Fade in
FADE IN ON…
EXT. DARK TENNESSEE WOODS - LATE NIGHT - 2014
A dark, cold night by a river in Tennessee. I shiver as I emerge from the woods. Hungry, exhausted, striding hurriedly towards a distant light and rumbling noise in the clearing ahead, when the sight unfolds...
Forty three half-naked, painted up, twitching and dancing suburban men, crying outgutturally, and chanting “MAN UP” around a raging 12-foot bonfire. Utterly checked out from this world, and returned to their primal selves, scaring the bejeezus out of a 13 year old boy with three middle aged dudes who’d “kidnapped” him...
Hmm. I should probably unpack this before you call the authorities.
The moment you just lived was one I’d created in my imagination and on paper in the form of a screenplay, and it was about to come to life before a real live movie crew, literally in my back yard that frigid night ten years ago. Our heroes in this epic tale, three slightly clueless middle-aged men and a 13-year old boy have stumbled upon this gathering of men on a male bonding excursion in the woods that I’d titled “Man Up” in the script. The scene was deliberately over the top, tongue in cheek, written for the laugh, clearly poking fun at those over-serious Alpha-male dudes each of us knows somewhere.
Very important side note here: I live in a typical American middle class neighborhood.
Yes, there is such a thing still. And I believe far more commonplace than any of us might think in this digitally-dominated, always-connected Age of Appearances. My ‘hood’ is a family place, we all know each other, and the chances of their crazy moviemaking neighbor pulling off a shoot like this unnoticed in our little development— at night no less!— were precisely zero.
Which is a good thing, because I needed 43 half-naked suburban Alpha Male extras to paint up, dance and chant by that bonfire in the common ground to finish my little movie.
Oh, and did I mention this transcendent epic was ultra-low budget? I had, like, nothing to compensate my performers with, beyond Subway sandwiches, hot coffee, and whatever other liquid contraband these guys might or might not have smuggled onto my set this freezing Tennessee night.
One more detail of critical importance: my performers were not actors. They were accountants, teachers, salesmen, managers, firefighters, small business owners, songwriters, one CEO, a lawyer, doctors, a couple downsized guys looking for a job, and a coffeehouse singer.
Guys. The neighborhood dads and dudes, showing up to help another guy with his movie project, like it was a barn raising or something.
Oh sure, there was the requisite moaning and groaning about the temperature, a director behind schedule who wouldn’t light that monster bonfire till the cameras were ready to roll, and a no-nonsense, don’t-mess-with-her Alpha-Female assistant director rehearsing them without their shirts on, next to that unlit bonfire— when only one or two of these guys had the middle-age abs and pecs to perform this insanity at any level of comfort and confidence— especially with most of the women of our village giggling in amazement/amusement from the darkness just off-camera.
It was a pretty tense set I strolled onto at 10:30 that night. And I was responsible for it. Something was about to happen, I just prayed it was good.
Then the fire was lit, and the cameras rolled. And something did happen.... something extraordinary. The neighborhood dudes transformed into The Men of Our Village.
They weren’t performing, they weren’t “in the moment” as actors like to say, and they weren’t grumbling or making a joke out of doing their crazy filmmaker neighbor a favor anymore.
They were different. Really different.
Even obeying the commands “Action” and “Cut” and whatever I shouted in between, I could tell my friends were not here anymore. Suddenly, these men weren’t their job, or their money, or their address or their politics or religion or preferred pronouns or their golf game or anything else a 21st century man self-identifies with.
They were men. Strong, loud, and together. Inside themselves, in another place and time. They were what they were designed and created to be: Warriors, Protectors, Guardians, and they didn’t give a damn how silly this scene looked, or what the world or their wives off-camera thought of them or their abs right now. They were The Men of our little village, and they were One.
And the creator of this scene and this whole “Man Up” thing realized he’d been in pursuit of the answer to one question for literally forty years. What is a Man?
That night, ten years ago, I had my answer. These men gave it to me.
And their director longed to be with them.
Enjoy this scene and maybe a couple more in The Secret Handshake, streaming on Peacock, YouTube or Tubi.
