Tuesday, 4 October 2011

Life as a Legend

A moment, if you please.

One thing I’m sadly lacking at is sending out props when props are due. I could blame it on the minutiae of the production process blah blah blah, but it’s mainly down to insecurity, vanity and an extraordinary lack of grace. However, today I get to right at least one wrong.

If you asked anybody on the Resurrection set over the summer who the most useful person in the production team was, I’m pretty certain they would all have given you the same answer. Not Jake, and certainly not me; it would have been my brother Rup.

Production manager, minibus driver, prop buyer, Messiah of the undead, stunt furniture maker, occasional clapper loader, production design assistant and poster boy for the son of God.

And, along with Rob, he was our set photographer.

When we come to tart the movie around Cannes next May, one thing on every Distributor and Sales Agent’s must-have list is “fifty good quality still photos” from the shoot; God knows what they do with them all, but that doesn’t let us off the hook from not sending them in. And today we got to have a proper gander at Rup’s photo-record. All 815 of the buggers.

So rather than blather on like I normally do, I thought it would be way more entertaining to share a few of his photos with you all instead.

 Jim Sweeney (Mac) gets rid of an unwanted prop the Highland way.

Costume designer Arianna Dal Cero and nasal foliage. We never did find out who threw it.

Sound recordist Lois Jones and boom-operator Shaun England wait for everybody else to get on with what they’re doing. Again.

Joe Rainbow (Gibson) enjoys an uncomfortable cigarette after treading in something painful.
 
Danny Brown (Beaumont) practices his golf swing. His follow-through looked great to me; seasoned professionals may hold a different view.

Zombie bride Mary Stone takes a moment to reflect on why she agreed to spend her day off covered in dirt and gore.

Shit-sack zombie Leif Phelps prepares for imminent decapitation.

Jim Sweeney (Mac) takes a well-earned five minutes off from being made to swear.

Our 1st AD Dave White contemplates the deepening lake between our woodland base and the way out.

The pango gun gets filled with maggots and honey blood; the splatter recipient Simon Burbage (Gandhi) may be pleased to know that at least one maggot survived the journey into his face, and can be clearly seen on film making a break for it across his tee-shirt.

Principle zombies Peter Thorburn, Susi Halley and Lauren Thompson enjoy a light drizzling from the blood-gun.
 
“A scene of considerable carnage” – trust me, it looks slightly more awesome from the camera angle we picked. A four-pack of chopped tomatoes never went to better use.
 
Production design assistant Hanna Matheson gets her zombie on.

Getting ready to shoot the scene formerly known as the “crass blow-job scene” with thankful re-writees Simon Burbage (Gandhi) and Rachel Nottingham (Becca).

Jade Colucci (Harden) before a trip to the opticians and burns unit.

Honey-blood enthusiast Georgia Winters (Asher), enjoying her daily routine of re-gorification.

Five minutes after the first on-set collision, involving Shamiso Mushambi (Esther) and Jade Colucci (Harden), and roughly ten minutes before the first cast trip to A&E.

Editor Sam Taylor and DIT Alex Blott and a table o’toys that no passing cast or crew member seemed capable of resisting.

Gaffer Ste Webster slowly destroys the carefully designed set.

Eric Colvin (Sykes) and Simon Burbage (Gandhi) chat fire-extinguisher facials with zombie Susi Halley.

Day one, 3 am. The über-broadminded Rachel Nottingham (Becca) is decorated for disembowelment as she ponders what the next 23 nights hold in store.

Wardrobe assistant Pete Lumley applies the finishing touches to his zombie clothing line.

Rup as the Messiah of the undead, in all his purple glory. Thinking about it, he probably got someone else to take this photo.

Our main challenge now is how to credit Rup at the end of the movie, as they’ll make for extraordinarily boring reading if we’re not too careful. But then again, a lifetime of being repeatedly stopped in the supermarket and harangued by irate Catholics is its own reward. Nervous.

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