When Tuesday came around, even though I was still getting just three hours of sleep each night (mind you, I was physically in bed for at least seven), I started getting happy because there were only three days left to film! But then I panicked as I realized that we still had so much to shoot during those three days. Could it be done? It could - but a sacrifice had to be made. That day I decided to cut two pages from the script. I was desperately looking for something that could go without affecting the story, and found exactly one scene that I could get rid of. For the record, it involved Melanie Lynskey smearing butter on the hallway floor and Sheeri Rappaport saying "What do you think this is, a cartoon?" But all agreed that the story would survive without it. That saved me a few hours of shoot time, which I needed as there was still that stuff from the very first day that we hadn't filmed yet.

Thursday, June 13, was the final shoot day. Michael Holm was selling his house so Julia filled in. In the morning my DP Bevan and I drove around Los Angeles with Mary Lynn Rajskub, filming her as she drove my car (making its second appearance in a Cassava film) all around the neighborhood for the opening credits sequence. We then went to the house, filmed a very emotional scene that drained poor Sheeri, and finally were able to shoot that long-delayed scene from the first day. It was a simple scene from early in the story, but for some reason it took 13 takes to get right. This was far and away the greatest number of takes we'd had to do. Usually we'd get away with no more than three or four takes of each scene. Maybe everybody was just antsy to be out of that evil, evil house. That house has a dark history. It corrupts the souls of the people who dwell in it. Perhaps someday I'll tell that tale, gentle reader.

In the late afternoon we moved to another part of Los Angeles to shoot the only section of the main storyline that takes place outside the house (besides Mary Lynn in my car). It was peaceful to be in that relatively quiet neighborhood on a balmy June afternoon, the sun slowly going down - the sun going down? Did I say peaceful? We worked like mad to get everything shot before we lost the light, as that was it. The last day. I couldn't reschedule anymore. Amazingly, we got it all in the can and departed. Then, after nine grueling days of shooting, I was rewarded by the owners of the house by being told to get on my hands and knees to scrub their hardwood floors for two hours. Julia Stemock stayed to help. We got that damn house cleaner than its owners ever did, the slobs. (If you detect some resentment on my part towards those people, I assure you that it is all in your imagination.)