The Anonymous Production Assistant’s Blog

Writing yesterday about my film school pilot, I thought about our terrible professors for the first time in years. They were all pretty old, and set in their ways. They wouldn’t let us do anything unusual, like, oh, say, move the camera in the shot. They drained every ounce of originality from the production. Like network executives, only not paid as well.

At the time, I also worked for the school. I asked my grizzled old boss what he thought of the situation. Was it going to be this hard to get things done in the real world? He assured me no studio is run as inefficiently as film school. They’d go out of business.

“Everyone is here because either they’re too old to hack it any more,” and he included himself in this group (he was old enough to be on a first name basis with Walt Disney), “or, if they’re young, they never will.”

I looked around at my professors and saw that he was right. When I checked credits on imdb, either I didn’t recognize anything they’d worked on, or their last project of note was done before I was born.

After I graduated, I had an AD who was an asshole (not all that uncommon for ADs, sadly) and had no idea what he was doing. I later found out he taught a directing class at our alma mater. I felt bad for his students.

This obviously calls to mind the old saying, “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.” Out of curiosity (and lack of anything to do), I tried to figure out who coined that phrase. Apparently, everyone did. On further researching, I discovered it’s actually a bastardization of a quote from Aristotle: “Those that know, do. Those that understand, teach.”

While I think the latter is nicer (my wife is a teacher, after all), the former one applied to my professors much better.

(On an unrelated note, I’m excited to learn I’m not the only one in Hollywood who votes Republican.)

In film school, I worked on a sitcom pilot for the campus TV station. It was for a class, so if you wanted to be either the director, the writer, or the producer, you had to interview with the professors. They made three highly questionable choices.

There were a lot of funny people on our crew, but the writer wasn’t one of them. It’s not that he had a strange, Andy Kaufman-type sense of humor; nor did he make obscure, Dennis Miller-style references. No, his dialogue was just… words. That weren’t funny.

The director had terrible instincts. We found an actor who was able to draw some humor out of the terrible script by creating a layered performance. He essentially treated his character’s public persona as a different person from his private one, and that tension built comedy. (Trust me, it was funny.) The director saw this and naturally decided the actor should do it completely differently. And less funny.

To complete the trifecta, we had a lousy producer. He was totally disorganized. He never knew what was going on, or when it needed to happen. It was amazing we got the show finished at all.

Did I mention I was the producer?

So, you see, Dawn, there’s a very good reason why I don’t want to be a coordinator, UPM, or anything along those lines. Besides the very obvious fact that I’m not good at it, I don’t enjoy it, either.

Being good at, and enjoying, producing is so far removed from my own experiences, that I really do not understand people who are good, and do enjoy it. Of course, my parents don’t understand how I can stand finding a new job every six months.

It’s not an insult. It’s genuine confusion. But I am glad there are people out there who do produce. Nothing would get done without them.

Yesterday, the writers’ assistant asked me if I wanted to be a production coordinator.

The question puzzled me. Who actually wants to be a coordinator? I can’t imagine anyone stepping off the bus in L.A., and thinking to themselves, “I can’t wait to coordinate some productions!”

I know some people roll off the turnip truck wanting to be actors, and, thanks to the cult of the auteur, others want to be directors. I get those (sorta)

People’s interests vary, so I can even understand someone wanting to be a DP, a costume designer, or any of the creative department heads. (On a side note, I am a little confused as to why they would want to work in movies, rather than in their own unique field. Why not just become a photographer or a clothing designer?)

Personally, I always knew I wanted to be some kind of writer. It took me a while to figure out I wanted to be a screenwriter, but once I did, I’ve focussed on nothing else.

But I really can’t imagine someone devoting themselves to becoming, say, a UPM or an AD. It doesn’t seem like a dream. It strikes me more as something you fall into, when you realize you’re organized, and not much good in any other department.

Do people really want to be coordinators, or do they just become them?

Maybe I’m just prejudiced. I don’t know.

I was walking down the hall at the studio, yesterday (as is my wont to do), when one of our producer/writers came out of the bathroom just as I passed it.  We did that awkward thing where you’re walking at the same speed to the same place, without actually walking together.

Feeling the need to make small talk, I asked him how things were going down the hall (where our writers’ offices are).

“Pretty good,” he said. “Making progress.”

“That’s good.”

Awkward pause.

Then he asked, “Are you on [the expensive, and much better, cable show whose writers' office is down the hall in the opposite direction]?”

Even more awkward, for me, at least, pause.

“No, I- I work for your show. I’m in the production office” fifteen feet down the hall from your office.

“Oh.”

I don’t begrudge him not knowing my name. I can’t remember his, either. To me, he’s just Balding, Socially Awkward Producer Who Wears Flannel Like He’s In An Early Nineties Rock Band, Despite Being Old Enough To Remember When The Beatles Played On Ed Sullivan’s Show.

Hell, I don’t even care if he doesn’t know what position I’m in. There’s at least a hundred positions on a TV crew, and he can’t know who does what. But seriously, shouldn’t he at least remember the face of the guy he walks by every day on his way to writing terrible scripts?

I had a chance to see The Dark Knight last night, at a screening on the Warner Brothers lot. It was for employees, mostly executives and their assistants. Usually when I see movies ahead of time, it’s with LA Weekly or Campus Circle; the crowd is mostly wearing flip flops and t-shirts. Last night was a more staid affair, with most people in shirts and ties (or skirts and heels).

I won’t go much into what I thought, other than to say that the audience cheered, actually cheered, at a certain point in the movie. It’s quite a compliment to the filmmakers that this bunch of jaded studio folks could still get excited. (You’ll know the part I’m talking about when you see it.)

Screenings are free and plentiful in LA, which is why I went to a lot of them as a poor film student. Besides the movie itself, there are often guest speakers, too. I saw Kevin Spacey at a screening for American Beauty in my first month at school. I even got to ask him a question! If I recall correctly, it was something along the lines of, “Mr. Spacey, why are you so awesome?” (This was before 21, mind you.)

A couple years ago, I went to a screening of King Kong.  We weren’t expecting any special guests that time; just a big monkey, some dinosaurs, and maybe Naomi Watts in a skimpy white dress. But while we were waiting in line, I heard a voice I definitely recognized.  It took me a minute to place it, and then I realized it was Brad fucking Bird!

I pointed him out to my friend, who responded, “That’s not Brad Bird.”

“Yes, it is.  I recognize him from my Incredibles DVD.”

“I don’t think that’s him.”

“I’m sure it is.”

It went on like this for a while, until I finally went up and asked the guy, “Excuse me, are you Brad Bird?”

“Yes.”

“SEE?”

That’s pretty much the end of that story.  I said I liked his movies, he said thanks, the end.

In any case, my point is, if you start going to these screenings, you too can meet minor celebrities and prove to your friends that you listen to way too many commentary tracks.

I walked into the writers’ office yesterday and saw a ping pong ball and two paddles sitting on the assistant’s desk.

I paused, staring at the ping pong ball.

This was one of those moments you see in indie movies, where the character is contemplating his life, but you don’t know exactly what he’s thinking because, you know, “show, don’t tell.” But, since this isn’t a movie, I can tell you. I was thinking:

This is where I should be– counting how many times I can bounce the ball while idly bullshitting with the other writers about whatever this week’s story is. Then, suddenly, the story breaks, and we leap to our computers and start furiously pounding out the script.

Now, I know this isn’t how it always works. Writing can be frustrating and dull and lonely. But it can also be engaging and exciting and social, in the right circumstances.

I told my wife about ping pong ball, and she rolled her eyes. “That’s not really writing.”

You see, my wife is under the misapprehension that “writing” consists of the time spent at the keyboard. In fact, she uses “writing” and “typing” interchangeably. “Do you do any good typing today, sweetie?”

She does this mostly because she knows it annoys me.

The truth is, there’s much more to writing than the actual typing. An electrician’s job is to light the set, but the entirety of his job is not encompassed in the moment he switches on the lamp. He has to lay cable, position the light, set the dimmer board.

When I’m playing Portal for the eighteenth time, or calling up friends, or just staring at the ceiling, I can see why that’d look like goofing off. What I’m really doing is laying cable.

Although, sometimes, I am just goofing off.

Yesterday, Nathan wrote, “You want to write… write!” This is the best, most important advice any aspiring writer can get. But if you’re sitting at a desk in Nome, Alaska, typing away on an Underwood by candlelight, filing your scripts in a drawer, you’re not going to have a writing career.

There’s an old saying that goes, “You’re the average of the people closest to you.” This is why I stopped working on shitty cable shows and direct-to-video movies. I took both a pay cut and a lower position so I could be on a real network show with real writers.

No, the show runner isn’t going to ask the office PA to write an episode. However, WGA rules dictate that he has to ask someone who’s not on staff at least twice a season.  (The number is something like that, anyway; I can’t find the exact rule, because when I google “WGA Rules,” I get a bunch of old crap about the strike.)

Often, this means hiring the writers’ PA, script coordinator, or even the executive producer’s assistant.  Basically, if they’re going to hire someone, they want to hire someone who’s sitting in the writers’ room with them every day.

So, how do you get to be a writers’ PA? Well, one way is to be an office PA, and hang out with the producer/writers down the hall.  When the script coordinator becomes a real writer, the writers’ assistant moves up to coordinator, the writers’ PA moves up to assistant, and all of a sudden, there’s an opening at the bottom.

That’s my plan, anyway.

My freshman year at film school, I knew at least a half dozen people who dropped out of the program, if not college altogether. Even more changed majors in the years following. After picking films apart for class after class, they found that they just couldn’t enjoy going to the movies anymore, which was probably the reason they signed up for film school in the first place.

This attitude carries over into the professional world, too. I can’t tell you how many people I know who don’t go to movies, or don’t ever watch TV. They know too much about the bullshit going on behind the scenes to take any of it seriously.

It’s sort of like learning the secret to a magic trick. Once you know the trick, there’s no longer any magic.

Somehow, my brain doesn’t work that way. I can shut the analytical part off when I watch a movie. When I sit in a theater (or switch on my TV), I forget about those four years in college, and my years behind the scenes. I get transported into a different world for an hour or two, and only when I re-emerge, blinking in the sunlight, do I realize, “Whoa, wait a second. The flying suit is cool and all, but you’ve got a computer that can speak natural language, crack jokes, and make aesthetic judgments. Why isn’t this a big deal to… everyone ever?”

So, unless you’re like me, I highly recommend that you not seek a job in the entertainment industry.

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.

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.