At the Old Colony Tap in Provincetown, Mass., everything looks like business as usual as the locals hunker down for a long winter of serious drinking. They hardly seem to notice a good-looking man who answers the telephone, then suddenly bolts out the door and into the street, where a white Rolls-Royce speeds away. Four times this is repeated before finally Norman Mailer says, "Print." The day's twelve hours of shooting will not wrap until 3 a.m. Such grueling conditions might test the patience of a film veteran, let alone a neophyte director making his first major motion picture. But the...
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