Meet the New Boss

 

                                     "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."

                                     The Who

So, the New Year is here. 

Whoopee.  

Forgive me if I don't get too excited about hanging a fresh calendar on the wall, but remember how happy everybody was to see 2020 vanish in the rear view mirror?  It was such a dismal year that 2021 just had to be better ... but then it turned out to be just as bad, and in some ways worse. Covid continued to plague the industry, society, and the world at large, with a new, more infectious variant (and subsequent demand for additional vaccinations) arising every few months. The world seems to be stumbling towards the abyss as the year closes out, with trouble looming in Ukraine, Taiwan, and the nuclear negotiations with Iran, while here at home Omicron fills hospitals at a rapid pace, the Congress remains paralyzed by the intransigence of two stubborn senators acting like petulant children, and a virulent brand of home grown lunacy poses the most serious threat to our democracy since World War 2.  

Given all that, I'm supposed to strap on a stupid party hat, watch the stupid ball drop, and cheer the arrival of a new year?  Bah, humbug.

Things are bad all over, but those issues are beyond the reach of Hollywood, where a crippling strike was averted at the last minute in 2021, but the agreement reached between the IA and AMPTP did little to address the cancer of absurdly long hours on set, which remains the most galling source of frustration below decks in the film and television industry. That can was kicked down the road, which means the same issues -- long working hours, Fraturdays, and nailing down secure funding for the future of our health and pension plans -- will once again be on the table when the next contract negotiations roll around.  The bad news is that crews will continue to suffer for three more years, but the good news is the IA now has three years to draw up an ironclad list of demands that if not met, will trigger a massive strike. That's plenty of time for every IA local to build up a meaningful strike fund and urge their members to prepare for what's coming. The solidarity demonstrated by all IA locals in 2021 got the attention of the AMPTP -- which now understands what can happen if they push too hard -- but it's up to the individual locals to keep that fire burning, picket signs at the ready, and maintain the pressure on Matt Loeb and Mother Ship of the IA to insist on real charge in 2024. 

Will that actually happen, or will everyone just forget about it until the contract is about to expire in three years? We'll find out. In the meantime, here's some context on the history of IA negotiations.  

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The industry in Hollywood and beyond continues to boom, thanks to the streaming networks, and despite the long hours and abusive conditions imposed by many of those productions, that's a good thing. It beats the alternative, anyway, and signals that this might be the most favorable time since the late 1970s and early 80s for newbies to break in to the industry.  I came to Hollywood in the summer of 1977, when Roger Corman was still making movies in his home-built studio at the old Hammond Lumber Yard in Venice. There were several low-budget production companies going strong back then, among them Crown International, which produced two highly-forgettable features where I started my career: Van Nuys Boulevard and The Hearse.

Hey, we all had to start somewhere, and although these were definitely schlock productions, the $250 per week I was paid as a grip on one and a juicer on the other would equal around $1100 in today's money -- a livable wage then and now for a young person sharing rent and living expenses with others.  I have no idea what low-budget, non-union indy features pay their crews nowadays, but with so much production going on, it's much easier to get in the union and make decent money these days -- and if that's your goal, here's your chance. Go for it.

If you're one of those eager to break in, bear in mind this piece of advice from one of my favorite directors, Alexander Payne: "Never arrive late."

He's right. If there's one cardinal sin in Hollywood, it's being late to set. A veteran crew member can get away with being late once in a while, so long as he or she has a good reason and calls ahead to let their department head know what's happening, but newbies are judged each and every day. Showing up late will brand you as not being serious about the job, which is death to a budding career. Whatever else you do, don't be late.

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As I slip into the clammy embrace of (ahem...) extremely late middle age, my ears aren't quite what they used to be. Neither is anything else, of course, but there's no need to go into that -- suffice it to say that getting old pretty much sucks, and a gradual loss of hearing is part of that slippery slope into oblivion.  Although this is increasingly apparent in everyday conversation, it's most galling while watching movies and television. But it turns out this isn't all me and my crumbling personal infrastructure, because lots of people, young and old, are having trouble understanding dialog these days -- and lo, there are good reasons for this. Mumbled, low-volume, unintelligible dialog will probably be the rule on into the future, so I guess I'll just have to keep my sound bar cranked all the way up to eleven.   

Good thing my nearest neighbors are far enough away (with ears more than a decade older than mine)  that they don't notice.

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Here's a terrific article on Wes Anderson's favorite Key Grip,  thirty-plus year veteran Sanjay Sami, detailing their work together on several of Anderson's films, including his latest, The French Dispatch. Sanjay's ingenuity at coming up with the uniquely complicated dolly moves required to fully realize the vision of Wes Anderson has made him something of an industry legend, with each new project demanding more -- but his skills and creativity are always up to the task.   

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Having worked in set lighting throughout my years in Hollywood, discussions about ever-evolving camera technology and post-production techniques have always been above my pay grade, as the saying goes. My personal preference for SciFi leans towards extrapolations of present reality such as Blade Runner and Blade Runner 2049 rather than highly futuristic dramas, which is one reason I have yet to see Dune, but after reading this article -- which describes how Dune was shot on digital, then transferred to 35 mm film, then scanned back to digital to achieve a distinctive look -- I just might have to carve out three hours to watch Dune after all.  

Finally, 2021 saved one more gut-punch 'til the very end, taking Betty White from us. I worked at CBS Radford all during her run on Hot in Cleveland, and would occasionally head over to their stage to visit the gaffer, an old friend. There she'd be, chugging across the alley from makeup to the set, always with that sly, impish grin. I never heard a single bad word about Betty White, which can't be said about many Hollywood legends.

So to hell with 2021, and good riddance.  As unlikely as it seems, I'm hoping for a calm, peaceful 2022 at home and abroad -- and stranger things have happened -- so let's take a deep breath and march into the New Year, fingers crossed. 

The best of luck to us all, because we're gonna need it.

Christmas

 

It became something of a Christmas tradition at BS&T to post this video of the great Robert Earl Keene's Christmas from the Family, but I let it slide for a few years -- retirement can do that to a guy -- so I'm here to set things straight. 

In the spirit of the season ... if you live in LA (and even if you don't), you might find this one interesting, and here -- for no particular reason whatsoever -- a meditation on room tone from Evan Luzzi over at The Black and Blue.

Merry Christmas to you all!

The Miracle of Wrap

                                                 Photo by Mike McKinnon

We've all been there: utterly exhausted after sixteen hours of working on stage or location, with tons of equipment rigged high, low, far, and wide, when the 1st AD finally yells "That's a wrap!"  

The immediate sense of relief is palpable but fleeting, because we now face anywhere from thirty minutes to two hours of relentless physical labor, depending on your department and the logistics of this particular shoot. After a long day or night of working like an inch-worm -- doing our respective jobs as carefully as possible, then standing back to watch and wait as the other departments do their work -- the switch flips as the entire crew kicks in the afterburners.  

For juicers and grips, it's one more slog up Mt. Sisyphus, knowing that we'll have to push that big rock all the way to the top of the steep, rocky slope before our day is done. This can be a daunting prospect -- more than once I've looked around at the miles of cable, the BFLs in condors and/or big scissor lifts, and all the heavy power distribution gear -- and thought "Fuck. We'll never get this done."

But I was wrong every time, because this is when The Miracle of Wrap occurs: your third wind kicks in, and suddenly you just don't feel tired anymore, as if the previous sixteen hours didn't happen. I've never ceased to be amazed at how much a small crew of juicers and grips can accomplish in short span of time when wrap is all that stands between them and going home. Granted, the rig always comes down a lot faster than it goes up, and one last, sustained burst of adrenaline is required to complete the wrap -- but then it's over, the last idiot-check done, the truck or stage packed up as tight as a Swiss Army Knife. Pulling off my gloves at that moment, high on Mother Nature's own Dr. Feelgood rush of endorphins, I felt like I'd live forever, as would the bonds forged with my crew in this crucible of pain. 

Make no mistake: it felt like a miracle every damned time.

Waking up the next morning, that post-wrap glow was long gone. I'd feel like the Tin Man left out in the rain all winter, every weight-bearing joint rusty and creaky, with an aching back and an empty head.  But that's how it goes when riding the roller coaster of Hollywood, where you take the bad with the good and just hope for the best. 

And while I'm bloviating on the subject  -- that's a wrap on BS&T for 2021. 

May you all have a Merry (Covid-free) Christmas and a Happy New Year!

The Ten Foot Circle

Any O.G.s here at BS&T might recall a terrific two-part guest post from the keyboard of Peter McClennan, a retired camera operator, DP, and occasional director from the Great White North.  Although it feels as though "A" is for Aerials, "L" is for Lunch went up on the blog just last year, it was actually in 2014.

Damn ... this blog is starting to make me feel old.

If you missed that post seven long years ago, click the link and take a look -- then you'll understand why I've been hounding Peter to come through with another guest post ever since. And now ... drumroll please ... here it is.

                                            

                                 The Ten Foot Circle

                                                     by Peter McLennan

 Photo by Michael Uslan 

On every set you’ll find the ten foot circle, an imaginary radius of ten feet centered on the camera.  It’s the center of the action, ground zero for the entire cast and crew. In the past, to gain unquestioned admission to that holy ground you needed to be a focus puller, boom operator, dolly grip, an actor, a director, or a camera operator. It was a small, hardworking, intense and vital group, deserving respect from all who participated in the obscure, arcane, expensive business known as Principal Photography.

At the center of that circle is the camera operator. It’s not the hardest job, that title goes to the actor, but operating the camera is the best job on set, and possibly best job in the entire industry. The operator has the best seat in the house, be it on a cushy studio dolly, standing onstage between ZZ Top, or sideways in the open door of a helicopter.

Focus pullers share some of this “best seat in the house” aspect. There’s usually nothing but empty space between them and the actors, so they experience actors' performances like few others. The camera operator shares this intimate experience, but with the added input of directly controlling how the audience sees. Of course, as some wise man said, “With great power comes great responsibility,” but there also comes great job satisfaction.

Many of the top-tier directors of photography refuse to give up operating, and for good reason. Roger Deakins insists on doing all his own operating, only excluding a few specialties like Steadicam. Emmanuel Lubeski (“Chivo”), the only DOP to win the Cinematography Oscar three years in a row, also operates, and for good reason. The degree of creative input is intoxicating, and the instantaneous, real time interaction with action and performers is addicting.

As an operator, I learned what I came to call “The Seven Word Rule.”  When the director calls “CUT!”, everyone on the set would turn and look at the operator to see what happens next. If the take is good, it’s the operator’s responsibility to approve it because nobody saw what the camera saw except the operator. That’s why the Society of Operating Cameramen uses the motto “We see it first”.

If it’s not a good take, the operator then has just seven words to explain where it went wrong and what needs to be done to fix it. Seven words, after which nobody’s listening.  Concision is mandatory, as is knowledge of the other crafts.  “The smoke’s too sourcy,” “The fireplace fire doesn’t match the master,”  “A stray hair was distracting,” “The boom dipped in,” “An extra looked at the camera.”  Or sometimes, “I need another one.”
 
The timing of lines or bits of business by the actors can vary from take to take. An important part of the operator’s job is to note where, when, and how things went wrong, or where a happy coincidence resulted in something special.

In addition to controlling, monitoring, and reporting on the technical issues that can affect a take’s quality, the operator is privileged to offer creative input, especially with the actors. Actors are not robots. Their performance can vary subtly from take to take. Their position in the set with regard to background, lighting and other actors changes with each performance.  and can greatly alter the character and quality of the product, rendering some takes useless and some superb. It’s part of the operator’s job to be aware of all of these factors and to offer input to all, including the director and the actors, to continuously improve what the camera sees. The English system, where the operator and the director work closely together, honours this shared responsibility and that’s why Mr. Deakins insists on operating.  It's another of the reasons why the operator has the best job on the set. Creative input.

But the job has changed, and from the operator’s perspective, not for the better. New technology has leached much of the fun from the job, but if the arrival of the digital movie camera cemented these changes, the beginnings appeared long before the death of film thanks to a long-ago intentional and unnatural act. Back in the early eighties, some bright spark decided it’d be a good idea to put a tiny television camera inside a film camera, and from that day life in the circle began to change. With the on-board television camera linked to an on-set monitor, everyone could see exactly what the film camera saw and the mantra “We see it first” was forever invalidated.  As a result, a large part of the operator’s technical and creative input was suddenly irrelevant. Now that everyone could “see it first,” everyone became an expert on actors’ performance, camera moves, lighting changes, smoke, density, random microphones in the shot and, yes, operator errors.

Of course the live video (and audio) feed has obviously improved the overall results of the shoot. The ubiquity of video village proves that, despite its complexity and significant expense. Now that everyone sees it first, problems are more readily apparent and easy to communicate. Many eyes are better than one.  And, like “We See it First,” the seven word rule has become irrelevant.
 
Freed from the necessity of peering over the operator’s shoulder, directors and DPs can relax in a comfy chair while seeing and hearing precisely what’s been recorded. In fact, anyone with access to the village can now experience the rare and special privilege once reserved for those behind the viewfinder.   

The biggest loser from the advent of video village is the camera operator, whose job has transitioned from one of a high status position requiring significant and continuous creative input to being a much smaller cog in the same machine. In fact, the operator is sometimes banished from the ten foot circle altogether and can be found in video village, operating the camera far from the action.

Gone is the electrifying close presence of the actors and gone is the commanding view from the best seat in the house right behind the lens. Gone is the delightful “ride at the fair” aspect of a seat on the camera crane.  And gone too is the cozy, private intimacy with the focus puller.  A tiny team of two, separate from the rest of the crew, working just inches apart, they experienced a unique shared viewpoint on the proceedings. Now they often work far apart.

For the camera operator, first the live “video assist” feed and now the digital cinema camera have removed much of the fun stuff and left all the hard stuff. Their on-set presence is still demanding and unrelenting, they still carry significant responsibility and they still have all the stress of the demands of unerring accuracy and repeatability, but with much less direct creative input.

It's a shame, really, but inevitable, and it all began when that guy put a TV camera inside a film camera.

It’s just an unnatural act, that’s what it is.

Rust

No photo this time, just a link to the latest (and rather thorough) LA Times piece on what went down on the set of Rust in New Mexico. The headline is technically correct, but in my not-so-humble-opinion, needlessly unsubtle: 

The Day Alec Baldwin Shot Halnya Hutchins and Joel Souza

Sure, that's what actually happened, but the headline could easily have been worded "The Tragedy on the Set of Rust" -- but like sex, sensationalism is what sells in the modern news media, and such is the world in which we live. We're all the poorer for that.

I subscribe to the LA Times, so was able to read it. I don't know if it's protected behind a paywall, but if so -- and if you want to but can't read it for that reason -- send me an email at the link on the blog (just under the gloves photo, on the right) and I'll send it to you in an attachment.  I write in Apple's "Pages" format, so if you're on MS Word or some other word processing program, let me know and I'll copy-and-paste the piece into the body of the return e-mail.  In that case, the photos might get lost in the jump through cyber-space, but they don't add much to the impact of the article anyway.  

Yes, I could just print it here, but that would violate the LA Times copyright, and I'm not going to cross that line -- not because they'd sue me (the LA Times has no idea this blog exists), but simply because newspapers are under assault all over our country these days, and I'm not going to further undermine the print media unless it's unavoidable. 

This is a tragic story that will haunt that crew -- some of them more than others -- forever.  I suspect more details and a clearer picture of that awful day will eventually emerge, but none of that will bring comfort to the family and friends of Halyna Hutchins. Like too many people, I know what it's like to lose a family member to needless, senseless violence, and it's something you don't ever get over. You find a way to work around it and go on with life, but it's always there lurking in the back of your mind.  

It's those people -- her family and friends -- that I'm thinking about tonight.

Update:

This weeks The Business (from KCRW) features an armorer discussing safety procedures that should be -- and usually are --  observed on set whenever guns are part of the action.  He wasn't on the set of Rust, but talks about the pressures that can arise and interfere with following established safety protocols. He doesn't point fingers, but raises several pertinent questions that have yet to be answered -- and he explains what happened on the set of The Crow the night Brandon Lee was killed, something I've never been clear about.  It's worth your twenty minutes. 

Death in the Desert

 

                                                Scene of the crime

Ours is a hazardous business, an endeavor in which -- as the saying goes -- "shit happens."  Stunt people put themselves on the line every day working on films and television, and more than a few have paid the ultimate price over the years.  Early in my career, I witnessed the death of a stuntman in a high fall that went all wrong - and the memory of that day is burned into my brain.  A veteran grip I worked with on commercials was killed at the end of a long day by a heavily laden equipment cart when a newbie PA working the tailgate of the truck hit the wrong button on the control switch. A female juicer friend of mine fell thirty feet from a scissor lift seven or eight years ago, and although she survived after a long recovery, that ended her working career. Another juicer in my union fell to his death a few years back at Universal, and just a few weeks ago, a grip took a terrible fall in Hollywood when a handrail broke up high on a soundstage. He lived, but is in very bad shape. During one of the mandatory Safety Passport classes a dozen years ago, the instructor related details of several horrific accidents on set that killed a number of people -- stories I'd never heard before, because Hollywood is very good at throwing a blanket over such incidents.  

What couldn't be hidden by the studio PR hacks were the notable on-set fatalities of Jon-Eric Hexum (an accidental but self-inflicted demise), the beheading by helicopter blade of Vic Morrow (along with two young children) while filming the Twilight Zone movie, and Brandon Lee's accidental shooting on the set of The Crow.  

Still, the most common danger we face comes in the form of absurdly long work hours that have led directly to the death of at least two crew members I'm aware of, and caused many more to crash their cars after falling asleep while driving home. It's a miracle the body count isn't higher. Much of the impetus for the the recent IATSE strike authorization tally (which came in at an overwhelming 98+ percent vote) was from below-the-line workers fed up with the dehumanizing schedule of so many episodic and streaming network productions. Even if a crew gets through the grinding ordeal of one of those shows without drifting off at the wheel, medical science has made it clear: working excessively long hours for extended periods is detrimental to long term mental and physical health.  Although the last-minute deal worked out between IA representatives and the hired killers -- er, lawyers -- of the AMPTP ended the immediate threat of a strike, it remains unclear if that agreement does anything to effectively address the issue of working long hours. 

Last week's accident on the set of Alec Baldwin's low-budget indy film Rust was of a different order, a truly senseless tragedy that should never have happened. The how and why of the fatal shooting will be revealed at some point, but the bottom line is this: there's simply no excuse for it. Somebody fucked up in a major way, an error that killed the director of photography and sent the director to the hospital from a gunshot fired by the lead actor. 

As this piece from the LA Times points out, the warning signs on Rust are clearly visible in the 20:20 glare of hindsight. The film was to be shot in just twenty-one days, a ridiculously short schedule for any feature film. The last three low-budget, non-union features I worked on back in the late 1980s each had an eight week shooting schedule, and none of those films included scenes that involved guns being fired, which -- due to the elaborate safety protocols -- take more time to shoot. When you try to cram time-intensive scenes into an absurdly abbreviated schedule, something has to give ... and it did. It's been reported that the crew of Rust was working on a set fifty miles from their hotel, adding two more hours of travel time to their already long work days. When people are pushed too hard, the relentless accumulation of fatigue combined with a ridiculously ambitious shooting schedule can lead to fuzzy thinking -- and when people are too tired to see straight, bad decisions result. Apparently there had already been three accidental discharges of guns on that set in the first twelve days of filming before the fatal shot was fired.  

What the fuck?

As this article from Variety delineates, the glut of production generated by the digital/streaming revolution brought a flood of inexperienced people into the business over the past ten years. Inexperience on set and above-the-line -- newbie producers and UPMs drawing up overly ambitious shooting schedules -- can create a hurried, pressure-cooker atmosphere in which bad decisions and accidents are all the more likely.  

I wasn't there, and like everyone else, must rely on sketchy second-hand reports while trying to make sense of such an utterly senseless tragedy.  We'll learn the truth in time, but for now one thing is crystal clear, as expressed in the final line of that Variety piece:

"It's inconceivable that somebody gets killed on a movie set with a prop gun if everybody follows the rules."

Indeed. 

Zero Hour

As of late Saturday afternoon, a strike has been averted for the time being, thanks to a deal reached late yesterday -- but as we've all learned the hard way, the Devil lies in the weeds of the details, so I'll withhold judgment until I know exactly what the deal really is. If it's not good, I expect we'll see pushback from the rank and file who will have to ratify that deal before it's cast in stone.  What many have feared since these negotiations began is that the AMPTP would make an offer just good enough to pass, but that doesn't seriously address the quality of life issues that sparked such widespread support for a strike. 

I had this post ready to go before the deal was announced, so even though it's no longer relevant (I hope),  here it is.  If the deal isn't good enough, these picket signs may yet be used -- but let's hope it's a deal the IA membership will accept, and that will make their lives less stressful.  

That's always been the goal.

                                          Photo courtesy of IA Local 728

Here we stand on the edge of the cliff, looking down into the abyss. Unless an agreement is reached between our IA negotiators and the AMPTP sometime today, the strike will commence at 12:01 PST tomorrow morning:  Zero Hour in Hollywood. 

From that moment on, the IA will be on strike.

It's tempting to assume that these negotiations will unfold in a manner similar to what happens every year in Congress, where the two opposing parties always appear headed for a deadlock until the last minute ... at which point the politicians suddenly remember how stupid such games of "Chicken" look to the electorate, and work out a compromise.  But there's the rub: for all its many faults, Congress understands the nature of this dance very well, and knows how to bring a deal home when push comes to shove. The AMPTP is so accustomed to extracting concessions from the IA that they've never had to learn the art of compromise, nor do they understand that this time is different.*

I see a similar disconnect with reality on much of the IA social media, where many have been loudly screaming to strike for weeks now. The consensus among those yelling the loudest is that once the work stops, the producers will fall to their knees and agree to the IA's demands in short order. That would be nice, but I'm not so optimistic. It seems that the essential lessons of life are only learned the hard way, which means the producers will probably have to suffer badly before they come around, and that's likely to take some time.  How long?  Weeks, certainly, and maybe months. With the holidays around the corner, the cessation of paychecks could bring a very bleak Christmas, especially for those below-the-liners with families, and the New Year may dawn with no end in sight. Rent and mortgage payments will keep knocking on the door, along with all the other bills ... and that's when the concept of solidarity will be sorely tested.  The first few days of a strike will be easy, but it'll get harder and harder with each passing week.

I'm not throwing cold water on the need for a strike.  If the producers refuse to bend, they must be made to understand the ugly reality that so many below-the-line workers face these days -- we have to get their full, undivided attention. As my dad used to say, "sometimes you need to employ a two-by-four to make a mule understand."  

The strike is our two-by-four.

I don't know how or when this will end.  I reached out to a couple of writer friends, asking how they felt about the WGA strike back in 2008, and wondering if what they gained was worth the economic pain of the strike. As of now, neither has responded, but if they do I'll update this post.

So the clock is ticking, and the two-by-four in our hands.

Now we wait.

*A glimmer of hope appeared yesterday afternoon, but we'll see if anything comes of it.