Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [38]
Johnny turned a chair around and straddled it. “And I’ve been talking to some people who don’t like it either.”
“Let me guess,” Usher said. “Could that be your rodeo stars?”
Johnny nodded. “They hired on to do a cattle drive and a rodeo, not to be part of some dumb melee at the damn copper smelter.”
Usher removed his reading glasses. “No, they signed on as actors, which means they do what the director tells them to do. If they don’t like it, I’ve got stuntmen who can do the job just as well for a lot less money. In fact, Corry McKowen, my stunt coordinator, rode the pro circuit for five years. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind getting a costarring credit on his résumé.”
“Corry was a lightweight on the circuit.”
“Maybe so, but he’s no lightweight as a stuntman. Tell me now if you want to pull your cowboys off the film. Believe me, it’s no big deal to replace actors who walk before shooting starts.”
“I didn’t say that,” Johnny said, his brow creased with worry.
Usher held back a smile. Jordan might know a lot about rodeoing, but he didn’t know squat about moviemaking. “Then work with me, Johnny. This could be the best damn Western fight scene in a film since John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara brawled with the homesteaders in McLintock! over forty years ago.”
“That was a good movie,” Johnny said grudgingly.
“Let’s write the scenes together so that your boys get to show off their stuff in front of the cameras,” Usher said.
Johnny nodded and edged his chair close to the table.
The apartment Kerney was to share with Johnny had two small bedrooms separated by a bath, a galley kitchen with an adjacent dining nook, and a living room furnished with a couch, one easy chair, a couple of end tables with lamps, and a wall-mounted television set. The groundskeeper who had been watering the lawn when Kerney arrived had told him the building had originally been used to provide temporary housing for visiting company employees and executives from the home office.
Johnny wasn’t around, so Kerney dumped his travel bag in one of the bedrooms and went to the mercantile store to grab some dinner. A large motor home parked by the entrance had a sign painted on it that read:
WESTERN SCENE CATERERS
PURVEYORS OF FINE FOOD
TO THE FILM INDUSTRY
Inside the store, rows of cafeteria tables and chairs had been set up, and a buffet meal was available at a serving table filled with warming trays of food, drink urns, dinnerware, and utensils. Kerney chose the vegetarian entrée and joined two men at one of the tables, who introduced themselves as Buzzy and Gus.
In their early fifties, both men had an easy style about them that made Kerney feel comfortable and welcome. Over dinner he learned a good bit about the complexities of photographing a motion picture.
Gus, the key grip, explained that his job was to set up diffusion screens and large shades to modify light for the cameras, operate camera dollies and cranes, and mount cameras on vehicles and airplanes. Buzzy, the gaffer, supervised the lighting for each scene and ran the crew responsible for setting up the lamps and generating the power.
Kerney asked them if Usher’s decision to change the ending of the screenplay was common practice.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Gus said with chuckle. “Any good director puts his own stamp on a film. There will be dialogue rewrites, camera-angle changes, scenes that get dropped, altered, or added—the list goes on and on.”
“We’ll have most of it sorted out at a final production meeting once we’ve visited all the locations,” Buzzy said. “That’s when we’ll know basically what stays and what goes.”
“Don’t the producers have a say?” Kerney asked.
“Not creatively,” Gus replied. “Charlie Zwick will have his hands full dealing with production delays, weather changes, sick or ill-tempered actors, continuity problems, staying within the budget—you name it.”
“Fortunately, Charlie and Malcolm have worked together before,” Buzzy said, “so it should go smoothly.”
After dinner with Gus and Buzzy, Kerney took a stroll through the