On the Set

 Notes from the set of the 2008 Swiss/Japanese co-production of Tengu:

Filming one of the flashback scenes at Temple 36 on the course behind Ninnaji, which corresponds to Shoryu-ji in Tosa.  The sky changes from sunny to hail and back again, repeatedly.  The skyline of Kyoto in waning sunlight looks like a mouth full of broken teeth. Due to the rapidly changing light, there are many takes, and I eat pork until I nearly puke, knock back one half a bottle of red wine.  

Werner Herzog writes that 'acting is physical.'  My memories will be of running and running through the reeds, the lakeside, the Kurama forest.  I go through kata with a tree branch as a bo, and somewhere along the line I cut my finger badly on a nail, and worry about tetanus. The blood flows heavily. 

Laying in the waters of Biwa in February.   The crew offers me towels between takes, but I don't want to go from warm to cold too often. I choose to stay wet, but at least the sun is out.  It was fun to set dress the trees and hide signage, amusing to attract gawkers. 

During the shoot at the rural Shiga train station, I forget to tuck my shirt in.  In checking my watch, I lift the arm that is carrying my suitcase, making it obvious it is empty.  I must look suspicious, wandering around with this empty case, in terror-stricken Japan. 

The ridiculousness of filming the love scene.  I block how I'm going to kiss the leading lady, going from seated at a low table to reclining on the floor, all while kissing and keeping our faces in the frame.  After the actual love scene, I look up to see the gaffer leaning over us, a big grin on his face.    

The DP sitting on the floor cross-legged, his knees about an inch off the floor.  A testament to a career spent shooting at Ozu's camera level.  

Learning to pace myself during the many meal scenes.  I feel heavy and full too quickly, so simple sip lukewarm tea as the retakes grind on.  I'm playing a newbie in Japan, and find it difficult to misuse chopsticks

The problems:  
-The argument between the director who wants to avoid the tedious process of getting permission from the railway company and film guerrilla-style on the train.  The DP is nationally famous and doesn't want to put his career at risk.  Shooting is held up as they argue it out;  
-The inevitable trouble with microphones;  I belch and fart and forget to turn off when I pee;
-A few weeks after the shoot wraps and the crew leaves, the director wants to get a shot of me silhouetted against the mountains.  The woman selling tickets at Kuramadera somehow notes the camera in the handbag and refuses us entry.  We instead film up on Hieizan.

I'm exhausted at the end of each day, but sleep is odd, filled with dreams.  Perhaps acting brings the subconscious closer to the surface.   These psychological states take form in many ways:  seeing the shapes of foxes everywhere; getting a slight crush on the female lead with whom I have love scenes; conning myself into feeling I'm special since I am the lead in this thing.     

But it was the scenes with the Geiko who put it all back into perspective.  It didn't matter if I were the most famous actor in the world, or the Prime Minister, or a clerk from the Lawson's around the corner.  If I were paying the bill, I'd be one thing: the customer.  There is ultimately nothing special about simply being a prop, and taking up space.  


On the turntable: "Avalon Blues: A Tribute to Mississippi John Hurt (Various)"