Director Allen Arkush slumped in his chair, his long neck going limp, his chin hitting his chest. His face was ghostly pale, eyes shut tight, he looked drained of all life.
"Allen! Allen!" Joe Dante cried out, rushing toward him. He reached out to shake him awake. "What's wrong, man?"
Ronald stepped in, intercepting Joe.
"Don't shake him. We don't know what caused it. Moving him might make it worse. Let me check him....I know first aid."
He handed the frantic Joe off to Jim, who had just sprinted over. Ronald knelt beside the director, who had slid from the chair to the ground. He placed two fingers against Allen's neck.
A pulse....Weak, but steady. Ronald put his cheek near Allen's mouth..... Shallow breathing, he exhaled a sigh of relief.
"Jane! Jane, I need you!"
The Script Supervisor dropped her binder and ran over.
"Hold his head steady. Just like that," Ronald instructed.
With Jane stabilizing the neck, Ronald kicked the canvas chair aside and gently lowered Allen flat onto the floor. He unbuttoned the director's tight collar and pried his mouth open.... No vomit, airway clear.
Ronald stripped off his denim jacket, folded it into a pillow, and tucked it under Allen's neck to keep the airway open.
"Pulse and breathing are present. It looks like exhaustion or heat stroke," Ronald announced to the circle of terrified crew members. "Back up! Give him air! Everyone back ten feet!"
The crowd shuffled back. Ronald turned to the inner circle: Joe Dante, Jane, and Jim.
"I'll call 911," Ronald said. "He shouldn't be moved until the paramedics...."
"No!" Joe Dante snapped, his eyes wide. "No 911."
"What?" Ronald frowned. "Joe, he passed out. You're DGA members, you have insurance..."
"It's not about insurance," Joe hissed, lowering his voice. "We just....we can't have the cops or an ambulance here. We'll drive him ourselves."
Ronald glanced at Jim and Jane. The rumor about the hard partying at The Roxy last night hung in the air. If there were drugs in his system, a hospital trip via ambulance would bring police scrutiny.
"Fine," Ronald said. "I'll get the van."
Joe fumbled in his pocket and shoved a set of keys at Ronald. "My car, the silver Ford Granada."
Ronald sprinted toward the parking lot. It was a mess of vehicles. He couldn't spot the Ford instantly, but he saw the production van.
"Hey, Ronnie!" A head popped out of the driver's window. It was Chris, the teamster. "Whats the hurry?"
Chris was holding a copy of Penthouse, feet up on the dash.
"Chris, fire it up! Allen collapsed. We need to get him to the ER now. Bring the van inside!"
Chris tossed the magazine and cranked the engine of the Chevy van. Ronald hopped into the passenger seat.
"Joe wants to do a private transport. It's gonna be heavy lifting."
The van screeched to a halt right next to the camera dolly. Ronald jumped out and threw open the rear doors. "Head first! Grab his legs!"
Ronald took the shoulders, the Assistant Director took the feet. "One, two, three!"
They hefted the six-foot-six director into the back of the van. The Assistant Director climbed in to monitor him.
Ronald slammed the doors and turned to Joe Dante. "Here are your keys."
Joe took them, looking distracted. He opened the passenger door of the van.
"Wait," Ronald said, realizing what was happening. "Joe, if you go.....who directs?"
Joe paused, one foot in the van. He looked at the unconscious Allen, then at the setting sun, and finally at Ronald.
"I have to go with him. The AD is driving." Joe looked at Ronald with intense focus. "You and Dean finish the schedule. Use your storyboards. You know the shots. Call the office when you're done; Roger will handle the rest."
He turned to the Director of Photography. "Dean, you good with this?"
Dean Cundey adjusted his light meter and gave a calm nod. "We'll get it, Joe."
The van peeled out, kicking up dust as it headed for the gate.
"Where are you taking him?" Ronald shouted.
"Cedars-Sinai!" Joe yelled back.
The van disappeared. The set was silent.
Jim slapped Ronald on the shoulder, breaking the trance. "You heard the man. Joe trusts your boards. I told you...they're good enough to shoot."
Ronald looked at Jim, his heart pounding. He couldn't tell Jim that the "storyboards" were just memories of a movie he'd already seen.
He grabbed the bullhorn.
"Alright, listen up! We are still shooting! Reset to first positions! We go again immediately!"
He dropped the horn and ran to the camera. "Mr. Cundey, how long do we have?"
"One shot before the sun breaks the horizon. Maybe two after that."
"Okay," Ronald said. He turned to Jim. "I need a 10-1. Keep them prepped."
"10-1? Now?"
"Just... keep them prepped!"
Ronald sprinted into the nearest school building and burst into the restroom. He gripped the sink, staring at himself in the spotted mirror. He splashed cold water on his face.
"You can do this, Ronald."
"This is the break, this is it."
"Nail this scene, and Roger Corman puts your name on the screen."
He wiped his face with a paper towel, leaving droplets on his eyebrows and beard, and ran back out.
The set was reset. Dey Young, playing the studious Kate, stood by the Science Club table. The football players were lurking in the background.
Ronald walked up to her, forcing a calm smile.
"Dey, we're going for one more safety take. How are you feeling about the character right now?"
Dey adjusted her oversized glasses. "Um, well, Kate is a good girl. I feel like she'd be flustered by the jocks, so I'm playing up the nervousness."
"That's good," Ronald said. "But remember, Kate is smart. She's not just a victim; she's observant. She knows she doesn't fit in with the cheerleaders or the jocks. Instead of just being flustered, why not take a half-step back? Physically distance yourself from the meatheads. Like you're observing a different species."
Dey's eyes lit up. "Wow. That makes sense. It separates her from the chaos."
"Exactly. I was a wrestler in high school, and I tried to date girls like Kate. Trust me, they always took a step back."
Dey laughed, the tension in her shoulders dropping.
Ronald walked back to the camera dolly. "Mr. Cundey? Are we set?"
"Frame is good. Call it."
"Everyone listen up! We are rolling!"
Jane stepped in with the slate. "Scene 127, Take 2."
Ronald raised the bullhorn. He took a deep breath.
"Sound... Speed... Action!"
The scene played out.
Maybe it was the direction, or maybe the extras were just looser, but the chemistry shifted. Dey Young took that small step back, clutching her clipboard, looking at the football players with a mix of fear and intellectual disdain. It was perfect.
"Cut!" Ronald yelled.
He looked at Dean Cundey. "How was it?"
Cundey smiled. "Clean...that's the one."
"Jim," Ronald said, feeling a rush of adrenaline. "Mr. Cundey says it's good. Print that one."
"Copy that. Printing Take 2."
Jim, now acting as the de facto First AD, marked the production log.
Since they were shooting on negative stock, "printing" was the command to the lab to actually develop that specific take into a positive image for the "dailies" (the footage viewed the next day). It meant the shot was a keeper.
The crew began to scramble for the next setup. Ronald Lee was no longer just a PA. For the next hour, he was the Director.
Authors Note:-
Ronald become a director..... atleast for an hour.
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