Mom, We Made It

Society of Camera Operators’ 

Lifetime Achievement Award

 Acceptance Speech  February 19, 2012

So, last night I have this horrible nightmare. I dreamed I died. I'm standing at the gates of heaven. God is there, really tall dude. Next to him is St. Peter. God says to me, “Before we let you in, one question:  your life – how was it?” And I said, “Really good, about 95% there". And God doesn't say anything; he's just standing there looking at me. So, I guess he wants more. I say, "There’s a beat in my 20’s I was out of focus, 30 and 40’s I could have given you a little more look space on the left side of the frame, the 50’s pan to reveal was fucking awesome, nailed that, but there were a couple of relationship moves I definitely could finesse if we go again. Give me another shot at it, you’ll get perfection.” God motions for me to stay there, grabs St. Peter, takes him off into a corner, but it's like he’s wired you know: I can still hear him. He says to St. Peter, “Where did we get this guy?” St. Peter looks like he’s gonna throw up, says, “I told you Eastwood’s guy was available!” That’s when I woke up.

(Looking up) Mom, we made it. I love you. You know how you always talked about my getting an Academy Award, I’d take you, and so on…This is it.    Anyone sees my mom after the show, remember: this is the Oscars.  And dad, thank you; I love you. Put the drink down; mom’s looking for you.

Thank you members of SOC for this. I am humbled and grateful, especially when I consider the other five nominees for this award: Bob Bergdahl, James Connell, Tom Laughridge, Bruce MacCullum and George Stephenson - Camera Operators whose work and talents are an inspiration to me.

Whenever I walk onto a set, I feel like the primate approaching the monolith in Kubrick’s “2001”, because the closer I get to the camera, the more I experience a sense of reverence.   That there is this sacred zone around the camera makes sense when you consider the work that goes into creating a shot:  it starts with concept and writing; casting; production design; budgeting; scheduling; rehearsal –thousands of hours work that boil down to a few seconds in time when light bounces off an actor who is channeling that miraculous thing called acting, passes through a lens and comes to focus on a plane inside the camera. And, just inches from this sacred plane is an operator who literally cradles in his embrace this point of convergence.

The slogan of SOC, “we see it first” is history, we know that. What hasn’t changed, what we continue to do is embrace it first; we nurture it first; we are the first to guard the illusion. We operators do this by turning to the key grip and saying, “Hey Benny, can you give me 3 feet on that stand; I think our leading man is going to want to move around a little more than he did in rehearsal." And when the camera’s rolling, we do it by making choices that balance the innocence of the audience against our obligation to reveal information and tell the story.

When we succeed at our work, we lure people out of their normal state of being – where their minds are dragging them through the future and past,  and for 2 hours we hold them deeply in the now, in the reality of our film, unencumbered by awareness of the work it took to create it.

All right, I think that's enough of the pompous, humble groveling speech. Let's wade into the cynical ambivalent speech; I can see there are enough carnivores in this audience to appreciate a taste.

In industry that honors character above all else, the kind of character that will suck up and dazzle one minute, then refuse to return your call the next, they say the camera operator’s is the best job on the set. Don’t believe that for a second. It is in fact a first class seat in the cock pit of insanity. By virtue of his position the camera operator is a dancer on point in a mine field of fear and discontent. Often stuck between a director of photography who has been promoted to his level of incompetence and a director who is sleep deprived from late-night rehearsals with background artists , the camera operator quickly learns the value of words and phrases like…”OK”….”sure”….”You got it”…”fine” and “what an asshole”.

Thanks, I needed to get  that out of my system…Let’s go back to humble groveling.

The truth is:  The camera operator’s job is one of the best on the set.

The truth is:  My career has been a gift.

 And like the rest of life’s gifts, they have manifested in small moments. I once worked on a film shot entirely nights; one night, 2am, we broke for lunch. I shuffled into the overheated tent carrying a trey of crappy food, in a heavy coat that was stifling me. I squeezed into wobbly chair at a long table jammed with crew, heads hung in silence. I was winding up to let loose a screed, when one of those moments of gratitude swept over me. And I realized, I was surrounded by extraordinary people there at the table. My whole attitude did a 180. And I said, “I really love you guys.” And they all looked up, …and they all moved away from me a couple inches… and the best boy electric went to get the medic. And the medic said, “Yeah, you wanna save those remarks for awards shows. Would you like some Advil? ”

So, I love you guys.  I love you Allen Daviau for your passion, your talent and the countless opportunities you gave me to fly. I love you Will Moffitt for your patience with me as I learned through my mistakes. I love you Woody Omens for taking my calls, mentoring me and teaching me the importance of giving back.  I love you Jeff Kunkle, Jim Shelton, Rick Cardin , dolly grips who are artists of movement and made me look good. I love you Mike Riba, Mike Fauntleroy, Reggie Newkirk, Bob Hall, Clyde Bryan and all the extraordinary camera assistants who take an impossibly difficult job and pull it off with grace and skill. I love you Jim Planette for your life and career, which are one in the same and always infused with delight. And Ben Beird and Herb Ault whose talent in grippery is surpassed only by your character.  I love you Mike Ferris, you will always be my hero. To stand here one year after you is the greatest tribute of all.  I love you, Dave Fredrick for your kindness and all you do for this organization. Rob Kositchek, I love you; thanks for your talent and being there when I needed you most. To my daughter Kathryn and my son Elliot  - I really love you guys.  Thanks for catching me in my hypocrisy and teaching me about following one’s passion. And I love you, Michele Payne. Thank you for doing the hard job of raising our kids, so that I could be a camera operator.

I’d like to close with brief story that touches the hearts of we who make our living in this business.

There’s a rabbi living in New York City whose custom each day was to take his sack lunch into Central Park. There he would sit on this one bench in a beautiful cluster of trees with a view of nature, the city, and passersby. It was the same routine, year after year: short walk from the synagogue to the park and his bench; he’d pause to reflect; then reverently open the sack and enjoy his meager repast, usually a radish and some matzo cracker.

 One day the rabbi arrives at his bench and finds a blind man sitting there. The rabbi sits down and sensing that god is watching him resolves to make an offering to the sightless stranger. But what can he offer? What can he possibly do? Then realizing that its intention that matters, the rabbi opens his lunch sack, takes out the rough sheet of matzo cracker, breaks in two and hands half to the blind man. Feeling a serene sense of oneness with all, the rabbi turns back to his lunch, is about to take a bite of radish, when the blind man turns to him and says, “who wrote this shit?"

And so my last bouquet goes out to the writers, thank you artists who create stories we work to tell. It is when your pen touches paper that our work begins, so please, don't write shit.

The rest of you: Don’t take your thoughts too seriously. And if they get overwhelming, go see a movie.

Peace.