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Friday, February 24, 2012

JULIE ADAMS: THE LADY EVEN MOVIE MONSTERS FELL FOR


LUCAS: I can tell you something about this place. The boys around here call it "The Black Lagoon;" a paradise. Only they say nobody has ever come back to prove it.
***
DR. DAVID REED: We didn't come here to fight monsters, we're not equipped for it.
***

Anybody who doesn't recognize those two bits of dialogue has been woefully deprived of good old American pop culture. The lines, of course, are right out of the script for the cult classic, The Creature From The Black Lagoon.

And the lovely actress who was the unwilling object of the Creature's obsession was sitting across from me and Chris, spinning a few tales of Hollywood misadventures of her own. Her name, known to several generations of young men, was Julie Adams.

"I made my debut in the third grade," Julie told us. "The play was Hansel And Gretel." She gave us a mischievous grin. "Guess which part I played."

$2.3 Million Legs
In her heyday, Julie was one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood. Legs insured for a quarter of a million dollars. (About $2.3 million in today's money.) Starring roles opposite all the great leading men of her time: Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart, Tony Curtis, Clark Gable, and many, many more.

And now, sitting before us, she was as just lovely and charming as ever. Julie, if you recall, was co-starring as Lorne Greene's wife in Code Red. She'd dropped by to see us to talk about the dreadful scripts they were getting, although she hadn't gotten around to that yet. Like Lorne, who'd shown up at our office doorstep a few days before, she was too polite and diplomatic to dive right into the mess that just might become Irwin (The Towering Toupee) Allen's last hurrah. (Or, Last fucking Ha-Ha, as Chris was wont to say.)

Although she'd guest starred on Quincy, we had never met her. But we had met her husband, Ray Danton, who had directed a couple of our Quincy episodes.

"Ray got started in Westerns, just like I did," Julie said, when told about the Quincy connection. "He likes to joke that he spent his first few years in the business with an ear full of dirt."

We looked at her quizzically. Dirt? In his ear?

She laughed - a lovely sound. "He was always playing Indians in those days," she said. "A bit of type-casting that was hard to break... Although there's not a drop of Indian blood him. And he says that invariably, he'd be the Indian scout who puts his ear to the ground, then sagely announces: 'White man comes on iron horse.'"

Chuckles all around, and as our secretary, Genevieve, entered with more tea for Julie, we motioned for her to sit in and listen.

Julie said, "You know, I was just a girl from Iowa with stars in her eyes when I came out here to make my fortune." She shrugged. "It wasn't easy. I worked as a secretary part time for a couple of years, meanwhile taking all the classes I could in acting, dancing, fencing... you name it, I took a class in it."

"And horse riding?" I guessed.

Another melodious laugh. Julie's eyes sparkled with mirth. "No, I'd never ridden a horse in my life until I got my first job. And in a way, it was fortunate that I hadn't."

How so?

She said, "The director asked me if I could ride, so I said, absolutely... all my life. And then the big scene came up where the horse I was riding was supposed to run away with me so I could be rescued by the handsome hero.

"Well, they had me in this outfit - leather pants, leather everything - and the pants were so tight they had to sew me into them. I didn't touch a drop of water for hours, for fear that I'd have to use the Ladies, and they'd have to cut me out of the pants and then sew me back in them again."

We all laughed, Genevieve the heartiest.

Julie said, "Then came the big scene and the pants were so tight I couldn't bend my legs. So they lifted me on the horse. Mind you, this was the first time I was ever on such a beast. And it was huge, huge."

She raised a hand as high as she could to indicate just how huge. "Then, they led the horse out to the Mark, handed me the reins and said to wait for my cue.

"Shots were fired off camera for the big shootout, and the director shouts for me to go. I didn't know how to make a horse go... there wasn't a pedal anywhere that I could see. But the gunfire scared the horse and it took off. Going like crazy.

"Fortunately, I was supposed to be screaming for help, because that's what I did anyway. I was terrified. And then... well... like a bit right out of Auntie Mame... my pants were so tight I got stuck in the saddle so I couldn't have fallen off if I wanted to. The horse ran on and on, then turned and raced back through the camp, scattering extras and crew members.

"Then came the big rescue. And when it was done, they lifted me out of the saddle, and I staggered back expecting to be bawled out by the director, or maybe even fired. Instead, he said, 'You were marvelous, darling! Marvelous! I wasn't told you were such a fabulous horsewoman!'"

Julie grinned at us. "After that, I very quickly started taking riding lessons up at Griffith Park," she said. "And it was a good thing, too, because I was in a whole string of Westerns after that. Word got out what a good rider I was. And..." she shrugged... "I suppose it helped that I looked good in tight leather pants."

"And white bathing suits, too," Chris opined.

The White Bathing Suit
"Oh, you meant the Black Lagoon movie," Julie said with a grin. "You know, I was in scads of films and many, many episodes of television, but the film everyone remembers most was me in that white bathing suit being terrorized by the Creature. He was played by two men, you know. One for the underwater scenes, the other for the land scenes."

"So, it was the land scene guy who got to carry you around while you were eeking," I said, wishing mightily that I had been that man.

Julie chuckled, then said, "I receive fan mail from young men all over the world - as far away as Australia. All wanting an autographed picture of me in that white bathing suit, with the Creature threatening in the background."

Another laugh. "What a treat to make so many conquests of young men at my age."

"Was it a difficult shoot?" I asked.

"Oh, was it ever," Julie said. "We shot some of it at the lake in the backlot, but then went all over to pick up the rest. We even had a second unit in Florida to shoot underwater scenes, because the water there is so clear.

It Was HOT In There
"It was hardest on Ben Chapman, though. The one who played the land-based Creature. The makeup took hours and hours, and then he couldn't sit down in the suit. He'd have to stand the whole time, sometimes ten hours a day.

"And it was so hot - he was being steamed to death in that thing. Ben spent a lot of time floating in the lake to cool down. And when we were shooting, he had a guy standing by to hose him off."

She sipped her tea, then added, "The other thing that was so horrible about his suit was that he could barely see. And whenever he lugged me into the Grotto, he scraped my head against the rocks.

"One time I got a really bad blow on the head and I was out cold for I don't know how long. And I felt dizzy after that for most of the day."

She shrugged. "But, as I'm sure you are aware," she continued, "they make mistakes by the dozen in films of all kinds. Why, when I was in Bend In The River - opposite Jimmy Stewart - at one point I'm shot with an arrow right here."

Julie indicated a place between one breast and her neck. "Then, later on, the arrow is in my shoulder." She showed us where.

"Of course, they had to move it, because when the wound was treated the censors would have gone crazy because too much of my breast might have been revealed. The thing is, it would have been too expensive to go back and shoot the scene of the arrow hitting me - this time in a more easily accessible place. We all just hoped no one would notice, and, of course, some people did."

Chris said, "Wasn't that the movie where you see a jet's com trail in one of the shots?"

Julie giggled. "The very same. But, we had Jimmy Stewart front and center and the script was great, so everything turned out for the best."

She paused, remembering. "Rock Hudson was in it, too. When the movie opened he got so many cheers from the audience that Jimmy got horribly jealous. He said Rock was just a big ham and then he swore that he'd never speak to him again."

With a shrug, she added: "And as far as I know, he never did."

Julie said, "Of course, there are some things you have no control over. Tragic things. Why, when I did Six Bridges To Cross with Tony Curtis, Sammy Davis Jr. was in a car accident and lost his eye. He was on the way to record the music for the film, so I was long gone and on to other projects. But Sammy is a dear, dear friend, and we all felt simply terrible about it."

With that somber note, there was a short silence, which was then filled when Julie got to the point of her visit. Besides just making nice to the writers, that is.

She said, "Lorne's told me how little control you have over the scripts we're receiving, but perhaps there is something you can help us with."

Chris, as smitten as I was, said, "Anything, Julie."

To which I added, "Whatever we can do."

Julie said, "The thing is I'm finding very little to do on this show. I'm supposed to play Lorne's wife and the mother of our two firemen sons, but rarely do we have a scene together. With either Lorne, or the boys - or even the whole family."

We thought a moment, mentally reviewing the scripts that hadn't yet been produced, then ran into The Problem. The scripts had all been approved by many, vice presidents, including the all important Censor. To change anything at all - much less to add a scene - would require further approvals up and down the ladder. Plus, many of the approved scripts were hanging by a thread, and if the Suits had a second chance they'd put the kibosh on them for sure.

"There's a script coming up," Chris finally said, "where you and Lorne are together. It starts with a fight, then you two make up."

"That's good," Julie said. "I love working opposite Lorne. We can really strike sparks between us."

I remembered the script, thinking: Aw, shit!

But what I said to Chris was, "Uh... partner... maybe you forgot. That scene was Futtermaned.

I turned to Julie to explain: "She's the censor."

"I know who she is," Julie said, frosty. Then she laughed. "'Futtermaned. A new verb for my vocabulary."

I said, "Well... anyway, Futterman said the kiddies watching the show might get warped - she said, 'conflicted' - if they saw Mommy and Daddy figures kissing in their bedroom."

"What? We should do it in the kitchen?" Julie scoffed. "What foolishness!"

"Maybe that's a good idea," Chris put in. "The kitchen business, I mean."

We both turned to look at him. How so?

Chris said, "That script's still a little short, so we could put the scene back in. Except, we start the fight in the bedroom. Then move it to the kitchen, where they can settle the argument. Then kiss to make up. Except, just then, one of the boys comes in from work and they jump apart. Act a little embarrassed. But their son thinks it's sweet... Like that..."

"A charming little scene," Julie said. "That's the kind of thing I mean."

Then she added, "Anything else? Are there other scripts that offer opportunities to do a little acting?"

I thought frantically. We both really wanted to please her. She was so nice, so charming, and… I must confess… neither one of us could get that movie image of her in the white bathing suit out of our heads.

I said, "Well, there's a script coming up where a brush fire traps everybody in a substation, along with refugees from the fire. We could... uh..." I was thinking as fast as I could... "We could have you visiting Lorne on some errand and you get trapped with all the rest."

"That's good," Chris said. Julie nodded in agreement.

I was usually pretty good at winging things, but this time I blew it. I said, "Maybe we could put a pregnant woman at the station... and... and... she's starts to deliver the baby...and... and... it's all going wrong... and... and... at the height of the fire danger you save the day by helping the woman deliver the baby."

There was a dead silence. So silent, that I realized instantly what a foolish, sexist, and condescending thing I had said. I wanted to crawl under the desk and hide.

Then Julie batted her eyes, and said, in the sweetest Gone With The Wind drawl: "Why, Suh, I just know everything about birthin' babies."

You can imagine how small I felt. But Julie just laughed, patted my hand, and told another of her wonderful stories to relieve the tension.

When she left, we were all fast friends. Really. To this day I exchange Christmas cards with her every year.

And once we had a book signing on the Fourth Of July, and Julie showed up with a half-a-dozen celebrity friends and really put the signing over the top.

What a lady!

  
NEXT: ANDY WARHOL'S FIRE EXTINGUISHER


THE COMPLETE MISADVENTURES: IT'S A BOOK!


THE VITAL LINKS:
The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we're now knocking at the door of 110,000) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Amazon.com. Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!

THE STEN COOKBOOK & KILGOUR JOKEBOOK





Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.    




EMPIRE DAY 2012 - A COMMEMORATIVE EDITION

Relive the fabulous four-day Stregg-laced celebration.  Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. New recipes from the Eternal Emperor's kitchen. Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. Sten's thrill-packed exploits at the Emp's castle. How to make your own Stregg. And, did I mention, Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever?



Friday, February 17, 2012

LORNE GREENE NEVER SHOUTS; GOT THAT?



We heard a deep familiar voice rumble in the outer office: "Good morning, young lady. Are my writers in?"

It was none other than our hero, Lorne Greene, friend-in-misery at Galactica 1980, and now star of the unfortunate Code Red.

We jumped to our feet, beaming as he entered our office, ducking to avoid bumping his head. Our secretary, Genevieve, was a small, star-struck presence behind him as she ushered Lorne in.

Extending his hand, Lorne said, "Ah, my fellow Galactica survivors."

There were shakes and warm greeting of friends rejoined all around. Then we got Lorne seated, while Genevieve fetched him a cold bottle of Perrier.

Finally, he steered to the point of his visit. "You know, in my long years in this business, I've dealt with just about everything that can befall a production. From inclement weather, to unprofessional conduct by cast members, directors and producers, to balky horses whose saddles kept slipping off."

He ran a hand through his thick, silvery hair, his bushy brows coming together in one of his patented Lorne Greene frowns. Chris and I felt fortunate that the frown wasn't directed at us.

"But this show," he said. "This show..." He let it trail off. Little imagination was required to fill in the blanks.

The bitter chaos that was Code Dead had spread into every nook and cranny of the show, until even the studio gate guards gave us pitying looks when we came to work. A couple of the old timers told us some you-think-this-is-bad, anecdotes about Irwin (The Towering Toupee ) Allen when he was younger and healthier and could really lay about with his mean stick.

What's worse, the series kept shifting under us. First we were an eight o'clock show, then a 7 o'clock Children's Hour show. And then - well, I whined about all that before. But to add one more whine, the writing quality (ha!) was all over the place.

Irwin had demoralized the free lancers assigned to write the majority of the scripts so much that many of them had abandoned the offices on the lot that he had given them gratis and fled to their homes, where they may or may not have been working on various drafts of Code Red scripts. I know what Chris and I would have done if we weren't under contract and could flee. In a word, FuckAll.

"Don't get me wrong," Lorne continued. "Although this is... well... I don't think it would be too strong to call it an unhappy production."

"We call it a fucking mess," Chris put in.

Lorne laughed, then nodded agreement. He said, "Thank goodness that our little cast of regulars gets along famously. Andy and Sam are wonderful, and Julie, well, she's just magnificent. As always."

We noticed he hadn't mention Adam (The Beach Ball) Rich, but didn't comment.

Instead, I said, "Must be a lot different than your experience on shows like Bonanza. The scripts were usually superior. And everyone looked so pleased to work with one another."

"Oh, it was a joyous experience," Lorne said. "And it was a pleasure to work with Pernell, Dan and Michael." (Pernell Roberts, Michael Landon and Dan Blocker were his costars.)

Bonanza: The Boot Wars
He chuckled, saying, "Of course, we did have our disagreements. And sometimes they became outright silly." Another laugh. "The craziest of all was the war of the boots," he said. "Or, should I say the war of the bootheels."

We looked at him expectantly - what the hell was a boot war?

He said, "On a show like Bonanza, you could really get your macho going. I forget who... maybe it was Michael... started looking at Pernell as a rival. In the show, they were brothers, so I suppose it was only was natural to carry the sibling rivalry over to real life.

"Anyway, Michael cozened Wardrobe into providing him with boot heels that made him as tall as Pernell. Or, almost so. Michael - God love him - was always, well... undertall. Pernell started noticing the height difference during dailies. He was possibly thinking that Michael was trying to steal the scenes they had together. So, Pernell had Wardrobe provide him with heels that put him above Michael again.

"Then Dan got into the action, because both boys were nearing his height. He started wearing boots with bigger heels so he could be taller and go back to towering over his brothers."

Lorne threw back his head and laughed that deep laugh of his. Wiped his eyes. Then: "Well, foolish old ham that I was, I noticed that Dan and the others were getting close to my height. And so, I must confess, I joined the chase. It was like the Arms Race, but with feet involved.

"That went back and forth for a bit - each fellow getting boots with higher heels, and the rest of us retaliating. Until one day, we're shooting a scene where the four of us are walking downhill on a dirt road. We get maybe twenty, thirty feet, when the director shouts: Cut! We turn around, wondering what on Earth could be wrong. We were just walking along a predetermined path - nothing difficult about that.

"And then, boy did that director put us straight. He said, 'You guys are staggering and mincing down that hill like you were four John Wayne 's who just took some Nancy pills. Now, knock it off and go get Wardrobe to supply you with some proper boots.'"

"We didn't quarrel with him, and did as we were told. And, brother were glad we did so when we saw the dailies the following day. The director purposely showed the scene he had cut with the four of us knuckleheads staggering down that damned hill! We looked like four homely women in men's Western wear and out-of-control high heels. It was a wonder we didn't collide with one another and topple over."

After we got through laughing, Lorne became serious. "And now the true reason for my visit today, boys," he said. Then smiling, "Not that I'm not always pleased to spend time in your company."

Lorne drew a script out of a battered soft leather briefcase and we both braced for the worse as he flipped pages.

He said, "I have no illusions on what kind of control you have over the scripts we're getting. But I think you two could be of immensely important assistance on matters of script directions."

Lorne indicated a page and then a line in a script. "Here's a prime example. The situation in the scene is that I have just discovered that Danny, Adam's character, has committed some transgression. I'm furious about it. And my line is: 'I'm going to talk to that boy.'"

He looked up at us. "But the direction on the line is that I'm supposed to shout!"

As if wounded, Lorne pressed a palm against his chest. "That's not like me, boys. I don't mean just my character. I mean my style. I don't shout and I never have in my entire career. In fact, the angrier I'm supposed to get, the deeper I make my voice."

He demonstrated, making the windows rattle with the low rumble of: "I'm going to talk to that boy."

It was the voice of the ultimate Father Figure. Mentally, I shrunk in my seat. As did Chris. That voice made you feel like a naughty child again. Waiting for the punishment sure to come. It was a voice that said you were going to be grounded for, oh... how about the rest of your life?

Lorne said, "Do you see what I mean?"

Oh, boy, did we.

"Death to all shouting references, sir," Chris said, snapping a salute. "At least when it refers to you."

"Thank you, Chris," Lorne said. "But I have a larger point and it deals with directions involving my character in so many other ways. It strips away what I do best, and that's to speak and react with dignity."

"Your complaint about that line says it all," I put in. "In other words, when it comes to your character, less is more."

"Exactly," Lorne said.

And then, once again in that low, glass rattling voice: "Less is more."

NEXT: Julie Adams: The Lady Even Movie Monsters Fell For

THE COMPLETE MISADVENTURES: IT'S A BOOK!


THE VITAL LINKS:
The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we're now knocking at the door of 110,000) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Amazon.com. Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!

THE STEN COOKBOOK & KILGOUR JOKEBOOK





Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.    




EMPIRE DAY 2012 - A COMMEMORATIVE EDITION

Relive the fabulous four-day Stregg-laced celebration.  Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. New recipes from the Eternal Emperor's kitchen. Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. Sten's thrill-packed exploits at the Emp's castle. How to make your own Stregg. And, did I mention, Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever?





Friday, February 10, 2012

FOLLOW THE BOUNCING BEACH BALL: PART TWO (AND A HALF)

LOOKING FOR DANNY AT VENICE BEACH
Genevieve Cautiously Stuck Her Head into our office. I say cautiously, because Chris had just bought me a pair of Randall throwing knives for my birthday and we had a thick straw target set up next to the office door.

She caught me just as I was about to throw, saying: "Irwin called."

"Shit," Chris opined - rather loudly.

Startled, I threw harder than I intended and the one-pound blade speared through the target like it was Wallace and Gromit's favorite soft and smelly cheese. And it kept going, slicing through the drywall behind it until only the butt protruded.

Nonplussed, Genevieve glanced at the wall on the other side. "Didn't come through here," she said. "Now, I was telling you about Irwin's call."

Chris sighed heavily. "Guess it's my turn in the barrel," he said, reaching for the phone.

"He's not there now, silly," Genevieve said. "And it wasn't Irwin who personally called, but Alice at his office."

Chris grinned broadly at this reprieve. There was nothing in this world of Code Red television that Chris and I hated more than talking to Irwin (The Towering Toupee) Allen, master of our show and holder of our work contracts.

"What did she want?" Chris asked.

"To remind you that Larry Heath can't make Dailies today, so Irwin wants to make sure that you boys cover for him."

Deep sighs from both of us. We hated Dailies. They were almost a big a waste of time and energy as one of Irwin's interminable staff meetings, none of which had anything to do with us since we were story editors and our job was to edit same and maybe get a little writing in of our own.

"What are they screening?" I asked.

"The big fire scene from last night," she said. "You know - the Fireworks story you guys fixed."

We both brightened. Although the script wasn't one of ours, we'd come up with a budget necessitated switch from an old restaurant to a garage/warehouse. The action promised to be as thrilling as a TV fire can be.

"That's not so bad," Chris said. "The Chief said the department was going to pull out all stops for the big fire scene." He was speaking of our tech advisor Chief (ret.) Joe S. Weber, from the LA County Fire Department.

Dissolve To: Me and Chris at the Dailies. As promised, they were screening the big fire scene. It was a night shoot and the flames were fabulous against the dark LA skyline. Our special effects maestro, Joe Unsinn, had done us proud, laying gas lines throughout the building, all of which he managed from his portable board. Hit this switch, flames shoot out windows. Hit that, and they explode from the roof. But, all well under control.

Also as promised, the LA County Fire Department had done The Chief proud. Ladder trucks up the wazoo. Cherry baskets that could crane well over the two-story structure. And a whole motorpool of other fire fighting vehicles. Hoses played water where the director wanted it to go. And up on the roof, stunt men in firemen rigs did their daring best to put on a helluva show.

We sat back and relaxed, prepared to enjoy a really good Hollywood fire. When it comes to fire and explosions, nobody in the world can do better than a good, professional Hollywood crew. As if to prove the point, at that moment there was an explosion, and a guy caught fire and tumbled screaming off the roof. Of course, there were airbags waiting just off screen for him to fall into, and some fellow stuntmen to put out the flaming asbestos suit he wore.

Then, to our amazement and horror, the reel suddenly ended. There was a buzz in the room. What the fuck? Not to worry, they're just changing reels.

But, that wasn't the case. Some family dialogue scene with Lorene (Greene) and Julie (Adams) was next. Great acting, but what the hell happened to our fire? A scene that could easily have gone a whole damned act had been reduced to a few minutes. In fact, now that I thought back on the script, the scene was SUPPOSED to go a whole damned act.

But, apparently the director thought he had enough, and had ended the shoot. No variety of angles, no close ups, even on the burning stuntman. The whole fire had been basically shot from where the director had stood - at very, very safe distance.

"What the fuck's wrong with the guy," Chris whispered. "He did the whole sucker in long, master shots."

Hell if I knew.

We repaired to our office, discussed the matter, then started getting depressed. Broke out the scotch and had a belt or two. Then we headed out to lunch at the Kosherama, one of our favorite places. Owned by a Chinese couple it had excellent Chinese food, plus great Deli food. Pastrami on rye for Chris, Chinese beef bowl for me. And lots and lots of beer. After all, we had to keep up our image.

Whenever we entered Kosherama, the head chef shouted, "The two beers boys!" Meaning, the first thing we did when we sat down was order two beers - each. Drain one, then work on the other until food and more beer was brought.

Ron Howard and his crew came in. Ron was in the middle of his transformation from kid actor (he debuted as a tot in The Music Man) to accomplished director. Despite his youth, he'd met and worked with everybody who was anybody and he regaled us all with stories about our favorite old stars, including the late John Wayne, with whom he'd worked on The Shootist, Wayne's last film.

He told us that Wayne was a wonderful guy and a generous star, who took Howard under his wing and gave him professional advice.

"Just get yourself a walk, kid," Howard said in a perfect imitation of The Duke, "and you'll have it licked."

In the middle of Ron's stories, I glanced over at Chris. He had a worried look on his face. I knew he was thinking about the screwed up fire scene. I caught his eye and shrugged.

What the hell. Not our problem, right?

Chris caught it and shrugged back. Not our problem.

Rarely had we both been so wrong.

Dissolve To: An inconvenient morning. What day it was, I don't remember. What I do remember is that we hadn't even finished out first cup of coffee when the film editor burst into our office. The guy was usually calm and cool, but now he was frantic. Practically hysterical.

"It's too goddamned short," he hollered.

Chris bleared at him through hangover eyes. "What's short? Who's short? The Beach Ball? Big fucking surprise. Everybody knows that." Chris was speaking of Adam Rich, the kid who had been foisted on us by the brass at the Anything But Class (ABC) network.

"No, no," the guy babbled. "Not the kid. The show. The fireworks episode."

Chris shook his head. Winced. Felt his forehead to see if he was feverish enough to get sick and go home. But I was in better shape and caught what was going on.

"The fourth act fire scene," I guessed. "Not enough footage to fill the act."

Now the light dawned (painfully) for Chris. "How short is the son of a bitch?"

The guy held up one hand with a full boat of five. Then the other, with three more displayed. "Eight fucking minutes," he said. "God damned director. If I had him here I'd ring his fucking neck."

Eight minutes! Oh, man. If you figured that a one hour episode consisted of only 44 minutes of story (the rest were ads), that was one helluva a hard hole to plug.

If we had known just hard, we'd have thrown up our hands, and... I don't know... cried? Weeping can be a good thing, I'm told; but I'd still be back at TBS Studios trying to fix the director's screw-up, if we had taken the time to rain salty tears into nonexistent beer.

Now you're probably thinking the same thing we did: The obvious solution was to write something they could shoot that would fill eight minutes. But, eight minutes is a long, long time in filmland, Gentle Reader. Where every setup takes a whole gang of people to erect lights, squads of Foley people for the sound, make up the actors, who also have to learn new lines on the fly. And if it is a dialogue scene, you usually had three cameras on it, so you could have close-ups and different angles. It's more complicated than that, but you get the idea.

"Okay, no reason to panic," I said. "Let's call the director and see what we can work out."

"Fuck the director," the editor said. "He's off to screw up somebody else's show." In other words, he was unavailable. TV directors tended to be nomadic, moving from one program to the next. Today Magnum P.I. Tomorrow The Incredible Hulk. The next day... My Mother The Car?

"Let's call the producer, then," I said. "See what we have to work with."

I called the producer, with Chris and the editor hanging over me and the speaker phone.

And, oh, man, it really was panic city time.

"Boys," the producer said, sounding almost as scared as the editor, "we are not only up the creek where the waters run smelly and brown, but we are drowning in a whole ocean of the stuff."

Quickly he outlined the problems. Lorne and Julie were off doing some charity thing. Adam Rich had timed out. (the hours of juvenile actors are legally limited). Plus, for technical reasons that I forget, we couldn't use any of the standing sets. Also, with no access to a director, we'd have to use a second unit.

"So what do you have?" I asked, my heart sinking.

"I can give you Andy and Sam," he said. (Andrew Stevens and Sam J. Jones, regulars on the show) I can get you a fire department car, and that's about it."

I thought - a car? Maybe we can work something out with that.

"Locations?" I pressed.

"I got fuck all cleared," he said, "except maybe the warehouse. But we burned that bastard to the ground." He went silent for a minute, then, "I can give you the area around the Venice Boardwalk," he said. "But just driving privileges. We can't get out of the car, because I don't have any clearances with any of the stores or houses."

"Oh, man," Chris said. "We are truly and royally fucked."

"Do what you can, guys," the producer begged. Then he added, "I've got a one minute public service thing with Lorene giving folks fire safety tips, if that'll help."

In other words, seven minutes to plug, not eight. "Gee, thanks," I said, not meaning it and not even bothering to pretend.

So we booted the editor out, got Genevieve to brew us up some really strong tea, got ourselves so caffeinated that our ears buzzed and got to work.

There was one slim bit in the script that maybe we could use. Adam Rich's character, Danny, goes missing late in the third act. He's afraid that the illegal fireworks scam is going to be blamed on him. Anyway, he shows up on his own soon enough - ending Danny's third act arc.

Chris saw dim light at the end tunnel and was pretty sure it wasn't a train. "What we maybe can do," he said, "is stretch the missing Danny business somehow."

He parted his hands to show how much the looking for Danny search would have to be stretched. "That's not seven minutes," I said. I pushed his hands as far apart as they would go. "That's seven minutes," I said.

But with no other possibilities in sight, and zip time to come up with something else we tackled the job. These were the days before the wondrous invention of the PC, so we went at it with a couple of IBM Selectrics, a sharp-edged ruler, scissors, and library paste.

Tales Of The Blue Meanie
We'd type up a little scene of Adam and Sam in a car looking for Danny. We'd tear script pages at likely spots and paste in the scene. I knew the Venice area better than most cab drivers (See Tales Of The Blue Meanie)so I could pick out driving locations off the top of my head.

Plus the producer had said we could get a couple of extras for our guys to question. You know - Andy or Sam roll down the window and show Danny's picture to some extra dressed as a Venice Beach denizen. And the denizen shakes his head - no.

Mind you, he doesn't say no out loud. He just shakes his head in a negative manner. Or points wordlessly if he has maybe seen the kid. The reason being is that if he says even one word, he is no longer a nonspeaking extra, but an actor with lines, no matter how few. The cost goes up from maybe one hundred bucks, to over six hundred bucks. So, no speaking allowed.

Meanwhile, Genevieve had to retype the script while we worked, putting in new scene numbers and page numbers, etc. A script is like an architect's drawing. And in many cases just as complicated.

We finished a little after midnight, gave Genevieve a lift to her car, which was parked on the backlot (yes, we made sure she got beaucoup overtime), and went the hell home; feeling more than a little like round-heeled Hollywood hacks. We hadn't made a good script better, because it was shit to begin with. But at least it was enough shit to fill the hour.

Time passed. Don't know how much time, but it seemed longer because of all the leaks that sprung in Irwin's dike. Irwin thrived on crises - almost all of them self-caused. He was always mad about something. Taking people off this job, putting them on another. Then hitting the roof when the first job was ignored. He spread poisonous rumors about his employees, then chastised people for mongering those rumors. If you have ever had a boss like this, you know what I mean. If you haven't - Well, God Bless.

Anyway, we were back at Dailies. Place is packed with Suits. Network Suits. Studio Suits. Suit Suits.

They were rolling footage of the previous day's shoot. A nice scene with Lorne and Julie.

Lights up. Reel change. A spokesperson for the show explains that the next reel was also shot yesterday, but by a second unit... and for a different episode.

Silence.

Darkness descends.

The scenes begin to unspool. In a series of cuts we see Andy and Sam in a red fire department sedan, driving around what appears to be Venice Beach. I recognize different landmarks as they go. They stop the car. Roll down the window and show something to a cute hippie type chick. There's an insert of a picture of Adam Rich. Scene continues. The hippie chick shakes her head, no. More driving. More stops to show the picture. Sometimes we hear Andy or Sam ask something aloud - Have you seen this kid? But mostly it is silent - MOS, in filmland parlance. (MOS means WithOut Sound. How did the "W" become a "M?" Legend has it that the phrase was first uttered by a famous director transplanted from Germany. "MittOut Sound." Chris re-dubbed the phrase to - MitOut Sense.) 

Then it begins to dawn on me what we were watching: The second unit garbage we had provided to plug those seven missing minutes.

But, Chris doesn't get it yet. He's stirring in his seat. Muttering to himself. Appalled at what he's seeing.

Then, in his patented Chris Bunch stage whisper that can be heard for miles, he says "Who wrote this shit, Cole?"

I jab my elbow into him and hiss, "Shut up, Bunch.... We did!"
  
NEXT: LORNE GREENE NEVER SHOUTS, GOT THAT?

THE COMPLETE MISADVENTURES: IT'S A BOOK!


THE VITAL LINKS:
The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we're now knocking at the door of 110,000) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Amazon.com. Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!

THE STEN COOKBOOK & KILGOUR JOKEBOOK





Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.    




EMPIRE DAY 2012 - A COMMEMORATIVE EDITION

Relive the fabulous four-day Stregg-laced celebration.  Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. New recipes from the Eternal Emperor's kitchen. Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. Sten's thrill-packed exploits at the Emp's castle. How to make your own Stregg. And, did I mention, Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever?



Friday, February 3, 2012

FOLLOW THE BOUNCING BEACH BALL

"We owe a lot to Thomas Edison. If it wasn't for him we'd be watching television by candlelight." (Al Boliska)

"Aw, Geeze, Guys, You Gotta Help Me," pleaded the Code Red Location Manager. "I'm getting royally fucked on that fireworks story."

"But we already fixed the sucker once," Chris pointed out. "Turned a car on fire in a canyon into a pickup truck explosion in a parking lot."

"An abandoned parking lot," I added. And just in case he'd forgotten our wonderfulness, I ticked off fingers: "Approved by the fire department. The air pollution people. And the environmental control agency."

"No, no, that gag's all set," the Location Guy said. "It's the big fourth act fire that's giving us conniptions."

"The restaurant deal?" I asked.

He sighed. "Yeah, the restaurant deal."

"But we're shooting on Monday," Chris said - a fact the guy already knew, or he wouldn't be here on his knees begging for help.

"That's the thing," the Location Guy said. "The owner waited until the last minute, then demanded more money." Another sigh. "A lot more money."

The restaurant in question was not only way, way out of business, but the lot the building stood on would be worth a helluva lot more if the building was demolished. We had offered the owner a bundle of cash if he let us burn it down first. Now he wanted more and unless something was done pretty damned quick, he'd have us spread-eagled over a fire hydrant.

It's not easy to find something to burn. Unless they are in league with Terry The Torch, people generally don't like to have their houses and business burned to the ground. Also, the fire department tends to frown on such activity, as do the county air pollution people. That goes double in LA, where sometimes the smog is so bad you can't see across the street. (The car burning in the canyon was nixed by the environmental control agency. Spotted owls, or something.)

It was an especially hard task on Code Red where we had to have two fires a week, one small and cheap, but the other something spectacular - and cheap. Fortunately, we had one of the best Location Managers in the business, and he and his crew scoured the area daily to find things we could (legally) set on fire.

Don't Mess With The Actors
Unless we wanted to pay the actors and crew golden time, or put them up in hotel rooms if it was a night shoot, the location had to be within what Hollywood calls "The Loop." Loosely defined, The Loop is within a 30-mile radius of SAG (the Screen Actors' Guild ) headquarters, which started life as a one-office dump near the La Brea Tar Pits and over the decades meandered into pretty nice digs on Wilshire Boulevard.

Ideally, the location would match whatever was going on in the script, but the fireworks story had given us a lot trouble, starting with the fact that the freelance writers responsible were so pissed off at Irwin (The Towering Toupee ) Allen that they just dumped it on our desk and ran like hell for the nearest bar.

Also, the story idea was pretty lame: kid dealers selling illegal firecrackers to their chums. You know, start 'em on sparklers and pretty soon they're hooked on M-80's.

The biggest problem, however, involved locations that kept falling out. When that happened, it was the job of the story editors to find a substitute flammable object with minimal changes to the story. Not because we were loathe to mess with the writer's artistic intent. I mean, get real, this was network television folks. But because at this point the script had been approved by legions of vice presidents of this and that, including the most important of all, Susan (The Censor) Futterman.

She was not only a VP, but for reasons involving making nice to the Federal Communications Commission so ABC could get away with all those T&A shows, she was on the board of directors of the Anything But Class network.

Chris asked, "What'cha got to burn, besides Irwin's toupee." He held his nose. "What a stink! Imagine the grief the EPA would give us if we set fire to that."

Laughing, the Location Manager handed us some photographs of possible sites. "Already talked to the owners, plus I've got permits drawn up and ready to go."

"That restaurant was a two-story job," I observed. "And there's a big action-packed rooftop scene, so we have to match that."

Chris pulled out a picture of an old warehouse, with a boarded over garage set into it. "How about this?" he asked. "We can change the victim from a fry cook to a mechanic, no problem."

"Perfect," the Location Manager said. "We can get that dump really cheap, too."

Okay, so everybody was going to be happy, except for the greedy guy who owned the abandoned restaurant. Now, he would not only be out the money we had offered, but the cost of the demolition job just went up, since he wouldn't have our crack special effects maestro - Joe Unsinn - to burn it down first.

We got busy making the changes and then called the Casting Office to alert the actor hired to play a fry cook that we were waving our Magic Writer Wands and poof! he was a garage mechanic. Both involved grease, so what the hell, right? If he was a Method Actor he could just imagine car grease instead of deep fry grease. And if he wasn't, shit, he could just read the lines like they do in the U.K. where most of the best English language actors and actresses reside.

After work, we had a beer or three with the Location Manager. We asked what locations were the hardest to manage.

We thought he was going to say the gang areas of LA, but he said, "Oh, they're pussycats. Get all Hollywood starry-eyed when they find out we're going to shoot a TV show on their turf."

"No problem with warring gangs?" Chris wondered.

"No way," he said. "We hire guys from both gangs for security, plus we tell them that if they are good boys, we'll put 'em on TV. Make them and their girlfriends background extras, and such." He chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many already have SEG (Screen Extras Guild ) cards."

Don't Shoot In Chinatown
He swallowed beer, then said, "Worse place to work is Chinatown. The shop owners there are always trying to find ways to screw greenbacks out of you."

Location Managers typically carry huge rolls of cash in their pockets for emergencies, like getting rid of trouble makers, or tipping employees who might be surly because their boss makes them work harder when the shoot is going down.

"One time in Chinatown," the Location Manager said, "we were shooting up the hill - you know where the main entrance is?" We both nodded.

"It was a handheld deal, tracking the detectives to this antique shop where they're following up on a clue. Anyway, I paid the shop owners on both sides to keep out of the way for a few hours. Greased everybody who would be in camera range - which was about halfway up the hill.

"Well, we're shooting away, and all of sudden there's a creek running down the middle of the sidewalk. Director's going, 'What the fuck? Cut, cut! Where'd that fucking water come from?' I go up the hill to see, and damn if there isn't some guy - way out of camera range - casually hosing down the pavement outside of his shop. He sees me and just smiles and aims the sucker more down the hill.

"I'm thinking, no problem. I give him a few twenties and he stops with the hose. But, I had no sooner got back to the action, when more water starts running down the middle of the sidewalk."

"The other Shopkeepers, right?" Chris said.

The Location Manager nodded.

"So you had to pay them off too?" I guessed "Must have been an expensive morning."

The Location Manager shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Pissed the director off so much he brought in a rainbird (a machine that makes it look like rain) and we changed the scene so the actors were walking up the hill in a storm."

"Shit, it never rains in LA," Chris said.

"Did that day," the Location Manager replied.

Laughing, we finished our beers and headed home, well satisfied with our day.

As it turned out, we didn't need a rainbird for the storms that followed. And on the same blinking episode, too.

NEXT: FOLLOW THE BOUNCING BEACH BALL: PART TWO

THE COMPLETE MISADVENTURES: IT'S A BOOK!


THE VITAL LINKS:
The MisAdventures began humbly enough - with about 2,000 readers. When it rose to over 50,000 (we're now knocking at the door of 110,000) I started listening to those of you who urged me to collect the stories into a book. Starting at the beginning, I went back and rewrote the essays, adding new detail and events as they came to mind. This book is the result of that effort. However, I'm mindful of the fact, Gentle Reader, that you also enjoy having these little offerings posted every Friday to put a smile on your face for the weekend. So I'll continue running them until it reaches the final Fade Out. Meanwhile, it would please the heart of this ink-stained wretch - as well as tickle whatever that hard black thing is in my banker's chest - if you bought the book. It will make a great gift, don't you think? And if you'd like a personally autographed copy you can get it directly through my (ahem) Merchant's Link at Amazon.com. Click here. Buy the book and I will sign it and ship it to you. Break a leg!

THE STEN COOKBOOK & KILGOUR JOKEBOOK





Two new companion editions to the international best-selling Sten series. In the first, learn the Emperor's most closely held  cooking secrets. In the other, Sten unleashes his shaggy-dog joke cracking sidekick, Alex Kilgour. Both available as trade paperbacks or in all major e-book flavors. Click here to tickle your funny bone or sizzle your palate.    




EMPIRE DAY 2012 - A COMMEMORATIVE EDITION

Relive the fabulous four-day Stregg-laced celebration.  Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. New recipes from the Eternal Emperor's kitchen. Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever. Sten's thrill-packed exploits at the Emp's castle. How to make your own Stregg. And, did I mention, Alex Kilgour's Worst Joke Ever?