Once upon a time in my subconscious

by Suw on December 19, 2003

Some dreams I’m glad aren’t real.

Some dreams I think might make a passable reality – like the dream I had last night where I was studying for an architecture degree after screwing up my first one (in reality, I got a 2:1 from UWCC in Geology, but in my dreams I’ve always failed). I didn’t intend to become an architect, but I did want to be knowledgeable about buildings. In truth, I wouldn’t mind doing that sort of thing at all, if only someone would pay me to do it.

But then there are some dreams that, when I wake, I really wish were real. The dream I woke up from at 6am this morning was one of those. I was an actress in Mexico working on a film with a guy who was director/cameraman/producer all in one. He was a bit like Robert Rodriguez, but he was no one I knew. We were doing ‘pick up shots’ – all those filler shots like ones of people’s feet and stuff that don’t really require acting.

I was in a long thin alleyway (or maybe it was a room) with a wall at the end, just in front of which was a chainlink fence. I had to run down to the fence, then jump up and catch a hold of two handles at the top put there specially for me to catch a hold of, and then Mr Director would film me. We did it a couple of times, then he came over to show me how he wanted me to do it.

“Ok, so the secret burial chamber is here, so you’re looking over your shoulder to see if they’ve come out yet, then you run down here like this,” – he demonstrates how he wants me to run – “then you jump up and struggle to climb over.”

So we do it again and again until he’s happy. At around this point, I notice that I’m actually really rather fit – I’ve got ludicrously short shorts on, but nicely toned thighs with the kind of slow golden tan my skin gets when I’ve been out in the sun for weeks on end slathered in Factor 60. (In reality? I’ve had that tan once, from four week field trip in the Pyranees.) My hair is very roughly bobbed, but with bleach-blonde bangs and a slight shaggy kink to it.

In fact, I look like a sort of blonde Salma Hayek. (Ha!)

Next up is a crane shot of me cycling through a barnyard. I have a stripy poncho on, which it too long and trails on the ground. Somehow it manages to look sexy. Didn’t know ponchos could do that. We repeat the same shot but I’m on a scooter instead. The scooter shots look cool.

Then I’m running through the barn. I can only assume that the plastic hens will be replaced with real ones in post-production, so I try not to kick them over.

Final shots: I’m walking through a schoolhouse which is more house than schoo. The boys in class all sneak peaks at me through the door which stands ajar as I walk past. Up the stairs then, and into a bedroom above. The shutters are closed and my lover is hiding under a rough blanket in the bed, waiting for me. I pull the blanket back, and Ick! it’s a young boy, covered in chicken pox. Ew!

At that point I awoke, cursing my luck not to be a particularly fit, tanned and beautiful Mexican actress shooting on location with an auteur in charge. Damn and blast.

However, I do still remember the plot (oh yes, there was a plot!) and I’m going to jot it down in my ‘film ideas to develop’ book. Just in case I ever decide that I want to write my own El Mariachi.

Bram Janssen December 19, 2003 at 9:09 am

This reminds me…

Actually it doesn't.

Comments on this entry are closed.

Previous post:

Next post: