The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 51
The film’s main character, Carl LaFong—played with such vile tenderness and expressive energy by Greg—stood on street corners and preached absolute nonsense. Yet he did have his followers. Charisma wins, sometimes. But, coming from still visual art, I wanted the story to develop and stand in the same way the brain reads a piece by Klee or Miro, and fails to come up with an intellectually satisfying answer. So, yes, Art House, I suppose. But, cool as it is to say you get it, most western brains are incapable of cracking the code. So explaining what the movie was about was a question I was constantly confronted with and sick of attempting to answer. Candy usually beat me to the punch by responding: “Sorry, that’s classified.” Wild speculation and suspicion grew. Even from within.
One day after filming a scene with her, myself and Greg in the office of the Sunset Motel, Jan invited us to take a break, relax, have a drink in his apartment.
Candy was in a mood. Greg and Jan eventually migrated to the bar in Jan’s kitchen, leaving her and I alone on the living room sofa.
Me: Candy, something wrong?
Candy: My friend thinks this is all a big scam.
Me: If you need a contract I’m sure I can have Mike draw something up, send you a copy.
Candy: I don’t trust him. Allison said he was just totally checking out my tits at that restaurant scene a couple weeks ago. And sixty fucking dollars?! Why in the fuck did he give each of us sixty fucking dollars?
Me: I don’t trust him either. The money, I guess, was so you’d feel the project was legitimate, maybe? But listen, if you have a contract you have a legal document that takes it out of his hands. Would that help?
Candy: (Turning, looking at me for the first time) Why did you let him play with that remote control helicopter for so long?
Me: I was hoping he’d embarrass himself. I wanted to be able to accuse him of not taking my project seriously.
Candy: Really? Why? Is he afraid of you?
Me: It’s… complicated.
Candy: Am I being stupid? I mean, it’d seem more real to me if we had a script instead of just cold reading everything before each scene.
Me: Yeah. I know. Sorry. But…
Candy: (Laughing, finally, and surrendering) Yeah yeah I know. Your freaking process.
Me: Thing is, as a result of that helicopter bullshit and that $60 bullshit, I now DO have an agreement with Mike. He’s funding us through production and paying for whatever film fests I decide we should enter.
Me: Uh huh.
Candy: It doesn’t matter. This is the funnest thing I’ve ever done.
Me: Good. I’m glad. Me too. You were great today. Check yourself out as you walk out of the motel office, away from LaFong.
She snuggles up. I rewind, press play, then aim the 3.5 inch LCD screen in her direction. Her fingers lap over mine, more accurately adjusting the angle.