Camera operator Jack Anderson tells how he filmed a key shot for Steven Spielberg’s Hook and what it taught him about pressure and trust on set.
Back in the early ‘90s, I had the good luck to be B-Cam operator on Peter Bogdanovich’s Noises Off. There wasn’t a lot of 2nd unit work, but I got to do most of it, working with producer Frank Marshall. After Noises Off wrapped, I took a vacation in Ventura, on the California coast a little north of Los Angeles. My wife and I had just settled in when I got a page (remember those days before cell phones?). Frank‘s office had called, asking if I was interested in some 2nd unit work on Hook, which he was also co-producing.
Of course I took off like a scared cat, leaving my wife at the lovely coast without transportation – but that’s another story.
When I got back to LA, I got most of the grip and electric crew from Noises Off, and I went down to MGM. It seemed as though Hook had commandeered every stage on that gigantic lot – at least six or seven. The most impressive was the stage with a full-size pirate ship taking up the entire several thousand square feet of the stage. It was enormously impressive. And intimidating.
Thank goodness I didn’t have to deal with that right away. But after a day of fairly routine work – things like inserts of shoes – Frank let me know we’d be doing the shot in which the Captain’s hook is fitted to his arm for the first time in the movie. Apparently, it was too much trouble for the first unit crew; they’d worked on it, but they didn’t want to spend time on a shot without principals.
Oh good; I’m being informed that Dean Cundey’s crew – one of the best in the business – couldn’t handle this shot; so I get to do it.
Now I know that Dean Cundey would have no problems with this shot. What happened is strictly a matter of conserving time; the producers want the director and the main production unit to spend their time with the actors. Shots without them can be done by pickup crews, like mine.
Nonetheless, I’m feeling the pressure that I’m supposed to do a shot that’s been tried without success. I’m supposed to “save the picture” with this shot. A good friend of mine had given me the best advice ever before I started the Hook job: “Don’t be a hero.” He was telling me just to do the work and not to impress anybody with my brilliance and innovative techniques. There’s a great temptation in this kind of situation – Spielberg, Frank Marshall, Kathleen Kennedy, not to mention Dustin Hoffman and Robin Williams – to think, “Hey, it’s my big chance! This is the one that’s going to put me on top. This is when I get to show them what they’ve been missing all this time.”
Of course, when you do that, you’re liable to screw up royally just by tripping over your feet. It’s enough to do the job, do what they want, do it professionally, and get out.
So I kept that in mind while I’m thinking, “Oh Lord, this is the signature shot to the movie. If I screw this up, I’ll never work in this town again.”
We check out the set-up on stage. It’s the disembodied hook, surrounded by a motley assortment of flashbulbs, some wearing little cones of color gels. I talk to the effects people; they’ve planned to have these flash bulbs – old-fashioned, large, slow burning bulbs – and various bits of primer cord as the effect lighting. They’ve got about ten flashbulbs set up. It looks good, and it should make a nice effect. I ask to see what it looks like with all the effects going off. Well, see, we can’t really do a rehearsal ‘cause we only have 3 dozen bulbs left. Apparently, they used most of their flashbulbs for some other shots. Could we order more? Well, see, the bulbs are a special order. Only one company makes them any more. And since most photographers don’t use these flashbulbs any more, the company makes only a certain small number, once a year.
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phone and get more. From somewhere. Anywhere. We’re from Hollywood!
But I’d done a lot of special effects work with John Dykstra at Apogee, including work with these old-style flashbulbs. And I knew that these guys were telling me the truth.
Time for a little advanced math calculation. I could see that I had enough bulbs for three takes. And I’d better get it right.
Then Frank tells me “Steven” wants this shot to begin in total darkness. Of course, I’d planned it to be dark and shadowy before the effects lighting went off, but I mentioned that I’d like to put a low-level, soft, overall light to simulate a kind of dawn, so we could see the hook inside its box.
“Jack,” says Frank.
“Yes, Frank?”
“Listen carefully: this shot begins in absolute black.”
Ah, fine. I have to illuminate this shot with only the flashbulbs and primer cord. The shot has to be absolute black to start – not sort of dark, but a black like the pit of hell. Well, that’s fine, except I have no idea how much light the flashbulbs put out – the primer cord will be instant flashes, I know, like lightning, but the flashbulbs will last long enough to illuminate the scene and give an exposure. And I’d planned to use Duveteen – a black, fireproof material used to make flags – as my background. Well, I know that Duveteen is not pure black; with any light at all it tends to photograph gray, and “Steven” was not going to like that.
But I catch my first piece of luck. I’m at MGM! This used to be the biggest studio in the world, and there’s still a lot of stuff in the storerooms. I ask for a giant, seamless piece of velvet – it had to be about 10’ by 15’ – and they have it! It’s there in a half-hour, freshly vacuumed and as black as night.
But let’s calm down. I still have to figure out an exposure and get a usable shot in three tries. I took one of our precious flashbulbs, had effects set it up, darkened the area, pulled out my meter, and set off the bulb. The meter read nothing. Apparently, the flash went too fast for the meter, which is designed to read only continuous light. While I try to look as though I know what to do next, one of the crew says “Hey, doesn’t the still man have a flash meter?” Well, of course there’s a still photographer – on a big show like this, he’s on every day. This sounds like the answer to my prayers. I go over to the main stage and meet the still photographer, and he kindly lets me borrow his flash meter. Back to our stage, set up a flashbulb – we’re down to 35 – set it off and read the meter. Nothing.
I don’t see any humor in the situation, but my assistant laughs and says “That meter’s just for strobes.” Oh. It would have been nice to think about that before we used another flashbulb. And he’s right: the meter is set to read a strobe light, which is usually around 1/10,000th of a second. Since the duration of the strobe is so short, it has to be extremely bright to make an exposure. Therefore, the meter is set to be very “insensitive.” It’s set to respond only to a very, very bright light – maybe 500 times brighter than our flashbulbs.
So I’ve got a light source I can’t measure: one meter is too slow, and the other is too insensitive.
Now, nobody is pressuring me – Frank’s a pro and a gentleman – but I’m thinking that I’d better come up with something fast. Remember, I said I’d worked with these flashbulbs before? The last time was about six years previously on Invaders from Mars. And I’d talked with John Dykstra then about how to expose them. He’d worked with the bulb’s guide number, a number used in the bad old days before strobe, to calculate the exposure for one of these bulbs. And, most importantly, I remembered that the bulb burned for about 1/20th of a second. For judging exposure, I vaguely remembered (and I could read on the flashbulb’s wrapper) that the guide number for a given film speed could be divided by the distance from the lamp to the subject; that gives you the f/stop to use.
I was using 500 speed film, something unheard of in the days when flashbulbs were normally used, so I had to do some paperwork and hope that the guide number tables would extrapolate more or less linearly. I was sure that whatever number I got would be the correct stop; since the bulb burns for 1/20th of a second, it would burn for the entire frame exposure (1/50th second) and not overlap too much from frame to frame. Guide numbers are given for different exposure times as well. But without going into too much detail, I got f /4.5 for a reasonable stop for my shot. Or so I prayed (no atheists on the set). I figured that with 34 flashbulbs left, I could get three takes. I decided to bracket my shots: shoot one at f/4.5, one at f/6.3, and one at f/3.2. At least one of those ought to give a decent exposure. Now, it’s a little embarrassing for a cinematographer to think of bracketing shots. Still photographers often do (or did in the old film days), but we’re supposed to be too cool for that. Actually, the difference is that we’re dealing with an actor’s performance. When the actor gets it right, he’s ready to move on. No one wants to repeat a scene because the cameraman is uncertain of his exposure. There’s no money and no time for that nonsense, and anyone who tried it would soon be out of a job. But in this case, it seemed wise to cover my butt any way I could.
Now I was ready to shoot. I called Frank in from wherever he’d been telephoning (he’s a producer, and that’s what they do). I said I was ready, and would he like to call action and cut? I hear him say, “Oh no, this shot’s too important for me to supervise. I’m getting Steven.”
Well, thanks, Frank. I’d just about gotten over my nervousness about no ambient light, and not enough flashbulbs, and my guestimation of exposure time. So now I get to deal with Steven Spielberg on the set. Only the biggest gorilla in Hollywood.
After a short wait, the man showed up and said, “Let’s go!” No messing around for him. Everything was ready, we rolled camera, he called, “Action,” and exactly six flashbulbs went off. The effects guys checked and found one of their wires was not connected. “Heh, heh.” Now I’m down to two takes, and I’ve lost the insurance of bracketing over- and under-exposure. While we’re waiting for effects, my gaffer (who’s from Arizona, like Steven) chats up the biggest director in Hollywood. They’re having a fine time, and I’m figuring that my one safety take – if I even get it – will be overexposure. That’s generally safer (in terms of the film’s sensitivity) so I ought to get a good take if I’m in the ballpark.
Effects is ready, and here we go again. Everything fires this time. Steven’s looking at a monitor of course, and of course the exposure looks fine – the video’s compensating for whatever lighting is used. “Great!” he says. “That’s it!” Omigod. He’s going to walk away without my safety take. I turn and start to say, “Uh, Steven, I’d like to– “ and Frank, over Steven’s shoulder, gives me a panic look that stops me in my tracks, if I know what’s good for me – and I say “ –thank you for the chance to work here.” Frank relaxes, Steven takes off, and we’ve got one take in the can.
Needless to say, sleep and I are strangers that night. For the whole next morning, I barely manage to put one foot in front of another. Lunchtime comes, and with it dailies. We’re in the big beautiful Cary Grant Theatre at MGM – there’s nothing like film dailies – and I find a seat. Lights down. Pretty soon my shot is up. And holy cow, it’s perfect. There’s no sound, so I can hear Steven say, “That’s the one, Dusty, how do you like it?” and Mr. Hoffman, somewhere in the dark, makes a sound of approval.
I’m a puddle of spent emotion, but a happy one. And I’ll always thank John Dykstra for taking the time to explain things to me. And thank God I paid attention.
Jack Anderson is a thirty-year Hollywood veteran. He was DP for “Always Say Goodbye,” first-prize winner at the First Hollywood Film Festival. He did second-unit DP on “Hook,” “Noises Off,” and “Mad About You.” Short films he shot won prizes at the Los Angeles Short Film Festival, Crested Butte Reel Fest, Instant Films (LA), Waterfront Film Festival (Muskegon), and Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival. He teaches Cinematography at California State University Long Beach.
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