“Yeah,” I smile, actually proud that this project is so close to happening. “It was his idea.” I explain the concept and before they ask, I add, “I already went to the network and pitched the spin-off.” I’m referring to the premium network that’s home to the docuseries.
Ali shuts her laptop, engaged. “And?”
“And they were very interested and want first look. But they requested a pilot before picking up a series order.”
Can’t fault their reasoning. Charlie is a giant question mark. Ordering this spin-off without footage could be like calling Domino’s expecting a pizza, only to be served a cactus. No network wants egg on their face or to waste money.
But there is no crystal ball predicting a hit from a flop. We all have to take chances, and I’ve never struck out before.
“What about a backdoor pilot?” Ali asks.
I shake my head. “They saidno. The network doesn’t want to mess with the integrity ofWe Are Callowayby hyper-focusing just on Charlie.” With a backdoor pilot, essentially one of the episodes ofWe Are Callowaybecomes Charlie’s pilot, and the network can see how the audience reacts and whether they want to move forward.
I leave out how the network asked,“What about Maximoff and Farrow?”They were willing to commit to a series order of a “Marrow” spin-off without any content filmed or even a backdoor pilot.
A straight shot to TV.
I was selfishly happy I could tell the network that Maximoff and Farrow weren’t interested in a spin-off, because if they had been…I don’t know what I would’ve done.
Ditching Charlie (who came to me first) just to favor Maximoff for my own gain—that’s not the kind ofpersonI ever set out to be. But the industry is cutthroat and ruthless, and to most people, that deal would be a no-brainer.
“So no backdoor pilot,” Ali considers, “which means whoever works on the spin-off has to work on their own time with no guarantee of pick-up.”
I nod. “It’s essentially a side project.” I go into crew details. “Now, we could film the pilot with two people, but if Charlie’s docuseries is picked up for a series order, I’ll need a team. Naturally, you’re the top two on my list.”
Ali rolls forward in her chair. “How big of a team are you thinking?”
We Are Callowayis split into 3 production units. Each one follows a set of famous ones, categorized by age. Which is why I’m attached to the “older kids” who are actually all in their early twenties now.
Each team has 6 people:
Producer.
Camera Operator.
Production Manager.
Sound Mixer.
Gaffer.
Writer/Story Supervisor.
And even then, depending on the shoot, we’ll add in more camera operators, grips, and boom operators.
But on filming days, each team tries to keep the number of crew to a minimum. The style of documentary filmmaking we do is cinéma verité. Meaning we’re a part of the footage, the narrative. The viewer understands that the famous ones are being filmed in their everyday lives by filmmakers, and the viewer hears our voices but doesn’t see our faces.
I prefer operating the camera, if I can.
So how big of a team?
“As small as possible,” I answer Ali. “Charlie’s bodyguard doesn’t want a big crew, and I think we can strike gold with just the three of us, but—”
“I knew there was abut,” Ambrose says.
“I can’t sugarcoat it,” I admit. “I shadowed Charlie so I could get a sense of how difficult it’d be filming him longer than five-minutes, and I lost Charlie for hours.”
I don’t mention how he ditched his bodyguard to give us some quality “alone” time together.