Stories from the studio, location and suite. To add your story, e-mail the Script-Keeper!
If It Walks Like a Duck ...
by William Barret, Studio One
The name of the client must be kept confidential, but let's just say it was
a nationally-known biscuit baking company. The same secret must be kept for
the ad agency as well--even though their name reminded one of underwear...
The client had a new biscuit that appealed to Granola-head soccer moms
everywhere since it had less of all those evil poisons makers of kid snacks
like to put in their sorry excuses for "food". It did not, of course, appeal
to kids raised on a diet of Frosted Sugar Bombs and Twinkies and Coke. So
it had to appeal to moms.
The new product was called "Quackers", and it was kinda like an oderless,
tastless, colorless, bland cracker made of shirt-cardboard. Since it was so
undistinguished by itself, it desperately needed something with actual taste
to go along with it--and so was born the campaign's slogan, "Milk and
Quackers".
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
The shot called for Roscoe, the trained duck, to stand, look healthy and
intelligent, and quack, twice, next to the appetizing-looking glass of
Elmer's white glue, and the box of carefully hand-painted cardboard chunks
masquerading as real cookies.
Simple.
Not so simple. Roscoe, the trained duck, would sit and quack. He would also
stand silently. He would even walk and quack. But Roscoe would not stand
still and quack. The Director and Alvin, the duck trainer, tried everything.
It dragged on for hours as the crew's meters all ticked furiously away...
The agency man was firm. The spot had been Storyboarded, Animatrixed,
Focused, Defined, Refined, and Redefined by bigger shots than him till it was
perfect. They simply HAD to shoot it according to the script, or nobody
would ever work in this town again. (Especially the agency man himself.)
Finally, in exasperation, the Director yelled out what all directors yell out
when they are butt-to-the-wall pending disaster exasperated and need to buy
time to figure out how to save themselves. "Dinner--One hour!" he yelled.
The command was echoed, only louder, by the slippery reptillian life form
that was the production manager, as he adjusted his backwards baseball cap in
a self-important hopelessly uncool and clueless manner.
The crew bugged out so fast it sounded like a motor vehicle accident.
The Director left Mike, the grip, and Tommy, the ever-resourceful gaffer, in
charge of all the equipment, and promised he'd bring something back for them
from the Greasy, Beefy BurgerBarf across the street.
Two hours and nineteen minutes later the Director reappeared with the the
agency man in tow, carrying some stained white paper bags containing old,
cold burgers. He nearly dropped the bags in astonishment! There
stood--STOOD, mind you!--Roscoe right on his marks quacking his fool head
off!
The Director grabbed for a camera, frantic the event might end before he
could shoot enough of it to save his sorry ass. "Roll 'em--Quick!" he
screamed.
"Don't worry," said Mike as he chomped off a section of the cold BurgerBarf
that would make a 50 year-old Louisiana deep-bayou alligator proud. "We got
over a half-hour of this in the can now."
"But how did you get him to stand there and quack?" asked the director as his
heart rate slowed, and he lowered the camera from off his shoulder.
"Simple," said Tommy, the ever-resourceful gaffer. "We stapled his feet to
the table."
The Grip from Hell
By Rick Johnston
The guy came walking in one day and stated that he had just graduated from a Communications program at the local university. He wanted to get started in the business. He was a tall, well-built guy and we needed strong bodies for an upcoming shoot, so we booked him as a freelance Production Assistant.
The morning of the shoot, he asked if he could be called a Grip instead of a PA. The Director said, "Sure. You're now a grip." The Producer added, " ... but you don't get any more money."
The first location was a residential garage. Steadicam. HMI's balancing the interior to the exterior so the Steadicam op could lead talent outside when the automatic door opened.
The Grip from Hell was called upon to set up the BVW-50 and Sony 8" monitor so we could check playback. That he did. He dutifully plugged in the BVW power supply and 4-pin DC cable. He plugged in the monitor. Then he found a cable we use in emergencies. It has two alligator clips on one end and a 4-pin XLR on the other so that in a pinch we can tap power off a car battery.
For some inexplicable reason, the Grip from Hell thought he needed to plug that in to the monitor as well. So he found a 14/3 110-volt cord, removed the receptacle end, attached the alligator clips to the bare wires, and plugged it into the monitor. I happened to glance over just as he pushed the power button on the monitor. Instant special effects: Sparks flying everywhere.
Okay, so we can get by with the small hand-held LCD color receiver/monitor we always carry in the truck.
One of the HMIs was set up in the corner next to the garage door. Its legs blocked the side entrance door. The Grip was asked to retrieve the LCD monitor from the truck. He moved the HMI as he exited the side door.
A couple of minutes later, we had picture. The Director wanted to check the lighting balance, so he told the Grip from Hell to push the button to activate the automatic garage door opener. As we all huddled over the tiny LCD display, we heard a crash. When he moved the HMI, the Grip from Hell had removed the sandbag and placed one of its legs on the rubber seal at the bottom of the garage door. When the door opened, it simply lifted the leg until the HMI toppled. HMI pieces were everywhere.
The Grip from Hell was relegated to logging time code.
Finally, we got the shot. The cameraman popped the tape and handed it to the Grip from Hell, who promptly dropped it on the concrete floor. Betacam-SP pieces everywhere.
The Grip from Hell decided he loved the business so much that he wanted to attend film school. He found a college in San Francisco that gave him a scholarship. Ironically or coincidentally, he arrived there during the baseball playoffs a few years ago. Remember? The year Al Michaels called the play-by-play of the earthquake?
The Chairman
By William Barrett, Studio One
The Chairman was known to be unhappy that he needed to be made up for
television. His feeling was that foolishness like makeup was for dandies
like Tom Brokaw, but not for practical hardnosed regular American
businessmen. The needs of the medium were tactfully explained to him many
times over the years, but he persisted in his belief that makeup was not for
Real Business Men...
As the Makeup Artist arrived, she bumped into the Production Assistant, who
helpfully suggested that the Makeup Artist should "...go real light on the
makeup."
As the Makeup Artist wended her way deeper into the recesses of the studio,
she encountered the Assistant Director who carefully suggested she "...go
real light on the makeup."
Finally, as the Makeup Artist set up shop, and prepared to receive The
Chairman himself, The Director stuck his head in the doorway, and admonished
her to "...go real light on the makeup."
When The Chairman--himself--appeared on the set a few minutes later, he
looked exactly like Marcel Marceau.
Isn't it great to be in the communication business?