"Why isn't he calling action!?" I can feel their nerves firing off in my direction as brain waves. "Call action dammit! Call action!" Something's not right. It's too dark. How can the film possibly come out properly exposed? "Call action David! Call action!" Through the brainwaves, someone swears at me in French. "We are all standing here waiting for you! Call action!"
I try to say it, my mouth isn't working. Seconds, tens of seconds of film, going to waste. Hundreds of dollars of processing and transfer for nothing. I can't say it. Something's wrong with my voice. I try again, taking a deep breathe and....
I'm back at the cabin at McGunticook Campground. It's over. It's already done. This panicked dream, an echo of many months of consumed attention and five days of complete panic, chaos, and in a few quiet moments (not all, just a few) as the camera rolled... bliss.
Preproduction
Almost all of preproduction occurred as I worked as a videographer on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. Phone was expensive. So was Internet as hundreds of dollars went to simply communicating with my team. I would sit on a mountaintop in St. Thomas drinking a pina colada while talking over the shots with the DP duo Chuck & Twist in Montreal.
I felt, sometimes, like Daniel Ocean, collecting his team for the heist of the century. "We need one more don't we? One more." But it wasn't 11. It was 15... 19... 25... CUT! We cannot have more than 25 people on this project! Who's paying for this? I am. Who has to house, feed, and cover associated costs for 25 people! I do. We stop at 25.
A week before shooting we had two days of auditions: one in Boston at M.I.T, and one in Portland at the Maine Film Office. Despite our best efforts, the turnout was tragically low, and while there was a quite a selection for the lead character (Joanna: age 17, slight-average build, long hair preferred), we had only an ill-fitting (or unavailable) selection for the male roles.
Days before production, we STILL had not locked locations, male actors, or an Assistant Director. Do you know what the assistant director does? The assistant director in charge of the set so that the director has time to direct! I turn to Jo (the associate producer) one morning as we wake up on a friend's living room floor. "It's done," I say - giving the death sentence. "Bad planning. I've got to call it off before it's too late. This is going to be a train wreck." For months I had felt like a long distance hurdler, and every obstacle was a hurdle I had to overcome. As I hit the ground the distance between the hurdles shortened. The hurdles got taller too.
"Just wait until the weekend. Give it time. It's coming together. There are other people helping you now." Jo gave me some faith, when mine was failing. By Friday the French Canadian contingent (4 more people) had arrived. Too many people were in town now, making talk of quitting was now no longer a singular decision, but an all out fight that I wasn't prepared to make. I tried not to hate Jo as I quickened over the hurdles, now aware of a steam engine at my back, and I could not get off the track.
Shooting was to take place Wednesday. It was Saturday night and I was doing a telephone audition with my, now, only option for one of the male roles - Sandy. Lacking any other workable alternative that I could see for the other male role - I cast myself. "We've compromised too much," I told some close crew members. I was in a dark mood that night. "It's over, I just want you to know that whatever I though this piece could be - it can't be that anymore. Just a poor imitation."
We found an AD. Emilie, a professional director, and one of the Directors of Photography's cousins enthusiastically agreed to come aboard.
Sunday night, The Maine Media Workshops, let us in on another hurdle. "More classes are using equipment than we thought. Also they're using all the sound equipment." For a period of time, "The Nightingales Sing" was a silent movie.
Jon, a man who answered an online ad for an unpaid grip position, just happened to be a sound expert. He rented a Uhaul (on me of course) and brought the sound equipment and other basic necessary supplies we needed to get the job done.
Jim, playing Sandy, arrived on Monday and delivered his first live read of the character. It was off. Jim is a super type A, the character Sandy is a super type B. I gave some direction and we tried again. Just as completely incredibly off. We're fucked. I take Jo aside. Jo also happens to be an acupuncturist and very in touch with her inner self. "Jo, you've got to help me. We've got to get this guy doing some regular meditation sessions, Tai chi, something!" I can feel the cowcatcher on the back of my ankles.
Miracle on top of miracle came together to make this shoot happen. So much so that it is hard to feel that it wasn't somehow fated to happen. It all came together in 5 crazy days of shooting. I made a lot of bad decisions on this project. The worst was to finish pre-production so unprepared. It made everyone's job so much harder for the entirety of the shoot. I can make excuses about my lack of experience, and some things that fell through, and some people that let me down, but I would rather focus on something I did right. I picked the right crew. We pulled it off. The shoot was a success.
And Jim, the type A, who on his first read went WAY too far into some sexual deviance of his character, he was actually not too shabby - and a great singer to boot.
I loose my linear narrative at this point. Too little sleep. Too much adrenaline. Someone else will have to tell you what happened from this point on. I just have the voices in my head...
Production
"You have to eat look at you!"
"David, this decision has already been decided. There is no compromise. Everyone is against you. Oliver disagrees with you, Emilie disagrees with you, Genevieve has changed her mind and now disagrees with you. We have to use the second barn, it's the only way. When you sent that text at 4 am saying you changed your mind and want to use the first barn, I couldn't go back to sleep at all."
"I couldn't go back to sleep until I sent you that text! It's the wrong barn! Just because you French Canadians all came together doesn't mean you can gang up on me. You TOLD ME the the first barn would work. And it's the only one that fits the damn story! Is this production now a democracy? Do we really need a director at all because it seems that everyone else is completely comfortable doing my job!" Note: I learned that though an unpaid production is not a democracy, as every person is vital, every person, if they chose, can also dictate.
"David, sit and eat!"
"So it looks like the schedule will be all night shoots. 5 pm to 5 am."
"You pretentious piece of shit, learn how to use a light meter!" (they hugged it out later)
"You know what Dave, you're going to go somewhere. You're good people."
"And another thing - ENGLISH ON SET!"
"So do you like the room we created?"
"Yes, but lose these pillows, lose that chair, lose the books, lose the blanket, lose anything else that looks pretty."
"As you wish."
"I've gone back to the campground and will be staying in a tent. I can't take it anymore."
"Eat this now!"
"This is one of those things that I can now check off the list of things to do before I die."
"I'm so glad I met you."
"We've just spent two hours lighting a damn pipe!"
"This was an incredible experience."
"I'm ready for the next shot."
"But you're not in wardrobe!"
"I want to work on your next project."
"That's a wrap!"
"I had SO much fun."
Day four of the shoot, the sky is lightening. The primary location is looking like it did before we arrived. The equipment has been loaded and has left already. The only people to stay behind are me, Jim Powers (playing Sandy), and Jon Frost. Jon sits on the stairs holding the boom pole in this big vacant room. Jim plays the song one last time. I make a slight modification. He starts over and we try again.
We're all exhausted. The hardest days are over. We sit there under a single light bulb, the boom pole hanging down. Jim soulfully fingers the last few strings on the guitar.
We wait as Jon plays it back, listening intensely with his hands on his headphones. There's color in the sky now, a nice blue and the fog seems to be clearing. Such a strange moment. Such a strange combination of people never to repeated again.
"Sounds good." Jon looks up. We move on.
Post Production
We got every shot that we think we need. It's like carving a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece and then we cross are fingers and hope the pieces somehow fit - that it cuts - and that the picture on the puzzle is still at least as good as the one the picture I saw in my head so long ago.
Processing and HD transfer will occur at Technicolor, Canada. It will be put on a hard drive ans shipped to me in Camden, Maine. Here, my friend Matt Perez has agreed to be the assistant editor. He'll log all the clips and put together the assembly.
When he's done, he'll nod his head or he'll shake it. That's when we will know. I've come around since my thinking before production - my talk of it just being a poor imitation and all that. If he nods... we may have something.
Almost all of preproduction occurred as I worked as a videographer on a cruise ship in the Caribbean. Phone was expensive. So was Internet as hundreds of dollars went to simply communicating with my team. I would sit on a mountaintop in St. Thomas drinking a pina colada while talking over the shots with the DP duo Chuck & Twist in Montreal.
I felt, sometimes, like Daniel Ocean, collecting his team for the heist of the century. "We need one more don't we? One more." But it wasn't 11. It was 15... 19... 25... CUT! We cannot have more than 25 people on this project! Who's paying for this? I am. Who has to house, feed, and cover associated costs for 25 people! I do. We stop at 25.
Hitting the Ground
After 6 months at sea, I had given myself two weeks before the start of production. We had, it seemed, a window of a single week in August to get access to the most equipment at my old film school, The Maine Media Workshops. Week one on the ground was also a tour de force of family members that needed to know I hadn't forgotten about them out on the ocean, family members quite unable to understand the dire timetable I was on. If ever there was a lesson I learned on this shoot it is this: two weeks on the ground is not enough. My next shoot, if there is one, will have a completed shooting schedule before the production dates are set!A week before shooting we had two days of auditions: one in Boston at M.I.T, and one in Portland at the Maine Film Office. Despite our best efforts, the turnout was tragically low, and while there was a quite a selection for the lead character (Joanna: age 17, slight-average build, long hair preferred), we had only an ill-fitting (or unavailable) selection for the male roles.
Days before production, we STILL had not locked locations, male actors, or an Assistant Director. Do you know what the assistant director does? The assistant director in charge of the set so that the director has time to direct! I turn to Jo (the associate producer) one morning as we wake up on a friend's living room floor. "It's done," I say - giving the death sentence. "Bad planning. I've got to call it off before it's too late. This is going to be a train wreck." For months I had felt like a long distance hurdler, and every obstacle was a hurdle I had to overcome. As I hit the ground the distance between the hurdles shortened. The hurdles got taller too.
"Just wait until the weekend. Give it time. It's coming together. There are other people helping you now." Jo gave me some faith, when mine was failing. By Friday the French Canadian contingent (4 more people) had arrived. Too many people were in town now, making talk of quitting was now no longer a singular decision, but an all out fight that I wasn't prepared to make. I tried not to hate Jo as I quickened over the hurdles, now aware of a steam engine at my back, and I could not get off the track.
Shooting was to take place Wednesday. It was Saturday night and I was doing a telephone audition with my, now, only option for one of the male roles - Sandy. Lacking any other workable alternative that I could see for the other male role - I cast myself. "We've compromised too much," I told some close crew members. I was in a dark mood that night. "It's over, I just want you to know that whatever I though this piece could be - it can't be that anymore. Just a poor imitation."
We found an AD. Emilie, a professional director, and one of the Directors of Photography's cousins enthusiastically agreed to come aboard.
Sunday night, The Maine Media Workshops, let us in on another hurdle. "More classes are using equipment than we thought. Also they're using all the sound equipment." For a period of time, "The Nightingales Sing" was a silent movie.
Jon, a man who answered an online ad for an unpaid grip position, just happened to be a sound expert. He rented a Uhaul (on me of course) and brought the sound equipment and other basic necessary supplies we needed to get the job done.
Jim, playing Sandy, arrived on Monday and delivered his first live read of the character. It was off. Jim is a super type A, the character Sandy is a super type B. I gave some direction and we tried again. Just as completely incredibly off. We're fucked. I take Jo aside. Jo also happens to be an acupuncturist and very in touch with her inner self. "Jo, you've got to help me. We've got to get this guy doing some regular meditation sessions, Tai chi, something!" I can feel the cowcatcher on the back of my ankles.
Miracle on top of miracle came together to make this shoot happen. So much so that it is hard to feel that it wasn't somehow fated to happen. It all came together in 5 crazy days of shooting. I made a lot of bad decisions on this project. The worst was to finish pre-production so unprepared. It made everyone's job so much harder for the entirety of the shoot. I can make excuses about my lack of experience, and some things that fell through, and some people that let me down, but I would rather focus on something I did right. I picked the right crew. We pulled it off. The shoot was a success.
And Jim, the type A, who on his first read went WAY too far into some sexual deviance of his character, he was actually not too shabby - and a great singer to boot.
I loose my linear narrative at this point. Too little sleep. Too much adrenaline. Someone else will have to tell you what happened from this point on. I just have the voices in my head...
Production
"You have to eat look at you!"
"David, this decision has already been decided. There is no compromise. Everyone is against you. Oliver disagrees with you, Emilie disagrees with you, Genevieve has changed her mind and now disagrees with you. We have to use the second barn, it's the only way. When you sent that text at 4 am saying you changed your mind and want to use the first barn, I couldn't go back to sleep at all."
"I couldn't go back to sleep until I sent you that text! It's the wrong barn! Just because you French Canadians all came together doesn't mean you can gang up on me. You TOLD ME the the first barn would work. And it's the only one that fits the damn story! Is this production now a democracy? Do we really need a director at all because it seems that everyone else is completely comfortable doing my job!" Note: I learned that though an unpaid production is not a democracy, as every person is vital, every person, if they chose, can also dictate.
"David, sit and eat!"
"So it looks like the schedule will be all night shoots. 5 pm to 5 am."
"You pretentious piece of shit, learn how to use a light meter!" (they hugged it out later)
"You know what Dave, you're going to go somewhere. You're good people."
"And another thing - ENGLISH ON SET!"
"So do you like the room we created?"
"Yes, but lose these pillows, lose that chair, lose the books, lose the blanket, lose anything else that looks pretty."
"As you wish."
"I've gone back to the campground and will be staying in a tent. I can't take it anymore."
"Eat this now!"
"This is one of those things that I can now check off the list of things to do before I die."
"I'm so glad I met you."
"We've just spent two hours lighting a damn pipe!"
"This was an incredible experience."
"I'm ready for the next shot."
"But you're not in wardrobe!"
"I want to work on your next project."
"That's a wrap!"
"I had SO much fun."
Day four of the shoot, the sky is lightening. The primary location is looking like it did before we arrived. The equipment has been loaded and has left already. The only people to stay behind are me, Jim Powers (playing Sandy), and Jon Frost. Jon sits on the stairs holding the boom pole in this big vacant room. Jim plays the song one last time. I make a slight modification. He starts over and we try again.
We're all exhausted. The hardest days are over. We sit there under a single light bulb, the boom pole hanging down. Jim soulfully fingers the last few strings on the guitar.
We wait as Jon plays it back, listening intensely with his hands on his headphones. There's color in the sky now, a nice blue and the fog seems to be clearing. Such a strange moment. Such a strange combination of people never to repeated again.
"Sounds good." Jon looks up. We move on.
Post Production
We got every shot that we think we need. It's like carving a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece and then we cross are fingers and hope the pieces somehow fit - that it cuts - and that the picture on the puzzle is still at least as good as the one the picture I saw in my head so long ago.
Processing and HD transfer will occur at Technicolor, Canada. It will be put on a hard drive ans shipped to me in Camden, Maine. Here, my friend Matt Perez has agreed to be the assistant editor. He'll log all the clips and put together the assembly.
When he's done, he'll nod his head or he'll shake it. That's when we will know. I've come around since my thinking before production - my talk of it just being a poor imitation and all that. If he nods... we may have something.
