Chronicle of a Shitty Week

All in all, this has been a pretty shitty week.

On the second day of the shoot, Saturday, I was about to reach my workplace when I stopped my car suddenly and went around something in the middle of the road. It was a dead cat, run over by a car. Its bloody guts were spewing out of its mouth.

"Oh," I thought, "That can't be good." Not that I'm superstitiously-inclined or anything, but generally when you see a sign like that, the shit's about to hit the fan. And so it did. We ended up not shooting a third of the scenes that day, which meant Sunday was going to be jam-packed full of those scenes, scenes from Friday which weren't shot because the actress couldn't turn up, and what was originally scheduled for Sunday anyway.

Of course, it didn't help that (a), the director(s) wasn't moving very quickly in general, and (b), he was under supervision by the exec. producer since it was his first time directing (he was, and still is, mostly, an AD). And by the time she added her own opinions to everything we were so far back there was no way we could catch up. I basically knew we were fucked by lunchtime, except I was still thinking along the lines of "oh well, lah dee dah".

So Sunday morning I walk out of my apartment block, and a live rat runs across my path. This time I went, "Oh, a live rat. That's the exact opposite of what I saw yesterday, which should be good." And I guess things did go better, with no help from the exec producer though. Doesn't she understand that things are tight enough as they are, and any form of meddling is just going to hinder everyone? I was more of a hardass this time round, although I wasn't as bad as I was on Buskin'. At least I didn't threaten to cut anyone's balls off or anything.

Some people just don't deal well with others face to face. And when you're someone like that, you can't be a director. You just can't. Being a director means getting up close and personal with your actors, especially if they're a seven year-old who's playing the part of an abused child. You cannot hide in a corner watching your monitor and expect the fuckin' AD to give direction or convey instructions. You might as well let me direct then. This applied to mostly the exec producer though... but she had her fingers in everything enough to throw me off and make me pretty pissed. Any time you add something to the end of a scene it is going to add lots more time to your schedule. You should be cutting and not adding. I didn't understand what the fuck was going on in her head. Pretty transitions are not going to make you show work, especially if you have shitty editors to begin with. Or maybe since you have final cut, I should say that you have shitty editing sense?

I could go into tons about editing theory and practice here, but I've done enough of that with DeYoung & Co. over the summer, so I shall refrain for now. Suffice to say we have some of the worst editors on the face of the planet here.

You already know about my lost wallet on Sunday.

On Monday I wrote my production report. I tried my best to be gentle and forgiving, but hey, I'm an angry person at heart, and it must've spilled over in my writing. Still, I tried my best to address the matter and not get personal. In fact I was extremely impersonal, but a little critical. I could've been harsh, but again, I held back. Apparently not enough for some. Because I received a long, defensive email from the exec producer about what I did wrong and what I did right for the last couple days. Like I said, she's a person that deals better with people when she's hiding behind something, be it email, or SMS. I read through it, chuckled at parts and promptly dismissed it.

I then wrote another email about the reshoot that she wanted to do for another episode on Friday, because it was a stupid idea. She wanted it to be reshot because of a costume issue which only a small proportion of the audience was going to pick on. To me, that's just not worth the time and effort, even if your genre demands accuracy.

My production manager came up to me and patted me on the shoulder shortly after. "You're like me, forthright. You speak your mind. Unfortunately, your days are numbered."

"Fine, I don't really care anyway. I can't be fired for anything I've done, and I'm already selling out so I don't give a damn where they decide to transfer me."

Well, I didn't really say all of that quite so eloquently, but that was the gist of it.

He then took me out for lunch and proceeded to bitch the entire time about his dealings with bureaucracy. I nodded, bought my cigarettes, had my lunch and smiled appropriately.

The exec producer asked for a meeting with me because she thought I was having "issues" or something. Well. She hinted that I might want to go work on a sitcom instead. I told her the truth, that I didn't care either way. It's a job. I get paid. That's it. End of story. Any place I work, and show I do, it's still a job. I hinted that an editing position might be nice. She said she would ask.

The next day, she sends another email - side note, she sends email even though I just have to walk not twenty feet to her desk - saying the editors here use Avid Media Composer, and if I was familiar with it. I said I knew Avid Xpress like the back of my hand, and I didn't see how it could be very much different.

Another email: The editing department has no one and no time to train me, so I can't do anything there. Bullshit. I don't need training. Just sit me down, take 15 minutes to point out the controls for me, and I'll cut your shit for you posthaste. They're just trying to safeguard their territory. Who wants a hotshot young punk from the US nosing in on their bread and butter, especially if they know, deep down inside, that he's probably better because what they do sucks major ass?

Oh yes, and also, for the reshoot on Friday, can I be the AD because the real one has to go scout locations for her next shoot, due to start on Monday? Of course. But only to help that AD out.

This is working out to be a long post. I should probably post more often, to shorten the length of these things.

Finally. The last chapter. Hopefully.

Woke up yesterday morning with a throbbing in my pierced earlobe. It was a little swollen. I thought I'd better clean it with the solution that I got when I first pierced my ear. I'd been pretty good about cleaning the piercings for a while, but kinda lapsed in the last week or so because of the shoot.

Went to work. Logged tapes from the shoot all day. These people have not heard of an "Assistant Editor" before, so the AD again, does all the bitchwork. Luckily I'm experienced enough with Avids to log like a motherfucker. 16 tapes in 9 hours. Beat that. (On a side note, 16 thirty-minute Betas for a half-hour show is a ridiculous shooting ratio. Fuckin' video. Everyone just keeps rolling.) Ear throbs all throughout the day. Smoke every hour or two just so I can see the sun.

Reach home at about 9pm. Look at my ear in the bathroom. Promptly freak the fuck out because it is leaking pus. Wipe it off and try getting the piercing out. I fail. Blood leaks out now. Motherfucker. As I try to remove the back of the piercing I notice the front bit is getting pulled into the lobe. Not good. I decide to stop because I didn't want to have it pull all the way through and end up with a gaping hole. And because it hurt like a bitch.

So off to the doctor's I went. And coincidentally, the only clinic open that late was one where I'd been to location scout barely two weeks ago. Even more coincidentally, the doctor on duty was the one I'd spoken to then. I grinned ruefully as I saw him, "Unfortunately I have to see you again under these conditions."

He took it out. That hurt some.

So I ended up with some costly antibiotics, instructions to clean and such, blah blah blah. He offered me a medical certificate, which I declined, saying I still had a shoot the next day.

Voice in my head: "You stupid fuck! Next time someone offers you an MC, you fucking take it!"

So here I am, about to leave for work in 15 minutes. Nursing an earlobe leaking all kinds of unmentionable and unidentifiable fluids and hungry for a cigarette.

But 2046 opened yesterday in Singapore. There's hope yet in the world.