It’s really fucking windy. One gust snaps a branch off a large tree. The branch crashes to the ground about two or so feet away from a crewmember near ‘video village’ (set jargon: for where the crew can watch the scene-at-hand being filmed). Needless-to-say, soon thereafter, a couple crewmembers move the monitors and director’s chairs far away out of tree line. This actually doesn’t help much – as the wind is a capricious dick determined to inflict physical damage onto some poor shmuck. That moment comes later on when one of the publicists for my set-visit (also coincidentally named Tom) is hit in the head by a wayward branch. The man is fine (thankfully) and shrugs the whole ordeal off like it was no big deal – but this does little to alleviate my naturally worried state. When the question is posed whether or not I would like to continue watching the shoot or go inside a small portable home to conduct interviews, there really isn’t much deliberation: I go inside. Hit the jump, to continue reading.