The Anonymous Production Assistant’s Blog

(First, I’d like to point you to an amusing post on Amanda’s website, about how soon you forget what it’s like to be young and poor.)

In most offices, there are enough binders to create a replica of Stonehenge entirely from supplies purchased at Staples.

My boss keeps copies of everything– every script, every draft of every script, every schedule, every crew list, every cast list, and even every memo. (”No parking in the East lot from 9:00am to 11:30am, July 8th.” Really? Do you need to keep that?)  And everything goes in a binder.

I even have a couple of binders on my shelf. One for resumes (yes, we keep them; no, we never look at them), the other for menus. For some reason, I had oriented the titles on the spins differently, one top to bottom, the other bottom to top).

Last week, my boss noticed: “Hey, did you know you wrote on your binders in opposite ways?”

I had, indeed, noticed. But… so?

One philosophy that was pounded into my head as a camera assistant was, “The only thing that matters is what winds up on film (or tape).” Nobody will care that I filled out the camera report correctly if I didn’t reload the magazine fast enough to get the shot while we still had the light.

This is the tough part about production. Almost nothing we do winds up on the screen. All the paperwork in those binders? Meaningless to the folks at home.

Now, I realize that there is a place for the support staff. Even though an accountant’s work is invisible to the audience, the crew does need to get paid.

But the orientation of the spines of some PA’s binder is so far removed from anything that matters, I just can’t bring myself to care.  Am I wrong?

I was overcome with curiosity by my fellow PA’s statement yesterday, “You don’t know who I know. I could make your life a living hell.” (Seriously, though, he’s a nice guy. This is waaay out of context.)

I knew he had been hired because the coordinator was told she had to hire him. So today, I asked her who, specifically, instructed her to do so.

She responded, “I’ll tell you if you tell me what happened yesterday.” (Of course, I hadn’t told her about our discussion, despite the fact that, I’m told, my face was as pink has the third draft of a script immediately afterward.)

So, I told her my colleague felt that I was condescending to him, and issuing orders when we are, in fact, on the same level. “So, who told you to hire him?”

“It was a political hire.”

“I know that. A political hire from who?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

…

I felt like a cartoon character, suddenly realizing the Warner siblings were in front of me, and no longer behind me.

“Wha- but… I just told you.”

Finally, she admitted the higher up works at the production company overseeing our show, but she declined to name names.

That’ll teach me to trust her.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten a bad feeling from her. On my first or second day, she was telling us PAs that we’re going to have to keep the kitchen clean. “Keep it neat, like you would your own- Well, not your kitchen. You’re guys. But keep it clean.”

Haha, very funny, whatever. I don’t mind. In any case, she’s right.

Seconds later, literally, as she was going on about cleaning stuff, I joked, “We’re going to need a girl PA.”

My boss stared at me like I just ran over her puppy. “We do not need a girl PA. Don’t ever talk like that in my office again.”

I failed to utilize the “you started it” defense.

And the weird, confusing politics goes on.

Several accountants have started this week, and I don’t yet know all of their names. I was trying to tell my boss that one of them wanted something. She asked which one, and I said, “Oh, shoot. I forget her name. The Asian one.”

Again, her jaw dropped to the floor, like I’d just said, “You know, the slant-eyed gook, sneaky jap, oriental one.”

Come on! It was an immediately accessible, clear, obvious characteristic. She knew who I meant. “The short one with the dark hair” wouldn’t have worked, because we also have a Middle Eastern accountant. Or possibly Hispanic. I’m not sure.

See, this is why I couldn’t be a racist. I can’t tell if I’m hating the wetbacks or the camel jockeys. Hell, I can’t even tell Jews from white people half the time, and what kind of racist doesn’t hate the Jews?

A Polish one.

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.

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.

Some people are shy. Actors, generally, are not.

A certain actor, let’s call him “Mick Molte,” would regularly show up on set wearing nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants with the crotch worn through. And when I write, “nothing but,” I’m including underwear.

(I must admit that I didn’t witness this behavior myself; I didn’t join that production until later.)

An actress on my current show has several tattoos that need to be covered whenever she wears a revealing dress (which is often). My friend has “unintentionally” walked in on this process a number of times. I should point out that make up trailers have more mirrors than a disco ball.

I have a one up on him, though. Unfortunately.

I was working on a terrible little horror movie. The scene required the actress to jump out of her bed and sprint for the door. Sadly, the set walls were hanging from the ceiling, and the slightest touch would send them crashing to the ground.

The AD needed someone to catch her before she slammed into the wall, destroying the set and thus costing the production tens of dollars. I happened to be standing there, so I drew the short straw.

I once again tried the, “But I’m married!” excuse, and once again got shot down with, “That’s why you’ll be less grabby.”

Oh, so mistaken.

So, the director calls, “Action!”, the actress lunges at me, I throw up my hands to catch her, and…

Grab her boob.

(Or, more accurately, Dow Corning’s boob.)

I felt really bad, and apologized profusely, but she said don’t worry about it. “It happens all the time.”

Uh…

Wow.

(And don’t worry, I apologized to my wife, and her real boobs, when I got home.)

It is an immutable fact of nature that everyone is smarter than their boss. Sure, there are exceptions, but not everyone can be Mr. Alley.

I remember when Google Maps first unveiled its satellite view. I entered the address where I was working, then called my boss over. “Hey, look. That’s our office!”

My boss stared at the screen in disbelief for a moment, then pointed at our building and asked, “Is this live?”

Before I could explain the complexity and expense of such a task, my boss added an even greater layer of stupidity. He looked up. At the ceiling.

To this day, I have no idea what he was expecting to see.

On another occasion, I was helping out our payroll accountant. She asked me to grab twenty checks from her drawer. I started counting by hand, but she stopped me and said, “Just use the check numbers. They’re in order.”

Ah! Great idea! I looked at the top number, then flipped through to the 20th one. I handed it over, saying, “Here ya go, checks 2046 through 2065.”

She gave me a disappointed look that told me I’d done something very silly. “Now, Anonymous, what’s sixty-five minus forty-six?”

“Um, are you telling me that, if I gave you one through twenty, that would be nineteen checks?”

She didn’t know how to respond. How could she? She was an accountant. Named Penny!

Today might be the most egregious example of a PHB in my young life. Last night, after most of the cast and crew and producers had left, we changed the front door lock to a key pad. This morning, my boss told me to write a memo to let everyone know the code.

So, they’ll all have a nice, neat memo, with the code to get into the building, waiting for them on their desk. Inside the building.

Have you ever worked for someone dumber than you?

If, by “succeed,” you mean get a job as a PA. Beyond that, I can’t really help you.

Lisa Klink had a post yesterday about what us assistants look like when you’re a big time TV writer. (Okay, she’s not J.J. Abrams-type big time, but she’s certainly more impressive than me.) She wrote that she was never an assistant, and thus had no experience in becoming one.

That’s where I come in!

You’d think it’d be easy getting a crappy job at the bottom of the food chain, but they’re surprisingly competitive. There’s always more applicants than jobs available, even among assistants. This is, of course, even more true among the higher-prestige gopher jobs. It’s much harder to be an agent’s assistant than an office PA, and getting on a network show is more difficult than getting on a low-budget indie.

So, how do you get into these low-wage, low-status, low-self-esteem jobs? Work on a no-wage, low-status, low-self-esteem job!

If you’re in college, apply for an internship at a production company (or an agency, if that’s your thing). If you’ve already graduated (or just plain skipped that part), you’re still going to have to work for free.

Peruse Craig’s List or Mandy.com, and look for no-budget movies in need of PAs. You won’t get paid and you won’t eat well, but you’ll meet a lot of people and learn a heck of a lot. Since there’s no union rules, you’ll just as likely be pulling cable or holding a boom as taking on the usual PA duties of shushing people and trying to look busy. It’s the best film school there is. (Trust me when I say this; I went to one of the best.)

The thing about low budget movies is that everyone is there to advance their careers. The DP may work as an cameraman or a gaffer normally, but she’s willing to take a pay cut to get a better title. Pretty soon, though, she’s going to have to pay the bills back to less prominent positions on shows with bigger budgets. The same goes for the production designer, the AD, and everyone else.

And when they go, you can ride their coattails on to a whopping 115 a day.

I was delivering a script over the hill (killing trees and generating about 31 pounds of carbon dioxide).

The actor’s house was in Venice, and I could literally smell the ocean breeze wafting through my open car window (with gas prices what they are, I sure as hell can’t afford to use the air conditioning).

Anyway, it was 70 and sunny, as it always is in Los Angeles, the palm trees were swaying in the breeze, and I just couldn’t help myself.

I played hooky.

I wasn’t out for long, maybe twenty minutes. Just enough time to squish some sand between my toes and dip my feet in the ocean.

It’s one of the few joys afforded to PAs and not the higher ups. I knew I wasn’t going to see the UPM or EP out there.

It probably doesn’t sound like a big deal, but I spend twelve hours a day sitting at a desk. Seeing the Pacific stretch on forever, I was able to remind myself that it’s just a TV show, and none of it really matters.

Then I got a phone call telling me I had to drive to fucking Culver City. Thanks a lot, universe.