Ed. Note: This is the story about the roughest day of work that I’ve had in the film industry yet. Details have been changed to protect the innocent, as well as the guilty, and to keep plausible deniability on my side.

I heard it before I saw it happening, but I didn’t need to see it to know where it was coming from. I had been talking to a few friends in the Props department when I noticed several heads turn quickly in the same direction at the exact same time. The yelling was unintelligible from my distance, save for the fact that it was obviously vitriolic. The exact words that left my mouth were, “Oh, fuck,” as I raced towards the brownstone before anyone could even call for me on walkie.

As I ran up, I saw the open window she was leaning out of as she ranted at the crew and background actors. When I was close enough to understand her, the first sentence I caught was, “You must think we just a bunch of dumb n*****s up here in Harlem.” At that point, the words, “Oh, fuck,” once again crossed my mind without leaving my tongue. This was about to get ugly.

She caught sight of me rushing towards the window as the rest of the crew retreated to their equipment carts, an act on my part which would be very much akin to running towards a mama bear trying to protect her cubs. Her eyes grew wide and her nostrils flared when she recognized me. “You! Get your lil’ coke ass up here and talk to me like a person, Goddamnit.”

9:00 AM- The first indicator that this day would be fucked sideways came right at call. The director arrived and changed the shot, essentially wanting things that had never before been mentioned on either the director’s scout or the tech scout. Prior to this, we were only supposed to see one side of the block. I had established a rapport with the neighbors on this side, or at least gotten them to, begrudgingly, agree to let us make changes necessary for picture. The new plan involved seeing the other side of the block, the side where I had only spoken to two residents, one of whom owned our hero location and the other who was the president of the block association. 

The president of the block association found me on Monday while I was talking to neighbors and highly suggested that we, the film company, make a donation to the block association. They could either help things go smoothly, she told me, or cause a “very bad time” for us. While I didn’t appreciate the threat, it was nice to know how she operated. I had been vaguely threatened for my skin color several times already that day, so the fact that she was merely implying that they could disrupt our filming didn’t phase me. I told her it was our policy to always donate to block associations, and that we were more than happy to do so. She didn’t even thank me, but instead told me that we had better, and reiterated just how difficult she could make life for me. When I spoke about the matter to my boss, I was informed that someone from the block association had already contacted them, and that a check was in the works. Great, I thought, problem solved. This is called foreshadowing, kids.

9:30 AM- A famous paparazzo shows up on set. I say famous, but he’s more infamous than anything. He’s a vulture. A cockroach. A mentally disturbed, manipulative piece of shit. He also happens to have a hard-on for me ever since that one time, about a month ago, when I got the police involved because he was trespassing on private property and wouldn’t leave when I spent a few minutes telling him that he knew better and asking him nicely. I wasn’t around, but several people have confirmed that he loudly announced that I would have problems if he found out who I was or if he saw me again. For as litigious as he is (he will sue anyone, and he’s made just as much money from that as from his photographs. He also had a craft service employee, and a sweet one at that, deported because she jokingly flipped him off when he was eating food that he shouldn’t have been), that’s not very smart. Thankfully, he’s so fucked in the head he didn’t even recognize me. Besides, he was about to become the least of my concerns.

10:00 AM- The word comes down that we’re going to scratch the original location for the scene that was supposed to shoot second. Depending on who you believe, there was an “official” reason for this, and a real, unofficial reason for the change. Let’s just say I can’t tell you either because the official explanation is more unbelievable than the truth. So, while background cars are placed and the camera is put into position, my boss and I head to the day’s second location (thankfully just around the corner) to try and find something feasible. We do, and we reach an agreement with the contact to use another part of their location. We’ve lost the money we spent on the original location and we have to pay the new location even more money, but at least we don’t have to tell the Producer we couldn’t find anything. Having solved that problem, I fly back to set, leaving my boss to deal with the logistics of getting this new set prepped while we film what is supposed to be a quick day exterior shot.

10:30 AM When I arrive back on set, they’re making last minute lighting adjustments and doing final touches on our actors. For all intents and purposes, it’s go time, which is usually when my job gets a bit easier, barring catastrophe. Well, enter catastrophe.

“Get you lil’ coke ass up here…” The words echoed in my head. I’ve been called many things in Harlem, but that was a new one. I walked towards the stoop, then up the stairs, coming to a stop on the landing as she met me at the door in her pajamas. She was on the verge of tears, the histrionics fully on display for all in attendance. Having spoken to, and having been vaguely threatened by, her previously, I knew it was all an act from the beginning. However, when there’s an angry, black woman making racial statements in front of a mostly white film crew in a predominately black neighborhood, the “She’s Faking It” card ends very, very poorly for me.

She didn’t let me get a word in edgewise for at least five minutes, a period which she spent insulting me and loudly lying about the contents of our prior conversation. Once she stopped berating me long enough to take a breath, I told her that no one had meant any disrespect and apologized while “ma’am”ing her to death. I told her that I would call my boss and have him come over, a phone call in which I had to convey the urgent nature of the situation to my boss without letting the rest of the crew realize just how bad the situation was. As it turned out, the person who had contacted us from the block association was actually from a separate block foundation. Her block association, as I had learned the day before, was all but defunct. Unfortunately, I was still unaware that there were two block associations and thought we were cutting her a check. I had been warned about her, and I was finding out why.

When my boss arrived, the Producer walked over for the first time and she began lying to them about the facts, apparently trying to get me fired for God-knows-what reason. Cut to me keeping a calm voice while trying to refute her claims while not giving her the “Are you calling me a liar?” card. Thankfully, she started to make less and less sense as her ranting droned on, and the Producer realized that maybe this woman didn’t have a legitimate claim. Still, she refused to go inside, and she had been joined on her stoop, dead in the center of the new shot, by her husband and another neighbor. Oh, good, I thought: the numbers are growing. It was about this point that she called another neighbor over and they started discussing money.

Having the facade of your building filmed does not require your consent. I want to say this again: Having the facade of your building filmed does not require your consent. We can’t look in your windows, but we can look at your windows. However, the background PA had, without my knowledge, placed background actors on a stoop that we didn’t have permission to use, putting us firmly in the wrong. Oh, leverage, how quickly you change hands.

OK, I figure, we’ll pay the woman who is in the right while I explain to the others why they don’t have a legitimate claim. Well, that’s what I would have done had any of them stopped talking indignantly for more than a second. I was aware that we were on a heavily-filmed block, but I had no idea just how much outrage all these folks had towards film crews which was now being directed at me. 

After what felt like only a few minutes, but turned out to be nearly 45, the Producer walked over again to mention that we were now falling behind schedule and to just go ahead and pay them all. I happily got out the necessary paperwork and had them all fill out their information. If it had been a hostage crisis, which it felt very much like, this would have been the equivalent of giving the hostage-taker everything on their list of demands and then having a sniper put a bullet in the hostage. 

11:15 AM- After nearly 45 minutes of being insulted based on everything from my skin color and intelligence to my lack of either manners or professionalism, the residents went back inside their homes and I walked away feeling like I had just been mugged in broad daylight in front of two hundred witnesses. To make things even better? The famous paparazzo used his phone’s video camera to get most, if not all, of the exchange on tape. Look for me on youtube soon!