Tag Film

Script Girl

Michael 2 Comments

February might be my favorite month. It’s certainly in the top ten. (I can do without March and its schizophrenic weather patterns and August’s unending humidity. The rest are okay.) February is among my favorites because of the Academy Awards. Quite honestly I don’t think I could possibly care less who goes home with an Oscar this year. I love February because of the old winners.

I love old movies and there is no better time to get a fill of them than in the month leading up to the Oscars. Whether your film love is for musicals, thrillers, book adaptations, war, epics, comedies, or tragedies you will find it on a small screen near you in February. February is when movie services and networks go all out to rake in the viewers with past nominees and winners. The good movies. The ones produced before Hollywood decided America needed a conscience and it was the perfect choice. These are the ones you watch and say to yourself, “they wouldn’t do that today.”

Something else about those old movies they don’t do today is the credits. (Hmm. Some things else are the credits?) I’ve bemoaned the state of movie credits before but it never rears its ugly head as much as now when the screens are filled with the elegance of crediting those who deserve credit and not every Tom, Dick, and Harriet who come close to the set or is close to the financiers.

Buried in those early credits is another thing “they wouldn’t do today.” Among the actors, director, producer, editor, cameraman, set designer, and costumer, almost always is “Script Girl.” Sexism notwithstanding, the title was gradually changed to Script Supervisor in the 60s and 70s, long before males entered the role. But for years, and as long as February remains Oscar Movie Month, for years to come, “Script Girl” was how the continuity expert was defined around the world. Literally.

AdmitOneJust over the weekend I was watching the 1974 Best Foreign Language Film winner, François Truffaut “Day for Night.” (Reading maybe as much as watching as my French comprehension was never as good as my high school grades suggested. Hooray for subtitles.) As the credits rolled (before the movie as they should be) after the acteurs, among the équipage, and before the producteur and the réalisateur was “Script Girl,” just like that, en anglais, capitalized, and in quotes.

And what does this “girl” do. At one time she or he, although then it was almost exclusively she would be the director’s secretary and would record information about how of each scene was shot, prompt actors, and often write notes to be used in publicizing the movie before it’s release. Today the Script Supervisor also keeps notes of wardrobe, props, set dressing, hair, makeup and the actions of the actors during shooting to assist the editor in maintain continuity during and between scenes. Thus when the hero enters a scene with a half full cup of coffee it doesn’t turn into a can of ginger ale 24 seconds later in the final cut.

I’d love to stick around longer and talk about old movies but there’s only 17 days left to February and my DVR is filling up. I have to catch up on some classics today.

Picture Perfect

Michael Leave a comment

I was watching an old TV show yesterday when it was noted that the then most popular hobby was photography. Then was in the mid-1960s.

In mid-60 I was still measuring my age in single digits and picture taking was a natural extension of any structured family gathering – birthdays, Christmas, opening pitch at the local little league. After the pictures were taken the film was developed and the printed pictures camerabecame the center of attention for an evening. They were passed around among the family, mounted in (or at least stuck between the covers of) one of the many family picture albums, and that’s where there seemed to rest until happily ever after.

Fast forward 50 years. That’s when my father passed away. I don’t know when the custom began or if it was/is even a custom but then it was a thing to display pictures on French memory boards and scatter about during the viewings. My mother and sisters spent hours going through albums and boxes and envelopes to select the images that represented as many of the 8 plus decades my father walked the earth. Pictures I remembered from those family “picture shows” were there and there were also pictures from milestone events since and not so milestone events before. Faces of relatives who had died before I was born shared space with the one of a much younger father. While we were occupied fitting remembered names to forgotten visages we became caught up in remembering lives lived rather than one so recently lost.

The interesting thing was that after the funeral and things returned to their normal paces and places, those pictures didn’t. Every time I stopped by at my mother’s house a new old picture found its way into a frame on a wall, a spot on the mantel, a corner of a mirror. “Who is that,” was answered with who, when, where, what was happening, what happened next, what everyone else in and not in the picture thought about it, turning a simple question into a wonderful story.

Today the most popular hobby is, depending on what site you pluck out of the 2 million or so that a search returns, either gardening or fishing. Photography is still pretty high on all the lists. A quick peek at Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, or any other social site confirms that. Hopefully some of those images will last for 50 years so when today’s generation fast forwards the next mid-60s they will turn into their own stories. And rest happily ever after.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

Get the Picture?

Michael Leave a comment

Last week I was digging under the bed to see what I could pull out of there. I try to clean out the “underbed storage” about every ten or fifteen years. I found a duffel bag that I was looking for just a few months ago. There were coin wrappers and bill straps; unfortunately they were all empty. I saw a shoe box with no shoes in it. And there was a camera bag. Not the big bag that had the big camera, lenses, flash and such. That was in the office. Not the little case that held the palm size digital camera that goes on vacation if I ever go on vacation again. This was a forgotten camera bag with a roll of film (actually a cartridge of film), a strange sized battery, and a claim check from an airline that has since gone out of business. No camera.

I don’t remember the last time I used a film camera. I do remember it was a 35mm camera and not one that used the 110 cartridge. I remember a camera that used that cartridge but I remember it from something like thirty or forty years ago. (I know I cleaned out under the bed since then. I know that because I’ve moved a few times since then.)

I might not remember that camera – and it’s a good thing the camera wasn‘t there because nobody probably still processes those little film cartridges – but I do remember that I used to take quite a few pictures and actually displayed them. I had pictures on walls, on end tables, in bookcases, on desks, even stuck to the front of the refrigerator in magnetic picture frames. Still do. I’ve slowed down in picture taking. Lots of people today take many more pictures than I ever did. But how many of those pictures ever end up as photographs.

So many pictures get taken and are posted somewhere electronically. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But I’ve always thought of a picture as an opportunity to remember someone or something. At work I had pictures on my desk, file cabinets, and walls. They were of my daughter, of She and me, of people from work doing fun things. They were snapshots of things to make me smile usually when I most needed a smile. I remember only three other managers in my building who had personal pictures somewhere in their offices.

Print a picture, pop a stick or chip in a printer at a drugstore, or download a few shots to a digital frame. Don’t make all of your future memories “images.” Take a photo every now and then.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?