I’ve sat down a couple of times and tried to write about my experience on the set of Poultrygeist, but so far nothing has come out. In a way it feels too big to me. Suffice it to say, I didn’t really want it to end and I’d go back in a heartbeat to sleeping on the auditorium floor of the church just to have more time with all the creative, insane, hardworking, lovable maniacs that I met.

It’s a shame I don’t have much in the way of specific incidents to share; when you’re working that hard, it sort of becomes a blur. Or a big, gooey mess, if you’re working in Tromaville. But it’s a warm sort of goo, and all I can feel is pity for the people who remained aloof so as not to get their hands dirty (metaphorically speaking). You’ll never know the laughs you missed out on, and the amazing people you never got to know.

Of course, it wasn’t 100% smiles and sunshine all the time either. And honestly, I think that’s for the best. If you want constant chipperness, you probably ought to go to work for a greeting card company, and not try to make art. It’s the whole range of human emotions that makes life and art and Troma so great.

Ok, I guess I shall have to really delve the recesses of my sleep-deprived, alcohol-pickled, and drug-addled brain for further insights into my time on the set of Poultrygeist! As they say, distance yields perspective. Distance and a shitload of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Or MD 20/20, whatever gets ya there.

They tell you that working on a Troma set is like a filmmaking boot camp, and they ain’t bullshitting. Hell, it’s almost like being “in country,” (He said as if he had actually had some sort of military experience) It’s definitely a learning experience, even if you’re just a lowly PA like me - but you have to take your learning where you can get it, even if it’s of the most tangential sort. To those who asked, I often compared my Troma education to Mr. Miyagi: You keep getting all these menial tasks, and then toward the end, the light bulb lights up and you go “Ohhh.”

It’s little things, the things they don’t show you on behind-the-scenes documentaries or specials. Things like working security. Me working security is funny as hell in itself, because I was one of the shortest, skinniest people there. Imagine 5′6″ 135lb as a security guard. Now imagine that in one of the most ghetto neighborhoods you’ve ever been in. Two movie-making lessons here: Gawkers and noisy assholes in the background will fuck up your shots. And it is so important to maintain good community relations. And we did. I personally never got fucked with, and as far as I know, the locals never really fucked with us. Keep in mind, this is with around 15 or so gangs in the immediate area. Sometimes, being polite and respectful will go a long way.

Speaking of the locals, I can’t even put into words how impressive our actor person/chicken zombie dedication was! Every day they were there, my jaw dropped wider and wider at their heart. First day, we had them out in the sun for 12 hours. They came back. Second day, they were out in the sun 12 hours - and spewing fake vomit made from rancid cream of mushroom. They came back. Third day, they got put into chicken zombie makeup which got changed and added to about 4 times (including the last dictate from Lloyd, which had us glooping KY jelly and feathers in their hair), and then they had to wait 7 hours. And they came back!!!! Buffalonians don’t fuck around.

And the cast and crew were just as wonderful, tremendous company during adversity (and it doesn’t get much more adverse then when making a Troma film.) There’s not really an awful lot of room for egos when everyone’s getting their ass kicked. Considering the 200+ people I got the pleasure to work with, I can count on one hand the real dyed-in-the-wool douchebags, and I’d say that’s a damn good percentage.

Just like most everyone else that’ll see this, I read Lloyd’s books, I’ve seen the making-of documentaries, and there are two other important lessons I learned. Nothing, nothing, NOTHING you see in those documentaries even comes close to being there. Both the highs and lows, and believe me, the lows got pretty low. But that leads me into the second lesson here, and these were the highs: The part of filmmaking where a group of people is able to make something larger than any individual could have done themself. It’s those glorious moments when you just stop and look at whoever you’re working with at the time, and you get a stupid grin on your face and all of a sudden it hits you: “Holy shit, we’re making a movie!”

It’s not just the work, either; it’s the silly shit that fills in the spaces at the end of the day, or the stupidity we resorted to just to keep ourselves sane. Like us conning Pauline the still photographer into getting full zombie makeup against her wishes or the hour-long conversation with Jamie as to who he might be able to get lucky with at the wrap party. All these memories I’ll carry with me for the rest of my days. Much like herpes or genital warts.

I began my inquiry into working on Poultrygeist! as just an off-the-cuff thing, it was a flighty, half-thought out idea. Me taking a stab as what I saw as a unique opportunity. Doug Stanhope told me that “flighty, half-thought ideas are the best choices you’ll ever make.” And I’ll be damned if he wasn’t right. I’m having to fight the urge to just go down the contact list and say “thanks” and “I love you” and “I miss you” name by name. And I KNOW I don’t need to do that; I’m pretty sure you guys feel the same way.

Love, peace, and bodily fluids where applicable,
Mike