"The Long Island Incident"

This was one of those TV movies where the network wanted gallery-quality photos but wasn’t keen on footing the bill for a gallery shoot.

It was a very chilly November in Hamilton, Ontario, and the production was filming a scene at a railyard. The network had asked me to pull that old rabbit out of a hat and somehow get a gallery-worthy shot.

I arrived with an assistant, a Profoto battery strobe, and a small lightbox. As I observed the filming, I realized the key to capturing the scene’s mood was to use the train as the background keeping it cold blue while producing Laurie’s look to be natural but not glamorously lit. The trick was simple: use tungsten film (this was pre-digital) which photographs as a blue hue in daylight, and light Laurie with a tungsten gel over the Profoto to keep her natural look.

The plan was solid, but the execution was another story. The producer agreed that once the director had finished with the scene, my assistant and I could get our shot of Laurie. The only hitch? In TV, promises are as flimsy as a pop-up tent in a hurricane, especially when costs are involved.

Just as I was ready to shoot, the 1st assistant director called "lunch," and my needs were promptly forgotten. Lunch was a bust for my plans—the sun would set, and my creative vision would go down with it. My only option was to be assertive, so I went full throttle.

I raised my voice, demanding (actually pleading was more like it) Laurie for two minutes, and hinted to the producer that the network wouldn’t be thrilled if I had to return another day for the promotional photos.

Reluctantly, my request was granted, and I was given five minutes with Laurie—just enough to shoot two rolls of film with my Hasselblad.

"The Long Island Incident"

This was one of those TV movies where the network wanted gallery-quality photos but wasn’t keen on footing the bill for a gallery shoot.

It was a very chilly November in Hamilton, Ontario, and the production was filming a scene at a railyard. The network had asked me to pull that old rabbit out of a hat and somehow get a gallery-worthy shot.

I arrived with an assistant, a Profoto battery strobe, and a small lightbox. As I observed the filming, I realized the key to capturing the scene’s mood was to use the train as the background keeping it cold blue while producing Laurie’s look to be natural but not glamorously lit. The trick was simple: use tungsten film (this was pre-digital) which photographs as a blue hue in daylight, and light Laurie with a tungsten gel over the Profoto to keep her natural look.

The plan was solid, but the execution was another story. The producer agreed that once the director had finished with the scene, my assistant and I could get our shot of Laurie. The only hitch? In TV, promises are as flimsy as a pop-up tent in a hurricane, especially when costs are involved.

Just as I was ready to shoot, the 1st assistant director called "lunch," and my needs were promptly forgotten. Lunch was a bust for my plans—the sun would set, and my creative vision would go down with it. My only option was to be assertive, so I went full throttle.

I raised my voice, demanding (actually pleading was more like it) Laurie for two minutes, and hinted to the producer that the network wouldn’t be thrilled if I had to return another day for the promotional photos.

Reluctantly, my request was granted, and I was given five minutes with Laurie—just enough to shoot two rolls of film with my Hasselblad.