Film Production in the Desert - a Hard Job for the Crew

(IRN/UK)

When sitting in the cinema and watching a film shot in extreme locations, hardly anyone has an idea of what goes on behind the scenes and the stresses and strains this can mean for the crew, especially for the technicians of the film production. Working for an American-Iranian film production in Iran gave me first-hand experience of what a hard job this is for the crew.

An Iranian Newspaper cut from January 1975 describes the Cinemobile (above) and the film project. The photo below shows driving the Cinemobile in the Iranian desert.

The film production team was based a few hours' drive down the road towards the Pakistan border. Our desert film locations were well away from the road where we couldn't take the Cinemobile, which my friend and I were responsible for, and its equipment to the filming area because of the sand and rough terrain. So instead, we'd load large reflector boards, and the heavy folding tripods needed to support them onto smaller trucks, drive as close as we could, and then carry them across the sand dunes beneath the blazing sun to the film location. This was hard, dusty work, and you could imagine what we looked like after a day of filming in the desert. One compensation of these big reflector boards was they made effective sunshades for us, the technical team, as there were no trees or shade anywhere. You'd be surprised how many people could fit underneath one of these two square meter-wide boards during the hottest part of the day.

Before coming to Iran, I thought all deserts were made of golden sand. The idea of the desert was probably influenced somewhat by watching the film on Lawrence of Arabia. This desert certainly wasn't. Instead, the sand was dark and sprinkled with ankle-breaking, fist-sized lumps of black lava.

At the end of a day's filming, we'd return to our accommodation, a desolate, small adobe building. Next to this building was a water bowser and two simple shower cubicles, and there was always a race to be first back. This was for a practical reason. Each of us wanted to have a warm shower, or at least a shower at all, to wash off the dust and sweat of the day. The sun heated the water in the bowser, and the last ones back sometimes got the dregs, or worse, no water. Once the bowser was empty, it took days before it was refilled.

The electricity also flowed sparsely. There was a small generator with just enough juice to power a few lights, not enough to power a ventilator or an air-conditioning unit. So we lay in our beds, simple metal cots on thin foam mattresses beneath mosquito nets and the sweat poured out of us in our hot and airless room. However, there were compensations. There was no light pollution in the desert, and looking up at the canopy of stars was breathtaking, especially when there was a full moon; because you felt so close, you only had to reach out to touch the stars or the moon.

We were working with the Baluchi tribesmen. They were working as extras in the film as they were great horsemen. They camped nearby beneath the stars, together with their horses and well away from our resident Iranian secret policeman. They were fearsome men and were known for their smuggling skills. I recall a story I was once told about them; how true the story is, I couldn't say. The military sometimes sent soldiers to try to contain the Baluchi tribesmen. On this occasion, they captured the soldiers' commanding officer, crucified him to a door, cut off his manhood and pushed it down his throat. It was a long time before they sent another unit of soldiers.

I got on well with Baluchis; they often would invite me to their camp in the evening. They smoked opium around the campfire, and when I was suffering from dysentery, they'd offer me a pipe to ease my cramps, and I must say that it worked.

My dysentery and lack of pure water were draining me literally and physically, and I was constantly thirsty. Unfortunately, the provision of drinking water for the crew, particularly for me in my condition, was not guaranteed. Large chunks of ice would be transported to our location on the back of a truck for the location caterers. This ice was not covered and was full of dust and sand. I needed fluid, and the tea provided by the caterers didn't quench my thirst. I had only one option: chip down into the block to find clean ice and put it into a mug to melt and so quench my thirst. This was, of course, contra-productive for my dysentery.

I found out much later, when I'd returned to England that one of the production managers had been tasked with supplying soft drinks, such as Coke Cola, for the crew. I was so dehydrated I had to drink the iced water, which exacerbated my problem. This production manager pocketed the money, and I would dearly like to meet this guy one day.

The lack of pure water certainly did not help the healing process after my operation. The wound would fill with pus, and I frequently had to drain the wound by squeezing it. I was also starting to collapse on location, and then my colleagues had to carry me into the shade of a reflector board. The production company had another cash flow problem and couldn't pay the crew, so we drove back to Tehran. I decided to leave the film and return to the UK as soon as we reached Tehran, as I feared for my health.

I returned to the UK and went straight to my doctor for tests. The results of the tests showed that I had amoebic dysentery and that I needed to rest to recover fully. Unfortunately, the Iranian co-production didn't last much longer and folded without completing the film. I'm still owed approximately £2000.

OK, poor in monetary terms, but rich in experiences and stories like this one – and I survived. (DL)