Mr. Van Sant, May I Call You ‘Gus’?

It looks like Gus Van Sant is really and truly going to make his latest film happen up here in Oregon.  I had planned to interview a friend of mine, Jerry Alden Deal, about his progress with completing his “totally independent digital feature film”, Dreams Awake, which we filmed during the summer of 2007 in Mt. Shasta.  It was my third film as a production designer and I’m cheering Jerry on as he gets to the finish line for this amazingly difficult and ultimately rewarding project.  Jerry’s blog has described so many of the problems (and solutions) that can be encountered on the way toward a film’s completion and release that I have recommended it to a local university professor who teaches filmmaking.  I hope at least a few of his students—and anyone else out there who wants to know the inside take on filmmaking from start to finish—take the time to peruse Jerry’s blog at Indie Film Blog.

However, I procrastinated on calling Jerry until this morning, so I may not get the interview down in time for today.   I know! Procrastination is a hideous and annoying habit.  And I missed last week’s blog, too.  What can I say?  I’ve mentioned before that it’s all about me, all of the time, and this time, for the past week, I have been trying to find and then purchase a house while whittling down the price from the bank that owns it.  So I’ve been busy trying to establish my real estate empire (of one 900 square foot house).

This is where Gus Van Sant comes in.  By the way, I’m going to have to add his name into my word processor’s dictionary because it is constantly changing the capital ‘V’ to a small ‘v’ on his surname, and I will be writing to him soon, so I don’t want to misspell the first thing I say to him.  I thought I would write a series of blogs that describe the actual process of me getting on to a movie, from beginning to end.

So this is the first stage in that process.  And remember, working in film is a chancy thing, where skill is usually at least somewhat tempered by luck.  That’s what I’m going to tell myself, anyway, if I don’t get on the show.

So here’s what has already happened:

Last week I talked to my scenic artist friend Kenny, who told me that a Gus Van Sant show might be coming to Portland, so I read the trades, find out that there’s something called Restless that he has been trying to get started up here.  I then call my union Business Agent (don’t know if that should be capitalized, but I will capitalize it just in case my Business Agent reads this).  He says they’re trying to get the green light, because they have to go into production (start shooting) by November 2^nd, but there are “ownership issues”, so my BA isn’t sure what’s happening.

Meanwhile I wait, pretending I’m not broke and worrying about my next paycheck.  I fret about the book excerpt I sent out to an agent who is reading it on her Kindle and has had it for a while, and wonder if that’s a good sign (Sure it is! Probably…).  I start looking for cheap, cheap, cheap bank-owned properties that a) aren’t contaminated top to bottom with deadly black mold; and b) aren’t thoroughly demolished by their former tenants, apparently a family of angry apes.  I give my BA a week or so, then call him to see if the Gus Van Sant show is a reality or a pleasant mirage.

That second call was this morning.  The film is a sure thing!  My BA is on his way to the production office as we speak on the phone; hoping that they have gotten their phones set up and can give him an email address for resumes.  He asks me to call him this afternoon to get the info.

At this point in the job search, I look at my options.  I would love to work on this show as the production designer.  But this is union, and so far on union jobs I have flown straight into that glass ceiling, and after crash landing back on the “standby painter / scenic artist” floor (which is covered with old latex paint, varnish, grime, and reeks of noxious fumes), I have to shake off the stunning headache and reorganize myself.  So far, this show doesn’t yet have a production designer.  But this afternoon, I may find out differently.  So, I wait for news on that front.

If they don’t have a designer yet, I’m going to go in person to the office and personally, as a real person, hand in my resume to whoever is running the show up there right now, hoping that it is someone I know who may be called a true friend.  Then I will hope that he or she, my true friend, will send my resume and my letter, a carefully crafted literary marvel that presents me as experienced, assertive, creative and confident, but not arrogant, pretentious, and riddled with imposter’s syndrome (see my earlier blog on this terrible psychological disorder that most often afflicts women), on to an Important Executive Person that Matters.

If they do have a designer already, I will have to weigh my options, which should only require a gram scale, since I don’t have that many.  I will debate on the feasibility of presenting myself to the designer as a potential art director, or as a potential scenic artist.  There are disadvantages to both.

Both positions have been filled before on Gus’s other shows up here (see how I’m already calling him Gus?  That’s confidence in action, following rules from The Secret!).  The positions have been filled by local people in my own union, who probably really know Gus well enough to use his first name.  I am a nobody to him right now.  But this is where the magic happens—in the very near future, I, too, may know Gus.  If I get hired as anything on this show, that is.

If I decide to go for art director, I would have to count on luck: the previous art director is busy, or the job wasn’t his in the first place; plus, my letter would have to be actually read by someone who has the authority to hire me and likes what he or she reads.  They would also have to be free of the prejudice against painters and women who consider themselves art director material.  There’s a great deal of luck involved there, no matter how fantabulous my letter is.  My resume is exceptional, but I’ve come to suspect that they don’t even look at those.

If I present myself for working as a scenic artist, I may end up working for Kenny, since he is the lead scenic that Gus has had on his other shows.  Which would be great, except that if there’s not much painting, I won’t be more than a day player, which provides just enough work to screw up unemployment, so that after taxes you get less than if you’d stayed at home painting your nails.  I would probably be the go-to girl for standby painter on the show, but with their budget I don’t think they have the money for a standby.  Even though, for the record, a good standby painter can take your film from Awful to Oscar.  You don’t have to believe me, but when experience speaks…

In any case, I’ll go up to the office in person, with my stupid little letter of self-proclamation, my extensive resume, and my clumsily hidden self-doubts.

I will keep you all informed of the next steps and you’ll get an idea of the process I usually endure (I mean enjoy) in seeking a position on a feature film.

Wish me luck, and let’s hope that within a few weeks’ time I can actually call Mr. Van Sant ‘Gus’ with impunity and authority because he now knows who I am because I now work for him.

And meanwhile, to keep the job-related fretting to a minimum, I’m staying busy.  I’m getting a home inspection for the property that I have bargained for and bought, hoping (believing!) that luck will be on my side and not on the side of wood-destroying pests, angry apes (who stole all the appliances and tore up the floors, but seemingly let the house survive mostly intact), or Oregon’s biggest cash crop: deadly black mold.  But first, I’m going to go downstairs and re-watch The Secret.  For Gus’s sake.