Excerpt: Run Away with the Circus
[chapter sample] Freddie Mercury: 50ft. Tall
"Flash! Ah, ah! Savior of the Universe!" Bum, bum, bum, bum - the soundtrack pounds as the credits fly by on the movie screen. "He saved every one of us!" - bum, bum, bum, bum. It was the summer of 1980, and the music of Queen was the soundtrack of my youth. From as early as 6th. grade I can remember singing songs by Queen in music class, or on the bus ride to and from school. I was too young to understand many of the politics behind the music from that time. For me it was just a welcome escape from the turmoil of growing up. An escape to anywhere, and Mongo was just fine.
It was early influences like Lucas' "Star Wars," Spielberg's "Close Encounters," and Dino De Laurentiis', Flash Gordon, that formed the basis for my strong desire to be a part of the film business. From a very young age I had two ambitions in life, to be an astronomer, or a filmmaker. I had a penchant for aiming high. Heaven or Hollywood. Nothing else would do.
A tragic accident in the fall of 1984 would close the door forever on the dream of outer space. While driving to a night school class in astronomy, a patch of black ice on a darkened road would change my life forever. From that point on, it was escape. I was an emotional fugitive, on the run looking to avoid painful memories with the promise of new and exciting people and places. A place to run…forward. Whatever the cost.
Fast forward to the fall of 1991. High school behind me, and the experience of college a near disaster. I am now living, and working in Orlando, Florida. A budding film business has caught my attention, and I have been making my way for some time now. Not yet an old hand, but as a beloved mentor, and camera operator would someday say, "Top man, Mike." Well, not yet, but getting I was getting there. I had recently finished my second season on a running TV show for Viacom. A campy series titled "Super Force". It was a futuristic cop show, that the Hollywood reporter once called "Pretty Cool Trash." A headline the production manager promptly made into tee-shirts for the crew. It was just the kind of back handed compliment that we hardened cases would appreciate.
It was during this period when the incumbent Governor of Florida, Bob Martinez, gave a clown-car styled press performance (he was trying to quell the bickering about whether or not the state could afford tax incentives for the film business) by referring to us as "carnival trash." So, in the fashion of our new brand, we bounced off one trash train, and onto another low-octane TV project for USA network, Swamp Thing!
It was the same sort of pulpy opera that "Super Force" was. A paycheck and experience for me, and filler for the emerging cable TV culture that needed programming like I needed escape. I did a lot of growing up on, "Swampy," and I owe a lot to Dick Durock and the rest of the cast and crew of that show.
One evening, in the late fall of '91, we had just been sent to dinner on the backlot at Universal Studios. "Lunch, one half hour!" the A.D. said, which really meant 45 minutes minimum - by the time all the talent and crew got through the line at the catering truck. It was a gorgeous night, and I didn't feel like being cooped up in the cafeteria trailer, eating cheek-by-jowl with the rest of the lighting and grip departments. Typically, that meant a good time, but could often feel like high school all over again. Complete with the yelling, teasing and occasional food fight.
This particular night I needed to be alone. It wasn't a sad thing. No personal drama, or any dire circumstances – just tired. I needed some private time to decompress. On nights like this, some guys would grab a furniture pad off the grip cart, and curl up in an out-of-the-way place on stage, or in a truck to grab a few winks before we had to go "back in." Night work could be a grind, and we were working splits. Six days a week, 2 p.m. to 2 a.m., with Sundays off to rest. That kind of schedule takes a long time to adjust to, and we were just a few weeks into an 11-month grind.
So, I grabbed a to-go box from the caterer, Jeff, and trotted over to the set to sit and eat and absorb the vibe. I did this sometimes as a way to connect spiritually with my work. I was doing a huge amount of growing and learning. I felt it deeply, but I often needed to sit and soak in the energy of the experience at a time when there were no outside distractions, like crew and actors. This was a form of Zen time.
I was the film loader in the camera department. A 2nd. assistant cameraman in training. I had a lot of responsibility loading film magazines and keeping track of the film shot, wasted, and short ends saved. I often found it ironic that each day's exposed footage (which needed to be sent off for developing) representing the economic value of the crew's daily work time (around 60K per day in 1991 dollars), was entrusted to the youngest, and least experienced in the camera department. One slip could be very costly for production, and deadly for me. It was extremely stressful if you slowed down long enough to think about it. But I took it in stride. It bolstered my confidence, and earned me respect among the rest of the crew. Even the unit production manager, who had scrutinized me hard during my interview for the job, began to see me in a different light.
My boss from Super Force, was now on this project. I had been recommended for the position and brought on by him. It was a right of passage, and a good opportunity. Because my experience was limited, the UPM got me for a song. Never-the-less, I was making more money than I had ever made in my life – up to that point. Besides, I was having a blast.
On this particular night, we were shooting in "the grotto." A set the construction and art department had built outside our sound stage. It was a small reproduction of the Louisiana Bayou, where the story took place. Complete with mud, vines and rubber alligators. The home of the creature. Which in reality, was built over the parking lot adjacent to stage 23, and on the backside of another stage that housed the King Kong ride - part of the backlot guest experience.
The production facilities were shoe horned in between administration and tech services for the theme park, at Universal. On occasion, we would have to stop production long enough to accommodate a tour group, or wait out an explosion, from the stunt show, or the Monster Review, where a bunch of ridiculous actors, dressed as classic ghouls, would parade around a stage singing, "Everybody Dance Now." It was an intoxicating environment for a young filmmaker like me.
As I sat lunching alone, I noticed a group of long 18-wheel trailers setting up alongside our set. I was feeling a bit curious, so I wandered over to see what the deal was. Inside one of the trailers was a giant film projector, like the ones you'd see at the theater. But, this one was exceptionally large, and was fed by two very large platters, where the film stock would lay on its side as it gets fed into the machine. A man inside the trailer greeted me. I explained that I was a worker on the production shooting next to their trucks, and I asked what they were doing.
He told me that they were going to screen some footage of a music concert, filmed in Toronto, earlier that year. It was a tribute film for a band that had recently lost their front man to a terrible disease. I struggled to process what he was saying. Current events and film production don't mix well, and I hadn't been following the news too closely. As I rattled my brain, the only band I could think of that had been effected like this was… Queen! Freddie Mercury had just passed away, and it was in all the papers, and on the news. It was a huge story in the media, because it described the fate of another high-profile victim of the fearful
AIDS epidemic that was sweeping the nation.
As I came to my startling revelation, I watched as two other men carried in a huge film canister. It was unique in that it was 70mm projection stock. Large format! As I watched, I asked the first man if they were going to show the film. He nodded, and suggested that I sit on the tailgate of the trailer for a great view. I was still a little stunned, and asked how we would see it without a screen. The man laughed and pointed to the Kong ride, "We're going to project it on the side of that sound stage," he quipped. My mouth dropped open.
The stages at Universal Studios – Florida are big modern structures. They measure roughly 75ft. wide by 150 ft. long, with steel beams (we call the "Perms") at 35 ft. off the ground on the inside. Above that is about another 15 feet of space for catwalks, runways and the roof supports. That means, the outside height of one of these monolithic structures is over 50 feet high. I was in for a treat!
​
End of excerpt.
​
​