DGA Trainee Program

Reader (and aspiring identity thief) Anonymous PA writes:

From a PA perspective, what are your thoughts on the DGA Training Program? Have you ever worked with a DGA Trainee?

I’ve worked with many DGA trainees.  All kind, good-hearted people who have not yet had their souls crushed under the oppressive weight of ADdom.

I’ve made my feelings about assistant directors well known in the past, so I won’t reiterate them here.  Suffice it to say that it’s a job I wouldn’t enjoy, nor would I be any good at.

That being said, if you actually want to be an AD, whether because you’re a misanthrope or you just hate people, the DGA Trainee Program sounds like a pretty good deal, from what I’ve heard.

Like most unions, the DGA requires that you work a certain number of hours before you can join.  I don’t remember the specifics, but you have to work some ridiculous number of days as a PA (something on the order of 300) before you can be a 2nd 2nd AD.  On top of that, a certain number of those days (maybe 50?) must be worked outside of New York and Los Angeles.

The trainee program allows you to circumvent all that.  Once you’re accepted into the program, you are instantly a DGA member.  Of course, the Guild takes over your life.

You work on every kind of shoot– feature, TV, commercial, industrial, big budgets, small budgets, budgets that climb on rocks.  I think you work up to fifty days on any single project (assuming it last that long).  Then, on weekends, you take classes.  This goes on for two years.

And when you’re done, you get to be a 2nd 2nd!

Tiers

The Hollywood Juicer wrote about a director on his blog recently:

it seemed clear that he considered the camera operators and production support people (ADs, script, and camera coordinator) to be “the crew.” The rest of us – the juicers who sweated atop 12 step ladders re-hanging heavy lamps on a swing set after the production designer brought in a virtual forest of trees tall enough to block all the lamps we’d already hung (a nasty, dangerous task with very little room for error), and the grips who hung the pipes, set the flags, and moved all those walls – apparently don’t register on his radar.

I’ve noticed that most people mentally divide the crew, in one form or another.  There are generally about a hundred people on set, for a decent-sized movie or TV show.  Add in the production office, post-production, producers, actors, and various support crew (like catering), and you’re getting dangerously close to Dunbar’s number.

It’s just about impossible to know everybody, so sometimes you just have to pick who you know.  I doubt many grips know the editors on their show, for instance.

This one AD I worked with referred to the “hard crew” (camera, grips, electrics, PAs) and the “soft crew” (hair, make-up, costume).  He insisted that the hard crew eat first at every meal, to the point of cutting in line.  I could never bring myself to do that, no matter how hungry I was.

A director likely has to meet with a lot of producer and execs, so I can certainly understand why he wouldn’t know a juicer’s name (much less a PA’s).

Of course, this doesn’t excuse his callous behavior.  The EP on a game show I worked on used to go around and shake everybody’s hand at wrap and say, “Thank you.”  Every single person on the crew.  Sure, he had no idea who most of us were, and had only the vaguest sense of what job we did, but the effort was appreciated.

HJ’s director could learn a thing or two from this guy.

Something’s Wrong

Every once in a while, when I’m delivering stuff to set, the crew starts rolling before I get off the stage, and I’m stuck until the end of the take (or takes).  Yesterday was one of those times.

With nothing to better to do, I watched the monitor.  After the fourth or fifth “Goign again!”, I stopped paying attention to the actors, and noticed the moon on the translight looked kinda fake. I went over to the 2nd AD and asked if that was due to the quality of the video tap, or if it would look that fake at home.

He shrugged. “If the audience notices the backdrop, there’s something seriously wrong with the scene.”

There’s a an old canard you’ll hear on any set when something goes wrong– “We’ll fix it in post.” Usually, they’re just kidding, like muttering, ”Yeah, but last time I didn’t receive a piece. I could set the building on fire,” at someone’s office birthday party.

But when someone claims, “If they notice X, we’ve got bigger problems,” they really mean it.  They’re saying, in effect, “Shut up, and let’s move on.”

Of course, it’s impossible to make a movie without any goofs, gaffs, or screw ups, and it is often a judgment call whether a technical error is egregious enough to destroy the suspension of disbelief.

But I hear this excuse a lot. I think it puts too much pressure on the actors and script, and doesn’t fully recognize the crew’s role in creating a world for characters and story to exist in. If we can see that that world is made of papier-mâché and chewing gum, it doesn’t really matter how good the actors are.

I like to use the phrase as a barometer for the quality of show I’m on. You’ll hear it employed far more frequently on a shitty straight-to-DVD movie than on a major scripted network show.  Thankfully, this was the first time I’d heard it on this show.

So far.

Say Yes

If you’ve ever taken an improv class, you’ve heard the rule, “Say Yes.” If your partner says, “Man, it sure is cold up here on the moon,” you don’t say, “No, no, this is the old west.” You’d be surprised how many people want to do this.

PAs have a similar rule, or at least a similar attitude. If someone asks you to do something, you say yes. It doesn’t matter who they are, or that it’s not really your job, you just do it.

The on-set dresser is moving furniture? Lift the other end of the couch. The location manager needs to copy some maps? Take the originals and run the copies yourself. The set PA needs signs saying, “Base Camp This Way–>”? Fire up the computer and make it happen.

You’re a PA; you say yes.

The problem is, this can quickly turn into abuse. One day, you ask the post PA if she wants you to pick up something from the studio, since you’re going anyway. The next day, the post coordinator calls you up and tells you he needs you to deliver dailies to seven executives, and a couple of producers along the way.

Wardrobe, casting, hair, and make-up all love to find things for other departments to do for them. If you’re not careful, you’ll find you don’t have time to do your own job.

What you need is a coordinator or AD who will protect you. You can’t say no, but they can.
They can say, “You’ve got your own PA/intern.”

Of course, sometimes this is just like your older brother defending you from a bully– “No one gets to beat up my little brother but me.” Still, the devil you know…

What’s in a Title? – II

“Only in Hollywood would the title “Best Boy” be given to an experienced and highly skilled technician.”

-Someone who’s name I can’t recall.  Terry Pratchett, maybe?

There’s a common title in Hollywood that I’ve always disliked.  (Well, there’s two; I’ve already complained about “talent.”)

“Extras.”  It’s so demeaning.  They’re already getting paid less than PAs to basically be set dressing.  They’re forced to sit in holding pens like animals.  Their job is mind-numbingly dull, and pretty much everyone on the crew assumes they’re morons, or thieves, or both.  (They often are, but that’s beside the point.)

Do we have to call them “extra,” too?  At a certain point, an AD told me not to call them “extras” at all, but rather “background actors.”  That seems more fair, to me.  At least it’s acknowledging that they do something.

Some might say this is pretentious, elevating their position to “acting.”  But then again, I don’t really consider acting to be that impressive, so I’m okay with that.  :)

Intimacy

I was working on a short film this weekend, and we shot an “intimate scene.”  Basically, the actress was nude.  As is common practice, we kicked out everyone who didn’t absolutely have to be in the room.

This was all well and good, but it reminded me of a terrible AD on one of my first gigs.  It was a straight-to-DVD slasher movie, so of course there had to be a sex scene.

Technically, it was post-coital; the actor and the actress were lying in bed, under one of those L-shaped Hollywood blankets.  You know, where her chest is covered but his is not?

(I’m not really sure the producers understood the marketing purpose of titillating scenes in straight-to-DVD.)

But still, the actors were making out and it was kinda awkward, so they kicked everyone out of the room.  Which was totally okay.  It was a big house, and there was plenty of space for the rest of the crew to stand by in the kitchen.  (It was the middle of the night, and freezing cold.)

Then the AD sees me talking with one of the grips.  “You need to go outside.”

“What do you need?”

“Nothing, you just can’t be in here while we’re filming the sex scene.”

“In the other room?”

“Yeah.”

“But I can’t see anything.  And they can’t see me.  What’s the problem?”

“Just go outside.”

So, I open the door, and the director immediately yells, “Shut the fucking door!  It’s freezing outside!”

I slipped out and shut it.  With nothing to do, I just walked around to keep warm.  I came to the big picture window in the living room, where video village was set up.

The monitor was turned towards the window.

Yes, I could actually see more after the AD kicked me out.

Office PA Vs. Set PA

Thomas writes:

I was reading your blog tonight and you have some really interesting stories and anecdotes.  None of which are surprising,  I’ve only been on like two sets in my life…but I can imagine how hectic and crazy things might get.

I just had a quick question for you.

You mention that a memo was passed around the office the other day.  I guess I am confused, since you PA mostly, doesn’t that mean you freelance and therefore don’t work out of the office? Or is that like a second job.

Sorry if this sounds like a silly question, I’m really trying to break in to the industry and get started and maybe do some more work, but all I’ve done is a few short PA gigs that either paid nothing or basically nothing.

It’s not silly. I can see how you might be confused.  There are really two kinds of production assistants: Office PAs and Set PAs.

It sounds like you’ve worked as a set PA.  They’re the guys who help the ADs keep things moving.  They shuttle actors to and fro, they lock up the set, they distribute paperwork that the office sends them.

An office PA, on the other hand, helps the production coordinator.  Their job is to keep the office running smoothly.  They answer phones, make copies, do runs.  Smaller movies may not need (or be able to afford) office PAs, but every TV show has them.  The writers write so many scripts, it’d be impossible to copy everything without a PA dedicated to the office.

Of course, there are production companies where you’ll serve the same basic function as an office PA when they’re shooting.  That sort of job is more permanent than freelancing as either a set or office PA.

Why would you want one job or the other?  It depends on where you ultimately want your career to go.  Being a set PA is a basic requirement for joining the DGA as a 2nd AD.  It’s also a great way to meet the crew, like grips, sound mixers,  camermen, and the like.  You can learn from them and network, and eventually move into one of those fields.

Conversely, office PAs have a pretty straight path to being a coordinator.  They also interact with departments that spend more time around the office, like art, or the writers.

In the end, whichever you path choose, networking is the real goal of a PA.

Who Hires a PA?

Samantha writes:

I’m a soon-to-be college grad, and I’m planning on moving out to LA this summer. I was wondering who it is I should be contacting to get a PA position? People have told me numerous positions like the AD and the UPM, but I don’t know who I really should be getting in contact with.  The place I’m interning at right now has a film in pre-production that should start filming this summer, and I’d like to ask my supervisor for a recommendation for a PA position, but I think I’d best know who exactly it is I should have him send it to!

Getting a job on a movie or TV show is not the same as getting a job at a bank or law firm.  People don’t write (or read) letters of recommendation, like you seem to be imagining.  Usually, it’s a matter of someone (your boss, in this case) saying to someone else, “Hey, are you hiring?  I’ve got a guy who needs a job.”

If the production company you’re already interning at is making a movie, parlaying that internship into a PA job should be relatively easy.  Just ask your boss to recommend you to the AD or production coordinator.  They’ll most likely listen to the company that’s paying the bills, after all.

Which one he recommends you to really depends on what kind of position you want.  The production coordinator hires the office PAs,  while the AD (or 2nd AD) hires the set PAs.  (The UPM rarely hires production assistants, unless it’s a really, really small show.)

Congratulations on graduating!

Following Up or Pestering?

Reader Janice emailed this question:

I’ve been a PA for three gigs now but never on a “visiting” set, where the main production happens in, say, NYC, and small portions are filmed in, say, DC.

The PA from NYC called on Monday and said that I’d be working today through next Monday on a feature film and I sent him two texts (one around noon yesterday and the other at 1:30 a.m.) and a voicemail this morning to ask why I had not received call times/locations. Nothing. I was just wondering, what is the etiquette on this? Would it be too much to send another text to try to get an answer out of him? Or should I just resign to the fact that they might have found other PAs or don’t need more (even though he, for a fact, said that I’d be working today and I had, therefore, not scheduled anything else for this time period)?

That’s a tough situation.  Besides the possibility that it turned out they didn’t need another PA, it’s usually an AD who hires the set PAs.  The PA in question might have been speaking out of turn when he said you were hired.

When you say you asked “why you had not received call times/locations,” I hope you didn’t phrase it that way.  I would advise a more polite choice of words: “I’m looking forward to working with you guys [again?].  What time do you need me on set?”

As for the timing, I would not be sending text messages at 1:30 in the morning, unless there are some extenuating circumstances that I’m not aware of.  Production works some of the longest hours of the crew, and they need their sleep.

Also, I would avoid texting at all, unless you’re already on friendly terms with the guy.  Texting is much more casual (read: less professional), and much more easily ignored than a phone call.

If he called you on Monday for work on Thursday, I would definitely call Wednesday afternoon to confirm.  And by “afternoon,” I mean about nine hours after their call time.  Call sheets aren’t usually set until that point.  If you call any earlier, you’re just asking for information they don’t have yet.

(Wow, how many times can a guy use “call” in one paragraph?)

Another call on the day of promised work is probably not out of the question. You’ll almost certainly not be working that day, but you might at least get an explanation as to what happened.

On the other hand, they may not return your call at all, because they’re even more embarassed about the whole thing than you are.

Good luck!

Distro

One of the basic tasks of a PA is distributing paperwork that no one wants to read.  (With good reason, usually; more than a few times, I’ve passed out a memo regarding the fact that the elevators in our building would be shut down… on Saturday.  When no one was going to be there.)

As the office PA, I’m responsible for getting these retarded memos to everyone in the office.  For the set, I give them to the set PA.  (Being a PA is complicated, I know.)

Recently, I got a hold of some paperwork that actually was important.  The director had drawn some storyboards, and he wanted certain important people (the producers, the DP, the AD, etc.) to get them.  He gave them to his assistant, who gave them to my boss, who gave them to me.

I copied them, passed them around the office, and dutifully handed a pile to a set PA.  My assignment complete, I went back to the more demanding task of coming up with a funny Facebook status.  (“…hasn’t eaten any candy all day!  He thinks he’ll reward himself with a piece of candy.”)

The next morning, the AD came over the walkie, screaming, “Where the FUCK are my storyboards?  What the hell kind of fucking Mickey Mouse operation is this?  I should have had these fucking things yesterday!”

This was on channel 1, the main production channel.  You rarely yell at someone on channel 1, and you never swear.  It was bizarre and frightening.

My boss turns to me and asks, “Why didn’t you give him the storyboards?”

“I gave them to the set PA, like I always do.”

“When I give you something to do, you need to take responsibility for it.”

Like when the director gave you something to do?  Way to lead by example, there, buddy.

Still, I was curious what the hell happened, so I went to the set PA, to find out.  Turns out, several things went wrong and, oddly, none of them were my fault.

First, the coordinator decided to put a memo on top of the storyboards.  Essentially, it said, “These are storyboards.”

Now, on set, ADs and DPs are very, very busy.  They’re constantly, well, not actually doing anything, but yelling at other people to do things.  (DPs and ADs tend to be jerks; a nice DP is as rare as a diamond, and a nice AD is as rare as Bigfoot shitting a diamond on a unicorn riding a lightning bolt while being attacked by a shark during a solar eclipse.)

So, when you hand what looks like another pointless memo to these busy, angry people, they have a tendency to ignore it.  The way the set PA tells it, the DP told him to put it on his desk (where it still sits– I checked).  The AD said, “Don’t give me shit on set,” and promptly threw it in the garbage.

Of course, they don’t remember saying these things.  They just know they don’t have a storyboard in their hands, right now.

Now, had it been me, I would have flipped through the storyboards, because I’m a nosy fucker.  And, because I don’t know my place, I would have said to the AD, “Are you sure you want to throw these out?  They’re story boards.”

But that didn’t happen.  Communication broke down all around me, and, though I did my job exactly as I should have, I’m the one who got blamed.

I love being a PA.