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| ZEUS & Co. | |
| By audrie | ||||||||||||||||||
| 13 October 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||
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This is my second go at copy and paste - let's hope I get it right this time. ZEUS & Co by audrie © It was the eerie silence that told us something was wrong. An hour previously, birds had been swishing past and there had been a variety of sounds that small animals make. Sounds which one hardly notices, until they stop. They had stopped now! An unnatural calm hung over the place. The leaden atmosphere pressed down on our heads and we gazed uncertainly at each other. None of us wanting to put into words the sudden fear that tingled along our nerve ends. Gregor, the film director, was a sensitive man but he had a deadline to meet and there were two more scenes to get in the can before nightfall. ‘Come along, darlinkz, get into pozition,’ he called, his charmingly accented voice always got more so when he was stressed, ‘Camera von, you take ze cloze upz. Camera two, long shotz.’ He peered through his steepled fingers at the actors as they took their places among the old ruins, ‘Oka-a-y, let it roll! Action!’ We were on location in Greece to film a TVplay, which was a wicked satire on the Greek Gods. The playwright had written a brilliantly amusing piece that showed the deities in a very poor light. Hilarious tears had been shed over the needle-sharp dialogue. One poor soul, who was a local extra, had been seen crossing himself at the irreverence. It was to be called, ‘Zeus and Co.’ Everybody connected with it had been wildly enthusiastic at first in rehearsals. Laurence Morgan as Zeus, had been most impressive. We had even managed to lure Sara Kinsall away from the RSC, just for this film, to play Hera. No doubt because she was as convinced as the rest of us that we had an award winner on our hands. We had started out for Greece in exuberant mood. The thought of the play, the fine cast, the talented director, excited all who had dealings with them. We were all on a seemingly permanent high at the thought of the literary merit, and acclaim that would be ours at the finish. Nothing could mar this superb quality production. We all felt it in our bones. At least, that had been the theory but, in fact, things had started to go wrong right from the start. After the first day of filming, Laurence Morgan had been struck by some mysterious throat infection and couldn’t raise a squeak, let alone his beautifully modulated, lyrical Welsh voice. Then, a couple of days later, a lorry had inexplicably overturned and several cans of film had been destroyed, bouncing and rolling down the slopes with yards of negatives snaking away into the distance. As a consequence, the scenes had to be redone and schedules were behind by several days. Sara Kinsall had ricked her ankle on the uneven ground and was only able to do close-ups. Since Laurence had lost his voice, he could only do long shots. It was beginning to turn into a nightmare. Gregor Barlinski, the director had kept his cool throughout, confounding those who spoke of him as the enfant terrible of the film industry. His slim, boyish figure was darting about from one to another, allaying fears, sorting out problems, diligently shooting film ssequences that did not require the presence of his two main stars. It was he who had held us all together throughout the string of exasperating mishaps. ‘Darlinkz, vot vould life be without a few problemz? Huh? Huh?’ His calm philosophy had soothed frayed nerves, touchy egos and hasty tempers. In short, he had been marvellous. Now, six weeks later, after many setbacks which would have tried a saint, his equanimity had paid off. Everything was in the can except for these two scenes. Laurence’s voice had returned to its native beauty. Sara’s ankle had healed quite quickly and we were about to wind up production as soon as the last two takes were finished. We would be on our way home tomorrow. Greece was stunningly beautiful but filming in the oppressive heat was no picnic and we’d all agreed that we couldn’t wait to get back to dear old Britain. They’d been having a heatwave there, as well but without the humidity and temperatures that we’d had to suffer. I could feel the perspiration trickling down my back. I don’t know why but I felt distinctly uneasy. In fact, everybody seemed to be on edge. Sara had just muffed her lines for the third time, painfully aware that we were all cursing her for the delay. Even Gregor appeared to be losing his cool detachment. We were part way up the mountainside. It should have been cooler up here but it was like a furnace. The grey-green contorted shapes of the olive trees shimmered and danced in the brilliant light, their stark black shadows squirming and writhing as if Medusa herself was resting there. Far below us the azure blue of the Aegean Sea scintillated with sparkling spots of silver. Small white villas which huddled around the coastline were a dazzling blur. To the south, green and gold islands broke the surface of the water, made more deeply indigo with distance. It was a paradise all right, but not to work in! I looked up suddenly. I thought I heard the drone of a plane. It wouldn’t do to have a jumbo flying across the background of a film about ancient Greece. Eagles, yes, we’d had plenty of those swooping around, as if inspecting us, but they had added to the action. We couldn’t have anything that smacked of the modern world in this play. As continuity girl, it was my job to keep an eye on such things. We had all seen previous attempts at ancient Greece where some idiots were wearing wrist watches. The noise got louder so I started to climb the ridge to get a better view, to warn the director in need be. I had only taken a few steps when the drone became a roar. We all looked at each other in amazement. An exasperated Gregor yelled, ‘Cut!’ as we all looked skywards. But then, a slight shudder ran along the ground. At once, we all realised that the noise wasn’t coming from above but beneath our feet. We stood, transfixed, not daring to move. A minute passed, the ground steadied, the noise faded and the deathly hush returned. Utter silence. ‘Okay, darlinkz, ‘ Gregor’s voice broke into the unnatural quiet, ‘Let uz get these two scenes finished qvickly, zo we can get the hell out of here.’ He waved his arm and beckoned, ‘Camera von, cloze in, please. Action!’ We set about perfecting the scenes as quickly as possible. It was probably the extra adrenaline that made it go like a dream. At last, we were finished.Breaking with custom, we decided the celebrations could wait until we got back to the hotel. We all felt the need to get away from this location as soon as possible. After the first mishap, the films were stored in a strong box and put in pride of place under the shade of the olive trees. The cans with the last scenes were labelled and reverently placed in the back of the van. A small cheer went up and we all breathed a sigh of relief as we carefully packed the rest of the equipment into the other trucks. Gregor strode about, quietly organising, and within the hour we were ready to wind our way down the tortuous mountain road. Although nothing was said, there was a jangling feeling of tension which was quite palpable and which we were unable to hide from each other. Never had I known such a restrained end of filming. ‘Righto, my darlinkz, let uz hit ze road.’ Gregor waved off the first truck. The driver gave him a thumbs up and hopped into the cabin, but the words were hardly out Gregor’s mouth when the noise hit us again. A terrible noise, like an express train shrieking through a tunnel. It was bursting and straining under our feet, doing its utmost to get out of the ground. A wave started to rise. I know the sea has waves and not the earth, but this was a wave moving the surface of the earth, rippling along, straight towards us. The noise was tremendous, an unearthly screech as the pressure built up. Then the shaking began. Rocks and boulders startle to hurtle down towards us. We tried to run for cover, butr there was none on the bleak mountainside. The ground wave hit us and knocked us off our feet. The vibrations were intense. A wall of choking dust rose and filled my throat and eyes. I coughed and gagged as I clawed my way over the restless quaking ground, all the while being shaken around like a rag doll. Rocks were pelting down all around me and one caught me a glancing blow which tore open the skin on my forearm, but I hardly noticed. My teethwere chattering and I could just about hear myself making desperate, terrified calls for help, but nobody could hear them. What was happening? The mountain wasn’t volcanic. I had always thought that earthquakes happened at ground level, shifting of plates or something, not half way up a mountainside. Not up here! But such fleeting considerations were soon forgotten as the appalling noise crescendoed into an earsplitting scream, as if the earth itself was in agony. A huge cleft appeared as the ground was wrenched apart with a tearing sound that battered the eardrums. My limbs were raw and bleeding as I clung frantically to the base of an old ruin. The vibrations were dreadful enough but the thought of being buried alive were even more horrific. I choked on the acrid dust that seemed to be filling every part of me and making black night out of midday. I prayed, as never before, to God to save me. I was convinced that this was my last moment. Another violent convulsion ripped along the ground. The earth shuddered again with an awesome force which split and squeezed it as if it were no more than a piece of pastry in a giant fist. Almost as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The noise abated. The vibrations ceased. Only the dark pall of dust remained. I was too shocked to weep. Too stunned by the ferocity of it all. The sheer numbing enormity of the power, that could be raised and withdrawn, within the space of a few minutes. It showed us puny humans how pathetic are our attempts to control this planet really are. Mother Nature would always win the battle. Gradually, out of the stunned silence, I became aware of voices calling. As the dust settled I could make out figures groping their way over the rocks towards me. Half and hour later, we were all assembled again, ready to leave. Miraculously, there had been no fatal casualties. Nothing more serious than cuts and bruises. Even the trucks, despite damage, were more or less intact, once put upright again.And, once the road was cleared of debris, were still drivable. It was when we turned to the armoured vehicle which carried the precious cargo of film, that we noticed something strange. It was no longer there! We scrambled over the broken ground to where the olive trees swayed drunkenly on the edge of a narrow fissure. The ground had opened up and swallowed the van, Then the second convulsion had squeezed it shut again. As we peered aghast into the inches wide gap, all that could be seen were twisted strands of metal, several feet down. There was no earthly hope of retrieving any of it. Gregor threw up his hands in despair. ‘My film! My film! All iz destroyed,’ he cried furiously, before he turned and shook his fist at the mountain top. ‘You have ruined everything. Everything, damn you!’ Some of the cast wondered aloud just who he was talking to, as he went scrambling back to the trucks, weeping copious tears. An icy chill ran down my back. Although not superstitious, I knew what he meant. They say the Gods shall not be mocked and we were, after all, filming on Mount Olympus! AJA ©
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