Right Pyramid, Wrong Season

So it was off to Mexico, land of the “sleepy senoritas with their eyes on fire……..” It was at this particular moment in time that I stumbled upon one of those mysteries of mankind, something so deeply genetically ingrained in each and every living human being that it knows no boundaries. It doesn’t matter whether you are rich or poor; black, white, brown, or yellow; an uneducated tribesman or a PhD in experimental physics from Michigan. Everyone is fascinated by the “movie business.” It was on this trip that I learned that mentioning the fact that I was “producing a movie” opened borders, squelched objections, dropped prices, and generally elicited the gushing of information about an unfinished screenplay at home or a relative in the acting business (everyone has one).

Being “in the movie business” provides allowances and leeway as to personal conduct, immoral behavior, overindulgence, and irresponsibility galore. In addition, everyone you tell is willing to drop their guard, their money and, at the drop of a hat, their own responsibilities to help you get what you need and more.

Case in point: I arrived in Guadalajara in the good company of Chris, owner of Crosby’s (see journal entry #2), and “El Coyote”. After the incredibly inane and drunken shenanigans that, I now know, seem to accompany all unescorted gringo arrivals on Mexican soil, all of which is described in hilarious detail in Bob Sabbag’s book, SmokeScreen, we got down to the business at hand: namely meeting with the farmers that “El Coyote” was to get the load of weed from and allow me a first-hand glimpse into the nether world of smuggling. That morning, armed with strong Mexican coffee and a glorious feeling of an adventure begun, we left Guadalajara in our rented VW for a clandestine rendezvous at, of all the picturesquely perfect places, the top of an Aztec pyramid. It turned out not to be one of the towering, well known pyramids, but more of a bump in the foliage that easily could have been mistaken for a small hill, except for the archaeological work that had been done on one side revealing that indeed this was a construct from a bygone era. Maybe these Aztecs needed a less rainy season. For whatever reason, this pyramid was the spot and, breathing heavily after a night at the Plaza de Mariachis, we struggled to the top.

Sure enough, there we were met by two Indian men who greeted “El Coyote” perfunctorily, or at least so it seemed to me, after the big build up of the last two weeks. In any case, a happy and unabashed “El Coyote” began a rambling discourse in Spanish which included Chris’ ownership of what was described as a marijuana mall in New York and my own career as a famous filmmaker. All of this made no apparent impression on the pair as they listened patiently. When “El Coyote” had run his course, the elder of the two asked, in a completely reasonable if somewhat puzzled tone, why we had come to Mexico and what did we want to see him about. Now, keep in mind that the overriding purpose of this trip was so that Chris could buy weed at Mexican prices and “El Coyote” would then bring it back to the States. Viewed in that light, the question, “why are you here?” strikes a decidedly sinister note. When the purpose of the trip was explained to him, the Chief, as I had come to think of him, laughed, not unkindly, and casually responded that, indeed, there was plenty of great weed to buy, only in four more months. This, in fact, was the planting season and the harvest was down the road a bit.

Things fell apart quickly after that and Chris and “El Coyote” returned to New York in a recriminatory cloud of verbal abuse and one-sided disenchantment. I elected to stay. Hey, I was in the heart of “weedland”. Why not, at least, try to begin the research I had come to conduct? I spent the night alone at the hotel and, in the morning, took a taxi toward the heart of the city. Along the way, I noticed a solitary American I had seen around the hotel earlier walking along the side of the road. I stopped the taxi and offered him a ride. It turned out that Carl was staying alone at the same hotel and was headed into town to look for some friends he had lost track of. At his suggestion we went to the Copa de Leche, a famous hangout in the old town, and I bought us a couple of shots of tequila and beers.

Carl asked me what I was doing in Guadalajara and that brings us to the point of this story. For I replied, “I am down here to do some research for a movie I am making on marijuana smuggling. I am looking for someone to show me the ropes. What are you doing in Guadalajara?” A look I have come to identify as “the movie glaze” came over the stranger’s face. His eyes first bugged then took on a dreamy nebulous almost cataract appearance, his lips quivered and his hands shook, as he withdrew a dime from his pocket and replied, “I am a weed smuggler and, although I’m a bit down on my luck now, I plan to turn this dime into a million bucks. Why don’t you make your movie about me? We’ll rent a place here and I will set up the scam while you film it.”

Voila! You see! In a world of paranoiac over compensation like the drug smuggler’s, to reveal your livelihood and current plan to a total stranger would be unheard of, verboten, lunacy, idiocy, all that …………………….unless………… he is making a movie about drug smuggling and you can be in it!

As you will see, and I came to rely on, “making a movie” is currency of a sort found only in the mind of man. It beats diamonds and gold hands down. Nothing can hold a candle to it for overcoming inertia, gaining cooperation, or fundamentally changing attitudes. If Walter Huston, in “The Treasure of the Sierra Madre” had danced around Bogart and Holt exclaiming, “Why you damn fools, you’re so stupid you wouldn’t know a movie if it fell on you!” as he revealed that they were standing in the middle of a movie deal, they’d have killed him then and the movie would have been a lot shorter.

Stay tuned. Next time we will visit those on high who actually produce and distribute films as I look for the next brass ring………………..or,

Hey, they made Woodstock, they’re gonna really love this!