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Los Angeles

Additional photography

August 22, 2006 Los Angeles, Projects, The Nines

filmmingIn Hollywood parlance, “additional photography” is the polite term for what used to be called reshoots. It’s a rare case where the new word is better. Most of the time, you’re not reshooting anything. You’re getting new things you didn’t know you needed the first time around.

Woody Allen is famous for requiring additional days in his schedule (and budget) to allow for a different performance, a new scene, a funnier joke. Given how expensive a day of shooting is, that seems like a luxury, but as screenwriters it really shouldn’t. We’re accustomed to going through multiple drafts, trying things that might be Really Bad Ideas.

The chance to fuck up and fix it can be the difference between a so-so and solid.

I can speak from first-hand experience. For Go, we went back and shot several new scenes, including the resolution of the Simon-Gaines-Claire-Vics plotline. On paper, the new version wasn’t any better — in fact, it made considerably less sense. But as shot, it just worked better, condensing several scenes down to one, and wrapping up the movie faster.

For the first Charlie’s Angels, our additional photography was much more limited, basically just new establishing shots. But having seen the test scores for both the Before and After versions, I can testify to how much difference a few seconds of film can make. In most cases, it’s not that you’re adding something great, but rather that you’re replacing something sucky.

Last week, I was back in the director’s chair for additional photography on The Movie. It was only two days of shooting, but we added two new scenes, and got needed bits for three other sequences.

After seven weeks of editing, the strange thing about going back into production is that, well, it’s production. It means re-opening the production office, and hiring a crew of 45. If you’re lucky, you can hire the same crew who worked on the film the first time around. More likely, however, those people will have moved on to other productions, so you end up hiring a largely new crew. In our case, almost half of the crew who worked on these two days had no idea what The Movie was even about. That’s the remarkable thing about the below-the-line trades in Hollywood: because of how specifically the jobs are defined, they’re largely plug-and-play. The gaffer and key grip may have never met, but together they can light your scene. They don’t need to know why the scene is happening, just where the Chimera is supposed to be.

accebit posterThe bulk of our art department came from Veronica Mars, which has been back in production for over a month. Since the original crew wasn’t available, I got to rock my inner design geek and handle the printed graphics myself, something I haven’t done since college.

The “accebit” poster hangs at a Metro bus stop on Wilshire Blvd. Yes, it means something, so you classics majors can get to work.

This was our first time shooting night exterior, which meant new decisions about how we wanted things to look. Personally, I’m a big fan of very black skies — think high school football movies — so we aimed for that. We also aimed at finishing before 3 a.m. We came close.

Next step? Test screening, picture lock, then sound-a-palooza.

Turns out, he was busy reconsidering Tyra Banks

July 28, 2006 First Person, Los Angeles

You know how you can go months without seeing someone, then suddenly, they’re everywhere? This morning as I was getting into my little Prius, screenwriter/neighbor/inconstant blogger [Josh Friedman](http://hucksblog.blogspot.com/) rolled up in the Death Star Escalade to discuss our respective children’s nap schedules in anticipation of a playdate.

Yeah, I said playdate. This is how we roll in the Southside.

Of Hancock Park.

I suspect Josh was taking his family to BLD (“Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner”), the new restaurant that took over where Red used to be, and is pretty much exactly like Red but white instead, and without those Mexican Cokes.

In typing that, I realize that I’ve now lived in L.A. long enough that I expect everyone to share my specific geo-cultural references. Or, more bluntly, I’ve now lived here long enough to stop caring when they don’t. It only takes a New Yorker six months to become this jaded. Los Angeles takes a decade.

Later today, I followed a link to the [trailer](http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/universal/theblackdahlia/) for Josh’s upcoming movie, The Black Dahlia. I don’t know how he got his name in red in the credit block, but from now on I’m putting that in my contract. I want red and a little box around it.

Upon checking the feeds this evening, I see Josh has finally posted [something new](http://hucksblog.blogspot.com/2006/07/snakes-on-motherfucking-catwalk.html) on the blog. And while I’d like to take credit for this rare occurrence, the more pressing matter is addressing some corrections/clarifications:

* My assistant does not bring me breakfast, though he often brings lunch. (However, I do not [blog about](http://www.janeespenson.com/) it.)

* In daily life, my house is light-filled like a Richard Curtis movie. However, to achieve the look of this on film for The Movie required giant lights and hard gels velcro-ed to all the doors and windows.

As Tyra knows, beauty takes work.

That’s all.

In which I attend the Grammy Awards

February 9, 2006 First Person, Los Angeles

As I might have [mentioned](http://johnaugust.com/archives/2005/dude-i-got-a-grammy-nomination), I got nominated for a Grammy Award (along with Danny Elfman) in the Best Song TV/Movie/Visual Media category for “Wonka’s Welcome Song” from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

The nomination came as a surprise, in that (a) I didn’t realize the Grammys were coming up, (b) I didn’t know the song was eligible, and (c) it’s an absurd choice for Best Song. It’s a fun ditty, sure, kind of a riff on “It’s a Small World” from the eponymous Disney theme park ride. But there it was, on the list.

I promptly called Danny Elfman. After making plans for a play-date for our respective offspring, I asked if he planned on attending the awards. He was horrified at the prospect, which I guess makes sense for a professional musician with a shelf full of awards.

But me, hell. When am I going to get nominated for a Grammy again?

So I went.

Here’s my first-hand account.

To begin with, “Music’s Biggest Night” is actually “music’s longest afternoon.” They give out awards in 108 categories. Of those, only 11 are televised. The other 97 are passed out during the pre-telecast ceremony, which begins at 1:30 p.m. We left the house at noon to get there in time.

The pre-telecast was held in the West Hall of the convention center, next door to Staples Center, where the main awards would be held. It was friendly and low-key. Anoushka Shankar and Michael Bublé performed (separately), and most award-recipients were quick to get on and off stage.

My category was #31 on the list. The whole time, I was thinking about what I would say in the (admittedly unlikely) event that my name was in the envelope. I settled on:

Hi, wow. [Stare at trophy in disbelief] I’d like to thank the Grammy academy. Of course, Danny Elfman, for writing really catchy music. And especially Tim Burton for saying, “Sure, yeah, melting puppets. Singing. Great!” Anyway, this means a lot. Thanks. [Hold up trophy]

And then I’d start to go off stage in the wrong direction, only to be corrected by a pretty young woman who would take my elbow and lead me the right way.

As it turned out, it ended up being a lot simpler. I clapped politely while Glen Ballard accepted the award for the song he wrote for The Polar Express. He was gracious, so I certainly can’t begrudge him. And I’m happy I lost to someone who at least showed up.

We ducked out of the pre-telecast awards during the gospel section (sorry, Jesus), in the hopes of getting properly liquored before the grown-up Grammys, which started at 5 p.m. The instructions on the so-you’ve-been-nominated-for-a-Grammy sheet noted that alcohol would be not be served after 4:30 p.m. While this was technically true, the more accurate description of the situation could be found on signs at all of the food stations:

SORRY, NO ALCOHOL AT THIS EVENT.

No, really. There was a kind of sad, strange comedy in eavesdropping:

  • GUY IN SUIT
  • Could I get a vodka tonic?
  • SERVER
  • Sorry, there’s no alcohol.
  • GUY IN SUIT
  • How about wine?
  • SERVER
  • No, there’s no alcohol.
  • GUY IN SUIT
  • Just beer, then.
  • SERVER
  • There’s no alcohol at all.
  • GUY IN SUIT
  • Anywhere?
  • SERVER
  • No, sir.

Now, in reality, if Kanye West had wanted a mojito, someone, somewhere would have found some mint leaves to muddle. But for the hoi polloi, the event was drier than a Kansas wedding. I was left with Diet Pepsi and rage to wash down my nachos.

Fortunately, the Grammys themselves were fun.

Having been to quite a few premieres and fancy shindigs, I can say that the Grammys were the most consistently entertaining. The musical performances were good, the groan factor was low, and every celebrity had to walk by my seat at least once.

Our seats were on the floor, next to the aisle. Whenever a performer and/or presenter needed to go from their seat to backstage, they were walked by us. Even better, running across the aisle next to our seats were thick cables covered with a floor mat. Although marked with white tape, this hazzard was very easy to trip over. Many celebrities did.

Celebrities who tripped and/or wobbled included:

* Sting
* Sir Paul McCartney
* Teri Hatcher (meta-alert!)
* Jennifer Love Hewitt
* The woman in Destiny’s Child who is not Beyonce or Kelly

In general, I’m not star-struck. But the combination of mild danger and celebrity almost made up for the lack of alcohol. The guy sitting next to me won a Grammy for mixing the Green Day album. So that’s cool.

The official after party was back at the West Hall. Everyone knows that the official party sucks and that all the cool people go to their own secret after parties. However, we were not invited to any of the secret after parties. So we went to the normal one.

It took forever to get in, but the food was fairly tasty. And the drinks? Free-flowing. On the whole, it felt like a big Hollywood premiere party, with good production design and some questionable entertainment choices. (Interpretative dancers, for a start.)

We were home by midnight. There’s no Grammy to set on the mantelpiece, but on the whole, it was a fun 12 hours. I haven’t watched the show on the TiVo yet, but I doubt I’ll see myself. The closest call probably came when Chris Martin of Coldplay galloped down the aisle.

God, I wish he’d tripped.

Is the Screenwriting Expo any good?

October 6, 2005 Education, Los Angeles, QandA

[Expo Logo](http://screenwritingexpo.com)My question is about the [Screenwriting Expo](http://screenwritingexpo.com) and other industry seminars. I realize that you are speaking this year, but is it really a worthwhile event? It seems like just another one of the money-sucks preying on desperate fledgling writers. Thanks!

— Corey
Los Angeles, CA

To be honest, I don’t know if the Screenwriting Expo is any good or not. I’ve never been, so I can’t vouch for it. I suspect some of you readers out there have been to it, and can give Corey the thumbs-up or thumbs-down.

I’m one of the “Guests of Honor” at this year’s Expo, along with a bunch of other really good screenwriters. I’m not on a panel per se, nor am I teaching a workshop. Rather, I guess I’m just a featured speaker, or doing a Q & A.

I guess I should ask. I really have no idea.

Public speaking used to terrify me, but I’ve gotten a lot better at it over the past few years. Some of that’s just from success; it’s a lot easier to speak to an audience that’s actually interested in what you’re saying. But a fair amount of it is just practice. I’ve survived enough panels, roundtables and TV interviews that the experience isn’t as intimidating as it used to be.

Whatever it is I’m doing at the Expo, it happens at 2 p.m. on Friday, November 11th, at the Los Angeles Convention Center. The event is listed as being free, so I assume you don’t have to register for the whole thing if you just want to come see me talk.

In general, I don’t speak at anything that charges a fee, unless it’s part of a larger film festival. I recognize that’s a fairly arbitrary rule, since I do speak to university classes, and college tuition can run $30,000 per year. But, like you Corey, I’m troubled and annoyed by the commercialization of screenwriter education. USC or UCLA might be expensive, but I don’t believe they’re profiting on false hopes and unrealistic expectations.

If any readers do come to my thing at the Expo, don’t be shy. Introduce yourself. The few minutes after a talk are always chaotic, with a bunch of awkward hand-shaking, but I’m happy to do it.

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