STIPIMM: “How Much is That Doggie in the Window,” by Bob MerrillA month, huh?
Last weekend, I extricated myself from what was becoming a very frustrating film situation.
Early this year, when I was still working at H&R Block, my slate was pretty much clear as far as doing films was concerned. I was seriously worried about my ability to get work in my chosen industry, even if it didn’t pay much at first. Now that I have two teaching gigs lined up, am working for the biggest film editing software maker, and am directly or tangentially involved in several different film projects, it’s kind of hard to remember how worried I was, but I was indeed concerned that I was going to be stuck taking various ho-hum jobs in graphic design or layout.
It was in this worrisome environment that I first answered to an ad on
Craig’s List looking for a production manager and editor (two separate positions) for a feature-length film that was being produced in New Hampshire. It was advertised as a “paid job,” which made it all the more attractive. So, I answered the ad, offering my services for both positions and looking to find out more about the project.
The producer called me back the next day and, to my astonishment, was ready to hire me on the spot. I was not entirely committal, but I did express interest, wanting to know a little bit about the film and the details. She told me that it was a low-budget horror picture* and would be filming this fall. Other details were yet to be determined, and I tentatively agreed to be on board. We didn’t talk about pay or anything like that, because well, I’m used to waiting until a face-to-face interview or follow-up phone call to ask things like that when you’re looking for a job. I had no idea that this phone call was going to encompass the entire hiring process.
As I hung up the phone (can we say that anymore – I pushed “end” on my cell phone…), my spidey sense was tingling like crazy. I had been a production manager on a feature film before and was intimately knowledgable of how all this worked, and there were several things that made the red lights flash:
-- She was willing to hire the production manager (PM), perhaps the most important position in the pre-production of a feature film, after only having seen my resume and talked to me for a minute on the phone. I’ve had cases where someone was hiring for a one-day gig and talked to me on the phone for half-an-hour before even hinting that I was hired.
-- The details of the movie itself were sketchy, and a script wasn’t expected until summer (it’s hard to plan for something when you don’t know what you’re planning for…).
-- In general, the producer was not interested in discussing details. Indeed, she talked at a mile-a-minute, and always seemed to be ready to get off the phone (even if she wasn’t actively trying to get off the phone)
But I went along with things anyway. Such is me, especially at that time when things, like I said, were so uncertain. And more than that, I was happy to have a chance to be a production manager again on a feature film. The first time I was a PM was for a
movie in D.C., and as Bridget can tell you, it was one of the more painful and stressful (albeit educational and ultimately rewarding) experiences of my life. I was looking forward to being able to apply what I had learned from all my mistakes in the previous film to another film.
The producer called me a couple of days later to ask me a couple of questions about my editing system and if I was on board. I said I was, and we talked a little more about details. Not to overuse the word, but they were sketchy. There were going to be meetings with crew in the summer, and the filming itself was set for such and such weekends in fall. She was assembling cast and crew (a task that usually falls on the production manager to organize, and with good reason). That should have sent up another red flag, but more on that later. And then, almost in passing, as we were about to hang up, she mentioned that I would get separate deferred pay points for the PM and editor jobs.
And at that moment, I should have turned down the gig and ran. For those of you who don’t know how these things work, a lot of independent films choose to, for obvious budgetary reasons, defer the pay of cast and crew by giving them “points,” which is to say, percentage points of the film’s profit, if there is any. So, for instance, if this film had made $10,000 in profit, and I had 5 points, then I would have received a check for $500.
Deferred pay is not an unusual situation in indie filmmaking and no one usually has any illusions about the reality of getting paid – in most cases, the film you’re working on will not make a profit and you’ll get nothing except an entry on your resume and a DVD for your collection. But there is one unspoken rule about it: you are always upfront about it, and you NEVER claim it’s a “paid gig.” When a professional reads “paid” without the word “deferred” before it, he/she assumes that there is a paycheck at the end of the day. Such is what I assumed, until I was told, in passing, that it was deferred.
Were I thinking clearly then, and were I not so desperate for work and a chance to redeem myself, I would have spotted this obviously unprofessional behavior and dropped it all. But I went along with it, since I really wasn’t doing it for the pay anyway, and it still sounded like a fun project.
Time passed, seasons changed…well, one season… and then the time for the first meeting rolled around – early May. Now, to this point, the producer had not included me in any discussion of things, and I didn’t think too much of it, because I didn’t think the production was getting started until this first meeting. I didn’t know what to expect at this first meeting, but I trusted that the producer and her assistant had some plans for it.
Well, that was a “sketchy” assumption. When I got to the meeting, the producer took the cast off to the side and we in the crew were pretty much just left there to, well, fend for ourselves. As production manager, I quickly recognized the chaos and took control; after that the meeting found some semblance of order. But still, I had not been informed as to the nature of the meeting, and had I not stepped up or hadn’t been able to attend (which was a real possibility), the crew members would have just sat around twiddling their thumbs until they finally decided to leave. Even with me calling things to order, I wasn’t in any position to really lead a meeting – I had to improvise on the spot, and since, like I said, details were “sketchy,” I was basically winging it. Under the circumstances, I think I did a superb job, but I’m sure most of the crew, some of whom had traveled from over 100 miles away, felt like they had wasted their time in coming… and I didn’t disagree.
After that meeting, it became clear that the producer wasn’t going to be telling me when and how to get things going, so I had to take it upon myself to basically start the thing from the ground up. And so I did. But what I was faced with was a mountain of chaos – principal crew members who had been hired with even less an interview than I had, and who had no contact or information about the film beyond a 1-minute phone call; some positions for which the producer had unwittingly hired multiple people; and perhaps most disastrously, professionals who were originally under the same impression that I had been – that this gig was truly “paid,” not deferred.
And my efforts were an overwhelming success. The second meeting, which was held two Fridays ago, was infinitely more organized and on track than that first debacle. I feel confident saying no one left that meeting with any major questions unanswered and feeling that the production wasn’t in good hands.
But while this meeting was successful overall, severe cracks were starting to appear. To take the next steps in the production, I was going to have to start keeping track of the budget and overseeing the script breakdown. On both these points I was stymied – first off, the script wasn’t freakin’ finished (and that script that was there was in serious need of trimming), and second, the producer was reticent to release any expenditure and budget information, and so there was no way I could speak knowledgably about the budget and make plans for spending (a fundamental aspect of being a PM). And to fill in the downtimes during the meeting, we put on a DVD of the last movie this producer did. I had not seen it before, and let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
But the real kicker that finally put me over the edge was the fact that the producer was planning on spending $20,000 on this project, but had only raised $1,000 thus far. Whenever asked about the discrepancy, she would point to the script and say that once that came in (it was being written by someone I never met), then the fundraising could begin in earnest and the money would come in. Now, I like optimism as much as the next filmmaker, but this was beyond the pale ridiculous. I think it’s just a cardinal rule of business that you don’t count on money that’s not in the bank, and this was as fundamental a violation as you could get – even if the script winds up being great, there’s no immediate guarantee of funding, despite whatever contacts she thought she might have.
After the meeting was over, I told Bridget that, even with my working to get the thing organized, the movie had only a 50-50 chance of ever getting off the ground, simply because of the money situation (you can plan and be as optimistic as you want – if there’s no money, there’s no movie). The next morning, it struck me that I was working my ass off for a production that I wasn’t even confident was going to happen, and if it was going to happen, would wind up looking like the not-so-good movie that we showed at the meeting.
And so, I quit. The day after the meeting.
And it surprised the heck out of the producer, who struggled to understand why I was leaving, but finally accepted it. And I’m sure it’s going to surprise a lot of the crew members who saw me confidently leading the production just the day before. But it had to be done – for my own sake. Before, I was looking forward to several busy months of frustrating planning and orchestration, followed by a few fun weekends, and then editing a lackluster product. Now, with that weight off my shoulders, I can focus on the projects that really matter to me – Indian Girl and Commit to the Line (the documentary I started editing work on last year). And I learned an important lesson – no matter how desperate you are for work, never say yes until you know all the details to your satisfaction. Let’s hope I can apply that lesson from here on out!
* I am omitting any specific references to what the film was, because having been the victim of a “Google-byte” in the recent past, I’m trying to be careful. (Google-byte is my own little phrase for a situation where someone who is mentioned disparagingly on your web page or blog stumbles onto the offensive post after typing their name into Google. I’m sure there’s another word for it out there, but this is the one I like. [The past-tense verb form: Google-bit… which I guess is one-eighth of the noun form…])
4) I took Electra all sorts of places, even on vacation sometimes, and the physical wear and tear has taken its toll. Beyond cosmetic nicks and abrasions, the latch that holds her shut finally stopped closing late last year. Then, one day a few months ago, she fell out of the car (making my heart stop for a few seconds), and damaged (but didn't break!) one of the hinges that holds the screen to the computer. Now, opening her up is a delicate process, lest I damage the hinge further.
