Breaking Barriers: Diversity in the Guild

Profiles by Pauline Rogers

Ever since cinema’s earliest days, a diversegroup of artisans have been working behind-the-scenes to produce motion picture magic. As the 19th century came to its close, Frenchwoman Alice Guy-Blaché joined the Gaumont Company as a director of one-reel pictures. Historians still debate whether her children’s myth La Fée aux Choux (1896) actually ranks as the first narrative film, besting the well-documented efforts of fellow Francophone George Méliés. Moving to America, Guy-Blaché founded a prolific production company known as Solax. She operated camera, experimented with under- and overcranked frame rates and multiple exposure, and even played with a rudimentary soundtrack.

In 1918, Chicago-based cineaste Oscar Micheaux became one of the forerunners of independent filmmaking with The Homesteader. Inaugurating a mobile movie company of sorts, Micheaux exhibited self-produced, self-funded, Black-themed features across the vaudeville circuit of the urban centers in America’s mid-western and northeastern regions. Plagued by poor production values, piecemeal financing and often hostile receptions, Micheaux pumped out 30 pictures in as many years, touching upon the type of hot topics that Spike Lee gets lambasted for today.

When James Wong Howe, ASC began his cinematography career in the early 1920s, his Chinese heritage did not at all seem a hindrance. He managed to parlay a chance photo shoot for actress Mary Minter into an illustrious career even as exploitation flicks vilified Asians as “the Yellow Menace.” Tutored by some of the industry’s best, his moody, low-key lighting style, along with meticulous methods and a willingness to break convention, landed Howe much respect and an impressive list of credits, including his Oscar-winning photography for The Rose Tattoo (1955) and HUD (1963).

With the spirit of these pioneers in mind, Local 600 is recognizing some of those Guild members whose hard work, dedication and tenacity is helping to ensure that no lines of color, or gender, demarcate the movie industry of the next millennium.

--Andrew O. Thompson

Editor, ICG Magazine

·        Donald A. Morgan, Director of Photography

·        Lisa Kulhawik-Martens, 2^nd Assistant

·        Glenn Shimada, Camera Operator

·        Krishna Rao, Camera Operator

·        Michael Chavez, Camera Operator

·        Sumi Yang, 2^nd Assistant

·        Wilma Wong, 2^nd Assistant

·        Bob San Martin, 1^st Assistant

·        Eugene Jackson, Camera Operator

 

Donald A. Morgan, Director of Photography

Donald A. Morgan has seven Emmy Awards on his mantel — for Mr. Belvedere, Home Improvement, Oh, Baby. He is one of the business’ most in-demand, multi-camera cinematographers, and in his spare time he runs two production studios — Axel and Shades of Light.   

The man’s resume is quite impressive, especially when one takes into account that Morgan once aspired to a career as a musician. “Actually, I started as a graphic arts/architecture major in college,” he indicates. “Then I segued into printing. I would ‘work’ during the day to pay the rent, and then ‘work’ to feed my soul at night.”

That double life took a turn for the better, when a roommate introduced him to television. Morgan began in the mailroom of KTTV, where he learned that making the rounds with a cart didn’t always entail delivering mail. “It was also a great way to meet people.” Every day, he saw folk like Norman Lear. Morgan would haunt the stages when they had been put into turn-around. Noticing his eagerness to learn, Lear’s company offered him a job. “Something clicked the first time I saw what lighting consultant George Schamp, and his brother Tommy, could do with a cold, blank stage. Whatever it took, I was going to learn lighting.”

In the 1970s, television stations rotated crews very frequently. On one day Morgan would serve as a gaffer and the next day he’d become an electrician. Such a rotating shift was a great way to learn the basics of a shoot. That knowledge, he believes, should extend beyond the mechanics. “That’s what I stressed then and I stress even more, when I teach lighting classes at UCLA,” adds Morgan.

At this time, a variety of lighting designers worked with the in-house staff. Morgan would watch George Spiro Dibie, ASC (on Barney Miller) conceive a new sitcom style with softer and more diffused light, and witnessed how Bill Klages and the late John Rook lit variety and award programs. “I began to learn that the KTTV ‘hard light’ wasn’t the only way of lighting.”

When situation comedies emerged on the airwaves, “bright-and-tight” became the edict. “I started to think ‘what if. ’I would watch the old black-and-white movies and see cookies on the back walls and dramatic-type lighting without the light actually hitting the walls. That’s what I wanted to do.”

Morgan drew up a plan and displayed it to Tommy Schamp, who growled back “It can be great on paper, kid, but it doesn’t mean s**t until you get out there and do it.”

I thought I was doomed,” Morgan recalls with amusement. “A week later, Tommy slapped a lighting plot on my chest. It was for my new show!” That show was Another Day, starring Joan Hackett and David Grogh. Although Morgan wanted to go “all the way” with his lighting style, he wisely struck a happy medium. Whatever he did, the producers and audience liked—for some 21 episodes.

Producer Norman Lear conceptualized a new and revolutionary show called Good Times, and made Morgan the first Black man to helm an all-Black show. “Did I feel pressure?” he asks himself. “Not then. The environment at Norman Lear’s company was wonderful—there was no color demarcation. I would go back and forth between Good Times and Different Strokes, slowly bringing my kind of lighting to these shows.”

He made his first changes in how to light African-American faces. “When lighting Black people you need to learn more about light,” Morgan explains. “’Highlighting,’ to be exact. It is how and where you place or bounce the light that makes a difference.”

Lear left KTTV and Schamp moved on to Universal, but not before calling Morgan: if he left KTTV immediately, he could get his card at Universal and replace a retiring cinematographer on Silver Spoons. “I was a kid out of a fairyland,” says Morgan, ruefully. “I didn’t know from politics. I didn’t know from egos. All I knew was what worked for me.” When Morgan tried to implement change, the crew revolted with some people even leaving the show.

After getting a “lay of the land,” Morgan did get to make alterations in situation comedies’ shooting mode. On Gloria, for one, he dared to go on location. “I would wet down the streets to bring the F-stop down. I used a lot more bounce light, overhead fill light, and tried to add muslin as a top light.”

Word soon got around—a Black cinematographer had set up shop on the backlot and was making trouble. Part of Morgan’s problems stemmed from the fact that he had come in from the outside. He hadn’t been raised “up through the system.” At one point, Morgan was informed that to get into the Union, he would have to start as a Group 3. But that was unacceptable. Morgan would set up shows and another cinematographer would come in and take over.

Finally, the situation came to a head. If Morgan continued to work, the studio would be closed down. “That was the old system—when the Unions weren’t as ‘user friendly’ as now. Basically, they told me that I’d be putting one of their ‘boys’ out of a job.”

So Morgan moved on to ABC, working alongside other mavericks like Richard Hissong (Soap) and Allen Walker (Benson), who, along with George Spiro Dibie (Barney Miller) were changing the face of lighting. Dibie established a look for the new show Mr. Belvedere, and Morgan then assumed its reins. Their innovative approach—color, filters, nets behind the lens and more—earned them a shared Emmy in 1985.

Morgan gained notice for his lighting on every type of skin tone. “I learned to finesse dark skin on Good Times and perfected it a little more on The Jeffersons. It was now more of a mixture of lighting.”

In the late 1980s, the style Morgan set for Bagdad Café won him another Emmy nomination. “Chip cameras had finally come in and we could go down to one-inch tape and 150 or 125 foot-candles,” he avows. “When I did 227, I began to experiment more—using soft light in front and hard light in corners. Light was off the walls and there was a space at the top.”

All this attention brought Morgan an offer to do the Home Improvement pilot. Over the years, he continued to dabble in trial-and-error, developing another “un-multi-camera” type of lighting on this highly rated show. Its visuals landed him five more Emmy Awards. Recently, he upgraded that style on the innovative Oh, Baby.

Today, Donald A. Morgan is still passionate about his work—it is many shows’ content that he finds disturbing. “Home Improvement and Oh, Baby are about human drama,” he points out. “Unfortunately, you can’t say that about many of our comedy programs today. The content isn’t what it used to be. It’s a fight, to get that kind of show on the air and to succeed.”

Fighting is something with which Morgan is quite familiar. So he plans to hang in there, continuing to make a difference with his lighting, in the hopes that those on the “other side” of productions will keep struggling to strike a difference in content as well.

Lisa Kulhawik-Martens, 2^nd Assistant

Native Californian Lisa Kulhawik-Martens was born in Glendale with the film business running through her veins. Her grandfather worked in the camera department at Universal as a camera tech and mechanical engineer.  At one time, he was approached to help found a start-up camera company—it later became known as Panavision. “Unfortunately, he declined,” she says deadpan. Her father, Jerry Kulhawik, was one of the pioneers of camera mounts and remote heads. “He worked on many racing films in the 1960s, rigging various mounts, “He later became a camera assistant, operator and DP. At the moment, he is operating on the series Dharma and Greg.”

Growing up in the La Canada area of Los Angeles, Kulhawik-Martens always had an interest in film. “I remember watching the crew of Wonder Woman filming at a friend’s house,” she says. “It sent chills up my spine. I loved the whole atmosphere. Occasionally, I would go to work with my father. Between these two events, I was hooked.”

While at Orange Coast College (OCC), she took a film class, eventually making a short movie with all their available equipment. While enrolled at OCC, she also worked as a bank teller, but the 9-to-5 world did not suit her fancy. Kulhawik-Martens continued her education with a semester at Long Beach State, but whatever she did, the movie industry still consumed her very being.

“When I was at OCC, and working at a bank, a woman producer by the name of Marina Sargenti, who owned a small production company, would make deposits at my window,” she explains. “One day, I finally got the courage to ask her about her company. I told her I wanted to get involved in some way.

 “On her next production [a music video featuring Phil Lynot from Thin Lizzy], she gave me a job as production assistant. I was nervous,” she adds. “I was either going to love it or hate it.  The job went on for 24 hours, and I loved every minute of it!

“I continued to work for her and her two partners—John Schwartzman [ASC] and Robert Brinkmann [ASC]. The three of them shaped my work ethic. They taught me to give it your all, and have fun at the same time.”

After several years in the production end, Kulhawik-Martens still wanted to get involved with camerawork. In 1989, an opening in the camera department of her father’s show, The Outsiders, became her ticket. “I knew being a loader/second assistant was going to be tough, but I really wanted to do it.”

“On my way home from work the first week, I was almost in tears. There was so much to do and so much to learn. I was sure I wasn’t going to be able to learn all I needed to know, let alone about the equipment itself. Fortunately, I was working with a wonderful first assistant by the name of Bill Winter. He took me under his strict wing and got me through it.”

Most of her earlier work as the second and loader occurred on episodic television through such shows as Matlock and Quantum Leap. “From those days, I learned how vital it is to have a loader on a project. It’s a luxury, and I will never take one that works with me for granted!” she says adamantly.

When Bill Winter retired, Kulhawik-Martens had “no contacts’ but nevertheless became a camera assistant. “It took a good five years to get established and have enough contacts to survive.”

Now in demand, she looks back on those years as a valuable lesson. “I learned early on to be respectful to everyone on the job, no department or person is better than anyone else.  A production is like a big circus coming to town with all the big trucks and performers.

“It’s a team effort and everyone has a vital part. You never know who is going to be your next vital contact, so I try and be respectful to all. It’s a lot of cold calling, which we all hate, but it just takes that one person to give you a shot and to want you on their team. 

“As a second AC, every first AC wants and expects things very differently. One needs to conform and appreciate how the rest of the team performs, and what they expect.  It’s always about keeping that one ear open and being ready for anything at any moment. Camera assistants hardly ever have any down time on a set, it’s always about organizing and anticipating.

“About five years ago, my husband, who is an electrician in the business, and I decided to start a family.  I ended up taking a year-and-a-half off. I wondered if I would ever work as a camera assistant again, all the long hours away from my son.  That’s when I fell into the sitcom scene—it’s a dream job for a mom.

“It’s quite different on a sitcom than an episodic or movie.  Most sitcoms are confined to one stage, the cameras are built on dollies with zoom lenses and you actually get five-minute breaks. 

“Live audiences also take a bit getting use to. I have been very fortunate to work for a wonderful director of photography named Bob McBride on a number of sitcoms, including The Tom Show, Something So Right, Getting Personal and most recently Then Came You.  He is very supportive. He gave me the opportunity to move up recently with the help from operator Jamie Hitchcock and assistant Tama Takahashi, for which I am very grateful.  I love pulling focus on sitcoms, it’s quite challenging with all the dolly moves, zooming and focusing all at the same time on scenes that can be as long as five minutes.

“I also have the pleasure working with my brother Mason, who is a second AC, and my husband and brother-in-law who are both electricians. Their father was a talented gaffer who did such movies as Marathon Man and The Deer Hunter—I guess the motion picture bug runs in the family.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” she concludes. “But I hope I can continue growing and learning in my craft.  It’s a wonderful and exciting industry—one that all my friends are envious of.”

Glenn Shimada, Camera Operator

Glenn Shimada is a third-generation Japanese-American who remains based in San Diego, even though he operates on such Hollywood-shot shows as Will and Grace. “I was born and raised in San Diego. When I’m in Los Angeles working, I stay at my sister’s house. But, when we wrap, I go home!”

Although he had an “interest” in movies as a youngster, Shimada was never so entranced that he “had to get into the industry.” He entered San Diego State University (SDSU) in 1967. “Originally, I majored in Zoology–PreMed. When I found out I was 4F, I decided to kick back and change my major.  So I decided on Art–Graphic Communications & Design.

“Growing up, my mother kept nurturing my artistic side.  I was always drawing something—it came naturally. School was a breeze,” he chuckles. “I was the king of the ‘quickies’. I would wait until an hour before class to do my projects.”

Shimada decided to study graphics with the eventual aim of going into advertising. “I wanted to learn photography and filmmaking, figuring that would help me in the commercial world,” he submits. “However, according to the curriculum at SDSU, I wasn’t ‘supposed’ to take the film courses. Those courses were reserved for those majoring in Telecommunications and Film.

“So, I crashed the courses. I believe I was the first art student to get into the film department. I had my own equipment, so with that, and a little help from my professor, Roy Madsen, they let me in.”

His first assignment was an exercise in lighting. “I did the traditional old Western poker game—four people at a table playing poker. In the story, two guys play out and the game is left to the card shark and the gunslinger. When the gunslinger discovers the shark is cheating, he shoots him.

“The camera went from the gunslinger to the curled card that shows the cheat. We then tied a rope around the dealer, lit a firecracker and covered it with money. When the gunslinger draws under the table, the firecracker blows the money up in the air, and we yanked him out of the chair. We over-cranked the shot for dramatic effect—you know, all that [Akira] Kurosawa stuff. But everyone in the classroom had their jaws wide open—it was ‘different.’ On a whim, we entered the movie in the First San Diego Film Festival and won Second Place.”

The film festival gave Shimada the bug. On his next project, a 13-minute short of the Edgar Allen Poe poem “Annabel Lee”, he took the soundtrack to Ryder Sound for a more professional finish.” It was there that he met Ryder’s vice-president, Leon D. Selznick. “My Papa,” says a smiling Shimada. He calls me Glennela, and he really kick-started my career.”

Selznick viewed the project and decided that the only one to do the voice-over was his good friend, Vincent Price. He picked up the phone—while Shimada was in the office—got Price on the line, and convinced him to come and see the short. “He came in that day and, once he saw it, agreed to do the voice-over for Union scale [$127.00].

“I remember carting the material off to the dubbing room and sitting there, listening to ‘this voice,’” states a still awestruck Shimada. “He nailed it on take one. I was so stunned at who was there, I forgot to yell ‘cut!’“

The project won Best Picture at San Diego State in 1972. “That year, [producer] Bud Yorkin was guest speaker. He wanted to talk to me after he saw the film, but I couldn’t make it. I will always wonder where my career would have gone, if we’d met at that time.”

Instead, Shimada moved to Los Angeles, and began working as an editor at [Roger Corman’s] New World Pictures. “My first credit [on screen] was on Big Bad Mama,” he discloses. “It rolled over the point in the film where a stripper is twirling her tassels. Guaranteed no one ever saw my name!”

Shimada’s days as an editor added value to his camera career. “To this day, my head is still a little bit in the editing mode. Working at New World with such people as Tina Hirsch, Joe Dante, Alan Arkush, and Jonathan Demme gave me my postproduction experience which serves me constantly.”

When Shimada decided to explore aspects of camera, a friend suggested that he apply for the Union’s first assistant training program. “Seven hundred people showed up to take the exam,” he recalls. “Seventy were chosen for interviews and 10 were accepted. I was fortunate enough to be one of the 10.

“It really is too bad that everyone who wants to be a cameraman can’t go through the program,” he laments. “We trained with some great people. Cameramen like Milton Krasner [ASC], Joe Biroc [ASC], Phil Lathrop [ASC] and John Alonzo [ASC]. And assistants like Tony Askins, Tim Wade, Jack Tandberg, and John Toll [ASC]. If there were a Mt. Rushmore of camera, these guys would have their faces on it.

“One of the great things about training programs is that you get to meet a lot of great people. And, if you keep your mouth shut, your eyes and ears open, and hustle, you can get a job.”

Two weeks before the program ended, he was hired to work for Tony Askins. “My big brother. Tony really helped me along. He was the first to hire me in camera. He indirectly moved me up to a first on The Driver. And10 years ago, after we both went off in differentdirections, he called me for ‘help’ on a sitcom. He wanted an assistant. That was me!” Askins moved Shimada up to operator on Step by Step, a seven-year job.

Shimada has had years to perfect his craft, and he’s still learning. From Step by Step, he went on to do the first year-and-a- half on Friends, followed by a few pilots and then Will and Grace.

“We seem to be the property of director Jim Burrows,” he muses respectfully. “Whatever he does, Tony is the DP and the crew comes along. That’s fine with me. It’s great to work for a company that has it together.”

Does Glenn Shimada want to remain in the multi-camera arena as an operator? Although he has yet to operate on a feature, he still has the itch. But not everyone can move back and forth between the two areas. “I think it’s harder to move from single camera to multi-camera,” he surmises. “Operators in features are used to having to be on at 100 percent of the time. That’s not always possible in multi-camera.

“In multi-camera productions, as an assistant or an operator, you have to know when you’re ‘hot’ and when you’re not.  You need to know what is going to be used and what isn’t. For example, if you are on the back of someone’s head and he’s talking, chances are the shot isn’t going to be used. So if you need to move the camera or make any other adjustment, then that is your time to do so.

“I’ve spent a huge percentage of my assistant career in single-camera and feature production. Back then, we thought of multi-camera sitcoms as an ‘Elephant’s Graveyard’ of camera crews. Not so!” he asserts. “Lots of people are desperately trying to break into multi-camera production for financial security. For a camera crew, it’s the closest thing to an office job in the business—a decent schedule, good pay, a regular hiatus’ and a family life!

“It’s a wonderful life, but my creative side still wants a shot at a feature, and as for Glenn Shimada, the whole package is—don’t laugh—‘What I really want to do is direct!’”

Krishna Rao, Camera Operator

Though his father hails from India and his mother is an Italian/American bred in upstate New York, Krishna Rao is one of those rare breeds — a native Californian. Raised in the San Fernando Valley, he got the movie bug early. As a kid, shooting Super 8mm films became an obsession. “I was one of those kids making films for 8th grade English class.”

Aching to get out of L.A. for a while, he chose San Francisco State University for film school. “A great choice as it turns out,” admits Rao. “Though it was very thin on production facilities, the school emphasized film history, aesthetics and theory. That was invaluable. That’s what you don’t learn through practical experience.”    

His brother Raman, a feature film gaffer, gave Rao his first job as a grip, right out of college. “Within a week, I was moved into the camera department and trained by one of the best cameramen in the business, Dean Cundey [ASC]. It was the era of those early John Carpenter films—the best of the non-union works—Halloween and The Fog. We worked fast, on a tight budget and often out of Dean’s well-known movie van.

“He taught me one of the most valuable lessons about the industry—that you are not just a technician, you are a filmmaker. He encouraged everyone he worked with to use their brains and technical talents. He taught me to pay attention to screen direction and coverage. Your job is not just about keeping someone in focus or in frame—though it is good to do that—but more about telling a story.

After several years with Cundey and his crew, Rao struck out on his own. He became a first, hopping around for another nine years, working with the likes of Robert Elswit and Steven Fierberg. “Frankly, after 12 years as an assistant I was ready to quit the industry,” he says candidly. “Being a focus puller is probably the most stressful job on a picture. There comes to a point when you do crack the secret of how to pull focus on any shot, and then it becomes a system of sorts. 

“Then you have jobs like the one I had on The Seventh Sign, with Juan Ruiz-Anchia [ASC] and the stress gets to you,” he continues. “The film was wide-open anamorphics with early E-series lenses limited on close focus.” When all the close-ups have to be done with diopters, an assistant literally is flying blind. “No wonder some of us look for other careers!” he laughs.

In 1989, when Peter Levy and Stephen Hopkins came to the States from Australia to shoot Nightmare on Elm Street — Part V, Rao found another mentor, actually two. “I had a very meager resume for operating, but both Peter and Stephen were willing to take a chance, putting me straight onto A-camera. It was very scary, going from zero straight into the hot seat.

“Those days with Peter and Stephen were really key to what I learned about operating and visual storytelling. They worked in the English system [due to their Australian upbringing], meaning I wasn’t simply there to execute shots but rather contribute to lensing and camera blocking.”        

Rao learned that shooting films was a skill far removed from that of lighting. “It was as basic as what tool to choose to cover a shot—a static camera, a move, dolly versus Steadicam or handheld. Each tool says something different about the scene.

“Steadicam, for example, can infer a voyeuristic aspect while handheld has a certain edginess. This can elicit a response from the viewer. Peter, Stephen and others taught me that it is often better to be technically wrong and emotionally right.

“When I was assisting the legendary operator Phil Kaplan, I asked him what was the hardest shot. ‘A stand-up,’ he told me. ‘Not long lenses, not complex dolly shots. A stand-up.’ He was so right, because it’s not just an issue of ‘They stand up, you keep them in frame.’ 

“Remembering Peter’s advise on ‘emotional correctness’ over technical correctness, the art is in how the action feels in your frame. In Bambi, there’s a shot of the young fawn eating grass in a meadow, and he lifts his head sharply to a strange sound. The camera clips Bambi’s headroom on the stand-up. Is that a mistake? The operator could have asked for another take. No, the camera’s performance was correct for the story though it was technically flawed.”

While the Bambi defense is by no means a justification for sloppy work, it can lead to new understandings of what makes up a frame. “Stephen Hopkins would often encourage me to let actors and objects break frame as part of their action. Doing that allows the audience to extrapolate the world within the film to exist beyond the boundaries of the frame.”

These attitudes became embedded in Rao’s mind by the time that he and Levy did their last picture together—Cutthroat Island. When the pirate picture wrapped, Rao took a year off to direct his own picture, Crossworlds, starring Rutger Hauer, co-written by his brother Raman and executive produced by Stephen Hopkins.

A year or so later, Rao brought similar sensibilities to the television realm. “I started as B-camera on The Pretender several years ago,” he says. “Now I’m A-camera and, at the moment, am directing my second episode.”

Now, it’s become his turn to help others understand the job just as he had been taught. “Teaching the technical knowledge and storytelling skills I have learned is important to me. What I know, others taught me. It’s my debt to them, and my responsibility to the craft, to pass on this knowledge. The Pretender is a unique work environment for both teaching and learning.”

In director of photography Rodney Charters and gaffer Davis St. Onge, Rao has acquired two new instructors.“I spent 10 years concentrating on lensing as a skill, now, thanks to Rodney and David, I’m learning to understand light.”

Given his first-person experience on how directors watch the monitor, Rao now has a better sense of what goes through an operator’s mind during a shot. However, he’s made a point of not “stepping” on the operator’s instincts. “Telling a camera operator exactly how to do a shot is the equivalent of giving an actor a line reading,” he explains. “You have to trust your operator’s instincts as you hope others trust yours.

One of Rao’s “instincts” is to be very slow to cut the camera. “The best things can happen after someone yells ‘cut,’” he offers. “I remember when I was working on the Bochco series Civil Wars. Right after the director yelled ‘cut,’ the actor in the witness box leaned forward and put his head in his hands, angry with himself for forgetting his lines. Vern Nobles was my assistant, and I whispered to him ‘Keep rolling, keep working.’ What we got after the ‘cut’ ended up being the act out on the show.

“My advice to anyone in the business who feels that frustration that I felt is to hang in there. Get past the assistant job. Once you have bumped up, you’ve gone from one of the hardest jobs in the business to the best, and one of the most creative jobs, if you let your instincts and your art work for you.”

Michael Chavez, Camera Operator

Born and raised in Los Angeles, Mike Chavez credits his mother’s interest in movies as his introduction to the industry. “We would go to the pictures together, and she would know the actors, writers, and cinematographers. She was the first to point out the name of James Wong Howe [ASC].

Taking the lead of his mother’s encyclopedic cinema knowledge, Chavez chose the educational route into the industry—USC film school. As one of his class projects, he was shooting crowd reactions at a banquet honoring legendary filmmaker Howard Hawks. “Suddenly, a face in the audience became more important to me than the man who was being honored. I saw James Wong Howe. I had to talk to him.”

A short conversation lead to a long friendship. Howe took the young cameraman under his wing and taught him some important lessons. “He really showed me what the study of light was all about,” Chavez explains. “We would be out in the yard of his house and he would point to a big tree with textured bark. ‘Look at the quality of light,’ he told me. We would look, and look again. I could see how the light changed qualities at different times of the day, different seasons. From then on, I would constantly study the light, no matter what environment I was in.” He began “interning” for Howe during production of Funny Girl.

That same year, Chavez met cinematographer John Alonzo, ASC who was presenting one of his films for a USC screening. The two hit it off, and Chavez became Alonzo’s apprentice as well. “He forced me to look at everything that was happening on the set,” comments Chavez. “I would watch the rehearsals and watch the process. John taught me that everything that goes on is part of the discipline. One other important lesson I learned from him is not to hide. ‘It is better to do something and be wrong, then not do anything at all,’ he told me.

“When we were shooting Blue Thunder, we had a camera on a parallel. We were supposed to be shooting a two-shot, in a mock-up of the plane. I knew the camera was too close to that mock-up. I also knew that it was going to be a big deal to move the equipment. But John had said ‘Do something, put it where you think it’s supposed to be!’ Great, now I had really done it, but would I be right?” Chavez had to perform, fortunately he proved himself right in that instance.

Many years later, Chavez experienced the reverse situation. “I was operating on a feature that was a really tense situation,” he says. “The cameraman had to be late one day, and he told me to ‘take charge.’ The director came to me, asking for a shot to be done handheld. I knew this cameraman didn’t like handheld work, but this was what the director wanted. As I was saying we could do it, the cameraman came in. He took me aside, and really let me have it. I had spoken up but I hadn’t ‘read’ the set before I did so.”

Chavez then assisted cinematographers John Toll, ASC and Michael O’ Shea, ASC when both were serving as operators. “They taught me to have an extra pair of eyes and ears,” he remarks. “Look. See. Anticipate what is needed. This was my way of making a contribution. Doing this, you develop your own inner creativity—then you can learn to listen to others.

“It’s about listening, concentrating, paying attention, and anticipating as an assistant. I learned to hear the director and cinematographer as they talked. If they mentioned a certain lens, we would get it ready —just in case. It might save a few minutes.

“It is also important to realize that things do go wrong on a set. Sometimes it is your fault—sometimes it isn’t.  Sure, there is screaming sometimes, but it only ‘hurts’ for a minute. The yelling and screaming eventually dies down. Then, there is another take. And, often as not, you can get something even better on that one.

“On Dave, for example, there was a shot where I was way, way off. Adam Greenberg [ASC] is a very soft-spoken man and a wonderful cinematographer. Ivan Reitman is tough—it has to be exactly right. I missed focus, and I called it. Ivan got angry—it was over in a minute and we went on.

“Everyone knows the job of a first assistant has a lot of pressure on it. There is a margin for error. You have to use your judgment and call it, when necessary. If you let it go, then it is worse when—days later –there it is on the screen and there is no ‘better’ shot.”

Chavez’s last assistant job was on B-camera for Vilmos Zsigmond, ASC on Maverick (1994). He upgraded to operator officially on Wild Bill with Lloyd Ahern, ASC. “My first day was nerve-wracking,” he admits. “I spent a lot of time watching John Toll and Mike O’ Shea. But, you don’t know until you really do it. There is so much mechanical and technical information—besides what you see.

“The hardest thing is to be able to call ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and how to fix it, almost before the camera is shut down. And, the fact that an assistant can walk away, but the operator stays—right in the middle of all the set politics.”

In 1997, Chavez found himself on a film that was an all-around uncomfortable undertaking. “We had a director who kept changing the shot on every take. So where we started and where we ended up didn’t match. When something like this happens, communication breaks down all around.

“It is then that you need to speak up, to clear the air, if nothing else. Of course, there is always that risk that you might not have a job the next day. However, if you don’t stand up for yourself, you can’t enjoy what you are doing. And, that’s one of the most important things in life.

“Of course, all the jobs can’t be like they are with Lloyd and Walter Hill—that’s one of the greatest jobs around. On Supernova [ICG, February 2000], I remember sitting with Walter in his trailer on the first day of the shoot. I was on B-camera, which I love doing for Walter Hill. All Walter really said to me was ‘Go out and shoot your own movie.’

“Doing B-camera can be a great joy and freedom. Walter and Lloyd trusted me. As long as I knew what the lighting was, I could shoot what I thought was needed. That freedom is great. And, it’s even better, when you see the picture, and most of what you shot is up on the screen!”

Chavez’s most recent project was another joyful production, especially given its childlike source material: he did second-unit on The Grinch Who Stole Christmas for cinematographer Keith Peterman (first unit photography was shot by Don Peterman, ASC.) “This was one of those jobs you wish would never end,” he says. “Working for Keith Peterman was a pleasure. Don and Keith are both great to work for. The Grinch was not an easy job, but it was a job that made you look forward to coming to work each morning.”

Sumi Yang, 2^nd Assistant

Sumi Yang immigrated to the United States from Korea at the age of 10.  With no thoughts of Tinseltown floating in her head, she studied fine arts at the University of Colorado, then went on to New York City’s Fashion Institute of Technology.

After leaving college, she traveled through Europe. When opportunities presented themselves in London, she settled in, producing commercials and music videos. “It was a kind of guerrilla filmmaking — there was a lot more freedom to do creative things,” she reflects. “We did lots of videos that were ‘futuristic,’ using the newest editing machines to whatever new lenses or cranes were available.  It was a lot of fun for a while. Things were very civilized. People weren’t looking over each other’s shoulders, and there was that ‘tea time’ each day.”

Although employed as one of those who watched “the bottom line,” Yang began to develop an interest in photography and cinematography. So upon returning to Los Angeles in 1994, she started to look for work in the movie industry.

“One day, I was at Panavision with Joe Ritter who introduced me to Joli Wipfli,” recalls Yang. “She was preparing work for a movie called Casper, shot by Dean Cundey Z[ASC]. Joli got me on as an intern, and began to teach me about the business. She said set etiquette was a crucial part of the job. Being seen but not heard and being ready for everyone you were responsible to was vitally important.

“Between Joli and Steve Sfetku, I learned about the equipment and the film. Steve’s words on loading the equipment and keeping the paper work in order were important. And both of them taught me to be aware of the environment I was working in.”

Yang soon graduated into the world of day players, moving from one project to another. “When Steve moved up and Chris Johnson came in, I was brought in on a series of Disney MOWs, working with Chris and Terry Pfrang—that started my career.”

In 1995, Yang joined the Union, working on several Disney movies and then onto such bigger features as Kiss The Girls (shot by Aaron Schneider, ASC). “I got the opportunity to work with Brian Armstrong and Harry Zimmerman. I then went to The Profiler with Butch Pierson.

“For me, episodic is the toughest medium to work in. It’s 80 hours a week, a different episode every eight days. You are constantly running—different stocks, different equipment. There is a lot more to watch for. If we’re going outside, we would need longer lenses and longer zooms. Every day, it was different and we were expected to have everything ready and to know what was needed.

“On features, there are usually two 2nds and a loader, especially if there are two cameras. In television, that isn’t so. When we were doing two cameras, I would never have time to see the loader. It was a constant run.”

A few years ago, Yang, Armstrong and Zimmerman did re-shoots on The Game. “That was my last feature. I was ‘saved,’ so to speak—I was introduced to sitcoms by Tim Barry and Frank Raymond.”

Yang began working on Suddenly Susan, as well as For Your Love and Zoe. “I love it,” she says. “Even though I’m responsible for four cameras, there is less work. You aren’t changing lenses and filters constantly. You can concentrate on what you are doing without running yourself all over the place.

“There is still that edict that everything has to be ready—and you have to anticipate—but there is a routine of sorts. Once you get comfortable with it you can enjoy the job without worrying that you have guessed wrong, or forgotten something vitally important to a shot.”

Yes, Sumi Yang plans to “bump up” as soon as the opportunity presents itself. But until then, she’s content with the life of a sitcom job—and always watching what new and different approaches camera crews take on the shows. “I’m with a great team, a group of people I can relate to. I enjoy doing a good job, and having a life when the day’s work is over.”

Wilma Wong, 2^nd Assistant

“It’s harder to be a woman in the entertainment industry than it is to be an Asian,” says second assistant Wilma Wong. “However, I’ve been lucky. I’ve always worked with people who believe ‘what I can do’ is more important than who I am. At the same time, they are considerate of my desires and have helped me keep a balance between home and work.”

Born and raised in Los Angeles, Wong entered the industry cold, obtaining a job as a production assistant at Warner Bros. “In 1995, there was a minority program. I got into the production assistant’s training program and worked as a PA for about a year or so. This allowed me to get to know several of the vice-presidents in the Production area and other senior VPs.

“They ‘granted me a wish,’” Wong explains. “Once I got out of the program, they asked me where I wanted to work. I chose the camera department. From day one, I got Union pay. And, I learned by doing.”

At the time that Wong joined Warner Brothers, the studio ran its camera department in an “old Hollywood” style. “You are in a darkroom with several other people, and all you do is load film. Camera equipment comes in and camera equipment goes out—it becomes a process. At times, you get so used to the dark you think you can see your hand, even though it is pitch black,” she says laughingly.

While in the Warners’ camera department, Wong loaded for every television show on the lot—episodic or sitcom. “It was a factory with four or five loaders working about 80 mags of 2000-foot loads.”

After a year-and-a-half, Wong moved on to the feature Pleasantville. “That was different. We worked in a truck, and the job consisted of keeping the mags loaded and doing the inventory. It was a slower pace, and I got to know people on the crew.”

While on Pleasantville, Wong became pregnant with her first child, but being an expecting mother “didn’t hinder my work, and I found everyone extremely supportive. After Pleasantville, I took time off to have my first child, then went back to work in television.

“At the moment, I’m on Charmed. My camera crew has worked it out so that I have a ‘job share’. This way, I can work and have time with my children (the second is on the way).

“I really enjoy working on various shows. Loading is a rather simple, but important, job. I realize I am responsible for a vital part of a project. Without having film ready to be exposed, things can be slowed down, and that means money. After they have shot a roll of film, you have to download it. Now, the last thing you want to do is flash the film. That’s really where the stress is.”

Bob San Martin, 1^st Assistant

Originally from Chicago, Bob San Martin got hooked on photography while in high school; a friend’s father worked as a still shooter at Vogue-Wright Studios. “Between my sophomore and junior year of high school, my friend’s father offered us both jobs at the studio, “ he imparts. “My friend hated the job. I loved being an apprentice photographer. We got to help in the building of the sets, wrapping the sets out, and cleaning up the bays for the next photo shoot. Developing black-and-white film before we exposed the color transparency was also exciting. They then taught me to load the sheet film trays. I learned to use 8-by-10 and 11-by-14 bi-postal, Deardorff view cameras.”

The job also introduced San Martin to the difference between lighting black-and-white and color film. “This really made me appreciate movies like The Third Man, Maltese Falcon, Casablanca and others. I had to learn more. Vogue-Wright had 80 photographers, so I was able to get a job as an apprentice. The idea was to work with as many people as I could.”

By the next summer, San Martin was helping to light the sets. “After work, they would let me use the equipment,” he reminisces. “I could shoot and experiment with film. I did solarizations, double exposures, and other crazy things. Some worked. Some didn’t.

Right out of high school, San Martin got offered the job of assistant photographer. Eighteen months later, he was promoted to photographer. “A film crew used our studio for a commercial, and when I saw that, it was wow! That’s what I wanted to do—make moving pictures.

“I found out that I needed to learn about the cameras. The basic things—how to set them up, how to thread the film, and how to service the different parts. That meant changing jobs. My wife said, ‘Go for it!’”

When Victor Duncan’s camera rental house in Chicago needed a shipping clerk/camera technician, San Martin did indeed make a go for it. “Now I was learning about 16mm and 35mm cameras—Mitchells, Éclairs, Arriflexs and, of course, Panavision. We also had an excellent repair and maintenance department—that helped me learn a lot.”

After two years, he was presented with a rental manager’s job in Dallas. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was a great opportunity. Again, my wife said ‘Go for it,’ so we moved away from friends and family.”

Three years into his rental manager assignment, another opportunity arose when cinematographer Robert Jessup, ASC offered him the position as second assistant in the Chicago Local. “This was my education in filmmaking,” he recounts. “It began with movies-of-the-week, low-budget and big-budget movies. We did things like Big Bob Johnson, and the pilot to the series Dallas, where I was B-camera first.

In 1978, Jessup chose to spend more time away from the industry. This gave San Martin and family the impetus to finally make the move to Los Angeles. “I got a job in a commercial company, and I worked on these types of jobs for three or four years, finally getting into the Local.”

San Martin branched out to television and films. He did Awakening Land and Hart to Hart with Michel Hugo, Our House with Chuck Arnold. “I did nine pictures with Robert M. Stevens, ASC [over seven years] and worked with Michael O’Shea ASC for a few years.

“The Naked Gun series with Bobby Stevens was fun. And, doing the ride off into the sunset ending for Indiana Jones [and The Last Crusade], carrying focus on a 200mm anamorphic lens was quite an education!”

For San Martin, his tenure on the comedy features—from 1988 through 1993—really taught him much about technique, particularly in lighting women. “Bobby was so careful with Priscilla Presley—it made a great impression,” he stresses. “On these films I learned how vital screen direction is, and how important it is for the assistant to understand what is going on. Directors will come up to you and ask which way the actor is looking—right or left—and that often depends on lighting. You’d better have been paying attention.”

While working on shows such as Raising Caines and Sweet Justice for Michael O’Shea, San Marten watched the cinematographer produce beautiful imagery on very small budgets. “When I assisted Mike on Bobby’s projects, I really learned how important it is for a first and an operator to work together,” he says. “That carried over when Steve Smith was operating and I was assisting. When we were in sync, we could get the director what he wanted, almost before he said it.”

One of San Martin’s most interesting challenges was assisting Bobby Stevens on the television show Live Shot. “It was ‘ER at a television station,’” he implies. “Most of the time, we were on a Steadicam. To be a first on a Steadicam is a challenge. Ideally, you have to be in a position to see where you are going because of the actors. Sometimes, they don’t hit their marks and the operator has to adjust the shot. An assistant still has to have everything in focus at all times.

“When you are on a moving shot, assistants are sometimes lit out of the shot. That means precision guesswork, and often times, you are not in the position where you should be, so you have to calculate everything—in milliseconds.

“The biggest challenge is knowing if you got the shot. On Steadicam, you can’t look at a monitor. The operator isn’t looking through the lens. You don’t really know—until dailies.”

Television’s other challenge, according to San Martin, is time. “Actors can say they need another take but operators might say it—and be told they can’t take the time. You don’t know how many times we’ve heard ‘We have to move on.’”

But Bob San Martin doesn’t mind the pressure—he relishes working in the various mediums from rock videos, television pilots and series, commercials, documentaries and features. “I like the job of assistant. We’re a valuable part of the team. I still enjoy the challenges and opportunities that my job brings, and I will for a long time.”

Eugene Jackson, Camera Operator

As a child, Eugene Jackson III had a happy home life, one filled with music and dance. A house with such an artistic climate is to be expected, considering that his father first gained Hollywood fame during comedy’s early days by playing “Pineapple” in the Hal Roach Studios’ Our Gang series.

“I guess I really didn’t realize what my father did for a living, until I got my first job as an actor,” reflects Jackson. “I used to see my dad get ready to go to the studio to act in various projects, or to play at clubs and private parties. I loved to dance with him at home and in the family’s dance school.

“However, in 1954, Paramount Studios was shooting Drum Beat [directed by Delmer Daves and starring Alan Ladd and Charles Bronson]. They needed two kids to dance in front of The White House and they chose my sister Hazeal and me. The minute I walked onto a set, I knew this was something I wanted to be a part of.”

Parts in films such as Shenandoah, The Land of Green Ginger (Shirley Temple’s Storybook), Johnny Eagle, Jungle Jim, and Porgy and Bess came fast and furious. “I was a singer or dancer. With my face, no one would buy me as a killer!”

As a child, while working in the movies or visiting his father, Jackson would collect bits and pieces of film from outdoor film bins. He would put them together to make his own little movies. This fueled his interest in working behind the lens. When he got to Chapman College, the camera became more than just a toy. “A professor suggested I get a job at Walt Disney Studios,” he smiles. “It was a cliché—I started in the mail room.”

After only a few months, the higher-ups recognized Jackson’s energy. He was given the choice of going into the editing room, or heading back to the stage. “I couldn’t get the feeling of being in the middle of all the activity out of my system,” he confides. “When I was a kid, I would always gravitate toward the camera. The grips would try to chase me away, but those cameras fascinated me.”

The Barefoot Executive was Eugene Jackson’s first official job as an assistant at Disney. He then went on to work with cinematographers like Harry Stradling Jr. ASC, Richard Kline ASC, Phil Lathrop ASC —all at MGM.

After eight years, he moved up to first assistant on a Universal Television series, shot by Enzo Martinelli, ASC. “It was the era of one-hour ‘mysteries,’” offers Jackson. “I would work on shows like Adam 12, Emergency, Bionic Woman, Six Million Dollar Man and Baretta.

“Multi-camera was getting stronger. So at one point, I got a call to go over to Paramount and interview for a show called Struck by Lightning [starring Jack Elam]. That move really changed my career.”

For five years, Jackson assisted cinematographer Wayne Kennan, ASC (who was then an operator) on projects like Mork and Mindy, Joanie Loves Chachie, Brady Brides, Buffalo Bill and Angie.  “It was really different, going from single-camera where you spent a week on one show, to a project that was finished in two days. On single camera, you are following a guy, zoom when you can, cut, and that is it. Multi-camera is very different.”

In 1983, director of photography George LaFountaine, ASC moved him up to operator. “Wayne left to do a single-camera show and, well, I’d been assisting for 13 years.”

Working behind the scenes on Newhart was another experience entirely. At first, he manned B-camera, then moving to C-camera. “B-camera is the master camera, brings actors in, covers the action and keeps all the action in frame. The lens can go from 25mm to 50mm,” he explains. “A-camera and C-camera cover the same action, but with a tighter lens. They pick up singles and over-the-shoulders with a 75mm to 125mm lens. Some wing cameras [with deep set] have a 10-to-1 [25mm to 250mm].

“For me, the wing camera is a little more difficult because there is less margin for error. On Linc’s [his most recent show], however, when I was on the master camera, I found that the challenge was keeping things out of frame—lights, other cameras, and such and still telling the story.”

Though it all seems a lot easier, now, “that first day was something,” he laughs. “I could hardly focus on the road, when I was driving home. My eyes were blurred from the concentration. While I was an assistant, I never realized how hard it was to focus through that little eyepiece for hours at a time!”

LaFountaine’s advice always remained foremost in his mind. “He told me that the operator was the captain of the camera. You have to make the shot, but you also have to direct two different people — the assistant and the dolly grip. While I watch the actors as they block a shot for the first time, I will actually move with them, setting the camera movement in my mind. I can then talk with both dolly grip and assistant. We’ll mark the camera moves on the floor for the dolly grip, at the same time choosing the lens size and focal length with the assistant, to get the best shot.

“Once that is done, then we look for our next mark—together. Since all four cameras are blocking at the same time, it becomes a communication between 12 camera people instead of just three. When you have this amount of movement, it is vital for each camera crew to talk to each other!”

As a film show, Evening Shade broke from the traditional type of multi-camera style. “It was 1990, and Burt Reynolds wanted to do things a little differently. Burt had strong feelings about making this as different as possible. We went outside a lot—and did more than a few single-camera shots.”

“It wasn’t the traditional master and cross master,” continues Jackson. “We did feature framing, which meant that an operator had to be on all the time. We also ran 2000-foot loads [running for about 20 minutes]. That meant that the scenes could go longer. There was less margin for error and more to concentrate on.

“In addition, we had a video feed from each camera to a monitor, which showed all four cameras on a quad screen. Not only could the director give us more moves, there were more ‘suggestions’ about our work. Now, the camera assistant and dolly grip would have a small monitor to see the video feed from the camera.”

After Evening Shade, Jackson filled-in on Cybill, and even shot second unit for the feature Drop Zone (shot by Roy Wagner, ASC). “Doing plates in the middle of a B-52 bomber was certainly different from working on stage.”

Recently, Jackson reunited with Wayne Kennan (now a director of photography) on the short-lived It’s Like, You Know before securing a spot on Linc’s. “A fascinating project, because it was Showtime, which meant the scripts could be stronger, and also because of the formula—a four-wall show with no audience. So, we would block and shoot and then move on. Again, we’re talking a little bit feature and a little multi-camera—always something new.”

For Eugene Jackson, that novel adventure is always around the corner. Most recently, he shot one of the toughest jobs around—a live show on the air. “Talk about pressure,” he laughs. “That’s where you can’t make a mistake. If you do, it’s out there—you can’t call the shot and take it back. Not that we’ve had that many we’d have wanted to call!”