Recording a book trailer in a single day was always ambitious.
Recording a book trailer in a single day when it rains solidly for about eight hours – now that might be a problem.
I picked up film guru Ross in the morning, and hopefully we headed off north to Strathpeffer – not only a lovely Victorian-looking place, but crucially, with a drier forecast. Alas, not with much luck. The buildings were grand, right enough, but not close enough together to create the impression of 1889 Inverness. On top of that, my previously willing talent had become a little self-conscious about walking and running around in the Victorian gear we’d borrowed from the theatre. We did many u-turns, reversed our way out of corners, drove along this street and that, before finally admitting the game was a bogey. Back to Inverness we went without a single shot in the can.
To our dismay, it still rained enthusiastically in my home town and the setting of the book’s opening chapters. Time for a reboot. The talent (my son) got changed into less conspicuous gear and we headed out for lunch. Amazing what a bowl of soup can do for the dejected spirit – by the time we left for the museum at 2pm, the whole thing seemed tight, but almost possible again. We arrived early. The talent got changed and emerged a little reluctantly into the tourist-path between Inverness Castle and the town. Twenty minutes of scrambling up castle hill through long grass in boots way too big for him yielded our first usable footage. Ross the camera guru was beginning to smile.
Into the museum for our appointment with the Victorian Punch and Judy puppets it was. I felt a Tony Blair quote coming on (oh dear!): I feel the hand up history upon my shoulder…
Handling and filming the very puppets with which the Morrison family had entertained Highland audiences for over a hundred years (from Victorian times), now that’s a privilege you don’t get every day. I had a fan-girl moment. I apologise for the completely unhinged grin in this picture. I have no excuse, I was carried away by the moment.
We emerged, feeling the need to celebrate with hot chocolate and churros. That done, we took a trip to my house which wasn’t far away: We needed my main character to witness a huge fire from the top of a tree.
My bright idea of playing flames footage on a laptop and holding it in front of his face was only partially successful. We even tried to film this in our tiny bathroom, the only room which we could black out completely. The talent was trying to look terrified, with me holding the laptop screen above his head so the flames would dance on his face, Ross crouching below to film and daughter 2 holding a branch of fir tree and waving it in the actor’s face as if moving with a breeze. After all that effort, Ross scrutinised the screen: ‘No – too dark.’ We tried again outside and in the kitchen. It would have to do. On to daughter 2’s dancing feet, and some lovely landscape shots of Loch Ness.
The rain had cleared up by then, leaving behind a moody layer of cloud and mist. Oh well. Some fiddle-scraping in a flowery field might give the summery impression we were after. Worth a try, anyway. As evening fell and the town emptied, the talent became a little more relaxed, and we were able to get some running shots in the old town, up and down the tiny patch of cobbles we had found in a lane and over an old Victorian footbridge. Good enough, Ross reckoned, and that was good enough for me. With the husband home from work and our stomachs full of pizzas, we headed for our final stop. What are the chances – the beautiful staircase in Eden Court’s Bishop Palace, normally accessible round the clock, was being used for a wedding! Noooo! I needed a nice old stair for my murder victim!
And no, we could not return the next day – we had today, and only today, before Ross-with-the-camera was off to Glasgow again!
The husband, reluctantly supportive, seemed relieved. ‘Oh well,’ he sighed, grinning out his relief and steering towards home.
‘No wait. One more try!’ I had heard of the beautiful staircase in the Royal Highland Hotel, although I had never seen it. ‘You’ll never get permission at this short notice,’ the husband argued, but he must have felt confident he was right – he pulled in by the station and I tried my charm offensive with the receptionist. I need’t have worried. No problem at all, apparently. Film away!
My husband’s grin quickly turned to a grimace when I told him that yes, I expected him to lie down, upside down, on a staircase in a tourist-crowded hotel lobby on a Friday night, and play dead. I still can’t help laughing pretty hysterically when I look back on it! The only thing still missing was a little footage of an old clock which Ross and I sneaked in on the way home just after 11 pm. A long, long day. Will it work? Who knows.
But for now, that’s a wrap!