Your Grande Enchilada has always wanted to be a fabulous Hollywood star with many Oscars on her mantel and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (but not next to Zsa Zsa Gabor's).
And now the time has come to make my dream come true. Sort of. I'm going to direct my own film.
Before you all start screaming for tickets to the red carpet premiere, know that it is a humble and modest affair. A little vanity project that I hope doesn't turn out to be what my dear friend Orlando Leal calls an Inventicide. A suicidal invention. It went from a cast of thousands and four locations to 2 people and one hotel room. Cinema is expensive. It's the first time I write a screenplay and the first time I direct and the intention is to find out whether I will want to do it again when it's over. And also, whether I am capable.
So I've been mulling the idea of writing a production diary to keep you in the loop. My only concern is that given the delicate nature of the process, and the very public nature of this blog, I will not be able to rant and rave with complete abandon, because that would be quite unpolitic.
But don't despair: I will try to keep you posted on my adventures in the silver screen.
I'm ready for my close up, Mr. De Mille.