“Mind not looking at me like that?”
Mortician: “Like what?”
“Like a potential customer.”
Mortician: “Huh. Everyone is…”
— Bad Day at Black Rock (1955)

LONDON 1998. Setting off for a shoot — any shoot — is dead scary. Why? Because I am a potential customer for the big screw-up mortician in the sky. I know it. He will get me in the end.

Blackpool tomorrow. I check everything. Shoot something and play it back. Batteries charged? Enough tape stock? Wireless mics: “Hello, testing, one, two, three.” Lighting kit — plug in, switch on. Got gaffer tape, location maps, shooting schedule?

Yikes, three locations in Blackpool, then a long drive to Leeds for another shoot in the afternoon. I’ll drive to Blackpool tonight — take my strong assistant, James.

O JAMES, WHERE ART THOU?
He’s a good driver and a great help on location. But where is he? Not here. Not answering his cell. James, where are you?

After half an hour, I give up. No time to find anyone else. I’ll go alone. A bad start.

BLACKPOOL — MALIBU IT AIN’T
I meet my client at a seaside hotel. Poor Rob has MS. Some days are good. Some days are bad. Today is bad.

We go to dinner at the hotel restaurant. Order steak. Wait and wait. Nothing. Where’s the waiter? I go inside the kitchen. All gone. The Marie Celeste of kitchens.

No dinner for Rob; he goes to bed early. I drive around looking for a burger and maybe the hotel kitchen staff. Rob phones. Can I get a prescription filled? Rob is really sick.

BLACKPOOL’S FAMOUS BEACH DONKEYS
In the morning, we make our way to the beach where the ICI Autocolor Eastern Division is riding beach donkeys. The sales team is dressed as Mexicans with sombreros and toy rifles. Each member of the team has one line to say about how they thrashed the competition. Not my idea or Rob’s. This is what they wanted for their part of the sales conference. The donkeys don’t want anything to do with this video. Me neither.

I’m shooting from the beach looking up, straight into an overcast sky. I really need to be up high, shooting level. Can we get a truck on the beach? No. I will ride a donkey. Ever tried shooting paint salesmen from a miserable donkey? Don’t.

BLACKPOOL’S FAMOUS PLEASURE BEACH
Centerpiece to the Pleasure Beach is The Big One. It cost over $20 million to build and is the biggest, longest, fastest, ugliest roller coaster in Europe (see below). The regional Autocolor boss wants to make a to-camera speech in front of it.

Everyone in Blackpool knows that huge waves hit the sea wall and land on innocent cameramen.

He does his piece and out of nowhere the Irish Sea lands on me.

A typical day at Blackpool's Pleasure Beach

Blackpool locals shriek with laughter. This is why they call it Pleasure Beach.

BLACKPOOL’S FAMOUS TVR SPORTS CARS
They look great and their fiberglass body is painted with (you guessed it) ICI Autocolor.

TVR Tuscan-C Sports Car

My job: shoot a five-minute documentary about it. The only problem is my wet camera has stopped working and I didn’t bring a spare.

I put it in a spray paint booth to dry off. That’s what they teach in film school, isn’t it? After an hour of cooking, it still doesn’t work. I’m desperate. Give the poor thing a good shake and suddenly it’s running. In fact, it won’t stop. Take out the battery — it stops — put it back in — it runs. Who needs a switch?

I shoot a spray paint sequence wearing the full protective clothes and facemask. The donkey shoot was easier. I’m pulling the battery in and out. But I’m getting there.
Now I’m late for the Northern team in Leeds. No James to drive me. Rob’s too sick to come.

I arrive three hours late. “Where the f*&$, have you been?” No point in explaining.

The big day, my videos are run at the sales conference: “Hey, Stefan, those Blackpool clips are great. What a fun day you had!”
Grrrr…

LONDON, JANUARY 1969. Armed with my “award-winning” reel, I do the rounds of advertising agencies. They watch my reel, give me tea and biscuits, and throw me out. I go to Lintas, the advertising arm of Unilever. Meet their Head of Television, Ian Fawn-Meade. Show him my Australian commercial reel. He promptly shows me his.

Mine: 16mm, B&W. His: 35mm, color.

“Not up to London standards,” says Ian.

He’s right. Mine sucks.

“Sorry kid.”

I’m tossed out the door. Hey, where’s my cuppa tea?

NEXT DAY 8:00 a.m.
Ring… ring. Go away, I’m asleep. Ring… ring.

“Good morning, Ian here.”

OMG it’s Mr. Get-Out-Of-Here himself.

“Stefan, I feel terrible about yesterday. How’d you like a job of filming Captain Birdseye, a sort of mini documentary? Come in and see me at 10:00.”

Try to stop me.

I’m there at 10:00. Ian’s client, Birdseye, feels that after two years they should retire Captain Birdseye from their fish sticks TV commercials and try a different approach. My job is to make a short film showing how the British public loves the Captain.

Best Actor: John Hewer, Captain Birdseye for 31 years, thanks to me, sort of. Best of the Best: British Gas, my old flame!

BEST #1 – JOHN HEWER
We hire a London black cab for the day. Captain Birdseye is actor John Hewer. Pick him up in full uniform and go off shooting. The cab stops at shopping centers. John is mobbed by fans. I run-‘n’-gun shoot. Back into the cab. Find a school playground. John gets out. The kids see him — mayhem! Pull up at a bus queue. John is mobbed. You get the picture.

I edit it at Lintas. Ian is thrilled. Our film does the job. John goes on to play Captain Birdseye until 1998 — that’s 31 years.

Besides being an actor, John has a conference company. He asks us to make conference films. Yes please! And he wants them non-stop. We go together to the south of France (read all about it in DV, April 2007, “The Dog Stays in the Picture”).

BEST #2 – HERB KANZELL
John has a friendly competitor, Herb Kanzell.

If you think a conference is 50 salesmen at the Holiday Inn, think again. For Schweppes, Herb hires the Royal Festival Hall with full orchestra and cast of actors and singers. The on-stage narrator is Alec (Obi-Wan Kenobi) Guinness.

British Gas is a client of Herb’s. Soon, John Hewer, Herb Kanzell and British Gas are my biggest clients. I’m starting a new film before the current one is wrapped up.

BEST #3 — BRITISH GAS
British Gas has a new toy: A massive IBM computer. They want me to make a film about their new computerized accounting system. It will show all the gas regions in the U.K. and how the central computer links them up.

Job finished, I mail the invoice: £12,500 (about $25,000).

Thirty days pass. No money. It’s that wretched computer, I suspect. I phone my contact, Clive: “Don’t worry, it’s our new computer, it has some bugs. We’ll get you a manual check.”

Two days later, the manual check arrives. I bank it. Three weeks later, the new computer springs into life. Yeaah, another £12,500! That makes $50,000. I phone Clive. “Bank it as well. Let’s see if our new system works.”

After a month, I phone the accounts people direct. “You banked it? Good. We want to see if the…” Cool, I’ll sit on my hands. Pay it back, when their system clicks in.
Another month. I phone again: “Hey, I’ve been paid twice.”

“No. That’s impossible. We have a new computer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Let me double check” [No pun intended.] No, you’re wrong, you’ve only been paid once.”

“You paid me twice.”

“No, once.”

“Are you sure?”

Click! He’s gone – and so is their money.

Paid twice. That’s as good as it gets! British Gas, you are THE BEST OF THE BEST!

LONDON UK 1972. London has an afternoon newspaper, The Evening Standard. It’s bought by commuters for the long ride home on public transport. I never buy it. Well this time, I did. Why? I don’t know. Maybe the fickle finger of fate. Soon I’m reading the FOR SALE classifieds. One leaps off the page: Film stock. 16mm. Lots of it. In cans. All good stuff.

I get home, phone the advertiser. “Is it Kodak or Ilford? Negative or reversal?”

He’s an Australian: “Gee, mate, I don’t know.”

He’s in Chiswick, which is not far away. I drive there.

CHISWICK: A DILEMMA
It’s a ground-floor apartment. The seller, Marty, has taken it over from another Australian who worked as an assistant cameraman. Marty inherited a closet full of cans of film. They’re piled high. All re-cans and short-ends.

Cameramen don’t like using re-cans. They could be fogged or mislabeled. As an assistant cameraman, you’re meant to either re-use or return. You’re NOT meant to take them home and fill up an entire closet.

Marty’s wife is getting agitated. “Do you think it’s stolen?”

“My guess is your friend didn’t buy it. So it’s not yours to sell. I can’t buy it.”

I make my goodbyes and get back into the car.

Fate strikes again, in the guise of a tapping on the window. It’s Marty: “Look, we need the closet space. You can just take it. No charge.”

Reluctantly, I accept his offer. I won’t use it for commercial work — it’s for fun projects. Dilemma resolved.

It will take me ages to shoot this much film, maybe a few years. The next day I buy the largest deep-freeze possible and freeze the film solid.

So here’s where the story gets weird and weirder.

SURPRISE PHONE CALL
A few days later I get a call from a Peter Clifton. Peter who? I can’t remember ever meeting Peter. Anyhow, he’s tracked me down and wants us to do a shoot — and it’s tomorrow: “Do you have any 16mm film stock?”

Do I have film stock? “Sure, Peter, in my freezer. How much do you need?”
“We have three cameras on towers, a couple on the stage and you. I’ve bought every foot of raw stock I can find. Kodak has none left.”
I empty the freezer. Our kitchen is piled high with defrosting cans. I also have some new Kodak stock, which I’ll shoot myself and save these re-cans for an emergency.

THE LONDON ROCK ‘N ROLL SHOW
Next morning, Tricia and I are at Wembley Stadium. We shoot the crowds arriving. Do interviews, and, once the show gets started, shoot audience reaction, anything that the five other cameras can’t get.

Late afternoon, Peter Clifton finds me. “We’re running short. How much extra stock do you have?”

“About 16,000 feet.”

“16,000! You’re kidding me!”

The five cameras run out of stock during Little Richard. I’m praying that my re-can stock is still good. Some of it was in that closet for a year or more.

CHUCK ‘N ME
It’s dark.

I’m shooting dancers on the grass near the stage. When my shots all start looking the same, I go backstage. Chuck Berry is on. Besides the three cameras on towers, there’s a camera on either side of the stage. They’re playing it safe, keeping well back. There’s only one place for me to go, and that’s on the stage right in front of Chuck:

I screw on my 5.9mm wide-angle and plunk myself down in front of him. You can see me in the finished film, Chuck playing right into my lens:

The next week, Peter phones. “Your on-stage shots are great and without that 16,000 feet, we would be sunk. No Little Richard and no Chuck Berry. But you never told me, how come you had so much?”

If I hadn’t bought that newspaper, noticed the ad, driven to Chiswick, had a closet of film stock dumped on me: No Little Richard, no Chuck Berry.

All together: Do de do de do do de do!

Go https://stefansargent.com/chuck.html to see Chuck Berry (and me).

What? Does that make any sense to you? What is Mungo on?

Let’s get honest. If you’re in the business of making sponsored films, summertime is the pits. I don’t know anyone in this business who has a scrap of work in the summer. If you’re like me, working for corporate clients, it’s slow — dead slow.

It’s actually worse in Europe. In France, August is the month when every business closes. While Paris is full of tourists, the Parisians themselves scurry away down south, causing the world’s worst traffic jams. It takes two hours to get into the St. Tropez parking lot. Getting out is worse.

So here we are in summertime 2009 at a loose end again. I phone my colleague: “What’s happening, John?”

“We have several jobs in September. October is looking good.”

“Forget that. We need work now.”

“Dave’s away, Mary isn’t answering my calls — it’s just very, very quiet.”

THE GHOST OF SUMMERS PAST
It’s the mid 1970s; we have a holiday house in the south of France. It’s actually on an island — a half-hour boat ride from the Le Lavendou. To pay the mortgage, we rent it out in August. Rented out — means we’re not there in the S of F.

We’re stuck in London, scratching around for work. Of course there isn’t any, as it’s summer. My clients are away, their clients are away. I cut a new showreel, re-arrange the office furniture and spend the time worrying. Is this it? Will I ever get any more work?

I need a haircut. I cross Oxford Street into trendy South Molton Street. The barber has a plastic box for 15 audio cassettes.

They slide in and out without their silly, hard-to-open cases. I want one; it will be perfect in the car. “Where can I buy one?”

“Designed it myself and had them made.”

“They’re terrific, I’ll buy one. No, come to think of it, I’ll market them for you. Give me a price for a thousand.”

I MUST BE MAD
So now I’m designing ads, finding shipping boxes, pricing advertising for cassette boxes.

“When the weather is high, you can chase right up and touch the sky.”

OK, Mungo, you win.

I decide to run small ads in the Sunday Times. I get a special rate for a month. CASSETTE 15 Audio cassette storage for your car £15.00. Looks good and, to my surprise, the orders pour in. Hundreds of them. Tricia and I are packaging, labeling and mailing like crazy.

Disaster strikes. The packaging isn’t strong enough for these delicate plastic boxes. Almost all arrive smashed into little pieces. There are irate letters, phone calls, refunds and replacements. The new, stronger cardboard box costs almost as much as the cassette box itself. Now people are complaining that the wretched things are falling apart in their cars. These fragile things are designed for barber shops and nothing else.

Despite canceling the ads, the orders keep pouring in. Checks come in. We post them all back.

CLASSICAL FUSION
Fifteen years later: It’s 1990, in the summertime, yep — the work stops dead. This time

I have employees wandering around aimlessly. Got to keep them busy. What to do?

I know, we’ll make Classical Fusion, a new twist on Fantasia.

I have two sources: Select Effects, a library I bought from Nashville, and our own homemade VidiKIT. I select the music and hand out suggested graphics to our editors.

Julie creates motion graphics for Mozart’s “Requiem” on our Quantel Harry. Junior editor Mark Wharton cuts Select Effects to Ravel’s “Daphnis and Cloé.”

When it’s finished, I go to EMI Classics.

A lady there loves it. She sends it to EMI Japan, where music LaserDiscs are big. “Come back next month. We’ll have a contract ready.”

But, next month, she isn’t there. The new team at EMI Classics knows nothing about Classical Fusion and throws me out.

Then a wonderful thing happens. Summer is over. Work is pouring in and I’m busy again.

See a track from Classical Fusion at www.stefansargent.com/ravel.html

Hmmmm… let me think: there’s Andy. He tells me he’s making programs for Channel 4. Runs up a bill of £22,500 (just under $50,000) in editing time and then goes belly up. At least he takes me to lunch to explain that he really didn’t have a C4 contract and then — wait for it — tries to book more editing time for his new company.

Naturally, I push him down the stairs.

FARTING FRED
Fred, who has a body problem, is head of a large construction company. My contact there is a nice, downtrodden marketing exec, Norman.

“Norman. Saw your friend Stefan’s latest film about our Switchcarts. Very mediocre, I thought. Why are you still using him? Hey, only kidding, Norman. It’s OK, but way too expensive. Stefan, you bank robber, we’re supporting your lifestyle of sex, drugs and videotape. How’s the porn going?”

A month later, Norman books me for another job. On the day, I turn up at the site ready to shoot, and guess what? Norman’s boss, Farting Fred, has booked a competitive production company. Big joke!

“Let them fight it out. Pistols, swords or elbow wrestling?”

I meet the other director. Nice guy. We agree to toss a coin for the job. I lose. Norman apologizes. The winner of the toss makes the video but never gets paid. Farting Fred’s company goes under. My lucky day.

Back to the list: Let’s skip the two Saudis who screw me, the ad agency lady who “souvenirs” all the props, the creepy client who invites us to dinner but hands me the bill, and the corrupt British MP client (who wasn’t playing Monopoly but went to jail).

TO BEEB OR NOT TO BEEB
Brief diversion: I was employed at the BBC (Beeb) as a cameraman between 1964 and ’65. Every year there’s a “board,” where four senior executives read out a list of comments from your FOM (Film Operation Manager) and do a brief interview. Good news. They like me, they really like me.

I’m sitting there beaming and a faceless one says, “What would you like to do?” I reply, “I WANT TO DIRECT.”

Oh no… without a university degree, promotion from cameraman to production is impossible.

“What about Hitchcock?” I quip.

“No degree, he was just a draftsman.” Lead balloon. I slink out.

JANUARY 1995 LONDON, UK
My good client Jason has landed a BBC series of six quarter-hour programs. The subject is back pain. Jason sub-contracts the whole job to me. It took 30 years of waiting but now’s my chance to direct for the Beeb.
I shoot chiropractors, osteopaths, aroma-therapists and so on. The killer-diller is a program on the Alexander Technique.

Little did Australian actor Frederic Alexander know the trouble he’d cause me with my BBC client.

Nope, not even a chiropractor can remove the pain from mean, cruel, thoughtless clients!

We shoot it with three cameras. Offline it on Avid. Send a “for content only” VHS to the commissioning editor at the Beeb. It’s REJECTED for technical quality. The cameras don’t match. Huh? I can’t believe it. A VHS offline rejected for not meeting broadcast specs… They can’t be serious.

I explain to the lady producer at the Beeb, “It’s only a VHS — not a broadcast master. The cameras are fine.” But no, it has to be re-shot. My own client, Jason, is hysterical. “Jason, it’s a dirt-cheap VHS — they can’t reject the show on technical grounds!”

But they do.

We re-shoot and edit. I supply a BetaSP edit made directly from the new Beta camera original. It comes back REJECTED with a page of faults. Dropouts here there and everywhere. Blanking errors. White clipping. Chromas too high. You name it.

I call in my colleague, Bob Parsons. He was my chief engineer at Molinare. Show it to him. He can’t see a thing wrong with the tape.

“Just re-box it with a new report sheet,” says Bob. He’s done it before.

I re-package the selfsame tape rejected by the Beeb. Write a new report sheet with lots of fake details and new signatures. Bike it over to the BBC. You get it: We didn’t do nothing.

A few hours later, I get a call from a QC technician at the BBC. “Fantastic! It’s perfect. Thanks ever so.”

The BEEB wins! THE WORST OF THE WORST!

COOTAMUNDRA, NSW, AUSTRALIA DECEMBER 1959
To CineSound Review Newsreel, Sydney, Australia.
Dear Sir,
Enclosed are 4 x 100 rolls: 3 Plus-X Reversal and one Tri-X Reversal. Please develop.
While I was filming The 14th Australian Jazz Convention in Cootamundra, a glider crashed in a nearby field killing the pilot. I was at the scene at the same time as the police and ambulance arrived. I think this would make a good item for your newsreel.

Dear Mr. Sargent,
We have developed your footage as requested and screened it. Unfortunately we cannot use the glider crash but would like to purchase your footage of the Cootamundra Jazz Convention for our national newsreel.
We need your agreement and have attached our standard terms of business. Please sign and return as time is of the essence.
Bill McCarthy

Dear Mr. McCarthy,
I am hand delivering this signed agreement as I realize you need to start work immediately.
Also enclosed are some 1/4″ audiotapes with recordings of the Town Hall sessions and the street parade.

Dear Stefan
Your Cootamundra jazz film was a great success. Congratulations. I enclose our invoice for developing 400′ of reversal film. And our payment for the use of the footage.
4 x 100′ rolls of 16mm reversal @ £5 per: £20 debit
Royalty fee for use in newsreel: £20 credit
I’m sorry the two amounts balance each other out but if it is any consolation we gave you a credit in the introductory title.

Dear Bill,
I saw the film at the Wynyard Newsreel. It’s a very good 35mm blow-up and looked and sounded excellent. Thank you for the unexpected credit in the titles.

I was disappointed that your fee for developing the footage was the same as my fee for supplying the shots, the net effect being that I get nothing.

I note that you made good use of the music from my 1/4″ tape. This was outside the terms of our agreement, which clearly was for the silent footage alone. Disregarding music copyright clearance is a serious matter and I have handed this matter over to both my solicitors and to those of the musicians and composers concerned.

To save considerable legal expense and without prejudice, I would accept an offer of £25 for the use of the audiotapes plus £50 for the use of the band’s music. The latter I would pass on to the convention organizers.

SAN RAFAEL, CALIFORNIA, MARCH 2009
On 3/29/09 Michelle Hanna wrote:
Dear Stefan,
I hope this finds you well. I am a TV producer from Sydney, Australia, at the Ovation Channel, the arts and entertainment channel. We are making a one-hour program in which we interview Australians who worked as “pirate” deejays in the 1960s offshore ships in the U.K., to coincide with the launch of the film The Boat That Rocked.
We have conducted interviews with several of the Australian deejays, including Bryan Vaughan, who appears in your excellent segment posted at http://www.offshoreradio.co.uk/album81.htm
I am writing to ask if we may have permission to use an excerpt of this clip within our program?
Of course, we would fully credit you and I would appreciate if you could let me know exactly how to credit the piece (e.g.” The Australian Londoners” 1966, courtesy of filmmaker Stefan Sargent?).
I look forward to hearing from you.
With kind regards,
Michelle

On 3/30/09, Stefan Sargent replied:
Hi Michelle,
Thanks for contacting me regarding my rare footage of Radio Caroline. Recently a Japanese station paid me $35 a second for library shots from another of my productions.
The pirate radio clip is 2 minutes 44 seconds = 164 seconds. A discount rate for the Ovation Channel would be $20 a second = $3,280
Seems fair to me.

On 4/6/09 2:10a.m. Michelle Hanna wrote:
Hi Stefan,
Sorry for not getting back to you. Thank you for your email. Unfortunately we will leave this, as we will no longer need the footage.
With kind regards,
Michelle

Go to my 1959 jazz convention film at https://stefansargent.com/jazz.html
And the 1965 pirate radio clip at https://stefansargent.com/pirates.html

The setup: 36 screens on each side of a 12’ Eidophor rear-projection center screen. Take a close look at the photo. Where’s the center screen? Hey, it’s behind our heads, but even for this PR photo. they couldn’t power it up and put an image on it.

On the left, with his thumb stuck in the LaserVision disc, is my colleague, Bob Auger. Poor guy, he’s smiling as hard as he can, but he’s faking too. The sad truth is that the wall has never had a non-stop, successful run. Behind it are 10 Philips CAV LaserVision players (Laserdisc in the U.S.) linked via computer. Five discs play the first 35 minutes and then the other five take over. Well, that was the plan, but it never happened, and the techies from Philips Eindhoven were frantically trying to fix it by writing more code in BCPL, Basic Combined Programming Language.

And we’re running out of time.

Another test run… 33, 34, 35 minutes — here comes the Mickey Mouse cartoon that played as the BBC closed down their transmitters in 1939 for the war. Now the disc crossover… wait for it… wait for it… nothing… just 73 blank screens and an eerie silence.

Plan BCEP, our Basic Combined Exit to Patagonia.

THE BACK STORY. I fly to Philips’ HQ in Eindhoven, Holland. Tony Pilgrim of the RTS has convinced them to donate a video wall for the event. Mr. Philips says to me, “How many monitors would you like?”

“How many can I have?”

“Whatever you want – 1 to 100.”

We fly back to London. On the plane, I finally ask Tony, “What kind of show do you imagine?”

“Oh, something like a feature film. You know, about 90 minutes.”

Wow, I’m to write and direct a feature-length show to play on maybe 100 screens. This is exciting! I work out that 36 television monitors on either side of a center screen would fit the theater. Tony gets Eidophor to donate a projector. I hire Bob to co-produce and look after the wall. Both of us are willing innocents, going where angels fear to tread.

I take on assistants and researchers. The BBC and all the commercials stations send us their best work over the past 50 years. Monty Python and Fawlty Towers spring to mind, but there are thousands more — remember Thunderbirds and The Prisoner? Not to mention documentaries, sports and royal events.

Tony was a transmitter guy. He wants a special section on THE MARCH OF THE TELEVISION TOWERS.

Nooooo… !

“Do it!” he shouts.

Surprise. It’s terrific.

A CAV Laserdisc can hold 36 minutes in PAL. Want more? Just add players. Philips execs say it’s possible. I believe them. Now their video wall expert tells me their previous longest presentation was just 10 minutes long. A ton of memory and new code are needed.

While I concentrate on the center screen story, Bob plans the video wall montages. We record the show with nine 1″ VTRs. Fly the tapes to Philips. Get the LP-sized discs made and slowly die as their expert programs the show, frame by frame. Discs 1, 2, 3 and discs 7,8, 9 run in real time, while all the others are random-access for special effects, freeze frames and last-minute additions.

CRUNCH TIME — THE PREMIERE. There are speeches first. Everyone has his say except Bob and me. We’re only the guys who wrote, directed, edited, and sweated blood.

The show starts. Looks great. Here we go — 33, 34, 35… Mickey Mouse cartoon… wait for it… and… a miracle! Part two starts and plays. For the first time ever!

I’m not going to Patagonia.

You can see a center screen clip at https://stefansargent.com/goldenbox.html

On February 2, we shot the last sequence of my feature documentary Pinot: Sonoma Dreams. It was the bottling of Wall Street trader turned winemaker Jamie Kutch’s ’07 vintage. Almost exactly a year earlier we’d shot the ’06 being bottled. The amazing thing is that with all my experience, this year’s shoot is so much better. Yep, you really can teach an old dog new tricks.

Wall St. escapee turned wine maker Jamie Kutch is the subject of "Pinot: Sonoma Dreams."

What did we do differently? For starters, no tripods. This year Trish has a monopod (just 50 bucks from B&H) and I hand hold. It’s tough to shoot all day, even with a lightweight camera and two radio receivers, gaffer taped to the handle.

In the old days of film, my 16mm Éclair NPR would sit nicely on my shoulder, that was good — the bad was that without a flip out viewfinder, it was hard to get those low angles and fluid walking shots.

It’s a tricky shoot. I’m inside the bottling trailer inches away from high speed dangerous equipment. One slip and the camera, and maybe my hand, gets mangled. Anywhere else there would be safety guards. I risk life and limb to get the shot.

We get home. Tricia runs a bath and pours me a glass of Jamie’s new wine. Did I have two glasses? Perhaps. I get out of the bath, slip on the wet floor and land — whack — on the wine glass. The cut on my leg is deep, way down to the bone. Ouch! It still hurts.

MY DEADLINE. With Michael Moore following my lead and making a feature doc about the Wall Street bailout, I decide to have my movie “finished” by end of February.
I had done some major editing in November last year, when Tricia and I visited family in Sydney, Australia. I took my new MacBook Pro plus two terabytes of storage. We’d visit her mother and I’d sit in the garden happily editing away. Bliss compared with being in an “edit suite” surrounded by po-faced clients. By February this year I have most of the major harvest sequences cut.

Editing al fresco in Sydney

Moving from MacBook to MacPro makes editing faster — besides it’s cold and wet back here in San Francisco, no chance of editing on our deck. Cutting individual sequences is relatively easy. The hard thing is to join them up and make a 90 minute movie that has structure and continuity. Some sequences have to go. They can be “deleted scenes” on the DVD.

This is a real documentary. There’s no script, re-retakes, no talking heads and no voice over. The movie must have natural, internal “glue.”

ROLL THE DICE. I finish the edit on February 27. It takes a day to figure out how to burn a 90 minute HD Blu-ray. My tests in Toast 10 are a waste of time. It automatic settings don’t work and the menus are awful. I move to Apple’s Compressor and Adobe’s Encore CS4. They work fine but oh so slow. It takes six hours from FCP timeline to finished Blu-ray.

I had never seen the movie as a straight 90-minute piece. We email our kids and say, “No phone calls.” We put a “GO AWAY” note on the front door. Dim the lights and run the Blu-ray projected on our 8′. screen.

I love it. Tricia hadn’t seen it before and is “blown away!”

Next, I join Without A Box to enter our masterpiece in Film Festivals around the world. I’ve got to tell you withoutabox.com has the slowest, most rigid software ever. It wants a lead actor. Hey, it’s a documentary. There is no lead actor. I hit “skip”. Nope. ENTER A LEAD ACTOR. I put in Jamie and then write his biog. saying that he’s not an actor but a real person.

After hours of struggle, our entry is finally up and I immediately enter in six film festivals closing between February 28 and March 1. Personally, I’m not a festivalgoer. But if it wins a prize and gets noticed, it’s a good way to find an agent or make a sale.

Now to burn DVDs, write a press kit, pack ’n post. Hurray! The first six are away!

Wish us luck. You can see a trailer at http://www.sonomadreams.com./

“I made a film about Warwick University which was sponsored by Barclays Bank.”

“Great. You’re our new director. Fly to Saudi on Friday. Meet the people, do site surveys, write the script.”

IF IT’S FRIDAY, IT MUST BE SAUDI ARABIA.

I clamber down the stairs onto the tarmac. A waiting Arab walks over to me.

“Mr. Stefan?”

“Yes.”

“Give me your camera and passport.”

Dazed and confused, I do as asked and follow him.

“I am Sadiq. Welcome to Saudi. Tonight, we celebrate.”

It’s after midnight Saudi time. No idea what it is my time. We are in a small Greek restaurant in Riyadh, drinking non-alcoholic wine. Sadiq tells about his travels in Europe, the beautiful lady he fell in love with in Italy…

Pleeease, give me back my passport and take me to the hotel.

MONDAY. I’m in the bank’s headquarters being introduced to one banker after the other. As they are all wearing dishdasha robes, it’s hard to remember who’s who. I get on well with a young Saudi who went to a university in California. He takes me into a boardroom.

“Where’s Wally?” he asks.

“I don’t know, he’s vanished.”

“They like you but were expecting Walter. Watch this.”

He dims the lights and presses a few buttons. Curtains part and I’m watching a movie.

“Wally made this?”

“Yes. Tell me what you think.”

OMG, it’s awful. Static tripod shots with slow pans. Looks like 35mm film. The interiors are overlit. Even worse, the commentary sounds like James A. FitzPatrick.

“Well?”

“I’ve got be honest. It’s very old-fashioned. A corporate video isn’t like a travelogue. You have an important message to tell and you need to do that in a modern way.”
“That’s exactly what I think. Let’s do this together! I’m excited!”

He’s excited. I’m excited. These banking people in Saudi have a ton of money. It’s my chance to do something really good — and he likes me.

WEDNESDAY. Sadiq has organized a reception for me. I’m introduced as a creative genius who has won numerous awards and worked for top companies, including the BBC, IBM, BP, etc. I make a speech saying how pleased I am to be in Riyadh. Sadiq says it’s a big success. They like me. There will be lots of work.

THURSDAY. A long drive to a new city being built. Cranes everywhere. I meet the developers. They want videos of the shopping mall, offices and houses.

FRIDAY. Saudi Arabia has the biggest dairy in the world. I arrive at midnight. Up with the cows in the morning. I meet the owner. He needs videos about the dairy and their milk products

MONDAY. I’m at a palace up for sale. Incredible! Huge underground swimming pool and outdoor air-conditioning. Asking price: a mere $10 million. Yep, they need a video!

WEDNESDAY. Back at the bank. They love my script and now want ANOTHER VIDEO! This one’s about the Millennium Bug.

FRIDAY. I fly back to London with over $1 million of future productions. The first shoot for the bank is planned for next month. But there’s a problem: the contract isn’t signed. I’ve booked a crew and now, nothing.

JANUARY 1998. Sadiq turns up in London. He’s wearing a business suit. I hardly recognize him.

“Good news,” he says. “The contract is signed. We’re shooting next week.”

“I can’t. I’m doing the ICI World Conference and can’t leave next week!”

“YOU WILL NEVER WORK IN SAUDI AGAIN!” he screams at me.

A day later, there’s a knock on my door. “I’m Walter Taggart,” he says. “I’ve come to pick up your script.”

Saudi wants my script but not me.

“Wally! Do you want my DV tapes?”

“DV?! We’re shooting 35mm film.”

Sadiq’s right. I never will work in Saudi again. Poof goes $1,000,000.

Funny, I thought they liked me.

I know I’ll fix the M-Audio thingy that lets me monitor 5.1 audio. I spent a small fortune on the three Event Studio Precision 6 active monitors and the middle one is just sitting there unused – an embarrassment. Dolby 5.1 here I come!

I met Ray, himself, at NAB, maybe in 1978. “Ray, what are you doing here by yourself?” “Someone has to be here – they’re all at lunch.” “I just bought six of your units for our new Ampex 1” VPR2 inch machines – they really need noise reduction.” “Bad?” “No, unacceptable.” “My guys should get onto to that – thanks for the tip. Ampex VPR2, is that right? ” “My pleasure, Ray.” And thus Dolby noise reduction was built-in to all 1” C format machines.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS.

Three Ampex VPR1 machines at my London facility circa 1978

In the old days when I had neat and tidy video facility companies in London, I’d pick up the phone and call the engineering department. “Martin, Studio B, we need the Dolby 5.1 working.” “Yes boss, I’m on my way.” I’d wander off to a Soho tapas and wine bar knowing that Martin and his team would sort it all out.

Firewire toy stopped for no reason at all. I pulled it out, put it on a shelf and went back to old fashioned stereo. In the corporate video world no one gives a rat’s tooth about 5.1, so why bother?

I power it up and bingo it works again. Damn, I can’t move my dialog to Ch. 3, the center track. I create a new timeline. Yeah, that has all six channels. Copy and paste my old timeline on to it. Move dialog to Ch. 3. Success! I have 5.1 or let’s be honest – I have left, right and center, that’s Dolby 3.0.

HUH? WHERE’S THE PICTURE GONE? But what’s this? My Sony HD monitor, fed from a BlackMagic card has no picture. I’ve got Dolby 3.0 going like a dream but no video. Da little red lights on the monitor say that the signal has gone AWOL. I check the usual culprits. No dice. It should be working but it ain’t. Nada.

Maybe I’ve pulled a wire out. Oh well, Phuket (Thailand’s largest island). I’d better sort out the mess.

It’s grim down here under the table. Lots of cat fluff. She likes the heat of the MacPro fans. What a mess. Two Sonnet enclosures with 5 drives each. An OWC eSATA case with two x 1 TBs. A Drobo box with 5 TBs.

The two Apple Cinema Displays, on the desk up above, have spare USB and FW wires going … nowhere. The breakout from the BlackMagic card has an incredible 14 separate wires and connectors. Fourteen! I use only three, the other 11 are wrapped around a jumble of wires. Nothing for it – rip everything out and start again.

Wires, cat fluff, redundant power leads, my lost USB microphone … out, out, out!

SCOUT TO THE RESCUE.

Scout and me under the table of my lifeless edit suite

The downstairs tenant’s dog, Scout, arrives. The owner’s gone to work; I’m wirer-upper and dog sitter. My wife’s friend, Carolyn, takes my photo. They both go out to lunch, laughing. Big joke. I’m left alone on the floor with Scout. Whaaaa! Come back Martin.

Scout barks. Someone at the door. Oh no! My 10:00 client. Sheeeet!

“Hi Peter, I thought you were coming at 10:00?” “No; 12:00 noon. Didn’t you get my phone message?” “No. My edit suite is Phuketed. I can’t show you anything.” “How come?” “Don’t ask.” “Come back tomorrow?” “Flying to London. I’m back Dec. 20.” “That’s the day I’m going to New York.” “Adios Amigo.”

He leaves. I knew I shouldn’t have got up this morning. 12:30 and I need a drink.