This was during my second stint working in Hollywood. After being shuffled from Los Angeles to New York, now I found myself employed with another independent film production company in the sketchy but revered filmmaking mecca Culver City. According to people further up the ladder than me, this was an excellent location because the studio people had to traverse the 405, 101 or I-10 freeway to get there.
Spending some years working for a tiny independent company earlier in my career that produced movies for television was an intriguing experience. Then the buyers were ABC, CBS and NBC. Our little company was known as the best dog and pony show in the business. That meant, at the time, guerilla production days of 14 hours and squeezing every dollar of the network license fee to put it up on the screen.
After spending what I term my CIA days working for Sony in New York City for a short, unhappy time, I was back in Los Angeles. Imagine working in the Executive Suite, witnessing charged, hot conversations and then being tasked to deliver messages to Michael Jackson who was under an assumed name at a swank hotel. It was also standard operating procedure for me to carry letter size envelopes sealed shut with added a thick black swiggle mark as added security in case I planned to open the envelope to commit corporate sabotage as I sashayed from one hallway to another.
Robert Redford, Oscar-winning director, actor and indie patriarch, dies at 89
What a dream to be back working in the trenches and out of the sterile offices in tall buildings siloed in New York City.
By this time, I had worked on about two dozen television and feature projects and felt well-versed in stardom, trailer size arguments, crew meltdowns and bad days on the set.
Painters, poets, sculptors, and authors come to know the zen of their rhythm alone while they create.
Producing movies is different.
Collective artistry is a funny thing. Dozens of talented people come together in a dance that is fraught with everyone’s opinion, second guessing, and the arguments that ensue while increasing one part of the budget which will force the sacrifice of another.
There I am in our architecturally interesting building in Culver City performing my role assisting independent producers and a director preparing a new project titled “Up Close and Personal.” A feature film that came out in 1996 starring Robert Redford and Michelle Pfeiffer.
There was mayhem in the building and in every room someone was selling their ideas. The director in green dark hiking pants was on the phone in the corner. Where could he go for privacy? The director of photography was insisting on a certain film stock. The screenwriters Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne were there, too.
My role required tasks that ran the gamut. One of my responsibilities that day was to make sure the new script pages were correctly collated. This entailed adding yellow pages with changes to the blue, green and pink pages of earlier edits.
The frenetic activity of everyone intent on making their mark in preparation is an indelible memory. Joan Didion – all 90 pounds of her – practically burned a trail as she walked around and popped in and out of the rooms.
Finding my way into the director’s office I headed toward the black conference table with the script pages. The air in this room had a distinct and beautiful, stilled tempo. Why was this room so different? I turned and looked around. Now I knew why.
Ten feet from me stood Robert Redford. Cool, calm and collected. He was on the phone quietly encouraging a colleague about something meaningful. Still, he took a moment to look at me fully and greet me. The over-worked assistant. He did not try to hide his phone conversation while I worked. He was laser focused on his mission and did not mind the company.
Years before, and like millions of others I had gone to the movie theater to watch his performance in “The Great Gatsby.” Being an English major, I was hoping his depiction of Gatsby would do the F. Scott Fitzgerald character justice. He did so wonderfully. And I remember his velvety, yet clipped usage of the word “old sport.” In Redford’s interpretation it served as a term of easy intimacy.
There I was, at the black conference table collating script pages. Redford, still in his conversation, looks up, smiles and calls this colleague “old sport” while giving me a smile.
Redford was rightfully known for his humanity, and there was an inner light to his artistry that infused his performances adding magic to each film.
I was lucky enough for a brief moment to witness this magic in real life.
Susan Daria Landino is an adjunct professor of Literature, Public Speaking & Business Writing, Director – “Allies Reaching for Equality, Title IX Advocate for Students, Faculty and Staff.”