In Which We Travel Back in Time

Last week I got an offer from a Boston casting company to work on the new Cameron Diaz movie, The Box. Actually, they wanted my car, but they offered to pay both of us and said they'd find something for me to do on the set as well. Silvie's been a little jealous about all the movie parts I've been taking, and this was her big break, so I said yes for both of us. Today was the first day of shooting.

The Box is adapted from a short story by Richard Matheson called "Button, Button." It was made into an episode of The Twilight Zone in 1986. The story takes place in 1976. A woman receives a mysterious box with a button on it. If she pushes the button, she comes into a lot of money, but someone she doesn't know will die.

Today's scenes were shot in South Boston. A house on the corner of 4th Street had been comandeered for the shoot; the mildly excited and bewildered owners--Mom, Dad, little boy, little dog Buffy, plus a neighbor--were eating breakfast in the holding area, courtesy of the film crew. Just one of the perks of being kicked out of your own house! I parked Silvie on the curb as instructed, and joined them in holding (the social center of a nearby church) for a cup of strong coffee and an English muffin.

For purposes of the movie, it was supposed to be winter in Virginia. Silvie got fake Virginia plates stuck over her real ones. The house was supposed to be a crime scene. In preparation for the first shot, a light blue and white police car was pulled up in front of the house at a crazy angle, engine running, lights flashing. A big van was similarly pulled up opposite. When the director yelled "Action!" the fake cops would jump out of the vehicles and rush into the house. (I guess this was the result of Cameron Diaz pushing the button.)

The director liked my car and decided to feature her in the shot. I was put at the head of a parade of three cars; we lined up out of camera range, and on cue proceeded slowly down the street and around the corner. Then around the rest of the block and back to the mark, ready for the next take. Ten or twelve takes and the director was satisfied.

The next scene was the police car--driven by a stunt car driver--screeching down the cross street and pulling up at the crazy angle. The wardrobe mistress, impressed by my outfit (all of it pieces which had been hanging in my closet since the seventies), requested that I be in the scene. I was paired with two other women, one pushing a baby carriage with a plastic baby in it. We were carefully positioned (our main function was to block the view of some non-vintage vehicles way up the street) and told to chat. Hard work, but somebody has to do it.

That was it for the outdoor scenes. In between was a lot of standing around, sitting in cars, and helping ourselves to catered food at the church. All the extras were car people, more interested in discussing original equipment and m.p.g. than the movie. Nothing against actors, but it was refreshing.

We wrapped around 4:30, none too soon. It was freezing out. I'd forgotten how cold we were in the seventies. Camel hair coat, panty hose, penny loafers, green lambswool sweater, brown skirt, necklace of wooden beads....I don't dress that way anymore. I was getting hives from all the wool. Driving back with Silvie's excellent heater was lovely. Climbing back into all-cotton socks, sweats, and turtleneck at home was even better. It's fun to visit the bad old days, but I'm glad I don't have to live there anymore.