April

 

                                “Change is the only constant,” Heraclitus

 

Note: It seems that none of the links in the original post here worked ... so I opened it up and fixed all that.  This is one more reason I've bailed on Blogger in favor of Substack.  But ... sorry about that. 

I'd like to remind any who stop by here on the first Sunday of every month that I've more or less moved BS&T over to Substack.  Although it's not a perfect fit, Substack is considerably less glitchy than Blogger, so I'm going with it. The usual monthly posts will continue to arrive here (until I run out of steam, anyway), but that's all -- over at Substack you'll find another post every Sunday, some of which are re-written oldies that didn't make the cut for the book along with a few that did.  Don't be put off by the relentless exhortations of the Substack administrators to "subscribe!" -- which I find extremely irritating -- but subscribing is free for BS&T. All it means is that each new post will be sent to your e-mail box as soon as it hits the web.  Blogger had that feature, but it was never reliable and quit working a long time ago, which is just one more reason for the move.  And now, on with the show...

Waves of change have buffeted the film industry ever since the first scrappy producers fled New York — and Thomas Edison’s patent police — early in the 20th century to set up camp in Hollywood, where land was cheap, snow scarce, and sunshine abundant. They made the most of their new home, and although a few early movie stars rode the outhouse-to-penthouse roller coaster right back to the gutter, the industry prospered.1

The first revolution to hit the new Hollywood was the introduction of sound, which 

ended the careers of those who couldn’t adapt to the new reality.2 Another casualty was the visual sophistication silent films had achieved, using exceptionally fluid camera movement to refine and expand the scope of cinematic language. The noisy cameras of the time needed to be encased — sometimes with the cameraman — in huge sound-proof enclosures, rendering them essentially immobile, while the bulky microphones that made “talking pictures” possible were hidden on set in ways that hindered the actor’s ability to move. 

Photo courtesy of Cine Collage

This led to ponderous movies — lots of talk and little action — until quieter cameras and better sound recording equipment were developed, bringing motion back to the screen. 

Filming on location with a blimped camera and carbon arcs at the LA Arboretum, 1944

As the technology improved, so did the movies, ushering in the first Golden Age of Hollywood as the studio system achieved a new level of stability … but not for long. After courts ended the lucrative vertical monopoly studios had long enjoyed, another revolutionary technology — television — began to compete for audiences, forcing studios to produce vastly more expensive cinematic spectaculars to keep theaters full and profits rolling in. Making movies has always been a risky business, but putting more eggs in fewer baskets raised the stakes to the point where a single flop could threaten a studio’s survival. The final nail in the coffin of the old studio system was driven by an influx of young writers and directors using newer, more compact camerasand lighting equipment to make radically different movies that captured the imagination and ticket-buying dollars of their generation.

It turns out Heraclitus knew what he was talking about.

The waves of change keep coming, with the ongoing digital revolution now turning Hollywood upside down, not only changing the way work is done on set, but undermining the economic foundations of the industry in a major way. The new technology, rapid proliferation of international financial incentives (read: bribes), and lower labor costs overseas led productions to shoot offshore, leaving much of the below-the-line workforce in LA — and the rest of the U.S. — high and dry.3 Although I rode the boom-and-bust roller coaster through some serious bad times during my forty years in Hollywood, I never experienced anything like what’s happening now.

All of this was on my mind when an aimless trek through the wilds of Substack brought me to No Soul, Dark Nights, by screenwriter Dean Bakopoulus. Although it was written more than two years ago (well before the current political insanity), it sums up what’s haunting so many people in — and beyond — the film industry these days: 

“I found ‘discontinuity’ to be the perfect way to describe how so many people are feeling right now, whether they’re worried about climate change, or something more immediate, like heartbreak, or a layoff, or any rejection of some key part of themselves by a force they cannot control. Discontinuity is a moment where the experience and expertise you’ve built up over time cease to work. It’s extremely stressful, emotionally, to go through a process of understanding the world as we thought it was, is no longer there… There’s real grief and loss. There’s the shock that comes with recognizing that you are unprepared for what has already happened.”

I avoid politics on this site in favor of concentrating on the film industry — my lived experience was in Hollywood, not the corridors of power in Washington D.C. — but I encountered that paragraph as the current regime began taking a wrecking ball to the institutions of government so many Americans have relied on for many decades. Although there’s much dust, chaos, and confusion at the moment, one thing is clear: we’re transitioning to a very different world. This new reality has rocked millions here and abroad as they wonder where all this disruption will lead, and although history suggests that we’re sliding toward a very dark place, nothing is yet cast in stone. There’s still time to stem the tide, although rebuilding what’s been broken won’t be quick or easy. Meanwhile, much of the country and beyond has joined Hollywood in being traumatized by uncertainty and fear. It’s not a comfortable feeling. 

I won’t pretend to know what’s coming — for Hollywood or our country — but it’s safe to assume we’re in for what the Chinese refer to as “interesting times.” Indeed, we’re already there, so buckle your seatbelts, people: wherever you are and whatever you do, it’s gonna be a very bumpy ride.

1

See: Fatty Arbuckle

2

John Gilbert was among many famous actors who didn’t survive the transition to sound.

3

A “perfect storm” of factors contributed to this, including Covid, which stopped the industry dead in the water, after which strikes by writers and actors shut things down. The subsequent contraction by the major streaming entities led to massive unemployment in Hollywood at a time when the high cost of housing makes it difficult for single-income families of film industry workers to survive, let alone thrive.

The Lead Dog

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.

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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...

                                           Popeye Doyle

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

February

Yes, you've seen this photo before in a post that went up more than ten years ago. Think of it as "digital recycling."

So, imagine you’re a young actor who’s worked hard to learn your craft while trying to catch a break, then had to beg and plead relentlessly to audition for a role you just knew was meant to be yours …. and imagine this is AFTER the director has already told you numerous times that thanks to the reality of film financing, he really needs a star for that part, and that “casting is over — we have the actor we want.” Finally, just to shut you up, he agrees, then holds the camera with one hand and the script in the other, reading the part opposite yours in the crudest of auditions, which you absolutely nail. 

You get the part and make the movie, which puts you on the map of Hollywood at last. Then you get married, a new baby comes along, and you buy a house, because you’ve just signed to do a big movie that will fill your bank account and shift your career into warp drive … then you wake up one morning to find half your face paralyzed thanks to a brain tumor.

If this sounds like the bad plot from some weepy Hallmark movie — the kind nobody in their right mind would ever believe, let alone green-light — then tell that to Mark Ruffalo, who had all this and more happen to him on his way to becoming Bruce Banner the Incredible Hulk for the Marvel superhero franchise.

Look, I’m a sucker for “how I made it” stories in Hollywood — and this is a good one — because everybody who makes it does so in their own unique way. Unlike becoming a doctor, lawyer, or accountant, there’s no standard path for a wannabe actor, director, or writer to follow that leads straight to success in Hollywood. Too many pitfalls and intangibles are involved on that journey, which is what makes it an adventure rather than a plodding step-by-step climb up a nice straight ladder — and the key that finally opens the golden door often comes from an unlikely blend of inspiration, perspiration, desperation, and the ultimate intangible, luck. 

Like many young actors, Ruffalo took his first drama class in high school after noticing the highly favorable ratio of women to men in the drama program. The urge-to-merge Darwinian imperative that “makes the world go ‘round” has kick-started many a successful thespian career, and you can hear all about Ruffalo’s journey in this interview on NPR’s Fresh Air. 

I wouldn’t lie to you, kiddos — this one is well worth your time.

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I first met Matt Price a decade or so ago at CBS Radford as I was wrapping up my career and he was starting his. Matt was smart, ambitious, and knew a lot more about certain aspects of the industry than I did — enough to teach me a few things. He directed several short films, one of which I saw, which was excellent. Since retiring, I’ve followed his career from afar, and was happy to discover that he’s had a Subtack for a while now, called Too Much Film School. Anybody interested in film and the industry would do well to check it out— and as a sampler, here’s his 2024 Year in Review. It’s a nice introduction to Matt and his Substack, so take a look. I think you’ll like it.

Another excellent Substack — Great Gigs — comes from the keyboard and camera of Peter McLennan, a retired director/DP who veterans of this space know from several guest posts published there in years past. Peter trotted the globe working on features, commercials, documentaries, and the occasional industrial film during his long career, and had the kind of real-world cinematic adventures not found on a Hollywood sound stage. Although I’ve walked the perms of Stage 16 at Warner Brothers sixty-five feet above the stage floor, I never had to climb a rickety hundred-foot metal tower carrying a camera in the wilds of 3rd World Zaire, then — secured by nothing more than a piece of sash cord — shot footage of workers putting the finishing touches on that tower … but Peter has.

As the title states, his stories are great and very well told, so check ‘em out!

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We all know that 2024 sucked, but the Hollywood Reporter recently detailed just how much it sucked … and yeah, it sucked. The feel-better mantra all year was “Stay alive ‘til ‘25,” but the massive fires of January pulled the rug out from under that, and could make things even worse for production in LA over the short run. The only thing that seems certain at the moment is that the recovery of the Palisades, Malibu, and Altadena will take a long time, and the same might hold for the film/television industry. Not a great way to start a new year … but is it all doom and gloom, or — as this piece from THR suggests — is this just another in a long series of boom-and-bust-and-boom-again eras in the historical roller coaster of LA? Film and television production may never return to the glory days when everybody was working, but I think things will gradually improve. How fast? 

Who knows.

Then, of course, the looming threat of AI. There was a lot of chatter recently about an AI short called The Heist, which is impressive in some ways -- but in others, not so much. The visual quality of the images is pretty good, but the motion of the cars and people is way off. Still, it marked progress that could someday represent a threat to current modes of filmmaking … but what I hadn’t considered was the speed at which AI is progressing — and with that in mind, check out this just-for-fun Porsche spot reportedly made just for fun by some guy with a laptop. According to the notes, “Everything is AI except the talking head with the strange accent in the behind-the-scenes part.” 

Although this came to me from a credible source, I’m not entirely sure I believe it, so I passed this clip on to other old friends in Hollywood to get their input. Haven’t heard back yet, so again, who knows?But if it is real, that’s scary as hell for anybody whose job entails working on set or those — like me — who’ve retired from the on-set fray but still like getting a pension check every month, anemic though it may be.* And if this is what one guy with a laptop can do today, what are we likely to see in a year, let alone five years from now? Should we reach the point where a script outline can be fed into a computer that will then deliver a movie customers will pay to see ... well, the Hollywood -- and the global film industry -- as we’ve known it will be gone with the digital wind, along with countless jobs. 

The future just ain’t what it used to be.

* In my case, anorexically anemic ... but every bit helps in the Horse Latitudes of fixed-income life.

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Bob Eucker died last month, adding to the growing list of reasons I already hate the annus horribilis of 2025. “Okay,” you might reply, “but what does the death of a 90 year old ex-ballplayer turned baseball broadcaster have to do with the film and television industry?” 

Bob spent six years on the cast of Mr. Belvedere for ABC, had a juicy role in all three of the “Major League” movies, made a hundred appearances as one of Johnny Carson’s favorite guests on “The Tonight Show,” and starred in a number of Miller Lite beer commercials. That’s a resume any Hollywood actor would be proud of … but more to the point, I had the pleasure of working one of those Miller spots at Dodger Stadium in Chavez Ravine during the early ‘90s. Bob was a friendly, gregarious guy who kept the entire crew in stitches all day long. That wasn’t a “work day” for any of us — it was all fun, all the time. Hell, I’d have done it for free.

If you never heard Bob Eucker behind the microphone calling a game, you’ve missed something special … but here’s your chance: a fifteen minute audio clip that’s achieved legendary status. The man was just a born entertainer.  And with that, I leave you with his most famous commercial. 

RIP, Bob -- and thanks for all the laughs.