Monday, 13 June 2011

Whores d’oeuvres

I’m not proud to admit it, but in and amongst today’s production nonsense Jake and I flirted with the dark side.

Yup. Today the impeccable artistic integrity that comes as standard at Charmed Central got briefly wedged on hold as we dipped our toes tentatively into the murky pool of product placement.

I mean, it’s not like it was a quiet day in the office. We were out and about checking on a back-up location; chasing down dietary requirements and make-up allergies from the cast and crew; and getting our shit together for the camera test.

But somehow we also found a bit of time for whoring.

I blame that Sir Jim Eaves, who put the notion of company freebies into our heads when we met him back in April. Unable to immediately quash the thought at the time due to inadvertent group insobriety, the idea quietly festered unchecked in the Charmed subconscious; two months later it has burst like a pus-laden boil, flinging its necrotic pay-load all over our psyches.

How about a quick gander at

We were swift. In and out again in 30 seconds. Absolutely text-book. And then we braced ourselves for the wrath of the God of Cinema to strike.

But nothing happened.

Now at this point we could have walked away if we had wanted to. Hell, we should have walked away. But we were emboldened. Cocky. We got reckless.

How about a quick email?

I think it was the pictures of the delicious cars and shiny pies on the homepage that pulled us back in. So, we introduced ourselves, told them all about the movie, and directed them to the website; and, you know, maybe because, like, we’re shooting in a school, and all that, well, maybe there could be some scope to use, you know, some… snacks and soft drinks?

And a minibus?

A minibus? What the hell were we thinking? How are we going to get that into the bloody film? If they do give us one we’ll need to torch it in a school car-park to give it that “post-apocalyptic” vibe. And then somehow pass it back without them noticing.


Email two was much easier to write - Grace Foods, home of Encona Hot Pepper Sauce. How about a crate of the bad-boys? We included a photo of the museum of emptied dreams, and a couple of paragraphs so pathetically gushing that they can only have been sincere.

Fuck the minibus; I know what’ll be packed in my rapture-ready back-pack. Divine.

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