We Care About a year ago “We Care” had some very special guests; a film crew. During their stay not only did the film crew use the grounds as sets but they employed the residents as actors. Of course the residents loved the opportunity to perform in the films. It wasn’t the first time they’d performed. Indeed the Manager Clarence Smalls was an old showman himself who also used the residents to perform and work on seasonal theatrical plays. This was specifically so he could cast himself in every lead role and thus live out his fantasy as a cabaret dame. However, a film was something that neither he nor the residents had ever participated in. Very rarely did the residents even ever get to see anyone from the outside world let alone rub shoulders with such talented, able-bodied, professionals like a film crew. Needless to say everyone wanted to be a part of the production, regardless of the risks and there were risks. The film crew were shooting health & safety videos. These videos are quite shocking to watch as they are specifically designed to scare employees into being careful at work. You may have seen the classic examples where a man accidentally places his hand into a meat grinder and moments later he’d lift up a horrifically minced hand. Or a person falls off a ladder and lands on a spike. The rules with film are; dangerous to watch dangerous to shoot. For the past four days the film crew had accidentally managed to injure at least two residents a day and many of the scenes left unfinished. The last day of filming was to be staged in the large workroom. The room had long rows of work benches where residents made items daily. The residents didn’t mind making things as it kept them busy. Most importantly work enabled them to all be together to support each other; rather than being sedated, restrained and locked up in their cells. “We Care” was situated about ten miles west of Vancouver. It was a large family house built in an ornate gothic style and stood in its own grounds. The same family had lived there since it was built and about thirty years ago the last member of the family died. The owner’s final wish was for the house to be used as a home for the care of people with physical or mental impairments specifically orphaned as children. The entire household was packed into the large room. Residents sat on the floor around the set, others watched from their wheelchairs behind. Dozens sat on the worktables and the rest stood crammed at the back of the workroom trying to catch a glimpse of the action. Residents speculated eagerly about not only who may have been cast today but how they may be hurt. The doors burst opened and Sally, Hugo and Bobby entered. They were veterans of “We Care”, lifers, elders. They waved and sauntered in to generous applause. Hugo, Bobby and Sally had Down’s syndrome and were in their 30’s. The applause was not just for them but also for their leader and missing fourth member of their metal band the “Spud Guns” who lived in isolation. Hugo led the way in, he was a gifted guitarist, solidly built, dark, mono-brow and looked like a 70’s Sergio Leone western bad guy. Behind Hugo waddled in Sally the bassist, she was short, cheeky, fat and clad in a pink tracksuit with diamanté sparkles. Every Christmas she would receive a large bundle of clothing from her aunt the only member of her family still in contact with her. Sally was chirpy but strangely suspicious and did the funniest random things. Bobby Marsh the albino drummer was a barrel chested rock monster. He raised his hand in a metal salute and the crowded workroom erupted hysterically. Everyone loved Bobby. The “Spud Guns” wrote the music for all the seasonal theatrical productions at “We Care” and he provided the beat. The room calmed as the three friends took their seats at a large worktable in the centre of the room, and just like any other day, they automatically started screwing together electronic parts with the greatest efficiency and indifference. Around them worked the four members of a camera crew. Lights were focused, boom mics lowered over the actors heads and cameras rolled into position. It was a tiny film crew, made up of two camera operators, one soundman and the director and things were strained. When a film production begins everyone attached secretly believes that they are solely responsible for creating the film themselves. As things begin to go wrong it becomes another person’s fault entirely and people begin to distance themselves from the production. By the end, like rats, the crew, distributors, even audience will abandon ship until there is only one person left carrying the can; the director. The director is the sole person responsible from start to finish and the one who can never escape. It is the price of their gambled glory. Max Gutman was the director of this shoot. A skinny rake of a man, grimy, English, weasel-like in appearance and bulldog in nature. He was the sort of man that upon meeting most instantly hoped he was going to suffer a lot. He reeked of smoke and body odour although he didn’t smoke. He had a long fringe that hung over his fair face, a large nose and a small mouth which he tended to spit from when he screamed. He had quite bad posture, possibly from many years of studying or bowing or whatever the English did a lot. Max was thirty eight however you’d think he was sixty eight. He suffered from a miserable flu virus with a burning temperature. For one reason or another Max had comprehensively failed to capture the footage required to assemble a winning show-reel that he so desperately required. He was employing as much realism as he could. His idea being conflict drove story, ergo the more the better. Casualties mattered little. Pain equalled glory in his eyes. Not that he ever set out to harm anyone, no. But he was driven by the fact that the success of this shoot at “We Care” would prove his directing prowess and enable him to raise the finance for his big budget feature film. This hadn’t been a great start to his directing career and Max hatefully eyed his three crewmembers as they busily set up cameras, adjusted lights and tested the sound. Clarence Smalls the “We Care” manager, also present, could barely contain his excitement. He was about sixty, tall, thin and dressed for the occasion in a flannel suit and a knitted tie. He usually wore nothing at all and just wandered the halls visiting patients at leisure. Today at long last Clarence had been given a film role to play. His role was to push Muhammad in his wheelchair back and forth behind the table where Hugo, Sally and Bobby worked. Specifically he was not to touch anyone who was “acting” electrocuted; as this was the wrong thing to do. One must first unplug the lead and then revive them. He had his direction from Max. Everything was sorted. Muhammad his co-star, an eighteen year old severely disabled young man, sat in his wheelchair and stared up at his red balloon which was tied around his skinny wrist. Clarence shifted in his skin uncomfortably. He felt he needed just that little bit more direction. He knew he could give a lot and could no longer hold his position. He pushed Muhammad up to Max and smiled gorgeously. “I’m ready for my close up, Mr Demille.” Max sniffed and shivered suffering miserably with a flu virus and the thought of dealing with Clarence yet again gave him the heebie-jeebies. Perhaps he would go away, he thought as he stared into his tablet computer. Max blinked. On his tablet he watched a close up of Clarence’s crotch bumping impatiently up against Muhammad’s face as it hung out to the side of his wheelchair. Muhammad extended his tongue vainly reaching for Clarence’s zipper. Muhammad made a wanting groan. “No. No tickles now Muhammad, I’m talking to Max,” chuckled Clarence. He turned Muhammad’s head to the other side and he whined in protest which drowned out Clarence’s question. “Get back into your position, Clarence,” snapped Max. Clarence lowered his finger and nodded. He reluctantly pushed Muhammad back behind the worktable by the window and waited for his cue. “Max, we’re nearly set,” said Victor Matlock, his right hand man and director of photography. “Oh, but I was just going to have a little lie down,” sniffed Max sarcastically. Victor smiled, he just loved Max. He loved his wit, his accent and he believed in his vision for the big feature. Victor was early forties, a vegetarian and a resident of Malibu. Max got up and paced the set to check everything over, he paused standing over Bobby. Bobby didn’t look up but continued to expertly screw the small electrical parts together. “How’re you feeling today, Max?” “…Uh, yeah. So who’re they for?” “Um?” Bobby looked around unsure. “Ebay,” said Sally from across the table, “Clarence sells them and buys dresses which he wears when he makes knuckle babies with all the boys.” The whole room erupted loudly in laughter. “Ha ha, hush now Sally, we’re making a film,” said Clarence as he rapped his fingers impatiently on Muhammad’s head. “Maxy,” said Sally. Max turned to her as she licked a bead of snot from one nostril. “What other films have you made?” Max paused and the entire work room fell silent and listened intently hoping it would be a film they all knew and loved. His crew looked up at him. A guilty sadness drifted over his face as if the concept of a feature film or Hollywood was a distant fantasy. His journey from London to LA was just a foolhardy self-indulgence. The years he slept on friends of friend’s sofas all for nothing. Hiding out from the Feds in Mexico, the person he married to obtain his green card all a gigantic mistake. “…Ah I’ve got a great movie, it’s called, “Hero’s in the Clouds…” The entire room fell flat feeling the pre-fail of Max’s big feature idea. Sally suddenly lifted her top and her tits fell out. “Boobies, yay.” The whole workroom erupted into ruckus laughter. Except Max who turned for assistance from Clarence. “Sally. Put those filthy things away this second or so help me God missy, you will be doing “The Cage” for the next month.” Sally pulled her top down and slyly winked at Max. “Max we got a wiring snag here with the electrical trigger,” said Vic. Max nodded, held his head and sat down on the work table.