Jan. 7, 2000

The Making of "If I Had a Hammer"

       This can only be part one of this story since "If I Had a Hammer" isn’t finished being made yet.  It is, however, shot, or as they say in the business, "it’s in the can."  That’s the big feat, getting it shot; post-production will get done sooner or later, of that you can be sure.
        I went back through my journal yesterday trying to pinpoint the moment I got the idea for this story, but I wasn’t able to find it.  I did find the moment that the whole story solidified and came to me, though, which was June 17, 1998.
        As I have spent much of my life, I spent the first half of 1998 searching for a new idea to write.  I read Peter Bogdanovich’s book "Who the Devil Made It" and somewhere in the many interviews is mention of a 5-day production of a public domain musical biography of Stephen Foster (public domain, in this context, means the songs are so old that they’re now free to use).  I thought that it was Edgar G. Ulmer that said it, but my friend just read the book and said that it’s Allan Dwan.

Drew Daniels, Bill Knopf, Bonnie Robertson, Jeff Gehron as The Four Feathers

        So I began thinking about a public domain folk musical.  Part of the whole folk thing was digging out old songs, so sticking to strictly P.D. songs didn’t seem too hard.  Well, only half of the songs that I’ve used are actually P.D.  I’ve got nine different songs and four of them are still under copyright, including, of course, "If I Had a Hammer."  Nevertheless, that’s where this idea began.
        Then I was out to lunch with my friend John and I pitched him this P.D. folk musical idea and he really liked it.  The next thing you know, on June 17, I got the entire story, as I noted in my journal.
        So, from conception of the actual story to completion of shooting took 14 months.  The film was budgeted at $250,00 and actually cost $275,000, about $80,000 of which is presently on my credit cards.  I shot twice as much film as I anticipated, about 100,000 feet, which correspondingly sent up processing and telecine (synching up and transfer to tape) costs.
        If I may say so, I think it all went very well, too.

Jane Goe (Producer) and me

        Once I had written the script and was convinced that this was the story I wanted to shoot, I enlisted the help of Jane Goe, who co-produced "Running Time" with me.  Jane was not dying to get back into the film business, but I pursued her relentlessly.  I finally made her this deal: you can back out at any time you want, up to and including the first day of shooting, without the slightest reproach or any ill will.  She didn’t back out—thank God—but she did seem to need to know there was an escape hatch.
        Since the story takes place in a mythical American city over the weekend of February 8-9, 1964, I knew that I would need at least one block of generic storefronts that I could dress to the time period.  Years ago I used to go to the dentist in San Fernando, up in the north-eastern part of the San Fernando Valley, and this became lodged in my head as the appropriate location.  Jane and I drove extensively around the valley and found exactly what was needed in a small community east of San Fernando called Tujunga.
        What is good for filmmakers is frequently not so great for a town.  Tujunga had just what I needed—an entire block of storefronts, situated on a side street, most of which were out of business.  I immediately rented a storefront in the middle of the block which I used for two different locations, as well as a production office during the first half of the shoot, which then became the editing suite.  As fate would have it, my editor, Kaye (who cut "Lunatics" and "Running Time"), lives 9 minutes from Tujunga.  We would then dress the entire block back to 1964.  This meant finding old cars—an entire city block’s worth.

The crew shooting a street scene.

        Jane and I began our old car search at Cinema Vehicles, where we had rented the main picture truck for "Running Time."  Cinema Vehicles’ selection of old cars is very impressive, but they’re also $250-400 a day each, and entire block’s worth would be prohibitive.
        Using my new Industry Flip Book (which is just like the 411 book, but with a metal, spiral binding on top), I began calling everyone listed under "Picture Vehicles."  Also, through the production designer, Jane and I met a man named Van who had recently purchased one of the old movie ranches, Iverson Ranch, where the Manson Family lived for a time.  Van has about 40 or 50 old cars, but every single one is a convertible.  He has a cherry 1957 Chevy in every factory color, which is like 22 combinations—all convertibles.  And even though Van seemed like a very nice guy that wanted to make a deal, I could not rationalize a community where everyone drove a convertible.
        I kept calling and calling and finally found Sy Mogel at Classic Auto Rentals by Sy.  Sy has over a hundred old cars located in the large backyards of ten houses in Pomona.  Sy had supplied all the old cars for the "Back to the Future" movies, and that’s when Jane had been Steven Spielberg’s production controller, so Jane and Sy had obviously met before, although neither could remember doing so.  Sy liked the story of "If I Had a Hammer" from the very first and said he’d do the picture for whatever I had to spend.  Every night that the old cars had to be in place or run, Sy had two driver/mechanics there to keep the cars running.  The old cars in the film, by the way, are: a ’56 Packard Patrician, a ’54 Kaiser, a ’64 Corvair, a ’63 Plymouth Valiant, a ’58 Dodge Pioneer, a ’63 Rambler wagon, a ’64 Chrysler 300 and Shalini Waran’s ’63 Ford Falcon Futura convertible.
        The film shot for three weeks during the summer of 1999.  I was actually able to squeeze 19 days of shooting out of three weeks: two six-day weeks and one seven-day week.  I went into overtime once, the last day we were on the stage and knew we’d never be back there again.  Otherwise, we worked 12-hour days.

Moustapha Hakim (Jason Kyle Webb) sings "Bourgeois Blues"

        It was also ridiculously hot. It was averaging 95-100 degrees up there in the Valley in August.  Since I was shooting 100 ASA film stock, which is somewhat slow and needs extra light to illuminate, it was easily 110-120 degrees at all times on the stage, even with the assistance of an industrial air conditioner.  Also, since it was a club set and needed to look smoky, we had to keep the stage fogged out all the time since it took 15-20 minutes to get it fogged back up.  The combination of the heat and fog made it fairly unbearable on the set.  At one point, Kurt (the D.P.) and I were so hot we began discussing winter shoots in Michigan (where we’re both from) where we had gotten so cold that it hurt.  This at least amused us for a moment, thus taking our minds off the heat.
        The most difficult day of shooting was attempting to get enough appropriate reaction shots of the audience to cover the eight songs performed in the club over the course of Act 2, which is an hour long.  I was initially going to have a 2^nd unit come in at night to shoot these many shots, but ultimately couldn’t afford it and had to do it myself (which is why I added the seventh day of shooting onto the third week).  This is strictly an issue of numbers: eight songs times 30 extras equals 240 close-ups, which is not feasible in a day of shooting, nor is 120 two-shots, for that matter.  Nor did I really have time to take each one of these extras through the eight songs and various other reactions that I needed.

Lorraine (Lisa Records) performs on stage

        What to do?
        I got together with my 1^st assistant director, Edith, on Sunday and we worked out all of the beats that were needed from each person or group.  We quickly realized that all explanations of why they were reacting as they were was wasted time.  All the extras needed to know was what to do: look right, smile, laugh, talk to each other, look left, sing these lyrics, "Oh, when the saints, go marching in . . ." applaud, etc.  The sound man had playback set up for the appropriate songs, which we’d play for 30-seconds, then move on.  Edith and I got the whole routine down to two and half minutes.  When we shot, Edith had all the beats boiled down into a rap song, "Now we’re lookin’ left, now we’re lookin’ right, now we’re havin’ fun drinkin’ with our mates . . . "  Edith is from New Zealand and says things like "mates."

Me and crew

        I think that I got just minimally enough reaction shots for my purposes, by the way.
        I used a TV technique when it came to the editing, which is called "The Editor’s Cut."  What this means is, I let the editor put the film together without my presence or input.  This is like giving an editor speed.  Kaye Davis, who has now cut three of my pictures (as well as "Evil Dead 2"), had the entire film put together four weeks after we were finished shooting.  Within four weeks of that we were done.
        I recall at this point—slow dissolve—editing "Lunatics" with Kaye in 1990 on film at a KEM flatbed and it took several months, with three of us working full-time (I was the 2^nd assistant editor, Paul Harris was 1^st assistant).
        Ah, the times they are a-changin’.
        One interesting aspect of the "Hammer" shoot was that we fired six people in three weeks, which is the most on any film I’ve ever made.  First came a very cute production assistant who seemingly couldn’t do anything but gab with the male crew members.  Given any job, she would return without having done it.  Finally, Edith thought and thought what job can one give to someone who can’t do anything?  Ah, set security!  This P.A. could sit on the set while the rest of us went to lunch for an hour.  Ten minutes into lunch the P.A. contacted Edith on the walkie-talkie and said she was too tired and couldn’t stay awake.  Edith told her to stay awake anyway.  The P.A. called back five minutes later saying that she was really tired.  Edith told her to drink a Coke.  The P.A. called four more times in the next 40 minutes, so Edith got her first taste of what it was like firing someone.  The cute P.A. burst into tears and begged to be allowed to stay, which she was not granted.  Edith found the experience quite disconcerting.

John Campana (Max) pestering pedestrians.

        Next came the production designer and his two sons.  The P.D. had done a hundred super low-budget movies.  All of his initial sketches were clearly set in the wrong time period, three or four years after the story took place.  When I would point this out to him he would then try to convince me that it was possible for these designs to exist at this time, which I wasn’t buying.  During pre-production he kept bragging that he would bring in his department for half the money we had budgeted.  He finally turned in an art department budget that was in fact about half of what we had allotted—except that it had no labor costs included.  Once those were put in it was over what we had budgeted.  Nevertheless, he continued his low-budget bragging even when his mistake had been pointed out to him.  He was also intent on using left-over materials from other productions, including some really boring rub-on letters he used for every sign he made and some ¾ inch thick particle board, which is very heavy stuff.

Outside The Purple Onion club

        So, as we moved into the fourth day of the shoot and, so far, our P.D. and siblings had not been ready for one scene when it was time to shoot, I knew I was going to have troubles regarding the big, illuminated sign that was to be installed in front of our club location.  Since all of our scenes in front of the club played directly under this sign, plus it would have to be put up, taken down and put back up the next day, I had heartily recommended that the sign be as light as possible.  The day before it was to be installed Jane and I both saw that it was made out of, surprise, surprise, ¾ inch particle board, and weighed a few hundred pounds.  Jane expressed her concern about playing scenes under this monstrosity.  I called up the P.D. and said that the sign was too big and heavy and was not at all what had been discussed.  I was told repeatedly it would be fine.  This went on for a half an hour until I got it through to him that it would not be fine, that it had to be lighter.  Also, since the next day was a day-night shoot, meaning we were shooting from 3:00 P.M. to 3:00 A.M., and I had from call time at 3:00 P.M. until the sun went down at about 7:00 to get the day scenes I needed in front of the club, I informed the P.D. that the sign had to be up at call time.  I didn’t care if he and his sons had to arrive five hours early to get the sign up on time, they could then leave five hours early, just have it up on time.  At call time the sign was not yet finished being built.  It was not up until past 5:30, thus leaving me less than an hour and a half to shoot my scenes.
        And so I fired he and his sons.  More accurately, I had Jane fire them.

Robert, Mark Sawicki (Mr. Buckley), Susan Reno (Mrs. Buckley)

        Next came the crabby, though exceptionally cute, 2^nd assistant camera person.  She was 23, from Columbia and her husband was the 1^st A.C.  From the first camera set-up on the first day, she seemed unable to keep up and when it came time to shoot the video monitor was not plugged in.  I said, "I’ve got no picture," and she replied in an annoyed tone, "Just wait."  This went on set-up after set-up.  Now I’ve worked with a lot of camera crews and I’ve never had this problem before.  Also, since she and her husband weren’t available everyday, there were other A.C.s in on different days and they never had this problem.  Anyway, at some point in week #2, Kurt turned to me from behind the camera and asked what I thought of the composition of the shot?  I looked at my blank monitor and said, "I haven’t got a picture."  This girl went nuts.  "Then you’ll just have to wait, won’t you!"
        "I guess so, but I’ll tell you what, you won’t ever speak to me like that again on my set."
        "Oh yeah?  Well, you’re an asshole!"
        "That may be, but the 2^nd A.C. doesn’t talk to the director that way, ever."
        "I do if I want to!"
        "Oh no you don’t.  You can go home now."
        At which point she fired off a stream of invective that was pretty impressive for someone with English as their second language.
        I went out to have a cigarette and figure out how I would finish my day with no camera assistants.  Jane came out and a moment later the 1^st A.C. husband came out to intervene.  He said that she was only 23 years old and volatile and that I had been picking on her from the beginning.  Well, she hadn’t been getting the monitor plugged in from the beginning.  All right, whatever.  He said he’d speak to her and everything would be OK.  A few moments later she came out, stepped up to me and said, "You’re an asshole!"

Terry Meadows (gaffer) looks through the camera

        I shrugged.  "But you can’t do your job."
        "ASSHOLE!!!" she screamed and stomped away.
        A minute later her husband stepped up from the other direction.  "So, did she apologize?"
       "Yes, if calling me an asshole can be construed as an apology."
        He looked a bit shocked, went back inside, then they both left.
        Kurt and the gaffer, Terry, quickly began studying the Panavision manual and somehow we completed the day.
        Generally, what you see and hear in movies when someone sings or plays an instrument is called "playback," meaning the song was recorded earlier by someone else and the actor is just miming singing or playing.  I immediately flash on Paul Newman and Sidney Poitier as hip jazz musicians in "Paris Blues" or Kirk Douglas as Bix Beiderbecke in "Young Man With a Horn" or Jimmy Stewart as Glenn Miller or Robert DeNiro in "New York, New York," and every musical number is embarrassing.  I therefore decided to shoot all of the songs in this movie in synch, meaning that the actor that you see singing and playing is in fact singing and playing.  When I first proposed this to the casting directors, they replied, "Don’t you think you’re setting the bar kind of high?"  I thought about it a second, then said, "No, I don’t think so.  If you got to Hollywood in 1947 you’d have better known how to act, sing, and dance.  I’m sure there’s actors out there that can do it."  And you know what, there were.

Brett Beardslee (Phil)

        The most difficult part to cast was Bobby Lee Baker, the angry young Bob Dylan-like character who sings "In My Time of Dyin’."  The character enters, has an angry speech, sings a song, then walks out of the club.  What screwed me right away was that one of the early auditions for the part was just great.  I asked the actor, Brett Beardslee, to come back and read for the lead and gave him the part.  But now there was a standard set since Brett can act, sing and play.  I then saw over 30 people for this part, many of whom could play the song, but very few that could get mad convincingly, or at all, really.  Since I only had the casting facility for a few days, I had these seemingly pissed-off guys with their guitars traipsing in and out of my apartment for the next several weeks.

Bobby Lee Baker (David Zink) sings "In My Time of Dyin'"

  This one kid who was 22 or 23 and a fine musician, really had an terrific angry-young-Dylan look happening, but couldn’t dredge up the slightest shred of anger—he’s simply a pleasant, nice guy and that’s it.  The fellow who got the part, David Zink, is a terrific musician, but not really an actor.  However, he really wanted the part and tried as hard as he could, including, and I’m still impressed, while he was auditioning in my apartment he stomped a cigarette out on my carpet.  It was such an audacious move and so entirely in character, not to mention he played the song terrifically, I gave him the part.  He does a darn good job, too.  And I still have a burn mark on my carpet.
        Presently, the sound is being edited at a friend of mine’s beautiful facility, Harvest Sound, in Lansing, Michigan.  Joe LoDuca, who has composed the scores for all of my films (and also lives in Michigan), will soon score the film, then we’ll mix the sound.  All that remains after that is the negative cutting, shooting an optical negative, then the final lab processes.  Given how much I’ve already spent on this picture, these final costs aren’t all that much money—$20,000, maybe—but it’s more than I have, so we’ll just have to see what occurs . . .

The Making of "If I Had a Hammer," Part 2: Post-Production >