Yes, We Did!

Some amazing news from the world of legislative politics over the past few days has me humbly and happily proven wrong about our assumptions. By “our” I mean me and all the people out there who do not work in an elected office at the state government level and who might believe that they have no real voice in the upper echelons of their state’s government.

I consider it a righteous duty to vote, but I have never protested in the streets, even when I’ve been angrily opposed to government decisions.  I’ve never even written my congressman or woman until recently.  These are occasions when the Audubon Society or Blue Voice (an organization devoted to protecting dolphins and whales) contacts me by email and they include a link to a form letter that I just have to sign my name to and click/send off into cyberspace where it then streams into the computer of an office of somebody in Washington.  Guilt is the operating force for these small actions, not faith that my little email is going to change anything, unless it’s part of a tsunami of other emails.

Then SB 621 came up here in Oregon, and it was really important to my continuing livelihood. I spoke about the particulars of this bill in last week’s blog, and I was afraid, very afraid. In fact, unless it passed in both the House and Senate, I was seriously going to consider a different career, like winning the lottery or making thousands of dollars a month by working from home (just kidding: do not fall for those work from home schemes—transferring money from Nigerian banks would be a better bet).

So I emailed my elected peeps up there in the state capitol, and just hoped for the best, figuring they’ll just do what they want anyway, despite my email or those of the people I work with.  Sometime during the campaign for the bill’s passage, I also helped make a small set that we took to the capitol for filmmaking’s industry day, too.  But I did that because I was between shows anyway, so why not.  Once again, no faith here in changing the world.

After a time, the bill died.  Almost.  While it was in its death throes the emails from our film office went out, again asking for our help in contacting our elected representatives.  So we sent in emails again.  And then… the bill revived and passed the House.  Then it died again.  Then we all wrote in again.  I wrote about it in my blog last week at this stage of the bill’s existence: suffering and near death, about to breathe its last and only one man had the power to revive it.

I mentioned in my blog that where the bill died this time had been in a Senate revenue committee, and I complained at the time that this was not a transparent part of government.  But guess what?  I was completely wrong! With the help of your computer, you or I can listen in to every word of these government committees, just like an intelligent, highly opinionated fly on the wall.

Yes!  Technology is so very useful in ways I had never considered. I’m so self-involved that I never knew this until it came down to being all about me (as usual).  So, I went to my Oregon state government website at the time of the next revenue committee discussion of the bill, simply clicked on a couple of links, and there I was, listening to the rebirth of the bill by unanimous vote after some pertinent arguments in its favor were made.

Now… it’s alive!! It has passed both Houses and will be operational within a few weeks.  Now we will have twelve months’ worth of incentive money instead of six, which means twelve months a year of film work for those of us in the Business instead of six. Which means that now I might make enough money to pay off my credit cards, freeing me from my ongoing personal bail-out (through their usurious interest rates) of several faceless, frighteningly monolithic credit institutions.

Also, now I can tell those Nigerian bankers to get lost.

The Political Thriller

Summer has begun!  It’s hard to believe I worked over the end of winter and all through spring, feeling the seasons slowly change under a haze of fatigue and long hours.  The people I spent twelve hours a day with are fading slowly from memory as I gear up for a new set of tasks.  I am trying to jump on to another film in the state above me, Washington, but even though we’re all in the same union, I may have residency requirements to meet before I am once again gainfully employed.

And speaking of employment, there’s a dust storm of bad news on the horizon that hopefully we in the film business in my state can forestall by emailing our desires as constituents to the Oregon legislature’s Speaker of the House.  Our film incentive bill, SB 621, which would increase our film incentive package from 5 million to 7 ½ million per year, passed the Oregon Senate, then failed to make it out of the Oregon House Revenue Committee.  Now only the Oregon Speaker of the House can get it on to a vote by the whole House of Representatives.  Why this bottleneck when the Senate already passed it?  Shouldn’t the two parts of the legislature each get a straight shot at voting on it?  “Committees” are not readily transparent, and are not a direct reflection of the majority vote.  I so distrust and revile politics, especially when it impacts my own life this directly.

What the passage of the bill will mean is twelve months’ worth of films up here in Oregon every year as opposed to the six we get now.  That’s the difference between making a living and… maybe having to quit the Business or move somewhere else and start over again—for hundreds of us.  The reality is we don’t even give out the money from the incentive fund until a film has turned in the receipts to prove they spent the required money in Oregon.  So how can Oregon lose?  They’ve got more business tax money in their coffers, allowed employment of more of their residents (who all pay a hefty state income tax), and brought money to more of Oregon’s businesses.

It also means more jobs in a green industry that will provide health insurance and pension benefits to those it employs.  That’s the kind of industry we need to have more of, here in Oregon.

So why not spend another 2 ½ million to make many times that much in financial returns.  In these economic conditions, such a strategy makes more sense than ever before.  Perhaps somebody in the Revenue Committee thinks we’re financing “Hollywood moguls” on our dime.  In reality, of the 18 projects funded by the incentive program six were Oregon productions, and of the remaining twelve, ten were independently financed (thanks to Michael Fine for these figures).

I just want to feel summer, not worry about short-sightedness in my own state legislature.  I just want to get out on a kayak and look for orcas, feeling the sun on my face, not fear for my own career and that of everybody I work with.  I admit it—I’m really, really self-involved.  Nevertheless, I wrote a letter to the Oregon Speaker of the House, Dave Hunt, yesterday, in hopes of making my voice heard.  Any of my readers out there who work in Oregon, I invite you to do the same. Contact him at http://www.leg.state.or.us/hunt   Can we change the status quo?   If enough of us care? “Yes we can!”

After the Wrap

Talk about an anti-climax.  I thought the film I was on was wrapped, at least for me, with only some pick-up shots happening on Monday of this week.  But at the last minute I ended up joining a small remnant of the crew for a night’s worth of shooting, and that’s how we find ourselves, at close to midnight, just outside a neon-lit tiki bar called The Alibi in an “interesting” part of town.

We had a new DP for the evening, who introduced himself to me and asked if I could dirty up a motel window for him.  Said window was being suspended on a scissor-lift as we talked, the roar of the engine making us shout our conversation. “I want it to look like they never clean up the rooms at this place!” the DP yelled.  “Okay!” I screamed back.

I brought my truck right over to the scissor lift, a luxury to get that close to a set during filming when normally there would be a long line of huge trucks vying for every parking spot up and down and around the block.  I had already retrieved most of my kit from out of the prop truck and transferred it to the camper shell of my own personal vehicle earlier that day, but it was hard to get what I needed out of the extremely compact packing job I had finished before I knew I would be working one more day (actually night) on the show.

However, after a few minutes of rummaging around I came up with a small air canister with an attached bottle I would fill with more rubbing alcohol to replace that which had evaporated over the course of the last three weeks.  The bottle had dry tint in it to mimic dust or dirt, and I would use alcohol as a fast-evaporating carrier for the color, leaving behind a mist of “never cleaned up” color on surface of the window.  Just in case that wasn’t enough, I also dug out a hand pump with some Fuller’s earth in it, so I could mist out real dust.  I also grabbed a length of plastic to cover the camera, so it wouldn’t get uglified by the window treatment.

The scissor lift was re-positioned several times before they settled on a good spot, across the parking lot from the tiki bar.  We were in front of a little coffee and ice cream place, and the regular customers had started to gather and watch the show.  Our producers sat at the only table and chairs the coffee place had out on the sidewalk, and talked about the next shows they were hoping to do, and various other subjects.  All of us, including some of the civilians now standing around with us, engaged in conversation, as if we were enjoying a low-key cocktail party.

Lighting took an awfully long time, it seemed, or perhaps it was just that we were all so tired and ready to go home.  We asked each other about home and travel plans, and listened, realizing we might not meet again for years or maybe never.

When she asked, I told our location manager what I did to make money in between shows: dabble in real estate (I know, what a great time to be doing that), and writing.  She only does locations, and can do that for a living because she’s from LA.  We talk about the Oregon film incentive bill (which increases the incentive package from 5 million to 7 and 1/2 million) that we hope will pass here in Oregon, which will bring films into the state for all twelve months, and not just the six months that it does now.  It will keep hundreds of us employed, and bring money to many businesses in Oregon.

“Then you can do film and only film for a living, right?” the location manager says.  I say I hope so, but really I secretly like to think there’s a chance that I’ll be making money in other ways as well—no matter what happens with the film incentive.  I like to think I have options.  Silly rabbit.

The on set dresser, standby carpenter and I take a ladder and some black fabric borrowed from the grips called duveteen over to an offending “Oregon Lottery” sign hanging above the sidewalk next to the tiki bar and climb up to cover it.  We’re supposed to be at a tiki bar in Nebraska, in the film’s reality.  But the film reality is slipping away almost by the minute, and we are all coming back to our own realities: the next job, the next paycheck, the next adventure, where will we be traveling to next…  We’re forgetting about the world that we have made from the script, and leaving it for the editors and the director, if he remains involved in the editing (he might not—it depends on the director and the deal for each film).

This was based on a true story, and the real people have their own story right now, a continuation of the scripted one we have so briefly been a part of.  We said good bye to them last weekend, admiring their bravery, their hearts, and their family.  But still, this is just a movie for most of us, and it’s time to let go.

The lighting is finally ready, and Andrew, our original DP makes a surprise appearance.  He’s been off to Mt. Hood for the earlier part of this long day, shooting Brendan Fraser driving a convertible into the sunset for the happy ending of the script.  The DP climbs up a tall ladder to get into the scissor lift with the camera guys, and now they’re all looking through the blinds of a little piece of a motel room set window that we saved from the big set we built back on stage several weeks ago.  We cue the extras to come out into the parking lot as if they’re drunks banished at last call, and they’re pretty good actors, reeling and talking too loud, being stupid.  The producers laugh after each of the takes.  The actual filming is finished in less than forty minutes.  We gather up our lights, our tools, our ladders, and everything is stowed away in another hour.

I hand off my radio to the second AD, we hug, and then I make my farewells to the people left in the crew. Walking down the dark street and getting into my truck, I feel the usual suspects—the line up of emotions coursing through my awareness as I punch in my home address on my GPS unit.  I might be going to Spokane, next, or maybe I won’t get on that feature, in which case I’ll be writing and trying to sell my first flip house for a small profit.  I have met and grown to know and really like many people on this show, as always.  And as always, I feel enriched by the relationships we’ve formed, as fleeting and final as they might be.

The night is clear and warm as I drive home, and it’s so late there’s no traffic.  The stars sparkle in the deep arch of the sky, and I recognize this going-home feeling: bittersweet. After all the films I’ve done, it’s still hard to let everybody go, but in truth, they’ve already gone.  The locals have dispersed to their towns across this state and Washington or Montana; a few of the crew went to Europe, for a film shooting in Germany, I believe, and the rest are heading back to LA, to Texas, Louisiana, Washington DC, Australia, or other parts unknown.  After the wrap, we’ll all go wherever the carnival takes us.     

Bowling for Dollars

Laptop damaged during a run to put out a (metaphorical) fire on set has led to the borrowing of another laptop while the first is being fixed, which has led to connection problems and an inability to post my blog.  This is the fourth attempt to write my blog and actually save it to a hard drive and then upload it. I hope this works this time.

Last week of the show.  For the past few days we’ve been occupying a multi-million dollar mansion with a multi-million dollar view of a rambling lake nestled in forested hills.  Birds sing from the trees all day, and two red tail hawks and one eagle have been tracing circles in the sky spying on us as we bustle about with all our large, shiny equipment far below them.

It is a testament of sorts that we are so involved in our jobs that we have no time to be envious of the house or its owners.  In fact when they show up at the end of the day, we are slightly annoyed: “Who are these trespassers interrupting our work?”  They, in turn, are apologetic, skulking through their own home and watching in wonder as we rush about doing incomprehensible things with mysterious equipment.

Today, a day past my original blog entry, which is now lost to the cyber-void, we are in Big Al’s Bowling Alley, and there is a smaller bowling area next to the filmed area, so members of the crew have been quietly absconding with free bowling shoes and bowling a few frames in between camera set-ups.  Are there a lot of jobs out there where you still get paid even if you spend most of your day casually bowling whenever you feel like it?

JP, our sound guy, is a legendary bowler, who brought along a huge black bag with his own bowling ball engraved with “Venom” and “Hammer” on its dark green, angrily mottled surface.  I, on the other hand, have never bowled, except for one time in elementary school.  I wasn’t going to bowl this time, either, but JP, sitting in his sound cart right next to the bowling alley, told me to get my bowling shoes on and go for it—I think so he can live vicariously through us as he looks longingly over to those of the crew who are not confined to sitting in a sound cart for the entire day.

It’s great fun to have the run of a place like this, whether you bowl or not.  There are video games in one area, and lots of tables and chairs to get comfortable.  My first job of the day was transforming the copyrighted video game sign ”Wheel of Fortune” into something not copyrighted, of my own choosing.  I strategically placed some colored vinyl and lettering to make the lights spell out ”Wheel of Snoopy”, which is the name of my toy stuffed dog who has been my longsuffering companion (having lost an eye and all of his fur) since I was two, and who has already played a small part in this movie and in others (but that’s a story for another blog)—

Blog paused here: RUNNING AWAY!

Blog resuming here: I’m back.

I just got called to find some high heat paint and spray some lights for our gaffer and crew.  Did it, and now I’m back trying to complete this blog and upload it while I have the chance to hop on to Big Al’s free wi fi, before I’m called away again for another painting task.

So, my apologies for the scattered and short entry this time.  I’m just happy to get this into the site before I entertain another laptop problem…  We head for the beach tomorrow where we will finish out our week shooting with the actors for three days.  More on that adventure to come.  Oh, and more about my dog Snoopy’s film career in a future blog.

Early Call

This will be short, succinct and sincere.  We had a 4:30 am call today which meant I got up at 2:30 am and my day took off from there.  Shortly after I got to the set (which was a real live hospital, which means it wasn’t really a set, but a bustling, teeming multi-storied, skybridged, sprawling, ever-growing complex of buildings fillled with working doctors, nurses, patients, and gift shop employees), I followed the director and first AD and camera through long hallways and across bridges and around corners to find the main “set” for the day.

Once there, we all watched the shots being laid out, our director walking through each one as if he was the camera and then the subjects, and then the camera, again.  I always learn so much about creating reality during these efforts, and kept mental notes which came in handy later.  The shooting crew then sped off to do a couple of small scenes on the other side of the hospital, leaving the main set to the art director, the assistant art director, the standby carpenter and myself.  We began preparing signage for hallways and doorways, of which there were approximately three to four thousand.  It felt like that many, anyway.

After little or no sleep, the mind (mine, anyway) slips into a different kind of waking state: work can be done efficiently and everything is relaxed and even kind of fun.  I think they call it feeling “punchy”.  That was me all morning and into the afternoon.  We worked and socialized, even, while getting everything just right for the camera moves to come.

The signs were just getting the finishing touches when the rest of the shooting crew started rolling in, bringing long lines of carts and equipment.  It worked out perfectly, timing-wise, which I know is not a coincidence after all these years of racing the clock.  However, there was one failure on my part, later.  The sound guys wanted to lay cable all the way down the hospital corridor, which was highly polished white mottled linoleum floor and beige rubber floor molding, and extremely well lit.  I tried to make a white tape which covered over the cable blend into the linoleum mottling, but the shadows of the cable were just too noticeable, and we all reluctantly agreed that it couldn’t be scenically hidden in the five minutes or so we had to do the deed.  The guys had to resort to some kind of horrible hand-carried antenna gymnastics instead.  Sorry guys!

But the day went well otherwise, and I hope I don’t have work nightmares about that sound cable thing tonight, because I really need to get some good dreamtime in.  The wrap went as well as possible, considering we all had to use one freight elevator to get our many departments’ gear down to the trucks and loaded aboard.

By 5:00 pm I was on the highway, yawning and trying not to fret about the huge day tomorrow, when we will be once again moving our gear in and out within twelve to fourteen hours after filming with 750 extras at a roller rink and outdoor carnival.  Tonight I will try to dream instead of Hawaii and my vacation plans, which include dolphins and humpback whales and no 4:30 am call times unless the dolphins request it.