By Francisco Menendez, Film Studies Professor
Former UNLV film studies students (from left) Jason
Goedeker, Sean Adam O'Hair, and David Scofield.
Director Martin Scorsese watches the monitor intently. He sits in his director's chair placed against the wall of a kitchen facility in a rented hall near downtown Las Vegas.
"Action!"
The camera begins by framing up on Academy Award-winning actor Joe Pesci sharing a story with some gangsters at the side of a bar. Then the Steadicam operator glides off, exploring the large room past some "wiseguys" watching an old 1940s film noir on TV. The camera comes to a gentle stop when the frame reaches the table of the head Mafioso playing cards with a crony. The old Mafioso stares at his cards, furrowing his brow as he thinks of his next move.
The movie is renowned filmmaker Martin Scorsese's Casino. It is the middle of January '95, and the picture has been shooting in Nevada for the past few months. Though the scene is a minor one, the crew is anxious, as they are a week away from wrapping up principal photography, and the challenging shoot is almost over.
A few feet from Scorsese sits UNLV film studies major Jason Goedeker, who has spent the fall semester working as an intern on Casino and the past three weeks as a paid assistant for the camera department. His job: to place Scorsese's monitor in the right position and to ensure that the line from the camera is connected to it.
Production assistant Jason
Goedeker, seated left, worked for the camera department on Martin
Scorsese's film Casino.
It might not be the most glamourous job description in the film industry, but Goedeker, 25, knows that a slip-up on his part could halt production, a costly and embarrassing scenario he'd prefer to avoid. So he's vigilant at his post, watching his own black and white monitor and waiting for the word "cut" to break the tension. When it comes, he is relieved.
It is less than a year since Goedeker completed his own 16mm films in the Film Production I class at UNLV. He, like other film studies majors, has devoted a great deal of time and effort to writing, planning, and shooting his own projects. But now the game is different; Goedeker is watching firsthand how the professionals make a movie.
He is one of more than a dozen students the UNLV film studies program has placed as interns or paid assistants on the sets of major film and television productions shooting in or around Las Vegas. They have served on such projects as Star Trek - Generations, Northern Exposure, and Indecent Proposal. Their work, often in the somewhat menial role of production assistant, teaches them about the many facets of the film industry, from the tedious hours of waiting for the shot to be set up to the thrill of meeting their screen heroes.
One of my roles as a film studies professor is to arrange the students' internships with the film companies. I also visit the sets to see them in action and to hear how the job is going. Their accounts of their experiences on the set, a few of which I will relate here, speak to the value of such real-world training. They also offer an amusing inside look at the film industry.
But first I'll set the stage by providing some facts about the film industry and the students who hope to break into it.
Every year, film schools around the
country produce approximately 26,000 film studies graduates. Dezso
Magyar, director of the American Film Institute's fellowship program,
estimates that only 5 to 10 percent of those 26,000 will actually find
their way into the film industry.
Some of those students have paid their institutions as much as $100,000 for a chance to get experience behind the lens. In that context, the film studies program at UNLV is a bargain to the aspiring film student. Here, they have an opportunity to learn how to shoot, write, and think about film for a fraction of the cost of the average film school.
My focus is not only to provide them with that experience in a liberal arts setting, but to ensure that they stand a chance of getting a taste of the industry before they graduate.
Obviously, not all of our majors want to work in the industry. Some will go on to obtain advanced degrees and serve in careers in higher education; others want to work outside the mainstream, focusing on avant-garde and experimental film. But a substantial number, like Goedeker, want to compete for the big brass ring - the opportunity to take the coveted role of director on a Hollywood feature film.
I am reminded of the joke about the talking dog that was being interviewed by Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show. "It is amazing," Johnny told his guest. "You are a dog, an ordinary household pet, yet here you are being interviewed on my show."
"Yes," responded the dog, "it is amazing. But what I really want to do is direct."
This desire among students to lead the cast and crew of a feature film grows yearly and prompts many of them to demand answers on how to crack the film industry. They have read about the outrageously high salaries that the industry promises the director, and they relish the notion of putting their visions on film. The prospect sounds pretty tantalizing to the young creative mind.
But the film set can be a rude awakening to students, as it provides them with a realistic view of how a film gets made and how the industry works. It is there that they can observe professionals and test their dreams and aspirations against the nuts and bolts of a Hollywood production.
Keep in mind that the job of production assistant is not a glamourous one. The position requires minimal skill, the assignment demands long days, and the work is menial at best. One of our challenges is to prepare our students so they can put their best foot forward and use this experience to make informed decisions about their futures in the film business.
With that in mind, they pursue opportunities, hoping for the best. Some, like Sean Adam O'Hair, learn about being starstruck.
The personalized license plate on the blue Honda reads "FILMGUY." It belongs to O'Hair, a recent film studies graduate. He has been working as a production assistant for more than three years. During that time, he, his ever-present beeper (his link to all the visiting productions), and his blue Honda have served on more than a half dozen feature films.
"It takes awhile to figure out the right measure of what you can and can't do on the set," he says with a grin. "As a PA your job description varies from show to show, but the one thing that's constant is that you have to do your job well. No matter what the assignment is, you gotta give it your all. No complaints, no fuss. Just do it."
Asked what his most embarrassing moment on the set was, O'Hair shakes his head knowing it was inevitable that this would come up. He looks up sheepishly and says, "Star Trek."
It was the summer of 1994, and the desert sun beat down on the arid landscape of the Valley of Fire, where one of the shoots took place. That week his job as a production assistant entailed carrying large cases of drinks from one end of the Star Trek - Generations location to the other. The cast was on break between camera set-ups, and O'Hair's sturdy 6-foot-plus frame was being tested by the three heavy cases of beverages he was carrying up the hill to the camera crew.
As he set the cases down for a moment to take a breath, he looked up the hill and saw two familiar figures approaching him - actors William Shatner and Patrick Stewart, known to the public as Kirk and Picard, the legendary captains of the starships Enterprise.
O'Hair's eyes widened as he saw them together for the first time. He grew up with these guys; from grade school to high school, these were his heroes of the small screen.
He searched for his camera case along his belt, but could find only his beeper. He quickly realized that the break would probably be his only chance to have a photo taken of the captains and himself. The two actors were about 10 feet away and getting closer. O'Hair looked down the hill at the makeshift parking lot 100 feet below. There was the blue Honda with his camera locked inside.
O'Hair looked back. The actors were upon him; he knew he could make it to the car if he could get them to wait just for a moment. It was now or never.
"Excuse me, gentlemen. Would you mind if I took a picture with the two of you?"
Shatner and Stewart stopped to stare at O'Hair, who was doing his best to sell them the idea with a winning smile. The captains exchanged looks, then studied O'Hair and his three crates. Finally, Stewart broke the silence. "Maybe after lunch," he said in his commanding voice.
As the captains walked past him toward their trailers, O'Hair sighed. He knew there would be no picture, reminding himself that that was why he locked his camera in his car in the first place.
"Get to work," he thought to himself. "Just do it." He then picked up the three cases of drinks and continued his long walk up the hill.
Film studies student Cory Myler had to learn fast to overcome his awe of Robert DeNiro, for whom he served as an assistant on Casino. Visiting the set one night, I found myself sitting with Myler outside DeNiro's trailer, waiting. DeNiro was not moving on to the next location, so he was done for the night. The air was cold, and Myler and I sat in silence. I watched him organize his clipboard, which enabled him to keep everything running smoothly for the next day's shoot. I looked over toward the trailer door.
Film
studies student Cory Myler, left, served as Robert DeNiro's assistant
in the film Casino.
"When you think of me on this movie," Myler said, "I want you to picture me outside this trailer with my clipboard and a cellular phone. This is my place. This is where I live."
I nodded. He had completed his first 122-page screenplay a few months before, and this was his first industry job. He landed it by doing what I tell all my graduating seniors to do: be persistent.
"You know what 'Bob' likes to do?" Myler asked.
He was referring to DeNiro, and I was not sure I was ready to hear anything personal about the acting legend.
"He likes to call me at 4:30 in the morning to check whether I am awake," he said with a straight face.
I waited for the punch line, but we were interrupted by the opening of the trailer door. DeNiro stood framed in the doorway. He was dressed in the business suit he wears in the movie. He was clean shaven; his face somehow managed to evoke every character that he has ever played.
Immediately, Myler stood at attention and gave him a mock salute. DeNiro returned it with a big grin. This was either a routine they had or a way to impress the professor. He invited us inside.
"So tell me, what he's like?" DeNiro asked.
"Who?"
"Cory. What was he like in school?"
I myself was a little starstruck at that point; I could hardly believe Jake LaMotta was interviewing me about one of my students. I stumbled around for the right words, but figured it was probably the wrong time to check if he really calls up Myler at 4:30 a.m.
"Fine. Good student. Has he been good to you?"
DeNiro's big smile was straight out of one of his movies.
"Great. Hard worker. Good kid," he answered, stealing a glance at Myler.
We talked more about Myler in class and the film studies program in general. Journalists have always portrayed him as shy and reclusive, but he seemed comfortable as long as he was asking the questions.
Myler stood in the corner organizing his clipboard. He dialed a number on the cellular phone and spoke in hushed tones so as not to interrupt our conversation.
That's just the right touch, I thought. Do the job, no fuss. And try to blend into the woodwork.
Another important characteristic for a production assistant is the willingness to do a seemingly simple task well. It's an aspect of the job that student David Scofield took very seriously during his time on the set of the television series Northern Exposure.
Left, UNLV film
studies major David Scofield's
big moment arrived when he got to clap the slate of the set of Northern
Exposure.
Given the fact that Scofield, 33, had completed his bachelor's degree in accounting three years earlier and then returned to school to pursue his dream of making movies, it was clear that he was committed to working in the film industry. Just how committed he was became clear on that day.
The weather on the Redmond, Wash., set had not been conducive to relieving him of his week-long cold. But for his task that day, he would rise to meet the challenge. It was the day he would later recall as his "baptism into the film industry."
It was the day he got to clap the slate.
The film slate board holds the written information such as production title, scene and take number, and the director's and cameraman's names. It is photographed at the beginning of each take as identification. Clapping or marking the slate consists of bringing down the hinged board on the top of the slate to create an audible and visible cue that will be recorded on film and sound tape simultaneously. This will allow the picture and sound to be synchronized in postproduction.
Scofield knew that it's not as easy as it looks. This was an electronic slate board with a time code readout - much fancier than the wooden ones back in the UNLV film studies program. During the week he had learned that if you close it too slowly, it won't mark the magnetic contacts for the time code. If you close it too fast, it could make a double contact and release a double-sync beep. He had also seen how the slate could be intrusive to the actor's performance. It had to be clapped just right.
For the shoot, they were in a warehouse on the set of "The Brick," the bar featured in the quirky TV series. Scofield placed himself in front of the camera. The camera operator guided his position so that he was in the frame, and Scofield held the slate open, prepared for the moment when he would truly break into films.
"Roll sound," the first assistant director ordered.
"Speed," the recordist answered.
"Scene 39, D, take one."
"Camera."
"Rolling," the operator responded.
"Mark it."
That was Scofield's cue. Steady, not too loud, not too fast, not too slow. As the perfect "clack" echoed on the set, he felt the rush of satisfaction that comes with a job well done.
For those who seriously aspire to the director's chair, a production assistant job can offer the chance to observe the pros in action.
Take Jennifer Elledge, for example. She graduated from UNLV's film studies program in 1992, after receiving the award for outstanding graduate in the production area for that year. Like many of her classmates, she was able to complement her education by working on a feature film.
Left, film
studies graduate Jennifer Elledge is now in her second year in the
directing program at the California Institute of the Arts.
Her job on the set of Indecent Proposal both taught her about professionalism in the film industry and provided her with a role model.
"I used to focus all my attention on watching [director] Adrian Lyne on the set," she recalls. "I was a production assistant in wardrobe which gave me the excuse to be close to the action. The best job for me was being on the set; office work can be very . . . secretarial. And I felt I needed to learn from watching the director."
What did she discover?
"Well, what I had already learned - that a director appears to do very little on the set. But what interested me was precisely that - observing the small reactions he had to performances and the small adjustments he made with the actor and the camera between takes."
She added that the level of professionalism she witnessed on the shoot provided her with a standard that she hopes she will find on her next project: her 20-minute master's thesis film. When I spoke with her, she was at the end of her second year in the directing program at the California Institute of the Arts. She was getting closer to that brass ring."
