Wednesday, March 17, 2004
My baby don’t care for clothes
Well, the film shoot was a pain in the arse. We ended up being there all day Friday & Saturday, most of Sunday, and most of Monday too. It was an interesting experience though - it’s amazing how many people seem to be needed to make an advert. There was a producer, a director, a cameraman, a couple of heavy-lifting types (grips??), a general organiser, a make-up lady, a looking after the kids woman, four or five clients, a nappy guy, and about 10 others with no apparent role other than lounging about on sofas looking bored. That little lot doesn’t even include the catering crew and the kids & parents.
Sunday’s jaunt was still photos for the nappy packet, while Friday, Saturday & Monday was action. Looking at the guys behind the camera, though, I was struck by one thing: they all looked like child molesters from central casting. Is this wise? Two year olds that you are filming cavorting around in your nappies, and you expect them to smile cheerfully at a leery old uncle?
Then, by coincidence, I watched a tape that a colleague had lent me from the Oscar ceremony, and it dawned on me. They are all modelling themselves on Peter Jackson. Oh Lordy.
Listening to: American Heartbeat, a compilation of REO-Speed-Foreigner type tracks. How can an album called American Heartbeat start with a song called Africa? Maybe it’s true that Americans don’t do irony.
Sunday’s jaunt was still photos for the nappy packet, while Friday, Saturday & Monday was action. Looking at the guys behind the camera, though, I was struck by one thing: they all looked like child molesters from central casting. Is this wise? Two year olds that you are filming cavorting around in your nappies, and you expect them to smile cheerfully at a leery old uncle?
Then, by coincidence, I watched a tape that a colleague had lent me from the Oscar ceremony, and it dawned on me. They are all modelling themselves on Peter Jackson. Oh Lordy.
Listening to: American Heartbeat, a compilation of REO-Speed-Foreigner type tracks. How can an album called American Heartbeat start with a song called Africa? Maybe it’s true that Americans don’t do irony.
