Puntastic
July 1st, 2010
Conversation on a recent shoot in Scandanavia.
Soundman Chris- “When is lunch? I am Stavanger!”
Cameraman John- “Me Oslo!”
Daft I know, but when you were there it was really funny!
Why I hate Youtube!
May 29th, 2010
Recent conversation with my son…
“Hey, you’ll never guess” says I proudly, “One of my music videos on Youtube has passed 30,000 hits!”
“Yeah, well done Dad”, he replied in that teenage, patronising way.
“Well”, says I determined not to let my moment of minor glory go unrecognised, “What is the most number of hits you have had…huh?”
“‘Bout a 1/4 million” says he not even looking up from the computer.
“What!”
“Yeah look if you don’t believe me”
True enough…he had 1/4 of a million people looking at a 20 sec clip of one of his mates jumping off a cliff into the sea.
I sweated my ass off and used the finest equipment and technical skills to record a talented musician and got the fraction of the hits of a bunch of death wishing teenagers recorded badly on a mobile phone! Is this why television executives think the way they do?
That is why I hate Youtube! It is truly the burger outlet of video expression! (was going to mention a particular brand of burger outlet but remembered how litigious they are….still with my low hit rate they probably wouldn’t have even noticed).
Would the last sensible person leaving the human race please put out the lights.
Ossle
May 14th, 2010
Had the joy of working with a certain Highland Ceilidh Band leader on a Doco once. It was a joy because I don’t think I have ever laughed so much on a shoot. On one occassion we were relaxing in rare hebridean sunshine after shooting an item at a Ness Bothan (an illegal drinking den). I was flicking through one of our hero’s tune books.
“You do not really follow the tradititional format for the naming of your tunes”, I commented. ” You do not go for the usual “Pipe Major so and so’s Fairwell to Wherever”.
“Oh no”, he replied…”I like to have a bit of fun with the names of the tunes.” “Do you know I was once a Physiotherapist”? he asked.
I did know this as he trained with my mother.
“Well” he went on, with his now well known introductive phrase to a lovely story,”I once had a patient, a man, bollock naked, face down in front of me. I noticed that he was a very hairy man. Infact he had the most pubic hair around the arse region I had ever seen. That got me thinking”, he went on…”what is the medical term for pubic hair in that particular region?”
“No idea!” I replied.
“Ah …there isn’t one, so I thought I might invent a name for a lot of pubic hair in that region.”
“Right”, says I “and what did you come up with?”
“Ossle!” he exclaimed proudly. “And the BMA are considering it as the official term for pubic hair in that area!”
“Now you were asking about the naming of my tunes?” he went on. “Yes” said I, wondering the connection.
“Turn the next page”, he demanded.
I did…and nearly wet myself laughing….the tune on the next page was named…
“The Ossle Highlanders”.
For fans out there it is the last tune on set 7 on the “21st Album”.
PS Stutters omitted for the sake of brevity.
Facespace
April 30th, 2010
There are are couple of things about the Social Networking phenomenon that still bewilder me-
1. Who are half these people that are my “Friend”?
2. What the hell would an adult want with a virtual world like a Farm? My 10 year old likes this kind of stuff…I prefer interaction with real adults (even if they do have a photo of a celebrity on thier profile that they think they look like)
3. Why would someone post that they are at a great event? Tell us after you have enjoyed it instead of risking missing some of it with your head buried in your iBerry!
4. Why do joggers insist on telling us when they are about to go jogging, how far and what time they expect to do it in?!
5. Why would I want to join a group of other people so obsessed by the minutiae something that they scare me?
It is a strange world we live in.
Must admit though I did try and make a Sausage Roll more popular than Cheryl Cole…but hell, some groups are worth it!
Goodbye Tombstoning Hello Quad Sledging
April 28th, 2010
Luckily my son and his mad friends have learned their lesson from the Tombstoning, press shocker, exclusive (see earlier post)…and are now turning their attention to less dangerous pursuits. Not to mention giggling at oddly shaped potatoes???
As Quad sledging has not grabbed the attention of the caring, concerned, national press, I doubt their latest exploit will make the front page of the Stornoway Gusset …no possible on sales to the Nationals… well I would think that if I was a cynical person…. However, if the SNP candidate thinks it is an election winning issue to take up it will get a banner headline ….maybe I am a cynic after all?
His camera and edit skills are still a disappointment. It also loses a lot from having the audio stripped out.
Littlejohns and the Flaming Sambuca
April 26th, 2010
In the golden days there was a thing called the expense card. A wonderful device that compensated you for whatever dreadful, cold, wet, long day you had. At the end of it you always had the card to look forward to. The card opened the commensurate door to fine dining and warming refreshments after long hours at the coal face of information gathering.
On one such occasion we were gathered in Littlejohn’s Restaurant in Invershneggie. It was an ok establishment offering the usual Americanis(z)ed fare but was an atmospheric place. We had our customary, for the times, three courses and wines to suit when the director suggested a post meal short. We had all worked with him often enough to know that this meant Sambuca. The drinks duly arrived.
His expected party trick ritual was then played out. He would light the liquid, put his finger in it and remove it with digit aflame and place it in his mouth. We had seen this a few times before, but our soundman decided to give it a go himself. He lit his Sambuca and reached to place his finger it it. Unfortunately his vision was impaired by the multitude of wine and pre meal drinks and he knocked over the glass.
It was an unfortunate design choice that this particular restaurant had chosen to dress their tables with retro oil cloth tablecloths. The flaming liquid spread rapidly in the direction it was spilled in a manner reminiscent of a scene from Apocalypse Now. People on the receiving end of the table threw themselves clear of the incendiary flow approaching them….napkins caught light in secondary fires. Luckily….for some unknown reason… we had ordered a jug of water, as yet untouched, so this became our fire extinguisher. The loss of the restaurant was avoided.
Even if we had caused extensive damage, I am sure American Express would have done nicely.
Why the French Language is so Impoverished
April 20th, 2010
I thought I might share this email I received from a wit and raconteur a few days after a tongue in cheek discussion on how languages like French lacked the descriptive power of English…how on earth would a French person describe the feeling of having experienced something before without the common English usage of the perfect phrase to convey that feeling…. “Deja vue”?!!!
“John, cameraman extraordinaire
Via a vis the commissioning debacle, I suppose we have carte blanche to approach the process with a bit of je na sais quoi and sang froid. I imagine it would be de rigeuer also to inject a bit of elan, esprit de corps, of course, joie de vivre into it. To collect my thoughts I have been using an aide-memoire – a little blasé, I know, if not a cliché. I had been thinking en passant about a programme on the Harris -Lewis border as being a sort of cordon-sanitare. I know it’s a cause-celebre of yours and that if you had your way you would take the Harris population to Canada en masse. By no means a fait accompli yet, tread warily in case of a faux-pas. Other than a programme of a future bid for the Grand Prix to be staged in Barra, I have reached an impasse.
There’s a soupcon of malaise in the industry at the moment. Perhaps if Alba had more of a laissez-faire attitude instead of the complete melange it is things would be better. (I am sure they are your bete-noir also) But people like you with the savoir faire must have a feeling of deja-vu. Put ideas in under a nom de plume to see if that makes a difference
Lets hope that in the new year we can produce a chef-d’oeuvre, avoiding contretemps of all sorts.
The sun is over the yardarm and I’m away for my aperitif. Je ne regrette rien.
aperitif”
Brilliant… do you accord?
The Tale of the Priest and the Blonde in the Attic
April 18th, 2010
I have decided to use this blog to recount some tales from the world of television production over the years. Tales that still amuse me and I hope will entertain you too. Names may have to be changed to protect the innocent, and guilty, where necessary to avoid embarrassment and possible legal action.
One thing I do miss from the old days is the scale of the crews we used to have on various jobs. We actually had cameramen operating cameras, soundmen to record the audio, Directors to keep an eye on the bigger picture and a veritable raft of production people to make sure everyone knew where to be and when. It was a circus coming to town! These jobs were a chance to meet old friends, catch up on gossip and exchange information and ideas, a sort of Facebook but with real people who you did actually know.
One such job was a series of religious broadcasts. A sort of Gaelic Songs of Praise. The circus would descend on a small community and spend a couple of days there recording play in items and a church service before packing up the caravan and heading to a new location. There were usually about 15 or so of us in the crew, so you can imagine the impact we would have on a small community in the middle of winter. Needles to say these gatherings of so many media persons in the one place would usually descend into debauched behaviour, after the day’s work was done of course.
On one occasion we found ourselves in a Catholic Community in the South of these Islands. As we stood around outside the church awaiting access, there came the roar of an obviously high performance engine. We looked up to see a sporty looking black car with tinted windows and alloy wheels sweep into the courtyard skidding to a halt on the gravel. Out hopped a shades wearing young priest with film star looks and a confident swagger. The females in the party all sighed at once. “Who the f**k is that?” said the gaffer. Ignoring the inappropriateness of the language, a member of the crew with local knowledge explained in hushed tones that he was known locally as Fr. Flash. The son of wealthy parents who were so proud of their priest son that they showered him with gifts, including a sports car it seemed. “They not meant to have a vow of poverty?” asked someone. “Not the only vow he is not upholding, if rumour is to be believed”, said the knowledgeable local.
The door now unlocked we set about rigging the church for that evening’s service. It was a well run machine by this time so we had plenty time for checks. One thing I noticed was the lack of light on the faces of where the congregation would be seated, kneeling and standing. We discussed it with the gaffer but could not think of a suitably discrete place for a lamp. The ceiling of this church was very high but I noticed a hatch, “What about up there?” I said indicating the possible location. The Gaffer wandered off to investigate, muttering inappropriate language as he went bitterly complaining about the hassles cameramen cause him.
Evening came and the congregation were gathering. At this point the Producer would gather together the camera and sound people to explain to us heathens what was to happen during the service so that we were not caught unawares. He then started shuffling nervously. Something was on his mind. “ Err….if you see a pretty woman with Platinum hair in the congregation….I….errr don’t want any long lingering close-ups…OK!” “Why?” asked one of the other cameramen feigning ignorance of the now confirmed rumour. “Never you mind” he stated firmly as he shuffled away to make final preparations. Needless to say we scanned the people arriving for a possible candidate and the talk-back was buzzing with innuendo, quips and wild speculation until, that is, we saw the Producer don his head-phones.
The service went well with only one sticky moment. The Producer was unimpressed by the trainee cameraman’s framing at one stage and suggested over the talk-back that he ought to give the Priest “more head” meaning headroom. It is hard to operate a camera while stifling laughter. This was made worse by the look of everyone else wearing a head-set trying to do the same.
The de-rig went apace after the service. Mainly to do with it being a well practiced operation but also because we all wanted to get to the bar as early as possible. We were nearly done and were all invited to a room at the back of the church for tea and cakes. We were making idle chatter when in came one of the Pas (we will call her July).
“Are you nearly done in there?” asked the Priest.
“Oh yes” says July brightly, “We are just getting the Blonde out of the attic”…….
All chatter suddenly stopped as we all stared at the now ashen faced PA.
“err when I say blonde…it isn’t a woman in your attic….it’s err a light….don’t know why they call them blondes? (nervous giggle) it’s a 2 kilowatt lamp….I’ll err go see if …errr” and she left, closely followed by the crew members that were finding difficulty in suppressing their mirth.
Social Networking…the scurge of the blogger
April 14th, 2010
I have been so neglectful of this blog over recent months. I dipped a toe into the pool of FaceSpace and got dragged under by the intoxicating prospect of getting enough friends to justify to myself that I am not a social pariah, well not as much of one as I believe I am. Went through my friend list today and set the question, “How many of my friends would come to my funeral if I died tomorrow?” , surely an important measure of friendship???. I came up with an estimate of less than 10% (much of that was down to ego!!)…if they had no prior engagements. So are they really friends? Is this yet another example of a word with a definition stretched to such an extent that it has lost sight it’s original context? Other examples are love, celebrity, random, awesome, whatever, gay and hate. I used to love language, and it’s development, but now it’s usage just seems so……random!
Snow Joke
January 7th, 2010
I am now officially fed up with snow. Not that what we get can be described as real snow, well not in a Scandinavian way. What we get is a few inches of brown stuff, badly salted and not melting. Where are the gales and driving rain we all come to expect in these parts at this time of year? Have the weather systems not heard of global warming? We should be getting warmer, wetter and windier. Not fine weather, colder and no wind what so ever. My fellow Gaels do not have the vocabulary to describe the weather. If it was wet and windy…no problem. A myriad of adjectives would flow. But this! “Err nice day…but errr ….cold eh”! Not exactly the eloquent poetry usually associated with Islanders describing the weather.
And where is the global warming? What has happened to that? More like a new ice age. Has it gone to the same place as Swine Flu and Bird Flu…not to mention Acid Rain! Whatever happened to that? Is the new scare to be Alkaline Snow? I am sure the Daily mail will keep us abreast of developments regarding our imminent demise from Alkaline Snow and Radioactive Ice. Bless them for keeping an eye on the important things we need to watch out for. Apparently a media watcher has noted that last year they alerted their readers to the health benefits of chocolate and later warned them that it was a carcinogen. Bless them.