From the first days in Montreal, there was a
sense the city was the right place to make the film. Not simply because
locations suited the style we imagined, but also it was an inviting place to
live and work, an urban mix of North America and Europe which was personally appealing.
In fact, we had originally envisaged a Washington DC setting for the story; yet
years of development had subsequently evolved into a New York base. When we
worked on the film with John Heyman at World Film Services, we were taken on a
tour of the Bronx to get a feel for the environment – it was an interestingly short
experience, since we were told not to get out of the vehicle when approaching
more interesting yet threatening locations and our twitchy driver claimed we
were being followed by a gang.
The contrast of a rainbow both visually and
metaphorically, brilliant colours and the hope of escape, would have made an
interesting contrast with the bleak background, yet we wanted to go for
something more. After all, our concept was for the world to fall apart, and the
threat of apocalyptic conditions wouldn’t have provided such a visceral
contrast if we were already establishing an initially distressed setting.
Instead, Montreal provided us with the opportunity for older, small-scale
community neighbourhoods amid sparkling, modern city structures.
The six weeks of prep at Ealing Studios had given
us a solid creative heart. Now we needed to spread wings and incorporate a
larger team. Initially based out of the imposing Hotel du Parc, with its
expansive view of the Montreal mountain and its dominant cross. We had teamed
up with Filmline International and producer Nicolas Clermont. He had an office
in an impressive redbrick building in the heart of the Old Town district, and was
a welcoming host, especially when we first visited in the dead of winter. Right
from the start, a regular haunt became Chez Gautier restaurant where
negotiations, arguments and laughter often played out. Indeed, it wouldn’t be
hard to exaggerate that the quality of food was a major bonus of working in
Quebec over a period of two years!
As we embarked on location recces across the
city during the summer of ’94, there was a real sense of inspired togetherness.
Like most productions, the creative adrenaline of exploring and imagining
storytelling played out on real streets kept everyone on a high, especially with
genial, receptive production designer Claude Paré and happily stressed costume
designer Janet Campbell on board.
Bob had also been introduced to composer Alan
Reeves, who joined us in Ealing and was now to be with us throughout prep and
shoot. Alan had some peculiar demands regarding accommodation which ruled him
out of staying at hotels as he burrowed away at mining melodies. In fact, Alan
always appeared at every location, keyboard at the ready, plugging in
headphones and losing himself in musical ideas. At the time, nobody knew
how this was going to work out, especially when Bob and Alan became enamoured with
the sound of the Jew’s Harp.
The primary and most vital consideration became
casting. Through Bob’s veteran CCA agent Fred Specktor, we were able to
approach Dan Aykroyd, whose enthusiasm for the police probably played as much a
part in his coming on board to play a smalltown Kansas sheriff as the quality
of the script. We also managed to secure seasoned pro Saul Rubinek, who Bob had
worked with on “Sweet Liberty”, to play a sympathetic teacher. However, the
real intangible was always going to be finding the four kids at the heart of
the story.
Bob’s stated aim was to find “real kids”, saying
he wanted understated performances, stripping away any tendency towards
overacting – the innocence of a disaster movie through the eyes of children. The
auditions set up by our enthusiastic casting directors presented us with much
choice – however Bob tended to latch onto kids too immediately without going
back to explore their abilities further. Without prior experience, they
certainly had a naïve, fresh quality; however, working on a set, in front of an
expectant crew when money is being burnt through by the second, was always
going to be a risk. At least, for the older brother, the already experienced
Jacob Tierney was chosen.
We also cast an Australian cattle dog, Sonny, who
was indeed perfect for the role, despite issues we were subsequently going to
have with the trainers. As Bob said, here was an animal that could run
sideways.
Immediate, intuitive decision-making as a
director tended to become a trait of Bob’s as we sunk deeper into prep.
Strangely his work on the character of Frank, amateur magician and kindly
uncle, was much more considered. The seeds of unease for coming production were
being sown.
Bob’s involvement was a primary part of why we
were making the film. Especially in the UK, yet increasingly across
international markets through the success of films like “Who Framed Roger
Rabbit”, “Mermaids” and “Hook”, he was an attractive star name. Originally, Bob
had come onto the project solely as director, a prospect we actively
encouraged. Yet our sales agent, Marie Vine, was particularly persuasive, and
she needed Bob’s on-screen potential for pre-sales. In the end, it wasn’t a
prolonged issue to get his involvement as actor, the kindly grandfather was a
good role – the most difficult part of the deal was the expensive demand for wigs
needed since he was adamant the character would be long-haired!
As a director, and subsequently actor, Bob was
always a willing partner in selling the potential of the film. When we met with
Cary Granat, then at Universal, he was an enthusiastic collaborator and when
the offer was made for us to consider a development deal with the studio, he
was also a supporter of our making the movie independently. He believed it was
better to maintain creative control and prove with the final product what a
good film we had. Subsequently, there were ongoing visits to Montreal from Universal
representatives, and we always seemed to be on the verge of a distribution deal,
yet it never solidified. In the end, it was wariness of our unproven digital
technology.
The other solid interest for the US market came
from neophyte studio Savoy Pictures. In fact, it was more than interest, there
was a commitment and a deal proposed. For one of the only times, we were sent
an internal reader’s report from Stacey Attanasio, who was VP for their Motion
Pictures division at the time – it was a glowing appreciation, not only for the
craft of the script but also perfectly summing up and understanding our
thematic ambitions. It was an energizing affirmation.
Unfortunately, while we were still in pre-production,
Savoy’s initial film releases fizzled at the box office and as a result skewered
company finances. Any deal was on a permanent hold.
Making the film as an official co-production
between Canada and the UK did mean, however, that we had to secure a Canadian
distributor. It was a mandatory part of the treaty agreement. We’d completed the
British side of the equation when the deal with First Independent was hammered out
at the Cannes Film Festival and there had already been initial interest from
Allegro Films Distribution, headed by Franco Battista. But our co-producer
Nicolas was wary. Indeed, there were already frissons of disagreement bubbling
up over the budget and the best way to make the film, with our argument that
the money really needs to end up on the screen, rather than syphoned off on
production fees. In any case, regarding Allegro there was no way Nicolas
believed we’d achieve the figures in the sales estimates. That made us even
more determined to arrange a meeting and prove him wrong.
The eventual get-together we had with Allegro
delivered even more than we’d imagined. And yet, despite the additional
financial input, it only caused a further split in the working relationship
with Nicolas. Maybe it felt like we were stepping on toes in Montreal, yet our
core team established back in Ealing was determined to make the film we’d collectively
imagined. Pushbacks on production and budget, matters that stretched way beyond
creative differences, were coming to a head. It all ended in a pivotal meeting
in the Filmline office, where the careful closing of a file was the sign for Bob
and us to leave a dispiriting collision of ideas. It was a shame that it
dampened the working relationship with Nicolas, though he steadfastly abided by
the co-production agreement. It was a production issue rather than personal. Line
producer Stewart Harding was now assigned to the production on a day-to-day
basis.
For a while in Montreal, work and time became
painfully extended. A remaining gap in the finance plan (part of the remnants
from our abortive time at Ealing and a floundering relationship with their
on-site financing arm Screen Partners) meant we couldn’t close with Berliner
Bank on overall funding against pre-sales, estimates, investment and subsidies.
The situation was finally resolved by Gary Smith, our Winchester partner back
in London, and we finally moved into the full prep offices down by the Saint
Lawrence River and initiated studio construction of the main apartment set.
In an expansive and empty industrial space, big
enough to host the warmth of the art department (the place always to go to on
any production when you need to de-stress) and costume department, a myriad of offices
was established under the control of flamboyant, imperious production manager, Mychèle
Boudrias. Despite our basic understanding of school-taught French, the conflict
of language would be a constant if often humorous dilemma – especially when
production meetings descended into ricocheting differences in the local Quebec dialect,
and we had to demand English so we could understand what was going on. It also took
some time getting used to a unisex toilet!
Work on the script continued unabated, whether
for creative or budgetary reasons. Actually, it was mostly to accommodate the
budget, which necessarily reduced much of the apocalyptical chase sequence near
the story’s end. It did help us, though, to sharpen dialogue and characters for
our actual actors.
In September 1994, a couple of weeks before the
shoot was scheduled to commence the camera crews gathered, spearheaded of
course by Freddie Francis. Alongside him were two operators for A and B
cameras, John Palmer and John Warwick, both plucked from the UK, while locals filled
out the remainder of the unit. That was the traditional camera crew team. But of
course, there was another, entirely different part of the department, who
arrived from across the US – the Sony High Definition unit – with the truck,
support equipment and cameras driven up from Texas or imported from California.
The main purpose of the first week was to assimilate the two sides – the
traditional film crew and the pioneering HD digital team. Both were respectful
of each other, and both were similarly arrogant in their superiority.
It was fascinating to see the technology up
close, even more to enter the HD operation hub in the control truck. It was
quickly obvious that ingenuity would be needed to cope with the umbilical cords
attached to the cameras. But beyond the technical, it was also obvious that
creating a bond between the separate disciplines was going to take time and
effort.
On the one hand, the traditional elites of a
hundred-year industry of celluloid, the flickering and ephemeral magic at 24
frames per second that professionals had perfected and abused.
On the other, technical nerds dealing in
digital code, seeking a visual hyper-reality without motion blur, and convinced
of a digital future – using our movie as practical proof (and trial) that feature
films could be made this way.
Necessarily, both sides had their own
methodology and prejudices. The secret would be to somehow mesh these
sensibilities. For the first few days this meant basic camera and lighting
tests, the two crews getting used to each other and the new equipment. It was
also working out systems and a chain of command, because once on the shoot
there couldn’t be delays.
In fact, after a few days sparring it did seem
to be working out. The day before commencing principal photography, we
scheduled a test shoot, taking the camera and HD units thirty minutes outside
Montreal to Clarenceville, a small community of little more than a thousand. A
wide landscape of cornfields comfortably doubled for Kansas, where the kids
land after flying through the rainbow. Simple shots included a car driving by
while the camera moved up to reveal our Art Department sign stating: SATIVA
FALLS.
It was an efficient few hours. The shots were
completed without fuss. The units worked in tandem. We felt confident for the
proper shoot, and that whatever minor kinks needed to be ironed out, they could
be dealt with as we proceeded.
After all the only added elements would be a
director, kids, and a dog.
What could go wrong?
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