Halloween. Not my favorite holiday. I always found it slightly overrated: over-commercialized, not all that scary, and almost always ends in a headache – whether from excess sugar or sleep deprivation. This, however, has not kept other people from defending the holiday and emphatically telling me how wrong I am, and one such person is an old friend of mine by the pseudonym of Jeff.

Longtime whippersnappers might remember Jeff from my “Welcome to College” tale. I then described him as “…a very flamboyant bisexual model with cheekbones that could cut into your soul.” Three years on, I can verify that he is still that, and so much more. For a metric on just how much more, I encourage you to pause here and take a detour to that post, just so that you can have a better idea of the full experience that is Jeff.

Detour complete? Good, you may read on.

So as I said in that story, one of the first things that I ever knew about Jeff was that his birthday was on Halloween. This is a point of pride for him, and one that escapes my understanding. It was out of this obsession that Jeff inevitably wanted to make a film regarding those with this spooky birthday, and this long-standing idea came to fruition in fall, 2018.

Jeff approached me as I was finishing a bowl of cereal at the kitchen sink, and announced that he wished to make a short horror movie about “Halloween baby lore” entitled “Oct. 31st.” I thought he was approaching me to write the script so I started peppering him with questions:

• “What’s the lore?” I asked, – He didn’t know.
• “Who’s your protagonist?” – A college girl.
• “Who’s the antagonist?” – “Antagonist?”

Hindsight 20-20, these should’ve been my first clues that this project was doomed.

I asked him how I was supposed to write it with little more than an inkling of a concept, to which he replied that the script had already been written – and by someone who was trusted with professor-endorsed projects, nonetheless – so, I shrugged it off, assuming that the story had been flushed out by this reportedly excellent writer. When I later read the script, I realized I assumed wrong. To that author: I’m sure you have done some good stuff, but this missed the mark big time, probably because of Jeff’s more than vague concept.

My next thought was that he wanted me to produce it, a role from which he also shot me down. He was required to produce for class, which was fine by me – less for me to worry about – but it was at this point that I was running out of normal duties. My final shot was to offer to be 1st AD, a role which was filled by the other producer. I was out of options and was wondering why he told me about it. Turns out it was solely to get permission to produce under our mutual production company title. This was okay by me, but I still wanted to be involved. If our company was producing, then that means that I’d help pay for it, and if I helped pay for it, I wanted a say somewhere along the line. So, I offered to edit.

Now I’m not the least talented editor in the world, and I know this because I’ve met the person who holds that title. In fact, I had recently taken a post-production class and was still riding high on my 98% average, so I figured “Why not?” After all, the cutting room is often considered “The script’s final rewrite,” and scriptwriting is my bread and butter. I was happy with this responsibility until a few days later, when I got an email letting me know that there were, in fact, four editors on the project.

This was an issue, not because I was territorial of the position, but rather because editors are like bay leaves: one is just right and you can get away with two, but any more than that and it might ruin the stew. I quickly replied looking for clarification, and was all but re-offered the job not 24 hours later due to radio silence from two out of the four. I would, however, have an assistant – an acquaintance of mine with a quirky demeanor and wide eyes who we’ll call Jamie. (apparently, I’m into “J” pseudonyms… I’m not sure what that means either…)

Jeff soon called the first production meeting with the full cast and crew and as I live with him, I was naturally there. Introductions were made, the script was read, and I ended the day making dinner and forgetting about the whole thing. After all, my job was after filming! I didn’t need to think about it! And then shoot day 1 rolled around.

I was hanging in my living room with my good friend Meg. We were munching on a pizza and consuming our weekly allowance of all our favorite shows when Jeff came in with a bang. He had to be at rehearsal later that night and wondered if I could go get food for the crew. This was one of the very few times I’ve ever said ‘no’ to the man, as he was producing for class, and had to fill that role completely. Reluctantly, Jeff went to the store and picked up some food for the crew, but came back running late. He dumped the food in a large chair in the living room and bolted out the door, with barely a word in between. Not thirty minutes later, the doorbell began ringing.

Jeff’s call time for rehearsal was at 6:00. The film’s call time was 7:00, and people began showing up 30 minutes early. I began letting people in, offering them seats and space to set up their gear. 7:15 rolled around, and the entire cast and crew had arrived with no producers and no AD in sight. It was a house party with tens of thousands of dollars worth of camera gear, not enough food, and no music. With all hopes of finishing our episode of Brooklyn 99 dashed, Meg decided to head for home. I can’t really blame her. It was chaos. I soon retreated to my room, stepping over actors and makeup bags as I went. Armed with the last two slices of pizza and my computer, I popped open Netflix and set in on my feast.

An episode or two later, I emerged from my pizza box and screen to find the scene outside my bedroom door much the same: a jumble of gear, costumes, and bodies. I was tired of the “small protest” ambiance, so I pulled my hair back, slipped on my ropers, and stormed out of my room. My goal: find the director. My reason: sternly ask him why he wasn’t shooting. It had been an hour, and the whirlwind status quo had yet to quo towards a less whirlwind status.

I finally found the director, after asking around for a bit. I’m glad to say he’s a good friend of mine now, but that was not the direction I was planning on taking it that night. I  immediately asked him where the AD was, to which he pulled a guilty grin and replied:

“We don’t have one.”

I followed up with a quick “Where are your producers?”

“They’re not here yet.”

It was one of those moments where, in a “How I Met Your Mother” fashion, you can’t help but blurt out a pitiful “Oh, honey!” If the director is the engine, the AD is the steering column, and the producer is the coolant, meaning without either, the project was barreling toward the midnight deadline without any notable direction or any reason not to end in a catastrophic explosion. The director knew better. The DP knew better. I knew better.

I ran down to the set less than a block away and asked the DP for the shot list. He gave it to me, and within 2 minutes, we had a plan for our first three shots. I gave him ten minutes to finish toying with the camera and lighting, as he had been doing for the entire hour and a half at that point. I gave the makeup people ten minutes as well and got everyone down to set, along with the crafty. The director was loving it. The DP was hating it. All was as usual, and we were back on track.

We had the picture up within 15 minutes of my ropers coming on and quickly and efficiently worked through every shot on the shot list. It was a beautiful sight – everyone doing their jobs, an orderly set, occasional death glares from the DP who perpetually needed 5 more minutes – everything was working perfectly, and that night’s coverage was the best of the bunch. I should mention that both Jeff and his fellow producer finally did show up, but they both walked up smack in the middle of a take. We finished before midnight, and I spent that night figuring out the following day’s schedule. Unfortunately, Day 2 finally came, and with it, the entire production hit rock bottom.

I was not available for the entirety of day 2, but I was on set for the first hour and a half or so. In that time, we unloaded, set up three shots, shot them, and moved on. Things were running just like the previous night: quick and smooth. I was determined that they simply needed an AD, and so I made sure that Jeff’s co-producer and original AD shadowed me to keep track of the shots, and gain some confidence in her new role. I was not entirely confident in the production, but I had to leave, so I left set with a final few instructions to the Director, DP, and AD, and went on my way.

Biggest mistake of the production.

-Nickel

Little Film of Horrors continues in Part 2!