Notes from Thursday's shoot.
With the spacewalks done and the shuttle safe to return, I'm dealing with loose ends and getting ready to travel to Florida for the landing, scheduled for tomorrow.
This morning cinematographer Joe Brunette and I left the hotel at 5 to go shoot the sunrise over Johnson Space Center. Since the Goddard engineers on the Hubble repair team generally came on shift at 4am each day, for several days we've gotten up in the middle of the night to film them going to work.
Now we need establishing shots - bigger panoramas we can use to signify the passage of time in the film. And nothing says "day over" or "new day begins" like a sunset or sunrise.
The problem is, Houston is as flat as a pancake, and we need a high vantage point. We've spotted the perfect spot - the back yard of a Houston Fire Dept station next to NASA. Their roof would be even better, perfect really, but we can't imagine they'd give us permission to go up there.
The station seems deserted; we walk in, calling out "Hello? Anybody here?" and feeling somewhat like intruders. Finally two suspicious firemen emerge from a back room with a definite "who the hell are you, and what are you doing in our house?" look. "Can I help you?"
I begin my standard spiel: this is who we are, we're making a film about the Hubble mission for PBS, it's part of the series "Nova," we need to shoot the sunrise, we just want to place our camera here, we won't disrupt your routine or damage your property, I'll be happy to sign something, blah, blah, blah -- when fireman Rudy interrupts me: "I love Nova - how 'bout using our roof?"
Joe and I exchange glances; this is more than we had dared hope for.
Rudy clears the path to a ladder mounted on the cinderblock wall; it's straight vertical, two stories high, and frankly a nerve wracking climb, especially carrying camera and tripod, leaving only one hand to hold on with. As we climb, I'm thinking whoever is the Houston FD liability lawyer would be horrified if he could see this -- but so what? All we care about is getting our shot, and Rudy is totally on our side.
The man is a gem. He not only gets us on the roof, he starts blocking our shots for us, suggesting angles, and scheduling when we need to arrive the next morning and evening. He should be a production manager. Plus, he insists on making bacon, eggs, pancakes and coffee for us. I regretfully decline, having to go back to the hotel and pack. Rudy seems downright insulted when I pass on his breakfast offer, but is mollified when I settle for a Styrofoam cup of coffee (the firemen have one size -- humongous).
Joe shoots the sunrise, then dines on the fireman's breakfast, while I pack and check out. He'll be back tonight to shoot the sunset.
Meanwhile, I'm off to Florida. The landing at Cape Canaveral is scheduled for tomorrow morning.
With the spacewalks done and the shuttle safe to return, I'm dealing with loose ends and getting ready to travel to Florida for the landing, scheduled for tomorrow.
This morning cinematographer Joe Brunette and I left the hotel at 5 to go shoot the sunrise over Johnson Space Center. Since the Goddard engineers on the Hubble repair team generally came on shift at 4am each day, for several days we've gotten up in the middle of the night to film them going to work.
Now we need establishing shots - bigger panoramas we can use to signify the passage of time in the film. And nothing says "day over" or "new day begins" like a sunset or sunrise.
The problem is, Houston is as flat as a pancake, and we need a high vantage point. We've spotted the perfect spot - the back yard of a Houston Fire Dept station next to NASA. Their roof would be even better, perfect really, but we can't imagine they'd give us permission to go up there.
The station seems deserted; we walk in, calling out "Hello? Anybody here?" and feeling somewhat like intruders. Finally two suspicious firemen emerge from a back room with a definite "who the hell are you, and what are you doing in our house?" look. "Can I help you?"
I begin my standard spiel: this is who we are, we're making a film about the Hubble mission for PBS, it's part of the series "Nova," we need to shoot the sunrise, we just want to place our camera here, we won't disrupt your routine or damage your property, I'll be happy to sign something, blah, blah, blah -- when fireman Rudy interrupts me: "I love Nova - how 'bout using our roof?"
Joe and I exchange glances; this is more than we had dared hope for.
Rudy clears the path to a ladder mounted on the cinderblock wall; it's straight vertical, two stories high, and frankly a nerve wracking climb, especially carrying camera and tripod, leaving only one hand to hold on with. As we climb, I'm thinking whoever is the Houston FD liability lawyer would be horrified if he could see this -- but so what? All we care about is getting our shot, and Rudy is totally on our side.
The man is a gem. He not only gets us on the roof, he starts blocking our shots for us, suggesting angles, and scheduling when we need to arrive the next morning and evening. He should be a production manager. Plus, he insists on making bacon, eggs, pancakes and coffee for us. I regretfully decline, having to go back to the hotel and pack. Rudy seems downright insulted when I pass on his breakfast offer, but is mollified when I settle for a Styrofoam cup of coffee (the firemen have one size -- humongous).
Joe shoots the sunrise, then dines on the fireman's breakfast, while I pack and check out. He'll be back tonight to shoot the sunset.
Meanwhile, I'm off to Florida. The landing at Cape Canaveral is scheduled for tomorrow morning.
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