Pet Peeve

Scripts change in TV. They change a lot.

The first draft distributed to department heads is usually just a rough guide. You know, so location managers can start scouting, construction crews can start building, casting directors can start casting.

That draft will be rewritten at least a half dozen times before filming begins. Sometimes these changes are as minor as a dialogue tweak, or as major as a completely new plot.

(Those kind of rewrites are the most fun to watch, as the producers scramble to find a story that works in the sets that they’ve built and the actors they’ve already got under contract.)

As you might imagine, this wastes a lot of paper. It would waste even more if we reprinted the entire script every time.

But we don’t. Instead, we “run pages:” copying only the pages that have changed. (Up to a certain point; if 49 pages of a 53 page script have changed, we print the whole thing.)

Each new draft (whether a full draft or merely revisions) gets copied onto a new color. Every show does it slightly differently, but a common pattern is white, blue, yellow, green, pink, then back around to 2nd white. Some shows use more colors, like salmon and goldenrod, if they know they rewrite a lot.

The purpose of these colors (besides identifying a particular draft), is so that everybody can see everyone else is, literally, on the same page. If your page is yellow, and eight people around you have pink pages, something’s wrong.

All of this exposition is just so I can engage in my favorite past time– complaining about actors.

See, when the crew get these colored pages, they just insert (or “collate”) them into their current script.

What many (many) actors do is call the office and ask, “Hey, uh, could I get a collated script?”

Or, they’ll get a PA or 2nd AD to call: “Hey, actor X needs a collated script.” I think they think it sounds more official or something.

You could say, “But TAPA, collating a script isn’t that hard! What are you complaining about?”

You’re right, it’s not hard. And that’s exactly my point.

Actors have few responsibilities. Memorize your lines. Show up on set. Don’t get arrested.

Collating a script is about the only physical activity an actor is required to do, especially on a talky show like the one I work on. Seriously, why can’t they do this for themselves?

Oh, yeah.

Reality, TV

I had a strange experience yesterday. I saw someone I know on TV.

Now, when you work in television, of course you see people you know, particularly if you watch the show you work on.  But this wasn’t a show I’ve ever worked for.

What was strange is that I knew this guy before I saw him on TV.

The general public knows actors through their characters, or their public persona. Once  you start a career in the business, your view of them will change when you meet them in person. They start to be a real human being.

But that’s not what happened yesterday. Yesterday, the process was reversed. I met this actor, then I saw him on our show, and finally, I watched him play a completely different character on a different show.

It was disconcerting. When you read the script, and see the lights and cameras and everything, the artifice is clear. But take that familiar face and put it in an unfamiliar setting, doing unfamiliar things, it’s like… seeing your teacher during summer vacation.

Still funnier than anything on the comics page today. I'm looking at you, Get Fuzzy.

Strange.

Simple Etiquette

First of all, let me apologize for not posting in a while. Rexwas almost right. Nobody’s found out that I write this blog, but that’s only because I’ve been very, very careful of late.

One of our set PAs fell sick, and I had to fill in for him. (The other office PA had no set experience whatsoever.) The ADs liked me so much, they made me stick around for a few weeks.

Cursed by my own competence, I guess.

Anyway, I finally managed to convince them to let me back into the office, despite my wife’s objections. (She says I have more fun on set, and I’m more pleasant after a day of filming than a day in the office.)

So, I’m back, more or less.

While on set, I noticed a simple rule of etiquette that I’d forgotten about– Whoever’s carrying the biggest thing goes first.

If you see an electric hauling a light, or an AC carrying a camera, step out of the way, or hold the door for them.

And this is irrespective of rank. If you happen to be lugging around a stack of scripts, they’ll do the same for you. Even producers and directors will be polite enough to clear the way for grips moving some dolly track.

Of course, as you might assume, many actors don’t think this applies to them. Once again, the experienced and successful actors are an exception. They will probably wait at the bottom of the stairs if you’re carrying something heavy. The ingenues and guest stars probably will not.

We were shooting at a park the other day, and I helped the craft services guy move his stuff from one end of the location to the other. I lumbered along, carrying this huge crate piled high with chips and power bars and stuff. I could barely see over the top to notice an actress coming the other way.

She gave me a smile and said, “Hang on, one second.” For a moment, I actually thought she was going to help take some of the weight off my hands.

Then, while I stood their awkwardly holding this giant crate, she reached in, rooted around, and pulled out one granola bar.

“Thanks!” And she ran off.

God, I hate actresses.

No Jerks

"We're allowed to have one."

Yesterday, Desiree said:

His outburst was cocky and out of the map.

But when you say “astonishingly, this outburst did not get the operator fired” I get a little scared.

Everybody must also be allowed to have an own opinion, a freedom of speech and by all means a bad day.

Maybe I didn’t properly convey how big of an asshole this guy was. It’s not his misinformed opinion that bothered me so much as the fact that he screamed at this poor PA, at the top of his lungs, because he didn’t get a preliminary call sheet five minute sooner, when we were rolling. (We were rolling five minutes earlier, not that he screamed while rolling.)

Unless you’re a doctor or a soldier or a police officer, there is rarely a good reason to yell at a work. Maybe if a crane is about to fall on someone’s head. But other than that, it’s uncalled for.

I know someone’s going to say, “But that’s Hollywood, Anonymous! People are going to yell over petty things! Get used to it.”

Yes, that’s true.  But on the other hand, shut up.  Just because it’s common doesn’t mean it’s right.

And it doesn’t mean there’s no alternative, either. I’ve heard that Bill Lawrence enforces a “No Jerks” rule on Scrubs. The theory goes, no matter how good you are at your job, there’s someone else who’s just as good and isn’t a dick.

Some day, I’d like to have that rule on my own set. If I was a producer instead of a PA on this show, and I heard about something like this happening, I would make the camera operator apologize to the PA, in front of the entire crew. He did, after all, embarrass the PA in front of the entire crew. And then I would make it clear to the op that, if he yells at anyone ever again, someone better be in mortal danger, or his ass is fired.

Call me naive if you must, but I’m young. I can still afford to be naive.

The Inverse Relationship of Seriousness and Gravity

I met a former Las Vegas police officer, and he told me the following story:

We got a call for a suicide. Self-inflicted gunshot to the head.

You could see the victim from the front door. He was sitting at the kitchen table, kinda in profile. The entry wound was on his temple. The gun was still dangling from his left hand.

It was all pretty straight forward, so I sent the rookie in to check out the scene. Like I said, you could see the entry wound from the door, but when he walked around the table, he saw the exit wound.

An entry wound is like what you see on TV– a bloody hole just about the size of a bullet. The exit wound is something else entirely. The right half of this guy’s head was gone. Brains splattered everywhere, bones broken every which way, an eye hanging down by where his cheek should be.

The kid wasn’t expecting it at all. He came running out of the house, kneeled over the edge of the porch, and vomited his guts out. The rest of us just died laughing. Someone pointed out the neighbors were on their lawns, watching us, but it didn’t matter.

We couldn’t stop laughing.

Compare that with Rob Long talking about getting a sandwich:

Making a movie or television show is hard work, and sometimes the high point in your day is the turkey sandwich on sourdough toast with mayo on one side and mustard on the other and when it comes untoasted, well, that little moment in between network notes and bad news from the studio is sort of ruined. And it’s hard not too get really really mad about the untoasted sourdough — irrationally mad, yes, overreacting and inappropriately raging, yes — because, well, you know going in that the network is going to be awful and the studio is going to be obstructionist and the production is going to go over budget and the effect isn’t going to look like it’s supposed to and the star is going to be irritating and the audience is going to be fickle but, really, you had a pretty good shot at getting that bread toasted. I mean, there’s a toaster in the restaurant, yes? And slices of bread were proximate to that device? So, basically, what you’re telling me is that even the stuff that’s supposed to go right, that can easily go right, is going to go wrong?

Is it just me, or do the people who should take their job seriously, don’t, and the people who shouldn’t take their job seriously, do?

Titles

There’s a curious inconsistency I’ve noticed in the way film industry address each other.

No one is ever called “Mr. Spielberg,” or “Ms. Ephron.”  It’s “Steve” and “Nora.”  Even if you’ve just met the person, you’re instantly on a first-name basis.  This is particularly hard to get used to for a polite boy from the midwest who was always taught to address his elders and superiors as “Mister.”

However, on set, everyone calls each other “sir,” especially among the G&E, production, and camera crews.  And I don’t mean just the peons calling the department heads “sir.”  The 2nd AC hands the first a filter, the first will say, “Thank you, sir.”

I’ve actually had a director call me “sir,” when I brought him his coffee.  His coffee!

The Mr/Mrs thing I kinda get.  It makes you feel old, and no collection of people is more vain than Hollywood.  But what’s with this “sir” being thrown about?  It’s confusing.

Feed Me!

There is always food on set. Always.

It took some getting used to, for me. My first day on set ever, the AD told me I should go grab some breakfast before things got hectic. I approached the catering truck sheepishly. I only had five bucks in my pocket, but I wanted to fit in (it being my first day and all).

I asked the guy how much an omelet cost. He looked at me like I was crazy and said, “The production pays for it.”

So I ordered an omelet, toast, bacon, pancakes, and orange juice. I came back for fruit later.

It’s like that on every set. Even short films where everybody is working for free, you can still expect at least pizza or sub sandwiches for lunch.

On one low budget production I worked on, the UPM suggested that the office staff buy our own lunches on days when the crew was on location. The coordinator and accountants pitched fits, threatening to walk off.

It’s strange. I don’t think there’s any other business where people assume they will be fed. Other than restaurants, I suppose.

Both Rob Long and The Hollywood Juicer agree that crafty and catering are there as a service to keep the crew happy. And it’s true, we’re pretty much not allowed to leave for twelve to sixteen hours (or twenty, if you’re on a David Fincher movie).

But still. Teachers aren’t allowed to leave (and there’s probably other professions I’m forgetting, too), but they don’t expect food for free.

Maybe this is why my jeans from college don’t fit anymore.

On Adaptations; Plus, a Prediction

I’m working for a writer who is adapting a book.  I’ve never adapted anything, and it’s a strange process to watch.  He’s taken the story in a strange new direction; the entire book is basically just the first act of the film.  He’s also renaming character willy nilly, for no reason whatsoever.  I don’t really understand why he’d do that.

It reminds me of an old story Stephen King wrote about.  Allow me to paraphrase:

A young writer met his hero, the Great Novelist.  He gushed about how fantastic the Novelist’s work was, how it moved him and changed his life.  Then he asked, “But how could you sell your masterpieces to those Hollywood producers?  They ruined your books!”

“No, they didn’t,” the Author replied, gesturing to the bookshelf behind him.  “They’re all still right here.”

It is strange that a studio would go through the hassle of obtaining rights to an existing property, only to alter it unrecognizably.  But it is true: the book is still right there.

- – -

Kinda on the topic of adaptations, I just rewatched Dark Knight and had a sudden revelation.  At the end of Batman Begins, Gordon pulls out a Joker card and talks to Batman about “escalation.”  What was Dark Knight about?

Escalation.

So, Dark Knight ends with Batman all alone, and Gordon telling Macaulay Culkin’s clone that the cops have to hunt him (Batman, not Gordon).

Now, if the problem of the next film is hero-against-the-world, how do you solve that?  He needs to find a partner!  In Batman’s world, that leaves us with either Robin, who has been ruled out, or… Catwoman.

Remember this post when Batman 3 comes out.  I called it first!

Who the Hell Watches NCIS?

My parents, apparently.

One of the great mysteries for those of us who make television (and if you’re feeling generous, that would include me) is who the hell watches those procedural dramas that take up a good chunk of the Neilson’s weekly top 20. I literally don’t know anyone who watch them.

Then, just today, I introduced my dad to the wonder that is internet television, he immediately asked where he could find CBS shows, so he could download the latest episode of NCIS.

Can’t he just buy a copy of A Few Good Men and watch it once a week?  It’s pretty much the same thing.

Oh, Goody! My First Reader Question!

Reader Brian sent me a question, proving once again that “expertise” is a meaningless concept on the internet.

I really enjoy your blog — thanks for all the info and frequent posting.

That’s not actually part of the question. It just made me feel good.

I just applied for a PA position at a network comedy after meeting their showrunner at a film festival. After a chat, said showrunner told me to call his line producer at the show and say that “I [the showrunner] said to contact” him about PA work.

I need to stop you right there. Here’s the thing about showrunners, besides the fact that my spell checker hates them: they don’t often know how a show is run. They create the characters and story, but they can’t tell an electrician from a grip. (A hint: look what’s in his hand; if it has a plug, he’s an electric.)

The line producer is his contact with the actual production. Since hiring PAs is several pay grades below the LP, it’s possible this showrunner just didn’t know who to direct your query to.

I phoned this week, got hold of the line producer’s assistant, and sent her my resume for passing along to the line producer and other appropriate departments.

Never, ever, ever trust someone to forward your resume to someone else. I’ve been burned by this in the past. Through either laziness (it’s not their department, so they don’t care) or avarice (they want to have you, not that other department), it won’t get to where you want it to.

If you wanna be an art PA, ask to be transferred to the art department. If you want to work in locations, ask for the location manager. Don’t expect an assistant to do your leg work for you.

Also, on your initial call, you should have asked if there were any open positions. The season is well underway, and having a one-time chat with the showrunner does not guarantee you a spot. Of course, people are hired and fired all the time, so you never know. Which is why you should ask.

My questions:

1. When’s the appropriate time for me to follow up?
2. When I do follow up, should I speak with the assistant again, or try for the line producer directly?

1. When I worked at an agency, my boss’s rule of thumb was 2-3 days, depending on how busy they sounded and what time of day you sent it. If you spoke on Monday, Wednesday’s a good day. Called on Wednesday? Try Friday. And so on.

2. The line producer has many more important things to do than talk to a prospective PA, unless the showrunner’s your brother. I’m assuming you would have mentioned that, so so let’s go with, “He’s just not that into you.”

Talk to the assistant. Make friends with the assistant. In a few years, she’s gonna be the line producer, and you’ll be… whatever you want to be. Hopefully, she’ll still want to talk to you.

Lastly, in this case, it’d be a good idea to get transferred to the showrunner’s assistant. Just ask him to pass along the message that it was nice to meet Alan Ball or John Rogers or whoever. You don’t want him to forget about you, either.