I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell

This afternoon we had our first production meeting about the logistics of filming a particular scene on a particular date. The language of the discussion was very concrete; decisions were being made after all. It added a real sense of urgency to things for the first time. We are shooting this scene, we are shooting it this way, with this stuff, on this date, for this many hours. There was no panic, not by any stretch, but there was a definite sense of “we better have our ducks in a row, and we better get them there today.” The meeting only lasted thirty minutes, but as I walked away toward our office all I could think about was strippers. Strippers? Yes, strippers. Let me explain:
We are two weeks out from the commencement of principal photography and we are almost completely cast and all the deals are nearly done. According to the more experienced people on the crew, we are ahead of the game. I’ve heard any number of stories the last two weeks about casting smaller, yet significant, speaking roles the day of filming for that role. The only roles we have yet to fill are the three strippers who talk. Shocking, I know, considering this subject and these roles have been on our minds for more than a month. You’d think finding hot girls who can dance, talk/act, and will take their clothes off wouldn’t be too hard to find in Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Dallas, and New Orleans. You’d be wrong. We’ve found girls who had any combination of three out of four of those attributes, but none who were a home run. Some we cast in the smaller stripper roles, but we just can’t bring ourselves to settle on the three stripper roles that have significant dialogue.
A couple weeks ago we got a compilation video from our casting director of 6-8 actresses whose auditions put them in the “Maybe” pile. I watched the video twice: once to concentrate on the acting, once to concentrate on the…dancing. There were a couple ground-rule doubles, maybe a triple, a couple of singles, and one regrettable 3-pitch strikeout. Looking. I wrote back to the casting director that if we had to choose today we could probably use a couple of them in the two lesser stripper roles, but there was no one on the video we were comfortable with for the stripper role about which we cared most. We got the video the day before I left for four days to Washington, D.C. to pack up and move out TheFiancee for our ultimate relocation to Los Angeles.
On the connecting flight from Atlanta to Reagan National, I watched the video again on my fancy new iPod. I spent the 90 minute flight mulling the whole situation over, slowly but surely convincing myself that we were being too particular with our demands for these three roles. The actresses were plenty hot, they were fine actresses, and obviously they could dance. Plus, it’s not like finding the three hottest stripper-actresses in the United States is the easiest task. Even if we found them, there’s no guarantee they would be available, or they would be interested, or they would accept our terms, or they would get as naked as we wanted. We needed to be thankful and appreciative that we received as many submissions as we did and that Middleton & Crew were able to cobble together more than twice the number of girls as we needed.
By the time we began our final descent into the D.C. area I had fully convinced myself that the proper move was to cull stripper-actresses for these three roles from the currently available pool. I turned the iPod off and removed my headphones. Over the din of the flight attendant telling us to return our seatbacks to their upright position, I caught snippets of a conversation on the other side of the aisle and a row or two back. It was an older gentleman talking to a man who, by the tone and subject matter of the conversation, was active duty military. By itself there is nothing out of the ordinary with that situation. I’ve flown through Atlanta at least two dozen times over the last 18 months and there was active duty military on at least 80% of those flights. What made this conversation noteworthy was that this man, an Army Captain, was returning home to D.C. directly from Iraq.
When he told the older gentleman he’d left Baghdad only three days earlier, I craned my neck to get a glimpse of the conversation. I caught only the Army Captain’s salt-and-pepper hair and angular 40-something facial features as the airplane’s captain dropped the MD-88 onto the tarmac of Reagan National. We began our taxi and the Army Captain immediately powered up his cell phone and dialed a number.
“Hello, honey. We just landed.”
I began checking the seat pocket in front of me and my seat for my belongings, so I could get into the aisle immediately upon parking at the gate.
“You can see our plane? That’s great. How are they doing?”
After what must have seemed like an interminable pause along the taxiway for the Army Captain, we parked at the gate and the airplane captain turned off the seatbelt sign.
“See you in a minute.” He clicked the phone closed and the flight attendant announced the airline’s great honor and pleasure in flying the active duty members of the United States Armed Forces aboard our plane. The aircraft burst into sustained applause, like it always does when a flight attendant makes that announcement, and we disembarked.
On the jetway I decided I would slow up and shadow the Army Captain through the terminal and out to meet who I presumed would be his wife. I was a row or two ahead of him, but it did not take long once in the terminal for his brisk, efficient stride to pass me. I picked up my pace as we reached the McDonalds on the right to make sure I didn’t lose him down the concourse and around security through the exit.
We emerged underneath the tall, blue-gray ceilings of Terminal B and the second the Army Captain got past the “DO NOT ENTER” sign that faced those without boarding passes, he slung his ruck off his shoulders, dropped to a knee and opened his arms to two cute little blonde children–one boy and one girl, neither more than six years old–who came sprinting to their waiting father. Their equally blonde mother stood behind them fighting back the wellspring of tears that had already begun to smear her mascara. When the children got distracted or bored, as they are wont to do, their mother hugged her husband so completely I thought she might press herself through his BDUs and merge with him like the liquid terminator.
A few dozen people waiting for other family members coming off recently arrived flights were arrayed behind the scene. The men visibly swelled with pride in country. The women were all crying. Some of the men were choking up, myself included. I’d seen these moments on television, in both news footage and commercials, but I’d never witnessed one in person. It was one of the most moving, inspiring moments I’d ever witnessed. Unlike aboard the airplane, no one applauded. I think they wanted to, but no one wanted to ruin their moment. Because while we were all their witnessing it, that’s all we were: witnesses. Fortunate witnesses. This was their moment, and theirs alone.
As I exited the terminal and gathered myself, my mind wandered back to strippers. We can’t settle when it comes to these final stripper roles!! We can’t just TAKE what they give us and live with the hand we have been dealt! The adrenaline of emotion and patriotism coursed through my veins and overwhelmed my thought process. Giving in and rolling over is unacceptable. If it takes every last second of every day between now and the minute we begin filming the strip club scene to find those stripper-actresses, that’s what we need to do.
I am generally an even-keeled, discriminating person willing to listen to and weigh all arguments, but as I reached TheFiancee’s idling car at curbside I was resolute and intractably steadfast in my determination to find the right stripper-actresses for these roles come hell or high water. It might sound a little ridiculous and, to be honest, as I write this I feel kind of corny, but…
I want to do it for the Army Captain’s little boy when, seven or eight years from now, the friend who is a bad influence on him snakes a copy of the movie from his older brother’s DVD collection and they watch it at 1am during a sleepover. I want that little boy’s first experience with breasts on screen to be glorious–a cavalcade of perfect, round sweater globes. I want to do it for the Army Captain himself and the men and women who serve (or served) under him. They have sacrificed their time and effort and safety for us, for me, for you. The least I can do personally is sacrifice a commensurate amount of my time and effort and safety (YOU walk through a Bossier City strip club parking lot at 4am) to make the best possible movie and find the best possible naked titties. While in a very real sense this movie (and the titties associated therewith) is mine and Tucker’s and Bob’s and everyone else’s associated with this production, once it hits the screen it’s a movie (and titties) for everyone. First and foremost on that list of “everyone” is the Army Captain and his troops. I want this movie and its titties to be for them. That’s why we will not stop looking and will not settle until we find the perfect three stripper-actresses for the remaining uncast stripper roles.
Call it ridiculous, call it corny, but that’s exactly what went through my mind as I got into TheFiancee’s car and we drove home to begin our relocation and I began, at least mentally, this next, final phase of casting***. While the adrenaline has waned since that moment a couple weeks ago, the emotion and sentiment that kick-started it has not. We are still looking and we are as focused as ever.
God bless the Army Captain, God bless the troops, and God bless titties.
***I call this phase of casting “The Surge”, and that has nothing to do with putting in additional effort…if you know what I mean. HEY-YOOOOO!! I’M HERE ALL WEEK! (that joke was for Bob. I give him permission to use it when he finally transgresses so far with his puns that we are compelled to throw him in the punitentiary as punishment).
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