I stepped into the store after deliberating about it for days. The place was quiet, almost too quiet, which made sense considering how niche the product I was after was.
"Whoa," Peter murmured beside me, spinning around slowly as his eyes widened in awe. "I think we've come to the right place to find you a camera."
"I think so too," I said, equally taken aback by the rows of cameras lined neatly along the glass shelves. Every wall was filled with vintage bodies and gleaming lenses, some new, others carrying the marks of years of use.
When I'd decided to get into filmmaking, one of the first pieces of advice I'd received was to get a good-quality camera and start shooting anything and everything I could. There was no shortcut to becoming a better director; you had to learn by shooting.
"Well, hello there, gentlemen."
We both turned toward the counter, where a middle-aged man stood with a kind smile. He had silver-gray hair that curled slightly at the ends and deep laugh lines around his eyes. Though he couldn't have been much older than fifty, something about him, perhaps the calm way he stood or the spark of experience in his eyes, made him seem wiser than his years.
"I'm Rusty," he said warmly. "How can I help you today?"
I cleared my throat and stepped closer to the counter. "I'm looking for a camera to shoot movies. 16mm film."
That was the size that Randal and Nestor had suggested I use for my first film.
"Just the camera?" Rusty asked, tilting his head. "Not the full kit? With lenses, magazines, a tripod, and a battery pack? Or do you already have those?"
I blinked, realizing I had assumed all those things came together.
"Yeah, I mean the full kit," I said after a pause.
Rusty nodded thoughtfully. "Would you prefer used or new equipment?"
"How much is the price difference?" Peter asked before I could.
Rusty's grin widened. "That depends a lot on what you choose. Some of our cheaper used cameras go for around $2500, while the high-end ones can cost up to $15000. New ones start at $4000 and can go as high as $25000. There are pricier models too, but those are special orders. If you're looking for something cheaper, you could try an 8mm camera."
"Damn, that's expensive," Peter whistled. He turned to me with a half-smile. "You sure you don't want to start with an 8mm one to practice on?"
I shook my head. "No. I'd rather spend more now and get a 16mm if I ever want to make something professional."
Rusty's eyebrow arched slightly. "If it's a professional-grade film you want to make, you'll need a proper sound recording system too. That'll add another four to six grand. Tell you what, I can put together a package deal for you—a used Arriflex 16S camera and a Nagra IV-L sound recorder. Ten grand for the lot."
The number hit me like a punch. I knew filmmaking equipment wouldn't come cheap, but I hadn't expected the cost to climb that high. Sure, Columbia had paid well for my script, and my acting salary wasn't bad, but ten thousand dollars in 1979 was no small sum. Most people don't even earn that much annually.
Peter rubbed his chin and looked at me. "What if we buy an 8mm camera for now and rent the rest when we actually start shooting?"
The man's eyes gleamed at the suggestion. "Sure, I rent out the kit for $250 per day, non-negotiable. Unless you're paying for a full month in advance."
That was a terrible deal. If I ended up shooting for even a month, the cost would climb to $7500 dollars. If I bought a used camera and resold it later, I'd probably save a lot more.
"We'll buy used," I said firmly. "But your prices are unreasonable. Used equipment like this shouldn't cost more than five grand. Ten thousand is outrageous when we can get a new one for only a small premium."
"Then buy new," he shot back without missing a beat.
I turned to Peter and gave him a look that clearly said, If you want to be a producer in the future, start negotiating.
Peter caught on instantly, straightening his shoulders as if preparing for battle. "Alright," he said, voice calm but confident. "Let's break down the cost of each item in both kits and see if you've actually reduced the price from the brand new kit."
For a brief moment, the old man's composed expression cracked, but he quickly recovered, putting on an offended look. "You think I'm fleecing you? These are legit prices, kid. If you can't afford it, better rent it."
"Old man," I interrupted, stepping closer to the counter. "I'll be buying a lot of film for the two-hour feature I'm planning. So maybe keep that in mind before you decide how hard you want to bargain."
That made him pause. I could see the calculation flicker behind his eyes as he realized the truth: it was better to build a long-term relationship with a filmmaker who'd be spending thousands more on film stock. After all, the most expensive part of making an indie movie wasn't the camera, but the film itself, which could easily cost tens of thousands. And film, unlike cameras, had much higher profit margins.
"Alright," he said finally, softening a little. "Let's do a cost split as you suggested."
Half an hour later, after comparing cameras, sound setups, and debating the worth of every cable and lens, we stepped out of the store with our new purchases. In the end, we went with the same equipment Rusty had suggested from the start: the Arriflex 16SR and the Nagra IV-L. No matter how questionable his pricing was, I had to admit, he knew quality gear, and had suggested to us exactly what we needed.
After an exhaustive round of haggling, Rusty agreed to sell us the full kit for $7500. He even offered to buy it back for $6000 by the end of the year if things didn't work out for me. So yes, he had definitely tried to overcharge us. But in his defense, if I were in his shoes and saw a couple of eager kids flashing money they barely understood, I might have done the same.
I actually felt a little sorry for the people who just rented the gear at the same price and didn't even have the option to sell it back.
Along with the camera and sound system, I also bought twenty rolls of film, roughly 220 minutes of footage. By rule of thumb, for every hour of acceptable film, you need about 10 hours of raw footage. Which meant the film I had bought would only cover around 22 minutes of usable material. Not even half an act.
Still, holding those rolls in my hands, I felt something spark inside me. This was the beginning of my filmmaking journey.
"What now?" Peter asked once we'd loaded everything into my car. The trunk sagged slightly under the weight of the cases and film rolls. "Do we make a movie now?"
"Not really," I admitted. "For now, I'll just shoot whatever I can to get used to working with the camera. Julie agreed to be my free actress, at least until college starts. After that, we'll see how things work out."
"So you'll need me or not?" Peter asked, his tone half-curious, half-defensive.
"I will," I assured him. "Both you and Ash, actually. Maybe Lenny and Lola too, if they're interested. I'll need all of you as crew members, to record sound, handle the camera, manage lights, everything. Getting the equipment is only the first step."
"Handle the camera?" He frowned. "I thought that was your job."
"Not if I'm acting too," I replied. "Don't worry, I'll guide you guys through the scenes. It won't be that hard."
"If you say so," Peter said with a shrug as we pulled away from the curb and started the drive toward my temporary place.
(Break)
As much as I wanted to break into my new gear immediately, I couldn't. All because of one reason: Friday the 13th.
"When Claudia told me you guys wanted to start soon, I didn't expect it to be this soon," I muttered, handing Sean the signed contract. In exchange, he gave me a freshly printed script. The pages were crisp, ivory white, and still warm from the printer.
"Victor Miller, our screenwriter, and I have been working tirelessly this past week," Sean Cunningham explained. "We've made some major changes to the script. I would've liked to delay filming a bit more, but we don't have that luxury. We need to wrap before summer ends. Our location's getting renovated, and the owner won't wait beyond that."
I raised an eyebrow. "So, what kind of major changes are we talking about?"
Sean chuckled, running a hand through his thinning hair. "To be honest, we've overhauled almost everything. But you're going to love it. Your character has a lot more screen time now. You're basically the lead."
"And you're still paying me peanuts," I said dryly.
Sean laughed and slapped me on the back like I'd cracked the funniest joke he'd ever heard. "You've got a great sense of humor, Noah. You should try out for a comedy sometime."
But I wasn't joking.
"Go home and read the script cover to cover," he said, steering the conversation back. "We start shooting in two days. I want you to know it inside and out. Since you've done a film before, I'm sure you know how to prepare."
I nodded. My method for breaking down a script was simple. Michelle, the only professional who had ever really taught me about acting, used to drill one thing into my head: put yourself in the character's shoes. Think like them, move like them, breathe like them. That's what separates a decent actor from a great one.
It was also why great actors often clashed with writers and directors. They stopped being people who played characters, and started being the characters themselves. So if they find anything in the script that doesn't make sense for their characters, they oppose it.
"Alright, I'll do that," I said with a slow nod. "But what about my duties as your assistant?"
Sean hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "That might be a little tricky now, given your increased screen time. You can still help on the scenes you're not in. We'll figure it out as we go."
"I don't mind," I said. "As long as you let me sit in during post-production."
He gave me a short nod of approval, and with that, our meeting ended.
I left Sean's place and drove straight to my apartment, the script sitting on the passenger seat like a ticking bomb. I was too curious to wait. I needed to see what exactly had changed.
Sean had told me not to read the old version of Friday the 13th, but of course, I had. Curiosity had gotten the better of me. The script I'd read before was more or less the same as the original one I remembered from the other timeline. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it wasn't bad either, a perfectly serviceable slasher film for 1979. So why the sudden rewrite? What was Sean trying to fix?
Julie wasn't home, so I dropped onto the couch in the living room, flipped on the lamp, and cracked open the script.
The backstory and the opening scenes were the same: camp counselors, a creepy forest, the usual slow build before the first kill. But then, I started noticing the differences.
For starters, my character, Jack, now flirted with all three of the main girls, even though Alice was supposed to be his girlfriend. The other guys were noticeably irritated with him.
Then came the big change: Jack's sex scene. Except… it wasn't with Alice. It was with Marcie, whose boyfriend, Ned, had just been killed, though no one knew yet.
Originally, Jack was supposed to die right after having sex. This time, it was reversed. He went to the bathroom, and while he was gone, Marcie got killed instead.
Okay, I thought. It makes sense if they want to give me more screen time.
But the next scene stopped me cold.
In the bathroom, Jack ran into another girl, Brenda. Both of them were partially dresses. One thing led to another, and before long, they were having sex too.
I blinked. Then I blinked again.
What. The. Fuck.
Here I was, debating whether I even wanted to do the film with one sex scene, and now there were two. Sean had completely played me. I'd already signed the nudity waiver, which meant I was contractually stuck with it.
I gritted my teeth and kept reading, each page making me angrier.
Jack made up an excuse and left before Alice could find out, only for Brenda to get killed moments later. Then came the power cut scene. Harry, Brenda's boyfriend, went to check the fuse box and was promptly killed.
After that, Jack went back to Alice and tried to scare her as a joke. She got angry, suspecting that he'd been cheating, which, let's face it, he had. But Jack smoothed it over, convinced her it was all in her head, and then kissed her.
And yes. Jack does the dirty with her as well.
I rubbed my forehead, staring at the page in disbelief.
Was this even supposed to be a horror movie anymore? It reads like an erotic thriller. Hell, even Fifty Shades probably had fewer sex scenes than this script.
"You seem upset."
I looked up, startled, and saw Julie standing a few feet away, a bag dangling from one hand.
"Hey," I said softly. "I didn't hear you come back."
"Obviously," she replied, her tone dry. "You were too busy glaring at that script. So, what's got you upset?"
I sighed and lifted the stack of papers in my hand. "This is the indie film your Aunt Claudia recommended me for. I had a meeting with the director earlier today and he cast me right away, gave me the contract, and a new version of the script. And now that I've signed it, he's gone and changed everything. Added... a lot more sex scenes for me." I rubbed the back of my neck, grimacing. "I'm worried that in a few years, people will only see me as the guy who does erotic scenes."
Julie set her bag down on the table and crossed her arms, thinking. "Didn't Michael include a clause about script changes when you signed for The Blue Lagoon? Didn't he do it for this one?"
I looked away, avoiding her eyes.
Her gaze narrowed. "You bypassed him to save on his fees, didn't you?"
"Hey," I protested weakly. "The director made it clear he wouldn't pay me anything beyond scale. It didn't occur to me that he'd screw me over in any other way."
Julie sighed, shaking her head. "Now you see why agents and lawyers exist. They're not just for collecting commissions. This is exactly the kind of thing they protect us from."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, waving her off. "I know. Consider this my punishment for being a cheap bastard. Still, this sucks."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think you and my aunt are exaggerating how much nudity can hurt a career. Big actors do it all the time. Actresses even more so. Half the time, if we refuse, we don't get the part."
She wasn't wrong. In my first life, I'd seen thousands of movies, and those scenes never bothered me as a viewer. If anything, they often made the story feel more raw, more human.
Julie gave me a pointed look. "And if you're really that worried about your image, why not write yourself a role that doesn't have any of that? You're a writer, aren't you?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "You're right. I'm overthinking this." I set the script aside. "If I'm being honest, the changes might actually help me. My screen time has doubled. My character was meant to die halfway through the movie earlier. Now I make it almost to the end."
"See?" She grinned, triumphant. "Silver lining." She clapped her hands together. "Now that you're done brooding, what's for dinner? It's your turn, remember?"
I blinked, realizing I hadn't even thought about food. "Uh…"
Julie sighed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Come on," she said, motioning for me to stand. "Let's whip something up. I'm starving."
I followed her into the kitchen, feeling the last of my frustration fade as together we started working on our dinner.
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AN: Read up to 40 advanced chapters on my website, or check out my other story, Dreams of Stardom.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com