Walking
into Engine Rebuilders, the diesel rebuild shop Francis once owned and where he
still works, feels like traveling
back to 1952. No digital anything, no LED read-outs—Francis uses old tools and
techniques to fix the machines the rest of us use everyday and don't
even know it. Diesel is a tried and true technology, and like all mature
technologies, it is invisible. How often do you think about how food and
appliances and clothing—the physical things of everyday life—get to
you?
It
took two shoots at Engine Rebuilders to get the film footage. The first
shoot was in September of 1998. I hauled all of my gear to the shop,
dragged it upstairs to my staging area, then proceeded to hang lights
and load my Bolex H-16 nonreflex camera. I thought I was ready. I didn't
mind the oil and the grease or the little bits of metal flying
everywhere.
Francis
arrived around nine in the morning and got to work. He moves fast. Three times I
had my finger on the camera trigger, only to have him walk away.
"What
are you trying to take a picture of?" he finally asked, a little bewildered
at my incompetence.
"You."
I was a little cranky. September in St. Louis—the temperature and humidity was
high enough to cause the film to curl up on itself when I loaded it.
Evenings
I gathered interviews using my Sony VX1000. They went smoothly, though I spaced
out a couple of times because I was so tired from chasing Francis around the
shop. Old men shouldn't move that fast.
Plus
he felt it was necessary to torture me with really bad jokes, each one like a
red hot poker in my forehead. ("What did the fish say when he hit the wall?
Dam." "What's the last thing they give Tickle-Me Elmo dolls before
they leave the factory? A couple test tickles.") It was enough for a girl
to lie right down in a puddle of oil and whimper.
I
returned in December. Along with my H-16, I brought my Bolex EBM, fully charged
and ready to go. No way would I let the old man run my ass ragged without
getting all the footage I needed.
Victory
was mine.
The
film was processed at Forde Labs in Seattle. Modern Digital handled the
film-to-video transfer. After a stop in Dallas for my last interview, I
transcribed all the material and burned the grease-encrusted clothes I had used
on location. Who says show business isn't glamorous?
I
did a paper edit and handled the rough cut in my home office using a Sony Vaio
308DS, a GV-D300 miniDV deck, and Adobe Premiere 5.1a. Initially, I had arranged
to work on the fine cut with editor/sound designer Eric S. Anderson of the New
Plastic Machine. Eric is talented, skilled, and very busy. We couldn't arrange a
block of time to work together, so I bit the bullet and decided to finish at
home.
My
girlfriend and I installed a network in the summer of 1999. The file and print
server acted as storage, and since my girlfriend needed a new computer anyway, I
gave her the 308 and bought a Sony Vaio 538. I put in extra RAM and a 21-gig
hard drive. Plenty of room.
With
the technical problems dispensed with, I was able to concentrate on what I
actually had in the footage. Francis is not, by nature, a talker. I was
surprised he even agreed to give me an interview. His kids, however, were a
different story.
Frank,
Dan, Geralyn, Tom, Kevin, Catherine and Tim were delighted to answer my
questions. They love the old man. Here were adult children
who felt admiration and respect for their father. Like all families, they have
their personal folklore, stories with Francis in the center. that was the best
part about making this movie.
I
admire the old man. I admire how he's mastered his
craft and how he evokes such humor and love from those who know him best. Like
the Wizard said to the Tin Man, "A heart isn't judged by how much you love,
but how much you are loved by others."
These
two things met in the footage I had gathered. Francis moves with an odd
gracefulness in a room full of machinery and sharp edges. He is careful and
exact. He knows how to read the metal. And it is obvious that this is a man who
knows that work is sometimes the best expression of love.
Six
weeks and I had my fine cut. Problems arose when I tried to arrange for a miniDV
to Digital Beta transfer. No one in Seattle was set up to handle the transfer,
so I had to go south to Prime Post in Los Angeles, for the transfers.
Audio
was sweetened by Audisee in Seattle. I had used the VX1000's 32-Hz 12-bit stereo
capability with an Audio Technica cheapie wireless lavaliere
and a Sennheiser
ME-80 short shotgun.
I
have learned my lesson: no more shitty audio gear. At Audisee, Jason rescued
what they could and mixed a small piece of MIDI music I'd written.
High
tech tools helped me make this movie. Low tech tools have let Francis Minden
perfect his craft. There is nothing high concept or flashy about this portrait.
It's just about an admirable man.
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