A true story, as told by one of our anonymous Executive Producers …
Last year we were asked by some associates, whom shall also remain nameless, to stage manage a 1,000 plus attendee event. Their client had booked them late after an on-staff event manager left to take another position just weeks before the meeting.
As experienced Event Producers, we want to know exactly who the key people are on a job, what equipment they are proficient with and what their depth of experience is. Important things to know just in case a live event doesn't go exactly as scripted.
With none of these answers in hand, I told them we were uncomfortable about it and would prefer not to do the show. There were key process steps being skipped, different teams, and different players. I told them it made me nervous.
In the end, we like these guys and they needed a favor. So, I unceremoniously caved and said yes, with the understanding that our company would not be held responsible for the outcome if things went sideways. They agreed.
Sometimes I wish that little voice in my head would speak louder and more clearly.
Night one: General Session. I watch in horror as the 9 x 12 projection screens display dual error messages in one foot tall Arial! Apparently, the rented laptops had trial versions of PowerPoint® that timed out right in the middle of the presentation. The corrective actions (new laptops) were in before the AM session. However, the “new” rented laptops were in fact so “old” that they simply crashed every time a complicated slide animation started. I heard the little voice say, “I told you so”, and it did sound louder that time?
We have rules when we produce a show ourselves that our crews know to comply with. One such rule involves the simultaneous use of liquids and boards. Yep. The unimaginable happened on day three after a mid-morning break. 16 oz. of hot java was spilled on the lighting board. After draining the board of, say 14 oz. of now lukewarm coffee, the main presenter takes the stage. Off we go, fingers crossed and heart pounding. 10 minutes in … still good. 30 minutes in; we remain alive. Then lights mounted to the truss begin blinking. They stop a minute or two later. We may have dodged a bullet? Nope, that’s not the case. Now we’re dark. The backup lights power on at full and blind the presenter!
The audio person has run over to assist, and he’s banging on the lighting board so loud that 400 or so of the 1,000 attendees are now turned around in their seats watching the spectacle unfold in real-time. I race over to assure him that no amount brutality or aggression is going to dry those circuits any faster. As soon the words fell from my lips, almost on cue, we’re dark again. The house lights go on for the remainder of the presentation. The little voice in my head was now screaming, “You never listen to me.”
After the show, as we started to pack up, a contrite lighting tech came over to apologize one more time. I reminded him that he had a done a great job right up until the coffee thing. Then he looked at me and asked, “I just have to know one thing, if that’s OK? When we had to go to house lights, and you walked off holding your head in your hands, why did you say, 'Shut up, why weren’t you screaming when I agreed to do this?”
Moral of the story, know your people, know their capabilities, and know your equipment. Then test all three of those things a few times before opening the show! Oh, and never believe it when you hear, “We have everything taken care of, you can just fly in and do your thing!”
Last year we were asked by some associates, whom shall also remain nameless, to stage manage a 1,000 plus attendee event. Their client had booked them late after an on-staff event manager left to take another position just weeks before the meeting.
As experienced Event Producers, we want to know exactly who the key people are on a job, what equipment they are proficient with and what their depth of experience is. Important things to know just in case a live event doesn't go exactly as scripted.
With none of these answers in hand, I told them we were uncomfortable about it and would prefer not to do the show. There were key process steps being skipped, different teams, and different players. I told them it made me nervous.
In the end, we like these guys and they needed a favor. So, I unceremoniously caved and said yes, with the understanding that our company would not be held responsible for the outcome if things went sideways. They agreed.
Sometimes I wish that little voice in my head would speak louder and more clearly.
Night one: General Session. I watch in horror as the 9 x 12 projection screens display dual error messages in one foot tall Arial! Apparently, the rented laptops had trial versions of PowerPoint® that timed out right in the middle of the presentation. The corrective actions (new laptops) were in before the AM session. However, the “new” rented laptops were in fact so “old” that they simply crashed every time a complicated slide animation started. I heard the little voice say, “I told you so”, and it did sound louder that time?
We have rules when we produce a show ourselves that our crews know to comply with. One such rule involves the simultaneous use of liquids and boards. Yep. The unimaginable happened on day three after a mid-morning break. 16 oz. of hot java was spilled on the lighting board. After draining the board of, say 14 oz. of now lukewarm coffee, the main presenter takes the stage. Off we go, fingers crossed and heart pounding. 10 minutes in … still good. 30 minutes in; we remain alive. Then lights mounted to the truss begin blinking. They stop a minute or two later. We may have dodged a bullet? Nope, that’s not the case. Now we’re dark. The backup lights power on at full and blind the presenter!
The audio person has run over to assist, and he’s banging on the lighting board so loud that 400 or so of the 1,000 attendees are now turned around in their seats watching the spectacle unfold in real-time. I race over to assure him that no amount brutality or aggression is going to dry those circuits any faster. As soon the words fell from my lips, almost on cue, we’re dark again. The house lights go on for the remainder of the presentation. The little voice in my head was now screaming, “You never listen to me.”
After the show, as we started to pack up, a contrite lighting tech came over to apologize one more time. I reminded him that he had a done a great job right up until the coffee thing. Then he looked at me and asked, “I just have to know one thing, if that’s OK? When we had to go to house lights, and you walked off holding your head in your hands, why did you say, 'Shut up, why weren’t you screaming when I agreed to do this?”
Moral of the story, know your people, know their capabilities, and know your equipment. Then test all three of those things a few times before opening the show! Oh, and never believe it when you hear, “We have everything taken care of, you can just fly in and do your thing!”
No comments:
Post a Comment