Nicole Bird

The ABC’s of Film Production 

Above the line announces their importance, lights on a marquis justify bloated budgets.

Below the line makes the movie, runs camera, records sound, cooks food, supplies hope.

Crew corrals around crafty, carry walkies, and croak “copy that” while cowering from cameras.

Dutch angles tilt the camera, perfect for the fecund moment in story wherein the killer closes in.

Electricians are usually surly, they’ve got currents and lights and power weighing them down.

First Assistant Directors are the first defense against delays, first ones on set, first assholes.

Grips hook up lights, grips break up fights, grips can mend slights, and often eat in big bites.

H as in Hotel for shot notation. H for hot set/don’t touch. H for Home, which you’ll rarely see.

Interior shots are easier to film, there’s more illusion to control, more control to the illusion.

Jibs are big, use cameras and counterweights for sweeping shots, like God picked up a camera.

Kino Flo Soft Banks are perfect for office scenes with banal fluorescent, like buzzing identity.

Lima Charlie/Loud and Clear; Last Looks/fix it and get the fuck out of the shot before we roll.

Meters: light meters, electrical meters, no meter to gauge morale or verve or mileage on a soul.

Nomads or nobodies: fates for us in Film. Lives of sixteen-hour days and rooms with fake walls.

Orange tape is Gaff tape, don’t take any without asking. Grips are touchy with tape and takers.

Prosthetics are best adhered with Spirit Gum and stick anything to anyone but beware, it dries 

Quick, like rain soaking a cracked sidewalk or the tumultuous half-life of a relationship 

Running the length of a break from filming: three nights, two bottles, one cinematographer.

Slates get all the panache, the crack at the top of the take, with the snap we’re beholden.

Timecode is the heartbeat. The pace and pulse threading film. It tells the truth and will best you.

Undercranking quickens; overcranking slows. Film terms are designed to confuse everyone like 

Vertigo–Madeline is Judy, fear is sane, Jimmy Stewart is a heartthrob, and love is death. 

Whiskey tango is the penultimate shot of the day, we rejoice with the sting of an ending.

Xacto knives holstered, thirsting to fight the next duel reserved for a stack of drafting paper. 

“Yes And” becomes “No But.” Production wraps, we soak in Epsom salt, the shoot just another 

Zoetrope, flickering images of people in motion, eyes wide like moonlight, in love with story.