Well, it's Super Bowl Sunday, or as I call it, February 4th. Time to review lines for the remaining scenes, although I'll be able to focus better when I find out which ones we're shooting tomorrow.
Gary Fischer, my co-cannibal has turned out to be more competition than I expected in the creepiness department. Should have known. With his background in children's theater he just has to take it to the next level – and the Gore Brothers have given him a great scar that does some of the work for him. It's certainly better than working with an actor who gives you nothing in return.
Spent much of Saturday exploring Collingwood, Ontario, a 15-dollar (Canadian) cab ride from the lodge. "The first downtown in Canada to be designated historic by the federal government," it's one of those towns that time forgot, not exactly hopping on a Saturday afternoon.
Off the beaten path (and speaking of paths, Collingwood has an extensive network of trails for outdoor activities: www.collingwoodtrails.ca) is the Station, a "Welcome Centre...designed in the spirit of the 1873 rail station." Opened in 1998 it contains a museum and archive, brochures about everything in the area, and was the only place I found to buy postcards. In the half-hour or so I spend browsing, shopping and resting, I see no one but the two women who work there.
Quaint used book stores have little or no business, while bigger clothing stores, cafes and a huge supermarket are somewhat busier – yet with enough staff that there's no waiting to check out at the market.
Prices, even allowing for the 15 percent difference from U.S. dollars, seem high on many items - $4.19 for a half-gallon of milk – but I'm shocked to see regular and organic bananas selling for the same price: 59 cents/pound.
I had thought bilingualism was only required in Quebec but it's nationwide, so every item in the store is labeled in English and French. In some cases the languages are side by side but on other products the English label is duplicated in French on the other side. I stare at a few cereal boxes, trying to interpret the photos when I can't translate, before realizing I only have to flip them over.
I stock up for breakfasts and the occasional dinner on days I'm released early and take a cab back to the lodge with a friendly driver (I'm convinced "friendly Canadian" is redundant). When he learns I'm here making a film (and his interrogation techniques would be more effective than torture at Guantanamo) he suggests we add a part for "a cab driver in a brown hat" (such as the distinctive one he's wearing).
I go along with the joke: "It's a great idea, but I don't know where we'd ever find one."
Like everyone in Collingwood he has memories of the last big movie that filmed here, Renny Harlin's "The Long Kiss Goodnight," for which they closed off and redecorated the main drag, Hurontario Street, and used 600 local extras in one scene.
Hearing more about "Scarce" he makes a mental note to watch for it, although his wife is more into horror films than he is.
Back in my warm room I spend a big Saturday night watching a heavy snow fall and blow around. The "Scarce" crew had done some filming in just such a storm after I left on Friday. Technical problems made them work late for the first time all week and rendered the soundtrack unusable, despite the hours a sound man spent in the trunk of a car recording the dialogue. "No worries," as they say a lot here. It's Canadian for "We'll fix it in post."
It's back to light flurries under heavy cloud cover today, and time to head for the lobby to post my blog, assuming the wireless there works better than the dial-up service in the suite.