First Loves and Going Home Again

Remember your first love?  She was as beautiful as could be and and she loved you with all of her heart, and your time together was magical.  At least, that's how you remember her.

A more objective account might remind you of the fights you had, that weird thing she did with her eyes, and the fact that she left you for a second-string quarterback (not even the starter!)

Impressions of our first loves improve with time and distance, and so it is that when I think of my early days of working in theater as a stage manager, I remember how excited I was when I picked up my script and read it for the first time on the way home on the subway, and the comraderie I shared with those early casts, all of us pulling together to put on a show!  No doubt, the two-hour performances in front of ten people, the difficult actors or directors, the light board that never seemed to work correctly and the show you were embarrassed to tell you friends about because the script was so bad have faded in my memory with time.

Still, this is the way I remember my early theater days.

Many of my film friends have expressed frustration with the current state of indie film. Me too.
So it was that I got the opportunity to stage manage a hip-hop musical called "Hip Hop High".  One of the first things the director mentioned was that it was a cast of 15, including many teens.  I will not lie; my first thought was "how much Valium could I fit into a Pez dispensers?"   I had the image of out-of-control creatures at the mercy of hormones, or maybe spoiled stage brats, or both.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that none of that was true, that the cast, which ranges in age from 12 to 30s, most in early 20s, was among the most pleasant to work with I have ever experienced.  In any cast -  film or theater, there is always someone who gets under your skin.  In this cast, not a one.  Additionally, the director, musical director and producer were all seasoned pros without a trace of ego.

My last post talked about prima donnas in film , but theater has no shortage; indeed, the term started in musical theater (opera).  These folks - great.

One of the first things I loved about it was the chance to work with old tools - prompt book, stopwatch, etc.  I felt like Sweeney Todd with his knife back.




Monday night, we had a performance for potential producers and industry.  When you're working on a show, you can feel every little imperfection.  At intermission I could sense that the cast was feeling all the slight flaws, the moments they had hit better the previous week during a preview,  the places the energy could have been better.

The audience, of course,  doesn't know any of that,and there were no obvious gaffes.  The audience responded to the very original and entertaining music and the talent and energy this cast brings, and the response was enthusiastic.

I don't know if this show will get picked up; indeed,  I find it amusing to be working on a workshop looking to move to Broadway while on television enjoying the new NBC show SMASH, which covers a very different show on the same path.  Luckily,  we don't have half the same backstage intrigue.
After the show, the director, the producer/Creator of the show and a few cast members closed a small Mexican-themed restaurant in the wee hours discussing the play.  Man, it was one of those discussions that I thrived on in my younger days, esoteric and artsy with nary a mention of the sort of budget and nightmare issues that come up when line producing.

There I go again,  waxing nostalgic when in fact those gritty nuts and bolts issues will need to be addressed by the producers if the show is to move to the next level, and forgetting that we in film have these discussions as well.  The difference is, in part, the immediacy of live theater,  the feedback that doesn't go on hold for months of editing.

I don't know the next step for Hip Hop High.  In a few days, we will have a recording of the showcase courtesy of the producer, a prolific film and music producer named Zman.  I will try to share it here then.

Whatever the future of the show - and I feel it has one - I know I will look to cast some of these cast members in future projects of mine, and hope to work with the producers, musical director and stage director again.

Thanks for this indulgence.   Next post, its back to The Rook, where you will get to meet a very heady and esoteric crew.

Prima Donnas and Challenges Old and New

(Another post out-of sequence, in my attempt to also track what is happening now, and put it in perspective with my career.  My next post, on Tuesday, April 17th, will be about a current gig that brings back memories of my first gigs - in theater! The story of "The Rook" will continue a few days later)

In the digital age, short films have become increasingly more popular than in the past, and this creates some new challenges, while some old truths remain the same.  Old and new were part of the mix for me recently as assistant director on a short for a director whose work I really like.

The new is how reduced budgets allow for less expense on the technology, but also means less money and time spent on the production side.  My production staff consisted of a production assistant who was a friend of the director who does not drive and who had very definite ideas about what was and what was not his job, and a foreign-born friend of the art director who came along to help out with limited English skills and no set experience, but a great attitude and the ability to drive.  The latter was infinitely more useful to me than the former, a film school grad who kept talking about his “real” projects when he wasn’t reading a book on producing or sleeping on the couch.

Perhaps my “favorite” part about the lazy friend of the director was that he took all notes on his brand-new iPad.  This might have impressed me (though it is unlikely) had he actually done half of the things I asked him to do.  Evidently, lists on iPads are somehow harder to carry out than notes taken on a paper pad.  Who knew?

Of course, I had no Second AD, but here, technology comes in handy.  Gorilla Software, which is my preferred software to EP, creates a nice call sheet (I know they are working on even better ones and the ability to incorporate people’s current templates).  While it is not as good as the excel marvels my better 2nds use, I would not have the time to fill the latter out, so even having the ability to generate call sheets as soon as I switch the schedule is nice.

While shorts leave less of a staff (no office staff to help with sides and copies, for one), some old truths remain.  Whether you email them, print them, or both, forms are only as good as people reading them.  Most of the crew, including the director of photography, didn’t actually read the call sheet emailed, so referring to it becomes kind of useless.  The printer the director brought never made it out of the bag until day 2, though it was one of the first things I asked the friend to set up when we got there the night before shooting.  Wonder if the iPad deleted it?

In the category of old comes getting lost on the way to location, something we managed to do even with GPS (the fact that all of the phones using the GPS were low on charges didn’t help).  That, as one of my DP friends suggested, gets very old very fast.

I was reintroduced on this shoot to something that is probably as old as the era of movies, and that was the prima donna* Director of Photography.  We've all worked with them, and it reminds me of a story the insightful  blogger Schmudde shared in his blog,  Beyond the Frame about the exceptional cinematographer Sven Nykvist:

"A crew member with whom he was sharing a moment of relaxation turned to him and said, 'Sven. let's hurry, they need you.' Nykvist turned back and replied, 'No rush, without us, it's radio.'"

I will generally agree with Schmudde that the quote is brilliant, but then again, so is Nykvist and his work ethic in general.  To an AD working with a mediocre, at best, DP, it loses its luster.  I have seen too many mediocre DPs with one or two impressive credits to their name bully directors and approach  films as if it were their set, and it is when people with lesser talent take on the mantle of superiority that I take issue.

Digital cameras make it possible for people who would not know what to do with a light meter or how to load a film camera to call themselves DPs.  Not a knock on the technology - I just worked as post supervisor on a film shot on a 7D that was truly amazing, images to match anything I have ever worked on.  I also have had the pleasure of working with a number of talented young DPs who I have no doubt will reshape the future of cinematography, using new technologies in ways we have not imagined.

ADs and DPs butting heads is also a part of film , as both professions attract a certain number of people with God complexes, and polytheistic film sets tend to be untidy.  (Least I suggest that only DPs can be prima donnas, a good friend who was a DGA intern shares this story.  Part of her first job as DGA intern was to stand in the closest parking spot until the 1st AD arrived.  Once he parked, he would get out of the car and hold his arms up, and she would have to put his walkie and headset on him.  When he left, she was to do the same in reverse, taking the walkie and headset off of him.)  It's probably why I have always treasured the many DPs I've worked with who were not only talented, but team players, and people with whom I got along.

This DP had assembled quite a team, and luckily, they were talented.  The team included a camera operator, as the Prima Donna DP had no skills actually operating a camera.  While many DPs prefer to work with an operator, on a small indie level, most I know are talented operators, and on most of the indie features I worked on, they were their own operators.  This operator was not only talented, but great to have on board, which I came to appreciate during filming of a scene in a bathroom.

Bathrooms being shot on location have had the same challenges from the beginning of time, tight space and reflection.  I was not able to scout the location before we shot, but specifically asked both the director and DP about the bathroom on location before we shot, and Prima Donna DP assured both of us that it would work fine.

So here we are shooting the bathroom, and the tight space and the reflection make it difficult to get the shot right.  It's an emotional scene, and the first scene in the movie, so it's obviously important, or so you would think.  The DP, however, had done little preparation, and when I tried to figure how we could stop catching the operator in the reflection, her answer was "It's not my fault.  The door on the cabinet (with the mirror) opens the wrong way."

Wait, you were on the scout, right?  Did you not open the cabinet to see which way it opened?  Further, it won't matter to the audience that the cabinet opened the wrong way.  When open, the inside of the cabinet was poorly lit.  Again, the answer was the cabinet opening the wrong way.  I have only had DPs solve this problem about a million times in my career, and with bathrooms just as small.  Her answer, simply, was that it was not her fault.

The only person with an answer was her gaffer, the only person on set who understood lighting.  On more than one occasion, I heard him tell Prima Donna "don't worry about units - just tell me what you want," a good suggestion since she didn't know much about units or lighting.  I should point out at this point that both my gaffer and key grip  were amazingly talented and easily the hardest working people on the crew.  If not for them, the Minnow, as they say, would have been lost.

All of this confusion about the bathroom led to the poor operator having the camera (a RED) on his shoulder way longer than he should have.  Simple rule - once the camera is on the operator's shoulder, everyone focuses and busts their rear until he is able to take it off his shoulder.  Not a rule Signorina followed, as her frequent smoke breaks outside the cabin we were using could not be interrupted for such trivial things as an operator having the camera on his shoulder.  It also did not keep her from joking with the friends on the crew during these periods, completely oblivious to the fact that the actress was playing an emotional scene where she had just discovered her dead son.

Many operators would have been cursing up a storm, but not a peep was heard from him, something that earned my complete respect.

The other reason the DP was not engaged with the scene was she knew it wouldn't wind up on her reel, so it didn't really matter, as that seems the only reason she was on this shoot.  There were three scenes which concerned her, one of which was a Magic Hour shot.  The rest were just there, I guess, to connect the three scenes that she could show to others.

If there were any doubt about the "important" scenes, she made a big deal of announcing, prior to the shoot, that it would take "at least" two hours to light each of these scenes, and later, her estimate revised upward.  Thanks to the hard-working and talented Grips and electrics (dolly grip - also great), their set-up times were shorter than that, but we still got to the time she suggested and passed it as she made endless and needless adjustments, adjustments she hadn't taken a second to actually plan, it seemed.

I have seen DPs who were shooting their reels before, but the feeling never stops irking me.  For them, the current shoot is a mere pit stop along the way of a race they intend on winning, one that brings awards and acclaim and bigger money.  All of the latter is fine; to some extent, we all hope that our good work will bring us more good work.  However, for these DPs, what it means is that time doesn't matter, and if we have to do endless takes of their favorite scenes and the director has to cut other scenes later, that is just fine.

A film set is a team, a collaboration, which can be the best part about this craft or its downfall, the fact that one key member being out-of-step can hurt an entire project.  DPs shooting their reels also bring along a lot of attitude, as it helps to deflect any criticism of the crazy amount of time they are spending on set-ups.

This, I learned was true of her on other shoots, as a hard-working and talented camera person I know who worked with her shared that she would often scream at her team and remind them who was in charge.   In all lines of work, people who have to remind you of who is in charge usually are not very good at earning respect, since if they were, there would be no need to remind others.

I could say that Prima Donna DP made this an unpleasant experience, but that would not be entirely true, as I once again got to meet a lot of the great people I mentioned.  I am sure she will go on to some level of success if her crew continues to follow her and make up for her short-comings, but it doesn't matter, because I know the other people (including the director, who has already directed and produced some very nice material) will go forward, because they not only are very good at what they do, but a joy to work along side.

That is also something that never changes; that no matter how bad a situation on a given shoot can seem, there are always, always good things to take from it, and more often than not, it is the good people you do meet.

* While the origin of the term "prima donna" comes from opera and its literal translation of "first lady", I use the term here without reference to gender, as I often use "actor" for both male and female performers.  Consider the closer definition this one from our friends at Merriam-Webster; "a vain (or undisciplined) person who finds it difficult to work as part of a team."

The Rook- Part 3 - Who Killed the Chauffeur?

"One day Bogie came on the set said to Howard [Director Howard Hawks], 'Who pushed Taylor off the pier?' Everything stopped" 

-Lauren Bacall, By Myself and Then Some




Bacall, above, is referring to the maze-like plot of The Big Sleep, in what has since become a wonderful bit of Hollywood lore, spurred in part by the response from the author of the novel when Hawks and the screenwriters inquired into the answer.

"They sent me a wire ...asking me, and dammit, I didn't know either," Chandler recalled in Tom Hiney and Frank MacShane's The Raymond Chandler Papers.

I have always resisted the temptation to take this response at face value, not sure that Chandler wasn't being cute, or whether the question was irrelevant to the plot for him.  Owen Taylor's murder is just a plot device to keep detective Phillip Marlowe from dropping the case, and it clearly didn't matter to Chandler who killed him.

On one level, this story tells you everything about what is wrong with the Big Studios today.  I'm not saying that the Studios in their heyday did not interfere in negative ways; indeed, much of the confusion on the plot of The Big Sleep was due to the Hays Code, which prevented the story being told as it was in Chandler's novel.  However, today, some focus group would have sent this movie back to editing room based on its twisting plot, and a good deal of the fun of this noir classic would have been lost in the "fix".

Sometimes mysteries are good; other times, not so much.

Plot was something of a mystery on The Rook,  and, if you ask me, it's part of its appeal.  Oh, the "who-dunnit" aspect isn't all that hard to figure out, but exactly where and when "Sutheridge" may be is another matter altogether.

The plot of the film is something like this; John Abbott, a devout religious man who is serious to the point of seeming humorless, is a detective and an official from a central theocratic government.  He is sent to a dreary industrial down of Sutheridge  to investigate the murder of a previous female investigator.  He encounters a revolution and a number of cryptic clues ( the working title of the film, "The Circle in the Square", was a reference to one of those puzzles).  The story is set in an intentionally ambiguous time period, where horse-drawn carriages take people to places that have archaic versions of modern devices, such as computers, telephones and inter-office communication.

He is met in Sutheridge by the same local official who met the last investigator, Bob Brice, whose loyalties come into question during the investigation.  Abbot's ultimate fate is determined by his own rigidity.

Neither writer Richard Lee Purvis or director Eran had any desire to explain the contradictions that existed in the story; rather, they reveled in them as part of a deeper philosophical discussion.  This led people to either love or hate the movie, depending on how literal they were.

The pejorative term that both plots shared at one time or another is "convoluted", which often means the reviewer wasn't interested enough to figure it out, or that the film didn't entertain them enough to care.

Mysteries are good for plot, but bad for production people.  Whether you are an AD or UPM, your most precious and important time is prep, where you lay the groundwork for how the movie will be structured.  I previously discussed that in breaking down a script, I like to go over it enough times that I feel like I even know it better than the director.  (How To Be an AD in BC)

As UPM or line producer, I start with a budget I prepare that is not only a financial plan for the movie, but a blueprint that determines all parameters of shooting.

On The Rook, I was reading this crazy script before and after long work days, working with a schedule I had no involvement with, and a budget that was more like a rough draft.

I soon learned that there were better uses for my time than trying to decipher the plot.  One day on set, I was siting with Martin, our lead who played Abbott, and John, who played Brice.  I asked them a question about the plot, and both admitted they had stopped considering that particular point some time previous.

There were no cables to Richard Purvis.  I addressed a plot question to Richard some time after the film was shot, and his response was like one of the puzzles in the film; I got off the phone knowing less about the plot than before, if that was possible.  The closest I got to an explanation of the time period was "it's a vision of the future as seen from people in the past."

As a viewer, this makes it possible for me to watch this film endless times, and the DP Zack and production designer Sebastian created a look that the Village Voice positively compared to Brazil.

As production manager, I put deep understanding aside and satisfied myself with the elements of the script that affected shooting, and making sure we had all of those.

The less satisfying mystery was the budget, and the accounting.

One of the first things I would explain to students in discussing preparing a budget is that there is no line item known as "petty cash," or at least there shouldn't be.  Cash is a form of payment, like checks or credit cards, and you wouldn't create a line item for "checks", but somehow, people feel comfortable creating a catch-all category called "petty cash."   A more accurate term might be "those things I can't really think about right now, but I know we'll spend it someplace."  This is not to be confused with a contingency, which is, well, those other things you know will come up but you can't really think about right now.

I went about unraveling the mystery of our budget, which began with figuring out how much we had already spent, and Mr. Chandler would have been proud of the mystery there.  The checkbook was a bit confusing, but I could usually put vendor or contractor's name with a line item.  Credit card receipts were a little trickier, with some from places that could have been for any number of things, but this was just a matter of picking a line item.

Big costs, such as equipment, became a fun game of matching invoices, both paid and pending, with checks or credit cards.  This was like the Monday NY Times Crossword Puzzle, challenging, but if you know what you're doing, it can build confidence for subsequent days, which become increasingly harder.

If these big costs were like the Monday Crossword, cash expenditures, aka petty cash, was like Saturday's NY Times Crossword, a cruel invention of  the sick mind of Will Shortz where hyphenated hip-hop slang intersects with French interpretation of Greek mythology.

Eran had assured me that we had each and every petty cash receipt, and that turned out to be true.  When I requested these receipts of the production coordinator and her assistant, she was quick to hand them over.  Rather than the neat top sheets, numbered and listed by line item and followed by pages of receipts taped or stapled in order, what I got was two big, brown paper grocery bags, filled to the brim with streams of white paper that were, indeed, receipts.  Notes written on them?  Not a chance.  They pretty much looked like a larger version of your night table when you empty your pocket after a long day; I was just happy there were no gum wrappers.

Good

Very Good

Not Good

From Raymond Chandler at his home in Hollywood to Will Shortz in whatever leather-and-shackle filed abode he dwells in to my production coordinator, the look was the same, the look of "glad you're here, have fun figuring it out."

So, the priority was getting at least a big picture of how much was spent - Eran could certainly tell me how depleted his account was - and figuring how much we had remaining and how we were going to finish the film .  I did set up a two-fold system, one for accounting for past petty cash, and another for accounting for how we would track it moving forward.  The ladies of the production office became efficient versions of Bob Cratchit, assigning receipts based on a legend I provided and bringing those in question to me while also keeping the machinery of the movie, like sides and call sheets, in motion.

When you're in production, it's no time to look back, and no time to indulge in mysteries.  The mystery of the plot took a back seat to making sure we had what we needed to shoot today, then tomorrow, then the day after; the mystery of where the money was spent would not be solved before we figured out how to spend the money we had left.  It's not the way you draw it up on the drawing board, and it's not the way you teach people to produce, but it's the reality of making a movie under difficult circumstances.  You need to have rules, but you need to be able to adapt.

For the record, I have a pretty good idea of who killed the chauffeur.








The Big Sleep - Book Store Scene

Great artists can take limitations and turn them into advantages.  The Hays Code prevented writers from being sexually explicit, so the great ones found ways to to be clever and seductive in ways the censors would pass, but the audience would still enjoy.  The scene linked above from The Big Sleep has always been one of my favorite examples of this - do you really need to be told what happened during the time lapse?

The Rook - Part 2 - Coffee and the Rules

Tony: I have to break one of your rules, boss. Number six: never say you're sorry. I let things get out of control in the hotel room. 
Gibbs: Ah, it's covered. Rule eighteen. 
Tony: Oh, yeah. It's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. Am I forgiven? 

-NCIS (CBS)

The rules of Leroy Jethro Gibbs on NCIS are so much fun because we all develop our own rules in whatever our profession, though we don't always go about numbering them.  In Season 3, Gibbs tells Ziva there are about 50 rules, but as of Season 8, not all of them have been revealed and numbered.*

For most of us, these rules just develop over time, and it's hard to tell when they came to be, but every once in a while, we can identify exactly when they went into the Book, when they were codified, when we finally felt the need to put them into words.

After that first meeting on set with Van and his team, I came to understand that a few things needed to be addressed, and one was the schedule,  I certainly didn't make the rule that time is money, but it's true nonetheless, and there was one set that Van and I both agreed should happen earlier rather than later.  I will address the plot of the film later - it deserves its own post - but the scene involved a good deal of art direction, as did most of the film.

Sebastian and Andrea, his girlfriend, were basically a two-person art department.  As we moved forward, I would offer people to help them, but Sebastian, a German-born sculptor and painter by trade, was great at what he did, but wasn't accustomed to working with a staff or training people to do what he did, and further, he was, in many ways, making it up as he went along.  The script involved a vision of the future as seen from people in the past, so many of the images that had to be brought to life were born in the heads of Sebastian, Andrea and Eran, not standard furniture that could be rented or purchased.

This set was a lot of work, but Sebastian assured me that it could be ready in a day or so.  I later realized that Sebastian was just hesitant to ever say no, I was new to the job, and he wanted to do his part, so it turned out that he and Andrea pretty much worked two days and night without sleeping to get it ready.  Had I realized that, I might not have pushed so hard, but I took him at his word that he could get it done, and, indeed, he did.

Eran was another matter.  Eran was Israeli-born, a nice and caring person who was fascinated with images and the arts in general, and very knowledgeable in most of the visual mediums.  He could be engaging and  charming.  All of these were traits that you would have to get to know Eran well to understand, because he often did his best to come off as boorish, rough, and difficult.  I always thought this was a shame, because if you got to know him, he was one of the nicest and most interesting people I've met in my lifetime.  I would see this often when he went to film festivals or was promoting the film; he could charm the Hell out of one person, and piss off the next, and, in both cases, that was exactly the way he wanted it.

I later came to realize that Eran didn't want to shoot this scene earlier because he hadn't really wrapped his head around it, but instead of admitting that, he leaned on the fact that Sebastian could never have it ready in time.  It would take forever to explain the logistics of why it was important to shoot early, but all I remember is that it was, that Van and I agreed it was, and that Eran had fought us.  Still, when we both presented him with it, he grudgingly agreed to shoot it the when we suggested.

My second day on the job would be in the office, trying to set up my space, see how the office was running, and start to get a handle on the budget.  I did some prep at home, but was still in the office about a half hour before call time, which was a little later than I would normally arrive there.

I walked in, my coffee and bagel in hand.  Like Gibbs, I like me my coffee, not just as a pick-me-up, but I love the taste of really good coffee, so buying a cup on the way to set or the office is essential for me, because I never trust the PA in charge to make a legitimately good cup of coffee.**

KATE:  (after spilling his coffee) What do you put in your coffee?
GIBBS:  Coffee
KATE:  OK.  I'll just go down the hall and get you another cup.
GIBBS:  (Disdainfully) That's...not coffee.

My feeling exactly.  Good coffee - black, no sugar, the way God intended it.

I walked into the production office and to my desk, a desk I had yet to really make mine, a desk that had I hoped would be my home for the rest of the shoot.  On my way to the desk, the production office coordinator and her assistant looked at me with that "dead man walking" look, that "poor guy doesn't know what he's in for" look.

"Eran called for you - a few times."  Yes. it was before call time, and yes, I could have been there earlier, but I had tried to catch up on some of the things I needed at home, and thought coming in a half hour before call time was alright.  Clearly, I was wrong.

The night before, I had been there late, with Eran and Sebastian, looking over the set, which was close to finished, we all agreed.  I just assumed that in the time between then and now, we would all be happy with the set.

I called the set cell phone, and got Annie.  I asked her to put Eran on, but the next voice I heard was a whisper.  It was Van.

"Man, Eran is really mad.  He hates the set.  He thinks it was a bad idea to shoot this today, and I already had to hear it from him. but, he is really mad at you" (The term wasn't mad - it was more colorful).

Van suggested that I talk to him later, but I would have none of it.  I was never a big fan of slow death - if I'm going to go, make it quick, and let me know it now.  Getting yelled at?  Not a problem, I'd been there before.

Eran got on the phone, and the expletive-laced conversation had to do with me pushing him to shoot a scene he told me was not ready, my bad judgement, how I had screwed everything up.  I reminded him that the night before, we all agreed the set was close.  Then, it happened.

He started with how he had just fired another production manager, and suggested it might have been a mistake, that maybe, he should have kept her and now he should fire me.  Without missing a beat, I remember my response.

"Eran, I haven't taken my breakfast out of the bag yet.  If you're going to fire me, let me know, so I don't get comfortable.  I'll go out and enjoy my breakfast in peace.  If not, I'll make you a deal."

"I will never threaten to quit, and you never threaten to fire me."

There it was.  A rule was born.  The justation had probably started years earlier, when I was a supervisor at the political research company, sitting in front of my boss, Barbara, with my fellow supervisor, Maria, who started crying when Barbara lit into us for a mistake for which we were both responsible.  Barbara's reaction?

"I can cry too, Maria."

Barbara was a good friend, but a tough boss.  You could make a mistake - just don't blow smoke.  Admit what you did wrong. and we deal with it.  Try to cover it up, and there was Hell to pay.  Threaten to quit?  You'd be out the door in a few minutes.

A few crew people on this shoot, as I understood it, had threatened to quit if things didn't change.  This was the atmosphere.  None of us liked this.

Over the years, the rule worked both ways.  I never would threaten to fire anyone; no one deserved to have that hanging over their head.  At the point I didn't think you were the right person for the position, I would let you go; nothing personal.  Don't threaten to quit; if you really don't feel the situation is one you want to be in, I respect that and leave.

The rest of the conversation wasn't pleasant, but we moved past it.  Later, when Eran and I became as close as brothers, we would joke about the encounter.  Eran respected that I stood up to him.  I wasn't sure that I wasn't going to be fired, but I wasn't going to spend every day worried about it, either.

Which Gibbs' rule to invoke here?  Not sure, but the closest might be Rule # 6 - Never apologize, it's a  sign of weakness.  Of course, as many websites point out, it is a rule Gibbs breaks at least six times over seven seasons, and one I certainly broke on more than one occasion - but not this one.

So, what was plot of The Rook? Part 3.


























*When referring to Gibbs' rules, I knew I would be able to find a fan site where they were all notated.  In fact, I found more than a Google page worth of sites devoted specifically to the "Rules", people annotating Season and Episode, and sometimes specific context.  Research is served by the fact that some people have too much free time.

**The logo for Gibbs coffee is a take-off on Starbucks, but the producers did not seek product placement from the Evil Empire,  The cup says "Hot Brewed Coffee".

The Rook - Part 1 - Meet the New Guy

Before

After

“After a half hour, remove your jacket; after the second half hour, loosen your tie; after the third, roll up your sleeves; after the fourth, muss your hair a little.  At the end of the day, you should look utterly exhausted, and everyone will say you are a hell of a stage manager.”

Bert Gruver, The Stage Manager's Handbook

I read the book quoted above over 25 years ago, and it still sticks in my mind.  It comes at the end of a book that goes into all the nuts and bolts of the job of stage managing; then, on page 213, Mr. Gruver turns humorist, offering a survival guide for the real world the stage manager will face.

His point was that since people didn't really know what you did, if you look like what they expect, you must be doing your job.  Look the part.

The same can be said of a UPM or Line Producer, and, to some extent, the First Assistant Director.  People know that the UPM and Line Producer worry about the money, the First AD the schedule, but beyond that, often not much else.

What they expect in all of those positions is command of the situation at hand.  Change at this level usually means things are going poorly.  Much like managers in baseball, the degree of responsibility of the person involved as opposed to the players (crew, director, etc) is a matter for debate, but the fact remains that they are being replaced because there were answers they didn't have, and you, as the new person, better bring those answers, and the sooner the better.

I came to the producer and director, Eran, on the recommendation of one of the associate producers and original editor, Alan.  He noticed on my resume that I had helped another project (that I will discuss after this one - it was shot first but released later), he knew the people involved, and they had assured him that I would be a big help.

Eran lived in a very large loft, that also served as the production office, and it was more than big enough;  indeed, he had chosen it precisely because he could use it for both purposes, as he had other films planned.  The production designer was a sculptor named Sebastian, who worked with his girlfriend.  This was Sebastian's first film, though the results would suggest otherwise.  Sebastian lived in a loft across the hall, which also served as the de facto art department office.  Together, we had the entire floor of the building.

I met Eran and Alan on a day off after week one, and they definitely felt the production manager was in over her head; they had hired someone without a lot of experience at that level who was moving up.  It always amazes me that people will put a novice in charge of controlling their money in order to save money.  Can anyone imagine a start-up corporation bringing on an accounting student as CFO in order to save money?  No.  Production manager on a film?  Sure.

The rationale is that since the budget is smaller, there will be less that could go wrong; though nothing could be further from the truth.  When a major film goes over budget, numbers get printed in red as opposed to black, losses are written-off against profits on other films, and life goes on.  On small indies, going over budget means checks bounce and everything stops, so in many ways, experience is even more important because of the consequences involved.

As is often the case on these small projects, the budget that was prepared was more of what I call a Wish Budget - the amount the producers wish to spend on each line item rather than a reflection of the reality of what each line item would cost.  Of course, it failed to include other line items, including those items that would be obtained for free - and we all know the high cost of free.

On the day I got there, Eran and Greg were looking over dailies on a  Steenbeck  in a closet-sized room that was the editing suite.  Welcome to the good ole days of post production.  The footage didn't make much sense to me - there were people in what looked like period costumes and odd set pieces, but I hadn't yet read the script, and assumed that it would all make sense once I did.

That assumption would be challenged soon enough.

The outgoing production manager and Eran agreed that she would stay on in a minor capacity for a bit (she would decide against that after a day or two, which was for the best).  After getting Alan and Eran's perspective on what was going wrong, I got Cindy's (I don't remember her name - Cindy will do), which obviously did not put her at fault.  From her I got that Eran was an inexperienced director who had made the poor choice of following the advice of a stubborn First AD, Van.

I got the entire low-down on Van (from her perspective) on our trip out to set as she drove.  She had tried to change schedule with him, but he would hear none of it, and all he did was complain to her about things that were not being done from the production office side; he was, she pointed out, part of the problem and not part of the solution.

I had a copy of the schedule, and some things made immediate sense, others are different than how I might have done it, but my background as an AD told me there were certainly elements of scheduling that Van knew that I did not.

ADs are as possessive of their schedules as Linus is of his blanket, and for good reason.  As I pointed out in previous posts, as AD, you have to take all variables into consideration, where the person who takes a quick look at it is either just seeing one perspective, or just seeing it from their department's point of view.  ADs hate having their schedules questioned.

There was also the second obvious problem, which was the rift between "production" and the AD department, which included a very good second AD named Annie.  This is something that occurs more often than it should.  Many ADs do not see themselves as part of production, and so see themselves as separate from the production and the production office, leading to tension and a blame game.  Food arrives late for lunch?  AD says, "hey, I told production, it's their fault."  Same with other problems that can arise with transportation, equipment and other issues.

Technically, the AD in this situation is correct; these sorts of things should be handled by the production office.  My issue is not with the delegation of duties as much as the attitude; it's not good for crew to see a rift between the production office and PM and the AD.  Their jobs overlap so often that it's important that they be seen as a team, and that they work together.  Tension and division does neither side any good.

My first encounter with the AD department was when Annie, the 2nd AD, met us when we arrived on set.  She was professional, but I sensed a bit of a chill, no doubt a result of me showing up with Cindy.  They were shooting when we got there, so I took the time to talk with Annie privately for a bit about how things had been going from her perspective.  First ADs are stuck by camera most of the day, so if you want to know what is going on behind the scenes, talk to the 2nd AD; they know where all the bodies are buried ( or are about to be buried, as the case may be).  Also, I knew if I ingratiated myself with the 2nd AD, good word would get back to the 1st AD.  Human dynamics aren't that hard to figure out.

Again, I got the word about transportation and food arriving on time.  I realized that part of this was an inexperienced UPM not challenging a budget that was penny-wise and dollar foolish.  We added a vehicle and made some common sense upgrades regarding food.  Eran was skeptical, but he had asked for a new perspective, so I got some more rope than my predecessor may have.

One of the most important things when taking over a project like this is change; people need to see a tangible difference.  Little things like the craft table looking better and lunch being on time can make a difference with the crew, and the added transpo helped both the director and AD department see that things could actually run more smoothly.  Little things matter; Mussolini won the hearts of a nation by simply getting the trains to run on time, though I try my best to avoid most other comparisons between my management style and Mussolini's, as my upside-down  hanging skills are not up to par.

When we broke for lunch, I introduced myself to Van.  I knew the look on his face; "oh, great, someone new who is going to try and tell me how to do my job."  Without a doubt, schedule would be something we would have to address, and he took out the stripboard, and we started going over some things.  As expected, there was resistance to even considering any changes and exasperation.

I took him aside, and said, look, I knew things weren't going well, but as an AD, I knew what he was going through, and I promised to have his back and do my best to support the AD department on set.  I don't think I impressed him very much that day, but over the course of principal photography, and even after this film, he and I would become good working partners and friends.  He is easily one of the best ADs I've worked with, and I'm happy we worked all of that out over time.

So, the work began.  Being the new guy buys you a little time, but not forever, and next post, my initial head-butting with Eran, the director, and my introduction to the office production staff and the interesting accounting process to date.

Film, Sans Director

My next project was a rather short one, not a short film, but a short project.

Some have commented that I tried to be positive about people in this blog, and I have, in part because when I come onto a project and people tell me how horrible others are, I always wonder how they talk about you,  I have seen this many times.  That, and the fact that film is a collaboration, so it's rarely just one person that was crazy when things go wrong.

So it was that I was hired to production manage a feature that had ceased operation after about a week, and the director was trying to revive it.  In our meeting, he went on and on about what a jerk the original DP was, and the original production manager, and the original AD.

I took his evaluation at face value; I had no other point of reference.  What was disturbing was the fact that both of those people had not been paid for the time they did put in on the project.  Firing people and choosing not to work with them any further is one thing, not living up to your financial obligations for the time they were on the project is something else.

The director did not dispute the days owed, but constantly put off paying them for one excuse or another.  Even though they had not been hired on my watch, I felt a responsibility to see them paid.

I used the hiatus time to hire a new director of photography, and a new assistant director.  As we were planning, I found a non-stop string of problems the director had with even the new people I hired, and there were missed meetings when the director found himself unavailable at the last minute.  This was annoying, but I chalked it up to him still being frazzled by the experience to date, and I've always cut directors who were also producing their own film some slack.  If the artistic pressure was not enough, the  financial pressure caught up with them.  In some, this manifests as a form of paranoia where everyone is out to get them, to cost them money, to the point where it is personal.

Over the years, I have really tried to see interactions that go badly in film as simply part of the business, and not take it personally.  It's not easy, and long hours and pressure lead us to take things very personally, but there are many times over the years where, once outside of the immediate situation, my impressions of people changed.  That will be the case on the next feature I will talk about, The Rook, a film that holds a special place for me.  A relationship that started out very tumultuously ended up being a very special one in my life, both in the business and outside of it.

On this particular film, though, that was not the case.  I will simply refer to the movie as The High.  The story line involved African-American students who hold a racist teacher hostage.  The film was written and directed by a White filmmaker, and that shouldn't have meant he could not have handled this material well, but he didn't.  It's a rather bad film.

The director of photography I went with happened to be the brother of a more well-known DP, and a very helpful person in terms of bringing assets to the project that we would never have been able to afford.  His generosity was lost on the director, who still felt he was being ripped off.

After about two weeks of planning, we were finally ready to shoot.  The first scene was one in the school room, and setting up the room with key cast and about 30 extras involved a good deal of planning, but it almost went perfectly.  Everything and everyone was there on time, with one exception - the director.  He was nowhere to be found, and repeated cell calls to him went unanswered.

Given that he was already under budget constraints, the AD, the DP and myself tried to rough in the set-up for the master scene.  Mind you, I'm not talking about a few minutes late - I'm talking its an hour past crew call, and the director is not there, and not answering his cell.  We all figured it we at least got the master for the scene up and lit, he could always make adjustments when he got there.

On low-budget projects, actors often come expecting disorganization, and if they sense that they are right, things go badly.  The DP and I did our best to act as if the director not being there was due to a last minute emergency, and did everything in our power to calm unhappy cast and extras.  We also did everything we could to shield the director from any criticism.

All of this good will went to waste once the director finally arrived, almost two hours past call time.  He gave no excuse other than "I was busy," but more upsetting was his reaction to us having tried to get some work started, work that would help save him time and money.  He walked onto the set, and began loudly cursing out me and the director of photography, telling him how bad the lighting scene and asking me who I thought I was to set up the scene.  Mind you, all we "set up" was set dressing that had been discussed with the production designer, and shooting in a direction we had discussed when we had scouted.

"No one does anything until I say so, is that clear?" was his response.  When he was finished with his rant, he suggested to the DP that he, the director, would now explain how he wanted the scene lit.

I waited for him to finish.  The DP was somewhat in shock, not knowing how to react.  Mind you, this is a DP who had pulled a lot of favors to get him extras he could not otherwise afford.

There are a lot of things I can look past, and I gave him a few chances to calm down, which was just met with more profanity.  Finally, in front of full cast and crew, I announced, "Mike (that was not his name), I want to thank you for finally joining us, on behalf of those of us who were here on time and ready to work  two hours ago."  I then turned and apologized for his behavior to the cast and crew, and stepped outside with him.

I explained that this was my last day, but before I left, he was going to go to pay me for prep - he could keep the money for that day, and that he would pay the DP and the AD and those who had worked in prep before I left.  He was also going to hand me checks for the previous AD and DP, which I would get to them.  I also explained failure to do so meant I would inform the crew of his past history with not paying crew, and there was a good chance they would walk on him.  After much gnashing of teeth, he agreed.  I did stay and make sure we got through the day - that was my responsibility to the people I had brought on the job.

Again, bad situation, but not a completely bad outcome.  The DP and I went on to work on other projects and remained friends for some time, as was the case with the sound recordist and a few other members of the crew.

Next, I take over another movie in trouble, but this time, with much better results.  Enter, The Rook.

A Pause

Many thanks to those who are following this blog.

The real world interferes, and I will be AD on a short this weekend in upstate NY (nowhere near New Paltz).  Info from the owner of the property states no internet access, so the soonest I can update is Tuesday.  I am bringing a carrier pigeon with me, but his typing skills leave much to be desired, and he keeps forgetting my password, so I wouldn't bet on a new post until I return.