Conversion Shooting Diary :: Day One

1 August, 2009

So this is it! After months of planning, we’re finally ready to capture the first moments of Conversion on film. Well, on digital format. One of the reasons that we’re actually able to afford to do this is that there is no film involved. Behold the magic of technology.

We’ve assembled on a quiet-ish (not quite as quiet as we had thought when we scouted the location all of a week before) street in an area on the northwest slope of Westmount, but that’s really part of Cote-des-Neiges. Dom had recalled the place because a friend of ours used to live down the street. I’d almost taken an apartment in the building in front of which we’re shooting, which somehow strikes me as a good omen. Even at the moment, I realize that this is because I’m looking for good omens.



As we prepare, Ash and I getting wired for sound and discovering a heretofore unknown issue- “chest hair noise”- I’m quietly having a moment of panic, because for the first time in months, something that should have been obvious has occurred to me: I have no bloody idea what I’m doing.

This is something that I’ve managed mostly to ignore as we were prepping the film, but as I’m studying the bus schedule, trying to determine when we’ll be able to take advantage of a bus passing in order to start filming the scene, I’m suddenly painfully aware that, not only do I know nothing about making a film, I know nothing about how to do the individual tasks I’m supposed to be doing as part of the film. I don’t even know if I can act. Sure, I’ve been a table reads (a term I didn’t know until I started working on the film) of the script and those have gone fine, but I always knew I could read. The sum total of my acting experience is playing roles in some harmless comedy skits on a TV show I worked on in high school, the longest and most challenging of which was called Vampire Vixens from Planet Russia. (I’m not making that up.)

To help me relax, the Director of Photography yells from where he is setting up across the street to make sure I know that we have exactly one chance to get the first shot right. Because the bus only comes every twenty minutes, by the time the next one arrives, the light of the setting sun will have changed and we will be out of luck. He’s right, of course, but that’s not exactly what’s running through my head at that moment.

Moments later, I allow myself to take it as another good sign when the miracle comes together. The bus passes, Ash and I say our lines properly and we manage to walk from the bus stop out of frame without falling into the bushes, tripping on the uneven sidewalk, or otherwise causing a derailment. I still don’t know if I can act, but I’m content in the knowledge that I can at least be competent, something which I had been doubting moments before.

Our first night, as it turns out, is an ambitious one. We had originally scheduled three short scenes (the first one being the most complicated), but because of a scheduling conflict, we’ve had to add another. Circumstances force us to constantly be rushing, which would make me more nervous if things didn’t seem to be moving along with relative ease. A few bumps and bruises (mostly me, being clumsy) and some “personality quirks” of the camera aside, we’re making what seems like good time.

Of course, as we’re leaving our first location, we pass the cops someone has called because they’re annoyed by the sound of our generator. (Lady, it’s barely 8 o’clock. It’s still light out and even we can’t hear the generator over the sound of the cars when they pass. You need to find yourself a hobby or something.)

As we’re filming in a local park a scene which involves the time-honoured literary tradition of hurling toilet paper at stuff, we’re surprised when one of our onlookers, about 12 years old, asks if she can help with the tossing. Since it wouldn’t fit the story, I have to say no, but part of me still wishes that we could have worked her in somehow. Random kid hanging out with people in their thirties, throwing toilet paper on things. On second thought, that sounds a little creepy.

Still later, in a tunnel that connects two otherwise completely distinct sections of NDG, we have another volunteer offer to supply some custom graffiti as background decoration. This is an offer that we are happily able to accept and so Conversion, which will be notable for the great tapestry of graffiti that serves as its backdrop, gets a custom piece of work.



Some time between two and three, we are able to complete everything that we had on our schedule. I’m a little rattled to see the time, not so much because it’s late and we’re filming the next day, but because I realize how badly I’ve underestimated the time it will take to do even simple work. In seven or eight hours, on four locations, we have probably assembled what will form all of two to three minutes of film. We have a very long way to go. The important thing is, we’ve made a start. Heading home, I’m too tired to rationally reflect on the quality of what we’ve done, but as I’m drifting off to fitful sleep, I’m aware that I have a good feeling.

Thanks for the memories... I think

I had this wonderful idea that, as we were filming Conversion, I was going to be able to record my thoughts day by day, capturing each new and exciting moment within a day or two of shooting. After all, we were only shooting on weekends and a few select week days, right? So, with everything so carefully planned in advance, there was absolutely nothing for me to do during filming except stand in front of the cameras and act, right?

Wow, it's funny how idiotic that logic sounds in retrospect.

I don't know what I was thinking when that idea came into my head, but I certainly wasn't considering the fact that, when we started shooting, we didn't have locations for some shoots, we hadn't accounted for the fact that we'd have to drop one night of the scheduled shoot completely because our lead actor had a conflict and even some of the cast remained to be finalised (in fact, as I was to discover in the coming weeks, even some of the cast that had been finalised wasn't quite "finally finalised"). And that's not even taking into account the number of questions that one can get asked on a film set that one has never before considered, but which nonetheless demand to be answered. Where do you have to take those cables? How the f**k should I know? Except that I'm supposed to know, because I'm one of those people who's supposed to know what they're doing on this set. That's kind of a scary concept.

So I never did get around to writing my filming diary the way that I wanted to, but the good news (depending on your point of view) is that I take pretty good notes and I have a pretty good memory, and no one has yet established a statute of limitations on writing about experience.

In other words, the shooting diary is still a live project. So stay tuned here, because for the next couple of weeks, I'll be rehashing all the highs and lows, lessons learned and problems solved, of filming Conversion... learn from our fails and take strength from our wins. This is how we managed, with no external funding and no industry support, to get a feature film shot.

Been Up to Much?

So it’s been a while now that things have been slow around these parts. You might be forgiven for thinking that we’d simply lost steam and that Conversion was on the proverbial backburner. Not so!

In fact, we’ve been caught up in the adventure known as post-production. After all the work of filming is done, of course, you need to sit and look at what you have and figure out which bits are usable and which aren’t (see “roof collapse” below for an example of the latter). Unlike filming, which is intense and focused and fast-paced, post-production moves at tortoise-speed, slowly and steadily (if you do it right) bit by bit assembling a movie from the varied fragments of footage. This also tends to be the time during which you say “uh-oh” or some other four-letter variant a lot.

After all, this is where you’re stuck. When you’re filming, if something doesn’t work, you have the possibility of being able to go back and shoot the same section again. Once everything is over and the set decorations have been sitting in the trunk of the car for a while, or people have started doing funky things with their hair, or there are piles of snow around when the rest of the picture takes place in the summer, that opportunity is definitively no longer there. What you have is what you’re going to live with, so if something is missing or messed up, you’d better learn to work around it.

That’s where the talent of a good editor comes in. These are guys who work in the background of the background. Unlike those involved in filming, whether in front of or behind the camera, the editor comes in after the fact to work his or her magic. Most of the people involved in the film don’t even get a chance to interact with him.

With Conversion, we got very lucky when Ben Goloff joined the team. He’s spent the last months helping us bring coherence to this project, trimming what needs to be trimmed, cleverly shifting from one shot to another when there are little boo-boos that need to be hidden, ensuring that serendipitous unexpected moments find their way into the final picture. It’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of long, hard work that requires great patience and an exceptional eye for detail (two characteristics I appreciate greatly, since I possess neither). And gradually, something is emerging. Something that, if we do say so ourselves, is pretty damn cool. But you’ll have to wait a bit longer for that.

In the meantime, here’s a little clip to introduce you to Ben and hear him describe his background and involvement in Conversion in his own words.

The Sky is Falling

When we were in pre-production, I kept making this list of all the things that I could think of that could go wrong. It got to be a pretty long list, really. Given the number of outside scenes, inclement weather could have seriously compromised our ability to finish shooting. Our lack of permits to film outside could have gotten us shut down or even arrested. One of our locations could have backed out at the last minute.

But the remarkable thing was, while there were some definite hitches in the master plan, we were almost eerily fortunate. We were able to overcome our problems without missing a beat, which is something that most big-budget features can't claim. By the time we were close to finishing, I was starting to feel like we were home free.

Then the roof fell in. Seriously. Fell in. Crash.



The most shocking thing about this is that, with half our set destroyed and several shots remaining, everyone took five, shook it off and then came back to finish the day. And, yes, after the dust settled and the broken glass was swept away, we were able to shoot everything that we had planned.

It's a testimony to the kind of people who were involved in this project that the entire cast and crew stayed and pushed forward. What could have stopped the film dead in its tracks (and could have caused serious injury to the people on set) turned out to be nothing but a video anecdote on YouTube. That which does not kill the indie film apparently makes it stronger.

Being Julia

There are things that you know are going to be important to a film from the outset. If you know what you're doing, if your familiar with the script, you know that that a character's reaction is really important at a certain point, or that the way a scene unfolds depends greatly on the geography of a location being just right. And once you feel like you have those crucial things under control, that's when you can start adding the sort of additional details that add flesh to what you're developing.

One of the little details about playing the character of Julia that was really important to me was that whatever she wore, it should look just a little offbeat, a little different than what you might see on the forms of mannequins in department stores (even high end ones). The character is not supposed to be wealthy or showy, but needs to look a little different from the normal "Friday night out" gang.

Personally, I'm a big fan of a number of Canadian designers, so I'm very happy to have the opportunity to flaunt some of their wares on screen throughout the film. In fact, everything I wear playing the character of Julia is Canadian-designed and unavailable at mass retail. I'm not what you'd call jingoistic, but I'm pretty proud of that.

The outfit that I'm wearing through most of the film is from a company called Kollontai. (They haven't entered the web age yet, but their stuff is phenomenal and can be purchased here and at some other select boutiques). I'm also found traipsing around the scenery wearing items from Tension Clothing, Studio Gang, Slak and Pam Chorley. Every shoe on my feet (including those nice open toe ones that are great for elongating the legs and not so great for running around alleys) comes from John Fluevog and all the handbags (including not only mine but one that has a very special "cameo" in the film) are from Morris B. There are other indie designer appearances in the film as well from the likes of Biomechanical Candy and Romy Noel. (Even the make-up I'm wearing is from a Canadian company.)

I'm saying this not because of some sponsorship deal- all the items were either purchased or borrowed and returned. Certainly, I like to give some props to designers who I like, especially when they're home grown. But the reason why this detail was important is because I think that it dovetails so well with both the character and with the spirit of the film. After all, what's more encouraging to someone working independently than the sight of someone who's become successful (if often under-appreciated) doing the same thing. In fact, the one thing that links those designers is that they have made a career offering something that's just that little bit different, that little bit more distinctive, than what you can pick up just anywhere. The devil, as they say, is in the details.

A Thousand Words (or more) About a Picture

Here's an interview with Director Dominic Marceau, Actor Paul Ash and Writer/ Actor Kate MacDonald conducted by the radio show 'Beautiful Music for Ugly Children' on Montreal's CJLO.

But What Does it LOOK like?

Oh sure, you can TELL people you're shooting with a still camera, but that doesn't mean it LOOKS good. So we'd like you to judge for yourselves...