So it’s 4am. Beverly Hills. In the rain. I’m holding an umbrella and standing next to a floodlight. Why? Well because it’s my light. I’m in my lock-up, which means my one job is to make sure no one walks through the light. The light is currently aimed at the front of the house, to give the passing appearance of daylight. My daylight.
It’s my one and only job. And I’m being paid time and a half for it. Yeah I’m tired. Yeah I’m bored. But it’s fine because this is my only job. This light. This light is my job. My only job. No one’s getting past me. Not past this light. Wait. What’s that? The executive producer’s personal assistant? Walking towards the light! I motion to her. She doesn’t respond. I can’t yell, they’re in the middle of the scene. Shit. Shit! Shit!! She passed through the light. It’s okay. No one saw. They weren’t even looking this way. I’m sure of it. No big deal.
Then a voice comes through my walkie talkie headset.
CUT! What’s going on with the light?