I've heard those word more times than I can count, and although the phrase hold an undeniable resonance when paired with an image like this, it's always seemed a bit glib to me.* After all, the lead dog isn't exactly running wild and free -- he's chained to the same heavy sled just like the rest of the pack. Granted, his view is an endless expanse of ice and snow rather than ice, snow, and the butts of all the other dogs, but I'm not sure it makes much difference while every member of the team is working so hard.
Who exactly is the "lead dog" on a show? Both best boys answer to their respective superiors, the key grip and gaffer, who in turn answer to the DP. Like all the other department heads, the DP then answers to the director, who answers to the executive producer, who answers to the network or studio executives, who answers to a board of directors who are controlled by whichever rich scumbag owns the most shares of the corporation's stock. Does that mean the lead dog is the majority stock holder -- some smug, overfed A-hole who drinks Dom Perigon for breakfast and has a closet full of Brioni suits but nary a callus on his smoothly manicured hands?
I don't know and don't much cares. It seems to me that everybody has a boss of one sort or another, but even if there is no overall lead dog who enjoys the very best view, every department on and off set really does need to be led by someone who knows what he-or-she is doing.
There are no superfluous members of a film crew -- everybody has a role in carrying a show across the finish line. Still, it's clear that some people really are born to lead: due to whatever quirk of personality, they actually need to be out front ... and when they're not, things can get squirrely.
When I first started as a gaffer, the position was handed to me: in essence, I inherited the job. I'd never harbored any big ambitions on set -- I just wanted to do a good job with rest of our crew -- but when circumstance shoved me in front of my lighting crew, I tried to make it work. It seemed to for a while, but being granted that nice view and earning it are two very different things, and I couldn't make it stick. Still, I learned a lot from the experience, regrouped, and eventually came back to be a much better gaffer the second time around. Even then, if being the lead dog of my little lighting tribe offered a better view, it came with a price. As gaffer, I had to stand by the dolly all... day... long, watching, listening, and paying full attention to what was going in in front of the camera -- and on something like an eight day "Barbie" commercial, an intense focus on something so utterly absurd and ultimately meaningless really can turn a guy's brain to mush. A fellow gaffer friend of mine termed this phenomenon "content poisoning," and he was right. Maintaining my concentration on jobs like that was some of the hardest work I ever did on set.
At one point the best boy grip of our group began getting into petty conflicts with my crew. I never witnessed them -- they always happened out of sight and earshot -- but I'd hear about them later. I probably should have confronted the best boy myself, but the key grip and I had come up through the ranks together over many years, so I talked to him. He dealt with it and things got better for a while, but the best boy eventually went back to his troublesome ways just as we landed a four day car commercial to be shot in a city a thousand miles from LA. This time the key grip was booked on another gig, which meant his best boy would bump up to the key grip slot. Now, it seemed, he and I would finally have that confrontation ... but a funny thing happened on location: the trouble-making best boy morphed into an excellent key grip. He was totally solicitious of me and my department for the entire job, always asking what else he could do to make my job -- our job -- easier. This astonishing about-face confounded me until I realized the obvious: he was just one of those people who couldn't be happy unless he was the lead dog on his crew -- and once in that position, his attitude and actions toward my crew did a full turnaround. I literally could not have asked for a better key grip on that job.**
That said, people are different. The gaffer I worked with on the longest run of my television career -- a show called Melissa & Joey -- was one of the best. He was smart, had a great sense of humor, never got stressed or rattled on set, and really knew his business. Working with him on that crew was a real pleasure. We'd often end up day-playing together on other shows between seasons of M&J, and there he was just as good a juicer as he was a gaffer. His approach to the two very different jobs was exactly the same: pay attention and work hard. That kind of professional flexibility is crucial to surving in the freelance jungle of Hollywood, because there's only room for one lead dog on each individual crew. If you're a gaffer or key grip and none of your DPs are working, you have to take whatever work is available, and you really do need to adapt to the new role in being exactly what your boss and department need.
It all boils down to personality, I suppose, but the bottom line is this: a lead dog can't do it alone, and is only as good as his or her crew. A good lead dog is essential, but those who work behind him in the shadows are just as important in their own way, whether they like the view or not.
* Kind of like "Don't sweat the small stuff."
** He then went on to have a long, very successful career as a key grip.
*******************************************
Note: That was supposed to be the end of the March post ... but then Gene Hackman died, along with his wife and dog under circumstances that have yet to be explained. He was my favorite actor of modern times, so I had to say something...
.jpg)
I can't overstate the impact Gene Hackman had on me as Popeye Doyle in The French Connection. Having committed to study film after a few years of going through the motions in school, I was enamored with the classics of old Hollywood: the films of Ford, Hawks, Anthony Mann, Budd Boettecher, and so many others, but other that "The Wild Bunch," hadn't seen much in the modern films of the early 70s that truly gripped me.
Then came The French Connection, which blew my young mind -- and nothing was quite the same. That's when I knew I was headed for Hollywood come hell or high water.
There are good obits from various papers that tell his story -- like this and this -- better than I can, and they're worth reading. As one put it: "Hackman’s career has so much gold in it that it is almost impossible to mine."
Indeed. Thanks for the memories, Gene. RIP
