A few years back, I was working on a show where we had a scene that took place on the top floor of a parking structure. It was the tallest structure in the area and the director picked it because you could see most of the city. I can’t recall why, but we had a little bit of a delay and, as we sat there, I noticed that we were in the flight path of a local airport and planes were flying past us, somewhat low, from left to right every two minutes or so.

This will be a little esoteric without a specific example, but hopefully the idea comes through. When you are doing a shot that requires a lot of physical movement–handheld, a huge pan on a head where you need to walk around the dolly or sticks, even a steadicam shot–walk through the motions and set yourself up so that you make the hardest part of the shot as easy at it can be.

Film sets can run the gamut as far as how crazed they are, but, in the end, especially as the sun is setting, they generally resemble some form of mildly controlled chaos. Everyone has a job to do, everyone’s job is important, many jobs are dependent on other people doing their job first, and, through it all, the clock is always ticking. It's ironic, because, in the end, everyone is trying to achieve the same goal but no one wants to be the one who gets short-changed when it comes to time, so everyone is hustling all the time, interspersed with periods of intense boredom. It's an odd world, that’s for sure.

From the moment I got into the camera department, there was this very clear sense, although never stated, that the sound department and the camera department were at odds with each other. I’ve never understood it, to be honest, and as the film industry evolves and younger members come in, thankfully, it seems to be fading. But there is still a weird animosity that many of us can sense.

I’ve been an A Cam/Steadicam operator for 32 years now, and I can honestly tell you that I’ve done three shots that I am actually proud of (one was a lockoff).

None of them is perfect.

As I’ve grown as an operator (have I?), I have begun to recognize that what you show in the frame is often less important than what you don't show. Sure, you need to visually tell the story, but at the same time, as you are creating shots, you have to remember that this is not only a visual medium, but an audio medium as well, and most importantly... 

YOU DON'T NEED TO SHOW EVERYTHING!

I was working on the movie St Vincent, directed by Ted Melfi, a great director, doing his first feature, which starred Bill Murray and Melissa McCarthy. Ted came to our DP, John Lindley, and I with an idea for the end of the movie. He wanted a shot that started in the dining room–where the characters were all eating–that pulled away from them, pulled back out the front door, went up in the air and ended on a shot of all of Brooklyn.

OK, in reality, sometimes you have to clean the windows. On a car, in a house, in an office setting–you name it. My point is simply, before you clean a window, make sure it needs to be cleaned.

When I was younger I wasn’t very interested in safety. After all, I was 20-something years old, a young up-and-coming (hopefully) Steadicam operator, and I was invincible. We were all that way at some point, right? So, we stepped a little closer to the edge or a few inches towards that fire gag in order to get ‘the shot’–that one moment of cinematic genius that was going to put us on the map and make our careers.

At the end of the show, it is often customary to give wrap gifts to the people you have worked with. This isn’t mandatory and a lot of people don't do it, but I’ve always found it’s a nice way to thank the people who made your job easier.