14: Gravity's Rainbow

Note: This story is part 14 of the Griffin filmmaker series (untitled so far). It follows Super 16 (part 13).   

A screaming comes across the sky. The words appear in silence on black screen, signaling the film’s start. Fade in, fade out, then a siren. The film does not focus on World War II like the novel but is a retelling set in present times. It’s not supposed to be faithful to the novel, Griffin said in interviews. That would be impossible.

***

One morning, Cam, one of Griffin’s assistants, walks into his office, says to the director, I’ve been trying to read this book but I don’t get it. Who told you to read it, Griffin said. Please, Cam, don’t try to comprehend it—I don’t want you to comprehend the book. No one understands the book. Just understand the script, my notes, my directions. But I bought copies for the entire crew. So, you’ve single-handedly revived the book and paper industries while sinking that of the doorstops and also risking mass brain cramps.

***

Griffin kept getting the prank calls, even after multiple phone number changes. He stopped answering the phone. Don’t answer the phone, he told his staff. He’s at home one day. Richard walks in, huffing and puffing, throws down a pile of books and clothes and food items he’d been carrying. Dad, why didn’t you answer the phone. I’ve been trying to call. He looks the boy up and down. Growing, rising to his peak, becoming a man, all of it undeterred by his mother’s death.

***

The movie drags on, filmmaking as glacial formation. Some cast and crew quit, are replaced, others leave, others go. The budget is metaphysics. Griffin sits at his desk most days until his eyes close, head dropping down to his arms, brain sliding into theta wave. He could go home but doesn’t. The movie premieres and he doesn’t attend. The reviews pour in and he doesn’t read them.

***

Helena went through chemo and surgery and more chemo and more surgery. Somewhat advanced stage, but beatable, said her doctor. She fought but grew weak, a frail skeleton by the end. He held her bony fingers. Pleads of I don’t want to die disappeared, as she accepted her fate. Stay close to Richard, were her last words. She hung on for awhile in silence. Just looks from her sunken eyes, shaking of her skeletal head, air shapes she drew with her slight fingers.

***

The thing was, he said years later when he decided to open up, I needed to get back into film making, and this was what was there. It wasn’t ready but I was a wreck and didn’t care. Really, it’s unfilmable. I was at a point where I didn’t want to make sense.

***

They’d spent time and effort CG’ing Grigori Octopus only to cut it. There the octopus was watching films. There it was being conditioned to attack on cue. It doesn’t work, he said. It’s laughable, stupid to see on film. So, the procedure, surgical removal, erasing all traces. For days after, the cast wore black armbands with an octopus likeness. Someone left Griffin a plate of octopus sushi. A few years ago, he thought, I could’ve laughed.

***

The actor playing Slothrop and the actress playing Katje have a real-life tryst during filming. They’re making out offset between shots, and once, both were missing for about 20 minutes, holding up filming a scene, eventually returning with mussed up hair, shirttails out of pants, begging to be too obvious. What actress Katje didn’t know is that actor Slothrop went through women like changing socks. For him, there were no boomerangs; he followed a straight line, leaving the previous woman in dust. So, he’d moved on, to Margherita. But Katje hadn’t. There were still romantic scenes to film. Katje would break in tears. Slothrop would be stone faced. Margherita would be perpetually applying makeup, seated legs uncrossed. We’ll do this over and over, Griffin said, we’ll do it until it’s right.

***

Three months before Helena died, Griffin said to her, don’t die on me. Please. You can’t die on me. He looked her in the face. She was becoming less and less but still she had definition, her face had not succumbed fully to the death mask of cancer. Whereas months before, when she said she will fight, she’s not going to die, now she said things like, you’ll keep on after me, you still have your whole life ahead of you. He thought but didn’t say to her, it’s all downhill after you. I’ll be in free fall. I’ll never be the same. His hair once dark and full now turned gray, falling out. Strong bones like Roman arches now victims of decay, reduction. A liver once living in peace now caught in open warfare. And damn those cigarettes, now back to one pack a day.

***

Somewhere a phone rings. It’s picked up. Static. Crackling. No one there. Another one. Nothing. The frequency building. One day at 10:14 p.m., the city phone grid was overwhelmed by a barrage of simultaneous prank phone calls. All over town, phones ringing, hellos, then nothing back, hanging up. The system crashed, was offline for an hour. Griffin heard about this, said, yeah, they’ve been doing it to me for years. A reporter on tv asks, what kind of mischief is this. The police commissioner says, we will find the culprits. Then the calls stopped.

***

The film ends with a missile bearing down on a major city. The point of view becomes the eyes of the missile, the shot becoming increasingly shaky, the sounds of velocity and movement moving from searing to white noise hiss. The missile breaks through clouds. It’s set to unleash hell. There’s silence and fade to black. Words appear on the screen. Now everybody—