I returned from Los Angeles late last night where I was shooting a 7-minute version of a sitcom pilot I’ve written with Ben Brooks and Renée Percy. The name of the sitcom is “Stay at Home Dan”; the name of the pilot episode is “Chick Magnet”.
The three of us financed, produced, directed and starred in it ourselves. We had a wicked crew consisting of director of photography John Schmidt, production manager Brandi Wright, sound recordist Sean Oakley, gaffer Carlos Jackson and grip J.R. Latouche. We also had a great supporting cast with Jessica Sattel, Pete Gardner and Jay Malone.
Now begins my favorite step in the process: editing. It’s the part where I finally get to write the story.
I think it’s possible to let your problems work for you. They can affect how you tell a story, but any story can be told any way.
The simplest possible method to tell the story is for you yourself to deliver the story directly to camera. And there’s even different ways of doing that – video/film diary, home video/movies, various styles of news report, documentary/mockumentary, etc.
That’s the simplest. Everything else is an expansion of that.
Several years ago, I had a small role (what they call a day player) in a TV drama.
At some point during the production of this TV show, I was interviewed by a marketing assistant for inclusion in the show’s press kit, what they give to journalists in advance of the show’s premiere in order to gain news coverage. I was interviewed for 45 minutes over the phone.
A few weeks later, I was told that the associate producer of the TV show wanted to meet with me. I sat down across from her in her office as she informed me that I would not be included in the press kit. She offered some excuse – not enough space or something like that. I don’t remember clearly because it wasn’t really my business; it was their press kit and they could package it any way they wanted. I was a day player, not a star.
So when the press kit was eventually distributed, I knew I was not included in it, it didn’t matter to me, but I was curious to learn about some of the other actors on the show.
Now, there was a dog on this TV show – an extremely well-groomed border collie named Charlie. And I love dogs. I am a “dog person.” Dogs are the most consistently happy creatures I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Well, the dog was in the press kit.
I’ll say that again, simply for emphasis, the – dog – was – in – the – press – kit.
I’m not one to think that my species is overly superior to any other, but really, how difficult is it for a dog to hit his marks, remain in the moment and look appealing to a wide demographic?
According to the press kit, Charlie had once worked with Gene Hackman. I certainly could not claim that, I thought. Then I kicked myself for comparing my own credentials to those of a dog. Like I said, I love dogs, but not when I’m competing with them for column space in a newspaper.
I did not go to the wrap party. I could not bring myself to look Charlie in the muzzle.
My only consolation – I may have been a news-unworthy day player, but at least no doctor removed my testicles.
Occasionally, Acts of God are shown on television. Because they are so very rare, miracles, when witnessed on a media so saturated with middle-of-the-road content, are quite amazing to behold.
I witnessed a miracle on television yesterday.
If you were part of the 75% of the population which statistically stayed home for New Year’s Eve or if you happened to be channel surfing when it happened, you too may have witnessed this miracle.
Every channel worth its weight in solemnity had some sort of slow-dissolve coverage. Clicking on the remote like a game show buzzer, I surfed from France’s exploding Eiffel Tower to Norwegians peacefully playing music on instruments carved from ice to the Pope trying hard to move to Nigerian musicians trying hard not to move in 90°F heat to previously-taped footage of celebrations throughout Asia and Oceania. I was everywhere at once.
One of the stops on my picture-box journey was Amsterdam. There were thousands of people dancing in the street – disco boomed from massive Peavey’s. People were hugging and screaming, “I love you, Everybody!”, into any available camera. Never before had so many smiles been shown in primetime. As CAMERA 1 panned across the throng of joyous Dutch revellers, the frame came across one young man as happy as any. In his hand, CAMERA 1 clearly showed, was a super-size hand-rolled “cigarette”. The shot was held for atleast 3 or 4 seconds. CAMERA 1, upon realizing what the man was smoking, carefully panned away to some lights shining on a calm old building.
But it was too late. The miracle had already occurred. Millions of people all over the world had been shown some Dutch kid smoking a spliff in public. Granted, that’s not unusual for Amsterdam but some countries – some censors – would have your hands removed for such acts.
Seeing CAMERA 1 realize what was in his frame was the kicker though. Perhaps his delay was the result of second-hand smoke. It was one of those moments that makes television worth watching – unprogrammed and real. A refreshing change from the most demographically-structured New Year’s Eve I may ever experience.
