It was hard not to talk to yourself in the broom cupboard. Having no one to share her new ‘office’ with, Holly’s self-discipline had to work extra hard just to stop herself from taking naps or ringing her friends. Still, she was only two weeks into the job – she’d get used to not being open plan anymore. It was all part of being a more responsible adult, this promotion to actual Editor. Even if her old job assisting the Drama Editor at a small, artistic production company now seemed infinitely more creative. Mark, her lovely old boss, had always referred to the edit suite as the ‘shit to ice-cream department’. But as Holly played with the colour levels, adjusting Chardonnay’s tangerine skin tone to something more natural, she wondered whether she would ever manage to submit an episode of Prowl that had anything like the appeal of ice cream.
The latest in a craze of brain-dead reality TV shows, Prowl was a docu-soap set in a suburban nightclub which screened on Sky’s Channel 653 (she couldn’t say for sure, never having watched it). Much of the content came from the ‘fly on the bog wall’ footage from within the ladies’ lav. Not actually inside the cubicles (they weren’t that desperate for content… yet), but in the communal wash-basin area, where the perfumes, lollipops and Brandii, the guilt-mongering towel lady, were gathered. The ‘unsung hero of the UK club scene’ (so sang the press release), Brandii was effectively the eyes and ears of ‘Prowl’ in East Sheen. So, quite literally, the show Holly edited was unadulterated crap.
No, she decided, cutting this negative thought and pasting it at the back of her mind. Taking this job in Daytime TV had been a triumphant career move of epic proportions! It paid twice as much as her last job. Not only that, she was going to use her evenings and weekends to pursue Proactive Creative Projects. Like making short films. Yes, with Lawrence’s help she would edit a fabulous film to enter into festivals. Together they would use their spare time to win industry awards, like the creative powerhouse dream-team they were truly meant to be. Hurrah, she thought, stemming the tide of career anxiety and picturing her lovely, talented boyfriend back home, tucked under her covers – his long-toed man-feet poking out of the bed.
If Holly had mastered one skill so far in her small time on Earth, she reckoned it was the ability to cut and paste the things of life into little compartments in her brain. She was as good an editor of her thoughts as she was of daytime television. As she returned to editing the scene in front of her, a new face filled the monitor; that of Luke Langdon, the show’s main male ‘character’, Phil the Barman.
Luke was a trained actor, reduced to the status of a barman on a reality TV show. But because the premise of the show was that everything must appear real, to all Luke’s luvvie peers, it looked as though he was actually a barman. As he bent over to lift the beer barrel in the fictional-but-real-world bar that he ran, Holly couldn’t help staring at the muscles on his upper arms as they flexed in and out. Playing around with the slow motion effect (in a purely artistic way, of course), she realised the job had some perks. Although, it was unlikely to propel her to Baftaville any time soon. Nor was it getting her any closer to her dream job of editing a feature. But she might as well enjoy the scenery along the way, she mused as she heard a beep from her emails.
Jeremy.Philpott@TotesamazeProductions.com to
Holly.Braithwaite@TotesamazeProductions.com
Morning Holly,
Could you bring me a coffee when you have a minute? Just my usual! Also, just a heads-up that we had to do some major re-cutting on some of the scenes at the end of the second episode. Bit woolly in places. Too many indulgent shots over the graffiti on the toilet walls, for one. The ending has much more punch now we’ve taken those bits out. Less is more.
Also, small point: What was with the Wagner soundtrack??! Maybe artistic if this was a film festival, but let’s try and remember that this is DAYTIME TV. Your audience are ASDA MUMS with 2 GCSEs or less, who eat KFC for breakfast and smoke while breastfeeding. They don’t need to see pretentious shots set to opera. The only music they know comes out of the X Factor.
Did you get a chance to type up those minutes? Would like to get them circulated before lunch.
Many thankings,
Jezza.
P.S. Oh – almost forgot! A little niggle’s come up regarding your contract. I’ll tell you when you come in.
Getting to the coffee machine involved traversing a mixed terrain of sets, wardrobes and dubious props. Being a very small production company, TotesAmaze often had to shoot some of their scenes in-house when they couldn’t get into the actual locations. So there were a number of makeshift replica locations to wander through – down the pretend hallway, past the pretend cloakroom, and through the pretend chill-out room. As Holly arrived, she found herself staring at the same muscular arms she’d been admiring from before, only this time less pixelated. TV’s ‘Phil the Barman’ was fixing a drink in the real world. He was resting one arm on the coffee machine, staring vacantly into his plastic cup as it filled up with tan coloured foam. Holly couldn’t help wondering whether he had one too many buttons of his checked shirt undone than was really comfortable for a work environment. She wondered if the open-chested look was a decision from the Wardrobe department, or if it was Luke’s own style. But after a few moments of staring at the chest hairs that were peeping out, she decided it definitely wasn’t a problem.
‘Hi. Sorry. All yours in a minute,’ he said, and she stopped gawking and looked up at his face.
‘Oh, don’t hurry. I’m in no rush to get back to the broom cupboard.’
‘The what?’
‘My windowless edit suite.’
A penny dropped behind Luke’s retina. ‘Oh, I thought you were a runner, I don’t know why. Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.’
‘That’s OK. Flattered you think I look young enough to be a runner! The anti-wrinkle cream must be working!’ she said, wishing she could cut that last sentence as soon as she’d delivered it.
‘Oh, definitely,’ Luke said, his smile that bit more genuine in the flesh.
‘And you are?’ she said, immediately wishing this shabby attempt at humour could also be relegated to the cutting-room floor.
‘I’m Luke. I’m – “the star of the show”,’ he said with a reasonable dose of irony.
‘I know. I was joking. Sorry. My bad joke filter isn’t working today.’
‘And you call yourself an editor,’ he said, and Holly smiled nervously.
‘Is this fake?’ Luke said, staring at her.
Holly was flummoxed. Was her conversation that dull?
He took his coffee out of the machine. ‘You know, the coffee? Is it pretend, seeing as it’s all smoke and mirrors round here?’
‘Oh!’ Holly said, relieved. ‘Like it’s actually just boiling water with food colouring in it? No, I’m pretty sure it’s real. It’s got a fraction more flavour.’
He smiled and took a sip. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
Holly pressed the cappuccino button.
‘So, you’re the person who dishes out the close-ups?’ Luke delivered another of his really quite smouldering leading-man grins.
‘Well, in between being an accidental PA to the Head of Programming, yes, deciding between shots is one aspect of being editor.’
‘So I should keep you sweet, shouldn’t I?’
Holly took the plastic cup from