help Manny
bring over those easy chairs…”
Following Ombelen’s brisk instructions, they soon had an L-shaped conversation area and sat, whereupon Ombelen said, “What
Manny was talking about was mise-en-scène.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dortmunder said.
“The setting,” Felder insisted.
“Yes, Manny,” Ombelen said, and told the others, “what we’re looking for is places you frequent, a background to place you
in. For instance, do you lot have a lair?”
The three latest stars compared bewildered looks. Dortmunder said, “A lair?”
“Some place the gang might gather,” Ombelen explained, “to plan your schemes or—what is it?—divvy the loot.”
Kelp said, “Oh, you mean a hangout.”
“Well, yes,” Ombelen said, “But not, I hope, a corner candy store.”
Stan said, “He’s talking about the OJ.”
“Ah,” Ombelen said, perking up. “Am I?”
Dortmunder said to Stan, “We can’t take these guys to the OJ. That blows everything.”
Ombelen said, “I understand we’re dealing with a certain delicacy here.”
“No matter how good your boss thinks American prisons are,” Dortmunder told him, “we don’t want to be in one.”
“No, I can see that,” Ombelen said, and frowned.
Doug piped up then, saying, “Roy, we don’t have to use actual places. We’ll make sets.” To Dortmunder and the others, he said,
“For this show, because of the special circumstances, we won’t have to use authentic
places.
Just the guys in them and what they’re doing, that has to be authentic.”
“Well,” Ombelen said, “the site of the robbery, wherever that is, that can’t be a set. That has to be the real place.”
“Of course,” Doug said.
“I’d wanna see this OJ,” Manny Felder said.
Stan said, “Why? If you’re not gonna use it.”
“I gotta get the feel for it,” Felder said. “Whatever I make, I gotta make it so when you’re in it it’s the place that looks
right for you.”
“This OJ,” Ombelen said. “What is it, a bar?”
“We use the back room of a bar,” Dortmunder told him. “It just looks like the back room of a bar, with a table and some chairs.”
“But Manny’s right,” Ombelen said, as across the way the elevator/platform rose noisily into view, and stopped. Once its racket
ended, “We would need,” Ombelen explained, “the feel of the entire place, the ambience, the bar itself, the neighborhood,
the customers. There must be a bartender. He’s an important character.”
Kelp said, “That doesn’t work. We can’t let you have Rollo.”
“That’s the bartender?” Ombelen shook his head. “Not a problem. We’ll cast that.”
Doug said, “Maybe a good spot for some comic bits.”
“But,” Ombelen said, “we’ll have to see what the original looks like, so we know how to do our casting.”
“Agreed,” Doug said, and turned to the others. “We’re not gonna use anybody’s real name, or any
thing
’s real name, so your OJ will stay private, it’s yours. But Manny’s right, we’ve got to see it.”
The three exchanged glances, frowns, minimal head-shakings, and then Dortmunder said, “All right. This is what we do. We give
you the address and you go there—maybe tonight, it’s better after dark—and you look around, maybe take a picture or two. But
not suspicious or sneaky, not like you’re from the state liquor authority. No conversations. You go in, you buy your drink,
you drink it, and get outa there.”
Felder said, “What about this back room?”
“You do it, only by yourself,” Kelp told him, “You can take all the pictures you want back there.”
“That’s good, Andy,” Dortmunder said.
“Thank you.”
“All right,” Felder said. “How do I get to this back room?”
“The johns are down the hall from the left end of the bar,” Dortmunder said. “Nobody can see you back there. At the end of
the hall is a door on the right. That’s us.”
“Easy,” Felder said.
Stan
bring over those easy chairs…”
Following Ombelen’s brisk instructions, they soon had an L-shaped conversation area and sat, whereupon Ombelen said, “What
Manny was talking about was mise-en-scène.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dortmunder said.
“The setting,” Felder insisted.
“Yes, Manny,” Ombelen said, and told the others, “what we’re looking for is places you frequent, a background to place you
in. For instance, do you lot have a lair?”
The three latest stars compared bewildered looks. Dortmunder said, “A lair?”
“Some place the gang might gather,” Ombelen explained, “to plan your schemes or—what is it?—divvy the loot.”
Kelp said, “Oh, you mean a hangout.”
“Well, yes,” Ombelen said, “But not, I hope, a corner candy store.”
Stan said, “He’s talking about the OJ.”
“Ah,” Ombelen said, perking up. “Am I?”
Dortmunder said to Stan, “We can’t take these guys to the OJ. That blows everything.”
Ombelen said, “I understand we’re dealing with a certain delicacy here.”
“No matter how good your boss thinks American prisons are,” Dortmunder told him, “we don’t want to be in one.”
“No, I can see that,” Ombelen said, and frowned.
Doug piped up then, saying, “Roy, we don’t have to use actual places. We’ll make sets.” To Dortmunder and the others, he said,
“For this show, because of the special circumstances, we won’t have to use authentic
places.
Just the guys in them and what they’re doing, that has to be authentic.”
“Well,” Ombelen said, “the site of the robbery, wherever that is, that can’t be a set. That has to be the real place.”
“Of course,” Doug said.
“I’d wanna see this OJ,” Manny Felder said.
Stan said, “Why? If you’re not gonna use it.”
“I gotta get the feel for it,” Felder said. “Whatever I make, I gotta make it so when you’re in it it’s the place that looks
right for you.”
“This OJ,” Ombelen said. “What is it, a bar?”
“We use the back room of a bar,” Dortmunder told him. “It just looks like the back room of a bar, with a table and some chairs.”
“But Manny’s right,” Ombelen said, as across the way the elevator/platform rose noisily into view, and stopped. Once its racket
ended, “We would need,” Ombelen explained, “the feel of the entire place, the ambience, the bar itself, the neighborhood,
the customers. There must be a bartender. He’s an important character.”
Kelp said, “That doesn’t work. We can’t let you have Rollo.”
“That’s the bartender?” Ombelen shook his head. “Not a problem. We’ll cast that.”
Doug said, “Maybe a good spot for some comic bits.”
“But,” Ombelen said, “we’ll have to see what the original looks like, so we know how to do our casting.”
“Agreed,” Doug said, and turned to the others. “We’re not gonna use anybody’s real name, or any
thing
’s real name, so your OJ will stay private, it’s yours. But Manny’s right, we’ve got to see it.”
The three exchanged glances, frowns, minimal head-shakings, and then Dortmunder said, “All right. This is what we do. We give
you the address and you go there—maybe tonight, it’s better after dark—and you look around, maybe take a picture or two. But
not suspicious or sneaky, not like you’re from the state liquor authority. No conversations. You go in, you buy your drink,
you drink it, and get outa there.”
Felder said, “What about this back room?”
“You do it, only by yourself,” Kelp told him, “You can take all the pictures you want back there.”
“That’s good, Andy,” Dortmunder said.
“Thank you.”
“All right,” Felder said. “How do I get to this back room?”
“The johns are down the hall from the left end of the bar,” Dortmunder said. “Nobody can see you back there. At the end of
the hall is a door on the right. That’s us.”
“Easy,” Felder said.
Stan
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