lazy sundays

Sorry about the recent lack of posts. It's the holiday season and I've spent a shocking amount of time away from the computer. Also, until yesterday I had nothing to blog about.

I was eating with a few good friends at a dim sum buffet in Chinatown in San Francisco yesterday, when my cell phone rang. It was a (310) number I didn't know. Immediately I knew that could only mean one thing: Hollywood was calling.

I sprinted outside into the crowded street, and answered just before it went to voicemail. Just like that, a woman (who didn't actually introduce herself) told me I'd been offered a part-time job as production assistant on a new reality TV show for VH1. It was the job I'd applied for two weeks ago by sending in my resumé-- and they were finally calling back.

I'm going to work Sundays, again twelve-hour shifts, for $120 a day.

The show is a dating "boot camp" where eight women live in a house together and learn from a professional matchmaker about what men want. I'll go ahead and say the name of the show-- it's called Tough Love, produced by Drew Barrymore. When the action starts I obviously won't be able to blog much about the specifics. There are several pages of confidentiality agreements I need to sign. I feel like I'm joining the FBI.

So all in all, a minor success. I got a new job-- for one day a week. Most of the other PAs are full-time. Meh. I have almost no experience, so it makes sense.


I also hooked up with my old friend All About the Hamiltons over the break, who's a full-time film student at San Francisco State. He's about to start shooting a new project, and we both want me to be involved somehow. Right now it looks like I'm going to be the assistant director! Unfortunately my Sunday gig might be a pretty serious conflict, so this might all go down the crapper. Bleh.

If you ever get a chance to take a drive up PCH, take it. It's literally the world's best road. California beaches are beautiful.

And that's the word, for now.

question.

Is it a bad sign when they ask for your resumé, then tell you a phone call is coming on Monday, and then Monday comes and goes-- without a phone call?

credit number two?

At around 4 pm today, Key PA from, uh... "Marriage Castle" called me. He told me about a position on another movie-- a production assistant job, someone "with experience in post".

Luckily for me I spent my first hours in the "Hollywood" school of business as a go-fer at Dogmatic Creative Production. The little editing/production house in Venice Beach. I sat around in an editing room, listening to Bruce Springsteen on my boss D-Dog's computer speakers, talking about Rock Band and/or doing homework. Oh and I picked a couple things up about Final Cut, too. I think.

Back to today. Key PA sounded deadly serious when he gave me this offer. He told me "Don't say anything about being an intern." He wanted me to get a paid position. I was touched... he was delivering on his promise from a few weeks ago.

Then he said "Don't fuck me on this, Flood." And, ah yes-- I felt familiar ground again.

So I had my buddy Diego copy down a name, phone number and email for a prospective new boss. Another potential H-wood contact. I went home, touched up the ol' resumé and sent it off to her inbox. Then I called and left a voicemail on her cell phone.

Half an hour later, I got a callback. She apparently didn't get my resumé attachment the first time-- but she said that was only a formality, and that I'd most likely be getting the job.

They're going to call me back by next Monday to fill me in on the details.

rambo

Let's pause for a minute and reflect on the sheer ballsitude of America's manliest actor-writer-producer-director: Sylvester Stallone.


OK, maybe "roid-itude" was the better word. Look at that ARM. You could take a dirt bike and do jumps off those veins.

I had the privilege (today) of watching his latest dream project come to life: the newest Rambo. A couple of friends and I had time to kill and an HDTV at our mercy, so we popped in a Blu-ray copy and settled down to watch. It was just barely ninety minutes long. These days, most movies are closer to the magical two-hour mark. I knew it was supposed to be gory, but I thought, come on... even Willy Wonka was longer than this. It couldn't be too bad.

In the opening scene-- before the name "Rambo" even crossed the screen-- nine people were shot. Civilians.

Some Burmese soldiers had captured them, and for sport they set them free to run away. As the soldiers laughed and jeered the poor stumbling innocents, one of the civilians stepped on a land mine and exploded in a shower of red. Then the others were gunned down, one by one.

This happened before Sylvester Stallone even stepped on screen. And you know when Rambo comes on, it's gonna get worse.

Rambo kills people with pistols, machine guns, machetes, rocks, a BOW AND ARROW, 50-cal sniper rifles, gatling guns, and of course... his fists. (In one scene, he actually rips a man's throat out with his bare hands. He does this right in front of his main leading lady, as she cowers in fear and horror. I think some of the blood actually sprays onto her. Bridge to Terabithia this is not.)

The thing about Rambo is the absolute ridiculous, needless lengths it goes to for the sake of being badass. People were just constantly dying. Not just bad people either-- literally hundreds of civilians were wasted. And Stallone didn't hesitate to show it all on camera.

Children were brutally executed. Women were beaten and raped. Even animals got the Burma treatment. No one was safe. (Except Rambo, but he can't die ever.)

There's an old moviemaking rule: Never kill a child on-screen. It's just not something you do. Stallone knew that rule, because every director knows that rule... but when making Rambo he apparently decided to say "fuck that". Because Sly is too tough to play with the pansy pants on. I think his motto for making the movie was "if it breathes, kill it".

I will say this, though: after all the shit the Burmese soldiers did, it sure felt good to watch Stallone open a ten-gallon drum of Whoop-A on them at the end. For me it was the bow and arrow that did it. I mean, come on. That's just cool.

Then there was a sequence where Rambo was being chased by over a hundred Burmese soldiers-- and he found a chain gun. Suddenly I thought I was watching somebody play Halo.

And Stallone did show some directing, uh... talent prowess skill moxie from time to time. There was a dream sequence filled with fire, rage, and body parts exploding-- it was using footage from the first three Rambos, I guess. Sly really edited the hell out of that thing. The acting was over-the-top ridiculous, so of course it fit perfectly with the rest of the movie.

This movie really got me thinking. You know those T-shirt guns they have at baseball games sometimes? They should make a gun like that, except that it shoots live cobras. You could disguise it easily-- just hide the snakes. That would really liven up the next Jonas Brothers concert.

Also, I think it's possible this movie may have warped my mind a bit.

of elephants, millionaires, and milk

Fuck, I used to get comments on here. What happened??

----

I saw Milk earlier tonight. First things first-- Sean Penn knocked it out of the park. That bro can seriously act. Gus Van Sant's direction was decent. It was really a character-driven story, so the best way to service the story was for the director to get the hell out of the way and not make things too fancy. Van Sant is an expert at that.

A few years ago he made Elephant, a super-low-budget indie film about the days leading up to the Columbine massacre. It basically consisted of about fifteen to twenty tracking shots, following random students as they walked through hallways and around the school grounds. The film was about as tense as the Great Chevy Malibu Race. We all know what happened at Columbine, but that doesn't give you the right as a director to simply show PEOPLE WALKING AROUND for ninety minutes and expect instant drama.

Plus, the kids' conversations with each other are completely inane. Yes, you say, but at least it's realistic. I could make a nine-hour-long movie about the average day of a mail sorter and have it be fully realistic-- would that also make it compelling?

Then just as the tragedy is finally about to unfold, *spoiler alert* the fictional Harris and Klebold have a gay love scene in the shower. Uh..................... What?!?

Of course, Elephant went on to win the Palme d'Or at Cannes in 2003. (No lie. Look it up.) Van Sant also won Best Director. I think a movie doesn't have to be good to win the Golden Palm-- it just has to be indie enough.

Milk has no such problem. Van Sant couldn't add tension to a paintball match on the Gaza Strip, but luckily for him the story doesn't need it. It's an inspiring true story about a gay businessman (Harvey Milk) in San Francisco who ran for public office in the 70s, eventually succeeded, and helped protect the rights of homosexuals by leading a grassroots movement to strike down Proposition 6 in 1978, before being assassinated days later.

It's too bad Van Sant wanted to hold this one back for awards season, because there are some real eerie connections with a certain California proposition that ended up passing this year. If Milk had been released two months ago, who knows how things might have been different?

James Franco really surprised me with a great turn as Harvey Milk's oldest lover. Although this isn't the first time this year he's put out a great performance. Saul the pot dealer in Pineapple Express was brilliant.

And Saul the pot dealer was just recently nominated for a Golden Globe. Woah man. That's like... wait, what?

I also saw Slumdog Millionaire this week, which I won't get into very much. But that film could seriously win Best Picture. It was THAT GOOD. Electric, perfectly paced, whirling with emotions and colors. I can't recommend it highly enough. In fact I won't give away anything else-- because you need to see this movie, and you need to see it in theaters.

You'll thank me. You'll be all like-- "That Iggy really gave me a good tip about Slumdog. I'm glad I visited that silly website of his. What was it again?"

http://iggysquest.blogspot.com

Now start commenting! Goddamn it. Do I have to get over there with a rubber hose and--

thanks for all the fish

And just like that-- it's over.

Saturday of last week I was at a football game. My esteemed university was taking on the evil Rival University Douchebags, and I'm an alto saxophone in the school band. It was kind of out of my hands... I had to skip work that day.

Well, it turns out Saturday was the last day of production on Wedding Palace.

And five days later, here I am: the Iggy formerly known as a production assistant. Now just an unemployed Iggy.

Yes, there was a wrap party. Yes, I missed that, too.

Not exactly a storybook ending to my first real Hollywood job.

I did get a call a couple of days ago from my boss, Key PA. He told me he'd be calling me sometime in the near future with a new job. And hopefully I'll get paid for this one.

In some ways it kind of sucks that it ended so abruptly, and that I had to miss the payoff for all the hard work. In other ways... I'm still just happy I got the job in the first place. I feel like this gig really opened up a lot of possibilities for me. I met a bunch of producers, writers, director-hopefuls, and if I keep working with them I can give them material and such. This PA job was really a blessing, and I can't look past that.

So Iggy's Quest is going to take another turn. Now that my foot is "in the door", I have to start pulling together stories and ideas. I need a full script (that doesn't suck) and a few new concepts. It isn't about getting the job anymore-- or even keeping the job. It's about making the absolute best of this opportunity. No more wasting time. I have to start writing. TODAY.

I'm not gonna let this slip away like I let everything else slip away. Iggy isn't phoning it in anymore.

The good news is, I would definitely have to call my first Hollywood job a success!

scattershot post #2

I feel so weird, skipping three full days of work to take finals. And part of a fourth.

I'm almost worried that I'm staying away too long, and my boss will realize I'm still just a student, and decide to say ixnay on cash moneys for the near future.

Oh well-- it's Friday morning. Right smack dab in the middle of the filming-schedule weekend. I don't have to think about work right now.

Although I might consider thinking about sleep.

I watched The Cameraman the other night and was quite impressed. Every time I see a new Buster Keaton film, it reminds me how he was absolutely one of the great comedians in the 20th century. His timing, his facial expressions (or lack thereof), his genius for physical comedy and stunt work-- honestly. Brilliant. The man is a pure entertainer.

He's paired up with Marceline Day, one of his longtime leading ladies, and here the chemistry is at its best. There's a true romantic center to this movie. But the real heart is in the laughs. Every scene in The Cameraman is entertaining, and several are truly hilarious. The poolhouse changing room scene is a classic.



I also watched the first half of The Conversation. It's a Francis Ford Coppola film, made right after he finished The Godfather. Accolades streaming his way, along with millions and millions of dollars from the huge box office-- he was the most powerful man in Hollywood. He could handpick his next project, anything under the sun. He could've made a film about a group of gang-raping nuns if he wanted.

He ended up with a strange little character piece about a surveillance P.I. (played by Gene Hackman) who's obsessed with his own privacy. The investigator's company eavesdrops and records a conversation for a mysterious client, and he becomes obsessed with figuring out the meaning of this conversation.

We watched it in film class as an example of good sound editing. It was well edited, and Hackman's performance in the movie was weirdly affecting. I'm intrigued, and I want to finish it.

Let's see. What else can I talk about?

Oh-- I don't know if I mentioned this:

'Flood'

...Yep. I'm legit, bitches.

One credit on an obscure movie that may (or may not) be released in theaters sometime next winter.

The Oscars are in February-- I'd better start getting ready.