Donald Trump and Hollywood Omertà

Many people have seen, or at least read about, the now-infamous “hot mic” tape of a candid conversation between Donald Trump and Billy Bush in September 2005. News outlets and the internet are currently saturated with analysis of the content of this tape, in which Trump admits that his money and power permits him to commit sexual assault. The astounding crudity of the verbal exchange was seen as revealing the true nature of Donald Trump’s personality and attitude towards women, and the revelation of this tape may well prove to be the tipping point of the 2016 presidential election.

But this article isn’t about the content of the tape: it’s about why it took so long for it to be released. This is the part of this incredible story that seems to be under-discussed— and it relates directly to Hollywood, which is why it’s being discussed here.

The official story is the producer of “Access Hollywood,” Steve Silverstein, remembered this interview about two weeks before the release and dug the footage out of archives. This story is almost certainly false. The reason why it’s not believable is actually embedded in how the tape was recorded.

This political bombshell (more of a nuclear warhead) was taken from a segment of “Access Hollywood” which documented a cameo Donald Trump was making on the soap opera “Days of Our Lives.” It was shot on the backlot of NBC Studios in Burbank. A camera crew was following Trump and “Access” host Billy Bush: both men were fitted with lavalier microphones and transmitter packs which broadcast RF signal to receivers attached to the camera. During the publicly-released segment a cameraman had stepped outside the bus to set up a shot showing Bush and Trump arriving at the studio to be greeted by soap star Arianne Zucker. Thinking they were off-camera, the two men engaged in a crude, degrading conversation about women. Aside from the on-camera personalities there were seven people involved in this taping: two cameramen, the segment producer, a production assistant, Trump’s bodyguard and PR person, and the bus driver.

After this segment was shot, the footage was likely seen and handled by even more people: on-line and offline editors, more show producers, audio technicians and maybe even an archivist.

Charlie Chaplin, during one of his
many, many court appearances.

So about a dozen people— very likely more— heard and saw this footage in 2005. Yet NONE of these people recalled this conversation, one of the most devastating revelations of character any political aspirant has ever uttered? Particularly as this 2005 taping came on the heels of complaints by the cast and crew of Trump’s show “The Apprentice” about his crude on-set behavior? That is an impressive case of collective amnesia.

Hollywood’s code of silence strikes again.

The film industry has been creating and controlling secrets since the days of Charlie Chaplin (and Lita MacMurray) and Fatty Arbuckle (and Virginia Rappe). The studios all had (and still have) well-funded departments which handled public relations and “fixers,” producer-level executives who specialized in keeping indiscretions out of the press. (Hail Caesar was a thinly fictionalized account about a famous studio fixer.)

The culture of secrecy goes very deep in both the film and TV industries. Entertainment is an unusual industry in that the general public is constantly and intently curious about it. Supermarkets do not devote shelf space at the checkout counters with magazines dishing the dirt on astrophysicists and farmers, after all. Scripts and storylines have to be kept secret: details of film shoots are kept from public view as much as possible as well. The need for confidentiality rivals the Pentagon’s.

It’s all for the greater glory of the Industry, of course. That, and jobs. A scandal that would bring down a star would shut down production. A leaked script would kill off box-office potential. Finally, there’s the prestige factor: being on the set gives even the lowest PA or grip access to some of that rare stuff, Hollywood Glamor— stacks of non-disclosure agreements are willingly signed to gain access to that inner circle.

Why did this revelation take so long to emerge into the light of public scrutiny? The culture of Hollywood, a full century of studio secrets kept, reputations protected, indiscretions hidden. And they are so good at it: Did you know that Tom Cruise is only 5’7”? It took a LOT of will to overcome that much inertia and tradition.

TWELVE HOURS A SLAVE

I don't usually do extra work. I don't even peruse the listings. However, a couple of weeks ago one slipped into the speaking roles section of Actors Access and it caught my eye.

It described the Coen Brothers comedy Hail, Ceasar! about a studio head in 1950's Hollywood who is struggling to get through a day as his job and life crumbles around him. Josh Brolin plays the executive and it also features George Clooney, Scarlett Johansen, Tilda Swinton (as twins!) and others, but they had me at '50's Hollywood. Plus they needed Roman slaves. Among my favorite movies are The Ten Commandments, Ben Hur, and Spartacus. I love that nonsense.

So I submitted my headshot. And a few days later they called me and asked if I could send some selfies, looking weary an put-upon. I did, and included a shot that a friend of mine had recently talked me into. Landed the gig!

Yesterday I learned my call time would be 5am at the Big Sky Ranch in Simi Valley "but I should shoot for 4:45 because the shuttle." The Big Sky Ranch is enormous. It's the Ponderosa without all those troublesome pines. And it's vaguely familiar, which means it probably was the Ponderosa now and then. I arrived and they immediately routed me into body makeup where I stripped to briefs and they filthied me up. "Dance you mud turtles, dance!" they chortled. (No they didn't). From there to wardrobe where I was issued a tattered burlap schmatte and sandals and as a final touch this curly wig. 

We ate a little breakfast and then caught another shuttle to the set, a very long road studded  with monuments. It was about a quarter to seven by then but I can't be sure because I didn't bring my phone. I only had the burlap on my back and a lightweight blanket. The guy standing next to me only had a loincloth and body makeup to keep him warm. And it's cold in Simi Valley before sunrise!

I was looking around for clues to how the Coens were going to portray this genre and though I can't show you the set (again, no phone) it seems they're right in that Robe/Demetrius and the Gladiators groove. I spent the better part of the day as part of a slave team dragging a battering ram with a golden ram's head at the tip. I was whipped by gladiators who had those big red brushes on their helmets. In other words cliched and inauthentic in a very precise, controlled way. 

I wasn't expecting to see any Coens but they were both there. Ethan dresses like a rock star; Joel wore a t-shirt from a crane rental company called Ichabod Cranes. Neither one seemed to be having fun, but dear God those two are efficient. There were probably 300 extras trudging along that road at any given time and they still managed to get about a dozen shots in the can. A few of them will be for "tiling", the practice of cloning the extras to increase their numbers. I expect to be in the same shot three times, all unrecognizable from the distance.

When you see the movie, look for me as the guy pulling the battering ram rope on the right.

During a break in the shadow of a fiberglass obelisk (it went from uncomfortably cold to uncomfortably hot in no time) this guy asked me, "hey, what color are your eyes?" I'm not used to dudes asking that but I said, Hazel. "Mine too." He turned to another guy and asked again. Hazel. WE ALL HAD HAZEL EYES. Most of the slaves did. We figure that's why they picked us.

Now that I'm sitting in Starbucks, exhausted with every muscle aching because of all that walking in ill-fitting sandals, it occurs to me that extra work is at least a little like slavery. I mean, you do what they tell you, you don't talk back or there are terrible consequences. We could have escaped on foot but we were two tram rides away from our cars and besides they had all our street clothes. Of course, I wasn't subjugated and they let me go after 12 hours (11, but I'm including trip time) still, there are similarities. I'm just sayin'. And hell yes I'd do it again. Sadly, I hear they're wrapping this week. Attn Coens! When you need extras again, I'm your man! Especially if it's a scene in a nice quiet restaurant where older men are romancing beautiful women. In overstuffed chairs.