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Authors: Richard Bowes
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by Zach Terry, star of Like ’60 , a Hollywood production currently shooting exteriors on the streets of NYC. Detective Roark was Sean Quinlan’s role. As a featured player it was his duty to exit on the far side of the car and step smoothly into his proper place one pace behind and two feet to the left of the star.
Pete McDevitt keeps his eyes fastened on an upper floor of the tenement opposite. But Pat Roark gives a quick scan over his shoulder, to see if anyone is watching them .
Quinlan planted that gesture in rehearsal and put it in each of the takes, wanting it there to emphasize that his character was the competent by-the-book cop. No one has commented one way or the other.
What he kept in his mind was a street full of guys and women setting out dressed for work, kids going to school on a spring day over fifty years before. He blocked out what he actually saw, the trucks, the crew, the commissary table, the lights and the crowd of gawkers.
Sean Quinlan felt a bit dizzy, like he was about to fall or maybe fly and wondered if this was how the start of a Slide felt. He had created a background for his character. Roark and McDevitt were supposed to pick up Jimmy Nails, a two bit thug suspected of having ambitions above his station, for questioning. Roark was a ten year veteran of the force, a guy with a wife and two kids who was talking about moving to the suburbs. He would not be bouncing on his toes on an ordinary morning on a routine assignment.
A sound crew moved with them just out of camera range as the two cops continued a conversation that the audience would just have heard them have in the car. That scene got filmed in California a couple of weeks back.
“Definitely it’s spring, Pat my boy,” says McDevitt and comes to a halt. Roark’s expression is mildly amused, a bit bored until he follows the other’s gaze.
Without looking, Quinlan knew Terry was wearing the trademark same half bemused, half aroused little grin he had used at least once in every episode of Angel House .
Then Roark sees what McDevitt sees and his jaw drops just a bit. They hold the pose.
“Cut!” said Mitchell Graham, the director. “I think we may have it.” Crew members moved; traffic began to flow. Zach Terry looked Sean Quinlan up and down for a moment before the two of them stepped apart.
The actors had worked together once a couple of years before when Quinlan appeared in an episode of Angel House . That’s the HBO series featuring a law office whose partners are angels but not necessarily good ones—an amusing show Quinlan thought, once you accepted the premise. Terry was one of the stars.
Quinlan had played a quirky hit man who didn’t happen to be guilty of the killing with which he’d been charged. Their two scenes together had gone well and Quinlan hoped the look just then didn’t mean some kind of tension.
On the way back to his dressing room he passed a girl, maybe twenty, in peddle pushers, teased hair and pumps. She smiled and he turned to watch her walk away.
A production assistant saw him look and said, “That kid has all the moves. This location is a magnet for Sliders. They think if they dress in period and hang around sites like this they’ll wake up in 1960. One told me that the trick was NOT to think about Sliding back while you did all that.”
The kid had a nice ass but not nice enough to make his head spin like it did. In his dressing room Quinlan did relaxation exercises, sipped ice tea, sat silently for a few minutes, and finally listened to his calls. Arroyo, the lawyer was first.
“Sean. I assume everything you wanted to keep is already out of the condo. As of today it’s repossessed. Second, my colleague who’s handling your case up in San Bernardino says there’s no word from the DA’s office. We don’t know if an indictment is coming down. But as we discussed, an indictment is just their way of getting you to testify. I’m wondering if you got my bill.”
Quinlan had gotten
Pete McDevitt keeps his eyes fastened on an upper floor of the tenement opposite. But Pat Roark gives a quick scan over his shoulder, to see if anyone is watching them .
Quinlan planted that gesture in rehearsal and put it in each of the takes, wanting it there to emphasize that his character was the competent by-the-book cop. No one has commented one way or the other.
What he kept in his mind was a street full of guys and women setting out dressed for work, kids going to school on a spring day over fifty years before. He blocked out what he actually saw, the trucks, the crew, the commissary table, the lights and the crowd of gawkers.
Sean Quinlan felt a bit dizzy, like he was about to fall or maybe fly and wondered if this was how the start of a Slide felt. He had created a background for his character. Roark and McDevitt were supposed to pick up Jimmy Nails, a two bit thug suspected of having ambitions above his station, for questioning. Roark was a ten year veteran of the force, a guy with a wife and two kids who was talking about moving to the suburbs. He would not be bouncing on his toes on an ordinary morning on a routine assignment.
A sound crew moved with them just out of camera range as the two cops continued a conversation that the audience would just have heard them have in the car. That scene got filmed in California a couple of weeks back.
“Definitely it’s spring, Pat my boy,” says McDevitt and comes to a halt. Roark’s expression is mildly amused, a bit bored until he follows the other’s gaze.
Without looking, Quinlan knew Terry was wearing the trademark same half bemused, half aroused little grin he had used at least once in every episode of Angel House .
Then Roark sees what McDevitt sees and his jaw drops just a bit. They hold the pose.
“Cut!” said Mitchell Graham, the director. “I think we may have it.” Crew members moved; traffic began to flow. Zach Terry looked Sean Quinlan up and down for a moment before the two of them stepped apart.
The actors had worked together once a couple of years before when Quinlan appeared in an episode of Angel House . That’s the HBO series featuring a law office whose partners are angels but not necessarily good ones—an amusing show Quinlan thought, once you accepted the premise. Terry was one of the stars.
Quinlan had played a quirky hit man who didn’t happen to be guilty of the killing with which he’d been charged. Their two scenes together had gone well and Quinlan hoped the look just then didn’t mean some kind of tension.
On the way back to his dressing room he passed a girl, maybe twenty, in peddle pushers, teased hair and pumps. She smiled and he turned to watch her walk away.
A production assistant saw him look and said, “That kid has all the moves. This location is a magnet for Sliders. They think if they dress in period and hang around sites like this they’ll wake up in 1960. One told me that the trick was NOT to think about Sliding back while you did all that.”
The kid had a nice ass but not nice enough to make his head spin like it did. In his dressing room Quinlan did relaxation exercises, sipped ice tea, sat silently for a few minutes, and finally listened to his calls. Arroyo, the lawyer was first.
“Sean. I assume everything you wanted to keep is already out of the condo. As of today it’s repossessed. Second, my colleague who’s handling your case up in San Bernardino says there’s no word from the DA’s office. We don’t know if an indictment is coming down. But as we discussed, an indictment is just their way of getting you to testify. I’m wondering if you got my bill.”
Quinlan had gotten
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