Production Sucks. No one in their right minds says: “ when I grow up I want to be a producer.” Production is something that you fall into, usually because someone you know is already suffering in productionlandia and needs to share their misery with a trusted friend. Misery loving company and all that. So they lure you in with promises of glamour, of celebrity, of international escapades and the most delectable treat of all.. THE COOL FACTOR.
“Dude! We are working on a shoot with U-, Sting and the Rolling Stones,” they tell you.. “It will be AWESOME! , We need someone to do airport runs.” And you, none the wiser, start dreaming about your conversation with Bono, Sting, and Mick seated in the back of your tricked out SUV, talking about awesome guitar riffs and being regaled with stories about the golden age of rock and roll’s bad boys. Little do you know that you will spend hours a day, in the worst heat wave of the year, in your un-airconditioned, dented cube truck, creeping along the bottlenecked BQE to JFK, picking up their cargo. Or that the closest you will get to this improbable trio is collecting their discarded water bottles and cleaning the toilets in their motor home. And yet, you tell all your friends and family with PRIDE that you are now working in production with celebrities. This is a fact: I once cleaned Miles Davis’ toilet. I swear. It’s true.
And so it begins.
Your eagerness to please, your tolerance for verbal abuse, your ability to work on only hours of sleep every hours, while surviving on handfuls of m&ms and coffee guarantees that you will rise through the ranks.
Producers are the same all over the world. You are born a producer. My secret theory is that we popped out of the womb ready made to produce. An homuncular collection of overly neurotic, hyper-sensitive, know-it-all, controlling types, bundled with a preternatural ability to function under duress is in our genes. And, if not for production, we would have turned into shut-in-freaks in lonely room apartments hoarding newspapers and other collectibles. In real life, we can be THAT intolerable: sticking our urge to fix-it into everything from dinner reservations to how to cut the lawn. And yet in productionlandia we are just what the client ordered.
So why do we produce? Why do we put up with the abuse? The lack of respect, the shitty hours, and the bad food? We could say it is the money, or the lifestyle, or the travel. But let’s admit it. We produce because we can’t figure out any other job that doesn’t make us work every day under florescent lights in a cubicle, counting down the minutes to happy hour. We produce because we are adrenaline junkies. We produce because we think it’s cool. We produce because when we do good and it all works out, nothing can make us feel that accomplished. We produce because we can’t think of anything else we would rather do.