By TOM WATKINS
Big Shout Magazine, March 1989

Editor’s Note: Tom Watkins is an artist and lifelong resident of the Wilmington area. His experiences working in the Set Dressing Department of Touchstone Pictures’ “Dead Poets Society” are conclusive proof that the restrictions for obtaining a SAG card should be tightened. Wink, wink.

Virtually every print shop in the country sports a sign somewhere showing sexless cartoon nerds slapping their rubbery little knees, rolling on the floor, with “You want it by when?” boldly encaptioned. Construction workers still keep their collars (and the air) blue by joyfully nailing each other’s tool boxes to the floor. Rookie machinists trudge endlessly to the tool sheds for those elusive left-handed monkey wrenches.

It’s a given — every job has its own built-in “occupational humor” factor. The bigger the job, the bigger the laughs? Maybe. One shudders to think about the occupational humor at the Pentagon. While Oliver North may be their answer to Ed McMahon, I think the Granada “incursion” may be closer to the mark. But what happens when the job is working on a major motion picture starring one of the funniest men in the world? And what if it’s not a comedy?

Believe it or not, I recently met a Delawarean who confessed to not knowing anyone involved in the making of Dead Poets Society. Of course, since she now knows I worked on it, she won’t be able to use that line as cocktail chatter again.

For the novice reader, Dead Poets Society is a dramatic film set in 1959 at a Vermont boys prep school. It stars Robin Williams and Norman Lloyd, and was shot entirely in Delaware. Director Peter Wier (Gallipoli, Witness, Mosquito Coast, The Year of Living Dangerously) and cinematographer John Seale (Gorillas in the Mist, Rain Man, and many other of Wier’s films) both left their native Australia for Delaware’s fair skies to tackle the project. With all this serious talent gathered for the purpose of wringing a serious performance from Mr. Williams, you might expect a funereal pall to reign on the set.

No way. The ongoing Poets production was steeped in humor, amazing when you consider that a “normal” week was usually 72 to 80 hours, much of it very un-Hollywoodlike cold. If cast and crew hadn’t played gags, fooled around and generally blew off steam, we all probably would have been hospitalized — mental or otherwise.

Obvious question first: Is Robin Williams funny? Yes. All the time. He somehow balanced live Waiting for Godot performances at the Lincoln Center with early shootings for Poets. He also endlessly broke up the entire crew with wildly “misdirected” variants of his lines and free-association stand-up bits.

John Seale usually got the worst of it. During one particularly long set-up for a scene, Williams slipped into an “old salt” persona that made his Popeye character sound like a sea scout: “See that over there? he growled, pointing at Seale. “I got him on my last trip north. I remember it well. We were iced in for months. Nothing to do. No women; just seals. Then I noticed what large brown eyes this seal had… (pregnant pause). So I had my way with this seal. You know what it was like? (An even longer pause). It was like fucking a chicken!”

The entire crew joined Seale’s laughter at the story. But Williams still in character, couldn’t resist one last remark. “Yes, that very seal you’re resting your feet on. Sure I can’t get you a drink?”

What a gentleman.

The cast and crew of Dead Poets Society pose for the traditional group shot.

The actors didn’t hold a monopoly on the humor, however. Director Wier, who had the unenviable task of constructing a complicated dramatic story with a cast consisting of a major comedic talent and several high-strung young actors, managed to have a little fun of his own. Apparently, turnabout is still fair play Down Under.

The final day’s shooting was done entirely within a man-made cave constructed in an industrial-park cum-sound stage. During the final shot, the cast panicked at the sudden appearance of a black bear within the recesses of the cave. After a moment’s reflection on bears living in plaster caves in New Castle, DE, the bruin was apprehended and discovered to be cast member Robert Sean Leonard in a bear suit provided by Wier.

Wier may have had the last laugh of the show, but special mention must also be given to his lovely wife, Wendy, the film’s production designer. Set dresser John Anderson surprised her one day by placing a particularly loathsome puddle of rubber vomit on the freshly-dressed desk in Lloyd’s character’s apartment. After overcoming her initial disgust, she enlisted my aid in straight-facedly denying having ever seen the dingus, which she had taken off the desk. Anderson fumed and stalked the set for the next hour, mumbling about his gag being ruined by “lousy, thieving” grips. Of course, shortly thereafter he discovered the vomit hiding in a handful of curtains he had to examine for Wendy.

Even the producers weren’t immune to the humor bug. After wrap one December evening, we were greeted by a stripper, whose appearance was a surprise only to the soon-to-be-married crew member for whom she performed. After a Panavision camera recorded his stony-faced reaction to her anatomical charms being thrust in his general direction, producer Stephen Haft requested that the camera crew include the sequence in the dailies that were being sent back to the parent company, Walt Disney Productions — with no explanation included.

“Disney will love this!” was his final word on the subject.

As the film progressed, the daily call sheets began to include little quizzes, cartoons, and silly puzzles. Even more outré signs and posters appeared on the sound stage walls. One of the best employed a technician’s photo in a cartoon sequence. As he gradually sprouted Mickey Mouse ears, he emoted, “I think… I’ve been working… here too long!”

Several days before a much-needed three-day Christmas break, notices announcing it’s cancellation were circulated on company stationery. Even the local teamsters got into the holiday spirit, sending a hapless driver to the company’s transportation captain in search of his “free turkey or ham.” Was that a left-handed ham?

To test our ongoing sens of esprit de corps, the Un-Official Dead Poets Pop Quiz asked complex questions based on script developments, company gossip, and “local color.” In true Hollywood tradition, the Quiz Part Two followed a week later. And you haven’t really lived until you’ve seen Peter Wier and several dozen other big cinematic guns singing a rousing rendition of The Ballad of the Dead Poets sung in the style of The Ballad of New Orleans. A sample refrain: “The FAX machines, they were a hummin’, and the memos kept a comin’, cause that’s the way Mickey wants to run a show!”

This is best sung very loudly, off key, while drunk in a bowling alley or hotel restaurant full of tired business people. They love it.

Speaking of love, let’s hear a kind word for associate producer/unit production manager Duncan Henderson. His many duties included signing contracts, setting rates, and generally handling financial things for the film. Once, he arrived at St. Andrews School — one of the Wilmington-area shooting sites — to find a rudely constructed foamcore shack housing the company’s sound equipment. On it was a graffitied, “Tom & Brian’s Fun House” in honor of two assistant directors. The fun house’s main attraction was ballyhooed thusly: “See Duncan — The Man With Half A Heart!”

Did we love this guy or what? Just kidding, Duncan. Sure, I’m available for Dead Poets II…

But the most lasting memory of my time spent with the Dead Poets crew remains the Wall O’ Shame. It began innocently enough with a candid photo of a napping light technician, which appeared on the sound stage wall captioned with the international circle/slash over a cartoon bed. A warning, it said from “Sleepbusters.”

As time went by, increasing overtime and mounting exhaustion began to take its toll on the cast and crew. The military-style “Welton Academy” beds and odd chairs in dark corners beckoned Siren-like. Soon the wall grew full of photos, with mocking captions like “Only resting his eyes?” and “Local boy nabbed!”

“Don’t Bunch Up!” was the warning on a group portrait of several fried actors on a couch. “The Unknown Sleeper” featured a mystery man in a horizontal position with a paper bag over his head. And in the ultimate taunt, a photo of one of the cast’s dorm beds was captioned, “Looks Good, Doesn’t It? Don’t Even Think About It!”

Some “busts” were hotly contested via reply captions. “He’s clean! He’s not sleeping, he’s dead!” was the most novel approach. John Seale was even accused of sleeping with his eyes open, an allegedly common Australian trait.

When all was said and done (or said and done 12 times until it was a wrap), the Dead Poets company proved to be a lively bunch. Short of armed combat, I doubt you’ll ever experience such humor pass so freely between such a disparate group of people working towards a common goal. But I guess that’s why the say, “There’s no business like show business.”

Where do I sign up for the next movie?