March 31: Carpé Diem
When I was 20, I was cast in a short film called Carpé Diem. It was
written and directed by my friend Steve G, who was a big Martin Scorsese
fan. My character was a bookish nerd named Jack who worked in a book
store and was madly in love with the super trendy girl who worked in the
clothing store across the street.
The plot of the movie: Jack works up the courage to go into the store and talk to this girl. He invites her to lunch. They dine, they go for a walk, they confess that they are hiding. Jack behind his new trendy wardrobe, the girl behind her chic career. Jack really wants to write poetry. The girl really wants to illustrate children's books. The film ends with the two dancing in the snow.
I have never seen the film. The darn thing never made it out of the edit suite. I am mad about that because I had to give up attending a Calgary Flames-Pittsburgh Penguins game in order to reshoot a crucial scene.
But there is one memory of the Carpé Diem experience that will stay with me for life.
Steve had arranged to film the restaurant scene in Joe Star's American Restaurant on 17th Avenue in Calgary. My brother, who agreed to be an extra, and I arrived at the restaurant.
In this scene, Jack - who really wants to impress this girl - had traded his wardrobe of button up shirts and wrinkled slacks for the super expensive threads of Kensington's finest clothes store. He is sitting in the restaurant, wearing these new duds, writing in his notebook and waiting for the girl to show up.
In I walk. Steve tells me my costume is waiting for me in the hallway leading to the bathrooms. I should change and be back in the restaurant in five minutes.
I go to the hall. There's a paper bag near the bathroom door. I take it and step into the bathroom.
From the bag I take a very tiny and very svelte powder blue T-shirt. It has shoulder pads. The fabric appears to be the same thing they make panty hose out of. Now I'm no behometh but this thing was tight going on me. The shirt didn't even come down to my belly button and the shoulder pads were totally cramping my style. But since I know nothing about trendy clothes, I press on.
Next I pull out a wrinkled pair of black spandex pants. Those were very tough getting on. They were about three sizes too small. Still, I managed to squeeze into them and anyone looking at me would instantly know I was either Jewish or Catholic.
The shoes - a pair of gold pumps, at least five sizes too small.
Out I walk into Joe Star's American Restaurant. I really didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I tell Steve that I'm ready to shoot the scene. Steve takes one look at me and collapses in laughter. Soon, everyone else in the restaurant is laughing too. I'm not laughing. I'm confused. I'm embarrassed. And I was about to get really pissed off when one of the waitress walks up to me and says: "HEY! WHAT THE ^$(&$)# ARE YOU DOING WEARING MY CLOTHES?!"
Turns out that the real bag with my costume in it was mistaken for garbage and hauled to the dumpster out back. Meanwhile, the waitress had changed into her work clothes and left her street clothes in the bag in the hall. I was merely the victim of bad timing.
Someone rescued the costume and I quickly took off the poor girl's clothes (she was reluctant to accept my apology) and then we were able to shoot the scene.
To this day, Steve G refuses to believe it was an honest mistake. He thinks I did it for a laugh.
The plot of the movie: Jack works up the courage to go into the store and talk to this girl. He invites her to lunch. They dine, they go for a walk, they confess that they are hiding. Jack behind his new trendy wardrobe, the girl behind her chic career. Jack really wants to write poetry. The girl really wants to illustrate children's books. The film ends with the two dancing in the snow.
I have never seen the film. The darn thing never made it out of the edit suite. I am mad about that because I had to give up attending a Calgary Flames-Pittsburgh Penguins game in order to reshoot a crucial scene.
But there is one memory of the Carpé Diem experience that will stay with me for life.
Steve had arranged to film the restaurant scene in Joe Star's American Restaurant on 17th Avenue in Calgary. My brother, who agreed to be an extra, and I arrived at the restaurant.
In this scene, Jack - who really wants to impress this girl - had traded his wardrobe of button up shirts and wrinkled slacks for the super expensive threads of Kensington's finest clothes store. He is sitting in the restaurant, wearing these new duds, writing in his notebook and waiting for the girl to show up.
In I walk. Steve tells me my costume is waiting for me in the hallway leading to the bathrooms. I should change and be back in the restaurant in five minutes.
I go to the hall. There's a paper bag near the bathroom door. I take it and step into the bathroom.
From the bag I take a very tiny and very svelte powder blue T-shirt. It has shoulder pads. The fabric appears to be the same thing they make panty hose out of. Now I'm no behometh but this thing was tight going on me. The shirt didn't even come down to my belly button and the shoulder pads were totally cramping my style. But since I know nothing about trendy clothes, I press on.
Next I pull out a wrinkled pair of black spandex pants. Those were very tough getting on. They were about three sizes too small. Still, I managed to squeeze into them and anyone looking at me would instantly know I was either Jewish or Catholic.
The shoes - a pair of gold pumps, at least five sizes too small.
Out I walk into Joe Star's American Restaurant. I really didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I tell Steve that I'm ready to shoot the scene. Steve takes one look at me and collapses in laughter. Soon, everyone else in the restaurant is laughing too. I'm not laughing. I'm confused. I'm embarrassed. And I was about to get really pissed off when one of the waitress walks up to me and says: "HEY! WHAT THE ^$(&$)# ARE YOU DOING WEARING MY CLOTHES?!"
Turns out that the real bag with my costume in it was mistaken for garbage and hauled to the dumpster out back. Meanwhile, the waitress had changed into her work clothes and left her street clothes in the bag in the hall. I was merely the victim of bad timing.
Someone rescued the costume and I quickly took off the poor girl's clothes (she was reluctant to accept my apology) and then we were able to shoot the scene.
To this day, Steve G refuses to believe it was an honest mistake. He thinks I did it for a laugh.
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