Brian gets stabbed: 7 stitches and a movie.

I got a call from my friend Jason Murphy, telling me that he's putting together another short film, similar to his project "Lucidity" (http://www.shwood.com/lucidity). We had a blast shooting that first film, and finding out we were a winner at a film festival was fun, too. So I immediately told him I was interested.

As luck would have it, I'm free the day he wants to shoot. Turns out this is going to be a slightly bigger project than lucidity, involving more actors (two key players came in from Nashville and Louisiana just to be a part of the film), and a gorgeous outdoor location for the shoot (pedernales falls state park, an hour outside of Austin).

The short is a western: two bounty hunters track down a crooked faro dealer to eliminate him. Before and after catching him, the villains argue about religion and their commitment to their work. Think of the opening of Pulp Fiction, but set in the old west.

I'm playing the crooked dealer. My part is primarily to scream and cry while the bad guys cut off my fingers.

the first day of the shoot, we hike a mile into the woods at the park, looking over our shoulders for rangers or anyone else who might ask to see a permit for shooting on state land. We spy the perfect location to shoot, but it's across the river. After 15 minutes of rock jumping and working our way around, we find the spot:

For my initial scene, I strip down to nothing but some dirty long-johns and start faking some kinda yoga/tai-chi moves (It's all part of the script). It goes well.

Next, we jump to the scene where Jason threatens me and starts cutting fingers. I cover my hand with fake blood, wipe a bunch on my long underwear, and lay down on the rocks.

I'm on my chest, right hand outstretched, left hand pulled behind my back. Jason kneels on my back, brandishing a very large, very threatening 6-inch knife.

Budgets are low, and the knife was expensive, so the plan was to treat it very gingerly, and return it the next day. After we do a quick walk-through
(I cry, Jason asks me threatening questions, I scream, Jason "cuts" off fingers), we're ready to go.

The knife is stuck in the back of jason's belt. He crouches down on my back, and we start our lines. However, as he reaches back for the knife, Jason curses and starts sucking his thumb.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I cut myself," Jason responds with frustration.

"Is it bad?" I ask?

"No." He curses again, then stands up.

Unfortunately, this standing motion allows just enough slack in his belt for the 6-inch knife to fall through. The knife sails directly down... and into the wrist of my left hand.

All the attention is on Jason, so when I jump up cursing and shouting, Judd actually thinks I'm continuing the scene. It's only when a jet of blood shoots out of my left wrist that everyone realizes what just happened.

In retrospect, this part is actually kinda funny: Ten minutes ago, we were all grownups, working on a independent short film. The second that blood shot out of my wrist, we all became 8-year-old boys.

Everyone's freaking out, largely because hollywood has told us that any time your wrist is cut, oceans of blood pour out of the wound, and you die immediately. So I take a moment to try to assess the damage: the bleeding now seemed minimal. My left thumb was numb ("oh, no! I've cut the nerve!" I thought), but I seemed to be able to move all my fingers.

"I think I'm going to be okay," I say, "but I'm pretty sure we're done shooting for the day. I guess I need to get to the hospital."

While the rest of the crew packs up for the day, I leave with Kevin off to the hospital. I wade across the river in my long johns, then walk the 1-mile trail back to the car. I'm not wearing any shoes, so the going is a little slow. As we get close to the car, I realize that we're going to come across other hikers... and that I'm covered in blood (both real and fake), wearing nothing but soaking wet long underwear.

When we do run into others, I don't want to have to answer any questions. So I try to control the conversation by cheerily saying "Howdy! How are you guys doing? Great. Beautiful day, huh?" It seems to work.

45 minutes later, we arrive at the emergency room. I have the presence of mind to take off the bloody shirt, which means that I'm wearing only soaking wet underwear as I walk in.

Standing tall, I approach the counter, smile, and say "Hello. I would like some stitches."

7 stitches and 90 minutes later, I come back to the waiting room to find the entire crew there, nervous and crestfallen. We had only budgeted these 2 days for shooting, and it will be months before we get another chance to do this.

I hold up my heavily-bandaged wrist and ask "So guys... how are we going to hide this tomorrow?"

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