How I Made My First Feature Film

CHAPTER ELEVEN - The First Day of Shooting

It seemed just like any other day as the sun came up on the first day of shooting in early October. Yuppie parents drove their Volvo station wagons with their perfect little children to school in the perfect little town of Santa Barbara. In contrast, my day would be much different. While absent mindedly trimming the edges of my graying beard in the bathroom mirror, it struck me that after all those years of struggle, work and planning, "the day" had finally arrived with no fanfare or brass band.

But inside I was a nervous wreck! I felt weak in the knees. Although the first location was a five minute leisurely walk from home, I had my wife drop me off on her way to work. As we neared the location, I saw all these trucks, production equipment, crew members and spectators(!) crowded around the entrance. I panicked! "Keep driving" I said, and she dropped me off around the corner and safely out-of-sight. I sat quietly for a few minutes trying to catch my breath and calm myself down. Why did I feel this way? Wasn't this what I always wanted? Every filmmaker's dream? What I felt was that electrifying collision between your own dreams and brutal reality. The thought of all those people gathered together to help me create my personal fantasy filled me with self-doubt. It's one thing to write a script or discuss a film project over lunch, but quite another to actually do it.

So, the mighty director got out of the 20 year old VW bug and stood there on the sidewalk watching his soon-to-be-ex-wife drive away to her safe, comfortable and totally predictable office job. I knew that once I walked around the corner my life would never be the same again. I couldn't turn back even if I wanted to.

The first location: despite obvious safety concerns related to his deafness, the "Casey" character in Tin Man worked as an auto mechanic in a local repair shop. We had somehow convinced the portly, Italian-American owner of a local garage to close his business down for a few days so we could film inside.

What I saw as I walked into the garage area amazed me.

On one side, some actors were huddled together sipping designer water, discussing their favorite sushi dishes and going over their lines. Tim Bottoms waved and smiled reassuringly. In another area I saw rows of tagged and numbered costumes hanging inside large boxes. Just outside, makeup was being applied to other actors in a motor home. Whole truckloads of lights and other production equipment were being carried into the grimy garage. Power cables as thick as your wrist led in every direction. Assistant cameramen I'd never met had their arms in changing bags to load film magazines. Someone had set up a table with fresh coffee, juice and donuts. Although I had no idea what a script supervisor was supposed to do, I had one of those too. In one corner attached to an impressive Chapman dolly, I spotted a gorgeous Arriflex 35mm BL camera with 10:1 zoom lens and all the extras. Until then, I'd only seen them in magazines or at trade shows! Now it was mine… for about four weeks anyhow.

The fact that everything was running as smooth as a Swiss watch brought a semi-relaxed smile to my face. My anxiety began melting away when I understood that for at least a little while, everything would be okay. Almost everyone was a competent professional and knew what they were supposed to do. They were experienced and understood the feature filmmaking process.

Except me of course.

I realized this when Martin, my tallish, heavily-accented Czechoslovakian assistant director asked me, "Okay, vat es ze first zhot?"

Good question!

I knew what the first scene would be. After all, I was standing right in the middle of it. But all the equipment and people standing around simply emphasized the fact that I had no idea how to begin.

Later on I learned that the basic choice of shots and camera angles in a feature film is principally an editorial rather than a directorial decision, but I didn't know that now. An expensive clock was running and I needed to make a decision. I was in a whole new ballgame now and nothing in my previous experience making documentaries would help me. Observing my indecision, the cameraman offered, "Wanna start with a master and then move in for the singles?"

Good answer!

After a quick on-set rehearsal ("blocking"), and a peek through the camera's eyepiece, we were ready for the first shot. "Ka-vi-it!, ka-vi-it!" (quiet!), the assistant director shouted to temporarily halt the crew's soon-to-be constant conversation. Satisfied the crew was now focused on the scene before us, the AD shouted, "zounds!" to alert the mixer to start the Nagra recorder. Assured the sound was coming through his headphones clearly, the mixer replied, "speed." Seconds later the AD pegged the mixer's needles over with an earsplitting, "Kamera!" After checking for sync, the cameraman calmly replied, "speed." Then, as precious film silently rolled through the camera at 90 feet per minute, absolutely nothing happened.

We had completely forgotten to decide who would perform the task of "marking" the scene for synchronization and identification purposes with the clapper board! Someone quickly grabbed the slate/marker, jumped into the shot and recited, "Scene twenty, take one." The marker was slapped down and swiftly withdrawn out of the shot. The AD looked over to me and nodded that all was ready.

I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers and spoke the one word I'd been waiting a long time to say, "Action!"

Next Article:   How I Made My First Feature Film - Chapter Twelve (Lessons Learned on the First Day)

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