Brydenhammer
(sample)
Two shot. My two favorite people goin’ out to the movies. Literally, ‘the movies’—two of them, tonight. “We’re rolling,” I intone. Liv strikes a pose, a vision in pinks. “Hey, babes. It’s a hot Friday nizz-ight, summer 2021, and we are here for the greatest double feature of our lives.” Murph snorts. “As opposed to all the other double features of our lives?” “Hey, once I went to a drive-in with my family.” “When, in 1950?” “In Poughkeepsie, actually.” “Oh, excuse me, I forget,” Murph bleats. “You’re going someplace with culture.” “Great take, guys. Just transcendent.” I lower my phone. “Highly informative. Not like this is my summer work or anything. I remind you I’m gonna get graded on this.” “That’s a phenomenal start to your college education, a movie with your dumbass high school friends,” Murph guffaws, with a tip of his hat. He bought a hat. Wore a tie of his dad’s. “Wait, do the hat move again,” I direct him, recording, reframing. He obliges. Of course he obliges. Liv, who sees a second chance to shine, throws back her bouncing blonde hair and beams. It’s a beautiful shot. Close-up. Liv. The girl I shared my girlhood with, my ride-or-die since the Nickelodeon years. The star of my YouTube juvenilia, the comic relief in reality, too. The one who made life in a small town seem big. The human who taught a space visitor like me about emotions, held my hand through adolescence, did the most and was the best. And sat through my many disquisitions on contemporary cinema. She’s off to Vassar next month and already doing TikTok duets with her roommate, Shehani, a pre-med from New Jersey. She’s amazing that way. Pan right. Close on Murph. The floppy-haired nut job who moved next door to me in sixth grade and promptly turned two BFFs into a trio. The piece that no one told us we were missing. The boy who’s like my brother, who gets my weirdest jokes. The friend my best friend needed who would see her like I couldn’t and the only dude alive that I’ll concede deserves her heart. Aspiring physicist, perpetual dork. Accepted early at BU. He didn’t warm to MIT, too techie. He’s a Renaissance man. He thinks he’s funny, too. He’s smarter than me, so he’s probably correct. He shoves his finger up his nose. “You’re not still rolling, right?” “That’d work a lot better if you weren’t going in beneath a mask. Come on. Let’s try another,” I cajole them. That’s all directing is, cajole. “And speak up. We wanna hear you through this shit we gotta wear ‘cause the boomers won’t get vaxxed.” “Or you can just dub us in later,” offers Murph, through dark velvet. “We’ll stand for two minutes like this” (and here he freezes) “and you can do our voices.” “No, don’t even do that!” Liv blurts, through ruby sequins. “Just call it vérité and you’ll get French credit too.” “What’s French for ‘Do it again and don’t suck as much this time,’” I ask her—no, I don’t. I only start, ‘cause we’ve all got the giggles. More than giggles. Liv’s gone. Her eyes clamp shut; her mouth goes giant, its brash, delighted outline distorting her shimmering protection. She leans on me, clutching, and we’re helpless together, honking laughter rocking out into the baking summer sky. The personal documentary assignment is going really well. “Maybe by the time I land in Burbank we’ll get this,” I burble, through wheezes. “Okay, kids, shake out the sillies.” Wheeze again. “I’m gonna shoot the people going in.” “Say that louder, I’m sure there’s no way for security to misinterpret it,” Murph calls after me. I let Liv thwack him. I’m walking. There’s a really pretty light now but it isn’t gonna last. I swap out one lens for another clip-on lens and frame up. Wide shot. Exterior, the Brydenhammer, late afternoon. A magnificent multiplex an hour’s-ass drive from our heroes’ tiny town. That movie-palace look with the neon and 1920s stylings on the outside, new theaters with all the tip-top tech inside. The classiest place I know that smells like popcorn and the only locale in the state projecting IMAX in 70 mil. Not like anyone was doing lesser IMAX any closer to home. In a month and change none of us’ll be close to home, anyway. Slow pan across Seventh. Track a group of grownup girls decked out in fuchsia and cerise. They link their arms and march over from a festive-looking bar, absolutely turnt and ready to see the same movie that an eight-year-old is waiting to watch with her doll. Tilt up to the twinkling marquee. Catch a lens flare from the vast Midwestern heavens. It resolves. And backlit language fills the frame: CARLIE / TUNGUSKA No mention, rightly so, of how they’re also still showing Disney’s most recent attempt to feed a snake its tail. “I think I can do it now,” Liv starts, but already they’re laughing. I love us. God, I’ll miss us.
In the time we take to cover the remaining half-block to the Brydenhammer doors (and it’s a lot of time, Liv is having trouble with her heels) I serenely relish evidence of people coming out for the show. It’s off the hook, as it should be. The movies are my church, and if God’s anywhere, He’s here. I don’t even care if Carlie is a fucking toy commercial, at least it’s not a remake. Either way, tonight will never be remade, though every studio will try. Tonight there’s a rumble of joy in the air. There’s an energy, teeming. Anticipation, crackling buzz that’s everything you want but twice as big. And we aren’t even inside. “Christ, my feet,” Liv grumbles, teetering. “Let’s try the intro again,” I command them. “Get between those two one-sheets. Yeah.” “You can just call them ‘posters’.” She snags the spot nevertheless. “Squeeze in here, babe.” Murph squeezes. “The duality of man,” he remarks. “And woman too.” I frame up. “Brydenhammer documentary intro. Speed.” MURPH: Lexi, shouldn’t you be on camera? ME (O.S.): I’ll do a Hitchcock later. Now talk. MURPH: Okay! (claps his hands) Hello, Lexi’s class. ME (O.S.): I’ll cut that out. MURPH: My name is Austin Murphy, I’m here in Cincinnati with my gorgeous girlfriend, Olivia Long. LIV (thumping him): Oh, why put a label on it! MURPH: Fine, just my girlfriend. She thumps him again. ME (O.S.): Do it normal once! God. MURPH: Okay, okay. Take 2. LIV: Take, like, 50. MURPH: I’ll get it!—Lexi, do I mention your— ME (O.S.): Not yet. Just pretend I’m not here. MURPH: Okay, you’re not here.—Now? ME (O.S.): Rolling, rolling. MURPH: My name is Austin Murphy, this is Liv. LIV (Vulcan salute): Liv Long and prosper! MURPH: We are outside the historic Brydenhammer… and, holy balls, look at what that girl’s wearing. LIV: Holy balls. Sudden whip pan to a very tall woman dressed as Astronaut Carlie. Then back to Liv and Murph. Liv again performs the Vulcan salute, then changes it to devil horns. ME (O.S.): Okay, now, Liv, tell us about the movies. LIV: We’re here tonight for Thunderdoll! ME (O.S.): You have to explain what that is.
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