So much to do....

My eyes look like Wile E. Coyote's after he's suffered a self-inflicted dynamite blast - you know, big with red circles spinning?

Spending days in a dark room working with master colorist Tim Maffia (believe me, no one gives him any grief with that name!) at Modern Digital post production studios on our film THE WHOLE TRUTH has been so much fun, but so very much work! Hour after hour, looking for every teeny tiny detail that needs some sort of color adjustment.

Adjustments to things like on screen eyes that have been the victim of shadowization ... the eyes of our actors can't be clearly seen because they're in shadows - they have to be lightened (film acting is all about the eyes!); areas that are too bright that need to be "crushed," or darkened. Matching room color tones that don't match on their own because each part of a room has been shot on different days. There are many more hue, glow, density, tint, saturation and luminosity details that need attention, but those are the big ticket items.

These sorts of things are normal in color correcting a film - and there are thousands of tiny details that need attention - brightened, darkened, even made a different color.

The more experienced your colorist, like Modern Digital's Tim, the faster this extraordinarily tedious, technical and artistic work can be accomplished.

DP Paul Mailman joined us for a few days; producer Larry Estes did as well. The decisions are the final call of the director (um, that's me), but it's always good to have a fresh pair of eyes on hand.

Tim will work all day tomorrow following notes I left as well as taking care of a bazillion technical issues like "dust busting" - getting rid of nearly microscopic pieces of dust that made their way onto the film.

I have to say, the film really looks fantastic. I think all our actors and crew will be proud to have participated in this project.

Meanwhile I started working with our post production sound crew Mike McAuliffe and Dave Howe last Tuesday at Bad Animals Sound Studio.

That's where top folks do their film sound tracks, major musicians and bands record, lots of voice work for movies, TV, radio and all sorts of media, music and personal sound projects are done.

Sean Penn post-produced his soundtrack for his award-winning feature Into The Wild there.

Every sound other than the words uttered by actors our film are infused into the sound track. Sound sources come from recording them live on our film sets, creating "wild sounds" in the areas we shoot, and creating them (called Foley). Bad Animals' Foley artist is Jamie Hunsdale.

Editor Stephen Myers and I also created some Foley (created) sounds for the film while we were editing. I have to say, this is one of the most fun parts of the otherwise incredibly tedious, detailed and time consuming process of post production for me. Coming from a background working in radio once upon a time makes a big difference.

I co-wrote and acted in a daily radio comedy series for a radio station at a Washington state university I attended, which received a national writing award, as well as acted in weekly radio plays when I attended Syracuse University. In addition to performing numerous vocal roles at both places, we had to come up with ways to make sounds of the drama or comedy we were performing.

Time to rest the peepers - I have to get ready for a trip to LA to work with the two lead actors in the new screwball comedy script I'm developing (that means doing research while I'm writing it and putting all the pieces together), SPARE CHANGE.

We'll be shooting it after completing post production on THE LONELY GOATHERD - which we're shooting after we complete production on THE WHOLE TRUTH.

Yes, I'm working on three feature films simultaneously.

Doesn't everyone?

I am...um, always here to help ....

For better or worse - and in some cases both - I am a helper.

If someone drops something, I pick it up and give it back to the dropee.

I replace items that have fallen off shelves in stores, homes, schools, or pretty much any building I happen to be visiting.

For some unknown reason, people visiting from other countries who speak every language known to humankind stop to ask me for directions. Which I always seem to know - or find for them.

They see right through me.

I'm a helper.

Someone needs assistance crossing the street? No boy scout, me, but I'm an eager crutch, cane or seeing eye dog fill-in.

A friend is getting LASIK surgery; I gave her a lengthy 4-1-1 on caring for her eyes after the operation (having gone through it myself -- keep 'em moist with lots of drops). Her eyes probably glazed over as I gave her the information - she probably knew it all already. But I wished someone had emphasized that to me when I went through it.

Just had to lend support any way I could.

Feeling down? Let me help.

Count on me to know CPR, know how to stop the bleeding and be the first person at a car crash to take the right steps. In fact, I'm a former volunteer firefighter. Several years ago I took care of a farm (including vegetable and fruit plants/trees and animals) in exchange for room and board while I wrote a book - so I joined the only firefighting/first responder unit in the area. Which was volunteer.

What if one of the cows or chickens needed CPR? Or first aid? What if my aging cat Kitzel got sick? What if lightning set the owner's house on fire? Or the nearby forest? Or what if an electrical short set my own little handy person's house on fire? Yep, I should definitely be ready.

Training was tough. When we fought the one house fire that broke out while I was there, between the air tank, yellow suit, boots and hat, I was wearing some 75 pounds of equipment. The water hose (from the water truck - we were out in the boonies without hydrants) is also very heavy. Very.

Here's a helpful hint - do you know the most dangerous part of fighting a house fire is the poison released when furniture and materials containing chemicals become toxic when they burn? We spent a long time learning to automatically put our air masks on before approaching any building fire (we practiced on a couple houses that were burned for us to practice on).

A helpful hint? There I go again.

I suppose it's a natural part of being a teacher or coach, though I try to contain my helper gene to my work, but sometimes I just can't help myself. I mean - I *can* help ... me, too, like I do others - I just can't stop myself.

Take last night.

I was at the grocery store, minding my own beeswax, carefully reading ingredients on packages tempting me, when I saw the head and torso of a man swaying, as if he were becoming faint. I saw he was with a little girl - his daughter?

I took a fast second glance, preparing to rush to his rescue if he really was ready to keel over. My hands were CP-R (CP to the Rescue) ready.

He didn't stop, he kept swaying!

I dashed up to him, putting my hand on his shoulder (first action to take - it gives patients confidence, relaxes them, lowers the heart rate) and asked, "Are you all right?"

Whereupon the little girl reprimanded him with, "I told you, daddy!"

What? Told him what?

They both laughed.

He was kidding around ... holding an oddly shaped large product box that appeared to weigh a lot - that he pretended was too heavy for him to carry. Thus the little dance, swaying under its "weight."

Uh-huh.

After the laughter died down - mine a bit uncomfortable - he thanked me kindly for caring.

You bet. Any time. No one else noticed, did they.

Then I decided maybe I'm not just a helper. Who can be a little too helpful here and there with people who don't really want or need any.

Maybe I'm just someone who cares.

Locking the film

This means the editing process is basically - primarily - finished.

Now it's time to pursue two separate and equally important processes: color correcting and sound mixing.

Color correcting means a technician (in our case at Modern Digital post production in Seattle) "equalizes" and enhances each frame of the film's color in a digital program. In some cases, as in one scene we shot - half of a room was shot on one day, the other half the next. Predictably, each half looks different because the lighting cannot be specifically calibrated to make the picture look exactly like the day before for another location.

I'll sit near the technician, asking for exactly the look I need for the film for every frame of the film. Today there are amazing ways to affect the appearance of a movie. But - if the basics aren't already on the film or video when it's originally made, there's only so much that can help the image in post production.

Fortunately, between DP Paul Mailman, Gaffer Ted Barnes (he's the lighting genius) and Grip Greg Smith, our film is knee deep in production values, depth, color and dramatic detail, highlighting not only our actors but the production design work of Rachel Thomson.

With this rich tapestry, we can pull all sorts of magnificence out of every picture.

The other process, sound mixing, is a finite, weeks-long creation of every sound heard as you watch a movie. Music is mixed with sound effects and dialogue and natural sound and Foley creations. Foley is creating a sound that sounds like another sound.

Like in one scene, a brush is painting a creamy concoction. To get the rich juicy sound of what this *looks* like it will sound, editor Stephen Meyers and I got a paper towel dripping wet, folded it into a small square, and I dragged my finger across it. When the brush is supposed to tap the concoction, I tapped my finger on the soaking wet surface.

Or there might be a sound created by the same thing as the actual sound, only in a confined space. Like a character walking across a gravel road. We put gravel in a box and wearing shoes identical or similar to the character's, someone steps exactly at the speed of the actor onscreen as it's recorded.

It's way fun. Stephen and I created a lot of sounds and sound effects; he's the master.

In the mix there are many channels of sound that need to be sorted and scaled so each can be heard appropriately by you. Is Ragnar Rosinkranz' fabulous music up enough when it is to be heard along with natural sound (sound that can be heard naturally where we filmed the scene).

It's an extremely detailed and distinctly subjective procedure led by the director. But sound technician Dave Howe at Bad Animals studio provides the best of the best from which to choose.

It's all very exciting to me. Sitting day after day over a period of weeks for incredibly long hours as each minuscule piece of the acoustical program is put into place, just as the color correcting procedure calls for the director to attend to each tiny element as it is finessed.

I love it when people think what I do is "glamorous." It's just many many many hours of hard work, putting a huge puzzle with a couple hundred thousand pieces together, creating what is commonly known as one's vision.

Directing is such a massively collaborative effort, but there is a basic vision that drives all of us in the same direction. With a little bit of luck, the outcome is a film that you find worth watching - again and again.

I'm thrilled to report that many people who have seen the test screenings of the film say that is exactly what they want to do - see THE WHOLE TRUTH again! All I can say is after our final edit, the color correction and sound mix, it will look and sound many times better than it was when they saw it.

OK, this could be a problem...

A few days ago, a group of us were location scouting for The Lonely Goatherd (the new feature we're making).

We were up in the snowy mountains, passing farms on our way to and from (one of which we might use for the main goat farm scenes).

At one point, Location Manager Doug Dumas pulled over so I could take pictures of some snow-capped mountains to consider.

As I stepped out of the shotgun passenger seat, "someone" saw an animal behind the farm's fence where we stopped and asked, "Isn't that a goat?"

Now, I'm not going to point fingers at anyone, because it could have been Aaron Heinzen, my assistant, Rachel Thomson, our Production Designer, or Alexis Arnold, our Unit Production Manager.

I have far more class and communications/relationship acumen to say the name out loud.

Because to actually identify the person (Aaron) would make him- or her, of course, look uninformed about the very subject we are filming over the course of a number of weeks during the shoot.

I looked at the animal and couldn't believe my eyes.

"It's a sheep," I said, starting to close my door.

"REALLY? Is it really?" came a chorus from within the van.

"No. That's a goat," insisted *someone* inside.

"Trust me, it's a sheep," I repeated, opening my door to do so.

I closed the door to take my photographs, returning to hear the continuing discussion about whether the animal was a sheep or a goat.

It was a sheep. With a beard.

So, for all my filmmaking colleagues working on The Lonely Goatherd and more who may need to learn the distinction:

Here is a goat.

To hear goat sounds, click here

Here are some sheep. thanks to http://sheep.com.



And how a sheep sounds:

http://www.sheep.com/sounds/baasheep1.wav

The greatest difference, of course, is that you do not count goats to fall asleep.

Be well ... be happy ...

Karen Janes - a name you probably don't recognize - has died after fighting cancer for two years.

A professional musician, she lived in the Seattle area, playing and teaching the piano and double bass.

The way I knew her was that she accompanied me and a bazillion other singers on the piano. There was no type of music she couldn't play. Since I sing a variety of musical styles, it was always fun to include her when I could with the performance.

As you might imagine, the majority of her concert work was done for formal programs, where singers wear black and clasp hands as they perform, reading their music sheets.

Well, the first song for which she accompanied me was "We Need A Little Christmas," a very up tempo tune from the Broadway smash, "Mame."

As I took my place on stage, dressed in colorful seasonal hues, I clasped my hands, she sat perfectly erect, looking at me for her cue. I suddenly turned to her and said, "Hit it, Karen!" And she had her ways with the keys, rocking up the song the way I performed it - moving/dancing around the stage (I introduce myself by saying, "costumes, choreography and arrangement by Colleen Patrick").

I would excuse myself for a costume change. Costume "changes" normally consisted of adding or removing a muffler scarf, a hat, or something normally considered a lesser accessory.

We both had a terrific time - the audience seemed to have *at least* as much fun as we did. We hoped more but wondered how that could happen.

Another song we performed that suprised our audience came at my singing coach's (Nedra Gaskill) birthday bash. Many of her coachees sang a song for Nedra, accompanied by Karen.

I decided to ham it up (surprise, surprise) and perform a song I had never sung before but in *full* costume, with props.

The tune was "Little Girls," from the B'way hit, "Annie." Karen, again with perfect posture, hands hanging over the keys, waited for my cue - which I gave her off stage. With the intro underway (she had a share of ham in her heredity as well), I stumbled on stage in my aged, oversized robe, massive mule slippers, shower cap and whisky flask.

The character I represented, Miss Hannigan, was drunk, you see.

Karen followed my unique cocktail lounge treatment of the song as I made my way through the tables, making a couple passes at men and women in the crowd (Hannigan was drunk, you see), occasionally running back to read the lyrics I was faking, continuing to tunefully lament being surrounded in the orphanage with Little Girls - including Annie, naturally.

I recall her looking at me, carefully trying to follow whatever the heck it was I was doing to that poor song as I rushed back and forth checking on the lyrics that sat on a music stand near her piano, since I'd never performed it before.

Chutzpah CP, that's me.

Comedy 101: you can entertain audiences, convincing them you're funny when you wear a worn old bathrobe, mule slippers, a shower cap and appear to be stumbling drunk using a whiskey flask prop.

The funniest part came at the end, when Nedra's neices - about 5 and 7 years old - were supposed to be afraid of me when I reached out to "strangle" them, chasing them off stage as the song ended.

Instead their eyes were lit up and they only smiled (OK, perhaps they may have been outright laughing at me), not budging a bit as I held the last note of "giiiiiiiiiiiirls..." forever. Finally, I put my hands on my hips, frowned, and said, "You're supposed to be afraid of me and run off stage, remember?"

Ah. Yes. That.

And they ran off, not quite selling the "scared" part. The audience loved it as I shrugged and shook my head - Karen played us off with music she found in her head somewhere. That was difficult because being such a classically trained musician, she was more for reading music than improvising it. But she managed.

Now, lest you think that this is a woman who simply accompanied amateur singers or taught children and adults here over the years because she had no choice; that her talent and accomplishments began and ended here, think again.

She lived here, as so many of us do, out of choice, not out of chance.

Check out some of her credentials.

In the course of her career Karen studied with John Wustman, accompanist to Luciano Pavarotti (I never had the courage to ask if she saw any resemblance between working with me and Pavarotti).

She performed with numerous classical organizations and was a member of various performing groups including: Bellevue Philharmonic (as their principal double bassist) Orchestra, Midsummer Musical Retreat, and Performing Arts Festival Eastside, of which she was past president.

She was the current president of Thalia Allied Artists. Karen worked with the Seattle Opera Review program, the Village Theater (a legit professional equity theater here), many singers and instrumentalists, and regularly accompanied more than 50 concerts a year.

She was sought after as an accompanist for auditions as well, from opera and college auditions to the annual state Solo and Ensemble Contest.

A quiet sort - at least when I was around her - Karen always seemed not quite at peace with herself; never quite happy. When told of her recent passing, the first thing I thought was, "I hope you are at peace now, Karen, and truly happy."

She was 51 years young.

At her memorial next week, I plan to sing, "You Raise Me Up."

A capella.