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It was the first fully warm day in the UK today, that I was grateful for. To celebrate, we had a meeting with some “miniature people”, in hopes that they would take on the task of building the city of Red Roxeter for “eF”.

Nestled in the middle of nowhere — and I mean nowhere, basically just farmland all around — were the couple of ramshackle warehouses that we eventually pulled up to. This is about what I was expecting. I mean, anyone who’s willing to even discuss working on an independent film must either be desperate for work, love their work, or be half mad. I figured we’d look at a couple of mini spitfires that were used in some Battle of Britain re-enactment, maybe a tiny farmhouse, then some bad instant coffee and start talking about requirements and costs. Two women in work clothes were out front working on a little straw-thatched house, which pretty much confirmed everything in my head, so I mentally patted myself on the back because I got that right.

The guy in charge, who met us out front was a terrific guy, really cheerful and pleasant. You could just tell that he loved his work. “Let me show you around …” he said, after chuckling over the fact that we’d gotten completely lost on the way there. He said they like the place being a little nondescript, because it kept people from snooping around.

“Radiohead’s over there, in fact.” he said, motioning toward the second warehouse where a loud throbbing could be heard.

“Wha — ? Huh —?” I really wasn’t expecting Radiohead. As I was trying to wrap my head around that he blindsided me with another shocker: “We’re just working on Terry Gilliam’s film now (The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus), come on, let me show you.”

We followed him into the first darkened warehouse. For a few seconds I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing. Adjusting to the light, I saw big stone elephants and temples and mountains and caves, not to mention a big Christopher Plummer head, with a bobby’s cap, which will eventually rise out of the ground, with a blue flashing light on top and a distended jaw. Classic Gilliam stuff, I mean classic, like back in Python days! And he just kept showing us more and more: a big “war games” miniature, with tunnels and tanks and really big guns, an exploding restaurant shaped like a bowler hat, and an awe-inspiring monastery with what looked like bits and pieces of every world religion crammed in and amongst rocks and girders and scaffolding.

I was tempted to whip out my camera phone and start snapping away, but I resisted.

Room upon room of this stuff. The most amazing stuff in the world! Makeshift shelves crammed with props and miniatures from a dozen films that I could recognize (a torso with face removed revealing steampunkish machinery inside had me stumped). I could spend a week in here rooting through their trash and have the time of my life.

I’d forgotten how much I love miniatures. I once nearly burned down our house when I was a kid filming my own version of “War of the Worlds”. Miniatures are just so much more satisfying than anything CG. It feels better when you’re planning it, looks better when you’re shooting it, and is a thousand times more satisfying when it’s on the screen. I’d rather see people actually constructing physical things rather than poking away on their computers. It just seems more real.

I almost talked my way out of not even going to this meeting because I had work to catch up on, but boy was I glad I went.

Some days you get surprises when you aren’t expecting them. I guess one of the side benefits of working on big(-ish) independent movies is that you sometimes get to crash in on other people’s movies from time to time.

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