3. It’s the things I encounter and the things I do.
They should not let me out of my cage. I have no tact.
The tactless Michelle was co-producing an insane indie short with 48 dogs involved in one scene.
There was no budget for a professional animal handler, so the dog owners were there (all 42 of them (some brought two.)) There was no budget for a 2nd AD, so I was in charge of the dog owners. It was crazy enough with those dogs who did behave—we shot all 48 of them running down an alley chasing a woman in heels and a short skirt (of course) in a mad mob scene. But there was one dog who didn’t behave. She sat down in the middle of the crowd scene and refused to chase. She preferred to lick her ass.
And there was one dog whose owner didn’t behave.
Lilliput was a chi-weenie (one of the ugliest dog breed crosses you can ever hope to see), a tiny thing. Wayne, her human–who had attended an extensive audition process involving exhibiting the dogs’ obedience skills, evaluating the dogs’ behavior in a crowd, explaining in detail to the owners what the scene involved, with storyboards et al, and a dry run of the scene with a dozen dogs—decided that Lilli Weenie was in great danger. He wanted to know—not if she would get crushed by the onrush of dogs chasing a woman in a short skirt and heels (holding hot dog treats)—but what would happen if Lilli Ugly left the (enclosed on three sides) alley and ran into the (very peaceful) neighborhood surrounding the shoot.
Oh fuck. I blew it and told him, “So, then you’ll sue me.”
My producing partner put gaffer’s tape over my mouth for the rest of the day.
…oh, and for why I’m a screenwriter? Because 93% of the story above is exaggerated.