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Sarah Jones Is All Of Us

When I was a kid, I would watch the behind the scenes footage of my favorite films and think “the clapper” had the coolest job on set. Truth be told, the 2nd AC is one of the most grueling jobs. I work pretty closely with them now: determining how to slate a scene, going over camera reports, making sure our paperwork coincides so the lab and editorial have all the information they need to cut what we shot on a given day. They’re usually one of my favorite humans on set. At the start of a job, they usually meet me with trepidation. Turns out, some script supervisors aren’t the nicest (World: Be nice! It’s not that hard). Periodically, throughout the day, we take care of business, say something mildly snarky or wildly inappropriate to make the other person laugh. And then they run off… to mark an actor’s position so the 1st AC can hit their focus or grab a lens or reload the camera or change a battery or push one of many ridiculously heavy carts piled high with equipment so it’s not in the shot but still easily accessible. And they push it uphill, in the mud, in the rain, through the snow, in sweltering heat, you name it.

Sarah Jones was one of those dedicated 2nd ACs. She was struck by a train while filming Midnight Rider nearby Savannah, GA. She was 27 years old. Holy moly, that’s young. She had her whole life ahead of her. I have no idea but I’d bet money Sarah grabbed equipment as she ran from the train. Because that’s what an AC does. Always protects the equipment. But who was protecting the humans?

I don’t know Sarah Jones. I apologize in advance to those who knew and loved her if it seems disrespectful of me to comment on anything surrounding her death. But like many in the film and television industry, I am heartbroken over this tragedy. Because she is one of us. Very few industries can boast such a strong feeling of camaraderie. The film business is filled with a strange and wonderful brand of humans. We spend 14+ hours a day together (Yup. That’s a standard day.) and every set is like a family. We share secrets, tell stories, get each other through bad days and eat off each other’s plates. I’ve had everyone from an Additional Grip to big movie stars just walk up and stick their hand into my bag of chips, without a word. We fall in love, have children, mourn the losses of loved ones, make each other laugh like crazy, fight like siblings, see the world, and create some amazing (and not so amazing) work together. We’re a community, a family. And beyond making art, that’s what keeps people in a business that can at times be maddening, always exhausting, and rarely glamorous. But it should never be dangerous.

And yet here we are. Zach Goldberg wrote a spot-on blog about this tragedy that included the repeated button “We must get this shot”. And it got me thinking. How we rarely speak up when something doesn’t feel right, how we all comply to rules that we believe are there to protect us, and how we always follow the voice in our head that says “We must get this shot.” no matter what. It’s that drive and that spirit that got us into this business. But it’s a greater mentality that leaves us all feeling invincible. Including those who make the rules. And that has to stop. Sarah’s legacy will save lives because it will force all of us to look at our own culpability in the “We must get this shot” mentality.

Not too long ago, I was shooting on a boat inside a water tank that was supposed to be heavily weighted as if it were sunken halfway. I was alone in the bow of the boat, trying to stay out of the shot. I was in a full wetsuit, my walkie in protective plastic, so I could call rolls and cuts for the crew outside the boat. The water seemed a little high so the Director and I questioned it. But it wasn’t feasible to empty some water from the already submerged boat. I was on the tip of my toes and up to my neck. Oh well, I’m pretty short, I thought. Just after we called action, I felt a rush of water on my neck that pushed me forward so that I hit the side of a small closet and went under. The bow was going down first so I had to keep my head close to the ceiling of the boat for air as I swam around seat cushions and debris that had now risen to the top of the water and were keeping me down. I was struggling and I was terrified. The DP then grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the exit where the few camera people and the lead actor were already going through. I came out and immediately thought of the camera. It’s expensive! Don’t let it get ruined! (Idiot). We all jumped into the tank and then were pulled out onto a platform by the Marine Coordinators. After I took a shower, I sat still for a long time, wondering how this could happen. Cast and crew often commiserated about glaring examples of Producer incompetence. The set was chaotic and we weren't finishing the work. I was rescheduling, handwriting the call sheet in between shots, informing them about meal penalties, wrangling cast, doing way more than I bargained for. And they didn’t even put the boat (or a similar test boat) in the water until the Friday before shooting started. Come on. I wondered if I should just leave. I was already going above and beyond, as we all do in this business. But now it felt like it was above and beyond what was sane. Later that evening, one of the visiting Executive Producers commented “Isn’t this all so exciting?!”

Then I thought I was being overly dramatic. Shit happens. Suck it up. Because that’s what we do. We all rationalize those nagging feelings because we want to do the best job we can, we believe that whatever we’re working on is the most important thing in the world, we know we killed ourselves getting to where we are (and there are 50 people who’d take our job in a heartbeat), and we know “We must get this shot.”  I loved the Director, the Cast, the people, the project. So I stayed. And not two weeks later, when we were in a larger tank preparing to sink the boat for real... I was standing on said boat, submerged almost fully in the water. In fact, I was the last person on the boat besides the actor. Just as the cameras rolled and the boat starts to really go under, I jumped to the drifting platform. Sucker or Stupid? Which of these two people do I want to be? Neither.

The terrifying reality is that something like this happens all too easily. We’ve all been in various situations that didn’t feel safe and didn’t say anything, either because we assume that the people in charge have it covered or because we don’t think it’s our place. Shooting on an active street without proper police lock-offs? Check. Hanging outside the back of a moving car for a driving shot? Check. Jumping into the ocean with 10-15 sharks that just came for chum the production boat threw? Check. Location with one fire exit that’s inevitably blocked for a few camera set-ups? Check. There are a bazillion of these stories. The exhaustion factor alone is a big hazard. In 1997, Brent Herschman fell asleep at the wheel driving home after a 19 hour day. That sparked the 12on/12off movement, but it quickly fizzled. As often as we talk about the dangers of long hours and lack of sleep, that’s still not an uncommon work day. Grip, Camera, Electric, Set Dressing etc handle heavy equipment/set pieces and put together pretty huge contraptions that could fall and injure someone or themselves, on minimal sleep. Props sometimes handles live weapons, and they're exhausted. Production Assistants, protected by Local 000, work insanely long hours. They’re usually on set many hours before the rest of the crew. As has now become the norm on indie films, after an 18+ hour day they are then required to get behind the wheel of of van and drive cast and crew home. And then be up in 5 hours (if they’re lucky) to do it all over again. It never occurs to them to speak up. It’s just part of the job. Putting yourself in harm’s way shouldn’t be part of the job.

I bet some studios will start insisting on more safety training. Sure, seems fine. But until you curtail that “We must get this shot” mentality, starting from the highest positions in this industry on down, those classes are about as effective as preaching abstinence in high school. We all know how to be safe. But that “We must get this shot” voice always takes over. So there needs to be an actual forward movement. Sarah’s death and the outpouring of support via Slates For Sarah and the like prove that we as an industry are ready for change. And we know that it has to come before that cowboy mentality gets even more out of hand. Because now, it’s all about making movies and TV cheaper and faster. And that inevitably leads to bad decision making. Whether they have 30 years of experience or not. And what’s even more frightening is that frankly, these days, any dummy can be a producer. We’ve all seen them. People who have money or a famous friend or are wizards of crowdsourcing. There’s TWELVE Producers on Midnight Rider. Who was thinking about safety? Now, I don’t mean to Producer bash. I am one myself. And I’ve worked for some really smart, efficient, wonderful Producers that would never be this reckless with crew lives. I am grateful for them. I have learned from them. I will emulate them. But that voice is in all our heads, the invincible voice.

Much has been reported about what happened on Midnight Rider. I do hope the full truth will come to light. I believe that there are a few people who know that truth. And they are probably having a hard time looking at their face in the mirror.

What I do know is this: Trains do not run, nor veer off course without protocol. They are scheduled and maintained and monitored, much like airplanes. No train ever just takes a left for the hell of it. It is clear that the Producers did not procure the necessary permits to shoot on an active railroad. Bare minimum, they found out the commercial railroad schedule and adhered to that (which is why the crew waited for two trains to pass before setting up the shot) but producers neglected to account for freights and the like (hence the surprise third train).

This is negligence, plain and simple.

Producers are supposed to step up and oversee that such complicated shots are done economically AND safely. When asked whether they permission to shoot on the tracks, Jay Sedrish, Executive Producer, said “It’s complicated.” That is disturbing. Nick Gant, a Production Executive, was quoted as saying “No corners were cut” and about having people on the crew with 30+ years of experience. You don’t need experience to know that it’s an unwise choice to film on an active railroad without proper approval. This is about being a smart and responsible HUMAN. Whose job it is to protect the crew as swiftly as they protect the budget, does not put people on an ACTIVE railroad without taking all of the necessary safety precautions. Gant also insists there were “weeks of communications and meetings”. Likely, those meetings were about how to shoot the scene, not how to keep the crew safe while doing so.

My guess is the crew believed when they walked out onto that railroad that there was a safety system in play. Because it’s not the 2nd AC’s job or the grip’s job or the script supervisor’s job or an actor’s job to monitor the safety regulations. A Producer procures the permission and then outlines the safety guidelines for the crew to follow. They usually do this with the help of a Location Manager, who does the legwork in getting such agreements. And Location Managers are usually the first line of defense when such agreements can’t be made. They inevitably say it can’t be done. You won’t find a Location Manager who say’s “We don’t have permission but sure, go ahead. Just be inconspicuous!”. Because, at the simplest level, they know that if anything goes wrong (even minor damage), they’ll have to answer to the owner of the location. Piss off a location site’s owner and they’ll never be allowed back (they usually use the same locations for many jobs) and their reputation is in jeopardy (which paramount in an LM’s career). In my experience, Location Managers are pretty by the book. So IF(!) Charlie Baxter (the LM on this movie) told them they didn’t have permission, it’s on the Producers. They make the ultimate decision to adhere to or bend the rules to suit the needs of the production. Some fail to do that to a dangerous extent. In this case, it was fatal. Time and an investigation will tell the whole story. But whoever is at fault deserves to be punished for that gross negligence.

No shot is working risking lives. As Zach Goldberg put it, “We just making movies.” We’re not curing cancer, people. It’s a business, yes. And it’s designed to make money. But the price should never be a young woman’s life. We all, from the heads of studios to every crew member, anyone who participates in this wonderful business of filmmaking… we owe it to her to really call for a higher quality of working conditions and to change that “We must get this shot” mentality pulsing in all of our brains. It got us here.

Sure, we’ll always be a little bit wild. We’re film people, carnies, free spirits. Based on what I’ve read and seen about Sarah, she was a fun-loving, hard-working, adorable creature who loved bacon. Sounds like my kinda girl. She’ll forever be part of this wacky and wonderful community of film people. And I’ll think about her often. Slates for Sarah is a wonderful and apropo tribute. As we move forward, I hope there is justice for Sarah. And a movement towards real change in the industry to value the men and women that actually make these films and TV shows, that do what it takes to “get the shot”. We deserve to make it home. Sarah deserved better. And Sarah is all of us.

http://www.pledgetosarah.org/