So I’ve been reminded that I left everyone hanging at the end of my first set-visit post. We got in the van and then –
Nothing!
Sorry about that.
There are some things we’re obviously not going to say yet – hey, you wouldn’t buy the book if we spilled all the beans here, now would you? – but I did want to share a few things about perception, since it seemed to come up often over the course of the twelve hours we spent there. So, not necessarily in order of importance:
It’s received wisdom, but surprised me nonetheless, that certain sets looked bigger in person than they do in the show. Cameras are big and need room after all and so the space needs to accommodate that. Other things are smaller, or non-existent. That long stretch of lonely highway Dean drives down? Not long, and not highway. Serge Ledouceur’s amazing lighting, and a stationary car, jiggled with a 2×4, create the illusion of night, movement, the endless void.
Some things, out of context, were amusing. The huge bins of salt in the prop room (as Carmelita, the lovely woman in charge of props, told us “Who knew there were so many different types of salt!”), or neatly labeled instruments of death. Some things were illuminating. A tour of the storage space (think a Goodwill blow-out sale) showed that someone went crazy on the clock purchases. There were a lot of, mostly tacky (in keeping with the motel rooms Sam and Dean frequent) clocks. Seeing them all together like that made me realize though how much the show is about time – time lost, time running out, time redefined.
And the actors. Bigger, smaller, in and out of context. I just spoke with my classes about our tendency to be gobsmacked when we see a celebrity off the red-carpet, in a grocery store rather than on a stage or screen. Being human. It shouldn’t seem strange, but it does. Endlessly. Vancouver was no exception.
No, I take that back. It was the exception.
Actually, it was both.
Simultaneously.
More on this later.
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