MAKING THE FIRST ALL DIGITAL FILM
PART III: MONTREAL PRE-PRODUCTION
From the first days in Montreal, there was a sense the city was the right place to make the film. Not simply because locations suited the style we imagined, but also it was an inviting place to live and work, an urban mix of North America and Europe which was personally appealing. In fact, we had originally envisaged a Washington DC setting for the story; yet years of development had subsequently evolved into a New York base. When we worked on the film with John Heyman at World Film Services, we were taken on a tour of the Bronx to get a feel for the environment – it was an interestingly short experience, since we were told not to get out of the vehicle when approaching more interesting yet threatening locations and our twitchy driver claimed we were being followed by a gang.
The contrast of a rainbow both visually and metaphorically, brilliant colours and the hope of escape, would have made an interesting contrast with the bleak background, yet we wanted to go for something more. After all, our concept was for the world to fall apart, and the threat of apocalyptic conditions wouldn’t have provided such a visceral contrast if we were already establishing an initially distressed setting. Instead, Montreal provided us with the opportunity for older, small-scale community neighbourhoods amid sparkling, modern city structures.
The six weeks of prep at Ealing Studios had given us a solid creative heart. Now we needed to spread wings and incorporate a larger team. Initially based out of the imposing Hotel du Parc, with its expansive view of the Montreal mountain and its dominant cross. We had teamed up with Filmline International and producer Nicolas Clermont. He had an office in an impressive redbrick building in the heart of the Old Town district, and was a welcoming host, especially when we first visited in the dead of winter. Right from the start, a regular haunt became Chez Gautier restaurant where negotiations, arguments and laughter often played out. Indeed, it wouldn’t be hard to exaggerate that the quality of food was a major bonus of working in Quebec over a period of two years!
As we embarked on location recces across the city during the summer of ’94, there was a real sense of inspired togetherness. Like most productions, the creative adrenaline of exploring and imagining storytelling played out on real streets kept everyone on a high, especially with genial, receptive production designer Claude Paré and happily stressed costume designer Janet Campbell on board.
Bob had also been introduced to composer Alan Reeves, who joined us in Ealing and was now to be with us throughout prep and shoot. Alan had some peculiar demands regarding accommodation which ruled him out of staying at hotels as he burrowed away at mining melodies. In fact, Alan always appeared at every location, keyboard at the ready, plugging in headphones and losing himself in musical ideas. At the time, nobody knew how this was going to work out, especially when Bob and Alan became enamoured with the sound of the Jew’s Harp.
The primary and most vital consideration became casting. Through Bob’s veteran CCA agent Fred Specktor, we were able to approach Dan Aykroyd, whose enthusiasm for the police probably played as much a part in his coming on board to play a smalltown Kansas sheriff as the quality of the script. We also managed to secure seasoned pro Saul Rubinek, who Bob had worked with on “Sweet Liberty”, to play a sympathetic teacher. However, the real intangible was always going to be finding the four kids at the heart of the story.
Bob’s stated aim was to find “real kids”, saying he wanted understated performances, stripping away any tendency towards overacting – the innocence of a disaster movie through the eyes of children. The auditions set up by our enthusiastic casting directors presented us with much choice – however Bob tended to latch onto kids too immediately without going back to explore their abilities further. Without prior experience, they certainly had a naïve, fresh quality; however, working on a set, in front of an expectant crew when money is being burnt through by the second, was always going to be a risk. At least, for the older brother, the already experienced Jacob Tierney was chosen.
We also cast an Australian cattle dog, Sonny, who was indeed perfect for the role, despite issues we were subsequently going to have with the trainers. As Bob said, here was an animal that could run sideways.
Immediate, intuitive decision-making as a director tended to become a trait of Bob’s as we sunk deeper into prep. Strangely his work on the character of Frank, amateur magician and kindly uncle, was much more considered. The seeds of unease for coming production were being sown.
Bob’s involvement was a primary part of why we were making the film. Especially in the UK, yet increasingly across international markets through the success of films like “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, “Mermaids” and “Hook”, he was an attractive star name. Originally, Bob had come onto the project solely as director, a prospect we actively encouraged. Yet our sales agent, Marie Vine, was particularly persuasive, and she needed Bob’s on-screen potential for pre-sales. In the end, it wasn’t a prolonged issue to get his involvement as actor, the kindly grandfather was a good role – the most difficult part of the deal was the expensive demand for wigs needed since he was adamant the character would be long-haired!
As a director, and subsequently actor, Bob was always a willing partner in selling the potential of the film. When we met with Cary Granat, then at Universal, he was an enthusiastic collaborator and when the offer was made for us to consider a development deal with the studio, he was also a supporter of our making the movie independently. He believed it was better to maintain creative control and prove with the final product what a good film we had. Subsequently, there were ongoing visits to Montreal from Universal representatives, and we always seemed to be on the verge of a distribution deal, yet it never solidified. In the end, it was wariness of our unproven digital technology.
The other solid interest for the US market came from neophyte studio Savoy Pictures. In fact, it was more than interest, there was a commitment and a deal proposed. For one of the only times, we were sent an internal reader’s report from Stacey Attanasio, who was VP for their Motion Pictures division at the time – it was a glowing appreciation, not only for the craft of the script but also perfectly summing up and understanding our thematic ambitions. It was an energizing affirmation.
Unfortunately, while we were still in pre-production, Savoy’s initial film releases fizzled at the box office and as a result skewered company finances. Any deal was on a permanent hold.
Making the film as an official co-production between Canada and the UK did mean, however, that we had to secure a Canadian distributor. It was a mandatory part of the treaty agreement. We’d completed the British side of the equation when the deal with First Independent was hammered out at the Cannes Film Festival and there had already been initial interest from Allegro Films Distribution, headed by Franco Battista. But our co-producer Nicolas was wary. Indeed, there were already frissons of disagreement bubbling up over the budget and the best way to make the film, with our argument that the money really needs to end up on the screen, rather than syphoned off on production fees. In any case, regarding Allegro there was no way Nicolas believed we’d achieve the figures in the sales estimates. That made us even more determined to arrange a meeting and prove him wrong.
The eventual get-together we had with Allegro delivered even more than we’d imagined. And yet, despite the additional financial input, it only caused a further split in the working relationship with Nicolas. Maybe it felt like we were stepping on toes in Montreal, yet our core team established back in Ealing was determined to make the film we’d collectively imagined. Pushbacks on production and budget, matters that stretched way beyond creative differences, were coming to a head. It all ended in a pivotal meeting in the Filmline office, where the careful closing of a file was the sign for Bob and us to leave a dispiriting collision of ideas. It was a shame that it dampened the working relationship with Nicolas, though he steadfastly abided by the co-production agreement. It was a production issue rather than personal. Line producer Stewart Harding was now assigned to the production on a day-to-day basis.
For a while in Montreal, work and time became painfully extended. A remaining gap in the finance plan (part of the remnants from our abortive time at Ealing and a floundering relationship with their on-site financing arm Screen Partners) meant we couldn’t close with Berliner Bank on overall funding against pre-sales, estimates, investment and subsidies. The situation was finally resolved by Gary Smith, our Winchester partner back in London, and we finally moved into the full prep offices down by the Saint Lawrence River and initiated studio construction of the main apartment set.
In an expansive and empty industrial space, big enough to host the warmth of the art department (the place always to go to on any production when you need to de-stress) and costume department, a myriad of offices was established under the control of flamboyant, imperious production manager, Mychèle Boudrias. Despite our basic understanding of school-taught French, the conflict of language would be a constant if often humorous dilemma – especially when production meetings descended into ricocheting differences in the local Quebec dialect, and we had to demand English so we could understand what was going on. It also took some time getting used to a unisex toilet!
Work on the script continued unabated, whether for creative or budgetary reasons. Actually, it was mostly to accommodate the budget, which necessarily reduced much of the apocalyptical chase sequence near the story’s end. It did help us, though, to sharpen dialogue and characters for our actual actors.
In September 1994, a couple of weeks before the shoot was scheduled to commence the camera crews gathered, spearheaded of course by Freddie Francis. Alongside him were two operators for A and B cameras, John Palmer and John Warwick, both plucked from the UK, while locals filled out the remainder of the unit. That was the traditional camera crew team. But of course, there was another, entirely different part of the department, who arrived from across the US – the Sony High Definition unit – with the truck, support equipment and cameras driven up from Texas or imported from California. The main purpose of the first week was to assimilate the two sides – the traditional film crew and the pioneering HD digital team. Both were respectful of each other, and both were similarly arrogant in their superiority.
It was fascinating to see the technology up close, even more to enter the HD operation hub in the control truck. It was quickly obvious that ingenuity would be needed to cope with the umbilical cords attached to the cameras. But beyond the technical, it was also obvious that creating a bond between the separate disciplines was going to take time and effort.
On the one hand, the traditional elites of a hundred-year industry of celluloid, the flickering and ephemeral magic at 24 frames per second that professionals had perfected and abused.
On the other, technical nerds dealing in digital code, seeking a visual hyper-reality without motion blur, and convinced of a digital future – using our movie as practical proof (and trial) that feature films could be made this way.
Necessarily, both sides had their own methodology and prejudices. The secret would be to somehow mesh these sensibilities. For the first few days this meant basic camera and lighting tests, the two crews getting used to each other and the new equipment. It was also working out systems and a chain of command, because once on the shoot there couldn’t be delays.
In fact, after a few days sparring it did seem to be working out. The day before commencing principal photography, we scheduled a test shoot, taking the camera and HD units thirty minutes outside Montreal to Clarenceville, a small community of little more than a thousand. A wide landscape of cornfields comfortably doubled for Kansas, where the kids land after flying through the rainbow. Simple shots included a car driving by while the camera moved up to reveal our Art Department sign stating: SATIVA FALLS.
It was an efficient few hours. The shots were completed without fuss. The units worked in tandem. We felt confident for the proper shoot, and that whatever minor kinks needed to be ironed out, they could be dealt with as we proceeded.
After all the only added elements would be a director, kids, and a dog.
What could go wrong?
PART IV
COMING SOON
