Party Like It's 1999 - Part 4 - Tears of A Clown

"Andrew, I hate to say this. You are in danger, in real danger, of becoming one of those bitter old men for whom sarcasm is not just a mode of expression, but the very fabric of life itself. "

When  Harold Goldman (Buck Henry) issues this warning to his son, Andrew (Matt McGrath) , he could easily be offering advice to all of Andrew's friends as well. This is a party on the eve on the Millennium, filled with twentysomethings who should have very comfortable lives, but who refuse to be happy, burdening themselves with what has now popularly become known as First-World problems.

If Woody Allen's neurotic New Yorkers are constantly looking back and fretting decisions they have made, Nick Davis' characters are fretting mistakes they have yet to make, and unfulfilled lives they have yet to live.

It isn't as if Davis isn't aware of how ridiculous their worries are, but he refuses to treat his characters as the butt of cheap jokes, either. Dan Futterman's Rufus Wild can be a pompous ass, whose biggest worry seems to be that he does not yet have a legacy at an age when other "geniuses" had already made their mark on history. He is about to let the best thing that ever happened to him, his girlfriend, Anabel (Jennifer Garner) walk away, seemingly just for the sake of change, and yet he is so afraid to make any choice in his life that he doesn't know what to do when his fantasy girl (Amanda Peet) practically offers herself to him.

"How can you keep your hands off of me? " she asks, voicing a feeling we have as well.

Sylvia, a singer played by Margaret Devine, is about to give up singing to become an ear doctor, and later leads the group in a sociological experiment of wearing words hung around their neck and seeing how it affects them emotionally.

Besides Henry Goldman, the only other older character is Goatman, played by comic Steven Wright with the same wry, sardonic twist his stage persona carries.

What Nick Davis realizes is that, much like someone with a psychosomatic illness, the pain is still real for these people, and so while we laugh with - and at - these people, we also feel for them. At least three of the characters in the film flirt with suicide, and Davis is deft enough to have us believe that a tragic ending is very much possible.

On set, while filming, most of these moments were just funny, very funny. When broken into moments like Sylvia explaining why she has always cared about ears, its hard not to laugh.

As with a lot of the great indie films of the mid-to-late nineties, 1999 was a movie that wanted to know why that generation really wasn't as happy as it should be.

In the end, I think it makes 1999 a much better movie, if one that was not as funny. The warning Harold offers to his son concludes:

"I know these men. They run from the world, they hide their feelings, they don't even know how unhappy they are. They are not well."

The film gives a nod not only to the neurotic comedies of Woody Allen, but to the sophisticated ones of Noel  Coward in a different era. Suki, played with equal parts empathy and dry wit by Sandrine Holt, even  uses a long cigarette holder and wears a cloche hat reminiscent of the flappers headwear of the 1920s.

Indeed, it is the plea Davis is making to his characters, and one that rings true.

So many of the actors named above give performances that allow an audience to care about them, even if that sometimes dampens the comedy.

If there is a flaw to the movie for me, it is the editing, which seems a bit disjointed at times in a way that doesn't serve the story. That is similar to a feeling I had the first time I saw the film screened.

Anyone who enjoyed the comedies from that period that refused to just play for laughs, such as Welcome to the Dollhouse or Spanking the Monkey, will find the time viewing this movie as well-spent. For others, a glimpse of future stars Futterman, Peet, Garner and Olyphant will be enough reason to check it out.

Unlike outside reviewers, I can't pretend to be objective. I liked the people involved and I liked the project. My overall experience was positive, and I got a good deal of laughs out of this viewing. However, anyone who has followed my blog knows that I do not labor under the illusion that everything I worked on was a classic.

I don't think it's an overstatement to say that 1999 is a lost gem from that era, and worth checking out.

Opposites Oppose - Part 1 - Strange Bedfellows

There is an old saying that opposites attract. That is not always true.




A few years ago, I was reminded of this when I worked as line producer on a Tamil film shot in New Jersey where there were about six producers, from both the US and India, with about four different ideas of how the film should be produced.

There was nothing better as a line producer than having one producer ask you why we can't do things one way and isn't the other producer wrong to do what he wants, and then have the converse conversation with that other producer an hour later.

If that was bad, though, I found a situation that was ever worse in the mid nineties, when I was co-line producer on a project.

Because there were some really good people involved and it was a very worthy film, I will shorten names to protect, well, everyone.

There is a saying in football that if you have two quarterbacks, you really have no quarterback, and line producing is similar. The line producer not only prepares your budget, but also sets in motion the game plan for the the movie. Two line producers mean two visions for the movie.

Now, there are situations where it could work, where you have two people who have worked together and who are coming from the same place who choose to split up the responsibility. In fact, I know a few low-budget line producers who have situations such as this with their production managers. Even in those situations, where the two may be partners, they usually keep the titles of line producer and production manager separate. It helps to keep clear the chain of command, keep people from asking the same question of two different people.

I had worked with Z, the director, as a DP on another project. We spoke about this project, which I will simply call SOC, while on the other project. I very much wanted to line produce it, and Z very much wanted me.

Z is a very deep thinker, and the script for the film is Fellini's 8 1/2 with Woody Allen's New York intellectualism; a darker Hannah and Her Sisters with the sensuality explored more from the women's POV. If you're getting a little lost here, well, so did many people who viewed the film. As was my want, I once again was working on an eclectic film that some people loved and many others just didn't get.

To give you a better idea, some of the promotional material says the female lead character is, "determined to buck the materialism and spiritual sterility of modern society."

Boy, did that sell tickets!

This was never going to be a video game, which was fine by me. This was exactly the type of story that attracted me to the theater in the first place, and later, the type of movie I wanted to make.

As often happens, by the time Z was ready to shoot the film, financed in large part from his own pocket and work as a DP, I was on another project. We spoke a bit about me prepping his project while I was still on the other project, but that wasn't realistic, as line producer is not a part-time job.

Z hired someone else to line produce. Matt was a very capable line producer,  and we shared having worked with yet another line producer and production manager, Hank.

Matt and I could not have been more philosophically different. Even before I started working with Stan Bickman, my approach to production was always creative as well as practical, making sure we are following the vision of the director.

Matt had no similar interest, his priority being to keep everything as cheap as possible, He had come up through the production office, not the set, as I had, and he never appreciated the little things that make things go on set.

A simple example was vehicles. I always used cube trucks with lift gates. Matt would rent trucks with ramps. Anyone who has ever actually moved equipment understands the difference. I understood why the camera department needed to block out part of a truck for their use, almost like an office, and as such, never made them ride with G/E. We shot film, and no one should be near the loader when he was in the bag. The AC should never have to go around anyone else to get to a lens.

These may seem basic to union folk, but on low budget shoots, there were people like Matt, who would shove everything onto one truck. Wardrobe with G/E as well? Sure, it was cheaper.

Make no mistake about it; Matt had successfully line produced films that did get sold. He was not incompetent. His ships, as it were, did not run smoothly, though, He liked ADs who were screamers to keep the "help" moving. I was not a screamer, and never hired them.

Z felt an obligation to bring me on, given my early involvement. For my part, I tried to defer to Matt, who had done the ground work for the project.

We shared an office, with two desks side-by-side that faced the door, our backs to the wall. People walking into our office would walk through a door that pretty much was exactly between us, so I would be on their right, Matt on their left.

There was a long hallway leading to our office, and the production coordinator sat right outside our office, close enough that he could lean back and ask us questions, or we could give a mild shout to give him information.

Early after my arrival, the differences became apparent. I would suggest that there were items missing in the budget; Matt would insist they were luxuries we did not need. I tried to defer to him, and he tried to accommodate me, he really did.

Soon, the strained attempt to be accommodating to one another and the suppression of what we really felt led to personal animosity. Matt, I must say, tried to hide it as much as I did, but it got to a point where not only did we not agree on how to make the film, we just didn't really like each other.

The walk down that long hallway became more difficult for people. They would walk in the door, ask a question, and often, get two diametrically different answers.  It was not long before the door got shut more and more often while Matt and I would try to resolve our differences.

One day, the office folk were having a typical NY conversation: what is worse, rats or roaches in an apartment. Someone brought up the point that when you have rats in an apartment, they will often drive away the roaches, or some such thing.

Granted, it was not the most pleasant discussion in the world, but film offices are not much different from other offices in that banal conversation often takes on a life of its own. Pretty soon, everyone was weighing in.

Our production coordinator stuck his head in and asked us our opinion on which was worse, and, at precisely the same time, Matt said rats and I said roaches.

The logic behind our answers is not the point; rather, as someone quickly pointed out, Matt and I could not even agree on rats and roaches. The office got quiet, and Matt and I went for a walk. What started as a silly conversation had highlighted what we already knew; that we could not agree on anything.

I was the one to go to Z. Matt could make the movie, I told him, and I certainly could make the movie, but Matt and I could not make the movie together. As Matt was there first, it was obvious to me that  I was the one to leave.

There were some above-the-line matters pertaining to cast and contracts that needed attention, and I agreed to stay on as an adviser  (we might have actually used that deadly term, associate producer), but running the film would be Matt's realm solely.

It was the only way to go. Z made no attempt to talk me out of it; our disagreements only brought more stress to the work that needed to be done, and Z was not a high-drama guy.

It was all very civil, and when I walked out the door, I was sure that I would not be seeing most of the crew again on that shoot until the wrap party.

If you've been following this blog, however, you know that my work on many of my projects read like a Law and Order episode, always with that twist. Sure enough, JB would be back.

JB-San To The Rescue-Part 1-We are NOT the World

"We become not a Melting Pot, but a beautiful mosaic." 

-Jimmy Carter, 39th President of the United States and Nobel Peace Prize Winner

Working on multi-national and multi-cultural productions can be a wonderful, eye-opening experience, where  staff, crew and cast members come together in a beautiful mosaic similar to the one President Carter mentions; where various voices and tongues become a universal language as in the famous original "We Are The World" recording, where the different experiences of those involved come together like a symphony whose various sections join to resonate in one joyful noise.

This is not one of those stories.

If it's true that things that start badly, end badly, then it is also true that things that start weirdly will stay weird and, inevitably, end weirdly.

This is one of those stories.

As any of us freelancers can attest, the interview process can take place in an office or a Dennys or a Starbucks, but usually it involves us meeting with a prospective employer, information and questions on both sides, and a promise of a phone call or other contact to follow.

When I arrived at the large space on Greenwich Village's famous Bleeker Street, I was met by Mr. K, who was the managing producer for I was told was a mini-series for South Korean television.  There were desks scattered throughout the space, and people working at them.  After the shortest of introductions, I was introduced to some of these people, including a young man named Peter.  Peter had a bit of a Harry Potter look to him, even before the series was popular, and I was told that he was the production manager.  This, in itself, was odd, as I thought I was interviewing for the production manager position.

Peter greeted me enthusiastically with the typical "Welcome, aboard," and the secondary warning, "Boy, are we happy to see you."

With that, I was led to a desk that only had a phone on it.  "What can we get you to get started?" Mr. K inquired.

If you are looking back over the previous paragraphs to miss the part where we talked dates and specifics, don't bother.  We went straight from the greeting to "this is your desk."  Yes, this meant I was hired.

I took Mr. K aside to cover two things that had not been discussed, the first of which was salary.  Once we were both ok on that, I asked about Peter having the position I thought I was applying for.  Was he being replaced, and if so, why was he so happy to see me?

A quick discussion ensued where I learned that Peter had been hired as production manager, but that the size of the job was a bit more than he could handle alone, and that I would be coming on as his superior.  I quickly suggested the title of Production Supervisor for my position, so there would be no demotion for Peter, and that seemed to suit everyone just fine.  As Mr K., Peter, and I shook hands, one of Mr. K's assistants chimed in, "You'll be JB-san!"

To this day, I am not sure of how much of this was an attempt at a light-hearted way of saying "we respect you" (which is pretty much the literal meaning of adding -san to a name) or a deference to the fact that I was older than many of the people working there (though in the same age-range as some of the Korean production staff and Mr. K).

In any case, most referred to me only as JB, but the assistants who also acted as translators would often use JB-san.

Where to start?  A script?

That would not do much good, as there was not an English version of it (though there were English sides for the American actors who would appear in the NY portion of the shoot).  I would ask for an English translation of the script for much of the first week, and then with less frequency as production proceeded.  I never got one.

A budget?  Not to worry about that, Mr. K told me, try to do the best I could, and he would let me know if we could afford it.

This resembled the "lets spend as little as possible" budget that I always dreaded, because while we do always try to spend as little as possible, it leaves no framework from which to work.  I made that point, but, when it seemed not to take, moved on.

Pressing problems?  Shoot dates?

Those two were closely related.

They Korean crew had shot everything but the NY portion of the show (the majority of it being shot in Korea).  This was to be the second production from this network that had location filming in New York, and the first one had brought very high ratings, so they were excited about trying again, but on a bigger scale.  Where the first production had covered just a few days shooting in New York, this would have between twenty and thirty days here, at a number of locations.

Aye, there was the rub.

Production was scheduled to begin the next day.  The production schedule was still being put together, but it was closely tied to locations secured.  A large board that had been hung on the wall showed all the locations they were seeking in the first column, with subsequent contact and other relevant info in following columns.  With the exception of the first column, there was a lot of white space.  They had not secured more than one or two locations, though they had some leads on others.

There were two problems that formed as one immediately; we could not shoot exteriors without permits from the New York Mayor's Office of Film, Theater and Television (MOFTB for short), an while we could shoot interiors without permits, that still left the issue of where to park our trucks without the appropriate paperwork and, from the look of the board, we didn't have many interiors anyway.

It was mid-day, and while the procedure has changed over the years, getting permits for a feature film or on-going television show from the MOFTB has always involved reasonable but sometimes lengthy paperwork; insurance certificates, a schedule of what will be shot when (Schedule A), list of vehicles and license plates, etc.  Additionally, if police or fire department assistance was needed or requested (it was), a meeting would generally be scheduled with NYPD and/or NYFD.  Permits for parks and city buildings required requests to those departments with some lead time and sometimes additional insurance.

It was always best to do this as early as possible, usually about a month before shooting, but at a bare minimum, a week or two was needed.

They wanted to start shooting in about 16 hours.

I informed them of all this.  Peter chimed in that he had told them this, but they had not payed much attention.  Scattered meetings in hushed tones, and I was brought to the director and First Assistant Director.  In the first of many discussions that would take place through translators, I gathered that the director and First AD understood all of this, and didn't care much how it got resolved, as long as it was resolved.

Some things never change.

I tried my usual tact of befriending the AD, which was harder since it required translation and we were could not just speak privately.  I looked over forms and schedules and tried to piece together something that we could shoot the next day, all the time keeping one eye on the clock on the wall.

This was one of those many instances in my career where I wished I could clone myself.  I needed to be at the MOFTB filling out permit information, since I was the only person in the office who had ever done it and had any chance of getting it right.  However, I also needed to help put together a plan for the next day.  Staying to review the plans meant I almost certainly would not be able to go for the permit until the next day, and I would not be greeted with smiles and hugs when I started filling out paperwork that showed that  we had begun filming without a permit.

Anio (no) was the Korean word I needed to learn quickly.  No, you can't shoot there you need a permit, it's public property.  No, that location does not need a permit, because it is private property, but you don't have the permission of the owners, so, no, you can't shoot there, either.

This went on for a while - I insisted that Peter stop what he was doing and join us, because it was hard enough dealing with the translations without having to explain all this again.  Hakim also joined us.  He was the American who would be on set as something of a US AD.  He had been through all of this, and we finally agreed on something that could be shot.

This informal "production meeting" began the slow descent into chaos that would be all of our meetings.  I was assigned a translator, and translation would be going on while people continued talking in either English or Korean, such that the translators were always behind in the discussion, and it was never clear who was answering what question.  Was your "yes" to the question I just asked, or the one I asked five minutes ago, because I still didn't get an answer to that one. "Interior?"  Wait, I thought we were talking about the park scene?

I specifically remember a moment in another production meeting where the translator who was acting as my assistant began arguing with the translator who was acting as the Korean line producer's assistant.  The argument was in Korean, and the line producer and I were stuck standing there, both frustrated that we seemed to be afterthoughts in this argument and neither of our issues was being addressed.  We looked at each other probably the same way Cold War diplomats once did, smiling so as not to send a hostile message while having no idea what message was really getting across to the other side.

Woody Allen would have had a field day.