The film director now contends with off-screen drama from her lead actor and actress. 2,069 words. Part One. Part Three. Illustration by Thomas Warming.
Everybody was thrilled with the progress of pre-production of Lost Encounter. The picture had survived another day. Luckily, I made a great choice for a director of photography the second time around. Working with my chosen few on our still imaginary film had its laughs and daily rewards. And we ate well. We were in Paris after all.
It was February 12th, and the start of production was now two weeks away. I had begged for a later start but the rights to the story owned by the people who had made the original film were expiring. We had to go. It was a mad dash. My producer Lawrence Perlman asked me to meet with the American actress who said she loved the project and thought the world of me – in other words, the usual Hollywood crap.
Beyond exhausted, I agreed to meet her. “No strings attached,” I was assured. Later on, a story went around that our film’s leading man Rex Durand had seen a magazine with a photo of the American actress, pointed his finger and said: “That one. I want that one.”
When I met with Brittany in my hotel suite, she was physically impressive. Tall beautiful body, luscious red hair like Rita Hayworth’s, an uncomplicated but pretty face. She was oozing charm and promising to be the best collaborator I ever had. I could not think of one reason not to hire her. I gave her the part on the spot. At that point in time, if I had rejected Brittany, the film would have collapsed or I might have been fired. I did want to direct so I let this one slip by.
A film director in crisis must split time between her pre-production and her father. 2,492 words. Part Two. Part Three. Illustration by Thomas Warming.
It was a few days before Christmas and I was ensconced at the Hotel Raphael in Paris. Jack Kennedy, Katharine Hepburn and Marlon Brando had all stayed there. The Arc de Triomphe and the Trocadero were steps away. In my suite, elegant tapestries, wooden wall panels and period furniture surrounded me. I was back in my home country. By all accounts, I should have been thrilled but I was miserable.
My father was dying.
I had come to Paris in October for pre-production on the sequel to a celebrated and profitable erotic romantic drama which at that point was an orphan without a title. The project was at a standstill as we waited and waited for the starring actor from the original movie, Rex Durand, to sign his contract. In the meantime, he approved me as the director. Getting the job turned out to be the easiest part of making the movie.
The film was to be my third directorial assignment and to try me in ways I had never been tried before, as if all the negative forces in the universe had banded together and decided “Let’s see what she’s really made of.”
Among the complexities was the financing of the film which was partially coming from state-sponsored film funds in three European countries. Each country had requirements attached to the money. We would have to shoot in the trio of nations, and the cast and crews would have to be split between them as well. Having a European passport had been one of the reasons I had been chosen. And the other was my directing work and its sexy edge. For this was to be a very sexy film.