Dear Reader,
As readers of this newsletter know, my goal for 2024 is to make 14 short films. I am well on my way to accomplishing this, with half of the needed screenplays in the pipeline. Working as a PA is an invaluable education for a director in training, and when opportunities came my way, I said yes immediately.
PA work is pretty much what you would expect. You are the go-between, assistant to the wardrobe department, and chauffeur to actors, equipment, and doughnuts. You stand in for talent when shots are being set up. You pass out hand-warmers when the sun goes down and there’s snow on the ground and you all still have an hour left for filming. You set up tables and chairs, tear them down, and set them up again.
Despite all the running around, delivering coffee, water, or mint gum, there were moments when all the department heads were busy doing their jobs, the 1st AD was getting the actors to their spots and I didn’t know what to do. After trial and error making myself useful in such moments, I developed a handy default:
When in doubt, put Krafty out.
To my delight, I was soon slating for one production. This put me in the middle of the action; watching the director set up shots as he communicated with his DP and his talent, staying out of the way of the gaffer, conferring with the sound department on what take we were on, and taking in actor performances. It was heaven.
Every time the camera moves, it’s the responsibility of the person slating to “letter up.” This creates a neat filing system for the editor, saving them headaches (or at least migraines) as they organize the raw footage. When you announce a slate, instead of naming the letter, you pick a noun beginning with that letter. So instead of “Scene 14, A, take 2.” You say “Scene 14, Antelope, take 2.”
Cast and crew were in luck: with me as their trusty slater, guiding them through the wiles of shot lists, each day the letters had a theme such as fruit, the great outdoors, and cocktails. On the day themed to animals, we made it all the way to Zebra Finch.
(I got a “Hmm, okay, not bad,” from the director for that one.)
I have found, however, that in every production, there comes a point when the camera moves into a picture car. I hate this moment. Why? Because I always get left behind. They don’t need a scripty in the car, there’s not enough room for a PA, and because the car drives out of range I don’t even get to watch the screen in Video Village. Because production doesn’t revolve around me, I simmer in self-pitying silence and look for some other way to be useful… how’s krafty looking?
This time, however, I was informed by the 1st AD that I would be driving picture car.
YES!!!!!!
I mean… “Are you sure?”
The picture car had three cameras in it. One bolted to the side of the car, one strapped into the center console between the driver and passenger seats, and one held by the director who is in the passenger’s seat. Each camera is worth thousands of dollars… and they wanted me to drive this car.
“You’re driving picture car?” the crew asked when I walked up.
“Yep,” I said, heart racing because THIS IS MY CHANCE!!!
“That was a confident ‘yep,’ I feel good about that ‘yep’,” they laughed.
I climbed into the driver’s seat, the director curled up in the trunk with a handheld monitor, the DP situated himself in the passenger seat, and the actors piled into the back. Somebody mentioned the rig with the camera could handle up to 30 mph. I vowed to keep it at 15 mph and rolled out of the driveway.
Never miss an opportunity to take a step toward your dreams. Setting out Krafty today could be driving picture car tomorrow. The day after that, who knows?
Adventure Awaits,
S. C. Durbois Newsletter
1st Saturday every month: a new original short story.
3rd Saturday every month: a writerly check-in with updates.
4th Saturday every month: a new chapter from “Bohan the Mage,” a dark academic fantasy novel. Subscriber access only.
You're manifesting it girl!!
Sounds like hard work but so much fun