August 04, 2011 05:00PM EDT
Sure-Footed Ponies: By the Skin of Our Teeth
Tags: Sure-Footed Ponies Andrew Mudge
Entry 12: By the Skin of Our Teeth
August 22, 2011—Maseru, Lesotho
The shoot is over, and first-time filmmaker Andrew Mudge is winding down his time in Africa. 
Eight months later, after almost 50 days of shooting and just as many hours of footage, we finally wrapped production on this little film. The cast and crew have dispersed to all parts north: America, Johannesburg, the sleepy villages around Lesotho. I remain in Maseru, closing out the accounts we have in Lesotho and preparing for a dozen or so more pickup shots and voice-overs to be recorded. We packed up our spacious house/production office, and I'm now staying in a cozy room at a US Embassy house.
It's a strange feeling to still be here after the troops have gone their ways. Mostly, it's an incredible relief to finally be finished, and these last pickup shots should be a bite of Little Debbie’s cupcake compared to what we've been through in the last eight months. If I were a cartoonist, I would draw myself as a tired and disheveled lighthouse attendant, wet match in hand, about to enjoy a long-awaited cigar while waiting for just a few more Smurf-size dories to reach port after many months of nonstop oil tankers. I'm ready for this film to be wrapped. Barring any eleventh hour mishaps, I'll be flying back home at the end of August.
I regret that I didn't blog more during this session. The days were shorter this time around, and free hours became a commodity so precious that I selfishly elected to use them for sleeping, eating, and the occasional hot shower. The last two months of filming brought us from the frigid mountains of Lesotho to the bustling streets of Hillbrow, Johannesburg, to the South African township of Diepsloot, and finally to three days of bombing around the Free State in pursuit of trains. (Picture your faithful correspondent stuffed into the back of a sputtering pickup truck, shooting video on his Canon 7D, with his intrepid assistant Julie crouched over the steering wheel, quite literally racing a train through sixty kilometers of South African farmland.)
At each location, every day of filming, we narrowly made our days, just barely got out of there with the shots we need to tell the story. As if the universe enjoyed lighting a fire under our asses, there was no exception to this rule. As the sun dropped over the horizon on take two or three of our final set up, we'd pack up the gear while sharing wide-eyed looks and a collective sigh of relief. We somehow, just barely pulled it off. By the skin of our teeth.
Lesotho was a champion through to the very end. The last feature film that was (partially) shot here was in 1985, an action film called (and I'm not making this up) American Ninja IV. Cheap labor, dramatic locations, a Hollywood B movie star, you get the picture. For years I heard war stories from the Basotho people who worked on this piece of cinematic dog poop (Ah, the shoes I'd have to fill...). In 2006, over a six pack of Maluti beer at a bar called Sparrows, Lesotho essentially threw its arm around my shoulder and said to me, "You can do anything you want, film anywhere you please in this country, just don't dress our people as ninjas anymore." Well, this country was true to its word. Not a single location said no. Not a single person refused us. We were challenged by lightning storms, vehicle breakdowns, equipment failure, uncooperative farm animals, food poisoning, water shortages, power outages, and a slew of other minor disasters. But the people... they are an army of Yes. It's the kindest, most welcoming place I've ever known.
South Africa doesn't fall far behind. Hillbrow, Johannesburg's notorious slum, is relatively stressful in that it's a place where you never want to be at night, when all the "really bad stuff" goes down. During the shoot we were continuously surrounded by more than a dozen police and security guards, which took the nervous edge away (but didn't stop a handful of knife fights that took place within spitting distance of where we were shooting). However, during the numerous location scouts we did not enjoy the company of security guards. Feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood on the way to Grandmother's house, I'd repeat to myself over and over, "Safe in daylight, get out by night," while keeping one eye on the shadows creeping up the buildings as an indication of how soon dark was to come. A city of vampires, or so it felt to me.
On one such Hillbrow scouting excursion, I inadvertently took a photograph of a police officer (that this was illegal activity, the Lonely Planet guide book did not enlighten me). I was hastily escorted to the paddy wagon while emphatically trying to convince the two red-faced Afrikaner law enforcers that my mistake was an innocent one. My hands on the top of the police vehicle, they checked my pockets for drugs, guns, knives (coupons for a brothel, Black Panthers membership card, insert any illegal activity here). One of the mustachioed cops gnarled at me, "What are you doing here? This is Hillbrow!" At that moment, I heard a loud pop, and turned to see that the other police officer was firing rubber bullets into a crowd that had assembled around a drunken street brawl. My co-producer Cecil arrived at the scene and smiled at me, "So you really want to film in Hillbrow, huh?”
But film in Hillbrow we did, and despite two days of raw nerves and a beefy bodyguard named "Checkers" standing guard outside the porta pottie, the locals there proved to be gracious and welcoming. The amusing bit is that on our first day we made the mistake of leaving our craft service table out in the open for all of ten seconds. One moment existed a pleasant and polychromatic display of fruit, baked goods, granola bars, bottled water... In the blink of an eye it suddenly looked as if a swarm of flying piranhas had come through. (Incidentally, I was lucky enough to witness the infamous TFK Hillbrow Craft Attack with my own eyes, but I could not get to my camera quick enough to snap a photo.)
Ah, but this is a tiny price to pay for getting out of the city of vampires in one piece, and an accidental, impromptu soup kitchen might be good karma for us in the end. Hillbrow, I can't complain. We even got away with a few unrehearsed hours of following our five actors around the city, filming on a Steadicam rig. The real prostitutes and thugs didn't even complain that we'd brought in our own, pretend ones. Hillbrow, I owe you one. I admit it.
Diepsloot is a township located between Joburg and Pretoria, a place that has gained notoriety in recent years for extreme violence and mob justice. The South African crew members, more familiar with the current newspaper headlines, refused to go in there unless we did so with a mob of security guards, in the daylight hours, and only on Monday or Tuesday (when, in theory, there is the least amount of public intoxication). Adhering to this smart counsel, the shoot went off without a hitch. For one scene that we filmed in a shebeen (rough and tumble bar—a place not even Patrick Swayze, circa 1989, could keep the rule), we had nearly a hundred extras. They were all cooperative and respectful, and only mildly complained that their prop beer bottles had been filled with water. Diepsloot indeed proved to be a stellar place to shoot, and we've promised to go back there when the movie is done and offer a free public screening. Maybe this time we'll top off some of those beer bottles with the real thing.
As circumstances would have it, our Diepsloot shoot went over by one day, which meant that we had to shut down production for the rest of the week and wait for the following Monday when we could resume. During the interim, our leading actor Zenzo went back to work on his soap opera, Rhythm City. I sent him a text, gently reminding him that as we still had one more day of shooting, he absolutely must not allow the soapie producers to shave his head (they favored him in the Lou Gossett, Jr., Iron Eagle look). Moments later, Zenzo called me in panic. The producers had already done the deed, threatening to fire him if he did not submit to the razor. I was rather, how shall I say... ticked off. TR, Cecil, and I panicked. This was going to make an absolute mockery of the scene continuity we'd fought so hard to preserve.
We had calls out to all the hair and makeup people we knew in Johannesburg. Could Zenzo wear a very short wig? I played, and re-played the scene over in my mind. Would it be ridiculous to put him in a Mexican sombrero for just for that part of the movie? (Surely that would distract the viewer from the glaring fact that our handsome leading man suddenly has no hair!) The next day, Zenzo called me from a live radio show. It was all a grand prank, and I heard a cacophony of laughter in the studio as I gave a detailed account of the rather stressful past 24 hours of my life in which I was trying to map out the feasibility of making a computer generated scalp. I was officially punk'ed. Kudos, Zenzo. Africa wins again. But it ain't over ‘til the fat lady sings...
Stay tuned for one more dispatch from southern Africa. Just a handful of shots here in Lesotho and one more elusive iron horse to track down in the South African free state. In no time I'll be back in Joburg, selling my beloved Kinski to the highest bidder (or perhaps just the first person who comes to have a look at it). I intend to scratch my last blog on a South African Airways cocktail napkin somewhere over the moonlit Atlantic Ocean. And then I intend to drink that cocktail.
Want more Sure-Footed Ponies? Get caught up:
Sure-Footed Ponies: An Introduction
Sure-Footed Ponies: The Beginning
Sure-Footed Ponies: Return to Lesotho
Sure-Footed Ponies: Tortoise's Pace
Sure-Footed Ponies: Rain, Rain, Rising Rivers
Sure-Footed Ponies: Where There is no Sunscreen
Sure-Footed Ponies: Finding Our Tau
Sure-Footed Ponies: Great African Location Scout
Sure-Footed Ponies: Cameras Rolling, Cue the Lightning
Sure-Footed Ponies: The Quiet Before the Storm
Sure-Footed Ponies: Slightly Homesick for Vermont Maple Syrup
Rate this Blog
