Now I Know Why Filmmaking Costs Millions

The filming started today on the movie being shot in my apartment building. I first heard the crews moving into the building around 4 pm. When I left for work at 6:30 am, I stepped out and saw the entire hallway packed full of equipment, cables, lighting and many, many crew members. The apartment that the film is bring shot in is adjacent to the elevators; as I headed toward the elevators to leave for work, I was stopped by a crew member. "I live here and I need to leave for work," I blurted out involuntarily. The young man was polite, "Yes, I understand. But this area is closed off." I deducted that the back stairs were my only option.

I dragged myself down a floor and caught the elevator. It was going up. To the 11th floor to be exact in order to capture more crew members. They filed in. One of them, a rather ordinary blond, admire herself copiously in the mirror backing the elevator wall. The elevator arrived on the 4th floor. The majority of crew exited and there I spied a cacophony of lights and machinery and heard the exaltation of a man with an English accent shouting instructions (I liked to imagine it was Philip Noyce, the film's director). The narcissistic blond stayed on the elevator, still admiring herself in the mirror.

When we arrived at the lobby level, the doors opened to a noisy brouhaha unworthy of 6:53 am. There was a plethora of people wheeling in all kinds of equipment. There was commotion and loud coordinating efforts and much self-importance. It was a little overwhelming. The narcissistic blond languidly wandered out of the elevator. She walked towards the exit--I was behind her trying to find my way out of the building. Her cell phone rang and she stopped short, opening up her phone and indulging in a languid chat. She was blocking the exit and by now I was getting, you know, kinda pissed.

"Excuse me," I said coolly. She gave me a shitty look while still chatting on the phone. She slowly turned sideways for me to siddle past her and help me, I couldn't help but utter, "Welcome to New York" (and barely under my breath) "Bitch." I utterly am incorrigible, I know.

Once out of the building, I saw a street full of movie trailers. There were many make-up trailers and catering trucks and equipment trucks and jet black SUVs and other filmmaking vehicles carrying who knows what. They took over the entire street on 156th Street. And three long blocks on Broadway. It was incredible. There were police cars and roped off areas where pedestrians couldn't venture. It was practically a happening.

I walked the few blocks to my parking garage and as I got closer to the entrance, I saw a prominent yellow sign. It read, "Crew Parking Here." Oh, motherfucker.

I walked into the garage and into a zoo. The cars were parked six deep and vehicles were lined up at the entrance. My morning parking homies, Ahmed and Wossim, were running around like frenzied chickens. I spied Angus at the back of the garage with a generous layer of cars parked in front and around him. Oh, I was never going to get to work. Ahmed, bless him, spied me and he and Wossim jostled vehicles onto the street and the sidewalk in order to clear the space. Between the two of them, I was able to leave the garage within 15 minutes. That was miraculous.

As I drove out onto Riverside Drive towards the West Side Highway, here too was backed up. There were even more vans and trucks and catering vehicles, all double parked; the street was full of crew members lazily loitering about, sipping coffee from styrofoam cups. Sweet Jesus, how many people are actually involved in what I would imagine would be a minor three day shoot? I'd argue far too many.

Hence those million dollar budgets.

Columbia Studios is paying us $500 for the inconvenience caused while shooting on our floor. I now think I need to hold out for more.