The MPB people arrived, and started looking over the books. Naturally, they were appalled. These guys were heavy-weights, from New York; they are old hands at this game, and knew all the tricks... and it was immediately obvious to them what had been going on. Naturally, their first impulse must have been to pull the plug, send the show elsewhere, and hand Sheldon over to the police (or possibly to The Mob).
These guys were only interested in the bottom line, though, and didn't act on impulse. Their over-riding goal was to protect the investors' money. If it was possible to finish the show, in a form that the network would accept for broadcast, without breaking the bank, then that was clearly the most effective way for them to achieve their goal. The big question in their minds was: were we the proper people to get the show finished?... or should it be pulled out and sent elsewhere?
Sheldon, as I mentioned, was our Executive Producer. For those who don't know how show-business works, that means that he is the hand-shaker, back-slapper and deal-maker; as well as lawyer and head bookkeeper. The show's Producer, on the other hand, was a very determined and hyper-active young lady who (for purposes of this essay) I will call Marilyn.
Marilyn was not going to let Sheldon destroy her show. No matter what it cost, she was determined to save it. Somehow... years later, I still haven't managed to find out how... she secretly managed to convince the MPB people to run a little experiment, to give us the opportunity to prove to them that we were the right people to finish the show. Naturally, the experiment would be designed and run by the MPB people themselves, according to their own concept of the rules of the game.
Guess who was secretly chosen as the "experimental subject"?
My big break in show business, and how I broke it.
It's probably best if I just tell the rest of story as I experienced it. Bear in mind that at the time, I knew nothing about Marilyn's little secret deal with the MPB people... from my innocent point of view, it was going to be just another (very tense) day on the job.
When I arrived at the studio to start my shift, I was told that there had been a change of plans. Instead of sitting at my computer compositing new scenes as usual, today I would be helping Producer #2 (confusingly, this second woman was also named Marilyn, so I'll just stick with "Producer #2" to avoid unnecessary confusion) to screen the latest color rushes and call any necessary revisions... but ONLY necessary revisions. We had no money to fix details. I was also told that the MPB Guarantors would be sitting in on the session, just to familiarize themselves with our procedures.
Already, an unpleasant surprise, and it's only 8:02 in the morning! In the first place, I didn't get along well with Producer #2. I considered her a humorless autocratic martinet, poorly suited for making cartons. It was mutual... she disliked me, as well. Secondly, not only was this not my proper job, it wasn't HER proper job either. She wasn't even WORKING on this show... what the hell was she doing calling revisions on it? If it comes to that, what was ANY Producer doing taking on that task? It's clearly a job for the show's Director or for his animation director... it's part of the creative work, not an administrative function... so I asked why the Director wasn't doing this, and was told "He's taking the day off".
Now I was totally stunned. A few minutes earlier, it had seemed to be a fairly normal (but very tense) working day... now, with the working day less than five minutes old, it was already a surrealistic nightmare. Pete has decided to take the day off? With the Bond people in, and the fate of his show hanging in the balance? Numbly, I walked over to the video equipment and found Producer #2 waiting for me... along with three of the MPB people, including the head guy. Standing in a group behind them, along the wall, were over a dozen of our company executives, including Sheldon himself and four other Producers. Quite a top-heavy crowd, to watch me screen some color rushes.
Producer #2 pointedly told me that she would be calling the re-takes; I was only there to operate the computer for her. She had a list of the new scenes already prepared... and she tapped her clip-board for emphasis. Automatically, I glanced down at it... and froze. All of my "alarm bells" started going off at once.
The top piece of paper on her clip-board was a sheet of typewritten paper, with a list of scene numbers on it, and a few words typed next to each number. In the quick upside-down glance that I got at it, I couldn't read the notes, of course... but there was no mistaking the numbers. They went something like: 111, 116, 120, 138, 156, 181, 194... about 20 or 25 of them, each on a separate line. The last few were in the late 400's.
This was not a natural list!
There were about 500 scenes in this show, and they come out of compositing in completely random order. This list of scenes had obviously been sorted into numeric sequence by someone. No problem there... that sort of compulsive pettifoggery is typical of Administration... but why did it start at 111? If you randomly choose 25 numbers from the span of 1-to-500, what are the odds that none of them will be less than 100?
Answer: less than 0.4%, 4-in-1000... and the piece of paper wasn't torn off, as if a list had been split between two people. It was a full sheet.
Someone had taken a random list of scenes coming out of compositing, sorted it, decided "we'll start right HERE, at this scene", torn it off, and then had it re-typed.
I stood there, totally stunned, staring at her clip-board as the point sunk in: this was a set up! It almost had to be. What are the odds that a 250-to-1 long-shot like that would happen at exactly the same moment that a totally unqualified person (Producer #2) was calling critical re-takes, right in front of the Motion Picture Bond people and a full array of company brass, while the Director mysteriously takes the day off?
I had not the slightest idea what was going on. At this point, remember, I knew nothing of Marilyn's deal with the Guarantors; but it was immediately clear to me that I had blundered un-prepared into some sort of scenario. I was standing in the middle of a composed situation... I was sure of it... and I had no idea what the point of it was, or what was expected of me, or what I should do.
I heard Producer #2 hiss, and the clip-board snapped over to show me its blank back. Looking up, I saw that she was glaring at me in rage... she had given me my orders, and instead of responding politely I had completely ignored her and stood there staring at HER private papers, on HER clip-board. The thunderous expression on her face made it clear that the only thing saving me from a humiliating public scene was the presence of the Bond people, standing right at her elbow.
With all of my spider-senses tingling, I sat down at the computer, and brought up the first scene on the list. We got through it without any problem. Same with the second scene. Then we loaded up the third scene, sc# 120...
As boarded, Scene 120 was supposed to be a down-shot MCU of a crab walking along the beach. Suddenly, a boy's shadow enters the scene and slides over the crab, who pauses. The following scene will be a steep up-shot of the indian boy looking down at the camera (crab's POV) with a nasty smirk on his face.
That's how the sequence was supposed to go. But when I loaded the scene for Producer #2, the "shadow" was opaque black instead of a translucent darkening. You couldn't even see the crab once the shadow slid over it, and you couldn't see it pause. It ruined the scene. Which ruined the sequence. This was a very quick fix, and I was already writing down "120 - recomposite at 30% opacity" when Producer #2 said "That's wrong. Drop the shadow".
"Oh, my God", I thought, "... take me now, Lord". Drop the shadow? She can't be serious! Scene 120 quite literally foreshadows scene 121, and dropping the shadow out of the sequence would break the continuity between the scenes. The whole sequence of shots would stop making sense. I glanced across at her... she was indeed perfectly serious.
Now what?
The Motion Picture Bond people were sitting right at my freakin' elbow! If I obeyed this order, they would be convinced that we're completely incompetent... and rightly so. Only an idiot would make a call like that... or obey it. I instantly decided that no, I was NOT going to drop the shadow out of this scene... but how do I explain that to the Producer, who already detests me?
First I tried the gentle way, pointing out that it was a quick and easy fix... but having made her decision, she stubbornly stuck to it. "We don't have time to recomposite these scenes", she said, "just do as you're told". I pointed out (quite truthfully) that we would have to recomposite the scene anyway in order to remove the shadow... let's fix it instead. I offered to do it for free, on my lunch hour. She reminded me that SHE was a Producer and I was just an employee, and insisted that I follow instructions, saying "I don't need YOU to back-stop my decisions". I replied (perhaps a bit untactfully) that, on the contrary, it was becoming obvious that she DID need me to back-stop her decisions... otherwise, a poor decision like this one might slip through.
I tried pointing out how badly this "revision" would butcher the sequence, and suggested (as a compromise) that perhaps the entire sequence could be dropped. She angrily brushed this suggestion aside. The content of the show was not my concern, she informed me. I was a technician, not an artist. After a bit of further thrust-and-parry, with the Producer #2 becoming progressively more enraged and offensive, and me becoming more determined and even less tactful, it finally came down to her flatly ordering me to do as instructed, and me flatly refusing to do so.
After staring at me in silent outrage for a few more seconds, Producer #2 apparently gave up on me, and spun around in her chair to address the tech in the next seat, ordering HIM to edit the scene as instructed. I immediately reached for my keyboard and opened a network Linux window. As one of the studio's computer ninjas, I knew the Admin password... and if it looked like the other tech was going to obey her instructions, I was going to dismount his machine from the network! I needn't have worried... he ignored her, and immediately stood up and walked out of the room.
Producer #2 stood up. I stood up. The MPB people stood up, and slowly fanned out around us. She seemed to have run out of things to say. At this point, Marilyn (the OTHER Marilyn, Producer #1, who was actually in charge of this show) put her hand on Producer #2's arm and said "I'll handle this". I thought "Thank God... thank God". Marilyn and I have always gotten along well, and she has both an active intelligence and a good sense of humor... two traits notably lacking in Producer #2.
... and then she lit into me, even more fiercely than Producer #2 had. Oddly, she was not trying to press the point of the scene 120 revision... which she could have done much more effectively than Producer #2, since Marilyn really WAS in charge of this show. Instead, she focussed on personal attacks... she was clearly trying her best to turn my anger, embarrassment and frustration into outright rage. I felt betrayed!
I could feel my control slipping... and I still hadn't figured out WHY this whole ugly scene was being played out in front of the Guarantors, or how I was expected to handle it. I hadn't been given even a moment to THINK. I made one last attempt at sanity: pointing at the clock on the wall, I said "Twenty-five minutes! We've been arguing about this for twenty-five minutes!", and as I opened my mouth to finish the sentence, I saw her eyes widen... she KNEW that I was about to say "Marilyn, the show only RUNS twenty-TWO minutes!"... and she cut me off before I could say it!
I literally don't remember what she said or did that finally drove me over the edge. Seriously, I don't. There is an actual GAP in my memory at that point... something that has never happened before or since. I do know that she was doing her best to turn my anger, frustration, humiliation and confusion into a berserk rage, and she eventually succeeded. I remember deciding that there was only one apparent way to resolve this situation... I would have to grab the Producer (Marilyn) and shake some sense into her. Shake, shake, shake.
Unfortunately, Marilyn immediately divined my intention, and it turned out to be nearly impossible to catch her. I chased her back and forth through the office, scattering the other employees like chaff, with Marilyn nimbly staying just inches out of my reach, and the Motion Picture Bond executives pacing us but not interfering. Then she slipped on a fold in the rug, and went down. This was my chance! I bounded over to her... and if I had pounced immediately, I might have gotten her. Unfortunately, before pouncing I first stood over her prone body, going "Raaarrrrgh!!!" like a dinosaur... and the Motion Picture Bond people jumped me.
I was already exhausted; they quickly over-powered me and threw me into a chair. Marilyn scrambled to her feet and fled from the room, giggling. With truly theatrical timing, Producer #2 chose this moment to step forward and say "You're fired!". I stood up again. She stepped back. Her concern was groundless... I wasn't going to attack her, she wasn't worth my time. I didn't bother replying.
I was still holding the folders for the scenes that we had been reviewing... I looked across at Kip. He said "Looking for work?". I said "I guess so", and glanced back down at the scene folders still in my hand. He said "Might as well start with those". I turned back to my computer, sat down, re-opened scene 120, adjusted the opacity of the shadow down to 30% and put it in the queue for recompositing.
Producer #2 stepped up and reminded me that I had been fired... that I was no longer working for the studio. Without looking up, I replied that I was working for Kip's contracting company now, and he had assigned me this duty. I flipped open the next folder, and continued making the revisions. Eventually, she left. Not sure when... I had stopped paying attention to her.
The next day, the Motion Picture Bond people assembled the whole studio staff... not including me, of course, I had been fired... and gave a very nice speech. The head exec said that he was taking his people home... they weren't needed here. He assured the studio staff that the show would be left in our hands, and he was absolutely confident in our ability to finish it, and to overcome any further problems that arose.
Then they left. We finished the show. Both Marilyns avoided me... for that matter, EVERYONE avoided me. The other techs thought I was insane. When the contract ended, it was several months before I could get another, and about two years before my career fully recovered.
It was worth it.
====================================================
Thank you for your attention. It feels nice to get that off my chest.
usually i cant read these long stories...but this was awesome!(crazy stuff aswell)somehow here i couldnt stop reading
Thanx Mr Rick,i really enjoyed it
Nice story! Sometimes the best stories are the true ones!
You should send her a box of dog poo for her birthday. Seriously it also sounds like the bond execs were clueless about the process.
Bravo, audience applause! more, Fabulous story and there's only one reason why its true. HOLLYWOOD-- you can't make this shit up.
Yeah... as odd as this might sound (after that story) I really miss working in show business. Once it's in your blood, it isn't something you do... it's something you ARE.
I've shared credit-rolls with Phyllis Diller, Peter O'Toole, Kiefer Sutherland, Meaghan Followes, what's-his-name from Naked Gun... Leslie Nielsen!... and several others. I really miss it.
My conolences on your lost cartoon job. You could certainly take up a career in writing tho
My conolences on your lost cartoon job. You could certainly take up a career in writing tho
I've got an equally interesting job lined up starting next month, though.
Working at Applied Studies, the computer research lab of the Tactics School, Combat Training Center, DND.
I figure that soldiers and little children aren't all THAT much different...
My conolences on your lost cartoon job. You could certainly take up a career in writing tho
+1 :)
Emu; I know you mentioned your busy with a new job, but if you can, make a comedy cartoon about chess.com. Just throw me some ideas. There's enought creative people on this site that could assist.
Yeah, they're exaactly the same.
Actually, the story told in this thread was just the FIRST time my cartoon career crashed and burned. I managed to resurrect it, and it zoomed higher than ever before (no longer a tech, but an animation choreographer!)... and that established the pattern. Soar and collapse, soar and collapse... at last with finality.
I'm doing well in a different field now, but I still miss the old days.
The following story is entirely true… at least, from my own perspective and to the best of my recollection.
It will probably take up several posts (due to the characters-per-post limit) and several minutes to post (due to the anti-spam filters). Please bear with me.
Dramatis Personae:
Me : a Computer Graphics Compositor (a Digital Cameraman).
Sheldon : our Executive Producer, and a combination Lawyer/Crook
Producer #1 : Marilyn, in charge of our show
Producer #2 : also called Marilyn, but a poor substitute for the real one
The Director : Pete, not in-shot in this scene
Kip : head of a separate Digital contracting firm, working in-studio on this show
Several years ago, I was working in Ottawa (Canada) as a Digital Graphics Compositor, making children's cartoons for international television. Sheldon, our Executive Producer, was quite a shyster... roughly equal parts Financier, Con-Man, Lawyer, Executive and Crook. At the time of the "incident", I was working at his studio on the third part of a three-part mini-series... a series of three traditional American Indian legends, re-told in cartoon format.
Sheldon had a disconcerting habit of juggling the accounts... of using clever semi-legal tricks to leech money from one project to another, and using part of the budget of one show to finish and release the previous show. This tended to work... for a while... as long as he could keep up a steady stream of contracts; but every once in a while it caught up with him and the studio would go bankrupt... only to re-surface a few months later under a different name. Sheldon always came out smelling like a rose... the big losers would be the people who owned, or had invested in (or worked on) the particular show that was in production when his sins caught up with him.
Case in point: part three of the Legends mini-series. Part one had gone over-budget, and some of the money legally earmarked for part two had been used to finish it. Part two had also gone over-budget, and a lot of the money legally earmarked for part three had been used to finish it. Part three never had a chance. We knew we didn't have nearly enough money to finish it, and the bosses decided to do it as cheaply as possible. Bad idea, since a show cannot legally be released unless the network accepts it and the show itself meets FCC standards. The network execs could see from the early rushes that we were only doing a half-assed job on the show... naturally, since we had no money to do it properly... and they rejected it and called for literally hundreds of revisions. Which we had no money to make, obviously.
Eventually, the investors pulled the plug and called in the Motion Picture Bond people... the Guarantors. These are the ones who decide whether to just cancel the show (which would probably scrap the whole series, since it isn't easy to sell parts one and two of a series that will never be completed), or pull the show out and send it to a different studio (which would collapse our studio, since we would have no prospect of return on the money spent), or whether they should keep us working on it and invest enough additional money to get the show finished. From our selfish point of view, only the last option was acceptable.