It’s time for a little reflection. Usually, when I start a project, time is the first dictate of what is possible. A client might ask: “I want you to build an accurate 1/8th scale model of the Eiffel Tower.” And I would say, after reviewing the project requirements, “not by tomorrow.”
Disappointed, the client will ask me what is possible in 24 hours, and I might say something like “I could make a 1/32nd scale model out of Legos.” I pause for a moment and add, “it would look pretty sweet.”
In a client project, exceeding expectations is a goal but respecting limitations is key to averting catastrophe. But not all projects need to have this sensitivity to the possible. I participated in such a project this past weekend (August 5 – 7) at the 48 Hour Film Project for Perfect Strangers Productions. The completed romance genre film follows and “Backstage Pass with Luke.”
Pollinating from Perfect Strangers Productions on Vimeo.
Backstage Pass with Luke
It’s not my intention with this post to describe the minutiae of what goes into a 48 Hour Film, or to provide a blow by blow account. Instead, this is a highlight of what my experience and role was.
11:45PM August 5. Friday.
Almost five hours have passed since the directors of our film received the genre for the film, kicking off the concepting and writing stage of the film making process. Kerwin Carambot and I filled the roles of co-art directors, and we’re sitting at Nemo Design headquarters several rooms down from the War Room, a glass box lined with whiteboards and cluttered with laptops and printouts.
Despite being fueled by Skittles and Starbursts, the writing team are stalled out, frustrated by the indecision of commitment. This is not just a story we have to film. It’s a story that will involve literally as much as 600 hours of combined work crammed into only 48, and will live on the intertubes until the end of time or Vimeo (whichever comes first).
Who would put themselves up to this kind of god awful pressure? Can they be real? What do they do?
Meet Director Martha Koenig. Born on a raft in the deep Congo, this intrepid designer and independent art director is known for her tenacity, sustainability work, great shoes and inventing a “non-backfiring” slingshot. We thank her for her contributions on all fronts.
Meet Director Sam Leinen. This exceedingly professional filmmaker, designer and photographer purportedly met Martha during a sky dive interview with Richard Branson off the coast of England. Sam and Martha crossed paths there while she was testing her slingshot in high velocity winds and filming the (mixed) results on an ultralight. They mutually recognized that together, they could provide the accelerating force required in directing a 48 Hour Film.
I might point out that creating fictions are not even close to being inappropriate here. At the 48 Hour Film Project, every moment counts, and nearly every idea has potential. We very nearly made a film about an anthropomorphized sport boat. Creativity overfloweth.
8AM August 6. Saturday.
Early drafts of scripts had been written and distributed to the cast and crew about an hour earlier. Kerwin leaves Nemo HQ to select props, and I move out to the primary location, a backyard I need to transform into a convincing east coast BBQ. I suspect the directors felt it necessary to place the BBQ on the east coast (Connecticut actually) because making a Portland BBQ is both too easy and somehow not Cannes worthy. Sorry, Portland, you’re just not the stuff of international fame. Although Zooey Deschanel does visit you from time to time. And that’s pretty cool.
12PM August 6. Saturday.
Much of the yard work has been done and I have had three cups of coffee. Lunch approaches at 1PM, and I’m attempting with Kerwin’s excellent co-direction to prep as much as possible for the actual filming that will occur sometime in the next four hours. We find ourselves fussing over the fact that we will be serving lemon drops at this BBQ and not the script-specified margaritas due to the wrong kind of prop glasses. I try not to take out my disappointment on the production assistants. “IF WE CAN’T HAVE FROZEN BLENDED MARGARITAS IN OVERSIZED GOBLETS THEN YOU CAN’T EAT ANY OF THE PROP TORTILLA CHIPS!”
1PM August 6. Saturday.
Caterer Clinton Downs reveals lunch. So awesome, thanks.
3PM August 6. Saturday.
We set up the food table, make sure all the lawn torches are in the right spots. Kerwin greases the peaches with olive oil to make them look juicier. Someone also seems to have greased the watermelon as well, which a crew member reported after trying to eat a piece.
Around this time I am asked to fake a pregnancy test, which I do with surprising difficulty. No one finds it suspect that I carry around a technical pen exactly the right type to do the job.
I also set up a croquet course (wicketless to prevent tripping). Writer John Vincent kicks one of the balls out of place apparently in an attempt to unhinge me. I contain a vast rage and continue to art direct. Yet he is forgiven, for “no man shall put asunder what can be righted with minimal effort.” This is a good proverb for the 48 Hour Film Project, actually.
8PM August 6. Saturday.
Filming has been going strong for hours at the central location, and after a stint providing cues and making sure plates are full with hot dogs and macaroni salad, I go back to Nemo with the fantastic production assistant Kaitlyn Allegretti, who earlier had scoured Portland just to find me some plain white chalk. With said white chalk, I design a grade school biology teacher’s blackboard diagrams. The only negative critique I receive on the hummingbird I sketch is that the beak needs more “girth.” I don’t get the joke for at least 20 seconds but then I’m not sure it’s a joke anymore. I enhance the beak anyway.
12AM August 7. Sunday.
Filming is a wrap, and everyone is mildly delirious. The directors may actually be delirious. I leave and go to bed before 2AM, ready for another long day to assemble credits. I may write about this later, but in the meantime, watch the film, share it, show it to Sophia Coppola so I can meet her. Please, thank you.
