I've shot film, then video tape, now digital, down through my sordid life. Film was a commitment, you shot it, then either developed it or sent it out to a lab and prayed they didn't fry, over-develop or horrors, lose your negatives.
Then video tape came along, nice package, loss of picture quality, but most of us would accept the quick and easy use of it in exchange for waiting for the film to come back from the lab.
Now the wonders of digital. Hi-def allows us to look at the real, un-retouched subject.
Which is scary as hell for people in the movie biz who got by on soft focus lens all these years.
Now, everyone can be Fellini.
Just bring the talent.
Don't worry, there won't be any hi-def video here.
I'm still using video-tape..........for the time being.
Showing posts with label movie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movie. Show all posts
Friday, June 11, 2010
YOU WANNA BE IN MOVIES, PART NINE
Everything was set, actors were in their places. The train moved a few minutes later, went down the tracks and stopped. We sat there, then went forward again. Stopped. We backed up to the station, went forward again, stopped.
During this time, I'm watching the camera crews outside, setting up cameras, moving them around, adjusting for angles. Virginia asking me questions the whole time. I explain to her that you can set up, think that it'll be a good angle, then find out that something affects the shot. So, you move the camera, get set up and try again. This was interesting, for about the first three times. After we had been up and down the same stretch of railroad tracks about a dozen times, she was getting bored with it all.
We took to looking for unusual landmarks, strange scenery, you know, stuff that's never going to be seen if you only go past it one time. Crew pissing against trees in the woods, stuff like that. It was very convenient, they fed us, put us on this train, then we find out that the toilets don't work. OK, it wasn't that they didn't work. They had been removed. Which tends to keep people from using them. As you might guess, this upset the ladies more than the gents. We just took to the woods. Still have to be careful, the city boys didn't know about the funny leaves. Which can give you a nice rash in a tender area. You have to be careful when going splishy-splashy on the side of that tree. It might get its revenge in a couple of days. Poison oak and poison ivy love to break out all over. Don't itch that rash, use a scrub brush on it! Hey, you didn’t really wipe with that leaf, did you? Your girlfriend is going to hate you.
After they had shot some exteriors, we were allowed to take a break and gnaw on some snacks. Which was nice of them, since it was only about 1PM. Yes, I know that it would only be 10AM in Hollywood, but lunchtime is lunchtime. Here, we call it ’dinner’ and some people eat at 11 AM. Which is normal if you work ’farm hours’. Try arguing with your stomach, it always wins. We did another three hours worth of 'work' before taking our lunch break, at 4 PM! You know that you're working for Yankees, most Southerners eat supper around 5.
They took the train back to the station and let us out. The lines at the porta-potties weren't long, but the expressions of relief were priceless. We all chowed down, wondering what was next, since we were only four hours late, according to the shooting schedule. Which as shooting schedules go, really isn’t too bad.
Before we headed in for lunch, a near fatal mishap occurred. The Star and some of the crew were engaged in what could only be termed as 'screwing around'. Someone had decided that they should throw rocks at a telephone pole, while waiting for the next camera set-up. Virginia and I sat in the train and watched this event.
The train was stopped near a trestle over a road, which was about 40 feet below us. The telephone pole was on the other side of the road, probably a good two hundred feet away.
Now, I don't care who you are, even with a rocket arm and throwing a perfectly round stone, you're going to have a hard time making the distance, much less hitting the telephone pole. It was like watching schoolboys, egging each other on. Virginia shook her head in amazement. The schoolteacher in her was probably screaming to discipline them. I watched for a while, head turned to look out the window behind me. It didn't take too long to get bored with the whole thing. So, I missed the most exciting event of the day.
One of the couples, who were truly a couple, some young married kids who both got hired to be on the film, were sitting across the aisle from Virginia and I. They had wandered outside, then came back in. She had gone forward to the platform between the cars and was watching George Clooney as he threw rocks at the telephone pole. She came rushing back to where we sat.
"He just fell down! He nearly slid down the embankment!" she exclaimed as she hurried towards us and her husband.
I looked over at Virginia and then back to the newlywed. "Who fell down?"
"George Clooney! I can't believe I saw it! He climbed back up, stood up and pulled his pants down. He's wearing blue underwear!"
I gave Virginia a surprised look, when the newlywed exclaimed, "Look, you can see where he tore his pants."
She was pointing out the window behind me. I swiveled around to see George Clooney standing there, explaining to the producer what had happened. His pants were soiled and torn at the right thigh. I looked back at the newlywed.
"Did you get a photo of it?"
"What?"
"Did you get a picture! Do you know what a tabloid would pay for a photo of George Clooney dropping his pants on a movie set!"
She shook her head. She didn't have her cellphone out when it happened.
I dropped my head, shook it, then looked over at Virginia. "Another million dollar opportunity and me without a camera!" I could see the headlines in my head, ‘Clooney Moons Cast‘, ‘Clooney’s Undie Tips; On Monday, It‘s Blue Boxers‘, Clooney shows Choo-Choo Town His Good Side’, ‘Hey Baby, Have You Seen My Scar?’.
You don’t get chances like this everyday, more like once in a lifetime.
And me, without a camera!
During this time, I'm watching the camera crews outside, setting up cameras, moving them around, adjusting for angles. Virginia asking me questions the whole time. I explain to her that you can set up, think that it'll be a good angle, then find out that something affects the shot. So, you move the camera, get set up and try again. This was interesting, for about the first three times. After we had been up and down the same stretch of railroad tracks about a dozen times, she was getting bored with it all.
We took to looking for unusual landmarks, strange scenery, you know, stuff that's never going to be seen if you only go past it one time. Crew pissing against trees in the woods, stuff like that. It was very convenient, they fed us, put us on this train, then we find out that the toilets don't work. OK, it wasn't that they didn't work. They had been removed. Which tends to keep people from using them. As you might guess, this upset the ladies more than the gents. We just took to the woods. Still have to be careful, the city boys didn't know about the funny leaves. Which can give you a nice rash in a tender area. You have to be careful when going splishy-splashy on the side of that tree. It might get its revenge in a couple of days. Poison oak and poison ivy love to break out all over. Don't itch that rash, use a scrub brush on it! Hey, you didn’t really wipe with that leaf, did you? Your girlfriend is going to hate you.
After they had shot some exteriors, we were allowed to take a break and gnaw on some snacks. Which was nice of them, since it was only about 1PM. Yes, I know that it would only be 10AM in Hollywood, but lunchtime is lunchtime. Here, we call it ’dinner’ and some people eat at 11 AM. Which is normal if you work ’farm hours’. Try arguing with your stomach, it always wins. We did another three hours worth of 'work' before taking our lunch break, at 4 PM! You know that you're working for Yankees, most Southerners eat supper around 5.
They took the train back to the station and let us out. The lines at the porta-potties weren't long, but the expressions of relief were priceless. We all chowed down, wondering what was next, since we were only four hours late, according to the shooting schedule. Which as shooting schedules go, really isn’t too bad.
Before we headed in for lunch, a near fatal mishap occurred. The Star and some of the crew were engaged in what could only be termed as 'screwing around'. Someone had decided that they should throw rocks at a telephone pole, while waiting for the next camera set-up. Virginia and I sat in the train and watched this event.
The train was stopped near a trestle over a road, which was about 40 feet below us. The telephone pole was on the other side of the road, probably a good two hundred feet away.
Now, I don't care who you are, even with a rocket arm and throwing a perfectly round stone, you're going to have a hard time making the distance, much less hitting the telephone pole. It was like watching schoolboys, egging each other on. Virginia shook her head in amazement. The schoolteacher in her was probably screaming to discipline them. I watched for a while, head turned to look out the window behind me. It didn't take too long to get bored with the whole thing. So, I missed the most exciting event of the day.
One of the couples, who were truly a couple, some young married kids who both got hired to be on the film, were sitting across the aisle from Virginia and I. They had wandered outside, then came back in. She had gone forward to the platform between the cars and was watching George Clooney as he threw rocks at the telephone pole. She came rushing back to where we sat.
"He just fell down! He nearly slid down the embankment!" she exclaimed as she hurried towards us and her husband.
I looked over at Virginia and then back to the newlywed. "Who fell down?"
"George Clooney! I can't believe I saw it! He climbed back up, stood up and pulled his pants down. He's wearing blue underwear!"
I gave Virginia a surprised look, when the newlywed exclaimed, "Look, you can see where he tore his pants."
She was pointing out the window behind me. I swiveled around to see George Clooney standing there, explaining to the producer what had happened. His pants were soiled and torn at the right thigh. I looked back at the newlywed.
"Did you get a photo of it?"
"What?"
"Did you get a picture! Do you know what a tabloid would pay for a photo of George Clooney dropping his pants on a movie set!"
She shook her head. She didn't have her cellphone out when it happened.
I dropped my head, shook it, then looked over at Virginia. "Another million dollar opportunity and me without a camera!" I could see the headlines in my head, ‘Clooney Moons Cast‘, ‘Clooney’s Undie Tips; On Monday, It‘s Blue Boxers‘, Clooney shows Choo-Choo Town His Good Side’, ‘Hey Baby, Have You Seen My Scar?’.
You don’t get chances like this everyday, more like once in a lifetime.
And me, without a camera!
Monday, June 7, 2010
YOU WANNA BE IN MOVIES, PART 8
To follow is a blog post written a couple of years ago. I’m posting it now to complete this series of posts. At the time, I didn’t know if the movie was going to be a hit or not. Like the vast majority, it wasn’t and posting about it faded as an interest for me.
When I left for Chattanooga to do the movie, I told people that I was going to a ‘job interview’, most people around here still don’t know that I worked as a ‘background extra’ on a feature film. It wasn’t the first time I had been in or worked on a film, since I used to be the Film Commissioner in Dayton, Ohio.
The experience was important, since it gave me insight on how the common man and woman reacts to being in or around ‘stars’ or people perceived to be of social importance or status. It’s fascinating to watch people modify their behavior, adapting to the circumstances of the moment. The star can act pretty funny, too.
On location in Chattanooga.
From breakfast, I went over to the wardrobe people. The men had been told to wear 'plain white dress shirt, dark dress pants, black or dark blue tie and lace up shoes'. They also wanted us to bring overcoats. This led to a quandary for me. In the past few decades, I've usually worn leather biker jackets, since that's the preferred gear when riding a motorcycle. When it came to business, I've got an almost antique trench coat to go over my business suit. Buried deep in the closet was something from out of the past, a cashmere overcoat. Hadn't worn it in years, but women love it.. .it's dark blue, didn't look or smell like it had died, so I took it with me. The only things I forgot was a scarf and gloves. No hat either, but they would fix me up in wardrobe. Like I would have a Fedora lying around the house. Cowboy hats, ball caps, watch caps, motorcycle helmets, an old ‘Civil Defense’ helmet, but no Fedora. I am so unstylish.
First thing the wardrobe folks did was take one look at the cashmere coat and pitch it. I was given some checked, beige-green wool thing, scarf, gloves and a hat. The gloves were a bit tight, as in too small. Not like I would need them, it was about 65 degrees on the set! It was going to be interesting, shooting a winter scene on an unusually warm spring day. It's the movies, they can fake the cold, right?
The tempo started to pick up around the set. Men were sent to their dressing room, which was a tent, as were the ladies. People were told to dispose of their cellphones, briefcases, unnecessary coats, etc. get ready to get on the train. It was already pushing towards 10 AM and we were about to lose our first background extra. One of the local wheeler-dealers was having a hard time getting separated from his cellphone. He was micro-managing his office from the set, got flustered, decided that they weren't going to shoot the movie on his timetable. So, he walked. Took his paperwork out of his briefcase, handed it to the casting agent, gave wardrobe back their clothes and headed for the office. Only thing he kept was his haircut. Now, he'll never be able to brag about being in a feature film. I'm sure his office workers are disappointed too. They probably would have enjoyed a day without his forced march attitude.
We all trooped out into the sunshine. Ladies transformed into wives, flappers and gun molls of the twenties, men looking like dissipated business men or flat-cap wearing college boys. We clustered around the tents, mugging and doing bad gangster imitations. Which may have led to the second loss from our ranks. One of the young ladies, flapper-type, evidently did a near swan-dive. Maybe she got too close to the Star as he moved through the area? It was a matter of conjecture for the rest of the day. She was immediately cared for by the medical crew, who insisted on hauling her to the hospital. You are not allowed to either faint or die on the set! Another poor soul with fame snatched from her grasp. The inhumanity of it all!
A production assistant came around and started the herding process, driving us like so many sheep, cattle, chattel? towards the train cars. We were picked over, sorted, graded and sent to our doom. Directed towards seats, shuffled, then moved again. I was pointed to a seat next to a window, a large 'X' on it. The train’s wooden benches faced each other. There were three other men sitting on the benches, we barely had time to introduce ourselves. Another PA came by and told us that the Star would come down the aisle, lean over and look out the window.
Since I was sitting next to the window, I nearly fell out of my seat. This meant that there was about a 50/50 chance that I would be in the shot with him!.
That's when another PA came by, told me to get up and move, I had the wrong type of hat, they wanted 'flat caps' in the seats. I was directed to another car. Here, they paired me with a lovely woman.
I was now ‘playing the part’ of a couple. Virginia didn't seem to mind that she had been stuck with me. We were placed in the center section of the train car, facing each other, both of us sitting next to the windows. The PA told us to fake conversation, lean towards each other, make hand gestures. The typical, "I'm interested in what you have to say" kind of stuff.
We did the, 'where you from, how did you get here' thing. After all, we were going to be on this train together for a few hours, might as well make it bearable. It went beyond that, it was great. Virginia loves motorcycles, traveling and movies. We talked about everything.
One of the PA's told us to be quiet and nodded towards the front of the train.
Suddenly, everyone in the train car got quiet. The Star had appeared. As director, writer and star of the movie, he wanted us to know exactly what we were going to be doing. At least, that's what I think he wanted to tell us.
As he talked, people around us looked over, shrugging, mouthing the words; "Can you hear him?"
I yelled "Speak up!" but he was almost done.
A PA gave me their version of a dirty look. I glanced around, nobody had understood a thing The Star had said, a trainload of blank faces.
Virginia shrugged, shook her head when I asked if she heard what the Star had said. Nope, it was all a mumble to me and everyone that I talked to later.
Perhaps he should do more stage work, learn to project his voice.
Filming was about to begin.
When I left for Chattanooga to do the movie, I told people that I was going to a ‘job interview’, most people around here still don’t know that I worked as a ‘background extra’ on a feature film. It wasn’t the first time I had been in or worked on a film, since I used to be the Film Commissioner in Dayton, Ohio.
The experience was important, since it gave me insight on how the common man and woman reacts to being in or around ‘stars’ or people perceived to be of social importance or status. It’s fascinating to watch people modify their behavior, adapting to the circumstances of the moment. The star can act pretty funny, too.
On location in Chattanooga.
From breakfast, I went over to the wardrobe people. The men had been told to wear 'plain white dress shirt, dark dress pants, black or dark blue tie and lace up shoes'. They also wanted us to bring overcoats. This led to a quandary for me. In the past few decades, I've usually worn leather biker jackets, since that's the preferred gear when riding a motorcycle. When it came to business, I've got an almost antique trench coat to go over my business suit. Buried deep in the closet was something from out of the past, a cashmere overcoat. Hadn't worn it in years, but women love it.. .it's dark blue, didn't look or smell like it had died, so I took it with me. The only things I forgot was a scarf and gloves. No hat either, but they would fix me up in wardrobe. Like I would have a Fedora lying around the house. Cowboy hats, ball caps, watch caps, motorcycle helmets, an old ‘Civil Defense’ helmet, but no Fedora. I am so unstylish.
First thing the wardrobe folks did was take one look at the cashmere coat and pitch it. I was given some checked, beige-green wool thing, scarf, gloves and a hat. The gloves were a bit tight, as in too small. Not like I would need them, it was about 65 degrees on the set! It was going to be interesting, shooting a winter scene on an unusually warm spring day. It's the movies, they can fake the cold, right?
The tempo started to pick up around the set. Men were sent to their dressing room, which was a tent, as were the ladies. People were told to dispose of their cellphones, briefcases, unnecessary coats, etc. get ready to get on the train. It was already pushing towards 10 AM and we were about to lose our first background extra. One of the local wheeler-dealers was having a hard time getting separated from his cellphone. He was micro-managing his office from the set, got flustered, decided that they weren't going to shoot the movie on his timetable. So, he walked. Took his paperwork out of his briefcase, handed it to the casting agent, gave wardrobe back their clothes and headed for the office. Only thing he kept was his haircut. Now, he'll never be able to brag about being in a feature film. I'm sure his office workers are disappointed too. They probably would have enjoyed a day without his forced march attitude.
We all trooped out into the sunshine. Ladies transformed into wives, flappers and gun molls of the twenties, men looking like dissipated business men or flat-cap wearing college boys. We clustered around the tents, mugging and doing bad gangster imitations. Which may have led to the second loss from our ranks. One of the young ladies, flapper-type, evidently did a near swan-dive. Maybe she got too close to the Star as he moved through the area? It was a matter of conjecture for the rest of the day. She was immediately cared for by the medical crew, who insisted on hauling her to the hospital. You are not allowed to either faint or die on the set! Another poor soul with fame snatched from her grasp. The inhumanity of it all!
A production assistant came around and started the herding process, driving us like so many sheep, cattle, chattel? towards the train cars. We were picked over, sorted, graded and sent to our doom. Directed towards seats, shuffled, then moved again. I was pointed to a seat next to a window, a large 'X' on it. The train’s wooden benches faced each other. There were three other men sitting on the benches, we barely had time to introduce ourselves. Another PA came by and told us that the Star would come down the aisle, lean over and look out the window.
Since I was sitting next to the window, I nearly fell out of my seat. This meant that there was about a 50/50 chance that I would be in the shot with him!.
That's when another PA came by, told me to get up and move, I had the wrong type of hat, they wanted 'flat caps' in the seats. I was directed to another car. Here, they paired me with a lovely woman.
I was now ‘playing the part’ of a couple. Virginia didn't seem to mind that she had been stuck with me. We were placed in the center section of the train car, facing each other, both of us sitting next to the windows. The PA told us to fake conversation, lean towards each other, make hand gestures. The typical, "I'm interested in what you have to say" kind of stuff.
We did the, 'where you from, how did you get here' thing. After all, we were going to be on this train together for a few hours, might as well make it bearable. It went beyond that, it was great. Virginia loves motorcycles, traveling and movies. We talked about everything.
One of the PA's told us to be quiet and nodded towards the front of the train.
Suddenly, everyone in the train car got quiet. The Star had appeared. As director, writer and star of the movie, he wanted us to know exactly what we were going to be doing. At least, that's what I think he wanted to tell us.
As he talked, people around us looked over, shrugging, mouthing the words; "Can you hear him?"
I yelled "Speak up!" but he was almost done.
A PA gave me their version of a dirty look. I glanced around, nobody had understood a thing The Star had said, a trainload of blank faces.
Virginia shrugged, shook her head when I asked if she heard what the Star had said. Nope, it was all a mumble to me and everyone that I talked to later.
Perhaps he should do more stage work, learn to project his voice.
Filming was about to begin.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies, Part Seven
It was still dark when I headed for the movie set. First workday of the week and people on the road, going to their daily toil. Old factories and some new scattered amongst them in the industrial section of Chattanooga. When I cruised up the hill past the gravel pit, you would have thought that there had been an accident.
Security had gone from minimal to maximum overnight. Police cars in the street, stopping everyone. I was checked in, told to park the car in a gravel lot about 300 yards from the set, pulled into the lot and directed to a specific spot by another security guard. Who then told me how to walk down to the set. With an implied, "Don't make any sudden moves, boy, we're watching you." You guys ever work at the airport?
It was frantic ant city on the set. A catering truck parked at the big tent, white-aproned workers unloading hot food and cold drinks. All this activity to make something that never happened appear to be real. Let's not get existential here.
I squeezed into the main tent, dodging crew and caterers to sign in, given another list of instructions, rules and regulations of the movie set. Speed read the laws of the land, while eyeing the food goodies laid out on the nearby tables. The crew was going at it, piling up plates of food and getting hot coffee, tea or chilled caffeine for the morning buzz. My stomach reminded me of my granola in a bag and lukewarm, non-iced tea breakfast at the motel.
I looked back at the fine print of the 'background extras' regulations. There it was, in all it's font and glory, sub-paragraph v, section 9: "The background extras shall starve and watch the cast and crew gorge themselves at the feast tables. There shall be no whining, sniveling or pandering for food. Groveling or other obtuse acts will be treated with disdain. Violators will be flogged and hounded from the set." Thus spake the rulebook.
I noticed that the politician had already worked the crowd and was standing next to one of the tables, trying to balance enough food to feed a third world country on one plate, while filling up a gallon coffee mug with the other. He spotted me watching him, so he YELLED; "Hey dude, come on over and get some of this, it's great!"
Looking around, I noticed that I was the only person in the area, he wasn't talking to the sea of chairs around me. You ever try to duck under one of those folding tables? Those damn extension arms that hold the legs up will hit you in the face every time. Nice welt though, with the imprint, "Made Somewhere Else" emblazoned on my face.
David, the generator man, train expert and Model T driver strode into the tent. He noticed me and came over to the table, "Hey, get something to eat. That's what it's there for. You're gonna have a long day and who knows when we'll stop for lunch."
My protests about the fine print were met with a shake of his head, "Forget it, this cast is so small, it doesn't make any difference. If we had about 400 people here, like we will next week, then they would enforce it. Come on."
He pivoted and headed towards the tables. I looked around at the rest of the background extras, none of whom had budged, more fine-print readers. They watched me closely, waiting to see if lightening would strike or I would be just dragged from the tent. I hadn't seen this much food in one place since coming over on the cruise ship from the old country.
As I loaded up my plate with food that is only available to movie stars, royalty and CEOs, I almost felt guilty. Almost doesn't count for shit. After all this little excursion was costing me money. It wasn't going to put anything into my bank account. In that respect, I figured that I could eat like a pig. The only problem was that I was too nervous and backed off, just eating stuff that wouldn't turn over in the old stomach. Heavy on the fruits, rolls and donuts, tea, a breakfast burrito, no hot sauce.
I had never had a burrito for breakfast, due to my long-standing strike against fast food restaurants and their contrived menus. Halfway through the burrito, I decided that it was a plot to upset the delicate balance of my stomach. Which is renown for it's cast iron ability to withstand rotgut tequila at 8AM, without the benefit of food. A real good reason to never start drinking, much less make it a lifelong habit.
When you wake up with a hangover, you want to do something to make it go away. Aspirin is so boring, just have another drink. After a few years, you'll wake up one day and go, "Damn, am I already 30? or am I 40?" Your entire youth will have passed you by in a blur. If you live that long.
The volume level in the tent flattened as the tension rose suddenly, people nodding towards one corner, some craning their necks to see.The Star had arrived and was doing the greeting the troops thing.
OK, we're fine with that. I respect the man. Got a screenplay parked in my briefcase, sitting right next to me. Come on over here....yes, he's moving this way. NO! Wait...damn, he goes back out the door? flap? opening? of the tent and into the cool, foggy morning.
This gets my hopes up, maybe the female lead will show up in the next few minutes. I ask around the table if anyone has seen her. I didn't come down to see The Star. I just want him to buy my screenplay or the rights to my book. Hire me to do rewrites.
Now, the leading lady, that's a different story. You can never appreciate the true beauty of a woman until you see her face to face. Even if she's about to slap you for that last comment.
So, where was she?
"She's not here." David informed me, between bites into his breakfast.
"What! What the hell are you talking about?" My feelings of betrayal were obvious.
"She's not here, he's the only one, besides a couple of others that came down from the other location."
"I didn't come down here to see a bunch of guys!" I grumbled.
"Yeah, well, that's how it is," he deadpanned, taking a sip of coffee to wash down his sausage biscuit.
Great, how are you supposed to charm a woman when you can't even meet her?
Security had gone from minimal to maximum overnight. Police cars in the street, stopping everyone. I was checked in, told to park the car in a gravel lot about 300 yards from the set, pulled into the lot and directed to a specific spot by another security guard. Who then told me how to walk down to the set. With an implied, "Don't make any sudden moves, boy, we're watching you." You guys ever work at the airport?
It was frantic ant city on the set. A catering truck parked at the big tent, white-aproned workers unloading hot food and cold drinks. All this activity to make something that never happened appear to be real. Let's not get existential here.
I squeezed into the main tent, dodging crew and caterers to sign in, given another list of instructions, rules and regulations of the movie set. Speed read the laws of the land, while eyeing the food goodies laid out on the nearby tables. The crew was going at it, piling up plates of food and getting hot coffee, tea or chilled caffeine for the morning buzz. My stomach reminded me of my granola in a bag and lukewarm, non-iced tea breakfast at the motel.
I looked back at the fine print of the 'background extras' regulations. There it was, in all it's font and glory, sub-paragraph v, section 9: "The background extras shall starve and watch the cast and crew gorge themselves at the feast tables. There shall be no whining, sniveling or pandering for food. Groveling or other obtuse acts will be treated with disdain. Violators will be flogged and hounded from the set." Thus spake the rulebook.
I noticed that the politician had already worked the crowd and was standing next to one of the tables, trying to balance enough food to feed a third world country on one plate, while filling up a gallon coffee mug with the other. He spotted me watching him, so he YELLED; "Hey dude, come on over and get some of this, it's great!"
Looking around, I noticed that I was the only person in the area, he wasn't talking to the sea of chairs around me. You ever try to duck under one of those folding tables? Those damn extension arms that hold the legs up will hit you in the face every time. Nice welt though, with the imprint, "Made Somewhere Else" emblazoned on my face.
David, the generator man, train expert and Model T driver strode into the tent. He noticed me and came over to the table, "Hey, get something to eat. That's what it's there for. You're gonna have a long day and who knows when we'll stop for lunch."
My protests about the fine print were met with a shake of his head, "Forget it, this cast is so small, it doesn't make any difference. If we had about 400 people here, like we will next week, then they would enforce it. Come on."
He pivoted and headed towards the tables. I looked around at the rest of the background extras, none of whom had budged, more fine-print readers. They watched me closely, waiting to see if lightening would strike or I would be just dragged from the tent. I hadn't seen this much food in one place since coming over on the cruise ship from the old country.
As I loaded up my plate with food that is only available to movie stars, royalty and CEOs, I almost felt guilty. Almost doesn't count for shit. After all this little excursion was costing me money. It wasn't going to put anything into my bank account. In that respect, I figured that I could eat like a pig. The only problem was that I was too nervous and backed off, just eating stuff that wouldn't turn over in the old stomach. Heavy on the fruits, rolls and donuts, tea, a breakfast burrito, no hot sauce.
I had never had a burrito for breakfast, due to my long-standing strike against fast food restaurants and their contrived menus. Halfway through the burrito, I decided that it was a plot to upset the delicate balance of my stomach. Which is renown for it's cast iron ability to withstand rotgut tequila at 8AM, without the benefit of food. A real good reason to never start drinking, much less make it a lifelong habit.
When you wake up with a hangover, you want to do something to make it go away. Aspirin is so boring, just have another drink. After a few years, you'll wake up one day and go, "Damn, am I already 30? or am I 40?" Your entire youth will have passed you by in a blur. If you live that long.
The volume level in the tent flattened as the tension rose suddenly, people nodding towards one corner, some craning their necks to see.The Star had arrived and was doing the greeting the troops thing.
OK, we're fine with that. I respect the man. Got a screenplay parked in my briefcase, sitting right next to me. Come on over here....yes, he's moving this way. NO! Wait...damn, he goes back out the door? flap? opening? of the tent and into the cool, foggy morning.
This gets my hopes up, maybe the female lead will show up in the next few minutes. I ask around the table if anyone has seen her. I didn't come down to see The Star. I just want him to buy my screenplay or the rights to my book. Hire me to do rewrites.
Now, the leading lady, that's a different story. You can never appreciate the true beauty of a woman until you see her face to face. Even if she's about to slap you for that last comment.
So, where was she?
"She's not here." David informed me, between bites into his breakfast.
"What! What the hell are you talking about?" My feelings of betrayal were obvious.
"She's not here, he's the only one, besides a couple of others that came down from the other location."
"I didn't come down here to see a bunch of guys!" I grumbled.
"Yeah, well, that's how it is," he deadpanned, taking a sip of coffee to wash down his sausage biscuit.
Great, how are you supposed to charm a woman when you can't even meet her?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies, Part Six
Tell me that you don't wanna be a star. Tell me all about how you're ready for a life of obscurity. Tell me that deep inside you don't nurture the faintest hope of one day seeing your own smiling face looking down on you from a billboard as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard.
OK, maybe you'd rather be a politician instead and follow in the hallowed footsteps of our great leaders. We are currently a bit short of great leaders. Most of whom have passed from this plane of existence. You can do either act, all you need is drive, ego and maybe a bit of luck.
The one thing that you'll have to do in either case is sell yourself. This might require a bit of soul-searching, if you' re the reflective type or just the willingness to sell your soul, if you're the me-first type.
No problem in either case, just bring plenty of ego. Lots will be used up, if not crushed in some cases, but fans will resupply you with heaping helpings of adoration. Always an ego booster. Did I mention all that free nookie? Ask Bill.
After arriving on the set Sunday afternoon, I began to meet my fellow actors. We eyeballed each other as we sat under the off-white canvas of the large tent, scattered amongst the tables, filling in our paperwork for the casting company. Everyone a bit nervous, an undercurrent of tension vibrated in the tent.
It was a small cast, only 18 of us. Which raised the hopes of everyone. With that limited number, the possibility of being in a scene with one of the stars went up, astronomically. We ranged in age from young college studs and lovely coeds to retired teachers and your dissipated scribe. In general, a cross-section of middle America, Southern style. Which was a good thing that none of us had speaking roles. Since we were in a movie that was supposed to represent a time and place a bit further north, like around Chicago.
Although there were many from the south, a good portion of us had moved back or relocated here from other parts of America. I didn't get to know everyone, so there will be some who won't be covered. My apologies to all concerned.
The retiree from California, the retired teacher from right up the road, but who has travelled the world, the young mother who left her babies at home, but still had that star-struck gleam in her eyes. A young couple, married for just over a year, excited that they were going to be in a film.
A middle-thirties actor, back home after a stint as a struggling actor, but reticent about himself, acting totally bored by the entire ordeal. An ex-military man, who could have made a career of the service, but got out, now working in a hospital. Just the edge of doubt about him, as if he questioned whether he had done the right thing. He always talked about how exciting the military life had been, when it wasn't full of crushing boredom, sitting around the base.
A smattering of college/post-college boys, all unbounded energy and studly attitude. A business yuppie, briefcase, cellphone, trying to be Wall St. while located about 500 miles too far south of the real deal.
The politician, as I dubbed him, who really is a waiter in life at a local restaurant. When he isn't strumming his guitar, crooning for the ladies. Never leave your props behind. Somehow he managed to drag his guitar onto the set. He played it while we got our haircuts. He played it while we ate. He played it standing in the middle of the parking lot. The ladies loved it, the men just wanted to kill him.
So, we have our basic cast of characters. The 'background extras'.
Tomorrow, the stars.
All the world's a stage, as the great bard, William Shakespeare tells us.
Just don't trip up when you walk out upon it.
A pratfall could ruin your makeup.
Not to mention what it'll do to your ego.
OK, maybe you'd rather be a politician instead and follow in the hallowed footsteps of our great leaders. We are currently a bit short of great leaders. Most of whom have passed from this plane of existence. You can do either act, all you need is drive, ego and maybe a bit of luck.
The one thing that you'll have to do in either case is sell yourself. This might require a bit of soul-searching, if you' re the reflective type or just the willingness to sell your soul, if you're the me-first type.
No problem in either case, just bring plenty of ego. Lots will be used up, if not crushed in some cases, but fans will resupply you with heaping helpings of adoration. Always an ego booster. Did I mention all that free nookie? Ask Bill.
After arriving on the set Sunday afternoon, I began to meet my fellow actors. We eyeballed each other as we sat under the off-white canvas of the large tent, scattered amongst the tables, filling in our paperwork for the casting company. Everyone a bit nervous, an undercurrent of tension vibrated in the tent.
It was a small cast, only 18 of us. Which raised the hopes of everyone. With that limited number, the possibility of being in a scene with one of the stars went up, astronomically. We ranged in age from young college studs and lovely coeds to retired teachers and your dissipated scribe. In general, a cross-section of middle America, Southern style. Which was a good thing that none of us had speaking roles. Since we were in a movie that was supposed to represent a time and place a bit further north, like around Chicago.
Although there were many from the south, a good portion of us had moved back or relocated here from other parts of America. I didn't get to know everyone, so there will be some who won't be covered. My apologies to all concerned.
The retiree from California, the retired teacher from right up the road, but who has travelled the world, the young mother who left her babies at home, but still had that star-struck gleam in her eyes. A young couple, married for just over a year, excited that they were going to be in a film.
A middle-thirties actor, back home after a stint as a struggling actor, but reticent about himself, acting totally bored by the entire ordeal. An ex-military man, who could have made a career of the service, but got out, now working in a hospital. Just the edge of doubt about him, as if he questioned whether he had done the right thing. He always talked about how exciting the military life had been, when it wasn't full of crushing boredom, sitting around the base.
A smattering of college/post-college boys, all unbounded energy and studly attitude. A business yuppie, briefcase, cellphone, trying to be Wall St. while located about 500 miles too far south of the real deal.
The politician, as I dubbed him, who really is a waiter in life at a local restaurant. When he isn't strumming his guitar, crooning for the ladies. Never leave your props behind. Somehow he managed to drag his guitar onto the set. He played it while we got our haircuts. He played it while we ate. He played it standing in the middle of the parking lot. The ladies loved it, the men just wanted to kill him.
So, we have our basic cast of characters. The 'background extras'.
Tomorrow, the stars.
All the world's a stage, as the great bard, William Shakespeare tells us.
Just don't trip up when you walk out upon it.
A pratfall could ruin your makeup.
Not to mention what it'll do to your ego.
Monday, June 9, 2008
You Can Sleep When You're Dead
Oh yeah, but to blog, you have to be awake enough to hit the right keys.
I was going to post every day this month. Which doesn't seem to be happening. My fault.
After the great deluge of 2008, when we got about 7 inches of rain in 4 hours, everything has rocketed out of the ground. I've cut the grass more times this year than usual, while letting it grow taller between trimmings. Which I hate, because it gives the snakes a good place to hide.
Snakes love tall grass. When it rains and drives them out of the bottoms and away from the creeks and rivers, they tend to visit those warm, dry places. Like your backyard or mine.
Other than the increased reptile activity, the more I work, the less I seem to sleep. Must have something to do with the the heat and off the charts humidity. Is anyone out there wondering about global warming?
The results? I got into a sleep less, nap more, get less done cycle. Take on jobs that I shouldn't have, get even less done. Don't write as much. Read other peoples' stuff to see how they do their blogs.
I could just claim that it's all research. A large part of it is. Now it's time to apply it.
When is someone going to come up with a human battery pack?
Just plug me in and keep on going. 24 hours a day.
After all, who needs sleep?
Don't lose any sleep over the "You Wanna Be In Movies" series. I'm doing that for you. The next episode will cover some of my fellow actors. Some background on their aspirations.
I know that they had high hopes for the film.
At least it didn't wind up going straight to DVD.
I'll go into what it didn't do later.
The director/writer/leading man is losing sleep over that.
Happens to all of us.
I was going to post every day this month. Which doesn't seem to be happening. My fault.
After the great deluge of 2008, when we got about 7 inches of rain in 4 hours, everything has rocketed out of the ground. I've cut the grass more times this year than usual, while letting it grow taller between trimmings. Which I hate, because it gives the snakes a good place to hide.
Snakes love tall grass. When it rains and drives them out of the bottoms and away from the creeks and rivers, they tend to visit those warm, dry places. Like your backyard or mine.
Other than the increased reptile activity, the more I work, the less I seem to sleep. Must have something to do with the the heat and off the charts humidity. Is anyone out there wondering about global warming?
The results? I got into a sleep less, nap more, get less done cycle. Take on jobs that I shouldn't have, get even less done. Don't write as much. Read other peoples' stuff to see how they do their blogs.
I could just claim that it's all research. A large part of it is. Now it's time to apply it.
When is someone going to come up with a human battery pack?
Just plug me in and keep on going. 24 hours a day.
After all, who needs sleep?
Don't lose any sleep over the "You Wanna Be In Movies" series. I'm doing that for you. The next episode will cover some of my fellow actors. Some background on their aspirations.
I know that they had high hopes for the film.
At least it didn't wind up going straight to DVD.
I'll go into what it didn't do later.
The director/writer/leading man is losing sleep over that.
Happens to all of us.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies, Part Five
This security cop couldn't be more serious. He was going to throw me off the lot.
I looked around, David was crossing the parking lot, headed towards an equipment truck. He looked toward me and I waved him over. The security cop asked me my name again.
I didn't say anything, as David walked up, "What's going on?"
"This officer wants to throw me off the set for taking photos."
David shook his head, "I'm one of the crew, he's with me. It's OK for him to shoot photos. He's not taking any pictures of the set, only the museum trains."
The cop looked at David, then at me as he growled, "Fine. Just doing my job."
"Thanks officer."
He gave me a dirty look, threw his clipboard back on the seat, dropped his car into gear.
I looked over at David as the police car threw gravel on us as it hurried off, "Thanks, I appreciate it."
"No problem, that guy is just trying to make points."
"Why didn't he stop me when we were looking at the trains and taking photos?"
"Probably too busy to notice. I've got to get the generator set up."
"Yeah, thanks again." David nodded and walked away.
I went back to my car, slid in and put the camera away. There wasn't going to be much to see around here, the sun was dropping, so I left for the low-rent motel.
Motels, hotels, trains, planes, none of them are any good for sleep. Great to meet people, have some fun, but rest, forget it. Never, if you have a choice, get a room next to a stairwell. Unless you like to hear every drugged/drunk loudmouth in the world stumble around trying to get upstairs or fight with the semi-functional ice machine.
On the other side, I had a couple of construction workers. Been on the road together for ten years, punching holes in the ground for elevators in new buildings. The older one came over as I unloaded the car. He wanted to buy the Porsche, right then and there. Offered me cash for it, as long as I would take a check. Uh, huh, sure. What's it drawn on, the Bank of Wishful Thinking? It turned out that he knew quite a bit about Porsches, except that this one isn't for sale.
We talked for a long time, long enough for them to cook dinner on their barbecue grill, mounted on the back of their work truck. They were completely equipped, two large coolers, one for pop, the other for beer, a frig for their food. Steaks, potatoes, condiments. They offered to cook me a steak, but I declined. Told them I was too nervous about going to my 'job interview' the next day. Which led to the inevitable questions about the 'job'.
I fended this off for about an hour, before I finally told them that it was really just a one day background extra part in a movie. They were surprised that they hadn't heard anything about it. They had been in town for over a week and no one had said anything about a feature film being shot in Chattanooga. I told them that it wasn't that big a deal.
I really wanted to try and talk to the producer or a couple of the stars. I have a screenplay with characters that I think they would be interested in playing.
We talked about my screenplay, "A Model Heist" for a while, I explained to them that it's about war veterans who come home to a changed country. They got the idea, nothing is like it was. Which is the way things work, everything undergoes change, that's what life is, constant change.
What they couldn't understand was the stuff they had to watch on TV. Their big complaint was that everything was either a bad copy or rerun of something that was done better, in the old days. I pointed out that TV shows have a lot of writers and they tend to dilute the product. You know the old saying about "Too many cooks spoil the pot".
Then they asked about movies and I had to tell them that it was the same problem. For some reason, executives seem to think that the more writers they add to a project, the better it gets. After they give them notes on how to write it. Which rarely improves the work.
Look at people like Hitchcock; get a good screenwriter, work out the camera angles, rehearse your actors, shoot the damn film.
Now, everyone's a writer, even the actors. Who also want to direct, produce, etc. Which is why I drove to Chattanooga. You have to know as much as possible about the entire movie business, if you want to play in the game. There comes a time though, when you have to cut to the chase and get the camera rolling.
These good ole boys could understand all of that. They just couldn't understand, with all the money and talent, how the majority of new stuff is terrible. Like I told them. Too many people who want to influence the film or TV show and claim that they were the 'creative force' behind it.
That's not even taking into factor that with all the available networks, you have dilution. Stuff gets thrown against the wall that would never be seen in a more competitive situation.I left them to their cable TV programs and went back to the room to do my daily writing. In this case, a journal entry for the day.
At 10PM, I tried to get to sleep. It was going to be an early call in the AM and the construction guys were going to be up before me. Didn't happen, parking lot noises, random shouts and conversations, general crashing and banging of people hauling themselves up the stairs.
After about 6 hours of fitful sleep, I got up and took a shower. Time to get dressed and head for the set.
My first time on camera in a feature film, please get my good side.
I looked around, David was crossing the parking lot, headed towards an equipment truck. He looked toward me and I waved him over. The security cop asked me my name again.
I didn't say anything, as David walked up, "What's going on?"
"This officer wants to throw me off the set for taking photos."
David shook his head, "I'm one of the crew, he's with me. It's OK for him to shoot photos. He's not taking any pictures of the set, only the museum trains."
The cop looked at David, then at me as he growled, "Fine. Just doing my job."
"Thanks officer."
He gave me a dirty look, threw his clipboard back on the seat, dropped his car into gear.
I looked over at David as the police car threw gravel on us as it hurried off, "Thanks, I appreciate it."
"No problem, that guy is just trying to make points."
"Why didn't he stop me when we were looking at the trains and taking photos?"
"Probably too busy to notice. I've got to get the generator set up."
"Yeah, thanks again." David nodded and walked away.
I went back to my car, slid in and put the camera away. There wasn't going to be much to see around here, the sun was dropping, so I left for the low-rent motel.
Motels, hotels, trains, planes, none of them are any good for sleep. Great to meet people, have some fun, but rest, forget it. Never, if you have a choice, get a room next to a stairwell. Unless you like to hear every drugged/drunk loudmouth in the world stumble around trying to get upstairs or fight with the semi-functional ice machine.
On the other side, I had a couple of construction workers. Been on the road together for ten years, punching holes in the ground for elevators in new buildings. The older one came over as I unloaded the car. He wanted to buy the Porsche, right then and there. Offered me cash for it, as long as I would take a check. Uh, huh, sure. What's it drawn on, the Bank of Wishful Thinking? It turned out that he knew quite a bit about Porsches, except that this one isn't for sale.
We talked for a long time, long enough for them to cook dinner on their barbecue grill, mounted on the back of their work truck. They were completely equipped, two large coolers, one for pop, the other for beer, a frig for their food. Steaks, potatoes, condiments. They offered to cook me a steak, but I declined. Told them I was too nervous about going to my 'job interview' the next day. Which led to the inevitable questions about the 'job'.
I fended this off for about an hour, before I finally told them that it was really just a one day background extra part in a movie. They were surprised that they hadn't heard anything about it. They had been in town for over a week and no one had said anything about a feature film being shot in Chattanooga. I told them that it wasn't that big a deal.
I really wanted to try and talk to the producer or a couple of the stars. I have a screenplay with characters that I think they would be interested in playing.
We talked about my screenplay, "A Model Heist" for a while, I explained to them that it's about war veterans who come home to a changed country. They got the idea, nothing is like it was. Which is the way things work, everything undergoes change, that's what life is, constant change.
What they couldn't understand was the stuff they had to watch on TV. Their big complaint was that everything was either a bad copy or rerun of something that was done better, in the old days. I pointed out that TV shows have a lot of writers and they tend to dilute the product. You know the old saying about "Too many cooks spoil the pot".
Then they asked about movies and I had to tell them that it was the same problem. For some reason, executives seem to think that the more writers they add to a project, the better it gets. After they give them notes on how to write it. Which rarely improves the work.
Look at people like Hitchcock; get a good screenwriter, work out the camera angles, rehearse your actors, shoot the damn film.
Now, everyone's a writer, even the actors. Who also want to direct, produce, etc. Which is why I drove to Chattanooga. You have to know as much as possible about the entire movie business, if you want to play in the game. There comes a time though, when you have to cut to the chase and get the camera rolling.
These good ole boys could understand all of that. They just couldn't understand, with all the money and talent, how the majority of new stuff is terrible. Like I told them. Too many people who want to influence the film or TV show and claim that they were the 'creative force' behind it.
That's not even taking into factor that with all the available networks, you have dilution. Stuff gets thrown against the wall that would never be seen in a more competitive situation.I left them to their cable TV programs and went back to the room to do my daily writing. In this case, a journal entry for the day.
At 10PM, I tried to get to sleep. It was going to be an early call in the AM and the construction guys were going to be up before me. Didn't happen, parking lot noises, random shouts and conversations, general crashing and banging of people hauling themselves up the stairs.
After about 6 hours of fitful sleep, I got up and took a shower. Time to get dressed and head for the set.
My first time on camera in a feature film, please get my good side.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies, Part 4
It's easy to get on a movie set. Just drive up in a fancy car and act like you own the place. Which is not what I did, but it sounds like it.
After I had checked in, they sent me to the haircut tent,where I got my genuine, authentic 1920's style haircut. I was told to shave my mustache, shown how to trim my sideburns for the correct look. Then sent back out into the cool March afternoon.
This is when I met the Politician. He came over and commented on the 912, shocked to find out that it wasn't a new car. We discussed how we got the 'job' and did the 'where you from' thing.
We started discussing what we knew about the movie, which wasn't much. As we talked, he asked me if I wanted to see the train. Huh? Like that wouldn't get the crew's attention? I told him that the last thing I wanted to do was to get thrown off the set after I had just got there.
He just smiled and laughed, told me that he had already been through it. We started walking over towards it, then climbed aboard.
I've been on plenty of trains in my life. Taken them all over Europe and England. Other than riding subway trains in New York City, I can't remember ever being on an American train. As a boy in Memphis, I got into trouble one day, playing in the rail yards near my house. If it's got an engine, I have to check it out.
These were older cars, wooden trim, but with steel framework and brass fittings. We wandered around, avoiding the crew as they set up. The cars were in fair condition, not shiny new or over restored. What you would expect from carriages that were seeing service. They had the right look for a film.
Walking through the old cars made me realize just how much things have changed with technology. The last time I had been on a train was an old clunker that took me from London to Southampton. It had a plaque on it that stated it had been built in 1937. It creaked and rattled and felt like it was going to come apart as we banged down the tracks.
Almost like a time trip movie for me, as I had just got off the Eurostar from Paris. We had blasted across the French countryside, in a cocoon of solitude, with nary a ripple in your glass of wine. The scenery outside the window going backwards like a film in hyper reverse, at over 160 MPH. Then into the Chunnel, with the thought of all those tons of seawater pressing against the walls.
We moved through the two cars before I realized that the engine wasn't hooked up to them. The Politician pulled out a cellphone, with a built in camera. He took a few shots, then put it back in his pocket. It only took about ten minutes to look them over and then we were back outside, walking along the tracks. Other actors were arriving, checking in and getting their haircuts.
The Politician and I wound up next to his car, where his girlfriend was talking on her cellphone. He was going to take off, get ready for the big day. I grabbed my camera from my car and went back over towards the old steam engines, away from the movie train cars.
The best light in either in early morning or late afternoon. The sun was just about right for me to get some good shots of the old trains. I positioned myself in the middle of the empty parking lot, shot a few photos. Moved over to get a different angle, heard a car approaching, crunching the gravel behind me. It was a security cop.
He ordered me to come over to the car. Asked me what I was doing with the camera. Resisting the urge to make a snarky comment, I told him, "Taking pictures of the trains."
Mr. Security, who wasn't around to keep me from driving on the set unquestioned, then told me that I was in violation of the rules, laws, edicts and pronouncements of the production company. We would be going to the big tent and I would be thrown off the set.
I couldn't believe it. After just leaving the set, where the Politician had shot photos of it with his cellphone camera, here I was, getting thrown out for shooting photos of trains that weren't going to be in the movie!
Now I was upset. What the hell did I do that was such a crime? I offered to show the cop my photos, so he could see that there weren't any of the movie set.
No dice. The security cop was adamant. He grabbed up a clipboard from the passenger seat and asked me my name.
How was I going to get out of this?
After I had checked in, they sent me to the haircut tent,where I got my genuine, authentic 1920's style haircut. I was told to shave my mustache, shown how to trim my sideburns for the correct look. Then sent back out into the cool March afternoon.
This is when I met the Politician. He came over and commented on the 912, shocked to find out that it wasn't a new car. We discussed how we got the 'job' and did the 'where you from' thing.
We started discussing what we knew about the movie, which wasn't much. As we talked, he asked me if I wanted to see the train. Huh? Like that wouldn't get the crew's attention? I told him that the last thing I wanted to do was to get thrown off the set after I had just got there.
He just smiled and laughed, told me that he had already been through it. We started walking over towards it, then climbed aboard.
I've been on plenty of trains in my life. Taken them all over Europe and England. Other than riding subway trains in New York City, I can't remember ever being on an American train. As a boy in Memphis, I got into trouble one day, playing in the rail yards near my house. If it's got an engine, I have to check it out.
These were older cars, wooden trim, but with steel framework and brass fittings. We wandered around, avoiding the crew as they set up. The cars were in fair condition, not shiny new or over restored. What you would expect from carriages that were seeing service. They had the right look for a film.
Walking through the old cars made me realize just how much things have changed with technology. The last time I had been on a train was an old clunker that took me from London to Southampton. It had a plaque on it that stated it had been built in 1937. It creaked and rattled and felt like it was going to come apart as we banged down the tracks.
Almost like a time trip movie for me, as I had just got off the Eurostar from Paris. We had blasted across the French countryside, in a cocoon of solitude, with nary a ripple in your glass of wine. The scenery outside the window going backwards like a film in hyper reverse, at over 160 MPH. Then into the Chunnel, with the thought of all those tons of seawater pressing against the walls.
We moved through the two cars before I realized that the engine wasn't hooked up to them. The Politician pulled out a cellphone, with a built in camera. He took a few shots, then put it back in his pocket. It only took about ten minutes to look them over and then we were back outside, walking along the tracks. Other actors were arriving, checking in and getting their haircuts.
The Politician and I wound up next to his car, where his girlfriend was talking on her cellphone. He was going to take off, get ready for the big day. I grabbed my camera from my car and went back over towards the old steam engines, away from the movie train cars.
The best light in either in early morning or late afternoon. The sun was just about right for me to get some good shots of the old trains. I positioned myself in the middle of the empty parking lot, shot a few photos. Moved over to get a different angle, heard a car approaching, crunching the gravel behind me. It was a security cop.
He ordered me to come over to the car. Asked me what I was doing with the camera. Resisting the urge to make a snarky comment, I told him, "Taking pictures of the trains."
Mr. Security, who wasn't around to keep me from driving on the set unquestioned, then told me that I was in violation of the rules, laws, edicts and pronouncements of the production company. We would be going to the big tent and I would be thrown off the set.
I couldn't believe it. After just leaving the set, where the Politician had shot photos of it with his cellphone camera, here I was, getting thrown out for shooting photos of trains that weren't going to be in the movie!
Now I was upset. What the hell did I do that was such a crime? I offered to show the cop my photos, so he could see that there weren't any of the movie set.
No dice. The security cop was adamant. He grabbed up a clipboard from the passenger seat and asked me my name.
How was I going to get out of this?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies, Part 3
It was an uneasy drive to Chattanooga. The entire way, I worried about the car deciding to burn itself down. The first hundred miles, approaching Nashville were easy. The light, Sunday morning traffic wasn't bad, the weather good for March. It's not quite three hundred miles and I covered the distance in less than four hours. The only hassle was an asshole in a pickup truck who wanted to run over the car. It comes with the territory. You drive a sports car, you'll have clowns who hate it. They don't appreciate the good points of the car.
One of the reasons that I drive this car is the great gas mileage. The 912 gets around 30 miles per gallon on the highway, even with the A/C running. One of the other reasons is that I can work on it. Yes, I know, most people hate to check the air in the tires, much less crawl underneath a grimy car to service it. The Porsche's not grimy and it's easy to maintain. Even though it's a four cylinder, it's still fairly fast. I don't need four hundred horsepower, I'll just want to use it. That's why all my big bikes are now gone. Let's just say that it's difficult to have something that will do 150 MPH and not drive it that fast.
I got to Chattanooga two hours early for my haircut. The location was in an older, industrial part of town. I found it without too much trouble. When I rolled onto the set, I was surprised at how deserted it was. No one stopped me at the entrance, I just drove in. There were a few people about, most of them crew who were doing prep work for the day's shoot. I parked the 912 and walked around, getting the lay of the land, so to speak.
They had three medium-sized tents set up for dressing rooms and a place for the caterers. The Tennessee Valley Railroad is a train museum, so they had a pretty good collection of trains. Since I'm a gearhead, I wandered around, up and down the tracks, looking at the different models.
Met a Teamster who used to work on the Union Pacific railroad. David and I wandered around, looking at the old steam engines, then he opened the engine covers, like big steel doors, on one of the newer diesels. Huge engine. I have written service and operator's manuals on big diesels, but nothing like the engine in a train.
The whole time, I was shooting photos. Only after I asked him about doing it. He assured me that as long as I was with him and didn't point my camera towards the train they were going to use for the shoot, that I would be OK. Which was reassuring, since I wanted to at least get some pictures to prove that I had 'been there, done that'. Didn't figure that there were going to be any t-shirts available.
David gave me some background on the movie, told me that they might need people who could drive a Model T Ford. Which I know that I could, but I've never had the chance. My neighbor had one, which I've ridden in, but never driven. Something to look into.
Meanwhile, I checked in, got on the list for my free haircut and met some of the other actors. The first person I met was a dude that I'll call the Politician. He has that tall, semi-dignified attitude, while being just a touch disconnected from what's going on. Glad to meet you and let me show you what I know. Don't worry about a thing, I'm sure that I can do this and not get into any trouble. You, on the other hand, might just get hung for doing it.
I wasn't out of Tennessee and here I was, back swimming with the land sharks.
One of the reasons that I drive this car is the great gas mileage. The 912 gets around 30 miles per gallon on the highway, even with the A/C running. One of the other reasons is that I can work on it. Yes, I know, most people hate to check the air in the tires, much less crawl underneath a grimy car to service it. The Porsche's not grimy and it's easy to maintain. Even though it's a four cylinder, it's still fairly fast. I don't need four hundred horsepower, I'll just want to use it. That's why all my big bikes are now gone. Let's just say that it's difficult to have something that will do 150 MPH and not drive it that fast.
I got to Chattanooga two hours early for my haircut. The location was in an older, industrial part of town. I found it without too much trouble. When I rolled onto the set, I was surprised at how deserted it was. No one stopped me at the entrance, I just drove in. There were a few people about, most of them crew who were doing prep work for the day's shoot. I parked the 912 and walked around, getting the lay of the land, so to speak.
They had three medium-sized tents set up for dressing rooms and a place for the caterers. The Tennessee Valley Railroad is a train museum, so they had a pretty good collection of trains. Since I'm a gearhead, I wandered around, up and down the tracks, looking at the different models.
Met a Teamster who used to work on the Union Pacific railroad. David and I wandered around, looking at the old steam engines, then he opened the engine covers, like big steel doors, on one of the newer diesels. Huge engine. I have written service and operator's manuals on big diesels, but nothing like the engine in a train.
The whole time, I was shooting photos. Only after I asked him about doing it. He assured me that as long as I was with him and didn't point my camera towards the train they were going to use for the shoot, that I would be OK. Which was reassuring, since I wanted to at least get some pictures to prove that I had 'been there, done that'. Didn't figure that there were going to be any t-shirts available.
David gave me some background on the movie, told me that they might need people who could drive a Model T Ford. Which I know that I could, but I've never had the chance. My neighbor had one, which I've ridden in, but never driven. Something to look into.
Meanwhile, I checked in, got on the list for my free haircut and met some of the other actors. The first person I met was a dude that I'll call the Politician. He has that tall, semi-dignified attitude, while being just a touch disconnected from what's going on. Glad to meet you and let me show you what I know. Don't worry about a thing, I'm sure that I can do this and not get into any trouble. You, on the other hand, might just get hung for doing it.
I wasn't out of Tennessee and here I was, back swimming with the land sharks.
Monday, May 12, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies, Part 2
Tell me that you don't do things to attract another person. It doesn't matter which sex you're interested in, we all do what it takes to get their attention. Movies, whether homemade or professional, give a person the double shot of ego boost and personal appeal. You look good on screen, the babes have to love ya, if your head doesn't explode first.
Due to the nature of my community, I decided to not tell anyone about getting this movie job. Instead, I told everyone that I was going to a job interview. Which is the way that I looked at it. Too many times, when mentioning that I've been on a film set, like "Milk Money" or "Hart's War", people would turn frosty towards me. Yes, everyone wants to be in movies, but they don't want to hear about you doing it. So, the game plan was to play it low and cool. No mention of the film, until after it was shot. I have enough problems with people as it is, being a writer.
After all, if I got a chance to talk to the star or one of the producers, maybe I could get some more work. They were going to be shooting in a couple of nearby states over the next few months, so there was hope that I might land a speaking role. I also took a copy of one of my screenplays, which I feel is 'right' for the star. You never know when you're going to get your chance, so you should always be ready. Just don't push it on people. If they ask, then deliver.
The way it looked to me, it was going to be a three day trip. Drive down early Sunday, get the haircut and fitted for my clothes, then the shoot on Monday. Spend Monday night at the motel, leave Tuesday morning, visit a high school teacher on the way back home. When you go to high school overseas, you usually don't get to have any reunions, much less see anyone after graduation. This teacher had mentored me when I was learning photography. I wanted to stop and see him, drop off a copy of my book. So, the route was planned and arrangements made with all concerned.
The casting company didn't give me much notice when the shoot date was decided, probably a security thing. They gave me less than a week, which kicked things into high gear around the farm. My dogs would be taken care of by a neighbor. Another neighbor would get my mail. I drove into town to get oil and parts to do a tune-up on my 30+ year old car.
Maybe it was an omen. You know, a warning that things weren't going to go the way you expect them to. The car's a good vehicle, it's just got some wear on it. It was acting up, bogging down when I tried to accelerate. It was due for a tuneup. I stopped at the car parts store, picked up oil and a filter. Then drove off.
I didn't make it more than 100 feet. The car backfired, I looked into the rear view mirror. There was a ball of flames coming out of the engine compartment. My Porsche was on fire!
This made for the fire dance. I popped the engine cover, whipped off my jacket, threw it on the flames, didn't do any good. Ran back to the door, flipped the seat forward and grabbed the fire extinguisher. Dashed back to the engine, flames are higher than ever. Ripped the pin from the extinguisher, aimed at the bottom of the carburetor, pulled the trigger, powder everywhere. The flames snuffed, I stood back, heaved a sigh of relief.
A couple of good old boys pulled up in their pickup truck. They had been sitting in the Kentucky Fried Chicken, about 50 feet away, watching me. They finished their meal, got a bucket of water and came over to help. About five minutes after the fire started. Which would have been enough time for the entire car to be engulfed in flames. That's why I carry a fire extinguisher. They still wanted to help, but I told them I had it under control.
Then, the driver said, "Hey, what'ca gonna do now, get it towed?"
"Nope, I'll get the trailer from the farm and haul it back home. If it doesn't start."
The driver and his buddy both got a laugh out of that comment. After all, I look like a geek, driving a foreign car that's probably nothing but trouble, so I deserve what I get. I just shrugged at them, then starting taking the air cleaner off.
The next half hour was spent cleaning up the carb, getting as much of the extinguisher powder off the engine. None had got inside the carb, just all over the air cleaner. I put everything back together, then started the car. It ran OK, but I knew that it might quit at any time, so I took off down the road.
This was on Thursday afternoon. I had to leave on Sunday morning. I spent the next two days tearing the Porsche's carbs apart, tuning it up, getting my clothes ready and generally burning the candle at both ends. I still had farm work that had to be done, at the same time.
When I fell into bed on Saturday night, it was after midnight. I got about six hours of sleep, got up, loaded the car and left for Chattanooga. There was a fresh fire extinguisher in the back seat.
The last thing I wanted was Porsche flambe alongside the interstate.
It's not exactly my idea of a good meal.
Due to the nature of my community, I decided to not tell anyone about getting this movie job. Instead, I told everyone that I was going to a job interview. Which is the way that I looked at it. Too many times, when mentioning that I've been on a film set, like "Milk Money" or "Hart's War", people would turn frosty towards me. Yes, everyone wants to be in movies, but they don't want to hear about you doing it. So, the game plan was to play it low and cool. No mention of the film, until after it was shot. I have enough problems with people as it is, being a writer.
After all, if I got a chance to talk to the star or one of the producers, maybe I could get some more work. They were going to be shooting in a couple of nearby states over the next few months, so there was hope that I might land a speaking role. I also took a copy of one of my screenplays, which I feel is 'right' for the star. You never know when you're going to get your chance, so you should always be ready. Just don't push it on people. If they ask, then deliver.
The way it looked to me, it was going to be a three day trip. Drive down early Sunday, get the haircut and fitted for my clothes, then the shoot on Monday. Spend Monday night at the motel, leave Tuesday morning, visit a high school teacher on the way back home. When you go to high school overseas, you usually don't get to have any reunions, much less see anyone after graduation. This teacher had mentored me when I was learning photography. I wanted to stop and see him, drop off a copy of my book. So, the route was planned and arrangements made with all concerned.
The casting company didn't give me much notice when the shoot date was decided, probably a security thing. They gave me less than a week, which kicked things into high gear around the farm. My dogs would be taken care of by a neighbor. Another neighbor would get my mail. I drove into town to get oil and parts to do a tune-up on my 30+ year old car.
Maybe it was an omen. You know, a warning that things weren't going to go the way you expect them to. The car's a good vehicle, it's just got some wear on it. It was acting up, bogging down when I tried to accelerate. It was due for a tuneup. I stopped at the car parts store, picked up oil and a filter. Then drove off.
I didn't make it more than 100 feet. The car backfired, I looked into the rear view mirror. There was a ball of flames coming out of the engine compartment. My Porsche was on fire!
This made for the fire dance. I popped the engine cover, whipped off my jacket, threw it on the flames, didn't do any good. Ran back to the door, flipped the seat forward and grabbed the fire extinguisher. Dashed back to the engine, flames are higher than ever. Ripped the pin from the extinguisher, aimed at the bottom of the carburetor, pulled the trigger, powder everywhere. The flames snuffed, I stood back, heaved a sigh of relief.
A couple of good old boys pulled up in their pickup truck. They had been sitting in the Kentucky Fried Chicken, about 50 feet away, watching me. They finished their meal, got a bucket of water and came over to help. About five minutes after the fire started. Which would have been enough time for the entire car to be engulfed in flames. That's why I carry a fire extinguisher. They still wanted to help, but I told them I had it under control.
Then, the driver said, "Hey, what'ca gonna do now, get it towed?"
"Nope, I'll get the trailer from the farm and haul it back home. If it doesn't start."
The driver and his buddy both got a laugh out of that comment. After all, I look like a geek, driving a foreign car that's probably nothing but trouble, so I deserve what I get. I just shrugged at them, then starting taking the air cleaner off.
The next half hour was spent cleaning up the carb, getting as much of the extinguisher powder off the engine. None had got inside the carb, just all over the air cleaner. I put everything back together, then started the car. It ran OK, but I knew that it might quit at any time, so I took off down the road.
This was on Thursday afternoon. I had to leave on Sunday morning. I spent the next two days tearing the Porsche's carbs apart, tuning it up, getting my clothes ready and generally burning the candle at both ends. I still had farm work that had to be done, at the same time.
When I fell into bed on Saturday night, it was after midnight. I got about six hours of sleep, got up, loaded the car and left for Chattanooga. There was a fresh fire extinguisher in the back seat.
The last thing I wanted was Porsche flambe alongside the interstate.
It's not exactly my idea of a good meal.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
You Wanna Be In Movies? Part 1
As promised, the story of how I, a humble, unknown writer, photographer, farm hand, got onto a feature film. Not guaranteed to work for anyone. But it was fun!
It gets cold in the South. Not the bone chilling cold you get in a Northern winter, like a blizzard blowing in out of Canada. The deep snow, howling wind, frostbite kind of cold, which I don't miss a bit. Ohio can have it. It's more a rainy, damp cold, just enough to make your bones creak and your muscles stiff. While your head tries to act like a leaky human faucet.
Around the first of February, 2007, I got an email from Film Nashville. I've been to their soirees and workshops. Used to spend a day and drive up to Nashville to meet people and find out about the film community. Went to acting classes, showed up for auditions, did a 48 Hour Film one year. Attended meetings of the Tennessee Screenwriters, everybody hopeful that their screenplay would get bought and they would have to give up hearth and home for the wilds of Hollywood. I did this for about three years, but slowly stopped making it a monthly trip. It was eating into my savings and my writing time.
The email had a notice that a feature film was going to need extras. It would be one day of work, so it wouldn't be too much of a strain. I didn't have a hope in hell of getting any work from this gig, but being bored, sitting in the living room/office, knowing that the weather wasn't going to let up for at least another couple of months...what the hell.
Did a self-portrait, up against the living room wall, once I removed the General McArthur poster. Figured out my hat size, all those other pertinent personal details that they need when they put you in costume. Put the info on the back of the headshot that I printed up for the casting company. Typed up a letter. Slid it all into a big, manila envelope.
On my trip into town that week, I mailed if from the post office. They have almost gotten used to my letters and packages to people in strange places like New York and LA. I usually tell Beverly what's in them, but didn't this time.
I went to the library, got some books and a couple of DVDs, went back to the homestead. Read the books, background info for the novel that I'm working on, watched the DVDs. Forgot all about the headshot.
When the weather wasn't freezing cold, I would do repair work on the farm equipment. Came in from the tractor shed one afternoon and the phone was blinking at me. It was the casting company.
They had called while I working, wanted to know if I was going to be available for the shoot. I sat down and looked at the calendar, then the map. Then I called them up to find out the specifics of the situation.
They explained that I needed to 'stop by' and get fitted for my clothes and get a proper 'era' haircut the day before filming. Uh huh, anything else? Just wear a white dress shirt, dark dress slacks and dress shoes. No problem, part of the work uniform when I was a corporate type.
Would I be able to confirm being a 'background extra' for them. I begged off, I wanted to check and be sure that I would be able to get someone to take care of things on the farm. They agreed to let me call them the next day to let them know whether I was going to do it or not. I got off the phone.
Then, I started laughing.
They thought that I lived somewhere near Chattanooga. In truth, I would have to drive about 300 miles to get to the set. When I figured out the wages, cost of a motel room, gas, etc. I would be paying to be in the movie.
Still, how often do you get the chance to be in a feature film with a couple of Academy Award winners?
Yeah, I buy lottery tickets every so often, too.
This would mean possibly getting my mug up on the big screen.
Then again, it might wind up being stepped on, while reposing on the cutting room floor.
Either way, it would give me time on a feature film set. Which would give me some perspective as to how a major film gets shot. All of which would help when I write a screenplay.
Who am I kidding?
I did it for the women.
It gets cold in the South. Not the bone chilling cold you get in a Northern winter, like a blizzard blowing in out of Canada. The deep snow, howling wind, frostbite kind of cold, which I don't miss a bit. Ohio can have it. It's more a rainy, damp cold, just enough to make your bones creak and your muscles stiff. While your head tries to act like a leaky human faucet.
Around the first of February, 2007, I got an email from Film Nashville. I've been to their soirees and workshops. Used to spend a day and drive up to Nashville to meet people and find out about the film community. Went to acting classes, showed up for auditions, did a 48 Hour Film one year. Attended meetings of the Tennessee Screenwriters, everybody hopeful that their screenplay would get bought and they would have to give up hearth and home for the wilds of Hollywood. I did this for about three years, but slowly stopped making it a monthly trip. It was eating into my savings and my writing time.
The email had a notice that a feature film was going to need extras. It would be one day of work, so it wouldn't be too much of a strain. I didn't have a hope in hell of getting any work from this gig, but being bored, sitting in the living room/office, knowing that the weather wasn't going to let up for at least another couple of months...what the hell.
Did a self-portrait, up against the living room wall, once I removed the General McArthur poster. Figured out my hat size, all those other pertinent personal details that they need when they put you in costume. Put the info on the back of the headshot that I printed up for the casting company. Typed up a letter. Slid it all into a big, manila envelope.
On my trip into town that week, I mailed if from the post office. They have almost gotten used to my letters and packages to people in strange places like New York and LA. I usually tell Beverly what's in them, but didn't this time.
I went to the library, got some books and a couple of DVDs, went back to the homestead. Read the books, background info for the novel that I'm working on, watched the DVDs. Forgot all about the headshot.
When the weather wasn't freezing cold, I would do repair work on the farm equipment. Came in from the tractor shed one afternoon and the phone was blinking at me. It was the casting company.
They had called while I working, wanted to know if I was going to be available for the shoot. I sat down and looked at the calendar, then the map. Then I called them up to find out the specifics of the situation.
They explained that I needed to 'stop by' and get fitted for my clothes and get a proper 'era' haircut the day before filming. Uh huh, anything else? Just wear a white dress shirt, dark dress slacks and dress shoes. No problem, part of the work uniform when I was a corporate type.
Would I be able to confirm being a 'background extra' for them. I begged off, I wanted to check and be sure that I would be able to get someone to take care of things on the farm. They agreed to let me call them the next day to let them know whether I was going to do it or not. I got off the phone.
Then, I started laughing.
They thought that I lived somewhere near Chattanooga. In truth, I would have to drive about 300 miles to get to the set. When I figured out the wages, cost of a motel room, gas, etc. I would be paying to be in the movie.
Still, how often do you get the chance to be in a feature film with a couple of Academy Award winners?
Yeah, I buy lottery tickets every so often, too.
This would mean possibly getting my mug up on the big screen.
Then again, it might wind up being stepped on, while reposing on the cutting room floor.
Either way, it would give me time on a feature film set. Which would give me some perspective as to how a major film gets shot. All of which would help when I write a screenplay.
Who am I kidding?
I did it for the women.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Return to the Blog
It's been a while, I'm still here. Been working on my latest book.
No excuse for not updating this site.
Plenty of things have happened.
The movie is out, so now I'll talk about it. Too bad it didn't do better at the box office.
Have had some of my work reviewed by a published author. He gave a one word critique. Will discuss that later.
Will expand on my previous posts about our perceptions regarding 'life'.
You are what you think.
No excuse for not updating this site.
Plenty of things have happened.
The movie is out, so now I'll talk about it. Too bad it didn't do better at the box office.
Have had some of my work reviewed by a published author. He gave a one word critique. Will discuss that later.
Will expand on my previous posts about our perceptions regarding 'life'.
You are what you think.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
CLOONEY vs FABIO
When news like this makes the internet, you have to ask, “Who’s withholding the meds?” When will the pain stop, doctor?
Heavyweight babe magnets like this don’t usually duke it out for nothing. They could damage their faces, not to mention potential ego erosion.
To hear that these two could possibly butt heads was almost too much. I guess that Fabio hasn’t heard that he doesn’t have much of a career now and Clooney's doesn't need any explanation.
Clooney always acted like a normal dude who gets to lead a movie star life when I saw him. He seems to be in every other movie coming out now or producing it. Can you say “Hollywood powerhouse”? Fabio would like to do one movie that’s 1/10th as good as the worst of what Clooney has done. What exactly has Fabio done lately?
Sure, you think that size has it’s advantages, but it really doesn’t in a fight. I don’t know if Fabio rides or not, but Clooney does. After laying down his Harley recently, he got back on the bike and rode to the hospital. That right there gives him points. As for the actual fisticuffs in the restaurant, I would have to have seen it to be able to comment on. Reports vary on what actually happened, maybe no punches were thrown at all.
I know one thing. When it comes to a fight, I prefer fighting a dude bigger than me. It’s the small, quick, little fornicators that can hurt you. When I’m up against a big guy, it’s more target area. It also helps if they figure that I can’t see when I take my glasses off.
Don’t let Clooney’s size fool you Fabio…it’s always embarrassing to get your ass handed to you by a small dude with a bigger attitude. George is from Kentucky. I’ve lived among and fought with those people, I know what they’re like. They’re almost as mean as a Tennessee Volunteer.
Heavyweight babe magnets like this don’t usually duke it out for nothing. They could damage their faces, not to mention potential ego erosion.
To hear that these two could possibly butt heads was almost too much. I guess that Fabio hasn’t heard that he doesn’t have much of a career now and Clooney's doesn't need any explanation.
Clooney always acted like a normal dude who gets to lead a movie star life when I saw him. He seems to be in every other movie coming out now or producing it. Can you say “Hollywood powerhouse”? Fabio would like to do one movie that’s 1/10th as good as the worst of what Clooney has done. What exactly has Fabio done lately?
Sure, you think that size has it’s advantages, but it really doesn’t in a fight. I don’t know if Fabio rides or not, but Clooney does. After laying down his Harley recently, he got back on the bike and rode to the hospital. That right there gives him points. As for the actual fisticuffs in the restaurant, I would have to have seen it to be able to comment on. Reports vary on what actually happened, maybe no punches were thrown at all.
I know one thing. When it comes to a fight, I prefer fighting a dude bigger than me. It’s the small, quick, little fornicators that can hurt you. When I’m up against a big guy, it’s more target area. It also helps if they figure that I can’t see when I take my glasses off.
Don’t let Clooney’s size fool you Fabio…it’s always embarrassing to get your ass handed to you by a small dude with a bigger attitude. George is from Kentucky. I’ve lived among and fought with those people, I know what they’re like. They’re almost as mean as a Tennessee Volunteer.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Rise of Bollywood, China and Hollywood North
As the sun goes down over Sunset Boulevard, you can hear dreams crashing like bumpercar BMWs, as if driven by writers off their meds. It’s a sad day in the city of Tinsel, as scribes wander the streets wailing for residuals. The WGA has voted, will it be much ado about nothing or the final strike-out?
While those of us who have written, but not been bought, stand back and contemplate. Can we now get a shot at the big time? Don’t hold your breath, I’m not. We live in the land of litigation. Look at me wrong and I’ll sue you down the river of debt.
No, there will be few scabs, even if the writers have to get out of their cars and walk the picket lines. If they’re smart they’ll get a rent-a-picket, someone who actually can be physically intimidating to a line-crosser. How far will they have to travel to stop writers who can work off-scene, away from LA, somewhere across the digital divide?
A while back, I presented a screenplay logline to a couple of hundred writers during a seminar held at a major studio. It was about outsourcing jobs around the world. The Important Hollywood Scribe/Director/Producer in charge of the seminar had a simple critique for my screenplay. He didn’t know what the word ‘outsourcing’ meant! Therefore, my screenplay wouldn't sell. The Hollywood crowd and the WGA will get to find out what the rest of American society has known for years. It’s outsourcing time in the city!
The easy way out for producers and studios alike will be to go East and head North. Bollywood might not have the same cultural excesses as it’s namesake, but the producers will just write in the extra sex, drugs and gratuitous violence. Then there are our neighbors to the north. Vancouver will be glad to shoot more movies, TV shows and documentaries for those in need. Montreal can give it a leetle French flair, mon ami. Did I mention all those studios in China? We love our globalization.
Don’t hold your breath WGA. This might be the start of something big. After all, one of Hollywood’s own started all of this, back when he broke up the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization (PATCO). You might remember him, he was the president of the Screen Actors Guild, before he took up residence in the big, white house on Pennsylvania Avenue. Which led to fuzzy math economics. Kinda like those figures you hear concerning residuals, new media, digital revenue, etc. It could be a ‘trickle down’ type of contract. Moguls, keep your genitalia away from that zipper!
I better check my passport. Can the WGA sue me if I work as a writer in China and get paid through a bank in Switzerland, while claiming residence in Australia?
While those of us who have written, but not been bought, stand back and contemplate. Can we now get a shot at the big time? Don’t hold your breath, I’m not. We live in the land of litigation. Look at me wrong and I’ll sue you down the river of debt.
No, there will be few scabs, even if the writers have to get out of their cars and walk the picket lines. If they’re smart they’ll get a rent-a-picket, someone who actually can be physically intimidating to a line-crosser. How far will they have to travel to stop writers who can work off-scene, away from LA, somewhere across the digital divide?
A while back, I presented a screenplay logline to a couple of hundred writers during a seminar held at a major studio. It was about outsourcing jobs around the world. The Important Hollywood Scribe/Director/Producer in charge of the seminar had a simple critique for my screenplay. He didn’t know what the word ‘outsourcing’ meant! Therefore, my screenplay wouldn't sell. The Hollywood crowd and the WGA will get to find out what the rest of American society has known for years. It’s outsourcing time in the city!
The easy way out for producers and studios alike will be to go East and head North. Bollywood might not have the same cultural excesses as it’s namesake, but the producers will just write in the extra sex, drugs and gratuitous violence. Then there are our neighbors to the north. Vancouver will be glad to shoot more movies, TV shows and documentaries for those in need. Montreal can give it a leetle French flair, mon ami. Did I mention all those studios in China? We love our globalization.
Don’t hold your breath WGA. This might be the start of something big. After all, one of Hollywood’s own started all of this, back when he broke up the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization (PATCO). You might remember him, he was the president of the Screen Actors Guild, before he took up residence in the big, white house on Pennsylvania Avenue. Which led to fuzzy math economics. Kinda like those figures you hear concerning residuals, new media, digital revenue, etc. It could be a ‘trickle down’ type of contract. Moguls, keep your genitalia away from that zipper!
I better check my passport. Can the WGA sue me if I work as a writer in China and get paid through a bank in Switzerland, while claiming residence in Australia?
How To Succeed in the Biz Without Using Your Genitalia
It’s always interesting, hearing about how people become an ‘overnight’ success. After eight to ten years, if not a couple of decades, of slogging away in the trenches, they are suddenly ‘discovered’ by the rest of the world. Their star ascends into the celebrity sky and shines bright as it establishes itself. Sometimes, without sleeping with anyone important.
These entities are then imbued with special powers by the masses or maybe just the media hounds. Able to discern the future, pick political leaders, make fashion statements and expose their genitalia, they are supreme in their own estimation, ego-powered beyond the output of any nuclear power plant. Able to light up entire tabloids with their mega-watt smiles. Unless they’re raging at the paparazzi.
The burn-out rate is determined by the self-love factor. The more headlines they seek, the faster they turn to burnt toast. Slow roasted by the fast bored public. A side trip to the pokey or the rehabarama can either be image enhancing or the end of the story. An event usually induced by drugs, sex, driving or guns. Maybe a toxic combination of all of the above. Having drugged sex while driving with guns…there’s a headline!
Probably the only safe way to success in the Biz and maintain it, is to be professional, do your job, keep your mouth shut about your love affairs and never, ever, show off your crotch, whether male or female, to anyone who isn’t your love slave. Get a non-disclosure agreement in writing before you head to bed. A pre-dip pre-nup.
Even if you’re some college girl wanting to be the Phelgm Queen or maybe get into a men’s magazine, one way or another, it can come back to haunt you in the end. Especially if you get the large version of the butterfly tattoo. Which, with old age, will look more like crumpled wall paper than a nymphalis californica. Has anyone told you how it will feel if you have to get a body scan at the hospital? Burn baby burn.
As for the men who think that their manhood can’t be beat, beware. The old race track adage applies, there’s always someone out there with more cubic inches. No matter the chemical or physical enhancements methods you might use to stroke your joke. Sometimes it more about quality, then quantity. Try harder, think like you’re number two.
Otherwise, you could always just fake it. Emote that talent thing all the way to the bank or into the ditch. If you hook up with the right people, even the talent challenged can rise to the top. You might even get to be president. Just don’t ask me to write about it.
These entities are then imbued with special powers by the masses or maybe just the media hounds. Able to discern the future, pick political leaders, make fashion statements and expose their genitalia, they are supreme in their own estimation, ego-powered beyond the output of any nuclear power plant. Able to light up entire tabloids with their mega-watt smiles. Unless they’re raging at the paparazzi.
The burn-out rate is determined by the self-love factor. The more headlines they seek, the faster they turn to burnt toast. Slow roasted by the fast bored public. A side trip to the pokey or the rehabarama can either be image enhancing or the end of the story. An event usually induced by drugs, sex, driving or guns. Maybe a toxic combination of all of the above. Having drugged sex while driving with guns…there’s a headline!
Probably the only safe way to success in the Biz and maintain it, is to be professional, do your job, keep your mouth shut about your love affairs and never, ever, show off your crotch, whether male or female, to anyone who isn’t your love slave. Get a non-disclosure agreement in writing before you head to bed. A pre-dip pre-nup.
Even if you’re some college girl wanting to be the Phelgm Queen or maybe get into a men’s magazine, one way or another, it can come back to haunt you in the end. Especially if you get the large version of the butterfly tattoo. Which, with old age, will look more like crumpled wall paper than a nymphalis californica. Has anyone told you how it will feel if you have to get a body scan at the hospital? Burn baby burn.
As for the men who think that their manhood can’t be beat, beware. The old race track adage applies, there’s always someone out there with more cubic inches. No matter the chemical or physical enhancements methods you might use to stroke your joke. Sometimes it more about quality, then quantity. Try harder, think like you’re number two.
Otherwise, you could always just fake it. Emote that talent thing all the way to the bank or into the ditch. If you hook up with the right people, even the talent challenged can rise to the top. You might even get to be president. Just don’t ask me to write about it.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Striking Out, Instead of Joining Up
As I wander through the daily debris of the news, wonder turns to dismay.
What ever happened to unions and guilds supporting each other when one of them goes out on strike? The IATSE (International Alliance of Theatrical and Stage Employees) has warned the WGA about their actions. Like if you mess with our work, we will sue, or something to that effect. I won't go into details, the trade papers are full of the specifics.
In the old days, before lawsuits became the weapon of choice, unions and guilds would respect the strike of another and even go so far as to support it. When the Teamsters would shut down the trucking companies, the Longshoremen on the docks would honor their picket lines.
I can understand that there is a bit of an overlap with the IASTE having people doing animation writing and other stuff. Why hasn't there been an attempt to have these two groups meld and give them even more clout? Does it boil down to the old ego of the management scenario? After all, you see corporate mergers all the time to increase their strength in the marketplace. Why not these two groups?
Stay tuned for our next exciting episode...
Will the IASTE sue?
Will the WGA counter-sue?
Will the Great Strike of 2007 break Hollywood....
Does anyone really care?
Don't touch that remote!
What ever happened to unions and guilds supporting each other when one of them goes out on strike? The IATSE (International Alliance of Theatrical and Stage Employees) has warned the WGA about their actions. Like if you mess with our work, we will sue, or something to that effect. I won't go into details, the trade papers are full of the specifics.
In the old days, before lawsuits became the weapon of choice, unions and guilds would respect the strike of another and even go so far as to support it. When the Teamsters would shut down the trucking companies, the Longshoremen on the docks would honor their picket lines.
I can understand that there is a bit of an overlap with the IASTE having people doing animation writing and other stuff. Why hasn't there been an attempt to have these two groups meld and give them even more clout? Does it boil down to the old ego of the management scenario? After all, you see corporate mergers all the time to increase their strength in the marketplace. Why not these two groups?
Stay tuned for our next exciting episode...
Will the IASTE sue?
Will the WGA counter-sue?
Will the Great Strike of 2007 break Hollywood....
Does anyone really care?
Don't touch that remote!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Hollywood Writers Strike
It's fall, there are leaves hitting the ground and lines being drawn in the sand. Hollywood is facing a writers strike. I had planned on flying out to LA to attend the Screenwriters Expo, but won't be doing that this year.
The thought of a writers strike is not good news. It means that the people who are supposed to work together in the movie business can't divide up the income from the product in a manner which is fair to all participants. The problem is that money has become the overriding concern.
The aspiring writers who I have met almost all mention two things that motivate them to write for the movies. The 'big money' and their ego, err, name on the 'big screen'. The serious ones write, whether they make money doing it or not.
Which comes down to the motivation. This strike, like many I have seen, is about leveraging power to redistribute the income from the product. Too many people are unwilling to accept the fact that the lines between writer/director/producer are blurring.
It's going to be an interesting situation. I would like to see it resolved to everyone's satisfaction. That's not going to happen. It will probably be like any deal. Someone is going to walk away from it feeling like they got the short end of the stick.
This could be the seismic shift that changes how movies and all video content are created and distributed in the future.
So, if they want, let them fight it out.
I've got work to do on my book.
The thought of a writers strike is not good news. It means that the people who are supposed to work together in the movie business can't divide up the income from the product in a manner which is fair to all participants. The problem is that money has become the overriding concern.
The aspiring writers who I have met almost all mention two things that motivate them to write for the movies. The 'big money' and their ego, err, name on the 'big screen'. The serious ones write, whether they make money doing it or not.
Which comes down to the motivation. This strike, like many I have seen, is about leveraging power to redistribute the income from the product. Too many people are unwilling to accept the fact that the lines between writer/director/producer are blurring.
It's going to be an interesting situation. I would like to see it resolved to everyone's satisfaction. That's not going to happen. It will probably be like any deal. Someone is going to walk away from it feeling like they got the short end of the stick.
This could be the seismic shift that changes how movies and all video content are created and distributed in the future.
So, if they want, let them fight it out.
I've got work to do on my book.
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