(The Last Blunder is a humorous weekly serial detailing the making of a true independent filmmaking catastrophe. I hope all of you who read along find it entertaining and can relate to it to some degree. The names of the participants have been changed. Any comments, suggestions, compliments, or criticisms can be sent to damianATkaverasfilmDOTcom. Enjoy!)
The Last Blunder: Chapter 17 by Damian K. Lahey
Oddly enough, news of our production’s money woes got to the crew sooner than I’d planned and it wasn’t from me. It came from an oddly convoluted source as a matter of fact. Whew. Where to begin? Okay. Biff was at the point where we owed the camera company money. We hadn’t had the money to pay them the previous week. Biff had told our buddy who worked there, Bobby, the situation. That we were broke and this week would be our last. Now, Bobby had asked a “favor” at the beginning of the shoot which was since he was getting us such a good deal on the camera equipment, we hire his jack leg buddy, Reynard Scroggins. Scroggins was a lot like a Billy Bold or Studs Diamonds - a southern frat victim with family money, no work ethic, and a penchant for drinking vast quantities of beer and liquor. He didn’t get obnoxious like a Randall Dillon, but instead got predatorial when it came to the ladies. It was disturbing. I paid Scroggins one hundred dollars a week, thinking I could starve him out of socializing with the crew. Not true. Being an authorized user on his parents’ credit cards meant he could hang out all night and keep the crew up all night with him. But it all came back to his problems with girls. He was extremely inappropriate and as we were getting closer to the end, the complaints from female crew members had gone from harmless to severe. For the life of me, I can’t remember what his position on the film was.
Bobby went out with Scroggins one night after shooting and told him how broke we were. A drunken Scroggins vowed to help. They decided to stay up until crew call the next day. They both came blazing onto set, plastered and giddy! Scroggins announced he was going to save the day and demanded to speak with Biff. I asked him what was going on, but Bobby cut in front and said “this is some important shit to do with savin’ the movie”. I told him to keep it down. No one was supposed to know. Scroggins told me not to worry about it – he was taking care of it. They stumbled off to find Biff. As skeptical and cynical as Biff was, I was sure he’d laugh these guys off. Not the case. As we were approaching lunch time and I was thinking of an excuse to leave set and dine elsewhere, Biff stormed up to me. He said I needed to put together a “budge” for five to ten grand. He admitted Bobby was a bit of a clown, but this Scroggins guy seemed cool. He was impressed enough by Biff’s hard work (none of the rest of us had worked hard, of course) that he was willing to invest. I was supposed to draw it up on my laptop. Biff was getting excited. This would get him out of some hot water. We could shoot another week and pay the vendors. And maybe during that next week we could raise more money and finish the film! Biff went back to work, happy.
Reynard Scroggins stumbled up to me, reeking of cigarettes and beer, and slapped me on the back. Since he’d saved the show, he was wondering if he could take the day off to look into some financial business and see if he could get the money by tomorrow or the day after. Since he never did anything anyway, I didn’t see why not. Bobby was proud. His buddy had saved the day. He spent an hour going to everybody on set and telling them how we’d almost ran out of money. Everyone had been on the brink of losing their jobs, but his Reynard Scroggins had stepped in with the funds to take care of all of us!!
I didn’t believe any of it. And what’s worse – the cat was out of the bag about our financial situation. And we had no money in the bank, just the drunken promise of one drunken southern brat. I walked over to Reynard as he was getting in his car and told him we needed to talk after we wrapped that day. He wanted to know at what bar later, and what bars were open right then. It was 7:30am. I thought he had financial stuff to do. He told me it was “no biggie”. I told him we needed to meet that night and finalize his investment – five, or ten thousand dollars. There was also paperwork that needed to be signed. As I spoke, his eyes wandered. I told him to look at his banking info, make some phone calls if he had to, and we’d meet up later. The reality of the situation looked like it was sobering him up a bit. He nodded and then drove off. I knew this wasn’t going to pan out. And now everyone knew what was going on. I walked over to Biff and told him I wasn’t that confident in Scroggins and wouldn’t be surprised if he flat out left town. Biff thought this over and told me to take the day, work on the budgets and make up excuses from time to time to call Scroggins to keep him on task before meeting up with him later in the evening.
As I was leaving set, various crew members were coming up to me and high fiving me. They were glad the shoot was going to continue. I couldn’t figure out why. I got in my car and drove back to the office. I stopped along the way and had a drink. At the office, I typed up a couple different budgets. I made up some questions to ask Scroggins and gave him a ring. No answer. I assumed he was sleeping it off. I continued calling him the rest of the day. He never answered. I went to the Blue Post bar to meet him for beers as we’d planned. He didn’t show, but Bobby did. Bobby told me Reynard wasn’t going to have the money. What a shocker. It was the booze talking, Bobby explained. “It does crazy things to your head.” No kidding. Bobby couldn’t join me for a drink however, as he’d had too much the night before. He told me not to give Scroggins a hard time. He meant well, he just didn’t have it together. He was ashamed. That’s why he hadn’t returned my phone calls all day or met me at the bar. Shame. Plain and simple. I told Bobby to leave me alone. I drank from the bottle of beer in front of me and thought of a thousand different things that wouldn’t help a situation that was broken in a thousand different ways.
(I want to thank everybody for reading and hope you continue to read as the misadventures of The Last Blunder continue next week…)
(The Last Blunder is a humorous weekly serial detailing the making of a true independent filmmaking catastrophe. I hope all of you who read along find it entertaining and can relate to it to some degree. The names of the participants have been changed. Any comments, suggestions, compliments, or criticisms can be sent to damianATkaverasfilmDOTcom. Enjoy!)
The Last Blunder: Chapter 16 by Damian K. Lahey
We kicked off our last week of shooting out in the mountains for some tree house scene. Karen Hall I have to admit, did a real good job with it. I got us two free golf carts for the day from a place that supplied them for the golf course up the road. Carl and his son John Boy owned it. They were good, generous people. Since we were half way up a mountain and we had to park the equipment trucks at the bottom, I felt they would come in handy. They were going to be dropped off and waiting for the crew at call.
I spent the first half of the day at the office, listening to music and waiting on some film to be dropped off. Then I had to drive it out to set. It was nice getting caught up on e-mail correspondence as well as some accounting.
When I got to set, Biff was in a good mood. Why? Because one of the golf carts had broken down. Biff hated it whenever something I did worked for the production. So this made him feel good. He made fun of me, the golf cart, and John Boy all up and down the mountain. He wouldn’t let it go. The fact that one of the golf carts was working fine didn’t matter. There wasn’t one crew member he didn’t walk up to and joke around with about how one of the golf carts I got us for FREE didn’t work. This went on for three hours. Then, lunch arrived.
Lunch had been steadily going downhill for quite some time. Our overworked crew dreaded it. What they dreaded worse was Biff’s wrath if they bitched about it. Biff would loudly proclaim every meal’s culinary excellence and then dare anyone to complain about it. He would then be seconded by Balthazar Spankenstein, who was friends of the Greek caterers. It was sickening. On this particular day, they showed up with a number of trays of what their delivery lackey called “creamy chicken stew”. It looked disgusting and was exactly what everyone thought about their meals all along – it was put together from food that was going to be thrown out at the end of the day.
As Biff ceremoniously praised the meal, Sergio Savanti found a chicken bone in his food and refused to eat any more of it. Biff became incensed and asked every other crew member sitting around individually if they had found a bone. Everyone said no. Biff said it must’ve been a mistake and told Sergio to keep eating. He refused. Then, Curley Blonde’s locations assistant found a bone. Then, gaffer Terence Heart stood up and coughed up what he was eating onto the ground. Patricia Salami found an entire drum stick in her food. I announced I was going to make the call sheets and left and grabbed some Burger King. Things were deteriorating at a rapid pace. I knew I had to let the crew members know what was going on as soon as possible. The guilt was beginning to tear me apart.
When I got back to set, John Boy was there to pick up the golf carts. He was standing by Biff who was laughing at him and re-enacting how it had broke down. I could tell John Boy wanted to punch him in the face, but he said nothing. He put the broken wheel in the back and proceeded to hoist the cart up on one shoulder and slowly walk it down the mountain. Biff followed him all the way down, making fun of the golf cart, how I thought I’d done something great for the production, and how funny it was that it broke down and made me look stupid. Finally, John Boy had enough. He dropped the golf cart and turned to Biff, who backed up. He reminded Biff he was doing us a favor and that he and his ‘daddy’ would never do us a favor again. He told Biff he should be ashamed of himself for being a grown man and acting so inconsiderate and ungrateful. Then, he continued taking the golf cart down the mountain. Biff couldn’t believe it. He shook his head and walked back up the mountain to talk shit about John Boy. He was also pissed that he was picking up the golf carts before we finished shooting. Not only were they free and supposed to be in perfect condition, but Biff wanted them picked up at 3:00am when we were leaving. Biff told me to ask John Boy if he could leave the cart that worked and pick that one up at 3:00am or 4:00am as that would save us quite a bit of time carrying all the equipment back to the trucks. I told him I thought that was inappropriate after what had just happened. Biff shook his head and reminded me that I would never be a real producer. The way Biff saw it, John Boy owed US for the golf cart that had broken down. I just didn’t see the big picture. Biff told me he’d show me how it was done and stomped off down the mountain.
While Biff was working his magic, Morrison and my jack leg day playing roommate Phil Lately showed up to work with the girl he was sleeping with, Laura, and her four year old son. Laura was married, but would sneak out of her house early in the mornings with her son to bang Lately. She was real loud too. She would tell her son sternly not to say a word and wait in the kitchen while she and Lately noisily sucked and fucked. It was disgusting. But Lately, as long as he was successful with the ladies, felt it was okay for him to not work or pay rent on time. As I was thinking about what a piece of shit Lately was, Biff came storming up the mountain. He told me to take John Boy and his dad off our contact list and that in the future I needed to check with him before I made arrangements like that. What happened that day was an example of what happens when Biff Frank does not get final approval. Right…
(I want to thank everybody for reading and hope you continue to read as the misadventures of The Last Blunder continue next week…)
In about ninety minutes, I will be on my way to Park City for another year of Sundance Film Festival action. Be sure to visit Hammer To Nail daily for posts from myself and Mike S. Ryan, who will be at the Holiday Village for watching, watching, and more watching. Pamela Cohn will be contributing some reviews from afar.
I have all day tomorrow to plan out my schedule, which is necessary, as I haven’t done much homework yet.
Tuesday night (26th) from 9-midnight, Hammer to Nail is hosting a low-key keg party in a house off Main St. For our third birthday, we thought it would be refreshing to bring things back to basics and remove the red carpet and ropes from the party environment. That said, I’ll be handing out invites that will help you to get inside even though there’s no official RSVP list. Which means that if you see me this weekend be sure to get one from me!
No pressure filmmakers, but your movies better be good. I am typically a forgiving viewer but a seemingly ongoing case of Seasonal Affective Disorder has me feeling lower than higher lately.
(The Last Blunder is a humorous weekly serial detailing the making of a true independent filmmaking catastrophe. I hope all of you who read along find it entertaining and can relate to it to some degree. The names of the participants have been changed. Any comments, suggestions, compliments, or criticisms can be sent to damianATkaverasfilmDOTcom. Enjoy!)
The Last Blunder: Chapter 15 by Damian K. Lahey
The morning after Randall’s party, Biff and I had a somber meeting at the office. I’d been kept in the dark about the investors, but since I was doing the accounting, I knew no money had come in. Accounting for independent films is rather easy since all you’re doing is keeping track of money going out. And trust me, it had been going out. We’d gone over budget, but since we’d started shooting 15,000 light, it was hard to worry about a couple hundred dollars here and there. Biff told me the following week would be our last. But it was to be a secret. We weren’t going to tell anyone till the weekend to avoid any fall out. I believed that was wrong and that the crew should know. Biff told me that was bullshit. He stood up like the beleaguered war general he thought he was and told me I was too nice. This wasn’t a business for softies like me. There were casualties in any war and it had to be accepted. Collateral damage. This was how it had to be. No one was to know. I asked about Studs and Shifto, but Biff told me to keep them out of the loop as well. As much as I didn’t like them, they had invested money in the project and had a right to know. Biff disagreed. Spank wasn’t to know either, but that really didn’t matter.
Spanky’s mind had sailed to the island of denial. He had no idea what was going on - on or off set. He sat in his director’s chair, staring at the monitor, while everyone else worked around him. Spanky’s only creative urge was in composing shots that centered on the tight asses of the 12-year-old actresses. After mucho complaining from Karen and Salami and concerned parents, Spanky was told he needed to stop it. Spanky didn’t mind that shots necessary to the narrative were being trimmed, but he’d be damned if those ass shots were omitted. Spanky stomped and sulked for a day – bitching and complaining about his creative authority being stripped from him. Morrison and the first AD had already taken over most of his responsibilities anyway. Spanky took to smoking weed and wandering around set in a daze. It was sad.
To make things worse, word had hit the street. You couldn’t go anywhere without some crew member from ‘The Big Show’ in town mentioning what an irresponsible pile of shit The Last Blunder was. Of course, anything that doesn’t pay at least five hundred dollars a day for a locations PA is an ‘irresponsible piece of shit’ to the crew base of Wilmington, NC. Karen’s non-stop bitching to her husband didn’t help either. He told anyone that would listen that The Last Blunder was breaking his wife emotionally and physically, that Spanky was a flat out pedophile and Biff and I refused to stop his perverted ways. And we’d also committed the cardinal sin of independent filmmaking – we were feeding our crew dog shit.
Before I left the office, I’d already made up my mind to let the crew know individually that this would be our last week and to plan accordingly. I would also let them know not to worry – they’d still be getting paid. Emotionally exhausted, I went to Pizza Palace for a slice and a shot of bourbon. The place wasn’t packed. Sitting at one of the bar stools was Shifto Jeans. Of course. I thought about turning back, but it was too late. I’d already said hello to the waitress. I ordered a drink and sat down. Shifto ambled over. He appeared distraught. A look Shifto did not carry well. His hair was usually perfect, like a Ken Doll’s, and his face always clean shaven. This was a stressed Shifto. I could imagine. Since returning from Sweden, Shifto had only paid back half of the 5000 dollars he’d ran off with. It was rumored his coffee shop was falling apart at the seams. His candy store wasn’t doing so hot either, though I have to give him credit. It was a real top notch place. They had everything. But nobody was buying. My thinking was that he shouldn’t have opened the place in the summer. People don’t usually have chocolate on the brain when it’s 95 degrees outside. What made the candy store look bad, though, was Shifto’s empty, unfinished ‘news stand’ next door. The store front contained one magazine shelf, holding a wrinkled copy of playboy, one Esquire and one Wall St. Journal. It looked like shit and had become a running joke in town. Now, the coffee shop had a crappy location and had come on the scene when there were already a couple local hot spots people frequented. I understood why that was going down the tubes. The candy store on the other hand did have an excellent location and was a real class act. I figured Shifto was cursed.
Shifto didn’t offer to buy me a drink, but sat down, looking despondent. He got right down to business. He said that he would have the other 2500 by the end of the week (this would go towards the debt we owed the vendors). He tossed out some ideas for the wrap party. Something cheap, but dignified. When we got the rest of this investor money, he told me, I should make sure to allocate funds for that. He asked me if I knew of any bands that would want to play at the party. I didn’t believe what I was hearing, but listened patiently. Shifto leaned back, a sad smile on his face. He told me he hoped there weren’t any hard feelings. Filmmaking was crazy, he continued, and sometimes tempers flared. He admitted to being on financial hard times. I told him I’d heard. He looked like he was going to respond, but instead went to the bar and got himself a gin and tonic. While he was at the bar, I made up my mind to leave town immediately after the final day of shooting. The fallout from the damaged egos alone would be a waking nightmare. This poor bastard had really romanticized the entire experience in his mind. Shifto asked me when we were going to be showing dallies. I told him we didn’t have the money to process the film yet. He looked momentarily saddened, but then his face lit up. He couldn’t wait to see the footage. He knew we had something great on our hands. Just you wait. In a year’s time we’d all be at Sundance, having champagne toasts, entertaining offers from Miramax and the like. He’d be able to do all sorts of good shit with the bags of cash he’d be getting. He told me not to worry, though. He wouldn’t forget about me. As a producer, he’d see that I got a couple points for my hard work. Maybe some Springsteen tickets, he added, making a reference to our disagreement in the past. I thought I was going to puke all over the table.
(I want to thank everybody for reading and hope you continue to read as the misadventures of The Last Blunder continue next week…)
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