I was on the set of Josie and the Pussycats. Matthew Libatique needed a fourth camera assistant, and I was available. It was a night shoot on a Friday, and while most of the crew were exhausted, I was wide awake. Midnight’s my Monday, and I freaking LOVE Mondays unlike that big fat stupid cat. I hate him. “Garfield.” NOT a friend. He’s someone I really detest, and I resent the fact that there are still movies being made about him and his owner. Unbelievable. Have some self-respect, dude. You’re on the world stage and you’re prostrating yourself before a pathetic, perpetually glum loser. No one in his world questioned his habits—and if they did, he didn’t listen. Yet, he’s somehow still alive? Because I’m assuming he’s involved with all of the new products. If not, what right does he have advertising himself as half-intelligent? Quotes are attributed to Garfield. Words, speech, emotion. Why? This is an obese animal with a mood disorder. He’s not qualified to appear in the newspaper, let alone on the silver screen. Is this what people mean when they say we’ve lost our culture?
Deborah and Harry, the writer-directors, were lovely, but they were busy. Matthew, ostensibly my boss, was also busy, and because we weren’t doing any VFX shots, I didn’t have anything to do. My job as fourth AC was checking the gate. You see, Josie and the Pussycats, like all films made before 2012 (with scant exceptions), were shot on film, usually 35mm or 16mm. Sometimes 8mm if you wanted some snuff. What? I’m not human. You guys watch Westerns, and a lot of horses die in those. You killed them. You killed those horses. You killed so many of them. Why? Was it a fetish? Did you hate them? Did they upset you in some way? I can’t say I was entirely put off—horses have never treated me well. Monica is the horse whisperer in the family; I’m more of a horse denier.
Checking the gate involves removing the lens and rotating the shutter out of the way; if there’s a hair, or any kind of dust, you blow compressed air into the gate, replace the lens, and take the shot again. I’ve been on movies where there wasn’t a single hair in the gate, and others where it was a daily occurrence. You’d think experienced technicians would keep their hairs short, but no—in fact, I saw more hairs in the gate that day than any other in my years in Hollywood. We were supposed to be filming with Carson Daly, but he was late, and the stars of the movie—Rachael Leigh Cook, Tara Reid, and Rosario Dawson—were listless and tired. They’d already done four takes of the scene, and before we could move on, we had to get this setup. Carson still wasn’t there. Why? Why was I constantly surrounding myself with failures and fuck-ups? Of course, all of these people went on to work regularly, while I was exiled from the industry after I opposed the 2001 SAG strike. The WGA hasn’t been happy with me, either—I scabbed in 2008. And when everyone came back, I was a pariah.
I’m not bitter at all. That’s right.
What was it about this night working on Josie and the Pussycats that strikes me now, 26 years after we shot it? I didn’t work on it much—in fact, just that weekend. Everything went well, but you didn’t get the sense we were making an enduring classic. Everyone was already famous, the script was funny and smart, and Mr. Libatique’s work with Darren Aronofsky was already respected and recognized. And it was based on a popular comic book, albeit one that nobody read. Who is “Archie”? “Jughead”? Is this pre-war? The movie bombed when it opened in the spring of 2001, and I forgot about it until a couple of years ago, when I needed a debate cleanse after Joe Biden and Donald Trump had a pleasant conversation on June 27, 2024.
I realized that I’d never seen it. I only knew the scenes I worked on: Carson Daly tries to kill the Pussycats, and Parker Posey (a friend) tries to be friends with the Pussycats and totally embarrasses herself, like oh my godddddddd. Whoa. She’s a crazy lady. But fun. Love her. Everyone loved her. Everyone loved the Pussycats. But we moved on after opening weekend. It wasn’t until recently that the film has become a “singalong classic,” and while I’m against forced singing in movie theaters, I’m glad people are seeing the movie. It was a job of work for me, but a labor of love for… well, probably some people on that set. Definitely all the people I mentioned. But I wasn’t paying attention. If you’re doing your job right behind the camera in Hollywood, you don’t even know what the movie you’re working on is about. I’m still not sure. Does it have a political element? I think I need to watch Zoolander again—that’s one with some stories. I left those days covered in gasoline, on my way to Brownie’s for free drinks and music courtesy of a little band called Interpol. We go back. And, they’re not political (anymore).
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