Preview of Tie-In Book & Sweepstakes

In previous posts, I’ve mentioned that I’m writing a tie-in book that further explores the Nightscapeuniverse. I didn’t have any interest in re-hashing the film in prose form, so I’ve opted to pen a standalone short novel, along with five companion stories. Collectively, these stories describe the earthly history of a reality-shattering supernatural threat. The short novel that opens the book, The Dreams of Devils, is an adaptation of the original script for the film—a script that proved to have a prohibitively high price-tag. It’s about three high school seniors in a small Oregon town who discover an ancient supernatural weapon that gifts them with unwanted powers. While coping with their new talents, they must learn to put aside their differences in order to prevent the breakdown of reality. You can read the opening scene below...

Dreams of Devils_Online Preview

I’m pleased to present a special preview of this short novel and at the same time, announce a related Facebook sweepstakes. We’d like to garner as many Facebook friends as possible. By becoming a friend of Nightscape on Facebook and/or persuading your friends to do so, you’ll be entered into a contest in which you could win your name (or alternately, the name of a friend or family member) in the tie-in book, plus a host of other cool Nightscape merch. Check out the details of the sweepstakes at

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Nightscape-Movie/194911663155.

The contest ends on October 21^st, so be sure to enter soon!

Tales of the Unexpected Part 2

As HAL 9000 fondly points out at a crucial moment in 2001, most problems can be “attributable to human error.” That wasn’t the case with our production, but that’s not to say we didn’t experience our fair share of miscues and mistakes. One of the most significant human errors occurred about halfway through the shoot. An actor in a prominent supporting role as a pastor became gravely ill. At first, her illness was characterized as dehydration; later, it was rumored she had Crohn’s disease, which compromises the immune system and is associated with a painful inflammation of the gastrointestinal tract.

Whatever the cause, the actor neglected to inform me or anyone else in the production department that she was seriously ill. So I was shocked and dismayed when she showed for a planned 12-hour night shoot so weak she couldn’t stand for more than three consecutive minutes. This was a big scene involving a specially-designed set that took weeks to construct; a cast of over two-dozen extras, including a small choir; about a dozen vintage cars; our three-person stunt team; and substantial fire and makeup effects. The actor apparently thought willpower alone would take her through the scene. Unfortunately, that theory didn’t prove out. The scene required her to deliver a sermon that timed out at over four uninterrupted minutes. Frail and unfocused, she could scarcely recite more than two lines at a time, much less perform the blocking I’d envisioned. As much as she wanted to play the part, it just wasn’t happening. Watching her (non-) performance on the monitor, I started to shrink into myself. The footage was completely useless.

While I felt badly for her condition, I couldn’t help being angry at her for putting me in an untenable position. She hadn’t given me any warning. There was no immediate recourse. The scene was pivotal to the rest of the film. My heart sank as I realized the only option was to recast the part and reshoot the scene another night—at considerable expense. Thankfully, we’d shot only one other, much shorter scene with her. (She’d appeared shaky then, but plausibly attributed her condition to the unusually hot weather.) To keep on schedule, we had to reshoot that short scene the next day (well, technically, later the same day as it was after midnight when I came to that decision). With no time to find a replacement through the usual casting channels, I made the bold (some would say foolhardy) decision to play the role myself.

Although I hadn’t done any acting since college, I was comfortable with delivering the lengthy sermon because: 1) I’d written it and accordingly, knew how I wanted it to come across; and 2) as a former elected official, I’m accustomed to speech-making. I figured I could bluff my way through the quieter moments, in part, by affecting a soft Louisiana accent. (One of my college roommates was Karey Kirkpatrick, the screenwriter for Chicken Run and a variety of other Hollywood successes. He hails from Louisiana and—at least at the time—talked with a slight regional twang. I just kept his vocal inflections in mind as best I could.) Besides, I knew for certain I’d always be on time and ready to perform.

I have to say, the experience increased my respect for Clint Eastwood and other actor-directors who routinely star in their own films. It was awfully challenging to act and direct at the same time. I had to cede a lot of the decision-making to the first assistant director and the director of photography. Sure, I could view the shots on the monitor, but in order to stay on schedule, it became impractical for me to do so every time. At one point, choked by bloody tentacles, I just had to trust my team had nailed the shots as we’d discussed them. Once I worked up the courage to watch the dailies, I confirmed that they had. (Not that I ever doubted it.) The scene cut together nicely and we even salvaged a few shots from the previous attempt. Though the circumstances around the scene weren’t ideal, what matters is what’s onscreen. And as we've made adjustments in post, it’s gone from merely good to potentially great.

<< Return to Part 1

Tales of the Unexpected, Part 1

While we have one minor bit of 35mm hand-cranked imagery left to capture, principal photography onNightscape is officially wrapped. In fact, we wrapped over a week ago, so I’m now fully acclimated to a (reasonably) conventional schedule. We shot for a total of 22 days (for those keeping track, just one day more than originally planned)—most of which went swimmingly. It bears repeating that we were able to pull off some incredibly challenging days only because of the exceptional talent and dedication of our cast and crew. In a particularly frantic two-day stretch, for instance, we shot close to two-dozen separate car stunts. A standard Hollywood production would’ve easily spent twice or three times the hours.

The key challenges we faced consisted largely of events beyond our control, i.e., mechanical failures. One of our cherished picture cars, a 1973 Chevy El Camino, which sadly, could be destroyed only once, broke down on a semi-regular basis. It proved to be our Bruce the Shark, prompting us to alter our shooting schedule on a number of occasions. For the sake of brevity, I’ll recount just one of the times this car nearly cost me my (relative) youth.

While driving home at the end of the first day of shooting—one of our few 14-hour days—the El Camino came to a grinding halt on the freeway. It was just after midnight and my cell phone had long since lost its battery power. Thankfully, a few crew members happened to spot my trouble and shortly thereafter, drawn by the growing crowd of cars in the median, a very understanding highway patrolman joined them. The car sported Mexican plates (rented from the Universal prop dept.) and at the time, I didn’t have any proof of the car’s registration or insurance. Rather than citing me, however, the patrolman called a tow truck, indicating the incident was an emergency and then waited with me until it arrived. He’d heard about our late-night (and very public) shoot in the neighboring town of Banks from a fellow officer and we passed the time talking about the ins and outs of producing an indie film.

I had the car towed back to Banks and the next morning, drove early to set to see if I could get a mechanic’s eyes on the vehicle first thing. With luck, I managed to track down Robert Duncan, the wife of an extra we’d recruited some time back, who helped me push the car to his shop. A short while later, he informed me the car had thrown a rod, punching a good-sized hole in the engine. I walked under the hoist and saw it first-hand. Yep, it was a hole alright. It might as well have been through my heart. The rest of the crew would be arriving in less than an hour and we didn’t have the car that was supposed to play that morning.

My years of project management experience in both the private and public spheres certainly came in handy. I didn’t panic (that would only panic everyone else). I didn’t curse (well, maybe a little, but only in my head). I called the key crew members and within the hour, we formulated a plan to adjust the schedule for the next three days to accommodate the lack of El Camino. As part of this plan, I actually arranged to have the El Camino towed to our next location so we could shoot as much as we could. At one point, we even had a few crew members push it down a hill so we could get two separate moving shots (one of which, I suspect, will even make it into the final cut). It wasn’t a stress-fee day, that’s for sure. But we got the job done. And when every day of a shoot counts, sometimes that’s enough.

>> Read Part 2