Last night, I dreamt I was directing an episode of American Horror Story. I don't know how I got the job. I've never worked in film or television in my entire life. But there I was, trying to fake my way through directing an episode of a hugely popular tv show.
At this point, I should mention that in my dream, American Horror Story was more of a reality show, meaning it is filmed in that actual, haunted house, and all the characters, living and ghost, are real, not actors. So, there's an element of danger involved. The cast of characters from The Walking Dead are also involved, and the entire show is shot right on the very edge of the Israel-Palestine border, and we kept losing production assistants to border skirmishes. These skirmishes involved someone just stepping a foot over a big, black line painted on the ground, sitcom style, and the Israeli police would take them away for deportation back to America.
At one point, I realize I haven't been directing the actors at all. I've been setting up the scene and trying to get all the ghosts to cooperate, and I don't see anything wrong with the takes I'm rapidly putting away. In half a day we've filmed half the episode. And I know they're going to realize that I don't know what I'm doing. When Rick Grimes's crying is too "feminine", I tell my AD to make a note to dub it over in post. That sounds almost professional. I know what I'm doing!
I start talking to Jessica Lang, who is actually a crazy southern belle living in faded glory in the haunted house, and she's concerned that the cinematographer is filming things "too dark." I realize then that our cinematographer is the same guy who did The Godfather Part II. I realize we are fucked, no one will be able to see a damn thing on film. I go to talk to him, and am immediately attacked by the frankenbabycreature from American Horror Story.
There is no closure to this story.