People get drawn into production work in all sorts of ways. Some paths are easy, people lucky to be born into it, pedigreed by family name and connections. Others discover it unwittingly, perhaps starting in live concert production, as I did at the University of Houston.
I figured out a way to earn income to pay tuition and have a total ball on campus by joining the student group, Program Council, and seeing the greatest musicians and bands the 20th century ever churned out. Wendy O. Williams and The Plasmatics, Miles Davis, Joe Jackson, George Thorogood, Randy Newman, Devo, King Sunny Ade, and everyone in-between, including Texas stalwarts such as Stevie Ray Vaughan, Kinky Friedman and Joe " King" Carasco.
We negotiated with music agents - big-shot promoters for touring acts to play at either of our two venues, Cullen Auditorium or Hoffeinz Pavilion. The adrenaline rush that comes from producing a live event, whether a concert, TV show or film, is infectious. You fall victim to its siren song, or you don't get it. I got it bad!
In 1980, big features were being produced in the Houston area, and the need for people to assist in some 'below the line' activities became an opportunity for me to jump on as an assistant make-up artist. I had to start working when I was just 15, lying about my age to get hired by a local department store. I landed in the make-up department where beautiful women stood behind counters, never breaking a sweat, hanging up clothes or organizing shelves while making the biggest paychecks next to the shoe guys.
I was an instant hit. My make up skills and sales were so good that a major cosmetic company sponsored my tutelage with the renowned makeup artist to the Stars, Way Bandy. In his classes I learned a lifetime of cinematic secrets and techniques that eventually made me the hottest 17-year-old makeup artist in town.
Being on a real film set is a heady first-time experience.You forget about it when it becomes your daily grind. I had never considered the possibility of a career in any of the entertainment worlds, certainly not in Hollywood. I had never even been to California, and my New England family didn't understand the concept of making a living in what they considered a flaky fantasy business, and spoke about Los Angeles and California as if it were a bizarre parallel universe where reality and morals don't exist.They weren't too far off the mark.
After years of working in a full-service talent agency in LA’s Century City, I landed a unique production job where I was able to write, cast and field-produce short videos and ads. Not Hollywood, but still real production work. It was wonderful. I was earning a good salary, traveling, and making creative decisions that produced fine work. I hired below-the-line crew for the first time, and made many friendships.
Fortuitous, because my cushy perfect world came down fast when the economy hit the skids as investors started coming out of their "ether fogs", asking the hard questions like, "Where did the money go?" or "What does this company actually do?" Businesses folded one after another, and before I knew it, my little company didn't have paying clients.
I eventually called upon friends to get me work after months of useless job searches for a similar gig. My composite reel was corporate, and my experience didn't mean much with the glut of out-of-work field and segment producers after the 9/11 fallout and continuous runaway productions to Canada and other locales. Once again, make-up became my trade.
Make-up becomes the exposed confessional on the set. Façades get bared, literally and figuratively. You are usually on set first with the craft service and catering truck guys, and master all sorts of surprises, meltdowns and hurdles by first take.
Intensely personal work, make-up artists have to deal with distorted egos, fluttering eye tics and bad lifestyle choices. You likely will have to entertain the opinions and interruptions of anyone having access to the production trailer; the female production staff, wives and/or girlfriends of the producers who corner you whenever you get a chance to breathe, wanting you to 'fix them too'.
Once you have the actors ready, the next station is the set.There is an etiquette that you must learn for fear of being discovered by the crew as an amateur.The make-up work goes from application and blending, to blotting, blotting and more blotting. Some actors sweat like pigs under the lights, others barely break a shine. The lips are important, people dry up when they blow takes - over, and over, and over - and you have to be ready with the lip balm and touch-ups. Hair can become hugely problematic, and much more difficult than applying product on a freshly, chemical-peeled face.
You can never have enough hairspray, tissue and blot powder in your kit. A kit must contain everything a make-up artist can need, for every skin color and condition, and wildcard items such as nail files, Altoids, tarot cards, knitting needles, baby wipes, nail nippers, sewing kits and tons of brush cleaner. Your brushes must be maintained like tires on an Indy car, always in perfect racing condition.
Good make up artists follow the 'Semper Fi' rules, and work quickly and quietly. Chatty artists are usually not looked on in good favor, unless they have worked with the same group over and over and have built the comfort zone.
Nightmare scenarios can happen. I once accidentally sprayed deodorant on my hands off set, thinking it was a can of hairspray, to smooth down a model's flyaway hair on an infomercial shoot. A friend of mine had to apply makeup on a diva-ish, A-list actress while she stuffed her face with a salmon-topped bagel, who then had the nerve to ask her if she would help floss her back molars. Another make-up artist friend had an older actor, famous for classic war movies; smear orange stuff the consistency of Cheez-Whiz all over his t-zone and cheeks (he swore it made him look great, and wanted her to work around this). Most recently, a commercial shoot I worked on had the ink from the logo of the exercise machine bleed into the sweaty bare backs of the models demonstrating the various workouts. Windex™ and spit proved to be the only solutions at hand that removed the ink out of their skin.
These are the times a make up artist cannot win. The talent wants what they want, and the wardrobe people, director and on-set producers want you to finish fast so they can begin their work. Make up artists are capable of many miracles, but we cannot take more than ten years off a face without the aid of prosthetics - or a Vaseline-smeared lens.
While working on a set there is an unspoken sense of place and position: to whom may I speak comfortably, and who do I need to carefully observe, gauging temperaments.
Below the line people generally are friendlier, but there does exist a stratification that separates the Teamster-types and Grips from the Soundmen, Cameramen and Lighting Techs. I really notice this at lunchtime, where the crew chooses who they'd like to sit with. I always seem to wind up with the wizened older drivers, gang bosses and career grips; crusty profane men who are the antithesis of politically correct, adore NASCAR, wax on about their gun collections, and have lots of great stories to share.
Make up artists know how to make themselves appear attractive and this can be dangerous. Too attractive, and the talent can be uncomfortable with you. The female production staff can also get weird. Inebriated grips trolling the production call sheet looking for love might stalk you. Extras, PA's and unidentified set malingerers can often times be found digging in your kit, playing dress-up in the makeup room while you are working on set. You graciously refrain from assault and battery because the person you would like to re-educate just may be the Producer's daughter, new squeeze, or nephew. Unfortunately, you need them all to like you. Need to be at the top of the list for first call.
April MacIntyre is a freelance writer, producer and ex-make up artist who would like apologize to Randy Newman for that poorly executed after-show interview for the University of Houston newspaper back in '80.
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