Video Killed the Fi-i-ilm Star

I know lots of people who can’t stand HD. I worked for an AC who would say, “I don’t care what the resolution is, it’s still video.”  Really, do you know anybody outside the business who can even tell the difference between HD and film, much less cares?

More pertinently, I had professors proclaim there is a discipline to working with film. You can’t just roll and roll and roll. Film costs too much.  Tapes (and now, memory cards) are cheap.  I’ve worked for some directors who never call, “Cut!” They’ll just say, “Do it again,” without giving anyone a break. It’s exhausting, for the actors, for the camera operators, for everyone.  I’ve heard of boom operators fainting under those conditions.

There’s bound to be irresponsible people misusing technology, but I figured this “film discipline” thing was just blather from Luddites fearing new-fangled gadgets.

Then, a few weeks ago, I caught myself doing it.

In school, I was given 1200 feet of film to shoot a short movie. The final product barely fit on a 400 foot reel. That’s a 3:1 shooting ratio. Not bad.

A few weeks ago, a shot three spec commercials on HD. At the end of the shoot, I asked my editor how much footage we had. He told me it was 80 minutes.

For a total screen time of 90 seconds.

For those of you too lazy to do the math, the shooting ratio was 53:1. That’s, um, pretty bad. Maybe my professor was right.

These are the kinds of lessons I want to remember when I become a real director. So many people forget what it was like when they were just starting out. This website is about not letting myself forget.

Or, if you’ve already forgotten, maybe it will remind you.

Wanna Know How Sausage is Made?

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.

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.

Shoot the Film. No, Really, Shoot It.

I was reading American Cinematographer the other day, and I came across an article about the Wounded Marine Careers Foundation.

Basically, they take wounded marines, and train them in filmmaking. They can take classes in cinematography, editing, sound, and writing. By the end of it, they’re qualified to join IATSE, and can work on union shows.

This is pretty much the best idea I’ve ever heard. First of all, it’s not charity. They’re teaching these guys a marketable skill and finding them jobs.

Secondly, there are benefits to making movies that you wouldn’t find as, say, an accountant. Expressing oneself can be an important part of the healing process. They can learn to deal with what’s happened to them by telling stories from their own perspective.

Also, these guys are just badasses. The article mentions one marine who had lost an eye in combat. When asked how he handles shooting with just one eye, the marine said, “There’s only one eyepiece.”

Wow.

I would say I want this guy to film my next movie, but I’m pretty sure if he wanted to shoot it, it would be dead already.