8/10/22
Newsletter68
The Crack of Dawn
It's black as night, because it is night.
My first job as a production assistant (PA) was on a Ford commercial here in Detroit in 1976, and was gotten for me by Bruce Campbell, who was already working as a PA. Bruce knew what he was doing—being a PA is not an easy job—whereas I was clueless. We were in a gigantic parking lot outside J. Walter Thompson ad agency. Local TV announcer, Bob Hines, walked toward the camera (mounted on a camera crane) as four cars came forward on either side of him. Bob said, “So come on down to your local Detroit Ford dealership . . .” The director called cut, the AD said, “Back ‘em up,” it was all reset, then they did it again, only now Bob Hines said, “So come on down to your local Boston Ford dealership . . .” and this was continued all day for every major city in the country. Meanwhile, I was so worthless on the set that the camera crew on the crane said to me, “We need to do a focus test. Just walk across the parking lot and we’ll tell you when to stop.” So I set off across this parking lot the size of Rhode Island and I never heard them say stop. I finally turned around and saw that they were shooting another take. I stood there for a while until it dawned on me that they’d just pulled a gag and gotten rid of me. When I got back to the set, the cameraman said, “I didn’t tell you to stop,” then the whole crew burst out laughing. I was officially in the film business.
Fifteen years later in 1991, still working as a PA, but now in LA, I got a gig on Sting’s 40th Birthday Concert at the Hollywood Bowl. The show was being filmed by NHK Japan on this brand-new thing called “High Definition Video” that was so new that the Japanese crew had their video trucks shipped in from Japan. I sat at a table in the parking lot answering a phone on a mile-long cord that was almost exclusively Japanese executives calling from Japan who spoke no English. I would say, “Mushi mushi,” which is what Japanese people say when they answer the phone, then quickly handed the receiver to the Japanese 2nd AD. I wandered around backstage and said hello to Sting, Phil Collins (who was playing drums), and David Sancious, who was playing piano, and had played piano on Bruce Springsteen’s first two albums.
Sam Raimi directed a music video for Iggy Pop in 1988 for a song called Cold Metal. Although the song wasn’t much, Sam did a truly awesome job directing it, and actually invented a piece of equipment that lifted Iggy up into close-up that Sam named the “Iggy Rig.” Sam invited me, Rob Tapert, and Rob’s girlfriend at the time, who is still one of my best friends, Jane Goe. Jane was the head accountant for Steven Spielberg at the time. So we’re all in this tiny editing room on Sunset Blvd., and Iggy has his posse of his manager, his agent, and his assistant. At a point in the video a silly-looking cardboard rocket with sparklers on it came bouncing across the top of the stage above Iggy’s head. Jane, who can’t help saying what she thinks, said, “What’s that ridiculous thing?” Everybody froze and went silent. Iggy swung around in his chair, faced Jane, and said, “What?” Jane innocently said, “That rocket looks silly.” Iggy’s eyes went wide with anger (the rocket must have been his idea) and he demanded, “Who is she?” Rob said, “She works for Steven Spielberg.” Iggy turned around and said, “Lose the rocket.”
And a lovely new day has dawned.