Posted by: normanlgreen | July 15, 2012

Dream, July 15, 2012 documenting the rise of the mutants

Dream, home, 7:50 am

Shooting a movie about a maniacal director who makes a movie about a town where the population makes rapid mutations – some zombies are thrown in for good measure. The film he makes seems to be playing out in real life, as though he were a manipulative maker of documentaries – reshaping the events to improve the drama. I wonder: are we documenting a documentary of a real crisis, or are any or all of the three layers a fiction?

As part of the plot, Dave, who is radio personality in the waking world, plays a radio personality for the film. Between records, he announces developments in the war between the humans and the more aggressive mutants. I hear his broadcast through public address speakers that have been set-up for a carnival. He grows increasingly fearful, and as he broadcasts, his fear is transferred to the population. Eventually he shuts down the radio station to return to his home and family.

I visit and/or film his house. He gives me a tour and shows me his freezer where he has stock-piled hundreds of pounds of bacon – it is bacon that will see him through the calamity. His kitchen is otherwise disorganized, and we have no luck finding a second coffee cup for me. His wife is nowhere around, but I do not ask after her, as he seems very edgy. He tells me that he feels it is a matter of hours before we lose all power and water services. I wonder how long the bacon will keep without electricity.

Toward the end of a day’s shooting, the film crew that I am filming photographs a scene on the balcony of a modern mansion built into a cliff side. The comic-relief character, a rounded man in his early thirties, walks up to the lead actor, takes responsibility for all that has gone wrong in the town then performs a back-flip off of the balcony. I look over the edge, marveling at the stunt. I see no pads nor inflated catch-pillows, but instead see bushes moving between the white limestone rocks. I hear the actor’s voice and assume that he is alright.

Night falls and the cast and crew disperse to the various houses in which they are billeted. The neighborhood might be in Waco, TX, or Indianapolis, IN, as it has the feel and some features of both. The mayor of the town, both on film and in real life, has mutated into a friendly dog, a reddish boxer with bright eyes and a slobbery tongue. I pat the mayor on the head as we part.

Now that I walk the street alone, I am at risk from some of the less pleasant mutants. Many of the houses are abandoned, either due to mutation or fear of zombies. I pass a house, the yard of which has been outlined with burning torches. I think that as the torches burn out, the zombies will have a clear marker where they can find people.





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