“Where you from, man?” a voice exploded. I’d stumbled off a plane and into New York for the Boards Summit and was about to be seated in a conference room of 800 film and agency people. The voice belonged to a 7-foot giant who leaned his enormous frame across the table. I winced as he crushed my hand, “I’m from England, but live in Brazil.” He dropped into his seat without releasing his grasp, almost pulling me clean across the table. “Brazil!” He shouted. His large eyes narrowed. “Bigger than Texas, ain’t it?”
He was still holding my hand. My lips and eyes formed a natural smile only to realize he was being completely serious. “Actually it’s almost the same size as the US,” I was still stretched across the table. I tried to wipe the smile away by literally passing my other hand across my mouth. He nodded, considering this. “Big!” His eyes widened in unnecessary emphasis, and he kept shaking my hand as if to congratulate.
“They’re all having verbal sex,” Jack Stratton said. He was standing next to me that night, conveniently isolated in a warm corner. He was on his 5th whisky, I was on my 2nd beer. It was the Boards opening party in the office of a music house in central Manhattan. People were crowded in the hall and down the corridor. He extended his hand across my chest. “See the little fellow?” He was pointing at a dwarf dressed as snow white. “We used him for a shoot last year in Caracas. 300 little people and 7 camels riding over a bridge. Bloody nightmare.” I asked why he’d chosen Venezuela. “Cheap!” He chuckled. “Rape and pillage while we can. British have always been good at that.”
“I know you…” A hand reached for mine. I followed up the arm to see a blonde woman looking intently at me. Behind her stood a tall man with an eager, almost fanatical look. I shook her hand trying to place her. My eyes kept drifting to the man towering over her. Why was he looking at me like that? I told her with absolute certainty that she was the husband of Bob in LA. She politely corrected me by saying that if his name was Bob that would surely make her the wife, and actually she’d never been married and lived in Chicago. My mouth formed the shape of an ‘oh’, but nothing came out. She smiled automatically. The big fellow reached down across her shoulder and held his hand so that I could shake it. “Name’s André. Sheryl’s my agent. What do you do?” Jack Stratton screamed, “ He’s a bloody pirate! What do you think he does? Make lights for Christmas trees?” Fortunately André had a sense of humour. He was, of course, a musician. English, living in a converted loft in Brooklyn. Well at least we had a country of birth in common. Apart from that I had no need for a musician nor he for a production service in Brazil. His agent had mistaken me for someone more important, and I had confused her with the wife of Bob. Time to move on.
The giant from Texas cornered me at the bar. He rested his elbow on my shoulder. I couldn’t move. I was like a statute, afraid to upset the balance. He rammed a fistful of peanuts into his mouth and crunched. “Sum up Brazil for me in one word.” I’d never thought of Brazil in one word. He could see I was struggling. “See, in Texas it would be ‘steak’.” If I had to use one word, I said, it would be ‘delicious’. He stopped chewing with his mouth open. “Delicious,” he repeated the word as though tasting something exquisite. “I like that.” It’s really big, too, I said. “Bigger than Texas!” his eyes widened for emphasis. And now he roared with laughter. He lifted his huge elbow off my shoulder and I almost keeled over. Finally, I thought, Brazil is being recognized for what it is. The giant from Texas was still laughing and I couldn’t help myself, I laughed too. The Boards Summit proved a hectic three days. Many people, many events, many interesting conversations. When you travel into the big, big world for your next shoot, you have two (of many) additional reasons to consider Brazil – bigger than Texas, and delicious. Bon voyage!
Originally published in Filmmakers Guide - Service Companies Of The World - 2007
