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| The Faux Kugel |
It's always an honor to co-star in an Oscar-caliber short, especially one a son of mine directs. The youngest is majoring in film at the tiny liberal arts college in beautiful Burbank. On Sunday, he called on a devoted cast of untrained actors to carry the entire movie... all 60 seconds of it. Naturally, I made a list of demands. A luxury trailer, a makeup artist, a wardrobe bitch.
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| The director and his able assistant |
"Not happening," the director said, shooting down my requests. "I'm sensing this is a low-budget situation?" "You're catching on." The SJG provided my own costume, makeup and even handled props. The kugel in question wasn't a real kugel, but a strange mushy hybrid I threw together. Butter, eggs, milk, noodles, raisins. When I stuck it in the oven, one section started to rise and bubble in a freakish, lopsided manner. I removed it just moments before it took the oven hostage, and flattened it with a spoon, like a good kugel master. Then we took our places. Hubby on the sofa. The SJG off-camera. The eldest outside at the door. And action! "Can he ever be on time?" hubby said. Cue the SJG. "The kugel's ready!" I said, in a whiny voice. Then we paced and crossed to the window, per the director's instructions, to show our mounting agitation. Ding dong! Hubby answered the door.
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| The Uninvited Scottish Warrior |
In stormed a crazed young man in costume, wielding swords. "I'm Robert the Bruce!" he yelled. "The re-inactment's next door," I said. Then he swore at us, in weird made-up Scottish, and retreated. "Schmuck!" hubby called after him. The End. All done in a single "locked" shot.
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