Going and Coming - Mentors Passing On

            "Master Po: Do you hear your own heartbeat?

             Caine: No.
             Master Po: Do you hear the grasshopper that is at your feet?
             Caine: Old man, how is it that you hear these things?
             Master Po: Young Man, how is it that you do not?"*

When I was setting up a timeline for this blog, I knew there would be a time where I dealt with the death of people who had an affect on me and my career. One of those posts I knew I would write would be on the death of Stan Bickman, who most influenced my work as line producer and production manager.

In the "timeline," I have passed that point. As I started putting this post together, I realized that there was one thing in common when three of my mentors passed - I wasn't there for any of them. I also realized that, to this day, they are there for me, that they had already "passed on" what I needed, hence, the play on words in the title.

We often think of mentoring as it is depicted above; the master-student relationship. In that image, there is the wise master passing on knowledge - in one direction - to the student, directly telling the student what they need to know.

Most mentors impart knowledge more like this example from Charlotte Joko Beck, talking about her days at Oberlin Conservatory wanting to study with the "best" piano teacher in Everyday Zen:

When I went in for my lesson I found he taught with two pianos. He didn't even say hello. He just sat down at his piano and played five notes and then he said, "you do it." I was supposed to play it just the way he played it. I played it, and he said, "No."He played it again, and I played it again. Again, he said, "no." Well, we had an hour of that. And each time, he said, "No."...At the end of three months, one day, he said, "Good."...Finally, I had learned to listen.

How familiar does this sound to those of us in film - or any area? We learn by example, not by words or instruction.

As someone who taught film school (New York Film Academy), and who feels I have taught more on set, the process is not that simple.

Oddly, it is pop star Phil Collins who may have put it best:

"In learning you will teach, and in teaching you will learn."

I know that I learned a good deal from preparing lessons, and in answering questions from students. The formality of planning lessons forced me to consider what I do in detail, point-by-point, and not just go about doing what I've always done.

On my last shoot, I had to train a production coordinator - she had a great deal of experience producing, but had not specifically done the functions of POC on a feature. As usual, I also had an assistant, who also did not have experience with a lot of the things she needed to do. Having to create and offer a structure was important to me.

If my Zen practice has taught me anything, it is how what seems like the simplest thing - just doing the task in front of us and not having our mind many other places - can be the biggest challenge. Look at your day -how many times are you doing one thing while also focused somewhere else.

More on that another time.

As for the mentors here, they are my father, actor/director Kevin O'Conner and Stan Bickman. I have talked about all three, and will offer links to cover ground I have already covered. Here, in discussing Stan's passing, I also wanted to devote the proper time to mentors, in one place.

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My father. For all of the years I lived at home, my dad was a manager and repairman for an air conditioning and television repair shop in the Washington Heights section of Manhattan. Later, he would go on to be a construction foreman.

He had offers to run his own business many times, and to take office management jobs. It was not his style - he would have died in an office. He was fine with leading men if he was out there with them. If he had stayed in the military (highly unlikely, as he hated being told what to do), he would have been a platoon sergeant who turned down officer rank.

He always referred to "his men." He could tell them anything, but he would defend them completely to anyone above him. He would never ask them to do anything he hadn't done.

On a personal level, that was what he most left for me. There were other things: I remember him sitting down with me after a long day of work making me do spelling quizzes every day after I failed one when I was in grammar school. He also took interest in anything that interested me, reading many books on Buddhism after I took an interest, though he was never a religious man in the traditional sense.

When I worked at the radio station in college, at WNYU-FM, he would always listen to my show if he were home, just to listen to my breaks, even though he had no love for the music that took up most of my show. When I went into theater, first as a stage manager, he would come at least once to every show, even though he had no great love for live theater.

There were little things, too, like he would never take a drink at work, even though he was often offered when he did repair work. Remember, my dad was from the Mad Men era, where having a drink at work had no stigma. This is why I will rarely have a drink in a work setting, even when it might seem ok and others are.

When my Dad found out he had cancer, he met me for lunch, and said he did not want to go like his father, who suffered for years. He said that when the time came, he wanted me to let him go. Unfortunately, like his father, my Dad was pretty tough, and lived years beyond what doctors thought. By the time he could no longer leave his hospital bed. he looked nothing like the father I knew - my Mom actually thought they had transferred him because she didn't recognize him one day.

Weeks before he died, he made me promise not to come anymore. One feature he still had was his stern eyes when he was serious - and he was serious. He had a way he wanted to remember him. He wasn't asking - he was telling me. Many would disagree, but I honored his wishes, and did not see him for weeks before he actually died.

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Kevin, from his days as one of the original members of La Mama theater troupe, a landmark Off-Broadway theater company. Kevin surrounded by women - not at all unusual.

Kevin O'Conner was one of the best actors I ever worked with. I spoke about him extensively in another post. Check it out. It not only covers his achievements professionally, but some of what I admired about him.

He won multiple Obie awards for achievements on the Off-Broadway Stage. His television and film work was not as impressive, although he did play Bogart for a TV-movie entitled Bogie.

A life-long chain smoker, Kevin developed cancer. Even as he was getting sicker, he still had not lost his love for teaching or acting. His acting students often would ask him to work on their short projects - rarely for any money, and I remember Kevin doing a night shoot on one such project while he was wheezing and coughing from the cancer. As in my example from the other post, it just never occurred to him to say "no."

I was in LA in 1991, and when I returned to New York and looked Kevin up at the Chelsea Hotel, I learned that he had died just a few weeks earlier. The last time I spoke to him on the phone, he never mentioned he was in his last stages.


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Stan Bickman is the person I've talked about most extensively here. Check out this post on how we met, or this one, a faux Stan guest blog post.

He had emphysema, and by the time I knew him, he had one lung and carried a respirator. By the time I hired him as my production manager on his last film, Man of the Century, he was dragging around a tank.

Dianne was his longtime production coordinator, assistant, aide, confidant, and friend. I had left messages for Stan and Dianne for a while, and not heard back. One day. Dianne called. I could hear the tears.

"Stan is dying, John. He is on a ventilator at the hospital, and he has asked to be taken off. He probably won't make the weekend."

I immediately asked where he was, but Dianne cautioned:

"That's why I haven't called you back. Stan doesn't want to see anyone, not you, not JR (John Rosnell, who had introduced me to Stan.). Not like this. He insisted."

Same as the instructions I would get from my father years later.

After he died, I got a nice card from his daughters in LA. It was a thank you card for my condolences, and had a picture of Stan at a pay phone - that's how they always remembered him, on the phone and on the road.

I could not find an online photo, and, sadly, that card got lost in a production office (Stan would have been amused by the irony of that), but the results in Google Image when I entered Stan's name (not counting the men shown - none of them are him) gives a good picture - one-sheets and posters for a lot of B-movies. He would be proud. (Also of the fact that the movie he thought would launch his career, T-Bird Gang, can now be seen in its entirety)

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Besides not being there at their death, they shared other things. All were charming with women, in a gentlemanly manner that was neither offensive nor quite flirting when it was inappropriate. I remember each of them being as flattering to a woman of eighty as a girl of ten as to a starlet.

In many ways, all were products of - for better and for worse - another era.

All were mild-spoken men, which didn't mean they didn't let you know when they were serious. Their educations varied, but all of them learned most of their skills at their jobs.

In one way or another, the Ackroyd tribute at Beluschi's funeral from my Kevin post fit them all - they were good men if sometimes bad boys.

There were obviously others who helped and guided me along the way. As Joko Beck says, "Life always gives us exactly the teacher we need....Every moment is the guru."* Certainly, Nancy Juliber, the stage manager who got me into stage managing and later my first film office job, changed the course of my life, as did so many at that WNYU radio station.

These men stand out for the times I met them in my life, and the fact that what they taught, without saying it, was as much about how to treat people, how to approach work, how to respect your work, as it was any specific task.  It is why I think of them more as mentors in life than teachers of any specific skill, though with each of them, there was the latter as well.

I don't know how many other "students" they have out there, how many others were influenced by them. For me, I know that they speak to me when I need them - and sometimes when I'd rather they didn't. They would all agree with the fact that one of the things you need to learn from your mentors is how to move on from them, to adapt, to be someone with something new to offer the next generation.

You can take the time to teach others. To be a mentor, you owe it to yourself to be the best example of what you would like to see in those that come after, and hope that you are, indeed, up to that task; that they will sort the good from the not-so-good, they will take the best and leave the rest.  As one of my past ADs, Chris Kelley, used to say when I tried to influence him specifically to do something my way and he felt otherwise:

"If you meet the Buddha along the road, you must kill the Buddha."*

So, in this moment, what are you passing on today, grasshopper?


N.B. The internet at its best, and certainly blogs, should be interactive. Along the lines of not trying to "teach" as much as point here, I would love to hear of your experiences, either your mentors or experience as a mentor yourself. Pass them along!








*Although influenced by my Zen practice, I try very hard not to preach. Folks don't come to this blog for instruction in Zen, nor should they. As such, I often make light of issues serious practitioners might see as deeper - my reference to Kung Fu or Serenity Now are ways of avoiding being self-important, without meaning to minimize Zen. Along those lines, Joko Beck's quote is much longer, and the 'Buddha along the road' quote is not meant to be taken literally (though Chris sometimes did when I bugged him), but has a much longer explanation, which you are free to explore.

The South Beach Job - Part 5 - Play it Again, Lou - I Dare Ya

"You played it for her. You can play it for me...If she can stand it I can. Play it!"
-Casablanca

Rick may have been strong enough to hear "As Time Goes By" again, but, in the late Summer, early Fall of 1999, I can't say that I was strong enough to hear "Mambo No. 5" one more time.  I am not a violent person by nature, nor do I condone the use of violence, but in 1999, if I could have gotten away with it, I might have killed Louie Bega.

Radio is known for over-playing hits - they've done so since the advent of pop radio, when the most popular songs were put in "heavy rotation." Sometimes, however, a song will take over more than just the radio - it gets played everywhere. It often happens in summer - songs become the hit of the summer and everyone just has to hear it, or, ironically, songs about being 'happy.'*

The combination of a popular, catchy tune and a city heavily influenced by Cuban culture meant that  Lou Bega's Mambo No. 5 was everywhere; not only on the radio, but in supermarkets, delis, bars, clubs, and even pharmacies. One day, I got of a cab that was playing it to walk into a store that was playing it and out onto the street to a boom box (boy, I DO NOT miss those) playing it.

I didn't want any of Monica in my life, or Erica by my side. I didn't need any of Rita, or want to see Tina. I wanted to see the sun without Sandra, and I could go all night long without Mary. Sorry Jessica - none of you makes me your man.



There was no escape.

Other aspects of Cuban culture I liked a lot better. There was the wonderful old woman from whom I bought Cuban coffee every morning. This woman made an exceptionally strong blend, and initially was concerned when I did not add milk. Her coffee was not bitter, but such that you could almost (but not quite) feel the grounds. Eventually, she just smiled when I would turn down the milk, seeing that it was not too strong for me.

Then, there was a certain Cuban-American female bartender that I took quite a shine to. Charming, funny, and spunky, she would ask me if she could be in the movie. As I always tell folks, I do not have final say in casting, but her natural assets did suggest to me that Lex would have no problem including her in the movie, and I was right. In fact, she wound up in a scene with Fat Joe, a talented hip hop artists who has since lost a good deal of weight. At one point, he was up to 350 pounds.

Evidently, one of the things that influenced him to lose the weight was the death of an early influence, Big Pun. Like Fat Joe, Pun was a distinctly Latino rapper from the Bronx.

We tried to get Big Pun for the movie, but scheduling and other issues prevented it, but it did lead to one of my more interesting conversations with his agent, who tried to work around his schedule to get him to us. Understand that by the time of his death less than a year later of a heart attack and respiratory failure, Big Pun was reported to have been more than 600 pounds.

When I asked about flying Pun to Florida for the shoot from North Carolina, where he was in a weight loss program (which he subsequently quit), his manager laughed.

"Have you ever seen Pun," he asked me. I told him that I had seen pictures, which, he indicated, did not give a true appreciation of his girth. He explained that it was near impossible for him to fly on a commercial airline, which led to one of my favorite quotes from an agent.

"Pun don't fly. We ship Pun. You just tell me when and where. We'll try to get him there."

Sadly, he never did make the trip.

There were a host of characters, and the shoot itself was less than memorable. The director had more of a music video background, and he would loosely plan the main shot, with a lot of emphasis on B-Roll. This was starkly different than the majority of feature work I did, and our two styles did not complement each other very well.  There was, additionally, the fact that the other producer with me on the project was his long-time girlfriend and producer, and, as with other times when people in relationships made movies together, they would go from protective of each other to battling each other, with each complaining to you about the other, then, alternately, defending the other one to you.

The movie was, in the end, an extended booty video - which made pretty much everyone who planned it happy. It was my last encounter with the music video world - and I don't miss it, though I would not have missed it for the world because, as is so often the case, the better movie would have been the 'making of.'

As for Mambo No. 5? For me, it is my 'Niagra Falls.'









* If the talented Bobby McFerrin's song, "Don't Worry Be Happy" went from clever to annoying over time, Pharrell Williams' "Happy" has gotten there much more quickly - at least for me.

The South Beach Job - Part 4 - Play on, Playa

"This is Bishop Don Magic Juan. I can't come to the phone right now. I'm out in the fields, doing God's work."
-Answering Machine Outgoing Message for Bishop Don Magic Juan, Pimp.

That voicemail was my introduction to Bishop Don Magic Juan, a pimp (which he liked to remind you stood for 'Player Into Making Progress') who was featured on Pimps Up, Hoes Down, a film that highlighted the goings-on at The Players Ball on HBO.

Yes, that is his real name (or at least the name he uses). Regular readers know I often use pseudonyms to protect people's identity, but nothing I discuss here will surprise anyone who knows Bishop Don, and I'm sure he'd get a laugh out of it.

He was credited with founding The Players Ball in 1974, and was certainly something of a celebrity by the time we hired him and his entourage, King Boo and G.O.D. (pronounced "G" "O" "D", and not the title it spells out).

The three flew from Detroit, and again, this was in the pre-9/11 days, when I.D. was not as much of an issue, but was still required for flying. It was also required for checking into hotels, which was a problem, as none of the three of them had any of the appropriate I.D. on them. In Detroit and the other places they traveled, the nom de guerre seemed to be good enough.

The same was true of their SAG contracts - they had never signed ones - and their encounters with our payroll company.  It seems reasonable to assume that checks are not the generally accepted form of payment in their usual business, and as such, they did not have bank accounts, or ID that was acceptable to either a bank or check-cashing place we used. Eventually, we came to the resolution of having them write the checks over to us, and we would give them the cash.

I have negotiated actor contracts with many agents over the years, but none of those negotiations were as colorful as the negotiations with Bishop Don Magic Juan and his crew.

In politics, many a deal has occurred in a smoke-filled room, a term that took on new meaning with these folks. Coming off the elevator on their floor, one experienced a contact high, and that experience only deepened on entering their room. They did not trust anyone who did not share a joint with them, and this became a regular part of our negotiations.

Negotiations is plural is here, because Donald Trump never enjoyed the Art of the Deal as much as these guys did. Oh, the money was important, but just as important to them was winning the negotiations, which took place over a few days.

One might wonder why these deals weren't worked out before they left Detroit, and the answer is simply that  this was not the way they did business, and if we wanted them , we needed to play the their game. Lex definitely wanted them, and so, over the course of a few days, I would come to their room (always to their room) where they would treat me as their honored guest and then go to some paragraph in their contract and see if it could not be improved, in their favor, in some way.

Fortunately, I have bargained with some very good agents, and in the end, we got a good deal on the money, while they got enough perks to feel good as well.

Being around them was like a trip back to the Seventies.

With all of that, the guys were a lot of fun, and because of our "quality time" together, we got along very well, with a lot of ribbing on both sides. Of course, also like good agents, they were always on the look-out for new talent. Watching pimps procure workers in movies is one thing; watching it in person, well, that is special.  Bishop Don was not a young man even then, but he and his two pals had charm to spare. While I don't think they ended up adding to their stable, it was rare for a young lady to leave their company without a smile.

As someone who has had to deal with the threat of sexual harassment suits (not against me, BTW) with a producer or two and a crew member, this was never the case here. Most of the women were quite charmed, or at least amused

As a matter of fact, when they left, my location manager (who never really got any better at her job, but it did get done - albeit with more crying) waved them off with a plaintiff "Play on, Playas" as she waved goodbye.

There wasn't a dry eye in the production office.

Serenity Now

"I'm more likely to lose my temper on a film set than almost anywhere. Often the level of idiocy is so exalted that it's impossible to comprehend"
-John Malkovitch 

The juxtaposition of the image and quote above should be self-explanatory. For one thing, somewhere, someone thought "Buddha" and, in the next moment, thought "Keanu Reeves."

Regular followers of this blog know that I have been a Zen practitioner for some time, and it would not surprise them to find that I spent the last week doing sesshin, an intensive week of mostly meditation, but also includes face-to-face teaching, dharma talks, liturgy, and other elements of Zen.

One of the "precautions" (as the onus is on you, they aren't referred to as rules) is no electronics, cell phones, internet, or reading. The point is to shift your mind away from your usual concerns.

Eight-to ten hours every day is zazen, or zen meditation. Contrary to popular thinking, meditation - at least as practiced in Zen - is anything but escaping the real world, or drifting off into a peaceful place. It is about getting in touch with your true mind - the eyes are lowered but open during zazen. Everything in practice is pointed toward seeing your "true mind" and then taking that into the real world.

That means that practice means nothing if it does not make sense on the subway, at home, and, in my case, on set or in the production office.

And that is where this post comes in.

I avoided using the title "Zen and the Art of Film Production" or something like that because the term "Zen" is thrown around very loosely in a New Age way that has little to do with Zen practice. Phil Jackson is an excellent basketball coach, and surely has studied some with a teacher, but he is not a Zen master.

There is something in Zen called "right livelihood," which basically deals with making a living in a way that does not violate the Precepts. As film production does not (at least necessarily) include killing (thoughts of killing a director are not included if you don't carry it out), misuse of sex (what grips do in their spare time does not count), abusing intoxicants (difficult to determine that fine line of what defines 'medicinal use after rough day'), lying or stealing (add your own wisecrack here), it technically does not count as violating this.

However, day-to-day application of working in film production is a whole other matter.

On a basic level, it's hard to find time for daily meditation when you are barely getting by on four hour's sleep.

The bigger problem, as I see it, is the culture of film. This is something I have thought about in the past, but kept coming to me during sesshin. When you are doing over 50 hours of meditating in a week, you think about a lot of things.

One of the oldest things I remember seeing when I moved from theater to film was the Seven Stages of Film Production. The inclusion in Michelle's blog tells us this still rules strongly today:

Seven Stages of Film Production

1. Wild Enthusiasm
2. Total Confusion
3. Utter Despair
4. Search for the Guilty
5. Persecution of the Innocent
6. Promotion of the Incompetent
7. Distribution of T-Shirts

Definitely not Zen.

There is no need to explain any of that to anyone who has worked in film. Part of this is true because of the unpredictable nature of film production - weather, actors dropping lines, stunts and effects that need excruciating planning, traffic during company moves, and so many more.

Part, though, is a culture of chaos that production thrives on, as the "stages" above suggest. It often seems that producers or directors are determined to eschew time-honored procedures that work for a different way to do things. I can't say how many times it felt like people involved looked at the way to do things that worked and said, "Let's do this instead!"

I'm not talking here about being creative on screen, but, rather, ignoring procedures that work. Yes, there needs to be flexibility, but some things work, and should only be shunned for good reasons Examples? Go to any one of dozens of posts in this - or most other - film production blog.

Just in recent weeks, I saw a writer/actor sabotage getting a $4.5 million film financed (one he has been trying to get done for four years) because he did not want to transfer the copyright to the production company, which is basic procedure* and done on every film.

There is a Sicilian expression I heard a lot as a kid referring to not "Biting Your Nose to Spite Your Face." **Basically, don't do harm to yourself just to do harm to others you don't like. But, in Rule # 4 (Search for the Guilty) above, I have often seen the the need to "blame" someone outweigh the more important priority - fixing the problem. This need some producers or directors have to assign blame poisons the morale of a crew and, from a practical matter, makes it harder to fix problems, because everyone is now in CYA*** mode and thus look to hide rather than correct problems.

It would be easy for me to go through a litany of stupid things others do or have done, but what concerned me more, as this thought kept coming to me, was my own actions.

I started my last feature film on a good note, waking up each morning offering one of the gathas from my original teacher, Myotai Sensei.

"May this be a day of blessing and being blessed,
Honoring and being honored,
Loving and being loved."

Sounds pretty simple and direct, right? Nice way to start the day.

By Day 2 of the shoot, I found myself publicly (and very unkindly) chastising the director and DP for doing some extra shooting prior to moving to our second location even though they got back on time - I wanted them there early to get a jump on what I thought would be a hard scene.

An hour later, I was sitting wondering why I had done that.  Had making the day become so crucial to me that logic and basic courtesy needed to be abandoned?

Yes, I apologized to both later, but, after all these years, the pressures of production still lead to these types of moments, to sometimes doing things that are technically correct but not very nice.

My producer's assistant was an incredibly nice young lady, who was doing this project for the love of it and not for money (it was unpaid,as she could not work for pay here). She was earnest and kind. Near the end of the shoot, I asked if doing this job had given her more insight into producing.

She said that it showed her that she did not want to be on the production side. "Seeing how production works has brought out my dark side," she said.

If you met her, the idea that she even had a dark side would be comical.

I'm not about to give up, convinced that there is a compassionate way of producing film that is also practical and efficient. My way of dealing with folks on set reflects this in a much stronger way than it once did, and I will work to keep moving in that direction, work harder to make that work.

My progress will be noted here from time-to-time. Will definitely try to be more successful than the folks below.












*Film is the only medium I know of where the author does not retain copyright, even if it is not a work for hire. It MUST be in the hands of the production company as part of Chain of Title.

** The phrase evidently goes back to the 12th century when women would disfigure themselves to protect their virginity.

***Do you  really need me to define CYA?

The "Abby" is Up - That's a Wrap on Mr. Singer

""In television, we would make maybe five or six moves during the day — going from one set to another, or from one stage to another. Or we'd move from the back lot to a stage. I would say, 'Fellas, we'll do this [shot] and one more and then we're moving.' This would give the crew a chance to begin wrapping up their equipment or to call transportation for gurneys, so they'd be ready to get out quickly... I did it really to save time for the director. If we did it during the day, I could save 10 to 15 minutes each time we had to move. I could give the director another hour a day of shooting." - Abby Singer

Anyone who has been a 1st Assistant Director, a position I have been blessed to have filled, has called "the Abby."

Here is how it is normally explained to AD's: "Abby Singer was this AD who called the last shot (the martini) too soon.

Abby Singer passed away Thursday at the age of 96. Variety shares this obituary, which I encourage any production person to check out.

In fact, Abby Singer was not some hack who called the "martini" (the last shot of the day) too early, which is how it is normally explained to newbies.

He was a pro who spent many of his years as a Unit Production Manager for MTM (Mary Tyler Moore Productions), which means he was the UPM and later production exec on my favorite television show of all time ("St. Elsewhere") and such classic television as "Hill Street Blues", "Lou Grant" and "The Mary Tyler Moore Show." If you are a millennial and too young to remember these shows - they cut a large swath that laid the ground for the shows you love today, in an environment that was nowhere near as accepting.

In 1985, he was awarded the Frank Capra Achievement Award, reserved by the DGA for assistant directors and unit production managers/

It is a bit ironic that I just posted about "the Abby" in a post on Sarah Jones - and why I did not want the first shot called "the Jonesy."

The way these things work, years later, only a faint memory and some lore lives on. I think both Abby Singer and Sarah Jones deserve better.

Abby Singer's death comes at an odd time for me. Today. the day of his death, is my Mom's 93rd birthday. I do not need reminders of my Mom's limited years remaining.

It is also less than a week after the death of a female monk who I greatly respected, who showed nothing but strength up until her last year and who I have still failed to find the words to honor. My apologies, Kaijun.

The film business, especially the production side, is, as my long-time First AD Brian said recently, a "young man's game." With every job, I wonder if the job has passed me by, and, with every job, I work my hardest to keep up with a game whose rules change as we speak.

We all owe a legacy to those who came before us. No one can say they have not learned from an elder, from camera to grip to production.

I never met Abby Singer, though I, like most AD's, used his name - sometimes in vain.

The Buddhist tradition is to offer a poem on the passing of someone who has touched us. Though I write this blog, and have written some screenplays. poems are, well, not my strong point.

All I can offer is this:

The "Abby" is up, the martini can not be far behind;
The end of the day nears. but there is still work to be done;
Leave that work for us, Abby Singer,
As you have earned this "martini,"
No more "one mores," no more companies, no more moves;
To those of us who have finally crossed out that last shot at the end of the day,
The one that meant we could all go home,
We take this moment to bow to you.
Take off the headset., take off the walkie;
That's a wrap on Abby Singer.
Enjoy your send-off*; you've earned it.





*When an actor is wrapped, the AD will often do a "send-off," reminding the crew that it is a 'picture wrap on (so-and-so).' Figured Abby deserved that.

The South Beach Job - Part 3 - Mañana Time

"Old Men in tank tops
Crusin' the Gift Shops,
Checkin' out chiquita's down by the shore"
Jimmy Buffet, Marguaritaville*

Some places are not built for hard work.

Bud was a good friend of mine for many years. He was a published poet, had a PHD and two Masters, and taught for a while at Columbia University. After a short time in Key West, he quit his job at Columbia and took a job teaching writing at a small woman's college in Florida. When I called a bar that I knew he frequented down there, the Green Parrot, they said "oh, it's only 3PM - he doesn't hit here until around 5PM." They then gave me the number of another bar where he could be found at that time.

I suppose you can't find happiness if you don't know what your happiness looks like. Bud knew exactly what his happiness looked like.

Places with palm trees, scantily clad hard-body men and women, more bars and nightclubs than book stores and the word "beach" in their name tend not to be good places for hard work, especially the hard work and long hours of making a movie.

Welcome to South Beach.

After settling in to our offices at the hotel, it was time to staff up. It started with the office staff.

Recently, I spoke about how important the office staff is to me, and how great they were on my last feature.

Whether it is hiring staff or searching the aisles for clothes, I'm not much of a shopper. As most of my co-workers will tell you, in the latter department, it's mostly black or black light, gray.

In terms of staff, I trust my instincts as well as a feel for the little things, the things folks tell me is important to them, the little things between the line. For the most part, my instincts are good.

The same name came up three times for production coordinator, and when I met her, she certainly knew her stuff, knew the locals, and had an assistant (APOC) she was able to bring on. Sounded good,

For this series, I am going to refer to most of the crew by positions, for reasons that regular readers can imagine.

It took me a little longer to find the location manager, a very nice young lady for whom this would be her first time as location manager.

She was definitely smart, and I chalked up the slow start to bad luck, as she certainly was working hard.

It was on Day 1 of prep that I started doubting the production office staff. For the office, meals are usually working meals, meaning production pays for it, and you are still doing some work while you eat. Now, for those who have read my posts over time and have come to think of me as a nice person, here is where you get to put me into the "producer jerk" category.

I have posted here more than once of an unusual quirk of mine; because I like to eat my meals in peace, and there is little of that while on a shoot, I almost never have lunch while working a shoot. I quickly encourage those working around me in the office, who are not restricted by a call time for lunch, to just eat when they get hungry and not go by me.

POC asked if they could have lunch, and I gave her that usual line. At that point, she, the APOC and the office PA got up and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked. With a confused look, they proclaimed lunch.

Now, on my last shoot, my great office staff got into the habit of taking a work break and eating together. Understand, this staff worked incredibly long hours, often coming before I asked them to get in and staying later. If this time sitting taking a break together made their life better, cool.

My South Beach staff, though, were clock-watchers, and now, were going to leave the office for an hour lunch. I pointed out that we normally ordered in, and that we never took a full hour.

The reaction suggested that I was even meaner than my caricature on the last shoot. After a brief discussion of cultural differences in how we did business, I pointed out that at least one of them needed to stay behind - a film production office doesn't close.

"Well, you're here if anyone calls," the POC said. I pointed out that with three staff people, I should not be expected to answer phone calls or do their jobs for them, and laid down the law that at least one of them would remain behind.

The next issue was a hurricane.

South Beach, as many may know, is separated from Miami proper by a bridge, and we had hurricane warnings. Understand that we had a very shortened prep period, and the staff at that point was not getting through our normal work at any break-neck pace.

Our office was in a hotel, and I told the staff that with a hurricane approaching, if any wanted to stay the next night so there was no danger traveling, production would, of course, take care of that, as well as dinner and any other costs. After all, the office needed to be open, and we had work to do.

Besides, Miami is more accustomed to hurricanes than we are here in New York, and the hotel had a back-up generator and was probably among the safest places to be.

Again, they were aghast. They would go home, they informed me, and if the hurricane hit, come back in a day or two when it had passed and all was well.

"We don't close a production office," I informed them. With recent discussions on safety, I have to make clear that I never did, or would, suggest they drive in such conditions, nor would I have sent crew out. None of them were married, so I was not taking them away from their loved ones.

They all seemed to think it was not a big deal if they closed the office for two days - maybe we could just push the movie back a few days.

Without discussing tone, this may all seem reasonable to many reading this, but the cost of pushing back - not to mention the trouble rescheduling performers who were coming in from out of town - made this problematic. As said earlier, this was a staff that was already seriously behind where we should have been, and it seemed not to bother them one bit.

In the end, because I could not, of course, force them to stay there, we compromised on one day, and they did make it back the next day. This concession did not come without me explaining I expected them to actually put in the time to catch up afterward, and, no, they would not be paid for the day off.

Meanwhile, locations was moving slowly, and my location manager - a very nice person - had the disturbing habit of crying whenever things went wrong. I have seen folks cry under pressure - male and female - on sets. It can happen. Location manager, however, was not under this sort of pressure, and her crying at the drop of a hat had caused me to speak to her in increasingly calming tones, bordering on how one might speak to a frightened child.

It is not how I normally talk to people, and it was frustrating for both of us, but I had no idea what else to do. As we got closer, and she did this one day, I calmly told assured her that we would work everything out, but could she please try not to cry on a regular basis (it should be noted she did not only cry when talking to me, but sometimes when she would get off the phone, or come into the office crying).

That is when she hit me with a line I will forever remember.

"I don't just cry, JB. I cry to get things done."

I could not imagine any career that did not take place in front of a camera on a soap-opera where crying-on-cue- would be considered part of one's skill set, and I was not about to ask her to explain herself. Over time, suggestions came that it made people feel sorry and help her, but I'm not sure it was that cut-and-dried.

The slow pace of prep was getting to me, and I shared that one day with our production designer. Production designer was originally from Brooklyn, and still worked in both cities. By contrast to many of the locals, she was an incredibly resourceful hard worker.

She laughed when I expressed my dismay.

Production designer was of Puerto Rican heritage, and was very much in tune with the vibrant beat of a city that derives much of its cultural richness from a mix of Latin American and Caribbean influences, on everything from cuisine to nightlife to architecture. Indeed, Time Magazine once referred to Miami as "The Capital of Latin America."

All of that can bring with it the slower pace that tropical climates bring out; in part, a concession to the heat, in part, a response to the sun and the beauty that surrounds one.

"JB, it took me some time to get used to it as well," she shared. "Everyone down here is on manana time."

I pointed out that she, and her crew, did not share that slow pace, and she still moved at a New York pace, but had spent enough time in South Beach to appreciate it.

"Stay down here long enough and you will find yourself moving at that pace as well," she offered. I wondered if she was right, as the slow pace crossed the diverse ethnic make-up of my staff and crew.

Wise, she was offering the same advice that Walsh offers Gittes when he admonishes him. In my mind, I heard:

"Forget it, J.B. It's South Beach."



*These evidently are lost lyrics that were cut from original single to make it more radio friendly.

Why We Will Remember Sarah

"A great soul serves everyone all the time. A great soul never dies. It brings us together, again and again." - Maya Angelou

When I wrote my post on the tragic death of Sarah Jones, I was determined that this would be the only one I would write. Say what you need, and move on.

Since then, however, I have seen something else happen that has really made me think, and so, I felt the need to put that here.

We know what social networking is at it's worst: tweets from the Kardashians, Facebook "friends" who we cannot truly remember how we know, and, worst of all, rather than making us more "social", it keeps our faces buried in an electronic device rather than allowing us to come face-to-face with each other, and, heavens forbid, actually talk.

While it is easy for old guys like me to see the danger in technological advances, we also have to see how there are times when a unique set of circumstances hopefully make a difference in all of our lives.

There is a Zen koan that goes something like this: if a man was standing in a window, wishing he could buy something, and did not know that he had in his pocket the money to buy it, would he be any better off than the man who truly did not have the money?

The truth all around us - the trick is, do we see it?

The tragic circumstances of Sarah Jones death have come together in such a way as to hit us with a stick; to wake us up.

Inherently, we all know that there are dangers in this business, and worse, that productions and individuals often look past safety concerns to get the shot. This isn't news to most of us.

Anyone who has worked in the business at least knows the incidents of The Twilight Zone movie, Brandon Lee, and some of the others I mentioned in my first post.

Is there any reason that Sarah's tragic death will be any different. Sadly, when this first happened, the pessimist in me thought, 'yeah, maybe for a month or a few months, and then it will be just another incident.'

The Universe - pick your religion or belief - works in mysterious ways, and this time, I think the circumstances have come together in a way that makes me think we won't be forgetting Sarah's name for a long time.

First, there were the opportunities lost. This was not one mistake, one last second incident of poor judgement on one person's part. Numerous people - line producer, producer, production manager, AD, location manager, to name a few - had to miss the opportunity to nip this in the bud. I'm not placing blame, as I don't know what each of these folks knew or understood - but it had to be someone's responsibility.

Second, the wonderful article by D on dollygrippery.com that asked why no one on the crew had said "no", why none of the experienced crew people - and this was an experienced crew - had questioned shooting on a live railroad track. Again, this is not to blame any of those folks - we all know how in the rush to please, the rush to get the shot, we hope that someone else has done due diligence.

If this incident proves anything, it is that there is no "someone else."

That is where the third element comes in: the photos of Sarah. You've seen many, and there are many more on the Facebook page "Slates for Sarah" (more on that shortly). If there is anything we in the business of putting art on film should understand, it is that photography at it's best - still or moving - captures something deeper than merely an image - it captures a soul.

We know it about film "stars" - in the very successful ones, you can't take your eyes off of them. It has more to do than being physically attractive - its something that you can't make up - it is either there, or it is not. It is a life-force, and Sarah exhibited it when she was working.

Sarah's photo sparked one thought: We are Sarah Jones.

As a production person, from that first photo on IA's site, it reminded me of some of my best and favorite crew people, a few who I've seen "grow up" over the years. My best friend and ex-wife jokes that they are "like my kids" - and they are to me. That first photo made me think of any one of them working one moment and beneath the wheels of a train the next, and it broke my heart.

Even those of us who never met Sarah had met that energy before, had seen it's beauty, and were horrified that it was snuffed out in a meaningless moment. Sarah, thank you for that smile.

Fourth, there was the previously mention Slates for Sarah Facebook page. People put up tributes all the time, but this one struck a cord, and inside of a week, tens of thousands were sending in their slates.

It was the technology - Facebook - combined with something genuine and heart-felt  that made "Slates for Sarah" such an important moment.

Fifth, it was the Oscars. Timing, as comedians tell you, is everything. There was nothing funny about this, but the absolutely random nature that this should happen less than two weeks before the Oscar telecast - the star-studded, overly-hyped, glitz-fest that is meant to represent our business (though it rarely does to most of us).

With this timing came the outpouring from the industry to get Sarah's name in the telecast in the "In Memorium" section. In mere days, more than 57,000 people had signed, and, because Sarah had worked on some high profile television shows, some high profile TV "Celebrities" added their voices. We also got photos of screen icons like Dustin Hoffman with slates remembering Sarah.

I do not think the industry, in any way, shape or form, wanted to remind movie-going audiences during the three-plus hour commercial for the industry that a lot of "grunts" - and I use that term affectionately - do the work that gets the stars to that night. With the overwhelming outpouring, however, it was impossible for them to ignore, and the risk/reward guys probably told them that if they didn't do SOMETHING, the questions and outrage would bring even more bad publicity.

That, and hoping for the best in human nature, I'm sure some of them were sincerely touched.

For all of those reasons, I truly believe that Sarah's name, and the circumstances of her death, will not be forgotten.

Let me caution, as I did in my last post, that I am uncomfortable with the idea of unintentional martyrs. I do not think of Sarah as a martyr - she died doing what she loved, and not to be a symbol for anything. In truth, it probably never occurred to her that she she was putting her life at risk, and, if it occurred for a moment, that thought was quickly replaced with the checklist of things she needed to do for her job.

I saw something about naming the first shot "the Jonesy" for her, the way we call the next to last shot "the Abby"  after an AD who often called the "martini" too soon. * I'm not crazy about that, to be honest. When we start to brand things like that, it often takes away the human component, and it becomes about rote.

It would be easier to keep Sarah where she belongs, in our hearts. As line producer and sometimes Assistant Director, I have spent part of the last week or so going over every decision like this I have ever made, and wondered if I had ever, unintentionally, put someone at risk when I should not have. I hope all of my production brethren partake of the same soul searching.

I won't need to etch Sarah's name into the call of the roll to remember her, or to remember that safety is not only first thing  - it is the most important thing. I do not think any of us will.

When the hurt is gone, when the tears are dry, let doing the right thing in term of safety be something so deeply ingrained in our psyche that we don't need to hear a name, though we most likely will.

Let Sarah continue to live on in a positive way, to bring a smile to our face, to represent the joy that doing what we love brings to all of us, with the caveat that the joy needs to be respected and protected, and that in the end, that responsibility lies with all of us.

Like that man standing outside the window, Sarah, you have reminded us of what was right in front of us, but we were too busy to put into words. We are a family, a family filled with all the turmoil that humans bring, but bound by love. Now, for us, that bind has a special name, and it is Sarah.

*I've always thought Abby Singer got a bum rap.  He had a great career and is still with us, and  seemed to have a good reason for that "one more."