movie magic
So my short film was about a man who finds a magic ring in the fountain at the Plaza Real. He slips it on his finger and is immediately split in two. He is lost, he is torn. He chases himself endlessly through the labyrinth of the Bari Goti.
I had bought a ring, a prop ring, at a costume jewelry store in Greenpoint before departing for Barcelona. But when it came time to shoot my short, four days into our adventure, the ring was nowhere to be found. I dug through every cranny of the room, emptied every pocket, but it never materialized.
“Magic Ring! Reveal Yourself To Me!” I called out the spell that had worked so well for Sarah when she couldn’t find the tuner button on the stereo, but further inspection of pockets and drawers revealed nothing.
Chris closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer to Saint Anthony for the magic ring. “Tony’s found my some pretty crazy shit,” he said. And still, I never found it.
So instead, I found a little shop that was open on a Sunday morning and bought a piece of beat up silver. “It looks good,” Chris said. “Better than the other one.”
“It’s fine, let’s shoot,” Adam said.
By the time we realized it, it was too late. Chris dipped the ring in the waters of the fountain and put it on his finger. We shot the film, spent our last day in Barcelona at the beach, and then flew back to the states trying to pretend we weren’t changed.
“Do you know what we did wrong?” I said to him, more than a month later.
“What?”
“We didn’t say spells asking for the prop ring.” But by this time, it was too late. The ring’s magic was already tearing at him.
I had bought a ring, a prop ring, at a costume jewelry store in Greenpoint before departing for Barcelona. But when it came time to shoot my short, four days into our adventure, the ring was nowhere to be found. I dug through every cranny of the room, emptied every pocket, but it never materialized.
“Magic Ring! Reveal Yourself To Me!” I called out the spell that had worked so well for Sarah when she couldn’t find the tuner button on the stereo, but further inspection of pockets and drawers revealed nothing.
Chris closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer to Saint Anthony for the magic ring. “Tony’s found my some pretty crazy shit,” he said. And still, I never found it.
So instead, I found a little shop that was open on a Sunday morning and bought a piece of beat up silver. “It looks good,” Chris said. “Better than the other one.”
“It’s fine, let’s shoot,” Adam said.
By the time we realized it, it was too late. Chris dipped the ring in the waters of the fountain and put it on his finger. We shot the film, spent our last day in Barcelona at the beach, and then flew back to the states trying to pretend we weren’t changed.
“Do you know what we did wrong?” I said to him, more than a month later.
“What?”
“We didn’t say spells asking for the prop ring.” But by this time, it was too late. The ring’s magic was already tearing at him.
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