Perhaps I spoke too soon – I mean about the “all worthwhile” part. Today starts out innocently enough, but by the end of the night I’m ready for 28 days at Betty Ford, and I’m not even an alcoholic. Is there rehab for directors? My name is Bruce LaBruce, and I’m a director. Recovering director.
The day starts off innocently enough. It’s the last day of a difficult shoot so it almost feels like Xmas. Kato picks me up as usual in his Datsun, it almost strangles me as usual, I drink my usual coffee on the way to set, and we arrive just a little late. We’re back at Peres Projects, but it’s the only location of the day so I’m deluded into thinking that things will go more smoothly. They won’t. The beef has all arrived today on schedule – three of the biggest male porn stars in the business in all their testosteronal glory: Matthew Rush, Erik Rhodes, and Francesco D’Macho, the latter hunk all the way from Madrid. I’ve never met any of them before in person, but they all seem like nice chaps. Erik in particular seems like quite a gentle giant: his proportions are so big it’s kind of hard to process. He’s the one who was dating Marc Jacobs there for a while. A fourth side order of beef, Adam Killian, has been invited to set by our producer Robert, so we have enough meat here for an Argentinian barbecue!
A complication arises, however. When it comes time to shoot the first sex scene, which is without gore, the brawny men balk, claiming that they didn’t realize they would be expected to do an explicit scene. It’s all a bit of a misunderstanding: they thought that because it was an arty Bruce LaBruce movie, they would be doing something else. They’re all totally into the blood and gore, but for me the whole point is to mix the horror/gore genre with porn. I explain to them that BLAB movies always have explicit sex – we even shot porn scenes for Otto; or, Up with Dead People, although most of them ended up only as DVD extras. Erik takes me aside and says that he’s not trying to be a demanding diva, it’s just that he wasn’t expecting to do a sex scene, but since that’s what I want he will go ahead and do it and give his all. It’s really very sweet of him and the rest of the boys. It’s a good thing too, because poor Robert, our producer, was almost in tears. We’ve been through hell and high water all week long and he’s remained remarkably calm and low key, but when this potential little mutiny came up, it’s the first time I saw him visibly upset. But it’s all good, because we shoot the sex scene, including oral, pissing, and fucking, all in the white Kubrickian dungeon that Steve has dressed, and it seems pretty hot in porn terms. I do make a big mistake by not asking them all to come there and then, however. I have the notion that I want them to come later on the bloody, gory set, the aftermath of a shooting, but by that time I will discover that they’re no longer in the mood for come shots, and who can blame them?
Since the shoot is over and it’s the last day of my diary and no one can any longer threaten to drop out every day if he isn’t paid up front in cash even though he’s consistently late by about 3 or 4 hours and is always completely unprepared for the day’s shoot, I guess I can talk a little bit more candidly about the other factor that shall we say complicated the shooting of LA Zombie. In the past I would have named names and consequences be damned, but I’ve mellowed a bit since I married a black Cuban Santeria priest and settled down, so I’m not going to go into too much into detail. Like I said earlier, it’s partly my fault anyway for being so naïve about how much time it would take to set up all the F/X, but when you are only given half or a quarter of the time you expected it does make it exponentially more difficult. When you add in the X factor – that you are also making a hardcore porn movie and you have to deal with that whole big kettle of fish sticks on top of it – then it really does become a recipe for disaster. All that, and no A.D., ever. To be honest, it really is a miracle that we actually accomplished as much as we did, not only completing every planned scene, but also adding some extra improvised stuff on top of it. So although I didn’t get in quite as many of the effects I wanted – lots of gore, but not really much splatter – I can’t really complain too much.
Back on the set, it’s time to shoot the scene in which two drug dealers, played by my friends the gay Cholo rapper Deadlee and tattooed model extraordinaire Trevor Wayne, make a drug delivery to the S and M dungeon and end up shooting the four beefy fetish freaks. I intended some not necessarily realistic but over-the-top splatter; however, splatter is not as easy as it looks, especially with no budget. Steve tries to put some chunks of raw liver and intestines into some air-pressurizer contraption that he’s rented, which has the net effect of lobbing the liver benignly across the room as if tossed by a little girl. Meanwhile, our F/X man is running around like a headless chicken trying to organize effects that we won’t possibly have time to shoot. I try to calm him down and concentrate on doing the final alien zombie effect, an extreme latex make-over of Francois’ face that makes him look like he has a face full of animal teeth. I sit patiently beside him and talk soothingly as he does his magic. He really is a genius, under better circumstances, and I have to admit that despite the pressure he is under he has come up with a spectacular looking alien. The only problem is I’ve been informed that the grip truck operator, who has been reasonably patient throughout the shoot, is now saying that he is shutting off all the lights at 11pm, end of story. That gives me two hours to have Francois camera ready, capture four come shots, do some blood and splatter effects, and shoot the creatures interaction with the four dead porn stars, whom he reanimates, including his entrance and exit scenes and his slien come shots. It all comes down to this. If I don’t get enough footage to flesh out the basic concept of the piece, the entire project comes to naught. The whole week of shooting rests on whether or not I can get the next two hours on screen. But no pressure!
The art gallery is a disaster area. There have been set visits all day by various members of the media and other interlopers, and the cast and crew have tracked blood everywhere. People start slip sliding away, and the general atmosphere becomes chaotic and disconnected. The poor porn stars have put up with a lot already, and now I expect them to do their come shots while covered in blood and gore. Two of them actually manage it, which is awesome because it will help to sell the scene. Francois, ever the trooper, is now dealing with this new face prosthetic, which has involved having toxic chemicals sprayed in his face by an unsteady hand while he is practically suffocating. He looks at me with his one remaining uncovered eye, which has a zombie contact lens on it, and gives me a wink. What an amazing man.
So in spite of the tweaky energy of the set, which is once again reminding me of a bad acid trip, I finally get the four studs of the apocalypse on the bloody set, Francois is prepared (although his teeth keep falling out), Laszlo has the three plastic-covered cameras in place, and we’re just waiting on set for the F/X alien cock which squirts black squid ink to be put in place. Somehow it all comes together at the last minute and we get the shots I need of the alien zombie coming all over the dead hunks of bloody beef just before we’re about to be tossed out. The gallery looks like an abattoir, but I can’t worry about that now. Javier Peres, the owner, has been on set all day, and he’s cool with it. We’ve been through a lot together, so nothing I do every really phases him. The crew will have to clean up as best they can. I still have to get the shots of Francois leaving the building and walking down the street. I do the set-up with James and then leave him to it. I can’t stay on the set one second longer. Santino Rice, who has been hanging around half the day keeping up the energy, generously consents to drive me home, and I make a hasty French exit, getting home just after midnight.
