Stefan Sargent

I guess everyone who makes commissioned films — or commissioned anything, for that matter — has rotten clients. I thought I’d write about my favorite worst clients, if you know what I mean.

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!

Above, left: Young Stefan thinks the approaching band is going straight ahead but, no, they suddenly turn and crush him underfoot. Above, right: Radio Caroline at sea. What price for rare archive footage? How about nothing?

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

LONDON UK, 1986. That’s me on the right up there. I may be smiling, but I’m afraid, very afraid. After this photo shoot, we planned to show that video wall to an audience of trade press and VIPs from British broadcasting. It’s a 70-minute production called “The Golden Box.” Gold for 50 years and Box for television: Golden Box = 50 years of television! You got it! My client was the esteemed Royal Television Society.

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

FEBRUARY 2009 SAN RAFAEL, CALIFORNIA
Boy am I tired!

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.

LONDON, OCTOBER 1997. “Stefan, it’s Peter. I might have a job for you. We booked Walter Taggart. He makes films for banks. Has a Ph.D. in banking. Knows the banker-speak. Anyhow, Wally’s gone and we don’t know where he is. Our office in Riyadh is going nuts. Ever made a bank film?”

“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.

SAN RAFAEL, CA. DECEMBER 2008. I had a client coming in at 10:00 today. It’s now 11:00. I phone. Nope – just an answering machine. “Hi Peter, where are you?” I email. “Did you think it was at YOUR place?” Zilch. What to do?

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.

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, 2008. We’ve spent a year filming Jamie Kutch. He was a Wall Street trader, threw it in and now makes Pinot Noir in Sonoma County. Yep, he’s a real person not just an actor.

The grapes (the “fruit”) have just come back from his first harvest. Jamie and his girlfriend, Kirsten (she’s a real person too) are working the conveyor belt, removing leaves, sticks and sickly looking grapes. On the conveyor belt, nestled among the grapes, is a little box. Kirsten picks it up and opens it. Jamie goes down on one knee.

Kristen finds a ring on the conveyor belt

I get an email from Brian Silverstein of Manhattan Production Music in NYC “was that real or were they just acting?”

VICTORIA, AUSTRALIA, 1967. I am making Australian Ugliness, a 60 minute TV doco.; how the beautiful Australian countryside has been beaten up in the name of progress.

Driving around the outskirts of Melbourne, I see hundreds of bulldozed Eucalyptus trees, lying dead between the road and the nearby railway line. Yet looking across the tracks, there’s line of tall trees. The contrast is striking.

I climb onto the roof of the car, legs down through the sunroof. We drive past the destruction.  I shoot it. We cross a railway bridge to the other side. I film a long line of green, leafy trees. As we approach its end– WHACK – the last tree topples as a bulldozer knocks it flat. We stop. I leap off the car and run over to the bulldozer.

“Why did you do that?” The driver doesn’t seem to care that I have a film camera on my shoulder.

“These trees are too tall and scraggy. I’m doing a public service.”

“You enjoy your work?”

“Too right. I rev. up the engine and I say ‘You ugly bastard, you’re for it, mate!’ Then I hit the stupid thing as hard as I can. Look over there – the other side of the tracks. Doesn’t that look good! I did that. Beauty.”

The program is broadcast. Newspaper columnist, Nan Musgrove writes: What a shame Stefan Sargent had to spoil his documentary by using an actor to play the part of a bulldozer driver.

Sorry Nan – he is a real person. Scriptwriters and actors aren’t that good.

ASPIRIN + PHENACETIN + CAFFEINE. Next, Barry Melrose, the advertising manager of an Australian headache powder, Vincent’s A.P.C, phones me at Channel 9.

Vintage A.P.C advertisement in the Australian Women's Weekly

“Was the bulldozer driver real or just an actor?” asks Barry.

“He’s a bit crazy but 100% real.”

Convinced, Barry wants me to make a 30 second TV spot with a “real” person talking about headaches. He’ll pay me the money he was going to spend on the agency produced commercial. Great! It’s double the amount I get for my 60 minute docos..

My assistant Rosemary and I wander the streets of Sydney looking for likely victims. We shoot interviews with taxi drivers, construction workers, pedestrians – no fun.

We are in Circular Quay, near the half finished Sydney Opera House, there’s a double decker bus parked nearby. I walk up to the driver – camera running.

“Hi, I’m making a commercial for Vincent’s A.P.C – do you get headaches?”

He leans out the window and looks directly at the camera, “I’ve been driving buses 30 years on and off. I get headaches but I always carry Vincent’s A.P.C …”

It’s true. He really has packets of Vincent A.P.C behind the steering wheel. Back at base, we wait for the film to be developed. It’s perfect – better still his unscripted, impromptu, one take, speech is exactly 27 seconds, leaving three seconds for a product shot.

My client can’t believe it. Neither can I. Vincent’s block book the airtime and run it for years. Many viewers in Sydney know every word.

The bus driver, Bruce Lithgow, becomes an instant celebrity and appears on afternoon talk shows. Eventually Bruce has a show of his own. His gimmick: he only has real people – no celebrities or authors. His researchers track down my bulldozer driver.

Sadly Bruce stops being real. He’s a TV star. It’s all my fault.

This week I ordered a Sock-Loupe from Hood Pro (http://www.hood-pro.com/). The copy says a “fully rigid loupe” can be adjusted to have a “minor droop.”

A fully rigid Sock-Loupe.

I pay by Paypal and within minutes receive an email from the inventor, Mike Stevens.

“It was great to see an order from you as I am an avid reader of your little stories of weird shoots.”

Always nice to get feedback but “little stories of weird shoots.”

My life’s work summed up as little and weird. Great – email, Mike. I’ll just go and shoot myself.

Want another little, weird story Mike?

SOHO LONDON 1998. I’m on-lining a one hour program about the World Bank.
In walks my client Peter Delfgou and his distributor, Alan – plus – well let’s call him Jerry. They pull up three chairs.

Turns out that Spielberg is shooting “Saving Private Ryan” on Curracloe Beach in Ireland. Jerry’s mother lives in nearby Wexford and his friend, Pat, knows everyone in the local village near the beach. Hey, they’re ALL going to be in the movie. The village is being taken over by Hollywood. The local postman is going to man a German machine gun. The baker is a US infantry soldier.

The Curracloe Beach I never saw.

Alan says he’ll finance it. Peter is keen for me to do it. Jerry says, “You can shoot the invasion of Normandy from the beach. It’s a public beach. You can film anything from public property!”

I’m a cynic from way back. Nah, this isn’t going to happen. “Stefan, Jerry knows everyone in the village. Hollywood takes over small Irish village. Spielberg’s is shooting the invasion this weekend. You’ve got to go.”

Only a day later my good client Murray Withers phones, “Can you do a shoot next week in Ireland of an automated warehouse?” That settles it; I’ll go to Ireland on Friday with Jerry, shoot the invasion of Normandy over the weekend, then drive north to the Murray’s warehouse.

FRIDAY. Jerry drives me to Fishguard in Wales. We catch the car ferry to Ireland. It is a very rough crossing. Our fellow travelers are very, very drunk. A fight breaks out. We stay overnight at Jerry’s mother’s place.

SATURDAY MORNING. Jerry takes me to his friend Pat’s beach restaurant. It’s empty. We wait. I have a Sony PD150, a tripod and a Sennheiser rifle mike. Eventually Pat turns up. He has a pirated “Saving Private Ryan” production handbook. It’s as big as a phone directory. Details of where and when plus diagrams of how the cast will change into their costumes. It turns out that none of the local villagers is in the movie. In fact the military cast is the same soldiers who were in “Braveheart”.

We walk to Curracloe Beach. It’s a long beach, now surrounded by a high wire fence, security guards both inside and out.

Curracloe Beach

Pat thinks the real action may be on the far end of the beach. He has a brilliant idea: at night, we sneak through a hole in the wire and hide in the dunes.

Today there’s nothing happening; just a long, empty beach full of security guards. “No invasion of Normandy this weekend,” says Pat. “Bummer!” replies Jerry.

PLAN B. We go back to the local town. My English cell won’t work in Ireland. I find a pay phone.

“Peter, it’s a disaster. The townsfolk aren’t involved in the movie and the beach is sealed off, top to bottom.”

Just then Jerry appears. “Stefan, win some, lose some but since you’re here, let’s make a program about music in Irish pubs.”

I know when I’m beaten. We spend the night pub crawling. I film it all – one mike, no lights, no releases. Everyone is singing and dancing. The Irish know how enjoy themselves. Great fun. Is it saleable footage? Of course not!

I MAKE MY ESCAPE. Monday. It’s raining. I drive north. Half the road signs are in miles – the other half in kilometers. I shoot the automated warehouse in the pouring rain. For stock, I re-use the Irish pub tapes.

Jerry and Pat sneak onto “Omaha” beach and are quietly led away.

BONDI BEACH AUSTRALIA, MARCH. 1966 I’m in the surf filming Will Rushton, an English comedian. He starred in the BBC’s That Was The Week That Was and in the feature film Those Magnificent Men In Their Flying Machines.

Today he’s Captain Cook discovering Australia. He staggers out of the water and discovers a beach full of tanned Aussies.

“Beads, pictures of the queen, you native Johnnies?”

A girl, wearing a skimpy bikini, groans, “Oh Gawd! Another British actor!”

“Pommie bastard!” yells her surfie boyfriend.

English comedian Will Rushton, as Captain Cook discovering Australia.

We’re making a weekly national TV show called Do Not Adjust Your Set, There Is A Fault In The Program. The crew: me, Rosemary (my assistant), Megan (casting and props) and Bob (assistant editor).

MONDAY
We meet at Will’s place. There is no script, only random ideas.

Will: “We build a machine called an Orgasmatron and I take Arlene inside.”

Me: “We can’t build anything in two days. Anyhow, Woody Allen’s done that!”

Will: “I’m a concert pianist but the piano is a paper roll Pianola — I bow to the audience and then work the pedals.”

Me: “Megan, find a Pianola for Tuesday.”

Will: “I sing a song about imaginary pink elephants and I’m riding one… a real one.”

Megan: “I’ll phone the Balmain circus.”

Me: “Offer a screen credit — no money. Make it Wednesday morning, 9:00, Dee Why beach near the lagoon.”

Will: “The Bolshoi Ballet is dancing Swan Lake. I’m a big game hunter and I dance on stage with a shotgun — I take aim and shoot a swan. She dies balletically — you know lots of twirls and then splat. I play rock ‘n’ roll. The Bolshoi is dancing to rock ‘n’ roll.”

Tempting to say, “NO CAN DO,” but it’s just as crazy as last week’s shoot — a remake of Lawrence of Arabia in a photobooth.

Megan’s friends, dressed as Arabs, run in and out of a double-sided photobooth. Will is Austrian director Erich von Stroheim. He inserts coins into the photobooth and detonates a charge. A brilliant white flash and the booth disappears in clouds of smoke. Cut to the train blowing up sequence from David Lean’s classic.

Wounded Arabs stumble out of the photobooth. We leave quickly.

TUESDAY. I shoot four sketches. Captain Cook’s arrival at Bondi. Next, the Trappist monk sketch. Then Arlene’s song. Finally, an under-cranked chase through Sydney streets.

WEDNESDAY. Megan is waiting for us on the beach at Dee Why with a small elephant. Drive to a Keith’s house in nearby Frenchs Forest. He has a Weber Pianola piano. Shoot that.

Megan tells Will the bad news. “The Bolshoi couldn’t make it, but we’ve got Warwick’s girlfriend, Shirley. She dances on Bandstand. I couldn’t get a hall and Channel 9’s studio is booked.”

Me: “We’ll use Lane Cove National Park. Rosemary, can you collect the dancers? I’ll meet you all at 3:30, that will give us two hours before sunset.”

THURSDAY & FRIDAY. Bob and I edit the seven film clips. I had shot the ballet in order, making today’s editing easy — just sync up and cut in the hunter shots.

Warwick’s girlfriend, Shirley, and her dancing partner fill in for the absent Bolshoi.

SATURDAY & SUNDAY. Saturday, go to Channel 9 where we have a live studio audience. We have a one-hour “window” when both the play-in telecine and the VR1000 recorder are free. No re-takes.

Sunday — our day off (oh yeah). Monday we meet again.

Will: “I’m driving a car giving an interview to a reporter in the backseat. I can’t see where I’m going.”

It’s torture, yes, but better than working.

You can see what happened to the Bolshoi Ballet here.