Tools

                                        What to Carry?

                                      "Be prepared."

                                       The Boy Scout motto

This blog generally stays away from the nuts-and-bolts aspect of the job, but a few questions have come in lately from readers wondering what tools I carry on set, and how I carry them – in my back pocket, a small belt pouch, or a full-bore tool belt?

The answer is always the same:  it depends on the job.

During the dozen or so years I worked as a gaffer, all I carried was a light meter, a small optical/digital frequency meter,* and a pair of gloves.  As a Best Boy, those same gloves dangled from my belt and a “Wiggy” lived in my back pocket.  The Wiggy (an earlier version of this model)  was a simple hand-held solenoid voltage tester that issued a mild vibration in contact with 120 volts AC, then buzzed like an angry rattlesnake when sniffing 240.  Although it was capable of reading up to 600 volts, I never had reason to get close to such high voltage.**  That basic meter (no batteries were needed) could also read DC, albeit crudely -- the readout was the same, but the unit didn't vibrate at all on direct current -- allowing me to determine at a glance whether the line was running 120 or 240 DC.

The beauty of this ugly little beast was its simplicity and durability – in a pinch, I occasionally used mine as a hammer with no apparent effect on its functionality.  It was common in those days to use concurrent generators capable of producing AC and DC at the same time -- 120 AC for wardrobe, makeup/ hair, craft service, and any small HMI’s or tungsten units, 240 AC for 6K HMIs (the largest HMI lamps available back then), and 120 volt DC for carbon arcs, the BFLs of that era.  This is where the ability of that Wiggy to quickly read the various cable runs for the right AC or DC power really paid off.  With the typically short cable runs used on commercial shoots, I could monitor the precise voltage using the generator's meters without fretting about line loss – and for longer runs, I kept a multi-tester in my work bag to read the end voltage at the set.

With three different voltages to worry about, a Wiggy was all I needed to make sure the proper power was run where it needed to go before plugging anything in. Of course, this depended on me doing everything right. In the over-caffeinated rush to get the first setup underway in the morning, mistakes were an ever-present danger -- and they could be expensive. 

In time, the big carbon arcs were supplanted by 12K, then 18K HMIs, and DC pretty much disappeared.  The new HMI lamps were more sensitive to voltage levels than those old arc lights, demanding more accurate voltage metering than my stone-age Wiggy could deliver -- but I still have one in the bottom of my work bag, just in case.  

So what do I carry on set as a juicer in these modern times?

The idea is to carry everything I’ll need, and nothing more.  The basic work bag goes with me on every job -- as the Mother Ship, it holds all my work equipment, allowing me to pick and choose what I’ll need to carry on my belt for each particular gig.  If I’m rigging, all I need are gloves, a crescent and T wrench (for hooking up lugs to bus bars on gennies, sleds, and spider boxes), and a knife or pair of dykes for cutting hanks of tie-off rope.  If the rig only involves cam-loc cable and distro, (meaning no lugs, bus bars, or spider boxes), the gloves and dykes are usually enough.  The same tools go along when wrapping a stage or location set.  For rigging and wrapping, I prefer Easy Fit gloves from Set Wear, which are made of a fabric strong enough to protect my fingers and hands, but thin enough to allow me to tie and untie sash cord without too much cursing.

When on location working with an HMI package, a good pair of sturdy leather gloves (definitely not Easy Fits) accompany a small but accurate volt meter, a 4-way screwdriver, a small razor knife, a T wrench, and small pair of channel locks.  That's the bare minimum.  If it's a night shoot or indoor location using a tungsten package, I add a flashlight, dykes (or "diagonal wire cutters," to use the politically-correct terminology) and a Bates pin-splitter.  On stage, a six inch adjustable crescent wrench (for stirrup and pipe hangers) comes along for the ride, as well as a small homemade power tester utilizing a tiny 4 watt incandescent bulb for sussing out power problems.  Those cute little neon testers will light up with "ghost voltage" even when a dimmer circuit is all the way down, rendering them useless on stage.  A resistance load is required when working with dimmer circuits, which that little 4 watt bulb provides.  I also carry a small continuity light/buzzer for testing tungsten lamps 2K and under (with Edison plugs) then add a short pigtail made of a quick-on plug and zip cord for testing lamps with Bates connections.***

I don't bother carrying a digital voltage tester when working on a sound stage, were electricity is supplied by the studio using city power.  Such a tester is rarely needed on stage, and if so, I've got one in my work bag.  Besides, that's the Best Boy's job -- and Jesus H. Christ, he has to do something besides hoovering up all the donuts at craft service and filling out the time cards once a week...

Judging what tools to carry is always a balancing act, and only experience can teach you what is truly necessary.  The trick is to avoid loading yourself down like a pack mule, while carrying enough so you won't get caught at the top of a 12 step ladder or 20 feet up in a man-lift without the one tool you need to diagnose and solve a problem.  I've worked with juicers who festoon themselves with every tool that could conceivably be needed -- guys who clank around the set like some post-apocalyptic combination of the Tin Man and the Road Warrior.  At the opposite end of the spectrum is the juicer who breezes on set with only a pair of gloves and a big smile -- then proceeds to borrow everybody else's tools all day long.  As far as I'm concerned, that kind of juicer is himself a tool, and not the kind I want on set.

In their totally understandable desire to lighten the load, many juicers carry a Leatherman multi-tool.  Personally, I don't like the Leatherman for on-set work.  I keep one in the glove box of my car, but not on my tool belt.  The Leatherman is a jack-of-all-trades tool that can perform many tasks, but doesn't do anything particularly well.  I'd rather have the right tool for the job -- a tool that works -- and if that means carrying a little extra weight on my belt, so be it. This is all a matter of personal taste, of course. If you'd rather travel light with a Leatherman, that's your call -- but those things are not insulated, so you'd better not use one to hook up lugs to a hot spider box.  And when you finally realize that your fancy Leatherman really isn't worth a damn for juicing, you can borrow my channel locks or crescent wrench once -- after that, you'd better show up on set with your own tools.

As for how to carry tools, that too depends on what you're doing.  I generally wear the same pouch/toolbelt combo on every gig, adding or subtracting tools as needed.  Given that I use a pair of construction suspenders with this belt, production people sometimes mistake me for a carpenter at first, but this rig works for me.  Given my stovepipe hips, I'd have to cinch the tool belt extremely tight to keep it where it belongs -- and as geezerly as those suspenders are, they distribute the weight pretty well, and are thus much more comfortable over the course of a long day on set than a belt alone.

Besides, I really have reached the age of geezerdom, so why try to hide it?

When rigging or wrapping, I'll bring the whole tool belt to the set or location, then leave it nearby while carrying a pair of dykes (and crescent + T wrench if needed) in my back pocket.  You don't want to be wearing a bulky tool belt when slinging 4/0, five-wire banded, or 100 amp Bates cable all day long, especially if you're up high on stage.

In the final analysis, every juicer has his/her own ideas what tools to carry on the job, and no doubt many veterans out there will disagree with my choices.  But they work for me, and that's the point -- it's an individual decision, so whatever works for you is the way to go.

One last word:  in a business where time is money, it's better to carry one tool too many on set than be short the one you need.  Getting the job done is the bottom line, so make your choices accordingly.****


*  All we had were magnetic ballasts in those days, which were not flicker-free.  The genny's output had to be kept within 1/2 of a cycle -- meaning the frequency had to remain between 59.75 and 60.25 hertz during filming.  If it wandered below or above that, the dreaded "flicker" could occur, which would show up in dailies as if the camera assistant had been opening and closing the iris while the camera was running.  Flicker meant disaster for the DP and Gaffer, which is why I paid $450 in 1988 money for a small meter that could read the generator's frequency output by pointing it at a burning HMI.  A few years later, the advent of flicker-free solid state ballasts rendered that meter useless.

**  This was decades before the big Softsun lamps arrived, the first lights I saw that required a 480 volt input.

***  If tasked with hooking up a few dozen practical fixtures, you might want to add a pair of wire strippers to your tool pouch.

****  I discovered a new (to me) and very useful tool last year -- a small telescoping cable puller made by Greenlee that has made my life much easier when working in a man-lift hanging and powering lamps on a pipe grid.  With the soccapex breakouts often just out of reach, this nifty little tool allows me to hook up the lamps without moving the man-lift again, and again, and again, thus saving me endless aggravation while lighting.  

A Mid-Week Post... on Sunday

This is the sort of post I used to put up on the middle of the week, comprised largely of links to various articles, podcasts, and blog posts I found interesting -- but since there's no time for that anymore, such items will have to go up on Sundays.


I've never worked for or with Zach Braff.  The few episodes of his long-running comedy "Scrubs" that I stumbled across over the years were pretty good, but not enough to convert me to a fan -- it just wasn't the kind of show I get hooked on -- nor have I seen his movie "Garden State," or anything else Zach Braff has done or appeared in.  

I state all this simply to point out that I have no dog in the public fight that recently erupted between Braff's legions of devoted fans and a small mob of social media stone-throwers upset over his use of the Kickstarter crowd-funding site to raise money for a movie he wants to direct.  But after listening to this interview on KCRW's The Business --- in which Braff offers a compelling response to his critics -- I lean towards cutting him some slack.  If people want to send Zach Braff money to help get his movie made, more power to them AND him.  I won't contribute, but if you want to, why should that bother me?  How you choose to spend money is your business, and nobody else's.

Beyond attempting to dispel the huffing-and-puffing surrounding the Kickstarter kerfuffle, Braff has a lot to say about what it takes to get even a small feature film made these days.   Apparently it's not easy, even when you've got something of a name and a plausible track record in the business.  The money people have always called the shot in Hollywood, so to retain control, you have to become the Money Man.  That's what Zach Braff is trying to do, and under the circumstances, who can blame him?  

If you've already made up  your mind about this, don't yell at me until you've actually listened to that interview.  Then -- if you still feel the righteous heat of rage pulsing through your veins -- yell away.  

Because in cyber-space, no one can hear you scream...

**********************************

I recently stumbled across two industry bloggers who aren't exactly new, but were new to me -- and possibly to you as well.  They're at opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of experience and approach, but both are worth reading for very different reasons.

Rachel Marks, a PA from Florida who planted her flag in Hollywood, has a new blog called Breaking In and Standing Out to replace her old one.  I have only two small gripes about Rachael's new venture -- there's no e-mail link on the home page to allow direct communication with her (not that I could find, anyway), nor has she included an industry blogroll.

I understand why a young woman who, having moved to big, bad LA, would be leery of hanging her personal e-mail out in public, but that's what Gmail, Hotmail, and Yahoo (among others) are for.*  Using an e-mail account from any of those providers would provide a blog-only e-mail to allow her readers direct access.  Many newbie readers may have questions or comments that don't relate to a specific post, which is when an e-mail link can be useful.  

I've always believed that the other industry blogs I find interesting might also appeal to various readers of my blog, which is why those blogrolls are over there on the right side of the page.  Most industry blogs offer such a list including anywhere from five to many dozens of links.  There's no right or wrong here -- it's a matter of taste -- and I'm sure Rachael has her reasons for running such a streamlined blog. 

Anyway, these are minor gripes.  A blog is a very personal thing, a reflection of ourselves and our perceived place in the world.  Judging by what Rachel has posted thus far -- advice ranging from the obvious (don't smoke dope on the job), to what should be obvious (but apparently isn't), and an evaluation of production information services I was unaware of -- Breaking in and Standing Out  could be a useful resource for newbies struggling to gain a toehold in an industry that has no idea they even exist.  

Not yet, anyway. 

Julie Ann Sipos runs a lively blog featuring great graphics and tales from inside the belly of the the Tinsel Town beast.  As her blog backstory  makes clear, Julie has been around the Hollywood block in various incarnations, and her voice resonates with experience, insight, and humor.  Julie goes to Hollywood is a fun and informative read -- her writing sparkles with wit, and she puts up new posts at a pace that leaves me dizzy.  Maybe that's because, unlike many of us who write about the industry, she's a pro at the keyboard, and it shows.  I think everybody, veterans and newbies alike, can learn something from her -- and if all you shell-shocked, newly-graduated film students don't believe me, try If Jesus went to film school on for size.

It's a good one, and so is Julie goes to Hollywood.  

*********************************

It may be a bit late in the season for this kind of thing, but Tim Goodman's pointed and entertaining television commentary/criticism for The Hollywood Reporter is always worth reading.   Here's Goodman's collected twitter feed from the recent upfronts in New York -- just in case you're wondering why broadcast television is in such deep shit, among other things.

In this short podcast commentary, veteran writer/producer Rob Long meditates on pilot season and selling what you've got -- or what the networks want.  It's not always the same thing.

William Friedkin  was one of the dynamic young directors who took Hollywood by storm when I was in college back in the early 70's.  He made a huge splash with his first feature "The French Connection" (a film that still holds up pretty well 40 years later), then went on to make tons of money for the studios by scaring the crap out of audiences with "The Exorcist."  Although that marked the high point of his success, he's continued to make features ever since -- and if  "Sorcerer" ended up as what Jimmy Carter might term "an incomplete success," it has some hair-raising pre-CGI sequences involving heavily-laden trucks crossing canyon gorges in South America over extremely rickety bridges that put me in a cold sweat.  No computers, no special effects -- just good, careful rigging and execution in a difficult environment.**   Friedkin did a nice job with "To Live and Die in LA," and caused a stir with his most recent release, "Killer Joe."

The man can still provoke, but it was those early films that built and sustained Friedkin's formidable reputation.  In this era of cookie-cutter summer blockbusters, sophomoric bromance "comedies," and all other fluffy garbage Hollywood pumps out every year, it's hard to convey the excitement his first two features generated.  "The French Connection" is a gritty classic that laid the foundation for so many subsequent (largely lesser) efforts.  And when you hear how that film got made in the streets of New York, you probably won't believe it. 

But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try.  Friedkin has a book out now, and has been busy promoting it on the airwaves.  My copy is sitting over there on the coffee table, waiting to be read, but you can get a taste in this interview he did with Elvis Mitchell on KCRW's The Treatment a few weeks ago.  It's a good one, and well worth your twenty-five minutes.

And finally, here's a cryptic Tumbler visual from a blog by an assistant director, because sometimes a video clip really is worth a thousand words.

* This is a good idea for any newbie coming to tilt at the windmills of Hollywood, BTW -- save your personal e-mail for friends and family, and set up an entirely separate e-mail account for film industry contacts.  

** Years ago, I worked for a while with a Key Grip who had just started his career at the time Sorcerer was made.  He told some great stories about the year he worked on that film down in South America, and how much he learned helping with the rigging of those harrowing canyon-crossing scenes.  

Be Nice

                         Or at least don't be an asshole...

First, a brief digression.

Any young grad on the cusp of entering the Real World who hasn't yet seen/heard Joss Whedon's commencement address to the assembled cap-and-gowns at Wesleyan University should check it out. The website heading describes it as "the bluntest, funniest, and deadliest graduation speech in the history of the known universe," and if that's a stretch, Whedon's address certainly marks a refreshing break from the usual droning compendium of "you are the future" cliches delivered by some gray-haired Platitudinous Rex.  Of course, that signature commencement phrase does appear near his conclusion, but hey, it's a graduation send-off -- what do you expect?

At any rate, if you're one of those young people now staring down the cold barrel of post-collegiate reality, you might want to keep Joss Whedon's words in mind as you stumble and slouch towards Bethlehem.

Or Hollywood.

************************************

An anonymous reader left a great comment on this recent post:

"One of my profs told us we should watch "Overnight," the 'documentary' about Troy Duffy.*  A great graduation gift about what NOT to do if you do have an opportunity/break in the biz.  I really think it's important for a lot of film students to remember that even though they went from the bottom (freshman year) to the top (senior) of the pecking order in school... you're starting over, and attitude is a big thing when you're starting out.  People seriously judge you by it.  You don't want the first thing out of a person's mouth to be "that kid is a tool!"

"A person once told me that your personality usually dictates a great dal where you'll end up (career-wise) in life.  I met a lady who had worked on great shows and ended up int he DGA, and she said that 'most of her experiences (in the biz) had been accidents,' but I remember she had a GREAT attitude and seemed genuinely happy.  Many people would like to be directors but they scoff at and don't like working with actors (!!).  Sometimes it just takes more time for some people.  It's important not to compare in this town (although it's hard not to) and to just keep going and following your own path, and to realize that you really don't know where  you may end up... Hollywood is ridding itself of job descriptions and creating new ones every year."

Those two paragraphs are laden with truth learned the hard way. Attitude is important at every stage of a Hollywood career, but it's crucial for the newbie trying to break in.  If you're willing to put in the time and effort, there isn't a job in this business you can't learn -- but if you approach the industry as an entitled, pompous, self-absorbed jerk who considers him/herself God's gift to Hollywood, good luck finding anybody willing to teach you.

Bear in mind your mom's wisdom when she warned: "You don't get a second chance to make a first impression."  It's true, and although a lot of hard work can eventually overcome a bad start in this town, why put yourself behind the eight-ball right from the beginning?

As a freshly-minted film school grad, you know very little about the gritty reality of working in the film and television industry.  This will be glaringly obvious to all concerned, so don't try to act like a pro.  Doing so won't impress anyone in a position to help jump-start your career -- indeed, the only people your act might fool are those who know even less than you.  You're new in town, so save the too-cool-for-school act in favor of a little humility.  Keep your eyes open, and (unless and until you have a good, relevant question) your mouth shut.  There's something to be said for following Mark Twain's advice that "it's better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt."

This doesn't mean you have to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, of course, but pick your spots (and your words) carefully when it comes to exaggerating your real-world expertise.

Bear in mind the difference between confidence and cockiness. The former is a good thing -- nobody wants to hire a wall-flower who doesn't inspire confidence -- but acting cocky can uncork a desire in others to see you fall on your face.  Maybe you have a world of talent waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting film industry, but raw talent alone cannot and will not ensure success.  Talent has to be nurtured and developed in manner akin to the process of refining gold, which requires a significant investment of time, effort, and resources to extract a meaningful quantity of precious metal from a mountain of ore.  At the moment, all you have to offer the Gods of Hollywood is a smile, a good attitude, and the desire to learn -- and that means you'll need some help along the way to develop your talents into something valuable to the powers-that-be.  That help will come from other people, and all things being equal, those in a position to help or hire tend to choose applicants they like and will enjoy working with.  If you rub them the wrong way right off the bat, the job will go to some other similarly clueless wannabe with a better smile.

And if that happens, learn to fake it the next time.  Hell, this is Hollywood, where everyone -- in front of or behind the camera -- is acting to one degree or another.  Learn your lines and deliver them with conviction, because as that anonymous commenter noted, people with a great attitude and happy demeanor generally have a much easier time climbing the ladder.

This is not to suggest that assholes don't succeed in this town -- many do -- but only when they bring serious money-making talent to the table.  The business of Hollywood is not called "the film and television art form," but the film and television industry, and the quid-pro-quo of every industry involves the exchange of labor, skill, and talent for money.  If you can bring something of great value to this industry, you'll enjoy a level of cinematic immunity above and beyond that experienced by the rest of the pack.  Hollywood will smile to your face and kiss your ass on demand, all the while whispering nasty things behind your back -- and if that doesn't bother you, then maybe this really is your kind of town.

The last part of that comment above is worth noting.  Very few of the industry professionals I've known over the years ended up doing exactly what they'd planned when they hit town.  You'll grow and learn as the work starts coming, and maybe realize that whatever goal lured you to Hollywood in the first place isn't really what you want after all.  Or  -- and you won't like this part, kids -- maybe you just won't make it as a professional screenwriter, director, or producer.  Many try, but few succeed, and in that case, do you go back home with your tail between your legs or settle for something less-than-perfect for the duration of your career? That may be the hardest decision you'll ever face, but take a good look at a call sheet for a feature, episodic, or sit-com -- there are plenty of jobs that need to be done, from on-set crew to post-production, and maybe one of them will turn out to be the glass slipper that fits your foot.

By all means shoot for the Hollywood moon, but if things don't work out, be prepared to change course in a big way, or else you'll probably end up slogging through the trenches with the rest of us right here back on earth.

As a brand newbie, whatever talent you possess is unlikely to be revealed or appreciated for a while, and being a jerk will only postpone that great and wondrous day.  So make your life a lot easier and become the kind of person other people want to be around.  In other words, be nice.  And if that's too much to ask, at least don't be an asshole.

We have enough of those in Hollywood already.


* And if you're wondering who Troy Duffy is, click here, here, and here.

Sanctuary

“Hell, if you can make me forget about life for an hour, I’m in your corner.”

Tim Goodman, of the Hollywood Reporter 

Like the movies that preceded it (and theater + vaudeville before that), television programming is designed to divert our attention from the realities of our own everyday lives, while giving us something to share around the proverbial water cooler.  Whatever your personal viewing taste -- reality programming, game shows, sports, scripted comedy, or edgy cable dramas -- a good show can offer a lot more than mere distraction, but diverting the viewer's attention away from reality has always been the primary directive of television.*  What may not be so obvious is that working on the other end of the Toob can serve the same purpose, albeit in a very different manner.  Sooner or later, those of us who make those programs also need a little shelter from the storm.

On a sit-com a few years ago,  one of my fellow juicers just couldn't seem to find a comfortable rhythm on the job. "Billy" (not his real name) was an impulsive, headstrong young man with a mercurial temper, and he attracted trouble like a magnet.  Some people just can't seem to get out of their own way in life... and sure enough, one day the UPM stormed into the set lighting Gold Room in a cold fury, right on the ragged edge of firing Billy.

As usual, the problem was equal parts silly, stupid, and totally avoidable.  Running a few minutes late, Billy had bypassed the studio's multi-level parking structure to park his truck on a back lot street near our sound stage -- a space being held for one of the show's Big Cheese above-the-liners by the set PA.  When she gently protested that he couldn't park there, Billy snarled "fuck off," then locked his truck and headed for the stage.  Newly embarked on what she'd assumed would be a fun, exciting career in Hollywood, this sweet young PA had not yet developed the armor to deal with such blatantly rude behavior, and she fled to the UPM's office in tears.

Billy wasn't really a bad kid, but he had a hard time dealing with any seemingly arbitrary authority, which is why he couldn't take orders from a neophyte PA -- but when it came to work, he was hell on wheels.  Barely 150 pounds dripping wet, he had the quick reflexes and wiry strength of an athlete, and routinely ran rings around me while we were lighting.  He could hang and power ten lamps in the time it took me to do three or four, and if no man lift or ladder was immediately available, he'd climb the set walls to scamper along the three-inch ledge like a monkey, hanging lamps one after another.

Billy's notion of a work day was to do it all as fast as possible, then get the hell out of there.  Having long since been disabused of my own romantic notions about the film and television industry, I could relate.  Although we usually manage to have some fun over the course of a day on set, all things being equal -- which they seldom are -- most of us would rather be somewhere else indulging in Real Life than toiling on set all day long... but since nobody will actually pay us for that, we put in our time and make the best of it.

Unfortunately, "real life" off the set isn't always blissful romp through a lush and verdant Garden of Eden.  Shit happens out there, where problems can morph into thorny dilemmas with no easy resolution.  When the sky turns black and the hard rain begins, sometimes you just have to keep your head down and slog on through it until things get sorted out -- and at times like that, work can be a lot more than just a place to earn a paycheck.

It can be a sanctuary.

I was reminded of this while reading one of AJ's recent posts over at The Hills Are Burning, in which she wrote about dealing with an avalanche of real life problems amidst a strong run of work.  It happens to all of us at one time or another... and in a dark coincidence, the seas surrounding BS&T were in turmoil around the same time.  Between the endless demands of work and suddenly-escalating stresses on the outside, it felt like I was hanging on by my fingernails for a while there -- and that's when the upside of working in such a time-intensive business became apparent.  Having a place to go five days a week where the problems that need solving require a high degree of in-the-moment concentration can provide an emotional buffer from the occasional chaos of civilian life.  As its own highly artificial world, a film set offers the balm of work to hold at bay the pain and trouble waiting outside the soundstage door for the drive back home.

Like all forms of denial, the escape is only temporary.  No matter how long the work day or how short the turnaround, we all have to face up to our real life dilemmas in the end, but having a daily respite from the storm can help by providing time to work things out in your head.

I did my best to help Billy, letting him air things out during quiet times in the Gold Room, and suggesting that the daily routine on set could be a refuge from the storms of life rather than just another source of trouble.  During one of those conversations, he told me a story that hinted at the depth of his problems.  While he was growing up, his mother (who suffered an unhealthy fondness for "controlled substances") had a string of decidedly skeevy live-in boyfriends -- and one of those temporary step-dads had a nasty habit of striding across the living room to kick the young boy in the ribs, hard, for no apparent reason.  When that happened, Billy would grab his dog and retreat to the dark, dusty safety of the crawl space under the house.

It's no wonder the kid developed such a hair-trigger personality.

I'll never know if my efforts did any good, but Billy managed to finish the season without getting fired -- and when the show returned for Season Two, he didn't come back.  Although the job was his for the taking, he'd decided to leave the circus of Hollywood to work as an independent contractor in the construction business, where he wouldn't have to chafe under the yoke of above-the-line bullshit.  He figured to be a lot happier being in a position to call the shots in serving his clients -- and from what I heard later, that's pretty much how it worked out.

There's no denying that Hollywood is a very different kind of business that doesn't suit everybody.  Billy certainly wasn't cut out for it, but for those of us who are, the shared sense of purpose, teamwork, and camaraderie in working with a good crew can provide a very real sense of community -- a sanctuary -- when you really need it.

And when I finally hang up my gloves for good, that's something I'm going to miss.


* Television has a more sinister agenda, of course: seducing the viewers into buying consumer goods they don't need and often can't afford -- but that's a subject for somebody else's blog...

Chasing the Dream...

... and paying your dues.

                                   Pomp and Circumstances


Film students on the cusp of graduation all across the country will doubtless resonate with the last paragraph of Benjamin Puleo's recent offering at "Delusions of Fresh Meat," a post titled Job Hunting.

"It feels shitty to not be qualified for much more than script coverage or running errands.  I know I could write for something or work on a crew, but for now I'm just trying to get past the initiation  -- what everyone calls "paying your dues."  There's a little comfort in knowing that everyone has to start at the bottom.  Everyone was in my position at some point and in that way I know I just have to work with what I've got and stifle the panic.  Fingers crossed."

Most graduating film students probably feel the same way -- but trust me on this: no soon-to-be-ex-student should take it for granted that he or she has what it takes to "write for something or work on a crew."  Not for money, anyway.  Sure, you can write for and crew on a student film -- where neither the stakes nor the standards are particularly high -- but the film and television industry is another world altogether.  Until you've been there, you have no idea what it's like.

Remember, all those writing and crew jobs in Hollywood are currently filled by professionals who have spent years learning their craft, making and maintaining contacts, and earning their place in the industry.  No matter how talented you think you are, or how prestigious and expensive your film degree,  as of now -- graduation day -- most of you haven't accomplished much beyond acquiring an education in the cinematic arts, and at best have a theoretical notion of how things really work in the professional arena.   Any recent graduate who thinks he/she can sashay into Hollywood, make a few calls, then be snapped up and handed a job on set or in the writer's room by some sharp-eyed producer has been smoking something much too strong.

I'm not being critical here. Ignorance is neither a crime nor a personal failing, but a simple state of being -- and we've all been there.  You can't know what you don't yet know, and at the moment, the vast majority of film students desperate to break into the industry have no earthly clue just how much they don't know about the reality -- the good, the bad, and the ugly -- of working in the professional arena. 

The good news is that it's neither brain science nor rocket surgery.  All will become clear as you hack your way through the Hollywood jungle... so in the spirit of reaching out to lend a hand, I'll offer a few words of encouragement to all you students about to be forcibly expelled from the warm comfort of the collegiate womb into a cold, uncaring world.

"Life's a bitch, and then you die."

This cheerful message was inscribed on a coffee cup one of my juicers gave me while we were slaving on a low budget feature down in Mississippi some twenty-five years ago.  Like all those lost years between then and now, that coffee cup is long gone with the wind, but the bitter truth of the inscription it carried lives on.  Whatever path you follow through this troubled world, life really will be a bitch at times, and in the end, your reward for all that hard work fighting the good fight is the eternal void of death.  

Such is the unspeakably cruel nature of life -- and all the more reason not to settle for a grim, living-death existence of oh-so-quiet desperation under the pale fluorescent glow of some soulless corporate cube farm.  Given that we all end up rotting in the grave anyway, what's the point of playing it safe?  You might as well chase a dream while you're still young -- because if not now, when?  Dream-chasing is a lot harder to do once you hit 40.  Maybe it'll work out and maybe it won't, but pursuing that dream will teach you a lot about life and your place in the world.  Besides, if push finally does come to shove on the Dream Chase, you can always back off the throttle to settle into a more financially stable groove.   That's a very tough decision, but there's no shame in it -- life is an inherently unpredictable endeavor during which your circumstances can change on a dime.  There are lots of ways to participate in the film-making process and make a decent living.  

In the end, life will teach you what you really want and need -- all you have to do is pay attention and learn how to listen.

Just have some fun chasing your dream first.  With enough talent, drive, and a little luck, you might catch it... but if the dream does eludes your grasp, at least you gave it a shot.  That alone is worthy of respect, and will minimize your regrets later on down the line -- and believe me, we all accumulate our share of regrets as the years pile on.  You'll make plenty of mistakes, but that's the price of a ticket to ride.  The trick is to absorb your mistakes and learn from them, then keep moving forward.

So once the ceremony concludes on that fine Spring day in the very near future, toss your mortarboard in the air and cast the graduation gown aside.  Go out and enjoy a kick-ass party to celebrate, then when you wake up the next morning with your stomach doing back-flips and head pounding like a pile-driver, understand that the sun now shines over a very different landscape.  The prelims are over, and it's time for the main event that will be your life.

It's a brand new day.

And now a tip from the trenches...

The dirty little secret of Hollywood is that "paying your dues" has never been a one-time expenditure of sweat, groveling, and humiliation.  You can't just pay your dues like an initiation fee and be done with it -- the world doesn't work that way.  The hard truth is, you'll be making regular payments towards your industry dues for as long as your career lasts.  "Paying your dues" is just a catch-phrase to describe the arduous task of proving yourself worthy, and if there will be occasional pauses in the flogging -- during which you can relax to enjoy the view ever so briefly -- never forget that there's always another beating waiting around the next corner.  You'll have to prove yourself worthy over and over again on the way up and on the way back down the slippery slope of Hollywood suck-cess.  

The struggle never stops.  Never.  Whatever path you choose to follow, the moment you stop making a serious, committed effort in this business is the day your career begins the slow fade to black.  Above and below-the-line, Hollywood remains a dog-eat-dog world where there's always someone younger, smarter, stronger, and cheaper straining at the leash to take your job.

And if you let them, they will.

The first thing you should do (if you haven't already) is read this piece from Cracked.com.  The Anonymous Production Assistant posted a link to it several months ago, and the lessons therein are invaluable for every young person dreaming of a career in the film and television industry.  And if you have read it, read it again -- it's all true.  Just remember, there's a reason TAPA called it "either the most inspiring or most depressing thing you will read all year."

It's a little of both.

The truth is powerful stuff, and although it can hurt sometimes (this being one of those times), in the end it will serve you well.  The sooner you wise up to the reality of this world, the better off you'll be.  Like every scared puppy, you won't like having your nose rubbed in this shit right now, but in five years, you'll be glad it happened 

Or not.  Either way, I'll be dead or retired by then, with this blog a ghost drifting on the digital wind in the unfathomable void of cyberspace.  If you want a career in the film/television world -- above or below the figurative line -- you'll have to carve it out for yourself.  Nobody else can (or will) do it for you, so get your idealistic young asses in gear and make it happen.  

Take Ben's words to heart: "Everyone was in my position at some point, and in that way I know I just have to work with what I've got and stifle the panic."

Those are apt marching orders.  Given that you've all got plenty to work with -- you're young, smart, and (hopefully...) willing to work very hard for a very long time -- it's time to stifle the panic and start chasing that dream.  

Good luck.

Perks

Work is work.  In that, toiling below-the-line in the film and television industry is a lot like every other top-down employment environment, where the people who do the heavy lifting occupy the bottom levels in compensation and respect while those who call the shots (above-the-line) make the big bucks, wear designer clothes, and drive away at the end of each day in very expensive cars to astonishingly expensive homes, their hands clean and unmarred by the callouses, bruises, and cuts that brand the rest of us as "labor."

Now if this sounds like yet another bitter lament -- a primal scream from the dank underworld below decks -- it's not.  To work below-the-line without going crazy requires that you understand and accept the way things are.  The film and television industry is what it is, and if you find the apparent (and real) inequities that come with the turf insufferable, then you'd better find a way to climb above that line or else find something else to do in life.

Still, there are perks at every level in Hollywood, many of which are not found in other arenas of work.  Food ranks high on the list, and for all but the crummiest of ultra-low budget gigs, a wide variety of edible treats are readily available to the crew throughout the work day.  The food isn't always wonderful, but the price is right -- and on a decent show, the craft service spread and catered meals can be very good indeed, eliminating the need to cook any meals at home on shoot days for the duration of the production.  And oddly enough, that steaming pile of a low-budget Disney crap I worked on much of last year provided excellent craft service and show-night meals for the entire crew.

The producers worked hard to low-ball us in every other possible way, but at least the food was good.  Go figure.

Another perk can be going on location, where you will work in exotic locales that under any other circumstances would cost buckets of money to access -- but as a member of the crew, you're getting paid to be there.  And if this isn't always as much fun as it sounds, the memories of those location jobs will stick with you (some in the form of scar tissue...) for the rest of your life.

I don't consider it much of a perk, but those who toil in the trenches occasionally find themselves pulled from their normal responsibilities behind the scenes to be thrust in front of the cameras for a scene.  Although my own experiences with this kind of thing weren't much fun -- I was way out of my comfort zone -- I've seen and heard of crew members who had a blast out there in the heat of the spotlight.

Different strokes for different folks.

Oddly enough, the ultimate Hollywood perk just might be not having to work on the regimented basis demanded by most civilian businesses.  Pretty much all film and television work is temporary, so most of us get regular stretches of down-time, otherwise known as "unemployment."  Like all Hollywood perks, this can be a double-edged sword:  too much down time can deplete your checking account,  erode your confidence, and eventually put the fear of God in you.  Too little time off can pound your brain to mush while turning you into the kind of bitter work-bot who comes to loathe the daily grind of the job all the while being terrified that it might end.

We all want and need enough work to pay the bills and hang on to our benefits,  but nobody I know got into this  industry from a desire to strap their nose to the bloody grindstone 52 weeks a year.  Certainly not me --and as much as I appreciate having work, I thoroughly enjoy my time off.  Those lovely weekdays of sleeping late, then yawning my way through the afternoon as it fades into night may be the sweetest treat Hollywood has to offer.

But there's another, less obvious perk unique to this industry.  We who make a living in the world of film and television routinely work with actors and actresses who are among the most attractive people in the world.  Every now and then I'll take a step back to observe the scene on set, where thirty or more distinctly ordinary-looking people watch from behind the cameras while several extraordinarily beautiful people speak their scripted lines on set.

The contrast can be startling.

Not all thespians are inherently attractive. Indeed, some are real schlubs, but with the benefit of skilled professionals who furnish immaculately tailored wardrobe, apply makeup and tease hair until it's perfect, then send them out to a properly dressed and lit set, those actors will look their absolute best.  Granted, anybody would look better given such careful treatment, but when the actors have been blessed by genetics with a harmonious convergence of facial and body structure, the results can be dazzling.

Just because we who do the heavy lifting work with such exotic creatures on a regular basis doesn't mean we're immune to their charms.  We're human too, and being able to experience and appreciate such beauty -- however superficial it may seem -- is one of the small pleasures of life on set.

And so it was that I took a gig as a day-player on a show back on my home lot last year, showing up thirty minutes early for a late afternoon lighting call.  After checking in with the Best Boy, I went outside to sit in the pale winter sun and read the daily litany of tragedy in the newspaper while awaiting the start of my work day.  Ten minutes later I looked up to see this vision of loveliness coming up the steps towards me.

                                 The stuff that dreams are made of...*

The rest of the world -- the sun, sky, sound stages and surrounding facilities -- pretty much vanished at that point.

She smiled, I smiled, then she was past me and gone.  I managed to keep my cool on the outside, but inside, my emotional jaw was hanging wide open.  This woman was absolutely gorgeous -- infinitely more so than  the photo above indicates -- with an approachable, girl-next-door manner that set every air raid siren in my head to wailing.

I felt dizzy in her wake.

A couple of minutes later, she came back to descend the half-dozen steps and head across the ally to the stage door.  I watched until that door closed behind her, then -- my lips pursed in a silent whistle -- turned back to the suddenly boring newspaper... until the door opened and here she came again, heading right for me.  As she ascended those steps, we again exchanged smiles, but this time I stopped her with a question that sparked a five minute conversation.  As it turned out, she was the guest star for the episode I'd be helping to light for the next couple of days.

I can't recall everything we talked about -- where she was from and the vagaries of the casting process, mostly, along with our shared travails of working in such a roller-coaster business -- but the banter was as easy and pleasant as a soft breeze on a summer afternoon.  Her warmth and down-to-earth humility put me at ease, allowing me to bask in the radiance of her beauty without feeling overwhelmed or  tongue-tied.

I fell in love with here right then and there.  It didn't even matter when she mentioned that "her guy" was a director.  Of course he was -- this is Hollywood.  That many of the boundaries here remain invisible doesn't mean they aren't very real.  Besides, I'm old and she was young, which put anything beyond this brief conversation into the realm of pure fantasy -- "the stuff that dreams are made of."*  But Hollywood is all about such fantasies, which can spice up an otherwise ordinary work day.

And who among us doesn't need a little jolt every now and then?

Maybe she was just acting, performing for an audience of one.  You can never really be sure if an actor or actress is ever really and truly being themselves, but truth be told, I didn't care.  The moment was real, the memory burned into my brain, and from that day on I've had a soft spot in my heart for this actress.

Then the dog-walker for the show's star approached with the ugly mutt in tow, and began yammering about something.  The spell was broken.  With one last warm smile, the lovely Rebecca McFarland turned away and headed back to the sound stage, having melted me down to a hot puddle of primal, conflicting emotions.

I didn't see her again until the next afternoon in passing at the craft service table.

"Hi Mike," she said.  There was that smile again.

Call me easily pleased if you will -- and in that I'm assuredly guilty -- but this made my day.  Hell, it made my week.  

And at this point, with the sun slowly setting on my Hollywooden career, that'll do just fine.


* And if you don't know where that line comes from, you should...