Maybe I should call myself lucky to be the very last to tape a direct address program yesterday. I was actually expecting to be going home at around eight, or nine, in the evening last night. Maybe we should've called it a merciful act, but six more groups will be taping next week, so we technically haven't finished everything. Then again, I was hungry, and I haven't eaten since a quarter before one.
But for some reason, I didn't really feel hungry. It only kicked in on the bus ride home - a surprise to both me and Mae, because we popped into a bus that was basically empty, considering a full bus is even a rare thing to see during Taft Avenue rush hours. And she was getting sleepier by the minute - caused, she says, by dwindling sleep that's caused by accounting classes - while my tummy grumbled. And I was still my hyperactive self.
It wasn't exactly something about the photos I took last night. Although, true, there's something with me holding a camera that makes my eye a little bit more disoriented with flashes and composition, but it's about actually doing something and seeing it get recorded and shown on the telly. Once we finish the last six, we're definitely going to watch all twenty-four - currently running the gamut from a Make Poverty History clip to a Harry Potter teaser - and I'd probably cry in shame, for some part.
I can't sense the mixed reactions. The only feedback I probably got consisted of profuse appreciation from Kimmy, a handshake from Misha, and a snap to the ear from Ariane. But honestly, I actually got it right during rehearsals - zooming in to Arlene as she speaks, probably the hardest thing a camera should do - but once taping began, as I was zooming in, after complaining about me being very tall and everything else I could possibly think of that's plausible, I tilted it too high, so I had to adjust for headroom in the middle of the take. Then again, as Sir Doy warned us at the start of the class, everything is taped as live - thus, it's as if we're shooting a live program, only on a smaller scale, in school. Imagine if you were a camera for a big variety show and you handled the camera that showed a dancer whose breast accidentally (or otherwise) popped out of her dress. You wouldn't get a snap in the ear for that. Something else, maybe.
But the first thing I prepared myself for was being Misha's technical director. I looked at her script - edited, at that - and it still was complicated, considering she's sourcing from two cameras, a slide show, and a DVD. Last Wednesday I merely looked at the video switchers - two million pesos worth of buttons, sliders and whatnot - and before I knew it I got the hang of her show. During the actual tape - rehearsals were still done - I wasn't looking at the monitors as we were all advised to do, but rather my eyes were at the buttons, and my hand was at the slider.
"Dissolve to three," Misha would command.
Three was on green, and four was on red. Slider down, three is on red, and four on green. I actually did it?
The other thing I worried about was my production itself. I knew my script was terribly complicated, and so I ended up sitting down with Ariane, scratching out paragraphs on the script so that she could read it. She was supposed to talk about Feist's latest album, and thankfully we managed to keep it full of emotion, while stuck at almost a minute. And sure, we were taught to keep everything "short and sweet", as my talent put it, but emphasis couldn't be placed enough. Besides, I write for print more. If I did screenplays it would be too poetic. I was almost to say we weren't taught that - call that the (partly, or very, unfair) GMG advantage - but, then again, I probably wasn't paying any attention.
But I got on the director's seat, at around half past six, and it only took me three dry runs to make sure everything's all right, before I could actually tape. The funny thing was, when I asked everybody if we're ready to tape, I got a very resounding "yes" - maybe we're just all itchy to get home, for some reason. Three minutes later, I almost forgot to ask Butch to stop the tape, but we were done. My entire crew had to remind me to say the last magic words before I start clapping my hands - "stop tape" - and the next thing I know, we're going home.
Well, next week I'm going to have so much fun at the television studio, since I'd only be operating the first camera and being floor director, and I'd have so many photos by then. I'd be floundering around everybody's productions looking stupid. But, before that, there's the question of stress - storyboards for our first legitimate video, a filmmaker's manifesto, actual film shoot schedules, and a talk show concept. My performance, or maybe my reputation, has got me the role of producer in our next project, which means I'm leading efforts to look for a guest, as well as delegating who else becomes what. The only other thing that's definite is that Fran's going to be my director. Or I'm going to be her producer. I can't really tell.
And so far, I only have the faintest idea of who's going to be my guest - Mae and I have ideas - and a clearer idea of who's going to be the show's host. Then again, we're to live up to expectations. It's like Reena's little line earlier. "And since you're CAM," she said, "you could make the posters creative..."
Well, that's enough distraction for today. Before I know it I've already grown smitten over - scratch that!