And we have St Marcelo-the-edit to blame. Because on Monday his first cut of Zombie Resurrection arrived in our in-box. 71 minutes of breathless undead carnage, with all the scenes delicately interweaved like a master magician shuffling a deck of cards.
Yeah – that wasn’t a typo. 71 minutes. The laborious Andy and Jake cut came in at just under 91 minutes; St Marcelo has clearly been busy trimming some serious gristle. Arguments are more spiteful, action scenes more perilous, bludgeonings more painful.
And, my Christ, does it rattle along. Ain’t nobody getting bored in this movie, I can assure you. When Dale-the-tunes comes to score it, he’ll be reaching for the Benny Hill soundtrack as a guide.
So, Jake’s and my mission this week has been mostly about finding those extra spaces within which to catch our breath. Immediately we can jump into worrying about the fine-tuning, safe in the knowledge that all the big stuff is fixed. It’s a considerably less arduous job to bulk the lean than shed the fat, and it’s so much easier to be objective about someone else’s baby than that fat bugger that Jake and I were wheeling about last year.
And just as importantly, we know what we still need to shoot. Them pesky but inevitable pick-ups that have hung over us like a sword of Damocles since the end of August. Nothing involving any of the cast, thank God, and nothing that needs us go back and recreate all the mess we made over Hampshire this summer. Exterior shots of a suitably knackered building. A clichéd full-moon with clouds passing gracefully across its face (this is a horror film, after all). Oh, and the whole first 45 seconds, but with more monsters.
Whether we’ll make back those lost twenty minutes remains to be seen. Just how much breathing space do you want, people? Gasping.