An Insignificant Part of the Magic

I’ve accomplished a lot, these past 6 months. After a total of 3 completely uncompensated internships, 236 cups of coffee fetched, 3,797 documents copied, and 1 unfortunate handie in a cramped closet where PAs store the walkie-talkies, I finally landed my “big break”: a trivial position in the post-production studios of a major Hollywood backlot.

But I am not a ditherer. In my short time there, I’ve already changed the course of movie history in a variety of possibly imperceptible, certainly inconsequential ways. Whether it’s giving Ashton Kutcher faulty directions to a stage or mistakenly eating a sandwich intended for Randy Newman, one thing is clear: I am a totally insignificant part of the magic.

Take the time that I “met” George Clooney.

We were recording the score for Leatherheads that day, and it was my job to show him where we were doing that. When he beached his car halfway on the sidewalk and climbed out, I was humbled. His jeans were expensive, his skin flawless, his jaw squared.

When my body instinctively went into a light cower under his calm gaze, George could tell that I hadn’t had much personal experience with good looks, talent, or wealth. He took the reigns.

“Hey, I’m George,” he offered with an easy extension of his hand. I was so excited at the prospect of shaking hands with Danny Ocean, Batman, and Michael Clayton all at once that, oh God, I completely forgot about wiping my snot-clogged nose on that hand just minutes before!

What happens next is easy to wildly speculate: Clooney made it to the scoring session fine, but by the next morning my germs had broken the perfect harmony of his beautiful system. He woke up just sick enough to justify canceling his pre-production meeting for The Fantastic Mr. Fox, the one-day setback turned into three or four, and by the end of the whole production, boom, we’re looking at a delayed release of a week at least.

So when you finally see The Fantastic Mr. Fox a full week after you should have, know that it was my play. That was my call. Hello, Hollywood. My name is (NAME WITHHELD BY ORDER OF THE STUDIO). It’s nice to finally meet you.