Stupid Amounts of Money

I recently rediscovered Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip on Hulu. If you don’t remember the show, it’s basically a funny version of 30 Rock, except that it’s an hour long and doesn’t star a cute writer who vaguely resembles the former governor of Alaska.

As much as I enjoy Studio 60, I must admit it is a solipsistic view of Hollywood from the producer’s perspective. Yesterday, I watched ”The Option Period.” Part of the plot involved the network demanding the producer fire fifteen crew members in order to save money. (Why the executive was talking to the director-producer instead of the line producer is a question I’d rather not consider.)

At a certain point, the executive offers that the producer could take a pay cut to save jobs. The producer waves this away with a dismissive, “No, we’re not going to do that.”

This harsh comment hit home for me, because my own show is going through a similar situation. Our studio has imposed a pay freeze on all returning shows this season. (Generally, one can expect at least a small raise from one year to the next, especially on a successful show.)

There is an exception, of course, for actors and producers, whose contracts are written years in advance. In exchange for their promise to return season after season, the studio guarantees pay bumps from one year to the next.

This seems like a great plan, except when everyone around you isn’t getting a raise. I honestly don’t know how I could, in good conscience, accept the extra money. “Sure, I already make millions of dollars, and stand to make millions more in syndication and DVDs, but I really need that 5% bump to keep up with inflation.”

I’m not saying they should let the studio keep its money–that’d be dumb–but these are the supposedly “creative” people. Surely the could refuse the pay raise, in exchange for a commensurate increase in the show’s budget.

You always hear about CEOs who work for one dollar a year when their company is in trouble. How can someone who’s pouring their creative energies into their chosen art form not do the same?

Of course, I know the answer *cough*GREED*cough*, but I’m young. Allow me to wallow in my naiveté for a few more years, please.

Perfection

Following yesterday’s post, I had a few more thoughts on mistakes.

I used to be a personal assistant to a producer. He asked me if I ever wanted to be a director, and I said I did. He told me I could never do that job until I could do this job perfectly.

This statement made absolutely no sense to me, whatsoever. What could getting coffee and rolling calls have to do with directing a film?

There are many career paths in Hollywood, but some are more straightforward than others. Advancing within certain departments works much the same way it does in any line of work– with each promotion comes more pay and extra responsibilities; as you advance far enough, smaller responsibilities fall on those below you.

A best boy, for instance, does the same work as a grip or electric, with the added responsibilities of ordering and tracking equipment (among other things). This, in turn, relates to being a gaffer key grip, in that these department heads are responsible for budgeting for said equipment, as well as hiring crew.

Other careers make less sense. A set PA becomes a 2nd AD, who becomes a first AD, who suddenly becomes a UPM. You spend twenty years running around sets, and then suddenly you’re sitting at a desk?

Camera makes even less sense to me. The ability to load film does not reflect whatsoever on your ability to pull focus, which in turn has no bearing on your camera-operating skill. Then, you’re promoted to DP, and suddenly you’re in charge of the grips and electrics, too!

Directing is an extreme version of this. Directors often come from being department heads. This makes sense for a DP, who’s already in charge of three departments. Less so for a costume designer.

But the absolutely most nonsensical career path is that of the writer.

In TV, producers will often hire their assistants to be writers. But what does getting the boss’s lunch order right have to do with writing a script?

This is what they mean by “paying your dues”– lying. There are jobs that must be done, but bear no relation to what you ultimately want to do. The older generation, including my old boss, simply lie to the next generation to get them to work hard at an essentially meaningless job.

And I’ll probably be doing the same thing in twenty years, I guess.

The Right Attitude

I have a large backlog of questions in my in box, but this comment from a few days ago is just desperately crying out to be answered.

Hi,

currently I’m in my senior year of college, and I will be graduating with a B.A. in Cinema and Television arts.My goal is to be a television director and producer. My first question what do you think the further of television will be ? In television who gets more recognition the director or the producer. Lastly, how do you think I should approach Hollwood.
Thanks,
Eric

Okay, first off, I know this is the Internet and all, but proofreading is your friend. I’ve seen manifestoes written in crayon on toilet paper that were more coherent than this. Download Firefox, at a minimum. It comes with a spell checker, which should help you avoid writing “Hollwood” on an industry blog.

All that being said, I guarantee there will be at least three speling and grammar mistake’s in this post. Mote in your eye, plank in my own, I know.

Anyway.

You asked a lot of questions, so settle in for a long post.

What do you think the further of television will be ?

I’m not really sure what the further of television will be. It’s kind of a… strange question. Do you think television is moving? Getting larger? I’m just not prepared to answer that.

If you’re curious about the future of television, I’ve got a long post about that coming soon, so stay tuned.  (Or RSSed, or whatever.)

In television who gets more recognition the director or the producer.

My opinion of TV directors is rather low. In all honesty, the director is the only person on set who could call in sick, and the end product would be exactly the same. Still, directors get paid a lot for doing very little, and the crew does, generally, try to do what they ask. So, in that sense, the director gets “recognition,” I suppose.

The real power lies with the producers, or, more specifically, the writer-producers. Unlike films, directors come and go, but the writers remain. The creative course of a series is controlled by the writers. Nothing gets done without their approval, from casting to set construction to editing.

In general, a director’s job on set is to get enough coverage for the writer-producer to work with in post-production. If a director spends his whole day shooting eight-minute steadicam shots without getting inserts and cut-aways, that director will not be invited back for another episode.

On the commentary for an old Buffy episode (season 2, episode 14, if you’re as nerdy as me), Joss Whedon explains that, when he directs his own scripts, he feels free to shoot oners because he can decide which scenes will play in their entirety and which might have to be cut down to time. A regular director does not have that authority.

- – -

I wanna stop here because the tone of your comment gives me some misgivings.

First, it is redolent of a peculiar western mythology, that of the Lone Artist Creating His Art Alone. (A man, a plan, a canal – Panama!)

Anyway.

We have this idea that creation is a solitary pursuit, and genius can’t be arrived at by committee. One great artwork, be it a painting, a song, or a movie, must have only one great artist (painter, songwriter, director).

But the moving picture has no such artist. A writer must write the scene, an actor must perform it, the art department must give the actors a space in which to perform, and the grips and electrics must light that space for the camera department to put the scene on film. And on and on and on.

My second misgiving is that, even if there were such a “televisual artist,” it sounds like you want to be that guy. It’s like a business student asking, “Do I want to be the CEO or the chairman of the board? Oh, heck, I’ll just be the president.”

Don’t get me wrong; this isn’t your fault. All film students feel this way. I did.

Nearing graduation, I asked my professor, “What if I get agents competing over me? How do I choose which one is best?”

“You’ll be lucky to get one. Take the first agent who says yes.”

I didn’t even get one. Which is not to say there aren’t people who get lucky early in their careers, but don’t count on yourself being one of them.

/aside

- – -

How do you think I should approach Hollwood.

The way to approach Hollywood is to understand that what you do is determined by three things: what you’re good at, what you like doing, and what someone will hire you to do. At some point in your career, you’ll hope all three align. But when you’re fresh out of film school (and for most of your life, probably), the third item is the operative factor.

Why Are You Even Here?

JohnD had a long response to yesterday’s post, explaining why the death of a PA is financially feasible, which is interesting, as far as it goes, but also ignores the simple fact that a PA is a human fucking being.

I realize that John is explaining the employer’s perspective, not his own (at least, I hope so), but still.  God damn.

It’s one thing to say I’m replaceable if I can’t take being yelled at by morons for stupid things that don’t really matter.  There’s a hundred other potential PAs lined up to take my spot.  (I’m actually one of those PAs in waiting, at the moment.)  It’s a whole ‘nother thing to say it’s okay for me to die, because it won’t cost much.

(Please don’t reply that there are cynical, evil people in the world.  I’m aware of that fact, and the knowledge does nothing to quell my righteous indignation.)

On the subject of that director, I had the following conversation with another production assistant–

Me: “What exactly does she do?  The producers talk to the contestants and the DP decides where the cameras go.  How is she directing?”

Other PA: “She’s mostly here for the musical segment at the end.”

Me: “Are we cutting live?”  Meaning, Does she cut from one camera to the other while we’re shooting, or do all the cameras have their own tapes, to be spliced together later?

Other PA: “No, it’s edited in post.”

Me: “With nine professional cameramen out there, surely they know enough to get usable coverage on their own, right?  I mean, it’s not like they’re all gonna zoom in for a closeup at the same time.  What is she doing that adds anything to the process?”

Long pause.

Other PA: “I don’t know.”

So, you see, while I may be replaceable, she doesn’t even need to be replaced.

- – -

On a related note, Hollywood Juicer and I must be sharing a brain, because he posted on the very same subject Sunday:

Anyone in a position of power would be smart to offer their workers the same respect they expect to receive in return. Those who treat their crews badly should remember that every department has a dozen quiet, subtle ways of exacting revenge. One way or another, such assholes will pay for their sins. Most of us really do reap what we sow in life, and are sooner or later repaid in the same coin.

And no matter what the currency, payback really is a bitch.

Go ahead and read the whole thing.  As usual, he’s very insightful, and far more mature than I.

Replaceable

I heard the following story second hand, but I believe it, because the director in question is a real bitch.

(For my feminist readers, please don’t interpret my use of the word “bitch” as “I can’t handle working for a woman because I’m part of the repressed, straight white male hegemony.”  I’ve worked for plenty of women, most of whom were very nice and more than capable.  If this director were a man, I’d call him a “dick.”)

So, this director wanted a PA to place something on the roof of the location.  The AD objected that it was raining, there was no guardrail, and generally stupidly, obviously dangerous.

“That’s okay,” she replied.  “PAs are replaceable.”

See what I mean?  A bitch.

Now, If I was in earshot at the time, I probably would have quit and told her what I really thought about her.  Aaaand, five minutes later, I would have regreted my decision, because I would have then had to find a new job.

Thankfully, I wasn’t there.  The PAs who were kept much cooler heads.  They simply refused to do anything for her.

Not that they told her this.

“Can I get a coffee?” would be met with, “I’m getting something for the EP, but I’ll be right back with that.”  And, of course, she’d never return.

If she asked to speak with someone, a PA would grab his walkie mike and radio, “Hey, does anyone have eyes on so-and-so.”  But he wouldn’t push the transmit button.

It took her a couple days, but she eventually realized that no PA would do anything for her.  She was nice to us for the rest of the shoot.  Not that this changed anyone’s opinion of her.

Placement

I was helping a friend with a short film over the weekend. I was the camera assistant, or “AC.” Don’t ask me why the letters get inverted in the acronym.

It’s been a while since I’ve ACed, and to tell the truth, I forgot how much influence a camera assistant can have.

I knew an AC who had a signal worked out with the director. Whenever the director didn’t like the take, but didn’t want to make the actors self-conscious, he’d have the AC announce that the focus was soft, even when it was fine. Sometimes, the AC would make the announcement when he didn’t like the take.

I didn’t actually do that, because we have, thankfully, a great cast. But there’s a subtler form of influence an AC has.

Sometimes, a director or DP will stand on a spot and hold their hand at the level they want the camera.

No one ever actually does this.

Other times, they’ll just vaguely gesture in some direction, and say they want a wide shot, or whatever.

At which point, it’s up to the AC to actually pick the location, find the right height, set the focal length. You know, frame the shot.

Of course, the DP will check the frame, and occasionally they will pan a little or move the camera up or down, but generally, they leave the camera where it is. From a given location, there are a finite number of compositions that can actually work.

Granted, this is a very squishy and indefinable artistic contribution to the project (unlike the line I suggested: “Hurry up! I’ve got an appointment at 3:00, and Chavez isn’t going to assassinate himself.”), but I’ll take what I can get.

Sociopathy

Another part of Robert’s comment stuck in my head:

The director is obviously doing what makes him happy…putting down caring souls such as yourself.

I think this is a mistake people frequently make. Putting me down doesn’t make him happy. For that to make him happy, he’d have to care what I think. But he really couldn’t care less.

I’m a non-entity to him. I don’t exist. And if I don’t exist, the event never happened. He’s already forgotten about it.

If he’s reading this blog right now, I guarantee he won’t even recognize himself.

Beyond him, any director who happens to read this will think, “Well, that guy’s a jerk, but I don’t act that way.”

And the PA down the hall will be thinking, “Yes, you do.”

To paraphrase Heinlein, never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by apathy.

I Hate Directors

You have to be at least slightly psychologically damaged to be above the line.  “Above the line” refers to producers, directors, writers, and actors, also known as “talent.”

I refuse to call them “talent,” though.  If they’re talent, what the hell are the rest of us? I mean, it doesn’t take much talent to do my job, but you can’t look at a DP and tell me he’s not talented.

I know of directors, not that I’ll name Brett Ratner’s name or anything, who pretty much let the DP run the show, and then, in post, have the editor put the movie together on her own.

But I digress.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Above the liners are messed up.  Writers are insecure, socially inept misanthropes; directors are raging ego-maniacal sociopaths; actors are just as egotistical, but without having gone to the trouble of accomplishing anything to justify their egos; and producers just wish they could be writers, directors, or actors, if only they had the talent.

As you might have guessed, I had a bad experience with one of our directors.

For some reason or another (or maybe for no reason whatsoever; who knows?), the time of today’s production meeting was moved from 2:30 to 1:30.  So, the other PA and I started making calls (but not more copies of a new memo, thank Christ).

The director came in and overheard one of these calls.  Apparently the AD hadn’t yet told him about the time change. His face grew deep red as he flung his arms about, screaming.

“What is all this about 1:30?  I thought it was 2:30!  I specifically asked what time it was going to be!  I have a conference call at 2:00!  I scheduled it at 2:00, because the meeting was going to be at 2:30!”

Okay, first of all, yes, I understand you thought it was set for 2:30.  Everyone did, because it was.  Schedules change.  That’s why we’re making these phone calls, dick.

Secondly, why the fuck are you yelling at me, you penis head?  I didn’t make the original schedule, nor did I change it.  Nor did I schedule your conference call.  That was, um… you, ass hat.

Lastly, does this conference call have anything to do with this show?  You know, the show that’s handing you the equivalent of a small SUV, a hooker, an eightball, and almost enough left over that you could pay me to actually give a shit what you think?

And this guy’s a fucking TV director.  After the pilot, the television directors basically do nothing.  The DP and production designer control the look of the show, the editors and producer control the editing, the actors know their characters better than the director does, and he sure as shit ain’t changing the script. Basically, he tells the script supervisor which takes to circle.

Essentially what I’m saying is, you’re even less important to the show than I am. So, where the fuck, exactly, do you get off yelling at anyone for anything?

But What I Really Want To Do Is Direct

People often ask me what I eventually want to do. It’s a tough question to answer without resorting to platitudes.

It’s an old Hollywood cliché that everyone wants to be a director, so I try to avoid that, even though I graduated from what amounts to a director factory.

What surprises me, though, is that everyone says they are a writer, by dint of having simply typed something out. (Of course, sometimes you can just type something out, if you have a big name, and an admittedly awesome story; then nobody will care that you can’t spell.)

Personally, I used to have a rule that I would not claim to be a writer until I actually sold something. Until that point, I’m just an aspiring writer. Then I did sell a script (in the low three digits) to a company that makes straight-to-DVD movies. Supposedly, they’re shooting in Mexico soon. It’s been “soon” for the last eighteen months.

Somehow, I can’t bring myself to call myself a “writer.”

Despite what the “-er” suffix implies, there’s more to being a real writer than just writing. Someone has to want to read it, too. So far, I’ve only gotten a few friends and a handful of work acquaintances to read my scripts. Not much of a fan base, to be sure.

I think my new rule will be– I can call myself a writer when more people read my script than read my blog. :)

[On a personal note, I started playing Half Life 2: Episode Two this weekend. Can I sue them for making a game so obviously based on my nightmares? Seriously, a giant spider that shoots acid? Thanks for that, Valve.

[My wife says I should imagine the spider on roller skates, but I don't see how that will help. Then there would no way I can outrun it. It's like giving a tyrannosaurus an F-15.]

Killing the Joke

Here’s a classic joke, told on film sets around the world, that I absolutely love.

A producer, a director, and a DP are scouting locations. As they’re wandering around, one of them spots a lamp. Naturally, they decide to rub it, and, just as naturally, a genie pops out.

The genie says, “Since there are three of you, I will grant you each one wish.”

The DP says, “I want to live on a beach in the south Pacific, where I can film the most gorgeous sunsets in the most beautiful settings for the rest of my life.”

The genie says, “Done,” and POOF! The DP disappears.

The director says, “I want to make the biggest, most epic movie ever, with a limitless budget, a cast of thousands, and all the time I need to shoot it.”

The genie says, “Done,” and POOF! The director disappears.

Then the producer glances at his watch and says, “I want them both back here in five minutes.”

:)

A simple joke, based solidly on stereotypes we all know and the rule of three.

It’s not a hard joke to tell, but somehow, the AD I wrote about yesterday ruined it. He killed it. He shot it twice in the back of the head so its joke mother couldn’t have a joke open casket funeral.

Here’s his version, told during a rehearsal to an audience of grips, electrics, and PAs:

Okay, so a director, a producer, and an AD are out on a scout…

This is a seemingly unnecessary change, but most crew members deal with ADs more than producers, so I can see how this makes the joke more identifiable to the audience. Plus, it throws a little self-deprecation into the proceedings.

Along the way, they find a lamp. They rub it, and a genie appears. The genie says, “I will grant you one wish each.”

The director says, “I want to live on a beach in the south Pacific, where I can film the most gorgeous sunsets in the most beautiful settings for the rest of my life.”

The genie says, “Done,” and POOF! The director disappears.

The producer says, “I want to make the biggest, most epic movie ever, with a limitless budget, a cast of thousands, and all the time I need to shoot it.”

The genie says, “Done,” and POOF! The producer disappears.

Okay, it’s a little odd to transpose the stereotypical behavior this way, but I can dig it. It doesn’t really hurt the joke.

Then the AD goes,

And here our real AD pauses to take a deep breath…

“I want that director [gasp] and that producer [gasp] back here, RIGHT! NOOOOOOW!“

Everyone just stared at the guy. They couldn’t figure out if the joke was over, or what.

I knew the punchline, and I was still baffled. Underplaying the final statement is what makes it play. The producer (or AD) doesn’t even realize what an asshole he’s being. Anger just muddies the waters.

The best part is, the actual producer and director were on the set, and they heard the shouting. Later, they said they were afraid to come out, because they couldn’t figure what they had done to make the AD so pissed off that he would scream for them across the stage.