scene.
"Cut.... Reverse it."
The camera moved behind Vincent. Now it was his shoulder in the foreground, focusing on Dey Young's face.
"Action!"
They flirted again.
"Cut....Check the gate."
Dean Cundey checked the lens. "Good."
"Okay, Close-ups!" Ronald called.
The red-haired AC swapped in a 100mm telephoto lens. He pushed the dolly in tight, almost touching Dey Young's face.
Cundey looked through the viewfinder and frowned. "Sun's too high. The shadows on her eyes are too deep. It looks like a raccoon. Get a reflector!"
A lighting grip dropped to his knees, holding a large white foam board. He angled it to bounce the sunlight back into Dey Young's face, filling in the dark shadows and adding a "catchlight" to her eyes.
"Give me a shy smile..." Ronald directed.
"Action!"
Vincent stood behind the camera, feeding her lines. Dey Young smiled, heartbreak and hope in her eyes. The camera captured the image that would eventually be projected onto screens across America.
"Cut! Print it!"
This was the rhythm Roger Corman demanded: Master, Two Overs, Close-ups. It was formulaic, but it was efficient, and it allowed the editor to cut the scene together easily.
"Next setup! The Dance Sequence!"
Dismissing the actors, the crew began to prep the quad.
This scene had zero plot relevance. It existed solely to convey energy and to feature scantily clad teenagers dancing, a staple of the exploitation genre.
The person in charge now was the choreographer, a Polish woman named Scilla.
"Ronaldo," Scilla said in her thick Eastern European accent. "Even though the Ramones sing rock, I plan to have students dance Disco."
Ronald paused, realizing "Ronaldo" was him.
"Okay, Scilla. What's the reasoning?"
"Disco looks better on camera."
She had a point. The crew didn't have professional dancers. Disco, specifically the Hustle was the universal language of 1978. Thanks to Saturday Night Fever and Grease, everyone knew the moves. John Travolta was the god of the era.
"Also," Scilla pointed to two extras in tight gym shorts. "You have two particularly well-built beauties there. We should let them dance in the front."
"Oh? Who are they?" Ronald asked, looking where she pointed.
Authors Note:-
That's chapter 9.
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