FilmLA is to Shooting AS the Champagne Room is to…
Click the above photo to see the rest of the set.
It’s no secret. I hate this city, the people, the potholes, the grime, the slime, the corruption and most of all the egos. People see a big shiny camera and assume someone’s getting rich, or not paying into the system, or exploiting someone somewhere. Some thing must be done!
No, I don’t have a permit to be shooting here. Maybe if you weren’t so busy sucking the man’s dick you would be able to appreciate the hard work and creativity of the individuals standing in front of you.
Where I come from public land is there for the enjoyment of the public. LA has this mentality of look, but don’t touch. That is unless you want to buy a private dance… errr, permit. We’re not allowed in this field? Well why the fuck not?
If I had been rendering the same scene on a canvas with some oil paints would I have been hassled? Or if I was snapping vacation photos with a point-and-shoot would I have to argue with some power tripping nerd on horse back? Probably not.
Halfway through the shoot we were approached by the Santa Monica Mountains’ bouncers… errr, junior rangers. Half laughing, one says “I see that you’re shooting Will.I.Am here, but if you don’t have a permit you are breaking the law.” Met with a swell of groans and raised eyebrows the rangers quickly realized that their attempt to be hip and affable had taken a wrong turn at Racism St.
Backpedaling on horseback (an interesting sight), they informed us that they couldn’t issue us a ticket, but the sheriff surely would if he happened to wander by. I told them we’d take out chances. Hoping to not run into the sheriff, we picked up the pace of the shoot.
An hour later, one look away from wrapping the singles, the Keystone Kops returned looking pretty sore in the saddle. As they got into earshot one of them spouted off, “You know, we were really nice before when we asked you to leave!” I tried to explain to them that we were never asked to leave, and in 20 or so frames we would be out of their hair.
“You either to leave right now, or we are calling the sheriff.” There’s no negotiating with these kinds of people, and there’s nothing I hate more than unchecked ego’s, so I shrugged it off and told them “We’re not done yet, so you do what you’ve got to do.”
True to my word, in less than a minute we were wrapped, and ran past the rangers grumbling into their walkie-talkies. About a half mile outside of the park we passed a cop headed in the opposite direction, and put the pedal to the floor.
Got hot, dirty, walked away with some good shots and checked the egos of a couple lackeys.
Good Times!
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