Sunday, Nov. 18th, 1979 —

I just returned from watching Tim and Rob do some “evil entity P.O.V.s” through the woods by means of attaching the camera to a five-foot 2×4, the camera at one end with Tim holding it, Rob holding the other end for stability. Theoretically it’s not a bad idea, although in practice Rob kept smashing into trees.

Yesterday I spent the day working on the cabin: peeling old wallpaper, plastering, painting, etc. The place may look okay depending on how it’s dressed-up.

Last night Gary Holt took us to a performance of “The Good Doctor” at a local theater that was pretty awful. The setting of the play is supposed to be Russia but seemingly no one could handle the accent, so it ranged from Liverpudlian to Ohio to southern USA/Russian. Before the show began an ugly, overweight girl got up and made some announcements: no smoking, try-outs for “The Twelfth Night,” thanking people and saying that the bathroom was in the dressing room and if anyone used it please don’t flush because it would ruin the mood of the play.

Anyway, I could barely keep my eyes open.


I’m finding it increasingly more and more difficult dealing with the women on this production. I feel intentionally alienated and even to the point that I am an object of ridicule. As usual I figured this was exclusively my problem, but yesterday Goody said exactly the same thing.

Last night Tim and I talked for about an hour about a script idea of his that I found exciting and rather unique. I’ll bring it up to him again later.

I lapse back and forth between simply not caring what my function on this film is to despising my lowly position. To Sam, Bruce, Rob, Tim and Tom this is a dream-come-true, for the cast it’s a chance at fame, for Don, Goody and I it’s merely something to do. I really don’t mind the chores I’ve been doing, but they’re menial and uninteresting and the idea that five weeks of this remains is a tad unsettling.

Three ounces of pot has been lost (or so I’ve been told) so staying stoned is not even a possibility anymore. Five more weeks — Lord God this is going to be trying.