Wet Nickers = Good TV

Making a living in the film/video business takes an ambidextrous soul. I've never been afraid to grab a camera and dangle from something precarious to get the shot. I like getting the shot. I would imagine that it produces in me the same cocktail of dizzying endorphins that a long distance runner might enjoy. Since I am not a long distance runner I can only surmise.

A few of the more bone-headed moves I pulled over the years include hanging out the side of a mini-van to shoot a moving bus, climbing a rickety old grain silo to film pigeons, or shooting any number of music videos in the "bad" part of Chicago.

In the 14 years I've been doing this, I can honestly say that I've only broken a couple of things. One was a monitor, and I'm blaming the c-stand on that one. The other was a light, but who amongst us hasn't shattered a light, or two?

I once heard a story of a camera-op who set his 90 thousand dollar digi-beta cam on a dock so that he might extend a hand to another getting off the boat. The camera was just a hair to close to the edge, and as the gentleman helped his friend ashore they both watched as the camera teetered, and then kur-sploshed into the drink. 90K - gone, just like that. It happens, and as I knock on my own head, I'll say I'm glad that it's never happened to me. Knock on wood.

The monitor was only 3K, and that hurt plenty. Damn you, cursed C-stand! By far the most dangerous piece of equipment on set!

Ted Lega, executive producer of HotCakes and Protein Editorial, calls me during a grey and chilly Chicago spring morning.

"It's gunna be run-n-gun footage of guys test drivin boats in Miami. You interested?"

"Does a rabbit bump it's ass a-hopping?"

I'd like to think that the reason that I have escaped injury, and for the most part, expensive repair bills, is because I take calculated risks. Calculated to be in favor of me not falling off a speeding boat, while not dead-ing myself in order to keep shooting, kind of risks. Often though, its just dumb luck that gets us through, and if you don't believe in luck, a sympathetic Universe.

Case in point, the Miami shoot was progressing nicely. Already on our second day the line of test drivers was shrinking and we had plenty of footage in the can to sell the spot. It was towards the end of the day and the setting sun was starting to make things look really pretty. We raced past each other at breakneck speed. We climbed an abandoned house in stilts-ville and zoomed past some more for overhead shots on the cheap. It was while the boat was at a dead stop that calamity nearly ruined the trip.

We were on a 20 foot long deep-sea fishing vehicle built for speed and there was limited room for myself and the audio technician to operate in. While we decided on the next direction to tear off in, the audio guy squeezed past me as I leaned backwards to give him more room. The decks were wet and my trainers slipped out from under me. I fell backwards over the side rail.

What happened in the next half a second was as follows: I could see the reflection of my own horrified face in the shinny sunglasses of the equally horrified sound guy as he looked up from his dials to see me receding overboard, camera in hand. He reached forward to grab me. I pushed the camera forward towards his chest, and yelled, "camera!" His arms closed around the Sony EX3 like a venus fly trap snaring a bug. I went over the side. Splash, tethered to the boat by my headphones!

I was back in the boat as quick as I went over.

On the way back to the dock we decided to leverage my dripping drawers to see if we could give Ted Lega, the director and producer of this gig, a mild aneurism by insinuating that the camera had been lost to Davy Jones. The south Florida, sun-kissed face of Mr. Lega went Chicago winter white when I threw my hands in the air cursing the rolling seas and gravity.

When we finished torturing Teddy there was one more shot to get.

"there's a spot, only 3-5 foot deep, we could zoom past about 10 feet away going 60 mph."

"well, my shorts are already wet."

So over I went again. On purpose this time.

written by: Edward Seaton