On the Set

• Oct 20, 2006 08:34 PM ET
• by Jon Robin Baitz

It is the first day shooting episode 8 first shot, 11 am and I am writing from the set.

A great mood here at "Brothers & Sisters" in the wake of being picked up for a back nine, or ten or eleven, depending on whom you ask. When the executives told us, I felt like we had a full term in office. Our show, the little candidate, like Clinton after New Hampshire, was elected. Driving home on Monday night, after we heard, I felt like I could finally rest a little, and relax. For a moment. But the news dovetails nicely with the ambition of the episode we're shooting a more emotional, deeper palate for us a little advance by "Brothers & Sisters" into deeper waters. Now that we know we are here for a while, we are getting bolder. The network and studio seem thrilled.

Rachel Griffiths is shooting a scene with Tyler Posey, who plays Sarah's stepson, Gabriel. A tough scene in which the 14-year-old's sense of being on the outside of the family looking in comes out, and Sarah has to assure him, "Even though I'm not your mother, you are my son." There is connection, and also for Sarah, an epiphany hidden in the scene. She figures something important out about her dad, which leads to the peeling back of an important layer of the mystery surrounding Ojai Foods' faltering, Byzantine finances.

(Rachel has just finished a good take and is now peering over my shoulder, reading this telling me that it is SO not a tough scene, etcand she goes on and on trying to make me feel great, saying, "It's the best scene I have ever played." We laugh, I tell her to shut up and go back to work.)

We are on a brand new set Gabriel's bedroom, which is brilliantly teenage and warmly secluded at the top of the Whedon home. I want to move there. I actually would love to be part of this family, where they all talk and fight and relate. Rachel has lots of good questions today, little line changes that make things better. As the co-writer of the episode (with Craig Wright), I am trying to be helpful without stepping on the feet of the director, a funny, easy pro named Michael Lange. I hang back, because you want the actors to relate to the guy who is running the set. But I'm here and it's nice to be away from my office and to be around actors. And their fabulous nonsense.

To set the scene on the stage: Todd, the production assistant with the lip piercing, is wearing sunglasses that might have been scrounged from David Bowie's tour trailer circa Ziggy Stardust. It gives the set an air of seventies glam casual. Crew members on apple crates, quietly watch the scene. There is an air of contentedness. Of relaxed ease. This is a smaller crew, because the First Unit is stll on location, finishing the seventh episode. Michael Morris, our producer, is quietly conferring with me and the director about the intention of the scene. He comes from the theatre too, a director he did my last play, "The Paris Letter," and he used to run the Old Vic in London. He's indispensable, and the actors trust him more than anyone here. Except for me of course.

(Rachel just finished the scene, ran up and kissed me, her eyes filled and limpid. I love actors. Most of my friends are actors. They live large and tell jokes, they love to eat and talk and are unafraid of emotion. They are not businessmen; they are gypsies and bohemians, and they never bore me, ever, ever.)

Now we're changing angles, and so the crew is moving their stuff around, relighting. I am waiting for Craig Wright to get here from home. He is my collaborator so far. We have written four episodes together. Like me, he is a playwright, though he has more TV experience and so I defer to him. But he makes me laugh endlessly, and he's wildly smart and sly. A subversive boy who is really a man, a married one with a great wife and 17-year-old son, Craig wrote for "Six Feet Under" before coming here. He's become a brother. We go for drinks sometimes in the middle of the day. Lunch with wine. He'll come to my house and we'll have expensive European sausage and open a bottle of wine, and write. I love his work, and I'm proud of him. He is moody in a way that I appreciate.

A note on this Sunday's episode, "Date Night." Written by Molly Newman and David Marshall Grant, two playwrights. David, also an actor, is one of my best friends. One of my oldest. (Back in the eighties we went out for a while too. I was too immature.) The happiest part of getting this show on is being able to have these great writers as part of the team. David never did TV before. He's become a star. He and Molly have found a great little thing they're working on their second episode, and I am going to write the eleventh one with him. Oy. But Sunday's episode is funny, gorgeous, lush and alive. They did it, I just watched, and smiled.

I love television! I am on a big stage on a crazy lot, with shrubbery shaped like Goofy and various other characters. There are many surprises in store, and I will dole them out on a need to know basis. Lots of drama to come. Big announcements. A show.

Thank you.