11/6/23
Newsletter #505
The Crack of Dawn
Here in America, we take many things for granted, among them is the Humane Society and local animal control. I never gave the fate of dogs and cats a second thought until I was shooting SyFy movies in Bulgaria where they don’t have such things. Packs of dogs and cats simply wander around the city of Sofia, basically dependent on the kindness of the residents of the neighborhood where they happen to dwell. The Bulgarians, who were not the friendliest group of people I’ve ever met, did their bit, feeding the dogs and cats so that they remained alive. What was interesting about the packs of dogs is that they were composed of all different breeds of dog. In the same pack would be a Rottweiler, a Corgi, and a Golden Retriever, plus six more various breeds. These dog packs looked like motely crews of pirates.
I was in Bulgaria in 2004 and 2006, right before Bulgaria joined the European Union in 2007. At that time, they were still using their own currency, the Leva, and the exchange rate to American dollars was ridiculous — that’s why we were there — and you got a lot of bang for your buck. Even still, the cheap American producer, Jeff Franklin, wouldn’t pay for any of the sound stages that were located in Sofia, like UFO or Millenium, which was why people came there in the first place — because there was some infrastructure, and some experienced crew personnel. But since nobody speaks English, casting is tough. Anyway, instead of shooting at a real, live film facility, Jeff made some tremendous deal on the long-abandoned State Television facility, obviously left over from Bulgaria’s days as a Communist Soviet satellite.
All of the buildings were constructed of concrete and rebar, and half of them were falling down. It looked like a war zone. There were maybe eight big green generator trucks sitting in a line that hadn’t run in 20 years, just decaying in the weather. We took over one of the many buildings, and it was huge. Even though it was summer, it was always cold inside due to the concrete walls. The whole facility was guarded by armed Bulgarian soldiers. All of us had to show ID to get in, every time. We were the only ones there.
The State Television compound had its own pack of dogs. There were at least ten or twelve dogs, and they were of every breed. On the first day I was there I saw the production designer, George Costello – who was 75 years old (which is old on a movie crew), seven feet tall, and had previously worked on all of Russ Meyers’ best, early movies like Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965) – and he was feeding the dogs. I asked him what he was feeding the dogs and he said that it was meat that he got at the butcher, and that there was a little butcher shop on almost every street.
So, every morning before the car came to get me — at like 5:30 AM — I’d stroll over to the butcher shop, a half-block away from my apartment and just opening. The butcher would fill a brown paper bag with chopped-up sausages for a couple of coins. When I got to the compound, as soon as I got out of the car, the dogs would arrive from everywhere and line up. I’d go down the line, tossing each one a sausage hunk, then start again until they were gone. It was brilliant. I’m glad I saw George do that.
So, what does Bulgaria go and do? Join the EU. A Euro is worth $1.06 American, last time I looked.
The next apartment I had in Sofia, in 2006, was during a hot summer in a place where they had never heard of AC. As a stray memory, I could not get a decongestant in the pharmacies. Bruce’s wily driver finally got them for me on the black market. And I lived across the street from a beer garden.
Beer gardens are a great idea. Adults are enjoying themselves, while watching their kids play on the grass. At this little beer garden there was a stand where you could get a beer, French fries, or these insanely awful, fishy, salty, little fried fish that Bulgarians love. There was a pack of cats that roamed that square, and they loved those fish, too. After shooting in the evening, I’d go up to the stand, hold out a handful of these coins and they’d pick out a couple, then give me beer and cardboard containers of these silver fishy fish. I’d turn around and there would be all of the cats, and kittens, lined up like soldiers.
Here's the thing. In the course of the month that I was there, I got to the know those cats. Twice while I was in Sofia, which is a reasonably large Eastern European city, maybe a half-mile from my apartment and the beer garden, I saw that same pack of cats. Twice. They knew how to cross city streets at the lights; they knew their way around; and they knew their way back to that beer garden.
There it is: the dawn. Each and every dang day.
Here in Detroit, it’s chilly today, but it’ll be hot tamale.