Crooked

Juliette

What a day.

I walked out of Bradley Wilson’s trailer at five o’clock after a long, shitty day. Arlo had not, in fact, called the director this morning to inform him that his lead actor was demanding another set of rewrites. So when he showed up at nine to start shooting, all hell broke loose.

I wound up working ten hours on rewrites in Bradley’s trailer, while he did stupid shit like gargle with rose petals and get a lymphatic neck massage from a massage therapist who cracked his knuckles every five minutes and told his patient that his “lymph nodes hold rage.” Not to mention, I had to play charades to guess the changes Bradley mimed because his throat was a little scratchy, and he worried he’d lose his voice during filming.