Not every movie is a big budget production, but work is work.

Back in 1996 I was idle for a couple of months, but I had income coming in from the sign company I owned also, so I took a rest. Not for long.

Then I got a call from a friend of mine who was helping hire for a low budget movie being shot several miles from my house, and it was a union show. I was glad to be in the thick of it again. The movie was called Illtown.

Now the term “low budget,” at the time, meant it had $10-$20 million to get it done. Even then, that would barely pay the actors and department heads. So each of the crew would end up doing the work of 3-4 people. And the perks and hourly rate were going to be slimmer than usual.

The only “name” actor in this “straight to video in Brazil” movie was Tony Danza, and he wasn’t the star… just a bit part. I think he owed someone a favor and was probably down here hanging out and playing golf anyway. Who’s the boss? Not Tony.

Now my specialty is “signwriter (sign painter) and graphic designer.” In contrast, a pricey movie like “Just Cause” had five people in the art department under the head painter.

In your typical movie, the signwriter may have to occasionally help paint sets and “age” props if they want to get their hours in. Overtime is where the money comes from.

My first day (at 6 a.m.) I was sent to help my boss Susan and the only two other painters to age some props using a technique that I wasn’t trained in.

I was trained to create prop signage. I had developed my own way of aging.

She took a whole five minutes to train me on her method, which actually was not all that great, and I went to work. Thirty minutes later she began snapping at me that it was taking too long. (I have to mention that she was under tremendous stress and it was her first “boss” job.) She put me on set painting… painting walls, doors, anything that was going to be on camera.

For more than a week, that’s what I was doing. Sort of doing penance. Grunt work.

Then she came to me in panic. There was actual sign work to produce, and I was her only hope. There was a little cafe the director had arranged to use as “The World Cafe” for a shot. It was on the edge of the ghetto in West Palm Beach.

You have to understand that everyone in the art department of a show is totally intimidated by the idea of making a sign, especially the head painter. Most of them have not the slightest idea as to how to make a sign. They only know if they try to do it, it will be an embarrassing disaster.

They look on sign writers as some sort of evil witch doctors who cast some kind of spell and a sign appears. They look at you from the corner of their eyes with disgust and envy. Or in a freakout mode when they’ve been ordered by the director to create something tangible that they haven’t a clue about.

Usually, in a hurry.

So she comes to me… much more politely… and begs my help.

“We have to go down to this little cafe in the…uh…diverse part of town.”

(That’s how L.A. people talk.) There’s a big plate glass window we need to hand paint and letter… TO-DAY. We’re shooting it early tomorrow morning.”

She went on to describe that the name “World Cafe” had to be lettered large with a globe-looking logo. And it had to look like a sign painter in a Harlem type city did it. It was the “tomorrow” part that had her fear button set on high.

“I’m going to send Shaggy with you to help. Just tell him what to do.”

Shaggy was a young set painter (he paints walls with a roller and had a wild looking head of hair) who looked just as anxiety-ridden as Susan did.

It was equivalent to sending the hospital cafeteria guy to the E.R. to help the surgeon with a heart transplant. (I secretly snickered to myself.)

We arrived soon after at the cafe, which was actually called something else.

The production company paid them for the use and agreed to re-do their windows when it was over. They were happy campers.

When I laughed, Shaggy asked why. I laughed again and told him, “They send TWO men and give them 12 hours to letter this thing.”

Seeing the anguished look on his face, he’s thinking we wouldn’t get it done in time.

“Shag, if I sent a journeyman sign artist out to do this job from a commercial shop and he couldn’t get it done in two hours…I would fire him on the spot.”

I quickly sketched the design with a water crayon, mixed a couple of small cups with the two colors and broke out the lettering brushes.

The words started. “THE …”. Then we went inside and had breakfast with the very friendly family who owned the place. Then another cup of coffee.

BS’d with the folks awhile.

Back to work. “W”. We painted the name ONE letter per HOUR. I even let Shaggy do one. He was so proud. Then I painted the globe logo, stretching it to about 11 hours and fit in a lunch and a dinner. And a ton of coffee and cigarettes.

It was a big hit. Our boss never looked at me sideways again, and the cafe owners liked it so much they changed the name of the restaurant to fit the sign!

And it only cost this “low budget” movie about $900. In 1996 dollars.

Thom Caraccio ([email protected]) is a retired musician and retired motion picture scenic artist living in West Palm Beach, Florida who hails from Columbus. He graduated from S.D. Lee High in 1968 and still considers Columbus his real hometown.