12/25/23
Newsletter #537
The Crack of Dawn
I recently brought up John Astin regarding his starring role in Evil Roy Slade (1972) for director, Jerry Paris. But John Astin, who is 93 years old, also co-starred with Bruce Campbell on his one season TV show, The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. in 1993. Bruce is my good friend, and I don’t mean to pour salt in his wound, but this show was doomed before it started and happens to be a perfect example of stupid Hollywood thinking.
I remember the day in 1992 when Bruce came by my bungalow on Hudson St. in Hollywood informing me that he got the lead in this wacky western series. I was very pleased for him. He and I both love westerns. He kept pointing and saying, “We’re going to be shooting right over there at Warner Brothers,” which was about a mile from my bungalow, and also seemed very cool.
Anyway, regarding The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., here’s a quote from Wikipedia summarizing the show, “While ostensibly a Western, the series routinely includes elements of the science fiction and steampunk genres. Humor is a large part of the show; the writers attempted to keep the jokes and situations ‘just under over-the-top.’” They refer to it as “An American weird western” (as though that were a genre) and “A large number of episodes involve the Orb, a powerful device from the future. John Astin plays Professor Wickwire.”
That day in my bungalow, Bruce showed me the “Bible” of the series, which was a 20-page rulebook for the show, with summaries of the characters, and possible character arcs. Seriously, at the top of every single page was emblazoned in capital letters, “THIS IS NOT A COMEDY.”
After perusing the Bible for a few minutes, I said, “How can this be a weird western about orbs from the future, that stars Bruce Campbell and John Astin, and not be a comedy?” Bruce answered quite honestly, “I don’t know.” Well, the makers of the show never did figure that out. Why couldn’t it be a comedy? It desperately wanted to be a comedy. Yet somehow, the producers had sold the show to the studio as not being a comedy. Why? Neither the show’s creators, nor the studio executives would have ever figured it out, let alone spoken the awful words, but they were finding the surest way to kill the show before it started. This is a perfect exemplification of an old Hollywood joke: Two producers are crawling through the desert dying of thirst. They come upon a fountain spouting crystal water into a pool below. As one producer is about to drink, the other one says, “Wait, let me piss in it first.”
Honestly, I was hoping to direct and episode of the show, but alas, I didn’t get to, and it only lasted the one season. Still, it would have theoretically been cool to shoot on the Warner Brothers’ lot (I’ve been on the Warner’s lot many times, but never to shoot). Except, as per Bruce, who spent a season shooting a western on the Warner’s lot, it isn’t cool shooting there at all. Why? Because it’s right near the Burbank Airport with flights going over all the time. Every time a plane passes over, shooting has to stop because of the noise. My buddy Jane lives close by in Studio City and I’ve seen and heard these flights many times. However, what Bruce praised highly was the studio’s wranglers and horses, which is insanely important on a western.
Which is what screwed me on Warpath (2020). Horses and wagons. I’ve made nine feature length movies, and I have never been so wrong about any one aspect of production as the horses and wagons on Warpath. I did indeed get them, but it turned out to be four times as much as I budgeted. I paid $10,000 for one fucking wagon that had to be shipped in from South Dakota.
I’m the producer on most of my indie features. Unlike most producers who hand off the film’s budget and schedule to be created by a production manager or a 1st AD, I do it myself. I think it’s very important information to know. I’m also rather proud of my ability to create accurate budgets and schedules. I said that Running Time would cost $100,000 and could be shot in ten days, and it was. I said that Morning, Noon & Night would cost $100,000 and be shot in fifteen days, and it was, etc., etc. I said that Warpath would cost $350,000 and be shot in twenty days. Well, it was shot in twenty days, but it ended up costing over $850,000. That’s an enormous budgeting error and I still feel like an asshole, not to mention it was my money.
My main malfunction was that I was spoiled by the terrific wrangling on Herc and Xena. I love the fact that the head horse wrangler on those shows was named Horace. Who was really good at his job. And his whole system was in place and worked like a charm. If the script called for eight guys on horses riding full speed, nearly running a person over, it all just magically happened in front of me, and I shot it. Here is the big problem in its essence. We do a take. Eight stunt riders barrel past a stunt person. Something isn’t right and we need to do it again. The AD calls, “Back to one!” meaning, back to the first position. Now, how long does that take? With real riders, a seasoned, professional movie wrangler, and move-trained horses, about 10-15 minutes. On Warpath it was always at least a half hour, and could easily take an hour or more, and I never eight horses at the same time.
Oh, well. C’est la vie. The past is gone . . . except when you make a movie about it. Then you get to see it again. Which is why I, and most filmmakers I know, rarely watch our own movies.
The fog persists.