Making Movies for Fun and No Profit

First of all, Ken Levine somehow stole a blog post idea directly from my head. (This fits with my theory that Rupert Murdoch has a chip my brain, and he’s stealing all my good scripts before I even write them.) Ah, well, it’s probably for the best– he’s a better writer than I am, anyway, and his views on the writer/director subject are more insightful than mine would have been.

Anyway, on to my real post.

I like making movies. It’s why I moved to Los Angeles, why I went to film school, and why I’m willing to work for idiots for less money than what a grocery clerk makes.

The problem is, making movies is a collaborative art (unless you animate it and do all the voices yourself).

Growing up in a small midwestern city, I didn’t know many people who were interested in making movies, let alone willing to put the time and effort it takes to actually write, shoot, and edit one. But once I got to film school, finding collaborators was easy.

That, to me, is the main advantage to film school. You’re surrounded by people who don’t want to do anything but make movies. I was shooting all the time, sometimes my movies, sometimes other people’s. Sure, they were universally lousy, but at least I was filming.

The problem I had working at a production company was that I was the youngest person there. Nobody else was interested in spending their weekends with a DV camera and actors cast from Craig’s list. Once I got into PAing on movies and TV shows, I finally got back to filming just for fun (or artistic expression).

This year, I’ve worked on two friends’ projects, and done two of my own. It’s always a fun way to burn a weekend or two.  It’s hard to get stressed, like you do on a real shoot, because everyone’s working for the love of it (and maybe a slice of pizza).

Even better, in the years since film school, the projects have ceased to suck, and progressed to merely disappointing. In a couple more years, I may attain the vaunted sphere of “adequate.”

Here’s hoping.

Set Visits

I was walking a friend from out of state one day, and we saw a line of unmarked, white trucks along the side of the road. My friend said, “It looks like there’s a circus!”

Did I mention my friend was from out of town?

To an Angelino, those trucks are the surest sign that there’s a film or TV production going on. If you see a couple cops on motorcycles, then you know for sure.

You’ll often see security personnel around, too. Productions like to think they’re keeping the public out, but it’s surprisingly easy to get onto a set. All you have to do is wander up, and pretend like you have somewhere to be. No one ever asks where you’re going.

I learned this on the set of Daredevil. I was walking to the bar, when to my surprise, Bullseye sped by on a motorcycle.

I was excited about the movie at the time (and later very disappointed), so I tried to see if I could get closer. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was wearing the PA’s uniform– baggy shorts, T-shirt, tennis shoes. All I needed was a walkie on my belt.

I saw a table full of food, and, being a poor college student, made a bee line straight for it. I introduced myself to the craft services guy, who told me of the endless glories of food on set. I told him who I was, and he let me hang around all night.  He introduced me to Ben Affleck’s stunt double (Affleck himself wasn’t there), and later on I saw the scene where Bullseye kills Electra’s dad.

It was a pretty awesome experience for a kid in film school. I’ve even done it several time since, with My Name is Earl, Swordfish, NYPD Blue, and others.  If you’re bored and looking for some cheap entertainment, I highly recommend it.

Job Well Done

Some days, you can be proud of the work you’ve done, knowing that you’ve contributed, in some small way, to the production.

Then there are days when you drive two and a half hours to pick up a DVD with a three second vanity card.

I don’t understand why it wasn’t just uploaded to a server somewhere.  Don’t they have the internet?  Hell, it would have been faster to e-mail “0000001000000110000001000000110000001000000100000010000001.”

Success

I’ve met Bryan Singer twice.

The first time, he came as a guest judge for a student film competition at my school. This was before X-Men had come out, but he must have been in the middle of post, so it was pretty cool that he came by. Of course, at this point, Singer had had only one successful movie (and that was mostly due to its twist ending, not his work), and one flop. Plus, there hadn’t been a successful comic book movie in at least five years; there had never been a really successful Marvel comic movie.

Even though we film students looked up to him, things weren’t looking too great for our Mr. Singer.

After the competition, some students invited him back to the dorms. They were taking bets whether the “BJS” carved into one of their beds was, in fact, Bryan’s initials, from when he was a film student.

That’s how Bryan Singer wound up drinking beers with a bunch of my friends in the freshman dorms. At one point, someone put The Usual Suspects into the DVD player, and Bryan was so drunk, he started commenting on the commentary track. It was as awesome as it sounds.

I had occasion to meet Singer again, on May 5th, 2003. Not that I memorize the dates I meet famous directors; I just remember that it was the Monday after X-Men 2 came out.

It was right around graduation time, and there were a ton of parties going on. When I arrived at one such party, my friend ran up to me and gushed, “Oh my gosh, do you know who’s here? Bryan Singer!

Yes, she was so excited that she verbally hyperlinked to his IMDb page.

I asked what he was doing here, and she didn’t know. “It looks like he’s picking up some hot young coeds,” I said, noting the throng of girls fawning all over him.

“Not exactly,” my friend replied.

“Oh.”

“What the hell was a A-list director doing trolling for boys sixteen years his junior at a college party on the weekend that he’s releasing the biggest film of his career? “

I understood her point. I mean, it was cute and all when he was still only moderately successful (not to mention younger), but now it’s just creepy and weird.  Shouldn’t he have better things to do?

I’m not sure what lesson I (or you) am supposed to take away from this little story. It’s great to see that power, money, and fame don’t necessarily change you, but could they also impede your maturity?

How the hell would I know? I’m just a PA. I have none of them.

You’re Fired!

I once worked for a guy who told me that he’s never had a job he wasn’t fired from. This was a point of pride for him, as it “proved” he had an entrepreneurial spirit, and he would never be successful until he started his own business.

He seemed to be right. He started his own business and became exceedingly rich. Of course, he also believed that Google has a live video feed from a spy satellite accessible from any home computer.

I’ve heard it said that it’s healthy to be fired at least once in your career. I have no idea why. I was fired from a show, and I found no value in the experience at all.

I was working in the office, and doing a pretty good job, too. The coordinator was moving on, once the season was over, and the APOC was getting a promotion; she asked me if I would be interested in being her assistant coordinator next season. (This was a non-union show.)

So, like I said, I was doing a good job, but there was this one guy, the UPM, who really didn’t like me. I’m not sure why. Whenever I’d crack a joke, he wouldn’t laugh; when I smiled and asked, “How ya doin’?”, he’d give me a terse response. Generally, we just didn’t get along.

One day, I was on my way back from a run, and I got a call over the walkie to come to stage whatever right away. I called back that I’d be there as soon as I could.

“I don’t want you here ’soon,’ I want you here now.”

“I’m parking my vehicle. I can’t be in two places at once.”

Now, granted, I shouldn’t have talked back like that, but still.  He obviously didn’t like me, personally, and was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.

Plus, the bastard didn’t even have the balls to fire me directly. At the end of the day, six hours later, the coordinator took me aside and told me I wouldn’t be coming in tomorrow.

Oh, and did I mention that “tomorrow” was the last day of the season? And we had spent much of the morning unpacking the crew gifts, to be given out on the last day? So, after four months on the job, I was the only one who didn’t get a crew jacket.

I’m still bitter over that one.

Sometimes shit happens, and you learn something from it.  Sometimes, shit just happens.  This was the latter.

10-1

Anybody who works on set and who is slightly immature, by which I mean grips, just giggled at the title.

You see, channel 1 is the main production line on the walkies. Anyone could be listening, so you shouldn’t say anything that you don’t want other people to hear. You’re also supposed to follow certain rules of decorum, like not swearing and not saying, “I have to go take a piss.”

Besides being inaccurate (you’re actually leaving a piss), it’s rude. Instead, you’re supposed to say, “I’m going ten-one.”

This seemed strange and arbitrary, so I did some poking around to figure out where this curious term comes from. Several people told me it is short for 10-100. A quick search of Wikipedia tells me that they must have rounded up. 10-99 is the actual code for “Need To Use The Restroom (urinate).”

It’s also the code for “officer needs assistance/held hostage,” so that can be confusing, I imagine.

“This is officer Williams. I’m 10-99″

“Oh, God, he’s 10-99! He’s 10-99! We need back up now, God damn it, now! He’s 10-99!”

“Dude, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Not that 10-100 is much clearer. It can mean, among other things, misdemeanor warrant, hot pursuit, and dead body.

“We’ve got a 10-100 here.”

“Is he moving, or not?”

I used to work on a game show; we had contestants of all shapes and sizes. After this little Wikipedia binge, the other PAs and I started calling out 10-85 when certain, uh, plus-sized contestants were brought to set.

Come on, we’re PAs. You don’t expect us to be more mature than the grips do you?

Blame Arbitration

I remember a director trying to give a pep talk at the beginning of a shoot. It’s going to be a great film, we have a great cast, great blah blah blah.

Then he gets to the part about how this film will be great for all of our careers. Pretty standard, until he says, “If this film is as successful as I know it can be, you’ll get all the credit. And if it doesn’t work, don’t worry. As the director, I will get blamed.”

Riiiight.

I am perpetually amazed at how often writers are blamed for things going horribly awry. Just this morning, Adam Carolla was complaining about the ridiculous plot to Ocean’s 13.

The truth is, you have no idea why a script wound up the way it did. Writers work as much on the whim of their employers as the rest of us do. In North by Northwest, Hitchcock simply dictated a bunch of sequences he wanted (a chase across Mount Rushmore, an airplane attack in a corn field), and left it to Ernest Lehman to make a coherent plot out of it. Sometimes this process leads to a classic. Sometimes, it leads to Ocean’s 13.

Terry Rossio (one of my heroes, who wrote Aladdin and Pirates of the Caribbean) has a great article on his website about this very topic. Ever see The Puppet Masters? Don’t.

Sitting in the production office, I read every script for our show. I try to visit the set a lot, and I certainly watch the episodes when they air. What you see on TV is not always what the writer wrote. That may be good. Or, it can be very, very bad.

Incoming Links

Hey, Alex Epstein gave me a link! That’s some quality endorsement.  Besides being full of amazing advice, Alex has a tendency to link to other great writers, as well.

While on the subject of links, Amanda the Aspiring writer posted a link to a TV writer’s group.  It sounds like fun, and I definitely plan on signing up, just as soon as I get past Yahoo’s captchas. Seriously, am I an inactive Cylon?  Humans aren’t supposed to fail the Turing test.

Don’t worry, I’ll put up a real post later today.

Good Mornin’

You work strange hours when you’re making a TV show (or a movie, for that matter). You’ll come in at 7:00 one day and 10:30 the next. Sometimes you’re there for twelve hours, sometimes sixteen. You just never know.

One artifact of this, I believe, is that “morning” is whenever call time is, be it 6:30am or 2:30pm. It can be a bit strange, rolling into the office at a time most people are just getting done with work, and your boss says, “Good morning!”

The first meal of the day is always “breakfast,” even if they’re serving hamburgers at noon. The second meal is always “lunch,” and the third meal is, as you might assume, “second meal.”

When you work in the office, your eating schedule can get screwed up, since the office has to be open during normal business hours, regardless of the shooting schedule.

Some days, I come in at eight, but breakfast isn’t served until 10:30, by which point I’m about ready to eat my own foot. Then lunch is at 4:30, which confuses the hell out of my stomach, since it’s too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. If I eat now, I won’t be hungry when I get home, but then I won’t get breakfast again until maybe 11:00 the next morning. But if I don’t eat, I’ll be starving by the time I’m let go. What to do!

It’s existential quandaries like these that keep us tortured artists up at night.

Do Your Own Job

The people in charge don’t have any idea what’s going on. They hire people like me, so they don’t have to know. That’s why it really burns my toast when my boss tells me how things are run.

Just today, our additional 2nd AD (not to be confused with the 2nd 2nd AD, which is a totally different job) asked if he could get preliminary production reports. (If you don’t know what that is, don’t worry, it doesn’t matter to the story. It’s just some paperwork he wanted.)

So my boss says that he’s supposed to be getting the preliminary MacGuffins. I interjected that, no, we give them the approved MacGuffins, not the prelims.

My boss assured me that they’re supposed to be getting the preliminary MacGuffins, and, in fact, had been getting them until recently.

This, despite the facts that, first, I am the one who makes the copies and distributes the paperwork, so I would know, and second, I have documentary proof, in the form of a list of who gets what paperwork, in my boss’s handwriting, mind you, that I was never told the ADs needed these prelims.

“Just give him the prelims from now on.”

Yeah, I got that.  Thanks.  You’re the idiot, and I’m the one who’s getting talked down to.

I love being a PA.