9/22/23
Newsletter 466
The Crack of Dawn
Louis B. Mayer’s favorite film that MGM ever made was The Human Comedy (1943). It won an Oscar for Best Story by William Saroyan. It’s a beautiful depiction of small- town Americana, by way of MGM. It’s also a clear view into the mind of Louis Mayer (born Lazar Meir in Russia), and his immigrant’s vision of America. Mickey Rooney plays a Western Union delivery boy who works for the local pharmacist (Frank Morgan), who is also the telegrapher. The story is set in the present day, 1943, right in the middle of WWII. Most of the telegrams that Mickey Rooney delivers are death notices from the military, and he delivers them to every sort of family (white, black, Latino, poor, middle-class and wealthy), thus showing that grief knows no barriers. Louis Mayer loved sentimentality. The Human Comedy is the perfect vehicle to keep returning to the most heart wrenching, sentimental situation you could possibly have, over and over again, without ever seeming like it’s cloying or overdoing it. Mickey Rooney and Frank Morgan (the Wizard in The Wizard of Oz) are both at their best. From the standpoint of what kind of story naturally invokes one emotional scene after another, it’s a brilliant story.
There is a modern equivalent of The Human Comedy and it’s certainly one of the better films of the recent past – The Messenger (2009). Woody Harrelson and Ben Foster play United States Army casualty notification officers in the present day, and at that time we were fighting wars in both Iraq and Afghanistan. What’s incredible in both films is that you can play that same scene – informing family members of the death of a loved one – over and over and it never stops being powerful, and never will. Also, since every family reacts differently, it’s never repetitive. Woody Harrelson gives a terrific performance and was nominated for an Oscar. As sad as this situation is, I see why Louis Mayer liked it so much.
Hold on to your brain, I’m changing subjects.
Here’s a completely silly reminisce. On movie sets when crewmembers are carrying in big pieces of equipment, like lights or stands, they often say, “Flyin’ it in, watch your heads.” On Lunatics: A Love Story (1992), Bruce Campbell was the producer (as well as the Mad Doctor) and I was writer-director. We didn’t handle equipment, we only had the script. Therefore, we would often carry the script over our heads and say, “Flyin’ in in, watch your brains.”
The 1st AD on Lunatics was John Cameron, who has gone on to have a great career. He co-produced many of the Coen brothers’ movies, like The Big Lebowski and Fargo, to name but two. A lot of big movies. I haven’t spoken to John in at least 20 years because our paths haven’t crossed. We went to high school together. He and I were two of the school’s sci-fi freaks. We both read Dune at the same time and felt like we were in our own little club. John co-starred in several of my short films, like, The Blind Waiter, and he gave a perfect portrayal of the Annoyed Customer. I never worked with him as a producer, but he was a great 1st AD. First of all, he’s 6’5”, and has a particularly loud, clear voice. No question, the set belonged to him (he also played the small, though crucially important, part as Edgar Allan Poe on the cover of a book, with great bravura). Anyway, the camera operator, Art, showed up loudly bemoaning that his girlfriend had dumped him the night before. Apparently, he complained once too often for John’s taste. As we got ready to shoot a shot, John said, “Quiet on the set. Roll sound.” The soundman said, “Rolling.” John said, “She’s never coming back, roll camera.” The view of the camera just sank to the floor.
OK, maybe I even have a point. The set belongs to the 1st AD. The director, occasionally a guy like me, gets to visit the 1st AD’s set and direct an episode of a show, or a movie, or whatever, but the set belongs to the 1st. Therefore, in the Alec Baldwin, Rust, shooting tragedy, and subsequent legal case, the armorer, who stupidly brought live rounds to a movie set and is the whole problem right there, was rightly charged, not the 1st AD who proclaimed to everyone on the set, “Cold weapon,” then handed it to an actor, in this case Alec Baldwin (who was also the co-producer), who then mistakenly shot and killed the cinematographer, and he’s been charged – but not the 1st AD? The schmuck who said out loud, “Cold weapon,” when it wasn’t? Then handed it to an actor? That’s insanity.
Let’s flashback to Lunatics, which we shot in late 1989 when Bruce, John and I were all 31 – we were in the same class, we’re the same age. The story calls for a real pistol a couple of times, in almost all cases to be handled by the film’s female lead (Deborah Foreman). When we shot the scenes that included the pistol, John was entirely on top of where that weapon was and where the blanks were. There would never be live ammo. John pushed it to the extent where he wouldn’t allow me to put spent shells in the pistol when it was being handled by an actor. Spent shells are props, for God’s sake.
I was utterly aghast. “It’s a revolver. You can see the shells. Everyone will see they’re missing.” John scoffed at me. “Everyone will see that the shells are missing?” Implying, as I took it, that perhaps something might be lacking in my drama. Anyway, he wouldn’t have empty shells in the gun. I have to admit that in 30 years nobody has yet complained, but I am personally always aware of it. Still, I had to relent to the power of the position. The 1st AD is responsible for safety on the set. John Cameron didn’t spend a long time as a 1st AD. He went on to produce things like, O Brother Where Art Thou?, Friday Night Lights and Bad Santa.
That the court has charged the very stupid armorer and Alec Baldwin, but not the 1st AD, is wrong. Had Baldwin not hired that stupid armorer, he’d be totally off the hook to me. Any 1st AD that says, “Cold weapon,” then hands a loaded gun to an actor should be shot. With a real bullet.
And there you have it.
This is a famous story.