Wednesday, December 07, 2005

We shoot....we score! (Pam)

With a helicopter flying overhead, I stood in the -12 degree breeze at the base of a rigged out cherry picker and surveyed the controlled chaos around me.

Fifty talent, walking from their "diplomatic limosines" to a house, were choreographed as keenly as a Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes public petting session. It was magic.

I'll tell you what else was magic -- a 16-hour shoot day that did not end with tears, stitches or resignation.

There was some stress.

There was shocking purility (mostly from Chris Taciuk) that is so often the unfortunate product of boredom.

There were those special moments of theatrical climax as you wordlessly watch the battle of wills between director, producer and creative team.

Those are the most interesting exchanges, once distanced by 24 hours. The raging civility that masks the fury of creative will. Who's going to win? The Hollywood director who knows Steven Spielburg (or whomever) or the Cannes-winning creative team? Then the producer John-Waynes himself into the fray and lays the hammer down. Ba-bam! Crisis over. We breathe. We return to eating M&Ms.

Witnessing it is one thing. Having to participate in it is another.

It's an intimidating situation, particularly for a client. There's stuff happening that you just aren't down with. You know what you want, but because you're in foreign territory -- creative --what you want is sometimes difficult to get. Because the intangible must be articulated. It has to be defended with logic and words. Mental swashbucklery when you're tired and gassy from sitting all day. It's a bitch.

Anyway, we got 'er done. Ruckus Films ponied up a major production on our behalf. Generous, generous, generous.

Our principal talent was suffering from a brutal bout of temporary brain atrophy but pulled it out a couple times to give some stellar moments. I swear to Buddha, I thought I was going to have to get in there and do it myself. Literally, I was on the verge of tears at some points. Alas, even tears would not have helped this poor woman of plethoric mental seizures. I chose to silently curse her instead. Then wildly blessed her when she got it right. Man, I felt so sorry for her and for me, too. She was a rollercoaster, baby!

And where was Bill Baker through all of this? I don't know. Probably cheating on me with some other client. Typical agency client-izer.


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