Saturday, 5 December 2015

Worth another look

A Bizarre Adventure Aboard The USS Nimitz

This is a short tale, but it sticks in my memory so maybe you will also enjoy it….
A day out on the ‘USS NIMITZ’ ..as you will see from the picture this is one Mother of a ship…one of the biggest tonnage vessels in the USA Navy.

I was sent down to Naples in Italy with a crew to do a short documentary on this naval titan as it set off on a patrol around the Gulf of Libya…in those days the Libyan state, controlled by Col Ghaddafi, (Still is)..Was not considered to be a friend of the Western world and it was constantly monitored by Allied navies.
After an eventful night in Naples..(Another story) we were picked up at the dockside and transferred to the Nimitz which was moored out in the bay.
Once on board we were shown to our quarters and invited to the Officers mess to meet our press liaison Officer. We all enjoyed our welcoming drink of a cola
Yep..  all USA Navy vessels are dry. .no alcohol whatsoever, ever, nada, zilch.. this was a three day trip but it already stretched out ahead of my near alcoholic crew like a lifetimes sentence.
OK, So, parched, alcohol free and already showing anxiety levels akin to those who go cold turkey on any addiction we set off on a filmic tour of this leviathan of the waves.
IT IS BLOODY BIG.
A one point I was able to stand at what can only be described as a crossroad of gangways, one in each direction. they all dwindled off into the distance for what seemed like hundreds of bulkhead doors.
Then there was the storage and engineering deck. This is immediately below the flight deck, its like several football fields joined together and it is stuffed full of aircraft, of all shapes and sizes but mainly fighter attack planes as one would expect, but the thing that really amazed me was the number of engineers who live down there, it seemed like thousands of them, all beavering away on engines and broken bits.
When we talked to some of these men they all said they had never been on the flight deck, they were on board for the two year mission and their aim was to work, pump iron in the vast gymnasium, eat, pass exams, eat some more, pump more iron and SAVE MONEY…these were serious people..and they had a lot to be serious about.
On our mission there had been a dog fight with a couple of Ghaddafi’s Migs out over the Gulf and both of them had been brought down. Time for a modest celebration in the Officers mess, modest it certainly was as we downed copious amounts of Coca Cola, but for these steely eyed Top Gun boys it could have been the best champagne or beer in the world.
The operation of Jets taking off and landing seemed to be a 24/7 task as jet after jet catapulted off the flight deck and the incoming hit the deck with a thump and were then taken down to the maintenance deck for a mechanics  rub down.
We met and interviewed the Captain of the vessel, this man was a USA Hero going back to the Vietnam war, it was reputed that he had been shot down on two occasions behind enemy lines and fought his way back with just a small hand gun, a tough cookie indeed, if it were me then one time being shot down would have sufficed.
The interview was arranged to be filmed on the flight control deck, the Captains Bridge, that’s the tall spiky tower in the pic  All was set up, the skipper arrived and we began, except we couldn’t..
Every time we started the interview the  sound man would shout “Cut”…he had a problem with his recording machine, in those days it was a Nagra,  A state of the art recorder  and a reel to reel ,very reliable, but this one would only turn round in short bursts of a couple of seconds. It didn’t take long to work out that the signal from the large rotating radar dish, just above our heads was sending out such a strong magnetic field that it actually stopped the recorder from working.
We quickly found another venue for our chat but it did give me food for thought that if the signal was that strong it could stop the recorder …what was it doing to the personnel who spent hours working on that deck every day…just a thought.. They all seemed quite normal..
OK..we did the usual documentary stuff for a few days , nice pics of the aircraft taking off and landing, some little escapades and near accidents but it all went relatively smoothly.
And then came the day of our departure.
The ship can stay at sea for over two years without re-fuelling and personnel rarely got to go on shore leave but for those in an emergency they can be flown off.
Not many volunteered.
At the appointed hour my crew assembled at the detailed departure point on the flight deck.
All equipment boxes securely fastened and stacked neatly, Navy style.. Then I looked around the deck. It was completely stuffed with fighter planes, row upon row of them, dozens of them, it was all you could see..
What I couldn’t see was a flight deck for my plane to trundle along to take off.
And where was our transport plane. .nowhere in sight.
Then a huge hole in the flight deck opened up and like the Phoenix from the ashes our twin prop driven aircraft arose. Its wings were folded up like a broken bird. They were soon flattened out and now it looked as though it was capable of flight…except.. there was no runway.
Then it dawned on me.
These lunatics were actually going to catapult us off the deck
And we were lunatics for agreeing to it…not that we were ever asked.
They were really going to sling us off the very short flight deck on a catapult..
Most people today have flown, the plane taxis to the end of a VERY LONG RUNWAY
They then run up the engines to high revs and start rolling down several hundred yards of concrete runway. .at a certain speed lift is achieved and the aircraft powers serenely into the blue yonder..
As aircraft went, ours was quite small, but it was much larger than any of the fighter planes that we had filmed taking off, these massively powerful war planes had been hooked up to the sling. Run their engines up to max power permitted, held back on their brakes and when ready the deck man would give a signal to both pilot and the catapult man and the combined forces of engine and catapult would throw the plane into the sky, an awesome operation.
Best seen from afar as a spectator.
Like sheep unto the slaughter my crew were herded across the deck and quickly kitted out in flight survival jackets, flight helmets, goggles.
Then we were boarded on the rear of the plane, the seats were all facing the tailgate ..we were told to take a brace position on take off and we did. The gear was stowed. The door was locked and now there was no escape.
The plane was trundled over to the end of the catapult section and attached. Looking out of the very small window I noticed we had attracted quite a crowd of onlookers.
Dozens of Navy folk were standing around peering at us, thumbs up signs etc were in abundance. I had the feeling that I had suddenly been invited to go into a big stone circular ring with some hungry lions licking heir lips at the other end.
I watched through the small window at the deck control man who I had filmed many times over the last few days giving his usual signals to the pilot, it normally consisted of spinning his index finger at ever growing speeds. This digital movement was copied on board the plane by the engines being revved to ear splitting level, the plane was threatening to tear itself apart as the engines reached maximum revs  and then came the executioners moment. The deckman stopped his murderous spinning and pointed forward with what I thought was a flamboyant gesture .At that moment I hated that man.
But I had no time to dwell on how I wanted to kill him as I was being propelled into the air at a limb wrenching speed ..and suddenly we were airborne, we soared away from the deck which I could see rapidly dwindling in the small window..
Brilliant…no doubt this was an exhilarating moment.
And then we stopped flying…
Apparently this is normal. .But I didn’t know it.
As we went rapidly down towards the ocean the aircraft made a valiant attempt to reach airspeed, it transpired that the catapult actually throws the plane off the deck at a much higher speed than the plane can fly at and it really just starts  to fall into the sea.
The screeching from the engines was now overwhelming and the plane appeared to resemble a million rivets flying in loose formation.
The glistening ocean was fast approaching and I made all of my prayers, in Urdu, Hebrew, Christian , Rastafarian and all of the rest…this was it, the end. The Big End…it was just a few hundred feet away and arriving quickly. Bye Bye life, Sex, Boozing, Watching Footie, and then as we were about to impact we started to lift.. we were actually flying… we seemed to just skim over the top before we began a stately ascent to a safer altitude.
Now it became clear to me why all those big body building, gluttonous, money saving mechanics never left the ship on its two year cruise. This was the only way off. They should all retire as rich men.,
Two short footnotes to this story.
The Cargo master who had flown with us told me they had lost two of these aircraft recently and it always drew a good audience of ghouls on the Nimitz to see if we could make it. He happily confessed that he had a death wish… Thanks fellas.
We were landed at an airbase on an Italian island, Sicily I think, and we were transported to our hotel by a Navy driver who had a big blue bus. On the way into the town, in the local rush hour we were struck a number of times by other vehicles. Our driver seemed completely unfazed, I asked him why. He said “Its always like this, none of these guys have ever learned how to drive, they have been driving like this FOR SEVERAL HUNDRED YEARS and aint got the hang of the motor car yet”
I guess he didn’t graduate with a major in history from his high school..
Still, as usual ..it was a pleasure to have completed another little adventure with the American Forces.

Thursday, 12 November 2015

Hello and welcome to The Chelsy Swann Blogpost

Some of you may not be aware that the name Chelsy Swann is the pen name for two writers Mary Lou Brown/Clarke, and myself Richard Dodd, who have collaborated on two novels...

The Sandrunners..




A story about a young Egyptian peasant boy and his small runt camel who defeat all odds  tocompete in the New Olympics of 1896.

Maginty,s Quest.
A tale for the younger reader which involves Pirates, magic,treachery, and three sea creatures who have been given the power to carry out a quest which they have been waiting to do for several hundred years.The leader of this brave trio is an octopus called Maginty, a name given to him by Red Rufus Maginty. a renowned and feared Pirate.as a reward for saving  his life....Red Rufus was also a Magician.

There are another two novels written by myself under the name of RJ Dodd.

The Stack





This is a family saga set mainly in Australia but which starts of in the early 20th Century in England, which at that time was embroiled in a war with Germany.Two young men,survivors of that war, set out to Australia to begin a new life and set up family dynasties...but first they have to recover the gold they stole from a Turkish bank during the invasion of that country.....this is their story..

The Fiddler



This latest story relates the life adventures of a young farm boy who lives on the family farm in  18th Century Italy who, by chance, meets up with some of Mozarts Orchestra who are travelling to play a concert before the Pope in Rome.
The farm boy,Dante Gabriele, a talented player of the violin,taught by his uncle the  Parish Priest,decides he will renounce the rural life and join this group of troubadours.Was it a mistake..Dante meets life in the raw and suffers all of the pleasures and drawbacks of being a traveling musician in those times..which, just as today, was filled with adventures involving drugs,sex,intrigue,treachery...and in some tragic cases...death.

All four books are available worldwide on amazon... both on kindle and paperback .
All four books are adapted from our screenplays of the same names..and written with the emphasis of the pace of a movie..fast moving..brief dialogue..cinematic in style and delivery...go forth and enjoy.









Thursday, 3 September 2015

RIOTS

Bizarre Adventures of a Cameraman – The Riots I have Known

Along with most of the world I have been watching the riots that took place in London last weekend and on until Wednesday.
Quite apart from being appalled by what appeared to be inept Police action which allowed severe looting, arson and murder to take place, the images made me cast my mind back over civil disturbances I have been involved in and how the various Police forces handled them.
Probably the first riot I was involved in, purely from a spectator viewpoint, was in Paris in 1968.
At least I was a spectator at the outset but when the Gendarmes and riot police appeared and seemed determined to hit everyone in sight I too fled along with thousands of students..
I was in Paris to film a medical documentary, finished up staying in a Chateau outside of the city with some of the riot leaders.
The Police seemed to be very effective and no-one showed them their bare buttocks as I witnessed on a newsreel last week from London, they might have received a hot round just where they didn’t want one.
The UK Miners strike, which paralyzed the country for months, had some hairy moments too, it is difficult to get out of the way of a rampaging crowd when you have a massive camera slung over one shoulder, however I did manage it.
You seem to develop a sense of where not to stand.
A Polo match in India turned really sour when one of the competitors knocked the puck into the crowd causing some injury to a little boy..
From being a supporting cheering group of several thousand fans they turned within seconds into a bloodthirsty mob and were coming towards me.
I was actually filming the match and was just to one side of the VIP stand. The stand seemed to be the main target for the mob and they were coming fast.
Then the Police just seemed to appear from nowhere, hundreds of them, all armed with weighted bamboo canes. Very effective weapon against a crowd.
After a moment or two of nervous stand off the commander ordered his men to charge. They didn’t move, but the mob did…back to their seats in the stand..The game re-commenced.
Another incident in India was at the fish harbour in Mumbai. I was filming the processing of mountains of freshly caught prawns. The work was mainly carried out by very elegantly clad ladies in colourful saris, and it was this contrast that I wanted to capture on film, except the ladies took exception to me getting too close to them and started to pelt me with prawns, then stones, then knives and anything they could lay their hands on..
Sometimes I think I could have made it into an Olympic sprint team, this was one of those occasions. You realise that you are not going to win a verbal debate with the mob and that you might get seriously damaged, so like all heroes, I ran.
There is a suggestion from the Prime Minister of the UK that a policeman from the USA should pop over and give us the benefit of his experiences in dealing with gangs in LA and NY.
We certainly need some advice and this man seems to have some of the good stuff.
I was on a patrol with two female Police officers in a tough part of LA when we passed a crowd of youths on a street corner, as we drove by we got some verbal abuse and lots of finger signals. The patrol car circled the block and we went back for a visit.
I am five feet eight inches tall and both of the policewomen were shorter than me. The shortest fella in the gang was about six three.
I had barely gotten my camera out of the car when there were three of the gang, handcuffed, on the floor, another one was on his way down and the rest were heading for Olympic sprint  glory.
It took seconds. No consideration of Health and Safety there.
Another patrol took me to an apartment block in NY where a domestic violence was taking place, the man involved was reported to be armed with a shotgun.
Being high on adrenalin and naturally stupid, I raced up the stairs with the two patrolmen to the apartment and filmed them banging on the door, they both stood to one side and I stood in the middle..
Stupid eh, this guy had a shotgun, the first thing he would see if he opened the door was a man pointing what could be mistaken for a weapon at him.
The door burst open and there he was, the arch villain, a little Italian man, in his shorts and vest, holding the gun, pointing down. It must have taken two seconds for two of NY’s finest to have him on the floor, disarmed and cuffed.
Which in a rather disjointed way brings me back to the riots in London and what should one do if you get caught up in it..
My motto is..If you see an angry, looting crowd, move off in the opposite direction as fast as you can…

CLIMBING BOOTS AN ODE

Yesterday morning, Mary Lou, who runs ReelshowInt, and I went for a long walk . From the small village in Northern Italy where we presently live, we made our way through some vineyards and began to climb up the hill through a large olive grove.We watched some hunters with dogs shooting hares and looking for truffles amongst the olive trees.
Eventually we arrived at the top of the steep hill and began our descent, down a different path. It was very gravelly and walking was a little tricky. I slid a couple of times on the loose gravel and Lou suggested I buy a new pair of boots as the grip on my old ones was not doing its job. The grip is fine..it was just a little tricky underfoot and getting rid of these boots would be like putting my granny in the waste bin..here is why..
In the Summer of 1968 I was sharing a holiday chalet, my former wife and young daughter, with another young couple and child.
The position was idyllic, perched on a steep cherry tree filled hillside in Switzerland overlooking Lake Lausanne.
We had been in the place for about ten days and were preparing for the drive back to the UK when we got a phone call, at least the other man did, he was a freelance cameraman as was I.
The call was from a Producer with a well known TV company in England ,and he asked us to go to Grindlewald in Switzerland to meet up with a group of climbers who were going to attempt a summer ascent of the North Face of the Eiger.
The climbers were driving out from England and had a van full of camera equipment, they needed to know how to use it.
We both said we would meet them and off we went…families as well..it was going to be a paid for extension of our holiday.
After meeting the climbers and going over the equipment with them we were then asked to film the ascent from the edges of the massive granite face (5-6,000 ft) of the most feared and awesome mountain in Europe.
I had gone on a holiday in a chalet..now I needed some boots that would do the job.
Needless to say that there are lots of boots to choose from in Grindlewald and after mulling over styles, fit, colour, grip, comfort I eventually settled on a pair.
SCARPA Asolo (TV)… ..That is the name stamped on the side of the boots.
They have since travelled the world with me. Apart from trudging over/through peat bogs, marshes, some canny rock climbs in my native Cumbrian fells. The Peak District and crags in Scotland and Wales they are still going strong, after 43 years.
They were packed for every trip I have ever made over-seas and have been in swamps, jungles, deserts, beaches, war zones and one or two posh hotels.
They have never worn, are still comfortable and have the original laces.
Not a bad buy for about six pounds.
Recently I was filming a drama on some sea cliffs down in Cornwall. As I dangled over the sea on a rope, one of the climbing rope wranglers noticed the boots. He was amazed. He had been in the Scarpa Boot company in Switzerland as a boy and helped to design this very same model.
Small world… and as I said to Lou, these boots go in the bin when I do and by the look of them that might be some reasonable time in the future..I hope..

Sunday, 30 August 2015

Feeding a film crew

A quick zip around the globe and it brings us to Hong Kong.
I love Chinese food.
And HK is the MECCA.
I was there filming a TV movie in the “Cracker” series for UK TV.
The crew was a mixture of locals and some that were flown in from the UK.
The entire grip crew were Chinese and they were brilliant..every one of them.
At the end of the shoot the grip crew invited the Camera crew out for a meal..their choice of venue.. and menu..
The camera crew consisted of myself, the operator Mike Miller, the follow focus..Richard Brierley, the camera assistant /Loader..Mandy..she has since married and I don’t know her married name.
Mandy is a Lancastrian and lives in a beautifully restored barn on the heights overlooking Manchester. She likes to eat….anything..
Richard is from Manchester, lives in London and thinks eating is something to do with the mouth between pouring ale down it..
Mike is built like a bean pole..eats like a horse but always looks as though  he has just spent ten years in solitary in the Gulag..no meat on this fella at all.
The arrangement was that we should all meet up at the Peninsula Hotel in Kowloon and the grip team would take us from there..
Kowloon is an old city and is full of dark and mysterious alleyways..places where most folk would not venture on their own..but here we were..diving deeper and deeper into smaller, darker, narrower alleys, getting some strange looks from the locals.
Eventually we stopped at the venue.
It looked OK..full of locals..which is always a good sign’
We were welcomed, seated and the booze began to flow..we ordered from the extensive menu..taking tips from our hosts.
The food was delicious.
And it kept on coming..and coming..Chinese can eat their weight in food it seems.
And all of it was demolished.
One feature if the presentation was that at the end of each large platter of food, the head of the main meat or fish component in the dish was displayed on a small flattened part of the plate..a little off putting at first..to see the head of the chicken, fish, animal, peering at you as you consumed its body, but that seems to be the human way..we quickly got used to it…until..
One dish arrived ..and as it was placed on the table the Chinese crew started muttering among themselves..there was no head..What was it?.
The centre piece was completely unrecognizable to any one at the table, even the waiter had no idea what the creature was..
It sat in the middle of the dish..in isolated splendour..It was the size of a small football..it was entirely dark grey in colour and had some short stubby tentacles sticking out..it was seriously off putting and no one made a move to eat it.
Except Mike..
After waiting for what he obviously deemed to be a respectful period of waiting..for our hosts to begin..about one nanosecond..he stabbed the beast/alien with his fork and began chewing at it.
He ate it all…it took about twenty minutes..we all watched with open mouths as this creature was slowly devoured..no one said anything until Mike had finished.
He picked up his napkin..wiped his mouth..noticed we were all watching him and said “Nice..what was it?”
To this day none of us know..or even want to
One other feature of that shoot was the lunch time catering…great food..lots of it..but nowhere to sit..after six weeks shooting we all became experts at standing up with a plate in one hand and a fork in the other..takes a little time to get used to it but you soon learn what to put on your plate that allows one hand eating..
And now with the flick of the magic wand we are miraculously transported to the desert town of Wittenoom in Western Australia..
Dateline 1970..
We had been filming in the area , making a documentary on the man who found a mountain of Iron Ore..and a vast fortune..Lang Hancock.
Wittenoom was a desert town and had been built around a huge deposit of asbestos..There was at that time a massive demand for this material..until it was discovered that nearly all of the work force were suffering from some form of chest disease through inhaling the fibres.
Asbestosis reared its ugly head and Wittenoom died. .it is rumoured that quite a number of the inhabitants died too..
Anyway here it is..a deserted ghost town..lots of empty properties, proper paved roads, traffic lights, boarded up shops. Not the sort of place one would choose to have a country estate..But Lang was an old time prospector and he was used to being out there in the wilderness, he invited us to join him one weekend, for a barbecue..
Australians enjoy one of the best diets in the world, like Americans, they serve up huge portions and so it was at Lang’s place..
No burgers at this barby..we had a full grown animal on a massive spit roast.
And lots to drink.
We all arranged ourselves around the rather sparse garden and watched the meat being slowly roasted..it smelt great and we were hungry..
We were not the only ones attracted by the meal..
We all became aware of a noise coming from the unlit bush..lots of unlit bush..several thousand square miles of it..It was a sort of booming noise..we heard it every half minute or so and it was getting closer.
Some of Lang’s staff had rifles and they kept them close, casting wary eyes on the darkness.
Turns out it was a massive Python. Often seen in the area of the farm where it had taken some livestock on previous occasions…attracted by the sounds and smell it had decided to pop in for a snack..anything for a snack..it could have been one of us…
A few rounds of buckshot seemed to scare it away but nobody used the toilet facilities which were down a path away from the light
We huddled closer together and moved nearer to the large roasting pit.Then I noticed we were roasting something more than just a lamb or a calf.
Out of the dark night there were hundreds of winged critters screaming through the air to crash land on the slowly turning meat..they must have been hungry because they were instantly incinerated by the flames..and they stayed there..
The spit roast was slowly becoming encased in nighttime critters which were forming a crust. And some of them were about six inches long..
I lost my appetite rather quickly but it was no barrier to the farmhands/estate workers ..they sliced off huge slivers of the animal and wolfed them down..along with the newly arrived casing.
A word of warning..If you are ever in the vicinity of my operator,Mike, from the first tale..don't get too close..he might be hungry..

Saturday, 4 July 2015

Rain and Night shoots.. nothing to be afraid of.


Occasionally I recycle some older blogs that i yhink are worth a read...try this one.
There are some situations that occur in every Director of Photography’s career that can make or break that career..
Asking around among my colleagues who specialize in this dark art it transpires that the pet hates and worries are night shoots and filming in the rain.
I love both of these situations and embrace every opportunity to go out at night and scare the neighborhood, if I can I will use big lights and rain..What a sadist I am..
A film I have much time for  “The Road To Perdition” has a scene where the hero, played by Tom Hanks appears from the darkness and in a downpour, with a blazing machine gun, he wipes out the gang surrounding his main target..Paul Newman..
It is a great scene but it would have lost most of its impact visually if it had been shot in ..a, daylight..and ..b,at night without the very heavy rain.
At the very top of the scene the mobsters exit a restaurant into a dark street, it is almost entirely heavily backlit and the figures are almost virtual silhouettes. The rain is bouncing off the street and forming a little spray cloud around them as they attempt to get into their cars..That’s when the demon Hanks goes for them…..one of my favorite scenes…And to my eye, one of the easiest to light for maximum effect..
I have no idea how explicit the script was or how much input came from the Designer or even the Director but this was the craft of lighting for film at its finest…
For a number of years I was fortunate to work on some very heavy duty crime films, which inevitably had lots of night scenes, not much killing takes place in broad daylight, and in every case I would plead  to have some rain employed.
I remember one scene that took place in a bleak and very dark back alley in Glasgow, and they don’t come much darker or bleaker,  where our victim walked up to the iconic red  phone box, with its twenty watt bulb, opens the door, picks up the phone and then was immediately grabbed and murdered..I lit the entire scene with one 2k blonde and the lamp in the phone box.
This was only possible because I used lots of rain effects..
Another scene from the same film starts off in a Glasgow bar where our two stars start fighting each other, they brawl their way along the bar and then out onto the street, where they continue for a little while longer until one of them runs off up the road into the dimly lit centre of the city..
Again this scene was shot at night, entirely from the exterior of the pub and we tracked along as they stumbled out onto the street..It was lit with the existing lights in the bar and one 2.5k HMI from a building opposite.
The exposure level throughout had to match the level on the street and the level of the road, which was lit by street lights.It was fortunate that there had been a very heavy downpour  that evening and the lights just kicked up from the wet road surface..But I did have a water bowser on stand by..
Beware the source of the water supply..I say this because I filmed a love story for HBO and it was mainly set in a castle on the remote West coast of Scotland.
The two lovers meet after a long absence, they both arrive at the great gates of the castle, in separate cars, get out and dash towards each other for a passionate embrace.This was all done in a raging storm, lightning, thunder and sheets of rain, all ours of course.
It looked terrific, there they were, kissing away and oblivious to the weather, soaked to the skin, they were completely unaware of the elements.
So was I until some of the spray from the rain finally got to me and trickled down my face. I wiped it from my mouth..What was this…salt water…sea water..
For this particular shoot I had secured a brand new super sixteen Panaflex camera, never been used before, first one in the country, a beautiful machine..And there it was being covered in a fine film of spray that even the camera crews frantic efforts to cover failed to stop the corrosive salt water getting onto the body.
It was ruined.
The water supply team had thought they could do the job on the cheap and instead of supplying a bowser full of fresh water they had simply put their pump over the castle wall into the Loch, a sea Loch..
It looked great but the camera was a right-off..
Night shooting..
Again this is something I love doing..I hate the hours and the disruption to ones social life but sometimes they just have to be done.
The maxim for me is to make sure you have sufficient lights. never go with the small stuff, you can never make it brighter but you can make the bright stuff darker..
And the other Maxim is to keep it simple.
Usually I prefer to three quarter back light, from both sides, this is not always possible but it’s not a bad rule of thumb, and if it is at all possible do the location recce at night, it lets you work out what is available from buildings and street lights.
Allow plenty of rig time..never push the sparks, its dangerous rigging at night and accidents can happen..
Two very quick anecdotes.
I had a big scene to light where four thieves robbed a country house/mansion, at night.
The Director had them running across a field, along the driveway , up the broad circular stairs to the front door,  which had columns of stone pillars along the balcony, they had a key and the shot finished with a close up of the key sliding into the lock.
Easy eh..
We laid a 150 foot track which had a dolly and crane on it, the start was on the robbers feet, so we started low, track along with them and as they went past the camera, about half way along the track the crane would rise and leave them in the bottom of frame with the grand mansion at the top of frame
…are you still with me..
Good, there is more..
The crane would then continue its track to move close and pick out the lead robber as he mounted the steps, the camera had to be perfectly placed as he ran very quickly and there were these darn columns, the key was in his hand , the camera is moving very fast, the key is in the lock and the camera finishes on the bcu of the lock. Cut..
It took one take.
The light for the scene was a quarter Wendy Light on a crane at the far side of the field and provided an even back light and the crane/camera operator was a pal of mine who had been the operator on the first Star Wars movie..One take, job done, home for tea and biscuits. Simple..
High winds and lighting towers/cranes/cherrypickers.
It is always better to have the big back light as high as possible so we use high cranes or cherrypickers, wonderful tools of the trade, except they are severely limited by weather conditions.The drivers /operators will not take them up if the wind is too strong.Fair enough
I was  shooting a SAS film  some time ago , out in the desert..a stone quarry in North London really, big scene, lotsa shooting, at night.
The cherry picker was up there with the back light,and a wind got up, it started to rattle the gel on the lights, the recordist complained, the director wanted the light brought down and the gel attended to.
The wind was now very strong, the cherrypicker  should have been brought down anyway for safety reasons, but it would never have gone up again…the scene would be incomplete..A quick walk over to the wagon to have a chat with the operator. He was fast asleep and not monitoring his wind meter…we very quickly finished the scene..
Just recently I had a night shoot on the moors above Manchester, again we had a  cherrypicker, the idea was to backlight some rescuers who were searching for a missing child..The wind was horrendous… The operator said it couldn’t go up…What to do..
I put the large lights,4x6k HMI’s, on the ground, over the hill top and skimmed the light just above the ridge, then I ordered some smoke machines to go down to the bottom of the hill and pump out as much smoke as possible.. we upgraded the powerful torches the rescuers had…It worked…Thank heaven..
Adversity is best planned for and is sometimes the mother, and father of  invention.

Monday, 22 June 2015

Anecdotes..stories from a Cameramna

If you wantb to read more stories and anecdotes then visit my ReelShow Mag site and read the Richard Dodd SECTION

Thursday, 18 June 2015

Death by stupidity

Did I ever tell you…Of the time I was working down at the very tip of India, in  the state of Kerala.
We were staying  at the Kovalum Beach Resort,
In those days, mid seventies, it was a very rare and attractive hotel that sprawled down a gently sloping cliff face and every room and large terrace had a view over the fantastic Kovalum beach which curved away into the distance to finally be obscured by the foam from the breakers.
There were a number of very active, and for India, seemingly prosperous fishing villages dotted along the beach and one was just outside of the hotel compound, a short walk from the hotel bar down the well guarded path..
One evening the crew were as usual propping up the bar knocking back a few beers and getting quite merry when pandemonium broke  out. The hotel staff were running around doing a bit of weeping and wailing and calling for divine help.
Apparently one of the fishermen from the village had gone missing during a fishing trip and everyone presumed he was a gonner..including us. We returned to the bar and continued with our hobby, getting drunk.
Some thirty minutes or so later the noise of weeping had diminished a little and we were a little more drunk..The Manager appeared and apologised for the scene we had witnessed as it must have been a little embarrassing for us. The problem was that the missing fisherman was from our local village and nearly everyone employed  in the hotel was a relative of his.
We asked what sort of rescue operation had been set up to search for the man..”None” he said…”we don’t have such a thing, his fate is in the hands of The Almighty” And with that he left us.
The producer on this particular trip had a slight fetish, he saw himself as the archetypal Englishman. He never travelled anywhere in the world, no matter how hot or dusty or tropical, without  wearing a black pinstripe three piece suit, plus collar and old school tie and Oxford wing tipped shoes..
And that’s what he was wearing now as he said to me in the words I will never forget “We cannot let this happen, just sitting here getting drunk when a poor chap might be dying for want of some effort” or very near to those words anyway..
And so it was a few minutes later that both of us were down on the beach pushing a canoe out into the Indian Ocean.
What we had failed to spot in our very drunken state was the fact that the canoe was the only one left down near the waters edge…very much on its own., but it seemed to float very nicely so we hopped aboard. and grabbing a paddle each we headed off into the pitch black night……..Fools….
At this very tip of India the two oceans from either side meet and to put it mildly, collide.
This causes the water to churn on the surface and heaven knows what type of strong currents are running deep underwater.
We were to find out.
After vigorously paddling for some time we hit this maelstrom of water .It was rough. and it suddenly got very tough..
The canoe we were riding in  departed..without warning it serenely sank beneath the Ocean waves and left us floating, with just two small wooden paddles. It happened so quickly that we didn’t speak for a few moments and during that time we both got very sober.
Here we were bobbing about. The hotel lights were fading in the distance very fast and in a short while we lost sight of them completely. The current was strong and we could actually feel it towing us further out. We locked the two paddles together and contemplated our fate, or rather our imminent demise
This was how it  stacked up. A long way South of us, several thousand miles was Antarctica, immediately to our left was Malaysia and just beyond that Australia, again, several thousand miles and many days of floating along clutching our paddles. It would never happen, this was the Indian Ocean which is apparently stuffed with man eating things called sharks.
The thought that in a few hours time we would be shark shit did not make us very happy and we both went very silent, each with our own thoughts.
We floated for a very long and sombre time, waiting for that first strike. I did keep my legs up as much as I could and never let on
Do you believe in miracles. I never did .The parting of the Red Sea, the  Five loafs and Fishes, Turning water into wine. That was just great storytelling and total myth to me.
And then a miracle turned up.
Way out there in the Ocean, having almost given up hope, a small canoe came out of the darkness, at great speed. It almost went straight over the top of us.
We both desperately grabbed the outrigger that those canoe’s had and it came to a sudden stop.
Had it been twenty or even ten feet away we would never have stopped it and I feel sure the fisherman onboard wouild not have stopped..would you..
The man on board must have been near a heart attack as he looked down and saw two white faces peering up at him,grinning wildly.
White sea monsters..
I have often wondered what his thoughts were as we struggled aboard. Two Englishmen and one wearing a complete Saville Row outfit. I bet his grandkids think he is nuts.
He did manage to keep his cool as we requested he drop us off at our hotel
Two happy endings to this story. The fisherman took us to our beach and kindly dropped us off and on returning to the Hotel bar we were told by a bemused but delighted manager that the “Lost” fisherman had been found .
Moral of the story..If you ever steal a canoe, stay sober and make sure the bugger floats..

Thursday, 11 June 2015

SHARKS

I have just written a piece about sunken treasure in the waters off that island paradise called the Seychelles.
Then a couple of days ago, on the news, there is a report of man who was snorkeling just twenty meters from the beach being taken by a shark, and there is another report of a French tourist being taken just two weeks prior to this latest incident.
A belated word of warning , if you go looking for that treasure…BEWARE OF THE SHARKS.
I spent a lot of time swimming offshore in the Seychelles and often got a scare when a clump of seaweed on the ocean floor some twenty /thirty feet down, would seem to move. It does put one off a little.
All of the diving instructors that I worked with assured me that the sharks were not a problem, one or two hammerheads, well out at sea, but nothing in the bays.
I do not for a moment think they were lying but maybe they should have a re-think and install some nets on the popular beaches. It would be a great shame but it keeps the tourist trade happy. No one wants to go on holiday and finish up as shark shit.
No one can blame the sharks. It is their environment and they are hungry, humans are just a snack to them.
Humans do not move too well in the water, no matter how graceful we think our freestyle crawl is. The hungry shark sees a slow moving target with few signs of danger, in it goes.
I often think sharks have no taste buds because most of their human targets must taste of polystyrene or latex rubber, but it must be worth it , humans do not put up much of a struggle after the first hit and then its easy to consume.
I must admit that I am a pool person after seeing “Jaws”. The only way I want to go underwater these days is in a submarine, preferably a nuclear one.
The most vivid example I have seen of the capacity of sharks to consume huge chunks of matter was on Norfolk Island. Another island paradise, this one in the Pacific , but a paradise for entirely different reasons.
Not many beach umbrellas and sandy floored bars there, mainly because there is only a tiny beach and the shark population residing just offshore puts off any swimming adventures. Not that we knew that when my crew went for a swim when we filmed there.
I won’t do a tourist brochure thing here, you can Google the place, but it is a small rocky Island about 1000 miles out in the ocean from mainland OZ, the most direct route is from Sydney.
It was at one time a notorious penal colony, anyone of the bad lads sentenced to go there never left, that was it.
At a certain time of the day, when the sun is very low the outline of a circular prison compound is revealed. The prisoners were kept in underground cages that formed a huge circle. Nice place
Today the Island attracts what would at one time been considered a Hippy crowd, easy come, easy go, and they have developed their own tourist industry. Well worth a visit.
When I was there we filmed the islands refuse department, yes they do have one, with a very smart truck. They collect the garbage from all of the little settlements in the hills and take it to the refuse tip. In this case, the Pacific Ocean
Yep, they actually tip all of the assorted rubbish into the sea. The tipping place is high on a cliff , about thirty metres above the water, the truck tips up and all of the white, council provided, rubbish sacks drop into the sea, slowly fill with water and then begin to sink.
I was naturally outraged at this appalling pollution of one of the worlds most beautiful areas, and voiced my opinion.
The Foreman Refuse Collector calmed my fears…’Just watch this mate” he said ”this stuff never reaches the ocean floor”
He was right.. As the sacks descended through the clear water, large dark shapes approached at lightning speed and ate them, yep, these critters would take a full sack of rubbish, tins, bottles, garbage, all in one bite…There were hundreds of them.
The Norfolk Island Refuse Disposal Unit, Marine Dept. (TNIRDUMD). Trash snacks a speciality.
That would look good on a T shirt.
Want some advice…never go swimming where you are considered to be the main course for a BIG fishes dinner.

PS  JUST AN UPDATE  I remember having a great day body surfing at the great resort of Surfers Paradise in Queensland Australia.
Me and my mates had been in and out of the water for a few hours..diving into a wave and then being carried along the beach to be deposited like so much garbage onto the sand a few hundred yards further down.the beach.
After a few hours of this I decided to sit down and become a spectator......then I spotted them..three sharks about four feet in length were also having a good time in the surf..they were clearly seen at the top of the bereakers..in line abreast ...just feet away from he surfers..That was the end of my body surfing career.


Tuesday, 5 May 2015

Wanted...Movie Producers..Serious ones.

Avantiventures Ltd have four scripts , from which four novels have been adapted and published.

The Sandrunners..A story about a young Egyptian peasant boy,Yusuf, who is a phenomenal distance runner
He is forced  by circumstance to run in the first of the new Olympics, staged in Athens in 1896.
To win brings him everything he could wish for, including the hand of his upper class girlfriend..to lose means he has nothing and may even be killed by his new found enemies.
Yusuf is aided and abetted in his endeavours by a British Egyptologist and his runt camel Suzy..who also runs in the race with him.
DURING THE RACE HE HAS TO MAKE A DECISION THAT WILL AFFECT THE REST OF HIS LIFE.

The Stack...A family saga set mainly in Australia after the first and second world wars.It begins in Cumbria ,England when two young men from diverse social backgrounds set off to fight in the war against Germany.
They finally finish up in Turkey in the Gallipoli battle and make a discovery that will send them off to the antipodes for a new life after the war is over.
Their separate families grow up close together and prosper..but what they found in Turkey comes back to haunt them many years later..and threatens to destroy all that they have achieved.

Maginty,s Quest..A magical story mainly for he younger reader..viewer.It centres around two sea creatures,an octopus and a turtle who have been given human characteristics by a  wounded Pirate Captain that theY rescue from certain death after his crew mutinied against him.
 The Captain,Red Rufus Maginty, is also a wizard and he gives his young rescuers a quest which must be fulfilled when they are called upon to do so.
That call comes several hundred years later when Red Rufus,s ancestors are threatened by modern day thugs in Chelsea,London, England.
They have to leave their home in Bermuda and travel across the Atlantic ocean to help in the quest..they meet lots enemies on the way including the ancestors of the man who led the mutiny so many years ago.. Captain Cutlass.
The creatures are named Maginty, he is the cheeky octopus, and the other is called Deacon, a very serious turtle who also fancies himself as an Ace Navigator...well he would wouldn't he.They are accompanied by Boomer, a hermit crab who lives in a large conch shell and Sissy, an electric eel who has to sometimes act as mediator.
This small gang meet up with Rufus,s family to fight the ruthless foe.

The Fiddler..This is mainly a story about he crazy lives of musicians...Sex drugs and Rock and Roll is regarded as a fairly modern lifestyle for some musicians but it was also a lifestyle that was adapted many years ago.
Dante Gabriele is a young farm lad from southern Italy who follows his deep rooted ambition to achieve a life in the world of music..in the late 1700s
This entails walking away from his family inheritance and entering a world of vagabonds,cutthroats, entertainers, rampant sex., love and finally betrayal..
All of this is set in the many Palazzos of Italy, mainly in Venice and Rome.
A totally distraught Dante finally finds salvation in a totally unexpected way and returns to his roots but events from his wild life finally catch up and send him reeling off into another dangerous part of his life.
This was originally titled
 Sex Drugs and a String Quartet.


All four titles are available in book form,kindle and paperback from amazon worldwide and for serious enquirers there are scripts available.
 A fifth script is being written .. A contemporary tale of murder and Mayhem set in Oregon..stay tuned...


Any inquiries to  www. mail@avantiventures.com








Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Helicopter Crash at San Francisco Airport

Previously posted on Reelshow Mag

The Helicopter Crash.


Some time in the eighties I was working in California and shooting a documentary on suicides from The Golden Gate Bridge which crosses the bay at the entrance to San Francisco Harbour
The bridge is a massive structure, A beautiful elegant design .The broad, sixlane, roadway across is supported by thick metal wires which are held at either end by steel towers. The bridge is one of the most photographed man made constructions in the world. It is also very high off the surface of the water.
If you jump off this bridge then the chances of survival are extremely slim. If the fall into the water doesn’t kill you then the damage sustained by the body will render you incapable of swimming in the strong currents and then there are the sharks.
Alcatraz, the infamous high security prison is built on an island in the bay and was selected because of the high risk escape procedure..basically..after you evade the heavy duty guard system and then make it out of your cell block, climb the prison wall and then get down the other side ..all you had to do was swim to freedom. I am unaware of anyone escaping from Alcatraz and sending a post card back from anywhere in the world to announce their new found liberty.
That is why the bridge is a magnet to would be suicides; there are so many attempts that the bridge authorities have a “Jumper” watch situated at either end of the span. These people scan the pedestrians on the bridge constantly and are quick off the mark to foil an attempt when they see a likely customer. Apparently there are tell tale signs that someone is about to take the short flight to oblivion..
And that is why I was there.
Except on this particular day I wasn’t walking across the bridge, I was about a hundred or so metres off it dangling outside a new Bell Jet Ranger helicopter.
The presenter of the programme was supposed to walk along the bridge, in a casual manner, the way presenters do, and talk to the camera, giving as many relevant facts as possible in a conversational way, as they do.
The cue for the presenter to start talking was when a distinctive coloured car, driven by a production team member, drove past him, he would look up to the chopper and begin the spiel as he continued to stroll along .
These plans always work brilliantly on paper.
For the logistics enthusiasts out there this is how it was planned
My camera team would drive from the centre of San Francisco to the International airport about twenty miles or so east of he bridge where we would rig the camera onto a Tyler Mount fitted to the helicopter.
The Tyler mount is a rig that is fitted inside the aircraft and it works on a balance system. A series of weights are moved along a large metal arm that curves over the cameraman and the camera is used as a counterweight .This system allows for any size camera to be fItted. I am sure they are infinitely more sophisticated these days but the gyro or steadying system was not too clever and the cameraman had to put a lot of physical effort into keeping the camera steady during a take.
The mount takes up a lot of space and the rear seats have to come out plus the passenger door comes off. In effect the cameraman has to sit almost outside of the aircraft
The security harness for the cameraman is standard five pin fitting into a centre locking device. The restraining straps are one over each shoulder, two around the waist and one from the floor up between the legs The lock pins can all be released by one quick twist of the centre lock. More on this later.
Radio comms are fitted , one for me to the pilot and an extra one for communication to the bridge team.
Are you still with me…good.  keep going.
The presenter is fitted with a radio mike. The director/producer is fitted with a radio mike..the sound recordist is dressed to look like a tourist with a back pack and a funny hat to hide his headphones .These three will be posing as sightseers near the presenter and within range of his transmitter.
The car driver is fitted with a radio. The “Jumper” teams are brought in a and briefed.. We have the permission of the bridge authorities, the radio frequencies have been cleared with the various authorities. We all know what we are doing and when.
Ok, climb aboard the chopper, a brand new Bell Jet Ranger, very nice. And off we zoom, a low swoop over Alcatraz and then to position on the west/seaward side of the bridge.
The brief is for me to follow our marked car, a white one, along the bridge and as it gets to the presenter he will start talking and we slowly hover and crab across until he is finished, then we pull back on the lens and the chopper moves higher and further away to reveal the truly stunning sight of the Golden Gate Bridge with SF in the background.
What could go wrong?..
Everybody is in position, all the sound checks are done, its “Go Go” time
Nobody briefed Mother Nature, or the ten or twelve owners of  white cars who all decide to cross the bridge at the same time.Or the twenty or so Japanese tourists who seemed attracted to a strange man, our presenter, who seemed to be having a chat with a man in a helicopter and then they seemed to be obliged to wave at.
Take two.
This meant that the white car had to go across the bridge, off at the next turnoff and then back across the bridge through the one way approach system and take up  position again.This took about twenty minutes.
Stay with it
The bridge is so large that it creates its own micro weather situation. No matter how calm it appears there is always a strong wind roaring around the towers. This makes a hovering helicopter a very unsteady filming platform.
Take two: The presenter fluffs his lines.
Take three: A strong gust of wind blows the chopper badly.
Take four: I follow the wrong white car.
And so it goes on and every take is twenty minutes to set up again.
We began to run out of fuel and the pilot decided to go and refill, at the airport. In  the light of what was to happen it was a  divine and inspired  decision. The trips and refuelling would take an hour or so. Off we went.
After the refuel we were ready to get airborne again. The pilot checked with the control tower and we were given permission to overfly the very end of the runway between passenger jets landing
This is at The San Francisco International Airport, there are a lot of jets landing there all the time, they seemed to be precisely stacked up in the sky, exactly the same distance apart and all lined up on the approach beacons. The end of the runway juts out into the bay. Very busy place and very impressive.
A jet lands and off we go from our hover position, we have just a short space of time to clear the approach.
And then it happens.
At about two hundred feet above the threshold lines the Gyro Assist went AWOL.It broke.
In the space of a couple of seconds and from my perch on the side of the chopper I saw the sky, runway, bay water, spinning horizon and then went through it all again.
In my ear the pilot was yelling instructions to the tower or his God, and we were plummeting towards the concrete.
Which we hit..very hard.
Bits were flying in all directions and I was aware of pushing the Tyler mount off my chest where it had rammed on impact and flicking the release button on the harness. One last push at the Tyler and I leapt onto the tarmac.
 The chopper was on its side, the rotor had screamed to a halt and I legged it to the side to jump down into the jumble of massive concrete blocks that form the base for the runway.
The pilot was there before me..You cant beat military training..
The conversation was a little stilted for a few moments as we took stock of our new situation
We were both unharmed but in a slight state of shock.
The chopper seemed to be seriously damaged and on its side.
All of the neatly lined up aircraft with hundreds of passenger on board were now on their way somewhere else, they were peeling off for destinations unplanned.
My radio went off, it was the Producer..”Where the fuck are you?”
I quickly briefed him on our new situation.
He never asked if we were ok, all he said was “Get another chopper and get back out here”…Honestly..
What is it about producers?
I relayed his request to the pilot who simply said “When God tells you to sit on the ground you sit on the fucking ground”
It occurred to me that if we had not done so many takes then the chopper might have been over open water and I don’t think we would have survived the drop from the much greater height that we were filming from. An inspired decision by the pilot to refuel when he did, just a minute or so either side and ..hey ..who knows..
PART TWO
Ok we had survived the crash, screwed up the filming and also screwed up the travel plans of hundreds of airline passengers and now we were waiting for the rescue wagons to appear.  We talked, just to calm our nerves
I asked the pilot who was approximately my age how he got into the flying business, it had always appeared attractive to me as an alternative career.
His story had me mesmerised.
During the Vietnam War he had been conscripted into the Military, being a bright lad he had been sent onto a flying course and finished up training to fly helicopters.
 (For a book on this subject read “Chickenhawks” by Robert Mason)..
Completed training and off he went to war.
They gave him a gunship. Probably an AH1 Cobra, fitted with twin Cannons. A flying killing machine.
“I was God” he said.
“At twenty one I had the power of life and death. This was Apocalypse Now for real”
He went on to describe how he and his Squadron of Cobras would set off on raids that completely destroyed hundreds of villages, shot up fishing boats, blasted anything that moved on the ground that could conceivably be considered to be the enemy.
It was a fantastic feeling. The Vietcong were virtually defenceless against these airborne attacks and so the young pilots felt all powerful and not in a great deal of danger.
“It was a great life, full of excitement, I had this huge powerful beast that could rip up a village in seconds, two passes with the cannons on full blast and it was no more, wonderful”
Until one day.
He was on patrol as usual and he came across a very small village, he decided to take a closer look and as he approached a group of villagers dashed out of one of the flimsy grass huts and began to run along a jungle path.. He followed them, assessed the situation as much as he could through the jungle canopy as he whizzed past, and decided they were not good people. Why would they be running etc.. He gave them a burst of cannon, Damn, missed, He went round again, another burst of cannon, he destroyed a number of trees and a couple of bamboo thickets but missed the runners, he went round again.
There they were, still on the path through the jungle but they had stopped and were looking at him as he approached for the kill. They could not run any further, dense bamboo and forest on all sides, all five of them were exhausted.. Mum, Dad, and their three little kids.
“It was like a bolt of lightning, I suddenly realised what I was doing. I was a killer of innocents and enjoying it”
He disengaged his attack, flew straight back to his base and refused to fly gunships any more.
They put him on Medivac duties…and that’s another story..

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Thursday, 23 April 2015

Reelshow Student Film Contest.April 2015

Hi..great news..I have just submitted the five finalists to our Judge for his choice in The Reelshow Film Contest,Drama Category
The submissions, from all over the world, were of a very high quality and it looks as though there is going to be a great crop of talented film makers on the way into the industry.

Selecting the final list of five was very difficult and is not a job I relish, but it has to be done and Mary Lou Clarke insists it is my duty..so commiserations to those that didn't get through and congratulations to those that did.
I enjoyed watching every one and it was a tough process....but keep them coming.
To watch the final selection just click onto the link...and enjoy...Finalists

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

Italian Plumber.."Wife fetch my gun".

Somewhere in the more remote parts of the world, thousands of men trudge daily into massive quarries and mines, they labour all day to extract precious minerals such as copper and those elements that make brass, chrome, stainless steel and other bright shiny bits of metal.
All of their extracted rock is crushed, crushed again,then melted , made into ingots where it is sent around the world.
Eventually those blocks of metal  are once again melted down and made into pipes and brackets,gauges,brass knuckles, bendy bits and even more shiny bits.
These are known collectively as Plumbing Materials.
A large quantity of this massive mining effort, in its finished form, has subsequently finished up in my second bathroom.
This bathroom  is situated in the lower part of my house, next to a guest room.This bathroom is quite large and houses a very spacious shower cabinet,a washing machine..American version, capable of freshening up a compact rhino,a toilet,bidet,sink..all very nice. It is tiled from floor to ceiling and it is rarely used.

There are rumoured to be eight wonders of the world.....WRONG....In the far corner of my second rarely used bathroom stands a relatively unknown Ninth wonder of the world....The Hot Water Boiler....Italian Style.
Those words are enough to send most people shrieking away from my house as fast and as far as their quite rational fear can take them.
There it stands, hidden behind its modern white steel cover...obediently carrying out its normal duties, which is to heat the water for the house on demand.This function is preceded every few minutes by what sounds like a controlled nuclear blast and a roar from the bowels of the boiler which lasts a few minutes, and then it delivers its scalding load.
Very efficient. ..altho it is rumoured that every time it does this small task the vibrations have shaken  down a house in Japan.

Recently this plumbing wonder has developed a small problem..it has begun to wet itself..not a lot, but sufficient to need a bucket to catch the drops.
Mary Lou and myself pondered for some time what to do about this inconvenience and finally we went into mental breakdown and informed the Landlord.  Wrong again.

The Landlord is a farmer, well into his 80,s and very robust, with a wife of a similar age and condition.It is said the farmer took over the running of the very large  farm and vineyard at the age of 12, after his father passed away, finally succumbing to his war wounds.

And so it was that early one sunny morning as I slumbered in my bed, lazily watching the rising sun send lacy patterns across my bedroom wall I became aware of a noise emerging from the lower part of the house.Some minutes later I tottered  sleepily down the stone stairs into the bottom hall way.

The Farmer and his wife has two sons, now in their fifties, one of the sons lives on the farm and has two teenage children.The other son lives a short distance away in another village.
All six of this farming family are now crammed into the bathroom.Almost cowering in the far corner stands a hunted beast, known locally as the plumber .
At the rear of this dense crowd is Mary Lou, she had gone native, at least that half of her which is eternally Italian has gone native and she is yelling encouragement in two languages
.It was a relief to see her well bred English half had decided to wear a large brimmed straw sun hat...very fetching and somehow appropriate...attagirl!.

There are some nations in the world that are quite noisy when they are in small numbers. Americans are notoriously noisy..but six Italians can outnoise any nation in the world..  no matter how many there are in the contest.
The Plumber lives nearby in a splendid Italian Villa , beautifully maintained and sitting in several acres of immaculate gardens with a paved, curved,driveway leading from the high metal gates to the turnaround in front of the elegant entrance to the house.
He certainly knew how to charge for his services.He also has the reputation of being a bit of a talker.
On several occasions when he has been called in for minor plumbing jobs we have heard him have a loud and serious conversation ..with himself.
He is so loud that it is also rumoured an Italian football club hires him to boost the noise level at their home games.
Amazing what a meat pie and a cup of  hot Bovril will buy.

Every single one of the occupants of the bathroom is giving advice to the Plumber..all at the same time  and at full volume .
Suddenly he begins to remove the cover of the boiler to reveal a positive cornucopia of pipes..all sizes and widths..they writhe and twist in every direction... some are hot some were not.Some are chrome covered and all held together in a perpetual sexual frenzy of copper by massive brass fittings.
Wires are attached to some and some are wireless The entire assembly looks like a massive oil refinery or the engine room of a medium sized  jumbo oil tanker.
Buried in the middle of all of this is a faulty pipe..one that drips into our carefully placed bucket.The sight of the worlds entire supply of twisted piping brings a moments silence to the small but very excited crowd..but only for a moment.
The Plumber reaches into his bag.... pulls out a tool and fearlessly plunges his right forearm into the place where only fools, brave men or rich plumbers enter.
He fiddles for a moment or two.
Standing at the back of the mob I could only guess at what is going on.
There is a bit of pipe banging, a swear word or two..standard procedure and obligatory in the plumbing world, I am told.
Then silence descends as the Plumber slowly emerges from the entrails of this coppery alien.
He turns to the Farmer and gave his verdict.
It involves a sum of money.
Uproar breaks out.
The noise level rises again..it has a tone of shock and horror about it.
My Italian is not good, in fact it is terrible, but as I back away from the entrance to the bathroom I could definitely hear the old and very angry Farmer yell at the top of his voice "Wife, go and fetch the gun, I am going to shoot the fucking Plumber."

At that moment I thought it would be a good time to take an early morning stroll around the garden.

I am informed that the boiler leaks no more.

Whenever I walk past the Plumbers palatial house he still waves a greeting from his comfortable patio. At least I think it is a greeting.











Thursday, 19 February 2015

Chopper down

Adventures in San Fransisco..Previously published on this blogsite by Richard Dodd

The Helicopter Crash Bizarre Adventures in San Fransisco

Some time in the eighties I was working in California and shooting a documentary on suicides from The Golden Gate Bridge which crosses the bay at the entrance to San Francisco Harbour
The bridge is a massive structure, A beautiful elegant design .The broad, sixlane, roadway across is supported by thick metal wires which are held at either end by steel towers. The bridge is one of the most photographed man made constructions in the world. It is also very high off the surface of the water.
If you jump off this bridge then the chances of survival are extremely slim. If the fall into the water doesn’t kill you then the damage sustained by the body will render you incapable of swimming in the strong currents and then there are the sharks.
Alcatraz, the infamous high security prison is built on an island in the bay and was selected because of the high risk escape procedure..basically..after you evade the heavy duty guard system and then make it out of your cell block, climb the prison wall and then get down the other side ..all you had to do was swim to freedom. I am unaware of anyone escaping from Alcatraz and sending a post card back from anywhere in the world to announce their new found liberty.
That is why the bridge is a magnet to would be suicides; there are so many attempts that the bridge authorities have a “Jumper” watch situated at either end of the span. These people scan the pedestrians on the bridge constantly and are quick off the mark to foil an attempt when they see a likely customer. Apparently there are tell tale signs that someone is about to take the short flight to oblivion..
And that is why I was there.
Except on this particular day I wasn’t walking across the bridge, I was about a hundred or so metres off it dangling outside a new Bell Jet Ranger helicopter.
The presenter of the programme was supposed to walk along the bridge, in a casual manner, the way presenters do, and talk to the camera, giving as many relevant facts as possible in a conversational way, as they do.
The cue for the presenter to start talking was when a distinctive coloured car, driven by a production team member, drove past him, he would look up to the chopper and begin the spiel as he continued to stroll along .
These plans always work brilliantly on paper.
For the logistics enthusiasts out there this is how it was planned
My camera team would drive from the centre of San Francisco to the International airport about twenty miles or so east of he bridge where we would rig the camera onto a Tyler Mount fitted to the helicopter.
The Tyler mount is a rig that is fitted inside the aircraft and it works on a balance system. A series of weights are moved along a large metal arm that curves over the cameraman and the camera is used as a counterweight .This system allows for any size camera to be fitted. I am sure they are infinitely more sophisticated these days but the gyro or steadying system was not too clever and the cameraman had to put a lot of physical effort into keeping the camera steady during a take.
The mount takes up a lot of space and the rear seats have to come out plus the passenger door comes off. In effect the cameraman has to sit almost outside of the aircraft
The security harness for the cameraman is standard five pin fitting into a centre locking device. The restraining straps are one over each shoulder, two around the waist and one from the floor up between the legs The lock pins can all be released by one quick twist of the centre lock. More on this later.
Radio comms are fitted , one for me to the pilot and an extra one for communication to the bridge team.
Are you still with me…good.  keep going.
The presenter is fitted with a radio mike. The director/producer is fitted with a radio mike..the sound recordist is dressed to look like a tourist with a back pack and a funny hat to hide his headphones .These three will be posing as sightseers near the presenter and within range of his transmitter.
The car driver is fitted with a radio. The “Jumper” teams are brought in a and briefed.. We have the permission of the bridge authorities, the radio frequencies have been cleared with the various authorities. We all know what we are doing and when.
Ok, climb aboard the chopper, a brand new Bell Jet Ranger, very nice. And off we zoom, a low swoop over Alcatraz and then to position on the west/seaward side of the bridge.
The brief is for me to follow our marked car, a white one, along the bridge and as it gets to the presenter he will start talking and we slowly hover and crab across until he is finished, then we pull back on the lens and the chopper moves higher and further away to reveal the truly stunning sight of the Golden Gate Bridge with SF in the background.
What could go wrong?..
Everybody is in position, all the sound checks are done, its “Go Go” time
Nobody briefed Mother Nature, or the ten or twelve owners of  white cars who all decide to cross the bridge at the same time.Or the twenty or so Japanese tourists who seemed attracted to a strange man, our presenter, who seemed to be having a chat with a man in a helicopter and then they seemed to be obliged to wave at.
Take two.
This meant that the white car had to go across the bridge, off at the next turnoff and then back across the bridge through the one way approach system and take up  position again.This took about twenty minutes.
Stay with it
The bridge is so large that it creates its own micro weather situation. No matter how calm it appears there is always a strong wind roaring around the towers. This makes a hovering helicopter a very unsteady filming platform.
Take two: The presenter fluffs his lines.
Take three: A strong gust of wind blows the chopper badly.
Take four: I follow the wrong white car.
And so it goes on and every take is twenty minutes to set up again.
We began to run out of fuel and the pilot decided to go and refill, at the airport. In  the light of what was to happen it was a  divine and inspired  decision. The trips and refuelling would take an hour or so. Off we went.
After the refuel we were ready to get airborne again. The pilot checked with the control tower and we were given permission to overfly the very end of the runway between passenger jets landing
This is at The San Francisco International Airport, there are a lot of jets landing there all the time, they seemed to be precisely stacked up in the sky, exactly the same distance apart and all lined up on the approach beacons. The end of the runway juts out into the bay. Very busy place and very impressive.
A jet lands and off we go from our hover position, we have just a short space of time to clear the approach.
And then it happens.
At about two hundred feet above the threshold lines the Gyro Assist went AWOL.It broke.
In the space of a couple of seconds and from my perch on the side of the chopper I saw the sky, runway, bay water, spinning horizon and then went through it all again.
In my ear the pilot was yelling instructions to the tower or his God, and we were plummeting towards the concrete.
Which we hit..very hard.
Bits were flying in all directions and I was aware of pushing the Tyler mount off my chest where it had rammed on impact and flicking the release button on the harness. One last push at the Tyler and I leapt onto the tarmac.
 The chopper was on its side, the rotor had screamed to a halt and I legged it to the side to jump down into the jumble of massive concrete blocks that form the base for the runway.
The pilot was there before me..You cant beat military training..
The conversation was a little stilted for a few moments as we took stock of our new situation
We were both unharmed but in a slight state of shock.
The chopper seemed to be seriously damaged and on its side.
All of the neatly lined up aircraft with hundreds of passenger on board were now on their way somewhere else, they were peeling off for destinations unplanned.
My radio went off, it was the Producer..”Where the fuck are you?”
I quickly briefed him on our new situation.
He never asked if we were ok, all he said was “Get another chopper and get back out here”…Honestly..
What is it about producers?
I relayed his request to the pilot who simply said “When God tells you to sit on the ground you sit on the fucking ground”
It occurred to me that if we had not done so many takes then the chopper might have been over open water and I don’t think we would have survived the drop from the much greater height that we were filming from. An inspired decision by the pilot to refuel when he did, just a minute or so either side and ..hey ..who knows..
PART TWO
Ok we had survived the crash, screwed up the filming and also screwed up the travel plans of hundreds of airline passengers and now we were waiting for the rescue wagons to appear.  We talked, just to calm our nerves
I asked the pilot who was approximately my age how he got into the flying business, it had always appeared attractive to me as an alternative career.
His story had me mesmerised.
During the Vietnam War he had been conscripted into the Military, being a bright lad he had been sent onto a flying course and finished up training to fly helicopters.
 (For a book on this subject read “Chickenhawks” by Robert Mason)..
Completed training and off he went to war.
They gave him a gunship. Probably an AH1 Cobra, fitted with twin Cannons. A flying killing machine.
“I was God” he said.
“At twenty one I had the power of life and death. This was Apocalypse Now for real”
He went on to describe how he and his Squadron of Cobras would set off on raids that completely destroyed hundreds of villages, shot up fishing boats, blasted anything that moved on the ground that could conceivably be considered to be the enemy.
It was a fantastic feeling. The Vietcong were virtually defenceless against these airborne attacks and so the young pilots felt all powerful and not in a great deal of danger.
“It was a great life, full of excitement, I had this huge powerful beast that could rip up a village in seconds, two passes with the cannons on full blast and it was no more, wonderful”
Until one day.
He was on patrol as usual and he came across a very small village, he decided to take a closer look and as he approached a group of villagers dashed out of one of the flimsy grass huts and began to run along a jungle path.. He followed them, assessed the situation as much as he could through the jungle canopy as he whizzed past, and decided they were not good people. Why would they be running etc.. He gave them a burst of cannon, Damn, missed, He went round again, another burst of cannon, he destroyed a number of trees and a couple of bamboo thickets but missed the runners, he went round again.
There they were, still on the path through the jungle but they had stopped and were looking at him as he approached for the kill. They could not run any further, dense bamboo and forest on all sides, all five of them were exhausted.. Mum, Dad, and their three little kids.
“It was like a bolt of lightning, I suddenly realised what I was doing. I was a killer of innocents and enjoying it”
He disengaged his attack, flew straight back to his base and refused to fly gunships any more.
They put him on Medivac duties…and that’s another story..

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