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2 Be or Not 2 Be
A "Star Wars" Memory
By David Robman, SOC
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The sun was shining on that winter's day in late
1976, but inside the black-draped stage in a warehouse in Van Nuys,
things weren't so bright. A pall had been cast over the heads of
myself and the other David. But since it's always better to start
at the beginning, I will.
In October of 1976, I found myself leaving a
job as a messenger boy from Kaleidoscope Films in Hollywood to
become a camera assistant for the visual effects unit on an unheard-of
film called "Star Wars." Industrial Light and Magic
had been formed about a year earlier to put together this film
that almost every studio had passed on before 20th Century Fox
said yes. Through a connection, I landed the job because I had
been to film school and I knew my way around a camera. Little did
they know that I didn't know Blue Screen from Blue Cross, but I
wasn't going to pass up this opportunity.
I got lucky. I was put together with Dennis Muren
and Ken Ralston to help photograph spaceships. Two of the nicest
and most helpful guys you ever want to meet. They have since won
over a dozen academy awards, but even then I knew I was in good
company.
On my first day, I asked Ken if there was a shooting
script I could read. He replied there was only one script in the
entire building and it was kept under wraps due to its unique nature.
I understood the importance of the secrecy, but I still wanted
to know what the movie was all about.
He replied: "Oh, that's easy. You see,
there's these two droids, R2D2 and C3PO, on this rebel ship. And
during an attack, they get in a pod to escape Darth Vader and jettison
themselves into space. But instead of landing on the 4th moon of
Yavin, they end up on the planet Tatooine, where they're captured
by Jawas in their Sandcrawler. And then…"
"Wait!" I said. "What the heck
are you talking about?" I realized at that moment this was
to be a very different kind of movie, and no verbal synopsis would
take the place of seeing the finished product in the theater. I
knew then why all the studios had said no to this undertaking,
but what I was still wondering was why 20th had said yes. Someone
must have had a crystal ball! I thanked Ken for trying and we proceeded
to the work at hand.
A few weeks later, another assistant, Dave Berry
(DaveB), and I were asked to split off from Dennis and Ken in order
to shoot painted glass planets and starfield footage. We leaped
at the chance and dove right in.
It was during a planet session that our story
unfolds. As many of these shots were only a few seconds in length,
our shots were measured in frames. For whatever reason, our slates
were just pieces of notebook paper with shot #, date, take #, etc.
written in large felt-tip marker. We'd fill out the slate, stick
it up on the painted glass and run off a few frames.
On this fateful day, DaveB and I were busy with
the day's work. As can be the case, one of us had inadvertently
neglected to change the take # on a slate we were about to shoot. "Hold
it!" I said. "Let me change it." I took the marker
and walked over to the paper stuck up on the glass. I carefully
changed the ‘one' to a ‘two' and we shot the
slate. I walked over to the slate and pulled it off the glass and
there in the middle of the beautifully painted planet of Tatooine
was a two-inch black-inked '2'!!!
Godfrey-Daniel, Jolly-Roger, Doctor Bee-Bee!!
(W. C. Fields… I couldn't resist.) DaveB and I just looked
at each other. Both hoping we could quickly solve this thing like
Butch and Sundance did off that 200' cliff.
But, alas, this one started to look like Lucy
and Ethel in the chocolate factory. Imagine our horror. It was
one of those moments in life where you must decide how significant
a mistake just made really is.
Instantly, we knew this was not an "Oh
gosh, I just burnt the toast. What a shame... I'll just put another
piece in the toaster" type of mistake. This was an "I'm
standing at the altar and I forgot to bring the wedding ring" type
of mistake.
We obviously didn't remember that felt tip markers
bleed through paper. And boy, did it bleed through this time… like
it was brand new! I had just ruined a $5,000 painting. I immediately
went to the phone and called the airlines to see when the soonest
flight was to the farthest destination from Van Nuys. I figured
if I could get to Siberia before anyone saw the goof, I could still
live a happy life.
But calmer heads prevailed and DaveB and I soon
realized our true course of action… blame it on the dog!
Seriously, even though we were quaking in our
boots, we kept our heads and realized that removing the offending ‘2'
before it dried was of paramount importance. As you might have
experienced, a felt tip marker only stays wet when you accidentally
rub it against your new pants or your clean white shirt.
This ‘2' wasn't going anywhere with Kleenex
dabs. We decided to get the storyboard artist (Joe Johnston, later
to direct "Honey I Shrunk the Kids" and "Jumanji")
who was the lone person in the building with an art background
to see if he could do something about removing the offending ‘2'.
We swore Joe to secrecy because rather than tell too many people,
DaveB and I chose to alert as few as necessary until that moment
when the guillotine was the only option left.
Joe perused the painting. He could have easily
buried us but that wasn't the ILM style. This was truly a great
group of people who, when problems arose, would jump in and fix
whatever needed to be fixed for the good of the show.
I saw it happen with mistakes such as ours, equipment
breakdowns, and the sheer tenacity from every department to get
the best possible footage on every shot asked of us. That's probably
why the movie turned out the way it did. Joe was no different.
He proceeded to apply solvent to the ink and carefully remove it
from the painting.
It was amazing. Joe was able to remove the black
ink with only the smallest amount of the planet's orange coloring
coming off. DaveB and I felt our breathing start to come back to
normal.
Joe proceeded to take the paint that had been
slopped over onto the frame (by the original artist) and add it
to the area where the ‘2' had been. The planet returned to
normal. The job was complete. But DaveB and I still knew where
the ‘2' had been, so Joe's work wasn't the final test. Call
in the boss.
John Dykstra was the visual effects supervisor.
We decided to call him in, not tell him why, and ask him to view
the painting close-up to see if he could find anything wrong.
He sat down in front of the painting, not more
than a foot away, and stared at the planet. After a few moments,
he declared: "I don't see any problems." I called
the airlines and canceled my flight. We thanked him and sent him
back to his office. I'm not sure if we ever told him why he was
asked to stare at the painting.
DaveB and I finished shooting take ‘2'
and went on to the next shot. We tied the marker to a string and
made sure it couldn't go more than two feet from our work bench.
One close shave was all we needed. The pall had disappeared. The
sun even seemed to shine on our darkened stage. But that ‘2'
was emblazoned on my mind from that day on. So, when you see the
opening shot in Star Wars, and the planet comes into view,
you won't see a ‘2'... but I do!
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