The Waterfront

"Picture's up!"

The announcement got everyone's attention. I had no idea what it meant but it meant something to the film crew. They either returned to their workstations or found a comfortable out-of-the-way spot to spend the next few minutes waiting for someone to yell, 'Cut!'.

It was another beautiful day in Southport, slightly overcast to filter the light and make it better for photography. I was on my way to Fishy Fishy, a popular seafood restaurant located in the yacht basin.

Just for today, the restaurant was no longer Fishy Fishy. It was instead, the production site for the filming of The Waterfront, a new Netflix original television series.

But this post isn't about the television series at all. It's about my lifelong love of film and the people involved in making cene-magic, including actors, directors, screenwriters, and the hundreds of other people whose names may or may not be listed when the credits roll.

"Rolling!" called the production assistants and it suddenly became very quiet on the set. All activity ceased. If anyone spoke it was in whispers. 

From my vantage point near the docks, I could see extras loading crab crates onto a fishing boat. I wasn't able to see the named actors but the action I was watching on the docks was being monitored on laptops by production assistants in the dining area. 

"Cut!" someone yelled and the command was immediately echoed around the set. Activity resumed where it left off.

"Popsicle?" asked a young woman who had shimmered up to me unnoticed. She was handing out the frozen fruit concoctions to crew members enduring a hot and humid morning on location. And now she was offering one to me.

"Oh, no, thank you," I said. "But I appreciate the offer." 

"You're not a crew member are you?" she said.

I admitted that I was not. I'm sure you're surprised by my honesty. It's a blatant violation of my normal method of operation, which, as you well know, is stout denial. But consider this: she was obviously a member of the crew and she knew the answer to her question before asking. 

I've found that in cases where the charge can be proven in court against you, the judge may go easy on you if you enter a simple plea of guilty. I hoped it would prove true this time.

"I came here hoping to video some of the behind-the-scenes action," I said with the most ingratiating smile I could muster. "It's something I do," I said. "Southport is a busy spot for movie and television productions and I like to chase the film crews hoping for juicy tidbits to post on social media."

She nodded as though she'd heard it all before. 

"You don't plan to video any of the actors while they're performing their roles, do you?"

"I'd like to speak to my lawyer," I said. She nodded knowingly.

"Follow me," she said and my heart sank just a little because at that very moment Princess Amy began her rant. I knew you'd get caught, I knew it, I knew it. Now they'll take your name and a photo and you won't be allowed on a film location ever again. 

Amy simply can't get too much drama. She sometimes gets so animated that she becomes dizzy and starts spinning round and round. But you probably knew that about her already.

But hold on. I've crossed the white lines and run into the ditch again. I meant to explain how I came to be here in Southport in the first place.

Driving into Southport this morning I expected my plans for the day to encounter obstacles. I knew that roads were closed in the vicinity of the yacht basin and I knew the directors like to keep traffic and tourists far away from the action to prevent disruptions. 

But I was excited for the opportunity to video in an area so open as the fishing fleet. Film locations are usually closed off and difficult to watch but when located in a marina, half the site is wide open. I felt this would be my best chance to get clear shots of the film crew going about their jobs.  

As mentioned above, roads were closed in the vicinity of the production site, so I walked the last few blocks to the yacht basin. I was immediately disappointed. Two policemen were in front of the makeshift studio to prevent gawkers from loitering around the set. 

I realized that diversion, subterfuge, and misdirection were called for in situations like these. I decided to execute the end-around pattern. The first attempt, around the seafood restaurant, offered no options that didn't involve swimming. I reversed direction and went to the far end of the yacht basin.

Looking back toward the crew's location, I saw a tourist couple walking my way. "Did the policemen give you a hard time when you walked through?" I asked.

"They're keeping people moving," he said and then she said, "And they don't allow photos."

"Do they allow people on the deck where the crew are working?" I asked but I didn't get an answer. A production assistant materialized from a nearby doorway and said, "Can you move farther down the lane, please? Your conversation is disrupting our rehearsal. And, no, you can't take photos."

Well, what could I do? Sometimes the choice is easy only because it's the only choice. The last resort it's called in some circles. My last resort was something my graduate lab manager in college told me about getting into the lab to see the new electron microscope. 

"Just walk into the lab as though you belong there," he said.

I took a deep breath, shook out the willies, and walked straight across the parking lot behind the two policemen. I stepped up onto the deck with all the crew members. I nodded to the two production assistants guarding the entrance and strode into the crew area as though I were an associate producer. No one paid any attention.

I walked straight to the railing overlooking the yacht basin, near the spot where the extras were lined up waiting to be escorted to their on-camera positions.

"Picture's up!" someone yelled and that's where you came into this story. You will remember that a production assistant offered me a popsicle and after determining that I wasn't a member of the crew, she asked me to follow her.

What was I to do? I followed. I noticed that the wire in her ear led to a receiver on her belt. The name 'Vee' was written there. I assumed it was a name. A reasonable thing to assume you think? Leave a comment.

Vee stopped for a second to whisper to someone named Jeri--her name was on her receiver too. Jeri nodded after giving me a quick glance, and then, to my surprise, Vee didn't escort me off the site. Instead, she led me to an empty table near the one with all the laptops. 

"Here's the deal," she said. "You sit here. Everyone saw me bring you over here so no one's going to ask questions as long as you're quiet and don't call attention to yourself."

"Act as though I belong here," I said.

"That's right," she said. "You can take photos if you want but when you hear someone yell, 'picture's up', put the phone down. No more photos until you hear someone yell, 'cut'. Got it?"

"Got it."

She turned to walk away but stopped, turned around, and came back to my table.

"Here," she said giving me a bottle of water. "You'll need it if you're going to hang out in this heat."

"Thanks."

"When you hear PAs call, 'picture's up', you can call it too," she said. You'll also hear them say, 'rolling' and 'cut'. You can repeat those too but be sure to call it as soon as you hear it. If you're late, you'll get some strange looks. OK?"

"Absolutely," I said and before she could turn away I added, "Thank you for allowing me to hang out. This is going to be a day I'll always remember and it'll give me stories to tell for as long as anyone will listen." 

She smiled and as she walked away, she said, "I know. Enjoy!" 

"Rolling!" yelled a production assistant. 

"Rolling," I yelled along with everyone else. Life is good when the Universe is on your side.

I Blame Netflix

I found Ms. Wonder in the kitchen preparing for her trip to Shallotte. I thought it was the perfect time to tell her the exciting news. If you're a newbie to this blog then I should probably explain that Wonder and I recently moved to Wilmawood from our home in Durham and I've had a little trouble adjusting."

"Wilmington isn't Charleston," I said just to get things going. You see before deciding to relocate here, to Hollywood East, we thought we would move to Charleston, the jewel of the Carolina coast, but COVID changed our minds--it's a long story.

The River District

"Wilmington isn't a lot of things," she said. And I remember thinking that she was right, of course, but what of it? The relevance got right over my head but that's true of many things she says. Not surprising really. She knows just about everything due to having one of those Italian-designed brains and my rollback-special from Walmart just insn't in the same league.

"What?" I said.

"Exactly," she said.

You may think it odd that we have this type of conversation but you wouldn't think so if you lived with us for a pandemic week. You see my way of escaping the Groundhog Day sameness of one day after another is by binge-watching Netflix until I fall asleep on the sofa. My current addiction is "AJ and the Queen". I recommend it highly. 

Unfortunately, indulging in the video drug until overdose doesn't result in an alert, clear-headed morning and the early conversations can be alarming. 

But, I've jumped the rails again. Here's the gist to catch you up. We told everyone who would listen for years that we were moving to Charleston. Then when we finally decided the time was right for relocation, we moved to Wilmington instead.

"Do you remember," I said to Ms. Wonder, "that when we told people we were moving to Wilmington, they would say, "Why Wilmington? It's nothing like Charleston."

"I remember," she said.

"Well, they might be surprised to learn just how much the two cities have in common."

"Both of them being colonial port cities," she said. "And sharing a lot of history with the golden age of piracy--especially Black Beard."

"Was there a golden age of piracy?" I said.

"Both cities also figured heavily in the 19th-century turmoil that southern dames referred to as, "the recent unpleasantness between the states."

"Is dames an appropriate choice of words?" I said.

Not dames as in "there is nothing like a dame" from South Pacific. I use the term in its genteel meaning of a woman descended from a noteworthy ancestor.

I held up a hand to indicate that this runaway tangent must stop because I had something important to say and I didn't want it to be brushed aside.

"Districts," I said getting right to the point.

"What about them?" she said.

"Wilmington has them," I said. And knowing that I had to move quickly if I was to remain recognized and keep the floor, I continued. 

"Just as any city worth the air it breathes has defined, recognized districts--like Charleson, New Orleans, and San Francisco; Wilmington has some really cool districts that I plan to explore and write about."

"Like what?" she said.

"Well, like the newest district, which is called the Lollipop District."

"I think you mean the Soda Pop District," she said.

"Do I?" I said. "Not the Lollipop District having some relationship to The Wizard of Oz? You know many movies are filmed here."

"Nothing to do with the Wizard," she said. "The Soda Pop District is named for the old Coca-Cola bottling plant that used to operate there."

"We visited the Coca-Cola plant in Chattanooga when I was in third grade," I said.

"Fascinating," she said. "I can't wait to hear about it when I get back from Shallotte. I'll bet you hold be spellbound."

And with that, she breezed out the door like a pirate ship under full sail leaving me in the kitchen with a cup of cold coffee and three cats. We have these conversations frequently. I blame binge-watching Netflix.