I have a few friends who have recently entered the film industry, and a few others who love to romanticize about how glamorous it would be.
I always smile a very knowing smile, the “been there and done that” kind of smile, knowing that the life is neither glamorous nor is it particularly pleasant, unless you are the director or star.
Making movies and even videos is mundane work for the most part. Even on the set, it’s 12 to 16 hour days with very few of them actually filming. Lights need to be set, scenes blocked out, sound checked; then everything has to go almost perfect or there will be another take or two, or three or four, etc. each time with a lot of time to reset the shot.
Even if a scene goes well, the director will often call for a couple more takes so he can set up for alternative shots, which means moving the cameras and the lights and the sound. And if the shot was a tracking shot, that means even more time to move the camera.
It’s boring enough for the working crew members, the gaffers and riggers who need to reset shots. It’s is absolutely dreadful for anyone in the scene or working behind the scenes, such as the producer or a production assistant.
The glamor wears off fast. Oh sure, I was thrilled to work my initial assignments. I admit to swooning over the chance to be part of a major production. It didn’t take too long, about a day and a half, before I came to realize that it’s not the fun it appears from the outside. Even a bit actor can be a total jerk off, stars can be the drama queens and prima donnas we all hear they can be (not all of them, but some), and the hours and hours of doing absolutely nothing for a few moments of thrilling action can numb the mind as well as the buttocks.
Sure, you can do things like check out the craft service table. All productions have really good spreads of food. Be aware, though, that major productions have a caste system that you don’t want to disrupt, for if you do you will be put in your place in no uncertain terms. Stars first, then the principals behind the camera, then extras, then union people, then the lowlifes like production assistants. It can vary from project to project, but you really need to know your place.
The end of my filming days came none too soon. I was assigned a location scout job for a film. The script called for a scene where there were two houses separated by a white picket fence. Both had to have upstairs windows so the actors could talk to one another across the fence line.
Simple enough, I thought. I know the state pretty well. Off I went in my car. I started in the most logical place for white picket fences, Port Gamble. Fences, check. Houses, check. Windows facing one another? Not without a chainsaw and some duct tape.
I moved on. I briefly considered Port Townsend but I had already been disappointed by one “port” so I went south instead. Picket fences by their nature tend to be found in smaller towns where neighbors actually like one another. Six-foot solid fences are the mainstay of larger cities.
I headed towards Tacoma, with a brief swing through the Gig Harbor, then the Point Defiance area, which was still filled with older homes and lower fences. Fences, check. Pickets, spotty. Windows, non-existent.
Well, I guess they didn’t like each other too much in Tacoma, at least not enough to have facing windows for occasional conversation.
I continued on my quest, which had now stretched into its sixth hour. I really wish they had Google Maps back then. I could have just perused the area via satellites, looking for that wonderful white line between homes, not getting into the car until I had spotted the perfect candidate.
But I didn’t have the luxury back then. I continued to drive randomly through neighborhoods, first in Tacoma, then Puyallup, Sumner, Orting, Buckley, Enumclaw, Wilkeson. Nothing. Auburn, Kent, Renton, Bellevue. Yes, I was getting desperate. I had to be to think that Bellevue would have anything like a picket fence. I did see some picketers with some pickets near the Safeway warehouse, but not corresponding fences.
I finally admitted defeat. I called the director and let him know that at least in Western Washington, on this particular day at this particular hour, there wasn’t a single set of houses with a picket fence between them.
“How about two houses with facing windows on the second floor? he asked. “We could build a fence between them.”
I was silent for a moment. I think he was glad I was 50 miles away in Yelm when I called him, for he knew if I was any closer I would wring his bloody neck.
I stopped mid sentence, glad I didn’t tell him to go F-himself. Instead, I said what anyone in the industry would do who wanted to work in this bidness again, I said, “Great idea!”
And off I went again, through the same cities I had gone through before and then some. It took two days of driving and photographing possible locations. When I finally arrived back at the set, he and the DP (Director of Photography) looked through all the photos and notes.
“Nope, nope, mayb…nope. Nope, nope, nope, came the chorus.
“Well, we’ll just have to build them right here. “Cam, tell the set folks to start building, a red house on the left, yellow on the right with a picket in the middle and we’ll green screen it for the scenery.”
And that was it. Two days on the road, looking for a location that didn’t exist. Hundreds of miles put on my brand new car, plus the wear and tear. Yes, the pay was good, $5,000 for the week, but I’m not sure the 16 hour days really made it worth it, especially when another production might not come along for another month.
Suffice it to say, CommuniCreations stopped offering film services to clients, and my lights, camera and inaction days were over.
In the Emerald City, ready for my close-up Mr. DeMille,
– Robb