On a professional film set, there are many unions that dictate what you can and can’t do to keep everyone safe. One of the cardinal rules is that the crew can’t work more than 12 hours before getting paid time and a half for their troubles, and the college of Entertainment Arts at school has co-opted this rule and modified it a little for students. We’re allowed to work no more than 12 hours in a row. Period.

The first AD I left on set did not do their job. Day two on “Oct. 31st” lasted 14 hours, a fact that we try to avoid when speaking to professors. I, however, was unaware of this and assumed everything was on track.

Day 3 came and went as well with no contact from the “Oct. 31st” set. I was occupied with another film that day and it was at the wrap party at 10:00 later that night that I finally got a phone call from Jeff.

It was a cry for help. Jeff explained that they had three shots left, and would lose all their background actors in an hour and a half. I have no problem saying that I rolled my eyes at this. Three shots in an hour and a half is a far from impossible feat. I spit out some quick instructions, letting the director know that I’d be over in 45 minutes, and he should be able to film at least one of those. I hung up and grabbed another slice of pizza before saying goodbyes and shuffling out the door.

45 Minutes later I walk up to the door, and it opens before I can knock. Jeff, dressed in a bright yellow skinsuit, hurried me in toward the director, announcing me as I went. The AD came up and said something along the lines of “oh thank god you’re here.” I smiled, a bit confused, and marched up to the director. He explained that they had, in fact, completed the shot in the previous 45 minutes, but weren’t happy with it. I didn’t care, we were moving on. I asked for their shoot schedule. They had none. I asked for the script notes. They had none. I asked for the shot list. They had lost it. This is where I began to understand the frustration of the actors.

The director needed two more pick-up shots before the cast walked out at midnight. We got them done in 15 minutes.

I stayed behind to help pick up the set and silently prayed that I could figure out how to cut this mess of a project together. There were no script notes from day 2 or 3; no way to know the good takes from the bad, or which takes had errors and which the director thought were best on set. The more I thought about it, the more I dreaded it. After getting the footage from the DP, I spent two days sifting through, labeling and annotating all the footage. This, however, was my turn to drop the ball.

I opened up my drive to finish up the annotations and found that an entire folder of footage was corrupted. Destroyed. Most likely due to user error, courtesy of yours truly. The DP had a backup, so not all was lost, but all the work that I had done so far was lost. It was another setback that offered yet another sign to jump ship while I could. I ignored this, however, and took what footage I had to the editing room.

Now, as I mentioned in part 1, I was one of two editors on this project, the other supposedly being my subordinate. When I got in the cutting room, however, it became clear that my fellow editor had more experience with both the software and behind the desk, so with the approval of the director and Jeff, I took a step back and let her put together the cut. A month later, we had our movie. She told us the sound was rough and it lacked a color grade, but we had the cut and the director and I couldn’t wait to see it.

It was… Less than impressive. Quite a bit less.

The director and I sat staring at the screen for a long time after that first viewing. He broke the silence with a depressed sigh. The fault wasn’t entirely with the editor. She delivered what she thought the director wanted based on the few meetings they’d had. Nevertheless, we had waited a month only to receive a bad product, and we were coming up on a major deadline. The DP and both producers were using this as the final project for their classes at 8:00am on Thursday. We both knew what had to be done.

4:00pm, Wednesday: The Director and I finished our own finals and meet in the editing room. We start from scratch. A blank slate on which we will create the stinkiest of BS and sell it as potpourri.

5:30pm: We hit the 2 min mark in a 10 min film. Jeff shows up.

6:30pm: We hit the 4 min mark. The hard part is over – or so we think.

7:30pm: 5 minutes. We had wasted the last 30 minutes laughing hysterically at a funny sound in some of the footage. Exhaustion had clearly set in.

8:45pm: A full 8 minutes in. We can taste the end. All that’s left is to splice together the third act.

10:15pm: We finish the cut. It’s not a good first draft, but it’s better than it was, and it can be turned in. The director takes his leave, content with the work that we’ve done. I begin to render the project.

10:20pm: Jeff decides to inform me that there are other requirements for the project including but not limited to both title and end credits, temporary music, coloring, a screening leader and slate, and miscellaneous foley – and edit in the clean dialogue if I had time. I promptly roll my eyes and stop the render.

11:30pm: After chasing down the cast and crew list and a brief outburst at Adobe After Effects, we have an end credit sequence.

Midnight, Thursday: All credits are in, as well as the leader and slate.

1:30am: Temp music and canned foley are laid down. Minimal dialogue cleaning accomplished.

2:00am: I give up on syncing external audio.

3:00am: I put a basic, very bad color correction and grade on the cut. I’m not finished but definitely done working. I begin to re-render and lay down next to my work station to take a nap. Jeff, still wide awake, hops from station to station talking to the many other people in my situation.

3:45am: The render is complete. I go to open the file to make sure that there are no issues, and I realize I rendered incorrectly. Time to re-do it. I lay back down.

4:30am: The second render is complete. I again open the file. 10 minutes of black screen. 3rd time’s the charm anyway, right? I again take my position on the floor, jacket balled up as a pillow.

5:15am: The third render is finally complete. Everything except for the end credits exports. I’m fed up at this point. I tack the end credits on the end with iMovie and call it quits.

5:30am: The final render is complete. The movie is done. Jeff asks if I was able to get the dialogue in. I imagine at least 5 ways to strangle him right then and there.

5:45am: I finally fall into bed. 2 hours and 15 minutes before the film is due. A film that I was not supposed to work on.

I didn’t have anywhere to go that day, so I slept till mid-afternoon. Jeff came in with a loud bang that evening proclaiming that I had made a 90% on his project. The professor’s only complaint: Unclean dialogue.

Since then, I’ve avoided the project like the plague. The other producer wanted to make some changes and use it on her reel. I decided that that was not my problem, and gladly handed over the footage for her to do with what she wished.

I suppose, in the end, this really is a success story. A success story with more than a few detours and wrecks, and one that I don’t wish to repeat. With any luck, I can avoid making these same mistakes in the future – A little luck and a Jeff-free production team.

-Nickel

Little Film Of Horrors

Part 1