Secret Origins

Green PA commented on a post from a couple weeks ago, “The Curse of the Origin Story”:

I recently got very lucky and was able to finagle my way out of the mail room and into a sweet PA job on the lot. I have been scouring IMDB to find the origins of all of my producers, show runners, directors, A.D.s, etc, and none of them have any experience listed before they got to the level of “line producer.” Even the writers lack any listings before their first writing gig. Why do you think this is? Typical Hollywood -I -was -born -into -greatness BS, or should we take a page from their book and hide our true job titles when out of the office or off the set?

I’ve noticed this as well.  There is certainly an element of pride.  These guys aren’t going to add PA experience from the 70s to their IMDb page.

A larger part, though, is just that they’re old.  IMDb was only just getting going when I was in college.  While IMDb still doesn’t have all of my credits, it has a lot of them, including work on shows I’m embarrassed to admit I worked on.

If/when I someday become a famous writer, those credits will stay there.  I’m probably at the vanguard of filmmakers whose entire career, from PA to producer, will be available for all to see.  Thus is life in the internet age.

Does Age Matter? – II

Adam writes in with another age-related question:

How old are most office and set production assistants?  I mean, ignoring the happenstance of Hollywood, not to mention just finding those first few jobs, isn’t one looking at a commitment of several years just as PA before even the possibility of moving to a position higher up shows on the horizon?

And speaking of finding those first few jobs–I doubt any tv show or movie will hire someone with no volunteer-PA experience, correct?  Or is that at all plausible?  Of all my questions this is the worst.

Have you befriended any other PAs or is there really no opportunity to?

How much has networking on the set helped you find other jobs?

Lotsa questions there.

Almost all PAs are in their twenties.  I’ve met a few older ones, and they were either people who waited a long time to decide on their path in life, or people who just failed at life generally.  A thirty-five year old PA is a sad sight.

That being said, it can (and does, in my case) require years of work to be promoted.

Due to various labor laws, you can’t work on a show for free.  You can, however, intern in exchange for school credit.

Of course I’ve made friends with other PAs.  It’d be kinda weird if you didn’t make friends at work, right?

But that kind of networking doesn’t tend to lead to jobs.  Since just about anybody can be a PA, just about everybody knows someone who wants to do it.  When a set PA spot opened recently on my show, I asked the AD if I recommend a friend.  He said, “Sure, but there are about thirty other people who also have recommendations.”

And all thirty of those people outranked me.

You’re not going to get a job by networking with your peers.  (At least, not anytime soon.  If I make it as a writer, and one of my friends becomes a studio executive, then I suppose he can get me a job.)  You also need to network with your superiors– ADs, coordinators, even producers.  They’re the ones who make the decisions that actually affect your job.

Earning It

One of the basic tenets of the American Dream is the idea that hard work will be rewarded. This simple belief is what gets most of us out of bed in the morning. Yay, capitalism!

It’s so ingrained in us that we believe the obverse must be true, especially with regard to ourselves. If I’m colossally rich, it must be because I worked very hard.

This is why writers, directors, producers, and actors love to talk about how hard they work. They need to assure themselves, as much as you or I, that everything they grew up believing is true.

But that’s not how capitalism works.

Sure, hard work is more likely to be rewarded than laziness, but you don’t get points for effort.

Pay is based on two things: the necessity of a given skill, and the rarity of it. A writer doesn’t work harder than a grip, and both are necessary to complete the film.

The difference is, one skill is a lot more rare

So, what I’d like to tell all the writers, producers, directors, and especially actors is, quit trying to convince us you worked hard for your huge paychecks, first dollar gross points, giant houses, fancy cars, and trophy wives/husbands. You took your God-given talents and used them. That should be good enough.

And if it’s not, take comfort in the fact that we’d all do the same thing, in your position.

Six AM? Really?

Today’s post was going to be about something totally different, until I read this post from the Tightrope Walker blog this weekend.

I should start by saying I enjoy this blog from Doris Egan, although I don’t watch any of the shows she writes for.  She’s interesting, informative, and funny.

In fact, Saturday’s post was the first I’d heard of the new Emmy rules for Best Series.  As she summarizes:

The Academy has determined two things:

1) Only a producer should receive an award for “Best Series.”
2) Only a producer who spends a greater portion of their time producing other people’s episodes than writing their own should receive an award for “Best Series.”

Directing producers, in. Line producers, in. Writing producers… well, the Academy’s letter reads:

“A priority of the Acadmy is preserving the value of the Emmy Award thus insuring that those who are most deserving and actively involved are the ones honored with nomination.”

That would not include writers, apparently. Though it would include people who do the scheduling and handle the budgets, and it would include producer-directors.

That’s disappointing.  Of course, both Egan and I agree that producer-directors and line-producers are no less deserving than writers of a “best series” emmy.  In fact, she goes on to say:

The award, by the way, is not for “Best Producer.” It is called “Best Series.” It is simply a tradition that producers have received it; were I King, I’d give everybody on the show an award.

Right on!

She continues–

Now, shows are all run differently, but on the vast majority of them, writer-producers also have producing duties. This may include re-writing other writers; it almost certainly includes things like casting; participating in concept, tone, scheduling, wardrobe, and production meetings; going on location scouts; giving editing notes…

All true, so far as it goes.  Although I will say that most of those examples are just writers sitting around and yapping while someone else does the real work.

But then she goes off the rails with this:

…and showing up on set at 6:00 in the morning for the first rehearsal and not leaving till that night’s wrap.

I’ve been on first season shows and seventh season shows, and I have never, ever seen a writer show up at six AM.  On a well-established series, we on the crew feel lucky if they come in ante meridiem at all, much less six hours ante.

And to stay through wrap?  Never seen that, either.

Even if this hypothetical twelve-hour writer existed, let’s not forget that many in the crew arrive before official call time, and stay well after wrap.  (As much as I mock ACs, for instance, those people work long hours.)

Again, I agree with Egan in general.  But let’s not go exaggerating to support the worthiness of the cause.

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.

Thank You for Smoking

I make fun of and complain about actors a lot on this blog, but they’re not the only ones who are egotistical and disconnected from reality.

A friend of mine recently got a job on a big, huge show.  It’s one you’ve heard of, trust me. He was telling me all about their sets and the scripts he’s read for episodes that haven’t aired yet.  Then he told me about the writers’ offices.

Apparently, they have three separate meeting rooms, all filled with leather couches.  They also have a smoking room, which is technically illegal in California. There are air filters, but the whole office starts smelling of smoke after an hour or so.

“Boy, I don’t know if I could write like that,” I said.

“Oh, no,” my friend replied, “they don’t write in there.  That’s just where they go to hang out.  Sometimes the stars go in and smoke with them.”

Really?  I know the show has a ginormous budget, but is this the best use of the studio’s money?  I mean, they buy imported cigars (also illegal) on the company dime.  Couldn’t they put a typewriter in there or something, and at least pretend this has something to do with the show?

Perception

Do you ever have a very clear idea of who a person is, only to have that perception dashed by someone else’s viewpoint?

I’m not talking about those who behave differently around their superiors. My old boss had the emotional maturity of an autistic seven year old with Asperger syndrome.  When his bosses were around, he was as amiable and professional as one could be, but once the UPM or whoever left, he’d turn around and take his frustration at them out on us PAs.

Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’ll give you an example.

There’s a writer on our staff who has been nothing but nice to me. Smiles, remembers my name, even read a script of mine. By all accounts, he’s not only a lovely person, but a hard worker, too.

Except, not really all accounts. I just found out today that he emotionally manipulates his boss, and treats his coworkers with disdain. (Or, at least, he has, until recently. I’m told he’s getting better.)

As I said a long time ago, I believe the truest test of a person is how you treat those you don’t have to treat well.

As a PA, no one has to treat me well, so I’ve always assumed I’m in the perfect position to see who is truly nice, and who’s just a suck up. It turns out, there’s a third possibility– maybe they just don’t consider me a threat.

Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t change my opinion so readily.  Maybe one day, we’ll both be staffed on the same show, and then I’ll see how he treats me.

Giant Tennis Ball of Uselessness

This post goes in the “Things That Will Change When I’m In Charge” file.

When you’re a producer, or a director, or even a department head, your every whim and wish is attended to by scores of underlings.

You want a crane shot? How high? You need crystal plates on the table? Six or eight? You want some coffee? It’s already in your hand, steaming.

It gets to the point where, I suspect, they forget that these things actually take work. They just ask for something, and poof! It’s there. It might as well be magic.

Sometimes (like, oh, say, last Thursday, for instance), they don’t even have to ask, and their minions will start scurrying around to resolve an issue that doesn’t exist.

The production manager heard the producer wanted a six foot tall, yellow tennis ball. Naturally, it fell to me to find it.

I made calls for half the damn day, checking in with the UPM sporadically. Would a giant baseball do? No. A four foot tennis ball? No, too small. How about an eight foot tennis ball? No, too big. What about an eight foot tall, green tennis ball? It has to be yellow, damn it!

By the end of the day, I had to give up. I couldn’t find it. So, tail between my legs, I went to the producer and told him I failed.

“Oh, that? We decided we didn’t need that hours ago.”

Great. Now I’ll spend the rest of the day making a time machine, so I can go back to the morning and tell myself to not listen to the fucking production manager.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind doing the leg work. That’s why I’m here. It’s why I get paid the small bucks. But what the hell is the point of having me around if you’re not going to use the work I do?

When I’m a producer, and I ask for a giant tennis ball, we’re going to damn well use it.

Eight years from now, when you’re watching a movie about the Renaissance in 13th century Florence, and you see Scarlett Johansson bouncing a giant tennis ball to Hugh Jackman for no apparent reason, you’ll suddenly realize, “Oh, that’s who the anonymous PA is!”

Be Prepared

Yesterday, we had a table read (meaning the actors read the script in front of the producers and network executives). The only thing you need to bring to a table read is your script.

Guess what the director didn’t bring.

Besides his script, I was also told to grab his bag. In his office, he had three bags.

Something happens to directors, producers, and various other important people after a while. Everyone around them is so concerned with taking care of the details and eliminating distractions, these above-the-line types forget how to take care of themselves. Someone’s always there to tell them where they have to be, and when, and what they’ll be doing there. They don’t have to think for themselves.

Oddly, it sounds a lot like being a PA, only they get paid a lot more.

Naming Names

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?