That's it. I'm out.
But wait, there's one more scene.
It had been a very, very long day on set and everyone was tired. But there was something else brewing in the air besides fatigue and it had been festering for most of the afternoon. I could feel the general angst in the normal course of performing my duties as I moved between departments. Grumblings and murmurings rippled throughout the crew, the main point of frustration centered on the director and the general opinion that he was in over his head.
I was fresh out of college, working as a Production Assistant on a feature-length movie, trying to soak up as much as possible and make as many connections as I could in the hopes of securing the next job. And I was quickly learning some very important information about life on an actual feature film set:
It isn’t as glamorous as that behind-the-scenes featurette of your favorite movie makes it out to be.
It can be full of people with very short fuses and very large egos.
People seem to be stressed and on edge a lot.
Burnout is very real.
Sleep is scarce.
PA’s receive a majority of the bullying.
Everyone was tired and when you’re tired patience can wear thin, but it had been a particularly frustrating day when everything just seemed off. We were behind schedule. There were delays. There were dozens of extras standing around in period wardrobe on a very hot and humid day, all of whom had early call times. There were moments when many in the crew weren’t sure what was going on and what was taking so long. That’s when the grumbling started.
The day trudged on.
Mercifully the sun finally went down, providing some reprieve from the relentless heat, but just when we thought we were wrapped for the day, there was word that the director wanted to shoot one last interior. I was called to set and I ran down from base camp to see what was needed.
I entered the small shop that would serve as the location for the scene and ran up to the First Assistant Director. I was told to round up extras and bring them into the store to serve as background for the scene.
And so, with a quick nod and a firm, “Copy!” I ran out looking for extras.
And I looked, and looked…
Hmmm… extras…
Most of them had already left. After all, these were ordinary people from the surrounding area that agreed to be background players because they were excited by the idea of being in a movie. They were willing to sweat it out for $50 each just for the chance months down the road of pointing to the screen at an indistinguishable, out-of-focus body in the background and shouting to their friends, “That’s me!” only to have their friends lean in, squinting, and unenthusiastically respond, “Ooooooh yeah…”
Yes, they were willing to do that… up to a point.
But I think the frustrations of that particular day had affected them as well. Many did a simple top-of-the-head cost-benefit analysis and decided it wasn’t worth it for them to stay any longer.
I couldn’t blame them, but I also realized that it left me in a bit of a bind.
And so, like the proverbial college student scouring the couch cushions for vending machine money, I managed to corral a few bodies who either weren’t totally disillusioned by the dysfunction around them or who were really bad at saying “no.”
I walked back on to the set with my meager offerings in tow, not unlike the religious farmer who hopes to appease the gods with a small grain offering decimated by seasonal blight.
The First AD looked at the background players, then at me, then past me through the large storefront window, waiting for others who weren’t going to show. Then the barrage of questions.
“That’s it?”
“Where is everybody?”
“You couldn’t get anyone else?!”
The intensity with which she peppered me only grew with each query hurled in my direction. At some point, she went all in on the rhetoricals, her intent obviously to make me feel as bad and humiliated as possible.
“How can I fill a store without extras?!”
The only thing I could do was to explain the situation as best as I could. Finally, the First AD relented and went off in a huff, maybe realizing that no amount of complaining and yelling could miraculously manifest more people and that by doing so would just be a waste of even more time; time that they could actually be shooting something.
You learn a lot in life by watching others. In this case, I learned a great deal about leadership and interprofessional relationships.
First, trust and respect are earned through preparedness, communication, quick decision-making, and efficiency. The crew seemed to be losing confidence in the director on this particular day, questioning his abilities. And I could tell that their concerns all stemmed from a lack of those four things.
Being a leader comes with a responsibility even to those lowest in the hierarchy. Maybe a leader communicates his vision to those closest around him, but if that doesn’t ultimately find its way down to the very bottom of the organization, people will feel left out, and when they feel left out, they become disenfranchised; less motivated to do the work. People trust and respect leaders who not only make decisions, but make them decisively, all while eloquently communicating the how and the why of it all to those throughout the entire organization.
That’s why there were complaints on set. That’s why a lot of the extras decided to call it a day. Because it’s difficult to continue to tow the line when there’s a failure of leadership.
Then, over time, all that will be left of a very large and successful business is a meager helping of a few hangers-on and a lowly front-line associate trying to explain to out-of-touch executives where everyone went and why no one is manning the store.