Talk about insecurity

Today my house became more famous than I will ever be.  Captured on celluloid for the generations. 

Do you ever wonder about leaving behind a legacy?  Like most, I suffer from some uncertainty.  Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be remembered until after the paint dries.  (Hence the need to blog.)  So it seems fitting, that the movie being shot at my home is called In Security.  It’s an indy film about a doomed security business in the safest town in New England.  The owner resorts to burglary.  We weren’t picked because of all those special things we do, but because we live in a house more representative of the East coast than of the many Southwest pueblos dotting the California landscape.

“There’s been one change in the contract,” one of the co-writing brothers said on a recent phone call.  “We’ve lost the Doberman watchdog.”

“How’d you lose a dog?” Couponman asked.

“Well, he actually dropped dead,” Evan sadly reported.  “We’ll be bringing in a Great Dane instead.”  So other than that one small (probably not too small to the Doberman) caveat, the film was on schedule.

We woke early this morning, polishing wood floors and waxing furniture to foster the appearance that we are always this neat.  The house smelled of cinnamon rolls baking in the oven.  Couponman waited anxiously for the delivery of the craft services truck.  He wiped a touch of drool from the corner of his mouth, dreaming of lobster and shrimp.  But there was no red carpet in this budget.  As soon as the would-be robber whipped out the black and white kerchief prop, Couponman knew he was screwed on the lobster and shrimp.  Instead, with limited financing he’d most likely experience chips and salsa. 

 

The first to arrive for the filming, the port-a-potties.  Just think, like the houses boasting “George Washington slept here”, ours will be famous for “Ethan Embry went here.”

Finally the thirty-foot van arrived.  Furniture was carefully moved aside by the well-tuned team as props transformed rooms that had seen relatively little change in twenty years into someone else’s home.  Mom’s rose painting, once again, held its ground over the couch.  (And was featured as an item of theft in the filming.)

Oden the horse dog made his appearance.  The Beamer brothers, protective parents of their movie offspring, couldn’t have gathered a more courteous and conscientious crew.  Incidentally, their parents were present as well.  Heath and Ross, the producers, and, of course, Evan and Adam made it all come together.

With only two days left of shooting, Evan shared his favorite moment.  “Well, boys, this has been a most grueling shoot,” exclaimed Alan Arkin, after a six hour day.  The seventy-seven year old Acadamy Award winning actor has a bit part as a motorcycle cop.  “You’ve been the best damn crew I’ve ever worked with.”  He said Mr. Arkin paused, then added, “Today.”

Couponman did his usual schmoozing, and besides noshing at the Crafts Services table, swayed Fernie, the art man, into hooking up a printer and a Wii.

The crew who took over my house won’t remember my name after tomorrow.  But all of us will long remember the experience, the smiles exchanged, and shared hopes that a movie by two young driven (and very tall) entrepreneurs will make it to the big screen.

By the end of the long twelve-hour day, everyone was pretty exhausted.

After thought:  So I’m not as big as my house.  That’s a good thing.  Right?

Related posts:

1. Movies come to the suburbs
2. Scene two
3. Night on the town
4. Zookeeper

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