4/21/23
Newsletter #313
The Crack of Dawn
I got involved with an actor’s workshop called the Studio on Washington Avenue, run by a fellow named Brian Lawrence, in 1984. This was the Detroit area’s Actor’s Studio where you could learn Stanislavski’s Method Acting. Brian, and his two partners, Aida and Jolie, cast my first feature film, Thou Shalt Not Kill…Except (1985), and did a very good job. They would later cast my films: Lunatics: A Love Story (1993), Morning, Noon & Night (2018) and Warpath (2020).
Brian Lawrence is also a filmmaker. He had shot a lot of a feature that he’d never completed before I met him. He then started a new film, The Big Story, soon after I completed TSNKE, casting the same actor, Brian Schultz, who had just starred in my movie. Instead of just shooting the movie all at once, Brian chose (or more likely was forced by circumstances) to shoot it in bits and pieces on weekends, which is never a good idea, but one that many young filmmakers use out of necessity. And shooting the film this way caused The Big Story to go on and on over the course of a couple of years.
One Saturday afternoon I received a phone call from Brian. He asked me if I’d like to shoot, meaning be the cinematographer, on his film the next day? I could not help but chuckle, and I no doubt gave Brian shit, that if he had to resort to calling me he must have already called every cameraman, and assistant cameraman, in Detroit and been turned down. Now he was forced into calling directors. I was the DP (director of photography) on TSNKE and half of Evil Dead, so I knew what I was doing, but calling me was true act of desperation.
We all met on an early Sunday morning in a parking lot on Woodward Ave. There were about eight people. Brian had actually rented the same 16mm Arriflex-BL with which I had shot my film so I was very familiar with it. This was a dialogue scene in a moving car between Brian Schultz and another guy. And for this scene, Jolie, the co-producer, had borrowed her brother’s white 1968 Thunderbird, with a black vinyl top, which was a pretty cool car. I chose a couple of students to be my camera assistants, and I asked Brian, “What’s your first shot? Where do you want me?” Brian said, “I want you in the middle of the boulevard. Get a wide shot of the car coming down Woodward coming toward you, then pan with it as it drives past, and let it drive away, but don’t burn too much film.” I said, “Got it,” and me and my people moved our equipment out to the grassy boulevard. In no time we had the camera loaded, up, and ready to shoot.
Brian and the actors were taking a long time. I finally crossed back over the road to find out what was the delay (we didn’t have walkie talkies). Besides, the sun was in a good place for this shot. Then, God forbid, Brian had an idea. Wouldn’t it look great in this sunny backlight if the car’s engine was smoking, catching the light. “Well, yeah, it would,” I said, “how are you going to make the engine smoke?” Brian said, “How would you do it?” Unhesitatingly, having done this schtick a number of times, I said, “I would have bought some smoke bombs from Romig the Magician (who was located in the same building as mine and Bruce and Sam’s offices) yesterday, when he was open. Sadly, today is Sunday and he’s closed.”
Being an emotional acting teacher and all, Brian had a meltdown – he’d rented the camera, bought film, borrowed the car, God knows where the money was coming from, and now he couldn’t even have a smoking engine. Obviously, the universe was not only against him specifically, but art in general. I wouldn’t be surprised if I made a snide comment about the importance of pre-production – even one day’s worth – so things like smoke bombs could be procured. Honestly wanting to save Brian’s day, I suggested pouring oil on the hot engine block. Brian was ecstatic and someone went to get some cans of oil at a gas station.
I resumed my position at the camera on the boulevard.
Cans of oil were purchased. On the side of the road Brian poured a little oil on the engine block and goddamn if it didn’t smoke. The hood was slammed, last minute direction was given, the smoking car with the two actors got onto Woodward, then turned around to come back the proper way with sun behind them. Of course we didn’t have a slate, so as soon as the car was heading back toward me, with Brian across the street, I rolled. However, by the time the car went by there wasn’t any smoke anymore. So Brian called for another take, and the process was repeated with the oil on the engine, and by the time the car went by (well photographed by me, with a solid, steady pan), there was once again no smoke.
Honest to God, I said to Brian, “You can’t just keep pouring oil on the engine, it’s a bad idea.” He said desperately, “I have to get one good take,” and I swear he poured an entire quart of oil on that Ford V-8 engine. I ran across the street to the camera, the car pulled out onto Woodward, then turned around and came back, and the engine was really smoking. I rolled camera. The car came toward me with the sun right behind, smoke pouring out from under the hood, it looked terrific, and the car burst into flames.
They managed to pull over next to Brian, then both actors jumped out of the car. I kept rolling. Flames engulfed the T-bird. I shot all of it, burning up Brian’s film. Fire engines showed up and put out the conflagration, but it was too late for that car – it was a goner. Burnt to the ground. And poor Jolie had borrowed it from her brother.
But it was a good shot. And I covered the hell out of the fire and the fire engines. Alas, The Big Story was never finished.
And yet another new day dawns. One right after the other, just like clockwork.