I’m not the most macho of men. I don’t know anything about cars or sports (although I do have an avowed fondness for boobs and explosions). Still, there is a kind of silent male communication I can participate in.
I was passing out callsheets, and I happened to be walking about ten paces behind one of our actresses, on her way to set. She is, as you would assume, rather attractive (thought not so much as my beautiful, loving, and supportive wife who reads this blog every day) (Hi, honey!).
Anyway, a grip came out of the stage, carrying a box full of platypuses, C-47s, lollipops, and other things that sound like I’m making them up but I’m really not. He passed by the actress with nary a glance; just another day at the office.
Once he passed out of her line of sight, though, his face transformed. He nodded his head, ever so slightly, a smirk curling his lips, and he arched his eyebrows in a way that said, “You know what I’m thinking, and I know you know what I’m thinking, and I know you’re thinking the same thing.”
It was a beautiful moment of male bonding, let me tell you.