I recently had dinner with a few camera department friends, Together we had almost 100 years of movie making experience, I hope that there is a modicum of accomplishment in that fact. The film business is changing rapidly. It has been in a free fall of sorts for a few years due to covid and then one of the largest industry related union strikes in history resulting in a virtual stoppage of work for most of the worker bees. All of this along with artificial intelligence’s ability to visualize our world seem to draw a clear picture about how dramatically/rapidly things are changing.

One of the dinner party attendees told an amazing tale of how they got into the film business in the 1980’s involving things like getting on the wrong plane and landing in Singapore. My tale is not so filled with wonder, yet it answers the often asked question, “How did you get into the film business?”

After reading through two obscure books about movie set life (Owen Marsh’s Parking Lots I have Eaten In, and Andy Romanoff’s Stories I have been Meaning To Tell You), both filled with lengthy descriptions of absurd set life, I decided to really finish this post. Which is supposed to give light to some of the events that aligned in my life and allowed entrance into the mercurious working of feature film making.

I have had incredible experiences working on films, done things few people get the opportunity to do. I have been to the top of the south tower of the Golden Gate Bridge, I have been a 1/4 mile beneath the surface of the planet and I have taken a poo along the edge of the Arctic Circle. What makes these memories even more incredible is that if you ask pretty much any film technician (particularly ones that started before the dawn of virtual sets) you would hear just as many far reaching experiences.

All of these experiences were part of my journey as a film technician, a cameraman, really a camera operator. So here is a small tale about how I got there/here.

I was ten years old when I read an article in the New York Times Sunday Magazine (I think) about how there was this person whose sole job was to physically operate the camera on motion pictures and that this person was autonomous from the Director of Photography. I was fascinated, intrigued and basically thought: “That’s the job for me”.

Since then, be it luck, being in the right place at the right time, I cannot say. My whole life people have been surprised and that I had a god shot like that at the age of ten. But I did, and it stuck.

I have been looking for that original article forever and thought I had hit pay dirt when ChatGBT started taking over. I figured this is finally a way to find the article I have been searching for for 40 years! About thirty minutes of conversing with the ChatBot later left me nonplussed to say the least.

Robot: “The article, titled “The Camera Operator,” was written by veteran camera operator, Ralph Gerling. In the article, Gerling provides an overview of the camera operator’s responsibilities, techniques, and challenges. Overall, Gerling’s article provides a detailed and informative look at the role of a camera operator in the motion picture industry during the early 1970s”

I lot of my burning lust for movies was set in place by my mother. She just inhaled movies and therefore we went to see a LOT of them. All movies, every kind of movie. It became clear to me when she was arguing with the ticket box person on how it was indeed appropriate for a ten year old boy (her son) to see A Clockwork Orange, (which originally came out with an X rating), because she was with me as the guardian. This viewing, along with many more age inappropriate viewings left an indelible mark on my psyche, but also made darn sure sure I was a lifelong fan of the silver screen. (it worked)

I saw everything, the good, the bad and the ugly. I even started keeping track of every movie I had seen up to a point in 1972 (I was eleven years old!)

That’s a fair amount of movies for an eleven year old.. Many of these films were screened at the gone but not forgotten Heights Cinema, (oldest and longest privately owned movie theater in New York City!) which was owned at the time by one of my best friends parents. A true win win as it meant a lot of free movies and they could not have cared less about any age requirements.

But all this sitting around watching movies was just training for my life on movie sets. It was not until years later that good fortunes and most certainly the grace of my older sister (who was a student at Columbia Film School at the time) that I gained entrance to Michael Hausman, and of course the headline anecdote of Mr Mosul’s car.

Michael is one of a dying breed of smart, savvy, rambunctious film producers. Producers who know how to save money and treat the crew well at the same time. Producers that don’t take any guff from the studios. Producers who create an open supportive palette for the director to do their work as they intend. This kind of nurturing, insular film production is pretty much non-existent in the current streaming global content driven marketplace.

Michael was my introduction to the film business. After attending a year at SUNY Purchase Film School film, I was offered a job as a production assistant on real live studio movie called Desert Bloom filming on location in Tucson, Arizona

Reading Peter Biskind’s Down and Dirty Pictures, which along with Easy Riders and Raging Bulls give a detailed account of how American cinema went from the auteur-ship mega creative films of the 1960-1970’s, through to the independent Sundance induced craze of the 1990’s. In Down and Dirty Pictures there happens to be a whole section on Desert Bloom because it was made at a very fractious moment in Robert Redford’s Sundance legacy. Of course this was all unbeknownst to a 25 year old (me) who at the time felt like an over payed, living large on location with free car and per diem kind of film technician that I was. To This day it I still refer to it as the best job I ever had.

On a Hausman Filmhaus project there is often a lot of crew fringe benefits, mariachi bands at lunch. crew outings on the weekend. He is a larger than life persona. One who owns a ranch in Montana and sports all kinds of cool cowboy-esqe schwag branded with the logo: Filmhaus. I did many movies with Michael and owe him a complete dept of gratitude. Michael is also the person who to this day will take any opportunity to tell the saga of Mr Mosul’s car.

Being the period car coordinator on Desert Bloom may well indeed have been the best job I ever had. I spent six weeks prior to filming running around Tucson, Arizona, attending antique cars shows and building a repertoire of available vintage vehicles for use in the movie. I had a little car lot with “ND” (non-descript) cars for last minute use which would usually involving me putting on a fedora and driving through the background of a shot.

Here is the IMCDB (Internet Movie Car Database) (because the internet has everything) website for auto’s used in Desert Bloom. The script also called for specialty character cars, such as the “longest Cadillac in the world” which we had to affix a pair of ranch horns to the front grill and of course Mr Mosul’s Car.

Mr Mosul is a character in the film played by Allen Garfield. The director Eugene Corr felt that Mr Mosul’s screen character would be defined by the type of car he drove. I spent a lot of time searching for Mr Mosul’s car during pre-production I would collect pictures of prospective cars, have a show and tell with the director and over and over the findings were just not right.

The first days of shooting were barrelling towards us and Mr Mosul’s car was nowhere to be seen. This did not make Michael Hausman all too happy. Then one day, discarded in a overgrown field I found this. A decaying 1942 Cadillac Fleetwood 60 Special.

When the director saw the photo all he said was “That’s it! That’s Mr Mosul Car!“

It should have felt like a huge relief, but with a only few weeks left before filming how in the world was this once glorious Cadillac going to be ready for production, like actual driving?

I bought it for $300. It needed an engine, a paint job and most importantly a new interior as there were scenes scripted inside the vehicle. I made a deal with a chop shop in South Tucson, had it towed in and for $3000 it was supposed to get all done.

South Tucson was an odd little incorporated city within Tucson that reminded many of being of a less developed city in Mexico. When you crossed the sign from Tucson to South Tucson the street literately went unpaved. I spent the next few weeks anxiously going down to sleepy old South Tucson to see the progress of Mr Mr Mosul’s car, which was slow and visually non-existent. I wish I had a picture of the gentleman who was hired to over haul the vehicle, a friendly, larger than life garage owner who would only assure me that it would get done, eventually. I think he may even have had some gold incisors.

The first time Mr Mosul’s car would be needed for filming had some flexibility, but only to a point. On the advance schedule the scene was listed as:

MR MOSULS CAR DAY EXT.

To me that meant, the car was needed during the day and it would only be seen from the exterior? The day arrives, I deliver the car to the set, the actors gather for a rehearsal and it is immediately clear that there was no interior to get into. Just a shell. Not even a driver seat, you had to sit on apple box to drive the thing. So, there I was, this 25 year old first time film set kid explaining to the award wining producer of Amadeus and the director that the call sheet says DAY EXT, you don’t need the interior, right? not so good.

This is why in the cut the scene the action is staged outside the car, Mr Mosul is closing the door on action to the non existent car interior and the angle on the girls, just barely showing a corner of the rear window and not enough to reveal the lack of interior.

So, if Michael Hausman could continue the story, it would go something like

“Henrrrryyyyy!!!???”

The moral of the story is, know your shit!

But I did know my shit, because I knew that the camera department was the only place for me. Since I was working on a Filmhaus project where experience meant productivity and because legendary focus puller James Bagdonas and Clapper Loader Tom Connole were there, I was was given the opportunity to work as the on set 2nd Assistant Camera the entire last week of the show.

I never left the camera department after that.