There were about fifteen people in the room, and the producer, Charles Mann, was talking to the group. I noticed that Tom Franklin was holding his head.
“Checking the airlines, but for the moment, we have to assume the footage is lost?”
“Which sequences?” somebody asked.
“We’ll know soon enough,” he said, and nodded to the projectionist. The lights went down, and the dailies began. Perkins and I were sitting just behind Mann and Franklin.
The first scene began with the slate, and Bobby Venn saying rapidly, “Two-thirty-two, take four,” and then the click of the slate bar—to allow sync by the editor—and then the scene itself started. It was between Clete Williams and Brenda Conrad, the scene at the ranch where Clete takes her home and finds the homestead has been destroyed by Black Jed’s gang, the house in ruins, smoking.
This was a two-shot, Clete and Brenda both looking at the house. Actually, the house hadn’t even been built yet, let alone destroyed. We did this shot by putting smoke pots just off camera and having them look mournfully off camera at Tucson itself, about five miles away.
On-screen, Brenda’s lip quivered, and she began to cry.
“Damned bunch of dirty outlaws,” Clete said, frowning at Tucson. The smoke blew in his face. Brenda cried some more, and he looked over at her, put his arm around her, and began to cough. He turned and looked off camera. “Christ, can’t we eighty-six some of this smoke?”
That was the end of the shot. Immediately, a new slate, another voice: “Two-thirty-two, take six,” and we saw Clete and Brenda again—with less smoke—and Brenda began to cry, and Clete said, “Damned bunch of dirty outlaws,” and I lit a cigarette.
Watching dailies always reminds me how boring it is to make movies. People think movies are glamorous and fun, but they are not glamorous and not at all fun to make. It’s very slow and very expensive and it mostly concerns things like whether there’s enough smoke, or too much. Just details.
I glanced over at Perkins. He was watching the screen with absolute attention. In the row ahead of us, I saw Mann lean over to Franklin and whisper, “You gonna do this one again?”
“No,” Franklin said. “Why?”
“Clete’s expression isn’t tough enough.”
“But he’s comforting her.”
“I know he’s comforting her, but I don’t feel his rage. I don’t feel he’s going to go after the outlaws and avenge the family.”
“It’s a tender scene.”
Mann sighed and sat back. “I think we should do it again.”
Franklin also sighed and sat back, but said nothing.
Now we had covering close-ups of Clete and Brenda. The close-up of Brenda had an almost foggy look. That was because they were using diffusion on her to miss the wrinkles on her face.
“That’s too soft,” Mann said.
“Never notice it in the billowing smoke,” Franklin said.
These two continued their running commentary all through dailies. I had heard it before. Generally speaking, Charles Mann wanted to reshoot everything because Clete didn’t look tough enough, and Tom Franklin wanted to reshoot nothing. It had been that way since the picture began.
Again, I looked over at Perkins. He was still watching the screen intently.
We had a switchover to another reel. The color was all different here: The predominant tones were blue and green instead of red and brown, as it should have been.
“Goddamn the lab!” came a voice from the back. That was Ellsworth, the director of photography. You could always count on the DP to curse the lab at least once a day.
Franklin was unruffled. He turned to his editor, who was sitting next to him, on the other side of Mann. “Order a reprint for color on these scenes,” he said.
“The lab can’t correct that,” Mann said.
“Sure they can,” Franklin said.
“It’s in the negative; they can’t correct that much.”
“I think they can, Mr. Mann,” the editor said.
