Adrian Lackey, an Edmonton-based screenwriter was one of five winners of the National Screen Institute’s 1996 Drama Prize. The following production diary chronicles the journey from ‘the script’ to his short film The Trial of Stubby McPherson to its opening night screening at Local Heroes ’97 in Edmonton March 11-15.

March 5, 1996: The Delta Suite Hotel, Edmonton:

The awards ceremony for the 1996 NSI Drama Prizes, and I have nothing to wearor, at least, my wife claims I don’t. She insists that I present myself in a dignified manner: I make an impassioned plea to be myself. The compromise: I rent a tux.

This seems to work as I truly stand out in the crowd. Works, that is, until a middle-aged man with a German accent confuses me with the hotel staff and demands that I get him another red wine. Indignant with rage, I start to ball up my hands into fists and gnash my teeth.

I am spared further embarrassment when producer Geoff LeBoutillier introduces the man as Werner Herzog, a man whose films I’ve loved very much. So, what do I say to ingratiate myself to this man who is one of my idols? ‘Wow!! Even Dwarfs Started Small rules!!’

April 27, 1996: One of the perks of being a recipient of the coveted Drama Prize is an eight-day workshop held in Edmonton. My 11 a.m. story meeting that morning is with resource writer Donald Martin. Martin is a well-respected man in the biz with many credits. He is also totally unable to mince words: a trait I hold in high esteem in myself, but I find it hard to tolerate in others (funny how it works out that way).

For the next hour and a half, I helplessly look on as Martin puts his steel-toed work boots to my precious little darling, hereafter referred to as ‘the script.’ To be fair to Martin, most of his comments are helpful. But, the whole process is like receiving an alum-laced high colonic: Good for you, but – oh – that bitter after taste!

Henry’s Cafe writer Geoff Denham’s story conference with Martin is at 1:30 p.m. As a favor to Denham, I tack a note on the door to pass on the benefit of the wisdom of my experience:

‘Dear Geoff:

Wear your cup.

Love

Adrian’

To my astonishment, absolutely no one is amused by this, until I explain it’s a joke. Even then, laughter is scant and half-hearted at best. Boy! It’s true what they say: ‘Humor is truly a subjective exercise.’

June 6, 1996: One of the many story conferences with producer Karen Redford, director Sherry Kozak and mentor Hart Hanson.

The scene being discussed is where Oakie, a ventriloquist’s dummy, is lynched. A plot point Redford refers as ‘the part where Oakie is hung.’

‘No, no, no!!’ come my protestations. ‘Oakie is hanged: Pookie (Norris, a prospector who loses his limbs in bear traps and is taken in by a bevy of buxom hookers) is hung!’

Oct. 22, 1996: First day of production is taken up with stills photography to be used as props during the trial and to pan and scan in the film during voice-overs.

nsi executive director Jan Miller shows up on set dressed as one of the hookers who takes in poor, limbless Pookie Norris. I tell her that she looks very fetching as a prostitute. Amiable ex-professional clown Miller takes it for the compliment it was meant to bebless her heart.

Oct. 26, 1996: The first day of principal photography. Sixty cast and 30 crew leave Edmonton at 5 a.m. to take the hour drive to the Wetaskiwan Federal Court House.

One van arrives late as it was held up at gun point by the rcmp. Turns out their van was confused with a van described at the scene of a holdup at a 7-Eleven not far away. At least that was their story. I have been appropriated to play the part of a reporter.

I pass the time in between takes reading Roger Corman’s autobiography How I Made a Hundred Films In Hollywood, And Never Lost a Dime. I find it insightful and inspiring to the moviemaking and marketing process. However, I find it disheartening that for what we wound up spending on our film, Corman could have shot two Little Shop of Horrors.

Along with playing a tiny part in the film, I pull double-duty as unit publicist. Vue Weekly’s (an Edmonton arts and entertainment paper) Chauncey Featherstone drives out to do the perfunctory interviews. When the story is published two weeks later (under the heading ‘Film Hacks,’ I might add), I blanch with horror on reading that Featherstone has described me thusly:

‘In defining the word `galoot,’ one need only look as far as Adrian `Lionheart’ Lackey. Standing 6’2′, he weighs in at 200 and harumph-humph pounds with a big square-toothed grin fronted by a couple of chipped bucks and topped by a blast of hair which threatens to be orange. He’s loud. He’s crude. Pants don’t fit him well’

‘I strongly consider suing the lying, slanderous, little bastard! I meanonly one of my bucks is chipped

Oct. 28, 1996: The last day of principal photography ends a day early as we shoot the final exteriors in the wilderness. The cast and crew are motivated to wrap it up as temperatures drop 10 degrees in mere hours and a raging blizzard is threatening.

At the wrap party, I discuss the possibility of working together with Redford on future projects, as our relationship proved rewarding and relatively conflict free. I pitch the idea of expanding Stubby as a feature. Redford chuckles and replies, ‘Maybe you should try to prove yourself more than just a one-trick pony.’

‘Hey,’ I reply, before bursting into song, ‘`Have dead horse will flog’ reads the card of a man’