PART 2––("A Man, a Woman, and a Killer,"--the inside story of the shoot...Mendocino, CA, July 11-24, 1973.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Man,_a_Woman,_and_a_Killer#Production

A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A KILLER is the story of a small-time gangster (DICK RICHARDSON) writing his journal in a Mendocino, California, farmhouse, as he awaits a hit man who is coming to kill him. In this first part of a trilogy, realities continue to shift between the story, and the actual making of the film, as seen through unscripted scenes, real-life narrations by lead actors, and the real relationship that developed on the set between Richardson and the actress (CAROLYN ZAREMBA) who played his girlfriend. A bumbling, local librarian (Ed Nylund) is mistaken for the "killer" and plays along with the game.

“A MAN, A WOMAN, AND A KILLER is a tragic epic, a love story, a documentary about drug addicts, a comedy, a portrait, a commentary and a tapestry. Mostly, however, it’s a film about violence. Not Peckinpah spleen-punching violence or Coppola bleeding-horse’s-heads violence —by comparison these are cartoons, embarrassingly vapid, self indulgent and boring.” — Linda Taylor

The shoot in Mendocino was a lesson in frugality. I had paid Dick and Wayne each an additional $350 for their work on location, beyond their writing fees, $135 per week to each actor, and a whopping $1500 for the best sync sound recordings money could buy from the Neelon Crawford/Lee Serie team. So to keep costs down for food, I paid each member of the production the second half of their salary on location, so that they’d have some cash to supplement, if necessary, the minimal allowance of five dollars that I handed each person at dinner time (what a basic dinner cost at the Mendocino Hotel in 1973). Ed, bless his heart, threw in hundreds of dollars to help with meals, letting us get by on our slim margin.

COLD WATER VIEW (1973)

Loading the camera magazines on location in Mendocino, blindly working inside a light-tight changing bag (where film is taken out of cans and placed into a camera without exposing it to the light), I remember the sweat running down my face as I carefully checked and re-checked each load. Feeling each sprocket carefully before closing up the magazine’s lid and locking it down, I double and triple-checked each load. But somehow it all worked out finally in my favor. Because I was in such fear of failing to load the camera properly, I exercised the utmost care and did a perfect job. Our sound man, Neelon Crawford, a seasoned professional, told me later that my shoot was the first he’d ever been on where an Eclair camera hadn’t jammed up at least once.

But while my camera operating went fairly smoothly on the set, there were some unexpected human flareups. Wayne, as Director of actors, experienced ego clashes with actor Ed Nylund, one incident happening so close to the beginning of the shoot that it threatened the entire film production.

Wayne was directing a scene in which actors Dick Richardson, Carolyn Zaremba, and Ed Nylund were standing near the edge of the cliff, looking out at the ocean as the incoming fog approached Mendocino. It was getting bitterly cold that afternoon. At some point in the takes, Ed remarked to Wayne that he didn’t think he should spend too much time out there since he was getting quite cold (you can see the actors shivering in the final print), and was worried it might further aggravate his flu-like symptoms.

After a few more interruptions, with Ed still insisting that the shot be wrapped, Wayne blew his stack. Suddenly Wayne turned from the actors and walked past me in the direction of the rented house, leaving everyone hanging. I quickly left my camera post and switched into my Producer role, corralling him up ahead long enough to say a few words. I told him quietly to please, “go back and tell the actors that Rick will finish up the shot.” I felt it was vital that I didn’t just take over from Wayne, but instead insure that his captainship was not eroded in their eyes. It was too early for a mutiny. He turned around, walked back, and told the actors just what I’d said.

After the shot was completed in one take (as was most of the movie) and the actors returned to the house to warm up, I spotted Wayne standing alone, looking out from the cliffs at the ocean below, and I wondered what was going on in his mind. Maybe he was thinking that Rick, though wrongheaded to foist Ed on him, was still his friend, and that he (Wayne) should continue to help spend (perhaps waste...) the rest of his roommate’s money shooting the film, if that’s what he (I) wanted.

BYE, BYE, BLACKBIRD (1973)
The ending scene for the movie involved all three characters in a “death scene,” where Z (Carolyn’s nickname) sits with pistol in hand after shooting Ed, then aims her pistol at her boyfriend, Dick, while singing the song, “Bye, Bye Blackbird.” During rehearsal, Carolyn looked right into the camera while performing and suddenly tears appeared in my eyes, totally fogging up the eyepiece. I was shocked at the emotional power of the scene, and grateful that I would soon have that terrific footage to include in the finished film. Needless to say, I was deeply shocked by Wayne’s pronouncement that actress Zaremba should look away from the camera, never make eye contact with the lens for the real shot. But I quickly recovered my composure, knowing that there was plenty of filmstock for a second (and correct) take. I filmed the first take and the results played just as I expected -- totally flat, a real fizzle. Z looked pathetic, spastic, fake, and pretentious. I then diplomatically asked Wayne if we could shoot it one more time, with her looking into the lens, just for “insurance,” to have something else to choose from later in the editing room. He said, “No.”

What? Am I hearing things? I asked him again. No again. He added that he didn’t want to give me any editing options. No emotion, is what he was after, he said. I didn’t have any idea what he’s talking about. All I knew was that the film and the actress deserved to have that great shot. I got more insistent, but Wayne remained adamant that there would be no second take.

Next thing I knew, we’re out of the house, in the middle of the street arguing, while Carolyn and other crew members watched from the second floor of our farmhouse location. I can’t remember when I’ve been so mad at a fellow human being before. Someone I trusted (and cared for) was standing between me and the creation of a terrific work of art. Wayne must have known how angry I was at this point, but it didn’t seem to matter, and that just escalated my emotions.

Fortunately for all concerned, Dick Richardson, lead actor, ex-Synanon addict, stuck himself between us at the crucial moment, wrapped his arm around Wayne, and pulled him aside. Grabbing Wayne’s chin forcibly in his hand, and turning it so their faces met, he said, “You know Wayne...you’re a genius. And also, a dumb son of a bitch!”

Wayne melted, snapped out of it as if emerging from a dream, somehow responding to Dick’s personal power. Dick was a pretty imposing guy in those days, someone who had already lived a few lifetimes in his 35 years, and his intensity saved the day. We returned to the set and Carolyn delivered her beautifully modulated performance of singing, acting, and crying, that Wayne later acknowledged as the best take when we screened rushes back at Palmer Lab in San Francisco weeks later.

When Jerry Oster of the New York Daily News reviewed our film in 1975. he said, “Carolyn Zaremba gives a performance – in particular, a crazed, tearful singing of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” – that is of the first rank.” I could take some pleasure in that.

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