Will's diary
Wednesday May 15, 2002
9:30 a.m.
I arrive to a giddy Sonja. She informs me that her nudie scene was a dashing
success. She felt rather liberated, really. Apparently, Clint was very supportive
of her efforts. Very helpful, she says. I'm sure he was.
11:00 a.m.
The puke-down-the-cleavage-of-the-hot-girl scene. My character can't
swim, and neither can he handle being on a boat, apparently. Without divulging
too much of the gag, let's just say that Sonja gets a chest full of my bile.
The vomit is a mixture of fruit salad (for chunks, you see)
and this weird green algae nutrition drink. It's littered with little white
orbs that remind me of pimpleheads. Not very appealing. (Side note: Uwe has
been drinking this stuff all day)
I feel the need to truly invest in the feeling of nausea,
so right before we roll I stick my middle and index fingers down my throat,
a technique made popular by binging supermodels the world over. This makes
my face turn red and my eyes water. I think of how impressed people will
be by my method-style of getting prepared, "Wow! He really looks sick"
The Academy will look at this scene, at this inspiring performance, and wonder
where I've been all their lives. Yes! YES!!! "I'd like to thank the
Maltman and Uwe Boll and Shawn Willia..."
...oh yeah. I'm horking down cleavage.
Accurate puking is not my forte. On the first take, I miss
Miss Salomma's bust and fire it onto her neck and face. Oops. I apologize.
6:30 p.m.
We have to re-shoot a scene from yesterday morning where Tyrone's character
("Simon") and mine are introduced. In it, we fire rocks at a beer
bottle to keep us occupied. Baseball is my passion, so anytime I get the
chance to throw anything is a huge bonus. I feel rather good today, well
rested, my arm feels strong. Bryan Knight, the first A.D., tells us to huck
the stones over the area where the camera is placed, just to be safe. But
Bryan, I used to be a big-time ball player, I want to try to hit the bottle.
But Will, the camera's right behind the bottle, you might hit the lens. Ha!
No way, Brian, I could've been drafted, maybe even first round had I played
past fifth grade, I won't miss.
First throw...in the air...it's gonna hit the bottle...see,
I told yo...DINK! Oh shit. Sorry.