awesome ultimate expert hen (mdyesowitch) wrote,
awesome ultimate expert hen
mdyesowitch

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Strange nightmare


So we're on the set of a science lab. The main character is being menaced by life generally and starts accquiring stuff in this totally ridiculous, never explained, way. For instance, the last thing is someone handing him a gun, no explaination of why. He just hands him the gun and walks out. The main character holds it up to someone's head and I think it's the director who does this voice-over saying totally ridiculous things, so I add this smart ass comment in a sotto voice. There's a cut call and the entire cast breaks out laughing.
One of the actual actresses, (I'm an extra, one of many) says in a whisper to me between takes that they'll have to use that one. It's the best and the only one on which no one (other than me) was perfect. I remember thinking it doesn't matter if they use it or not. It was funny, but many things are funny. It killed the tension which was fine as it was artificial tension leading to nothing, and the laugh was better than the gradual realization that nothing was actually happening.
Anyway the director was pissed that I didn't take him seriously, but again, not my movie, not my problem.
So (and this is where the sequence gets a bit wonky), there are rumours of extras going missing, but we don't know of any actual missing extras. I'm passing through the lounge and I hear my palm go off. I look down at my hand, and it's not doing anything, but I can still hear it. In a room off the lounge, there's sort of a small lab or a mini kitchen. It has a sink with a high looping faucet like in a science lab, but most everything around here looks sciency, so it's no big surprise. The big surprise comes when I see two palms identical to mine, one hotsynching to the other. While the cases themselves aren't identical (to mine or to each other), they are the same color (green). One of then shows the hotsync screen, so I know it didn't generate the alarm, the other shows the alarm, and it is one of my recurring daily alarms.
Now, I'm actually furious, I storm off to complain that I'm concerned about identity theft, something likely worse than a pretentious, poorly written movie (although probably no less common.) I explain my reasoning to the executive director. He assures me I'm imaginging things and offers to show me my personnel records so I can see that they're pretty standard stuff, nothing that would allow them to assume my identity.
So I agree and we head to the office (which is the room next to the scene we first filmed in). On the way, we run into one of the other extras. Her daughter (a sweet young thing of somewhere between 16 & 18, I'd guess), has been raped by...that was never clear? A movie staffer, I think. The executive director leaves the director to deal with it, and whisks me away. In the file room, he pulls out a large folder with a Y on the end. (Interesting note to conscience self, I seem to have reverted to an unmarried state.) He opens it. Down the middle there are a a collection of CDs layered down the page, presumably secured at the top of the CD case with some type of clamp. There are about 5 of them, I'd say. The sides fold out and that's where are the papers are. The execdir runs his finger along the right side of the folder (never opened) and tells me that the folder has suffered water damage, and it currently wet and I can't see it right now because I might damage it. I'm looking at the folder! It's in pristine condition, absolutely mint with not even any writing on it.I say that. He overrides me and puts the folder on the same shelf, but on the other side of the divider, assuring me I can see it later, but aren't I molified on the subject of identity theft? I'm not, although I'm starting to suspect something worse is coming, and putting the folder back in a different place, separated like that, I noticed a couple other folders on other shelves separated too. And that made me very tense, but I pretend that I'm satisfied, trying to convince him that I'm not suddenly worried that I'm now going to be killed. He says, as we walk back to the lounge that they don't have to use my line in the movie. The focus groups liked it, but it can still be cut. It's a threat. I'm not sure why he thinks I care enough about a line in a movie that I'm willing to overlook all the weird stuff happening.
I say, "You know what. It's your movie. It needs to adequately reflect the director's vision. If it doesn't suit you, toss it out. Of course," and this is me agitating to get it left in, which is odd because I actually don't care, "One does have consider the needs of the script and the actors in their roles and what suites them best, but ultimately, it's got to be the director's vision." And we're back at the lounge. There are two clusters of female extras, and I'm looking for my friend, but I don't see her. Both clusters have a female in need of consoling. I ask one of them why. Appparently the girl needing consoling in my group is upset because she tried to comfort Mrs. Murray (the woman mentioned earlier as having the raped daughter) because Ann was dead (first thought I had on waking was "Anne Murray! For shame!"). Her fever shot up and she was dead within 96 hours from the time of the rape, and the mother was lashing out. The daughter had apparently had a fight with this extra and it was getting away from her that she was raped or something like that. The executive director is sitting with us, but I can't pretend I believe this is all normal while I plot my escape or something, I've got to jump right up and point out that everything is wrong with the movie, and we'll probably all die horribly and their staff will replace us. I know I'm signing my own death warrent, but I feel like I can take a few of them with me (the staff, not the female extras) and I still haven't found my friend. I start to head beyond the staff room to the locker room when I wake up.

I don't know why, but I don't feel well. I'm cold, shaky and feel nauseous. I just thought I would share. I would have called in sick, except I really don't want to stay home unless I can sleep, and I obviously can't or I would have gone back to sleep after the dream. Instead I'm downing chicken soup, and hoping it will pass.
Thinking Glossary thoughts...
-m
Tags: dream, tmi
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