A PR, for those who don’t know, is a bizarro call sheet. Instead of telling you what you’re going to do tomorrow, it tells you what you actually did yesterday. It lists the scenes that were shot, in and out times for the cast and crew, number of pages, number of minutes, number of drives (formerly number of film reels), and more stuff you probably don’t understand and don’t want to.
The point is, all of this has to match the football paperwork, like the daily time sheets and script report.
It rarely does.
And you know what? I get it. The 2nd AD works loooooong hours, longer than most other crew members. It’s the end of the night, people are yelling at you over the walkie, you’re trying to sign the actors out, all of that stuff. I wouldn’t expect you to be able to add up eighths of a page correctly every single time.
Yet production coordinators somehow do.
I have never once, in all my years, seen a perfect PR come from set. That’s why part of a coordinator’s1 job is to correct the PR.
For some reason, every mistake on every PR makes every coordinator livid. “Gah! Don’t you know three and seven eighths and two and three eighths and four eighths and two eighths and five eighths makes seven and five eighths?! Idiot!”
Come on, show a little patience. I had to check my math on that twice, and I’m sitting at my computer.
What I really don’t get is, why does this always come as such a shock? Shouldn’t they be used to this by now? A coordinator presumably has years more experience than me. Where’s the pattern recognition? Where’s the sympathy?
An AD’s job is hard. Cut them some slack. When the short stop backs up the 2nd baseman, does he yell at him for missing the catch? No, he just catches the ball himself and continues the play.
And that encompasses my entire knowledge of baseball. No more sports metaphors for a while.
- APOC’s, depending on how they divide up the work.↩