CHRONIC

After the financing fell through on Box Of Moonlight for the 3rd time I got an email from one Fred Knimble. Fred had a production company based in South Africa that was looking for low-budget independent films. I sent him the script. He loved it. My producer Marcus Viscidi and I quickly worked out an option agreement that gave Fred and Uberlight Productions sole rights to the script for 8 months. During that time Fred and his partner in Los Angeles, Daryl Pelts, would attempt to raise 6 million dollars. Marcus and I were ecstatic. We’d never had that much money to make a film.

Over the next few months I spoke to Fred and Daryl many times on the phone, discussing casting, schedule and locations. Marcus actually met Daryl at a Dairy Queen in Malibu and was sufficiently impressed to get over having to drive all the way out there from West Hollywood.

Raising the cash was more difficult than Uberlight expected. But as soon as one French film fund faded away they called us with news that some Swiss money was pending. After 4 months they’d only raised $300,000; all from the sale of Fred’s grandmother’s jewelry. I wasn’t sure if she died before or after the sale but weeks later we were informed this money had been spent on “capital investitures.”

The warning bells were waking the neighbors at this point. At 7 months we got a surprise offer from Savior Films, another production company that had 5 million dollars already in the bank. Marcus and I informed Uberlight of the new offer but assured them that if they raised the 6 million in this last month of their option we would stay with them.

Fred and Daryl were upset. They were “inches away” from securing all the money from Brazil and wanted a 2 month extension on the option. Marcus and I courteously declined. Three days after Uberlight’s option expired we signed a deal with Savior. I never felt happier. The next day Uberlight sued us.

Savior immediately canceled our deal, saying, “We’re not investing money in a film stuck in litigation. Clear it up and come back to us.”

Neither Marcus nor I could afford a lawsuit. So, we had to go to Uberlight and ask what their terms were. Though they hadn’t raised a dime they insisted on full producing credits with Savior, and 2 million dollars to cover their expenses. Savior instantly rejected this and retreated even further with their 5 million dollars.

Despite numerous personal appeals Uberlight would not budge. I was entering my 5th year of trying to raise the money for this film. To see it actually sitting there in the bank and not be able to touch it was driving me insane. As the days went by my mood plummeted. At any moment my hands would clench, sometimes as if gripping a machete, other times as if firing a machine gun.

Then, one night around midnight my phone rang.

A woman spoke in a soft, hesitant voice. She said she was Daryl’s sister-in-law and had some information for me about “the lawsuit.” She was about to tell me when she stopped. “I can’t, I can’t,” she murmured. “It’s my sister’s husband.”

I wanted to reach through the phone and grab her by the neck. Instead I just played the guy who is really depressed and troubled but nonetheless is deeply understanding of family bonds.

“I understand completely,” I said.

She stayed on the phone. Apparently Daryl had said something very nasty to her sister, “making her feel like nothing; you know? Just nothing.”

I said I knew the feeling. She agreed to meet me in the morning.

The rendezvous point was a Dunkin’ Donuts on 23rd street. I walked in and there she was, sitting alone by the window. She was about 30 but she looked 50. I couldn’t tell what it was but there was something slightly damaged about her, like a pie someone had poked their finger into. Her name was Reena. She spoke for an hour.

She started with Fred Knimble. The reason he was in South Africa was because he was wanted in Maryland on drug-trafficking charges and if he set foot in the US he’d be arrested immediately. She even knew about the grandmother’s jewelry money but cleared up where it had been spent; on some very good coke.

When she got to Daryl her voice tightened. She hated him for what he was doing to her sister. The two had split up a year ago and now Daryl was living in a shack on the beach just south of Malibu. This explained the location for the meeting with Marcus. She said it really was a shack; plywood walls and plastic sheeting for the ceiling. He got electricity by tapping into a street light and spent almost all of his time surfing porn on the internet. I almost asked her how she knew this.

Then she told me on her own. One of the reasons her sister had left Daryl was that, ”He was a chronic–” She paused and gazed at me with eyes murky with mascara and anxiety. They seemed to be encouraging me to finish for her.

“Gambler?” I offered.

“No.” Another blinking silence. “Masturbator,” she finally stated.

“Chronic?” I repeated like an idiot.

“Yes. All day. Every day. You’d never see him without a box of kleenex.” Marcus hadn’t mentioned this.

As disturbing as it was, Reena’s information gave me everything I needed to simply ignore the lawsuit from Uberlight. As I thanked her profusely she lay a damp hand on my wrist. Then she squeezed, very softly. Another long look, but this time I could almost swear I saw something different in the raccoon eyes. And it confused the hell out of me. She’d just saved me, I admit that. But did she expect me now to somehow “thank” her? Right there in Dunkin’ Donuts?

I eased my hand free and gave her what I felt was a very grateful smile. I told her I was deeply indebted to her and if there was anything I could do to help her she should just let me know. She placed a box of cd’s onto the table. “For you,” she said. “It’s all me, singing and playing the harmonica. I think my songs would go really well in your movies.”

“Wow, Reena, thanks,” I said. “I’m always looking for new music.” I slipped out the door just as she was about to take my hand again.

Uberlight’s lawsuit quickly evaporated. A week later we signed the deal with Savior. Two weeks later Savior went out of business.

Whacked but fact. Every word.

File Under: Raising The Money.          Subcategory:  The Family Jewels.

Moral: When you’re looking under every rock for the money be prepared to meet a few slugs. I should have been more vigilant in checking Uberlight’s credentials. I was so desperate to get the money I never noticed they hadn’t produced a single film. But, I was smart enough to get something in writing. Always insist on it. If a financier gets pissy about a deal memo or a contract walk away. I know that sounds terrifying especially if they claim to have the cash but trust me, they will respect you more. A written agreement is standard operating procedure and only chronic chicken chokers will balk at it. I did listen to Reena’s music. It was awful. But I felt so grateful (and guilty) I kept the cd’s for almost 5 years before re-gifting them. Every now and then some errand takes me by that Dunkin’ Donuts on 23rd street. It will forever be accompanied by the sensation of a heavy, moist hand laying upon my wrist.

Here is the 1st in a new series of posts under the general heading of Whacked But Fact. These are actual incidents that have happened to me. They will appear when I remember them. For legal reasons and for physical safety, name changes are obligatory.

SABOTAGE
On Johnny Suede, I spent a long time looking for a good director of photography. It was my first film and I wanted it to reflect what I believed was a vision unique to me and my brain. After many months I chose Vic Nesbitz. He was young, smart and had a reel that showed a strong, original eye. He also had some great ideas and I encouraged him to keep them coming. He was aware that I’d shot a few films as an accidental cinematographer and I didn’t want him to feel pressured or restricted by my experience. He actually knew much more about light and color than I did. So, I let him know I was more than happy to put the visual responsibilities in his hands. He seemed to appreciate this.

Two weeks into filming something odd began happening. Shots came up in dailies that were out of focus and had faces half out of frame. I mentioned this to Vic. He shrugged and said he’d take care of it. The shrug worried me. The errors continued.

One afternoon we had a break during a scene by the Hudson River in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Vic and I were standing at the camera waiting for a light to be set up. Something out on the water caught my eye. A rusting freighter was moving up the river. The low angle of the sun cast the ship in rich, golden light, highlighting its peeling red and white paint. Behind it, the bristling NYC skyline lay in deep shadow.

I quickly motioned to Vic. “Let’s get a shot of that freighter. I could use it as a cutaway in this scene.”

As I watched the ship gliding past in the shaft of light I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Then I noticed Vic hadn’t moved. Thinking he hadn’t heard me I said even more quickly, “Hey, Vic. Get me a shot of that freighter.”

This time Vic moved. He turned the camera on and put his eye to the eyepiece. It may have been my first film but it wasn’t my first time on the set. Something was definitely strange. But as I watched him pan with the ship until it disappeared I thought, “Well, that was weird but at least I’m getting the shot.”

The next night the shot came up in dailies and there was an instantaneous gasp from the exhausted group of us watching. The shot of the freighter was astonishingly beautiful. For about 1 second. Then the camera jerked forward, reframed and jerked again. For the duration of the shot the camera never stabilized, rendering it completely useless.

This time I was not so polite to Vic. He said he didn’t understand what I was so upset about. When he shrugged, I finally fired him.

Three months later. I’m in the editing room. I’m stuck on this same scene by the river. I need a cutaway. In a desperate fit of wishful thinking I convince my editor to pull up the shot of the rusting freighter. Hoping against hope, we watch it again.

Again, we see there isn’t a single usable piece. I pick up the phone. I call Vic. I say to him, “Vic, you shot more than a third of this film. Your name will appear in the credits. People are going to ask why I had two cinematographers. I need you to tell me right now, what the hell were you doing?”

There is a momentary silence. Then I’m stunned to realize Vic is crying softly. Finally he speaks. “You’re right, Tom,” he whispers. “I was so jealous of you directing your first movie that I was intentionally sabotaging it.”

Whacked but Fact. Every word.

File Under: Hiring Your Crew. Subcategory: What the fuck?!!

Moral: Because this business combines money, glamor, art and fame it attracts people that are 84.6 % of the time, certified nutjobs. Always, always talk to people who’ve worked with the person you’re considering hiring. But I got something out of Vic. He was one of those DP’s that loved all his equipment, almost like a fetish. He dressed in black and wore his meters around his waist like high-tech automatic weapons. I heard a few years later he was claiming to be the inspiration for the eye-patched cinematographer I named Wolf in Living In Oblivion. No. I didn’t steal the eyepatch idea. That was mine. What I took was his leather vest, half-finger gloves and beret which helped add just the right touch of gay motorcycle cop I felt was crucial to Wolf’s character.