Chez Nous

Well, it's official. 'Chez moi' has become 'chez nous' as my Beloved has moved his stuff over and settled into his new 'pad'.

The previously austere pool room has been converted into a spiffing bedsit cum office cum studio cum bar cum ... pool room. A little bit of imagination, ingenuity and a small quantity of bailing wire has transformed the space out of all recognition - assisted also by an eclectic collection of art, bits of costume and various props. I particularly like the traffic lights and the honey bear head sitting on top of the TV but am concerned about the 'head box' into which (supposedly) knives and arrows are inserted without any damage to the occupant. Hmmmm.

Of course there are a number of exceptional side benefits to the new arrangements, not least of which is the elimination of all that pesky travelling time and the hassle of making assignations. Other perks need not be mentioned in this forum ...

Oh, and just in case you were wondering, my Beloved does have house access privileges. For the moment ... (just kidding!)

Home Invastion

I was blissfully slumbering away last night when I was rudely awoken at about 4.00am by the most HIDEOUS sounds coming from the living room.

There was a great screeching and warbling, followed by banging and crashing and then more screeching and hissing. Naturally I leapt out of my nice warm bed to see who or what was strangling Fang and turned the light on to a scene out of "Attack of the Killer Kitties" (I'm sure there is such a film, and if there isn't, there should be!).

The upstart cat from the other side of the back fence who has, on occasion, risked life and limb to have a bit of a wander around my back yard had decided to investigate what was on the other side of the cat flap.

What he found was an 8.2kg monster prepared to defend hearth and home to the bitter end. Fang - large at the best of times - had puffed herself up with indignation and was about the same size and shape as a black, furry beach ball. With teeth.

Poor kitty from next door had, by this stage, figured out that curiosity was likely to get him killed, so was making every attempt to find a way out. Not very successfully and pursued, at this point, by both Butch and Fang intent on revenge for this outrage.

I, meanwhile, am trying to get all the doors open as far as possible while avoiding being an incidental casualty of WWIII. There were cats going everywhere! Over the furniture, up the screen door, over the kitchen bench, into the laundry (whoops - dead end) and out again - in the process knocking over the neatly stacked empty bottles and cans like so many skittles.

The poor traumatised beast from next door finally found his way to feedom and dashed off into the night (hopefully) never to return.

Butch and Fang - the home invader gone - resumed their nomal sizes and looked at me as if to say "Well, what are you standing around here for? Let's get back to bed." Which we were all very pleased to do.

It makes me realise, though, that their less than enthusiastic reaction to the introduction of wee Q as a regular household guest is as NOTHING compared to what might have happened if my Beloved had brought round another cat. They've been positively genial in comparison ...

... and a Goat in a Pe-e-ar Tree

Over the last several months, my Beloved has been dealing with his own production number, working on a joint Australian/Uzbekistani feature film, "Kimbung Jim Jams". Being the 'man on the ground' in our fair city he's been responsible for all the pre-production and organisation that goes into putting a film together.

This is a difficult enough task without the added complication of overseas producers that keep on changing their minds and driving us out of ours ...

The first challenge was the script which finally arrived ... in Uzbekistani. Not useful. An english translation eventually followed which revealed just a couple of small issues ... like locations that were not on the location list, characters not on the cast list, about a zillion extras, $20,000 in cash being dropped from a great height for the purposes of a dream sequence, and a goldfish required to jump out of its bowl on cue and perform a death defying leap into a drain.

Well, not so death defying actually ...

So for several weeks it was a matter of finding locations, taking pictures of them and sending them through to Uzbekistan. Same deal with actors and extras - take some footage, convert to streaming file and email to Uzbekistan where, after an inevitable delay of hours, days or even weeks (Uzbeki time seems to vary somewhat from ours) would come approval/rejection and another 'to do' list.

"How's it going?" I would ask with trepidation.

"Pear shaped" would be the invariable reply as some additional ludicrous request arrived via email.

My favourite moment was the weekend before shooting commenced and we discovered that a fairly significant character had not been cast. Message to my Beloved - "we have three possible candidates, could you please film auditions and send to us by 5.00pm today". No matter that the Parental Body and two of their friends were coming over for lunch - we just invited the auditionees to come to chez moi and perform in front of the assembled guests! Actually, it added some interest to lunch and we got to see 3 quite embarrassed chappies doing their own unique version of Punjab Hip Hop. What fun!

The first day of shooting finally arrived and my Beloved was off at some ridiculously early hour of the morning (having grunted once or twice in my general direction - his version of "Good morning, darling") to tackle the multi-national cast and crew, keep things on track and generally try to avoid anyone killing themselves or others.

This turned out to be a difficult task.

The culture clash became apparent immediately, with the Uzbekistani contingent showing a complete disregard for rules, regulations, health and safety issues ... and timelines. What was already a tight schedule over 5 days became a nightmare of 14, 16 and 18 hour shoots, no sleep and endless arguments between the Director and anyone who'd care to listen. Obviously the protocol in Uzbekistan is to do whatever you want with a bribe to the appropriate personages to smooth it over. Not how we do things in dear old Adelaide, however.

My Beloved became the "Mr No." of the production.

"No, you cannot climb onto that roof without safety gear."

"No, you cannot take a camera into the middle of a busy road withoout a permit, traffic cones and the police."

"No, you cannot fire a gun on set."

"No, we are not going to buy 20 identical goldfish so you can throw them down the drain one by one until you get the right shot."

We discovered that the word "Nazi", even when mumbled under the breath and in Uzbekistani still sounds like an insult. Added to all these problems was an Uzbekistani caterer who had an uncanny knack of disappearing whenever he was needed and leaving the delicious (not) Uzbekistani cuisine he'd whipped up in a hot van for several hours. Four cases of food poisoning reported so far ...

At last it was over, however, and the wrap was celebrated with the delightful Australian crew members and a late night trip to the local karaoke bar - scene of Arizaphale's recent triumph (hem hem).

However, it appears that my career as a part-time, unpaid production assistant is far from over. Once he's finished standing in for [CENSORED] on [CENSORED] it'll be straight back into pre-production for a TV pilot and even larger bi-national feature film next year. Can't wait!

PS - why the Goat, you ask? Literal translation of Kimbung Jim Jams from Uzbekistani.

PPS - no goldfish were harmed in the making of this movie.