Chapter Fourteen
The Nightmare Before Christmas
This particular side trip during my illustrious career, could fill a volume by itself. If enough people outside my thousands of friends and family find ‘Try Not to Annoy the Kangaroo’ an informative laugh-fest, TNBC could be the follow-up.
This voyage into The Land of the Type B Personality, or Animation World, began in 1991. As covered previously, my first few years in Kooktown, USA passed uneventfully. That changed when Phil Lofaro, with whom I worked in the Bay Area since his relocation in 1988, started producing for Colossal Pictures, a passably famous EFX house in San Francisco.
Four blissful years came to a shuddering halt.
Let’s pause. Think of it. A steady gig from a production company named Colossal Pictures after toiling at Big City Films in New York City. What are the odds? Big City Films and Colossal Pictures. Sounds like a cinema arms race in the making.
Phil, who of course impressed Colossal Pictures from the time he stepped foot in the place, phoned me on an overcast, nap-inducing Spring day.
Phil: “Disney called.”
Me: “Mickey or someone else?”
Phil: “That’s almost funny. It sounded more like Goofy,
though, I must admit.”
Me: “Any chance they dialed the wrong number?”
Phil: “Okay, butthead, I didn’t get an actual phone call from Anaheim. One of the creatives from Colossal has been signed to direct a Tim Burton feature.”
Me: “Tim turned down his own feature?”
Phil: “You wanna listen or not?”
Me: “Sorry. Go ahead.”
As it turns out, Phil received an offer to production manage The Nightmare Before Christmas. Quite a compliment, but not surprising given his many talents. Though it sounds preposterous, Phil appeared lukewarm on the idea. The issue? It would two to three years of his life, and would remove him from the freelance industry in Kooktown, USA. He worked hard to establish himself as a viable player in that arena.
Phil: “It’s a big commitment. Changes what I do for a living, but it is hard to turn down Disney.”
Me: “Tough to say no to Mickey.”
Phil: “You’re really not helping.”
After a reasonable amount of stomach acid later, Phil accepted the position. He started working in the Spring of 1991. I heard from him frequently during the first few months as he set up systems for The Nightmare Before Christmas. Given that a full stop motion feature had never been done, the task took on a Sisyphean aspect. Typically, conversations between us went as follows:
Phil: “I need someone to be in charge of scheduling all the work on a dozen small stages.”
Me: “Got just the guy. He used to work at KQED. He’s organized to the point of distraction, and very, very loyal.”
Phil: “What’s his name?”
Me: “Al Lipske?”
Phil: “Al?”
Me: “Yes.”
Phil: “Lipske?”
Me: “Yes.”
Phil: “No.”
Or.
Phil: “I need a production coordinator.”
Me: “Hire Joyce Quan. She’s reliable, and has had staff jobs before.”
Phil: “I’m going to hire Jackie Rubinowitz.”
Me: “So you really don’t want my advice. And are you kidding? Jackie Rubinowitz, the former Ms. Tuolumne County?”
Phil: “What’s that got to do with it? She’s experienced and knows a lot of the Colossal folks that are on the job.”
Me: “Absolutely. What could go wrong?”
Ms. Tuolumne County’s hiring did precipitate Yours truly coming on board in 1992, but more on that to come. Just as The Nightmare Before Christmas got underway, Phil asked me if I wanted that production coordinator’s job, but in the interest of preserving our friendship, I demurred. We had gotten to be good friends, and it’s hard to be both friend and coworker, especially on something as long as a two year plus project. He understood.
But one day, just as pagers and cell phones started to replace answering machines, I got a page from Phil. Jury duty had me ensconced at San Francisco The Hall of Justice a mere block from the studios of The Nightmare Before Christmas. During a break, I found a pay phone and rang him back.
Phil: “You’re coming to work for me.”
George: “Fine, thanks. And you?”
Phil: “How soon can you be over here?”
George: “Lee’s good. How is Kathy?”
Phil: “I need you to come work for me on The Nightmare Before Christmas. I had to fire my studio manager, and you’re the only person I can think of who might be able to step in while I search for a replacement. It’s just for a couple of weeks.”
George: “Studio manager. Hold on, let me look at my resume. [Crumpling jury duty letter]. Nope. Nothing on here about managing studios.”
Phil: “Don’t care. You have to do this for me.”
Because he would do it for me, and that is one of the truer statements I can make about the production world. Phil would have done it for me, and then some. Fortunately, when I returned to sit in the Fire Sale furniture used in the jury duty waiting room, the defense attorney didn’t appreciate my statements about using Turkish torture methods for drug dealing to be a just punishment for his client, an illegal alien with a rap sheet the length of a Michener novel.
The judge let me go and I walked a full block from 7th and Bryant, the Hall of Justice’s domicile, to 7th and Harrison, the Northern California home of the production of The Nightmare Before Christmas.
TOMORROW: MORE NIGHTMARES
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