The annual In Memoriam segment of the Oscar broadcast is
always poignant – and controversial. Emotions automatically swell when we’re
reminded of the showbiz giants we’ve lost in the past year: Peter O’Toole,
Shirley Temple, Harold Ramis, and so many others. Yet there are always
complaints. The good people of Chicago are steamed that native son Dennis
Farina was overlooked. My film noir
pal Alan Rode laments the absence of Jonathan Winters. And I’ve heard gripes
that Philip Seymour Hoffman didn’t deserve the climactic spot at the very end
of the segment. (I disagree: of all the people on that list, his loss perhaps
made me the saddest, because he had so much more to give.)
It’s tragic to lose a gifted individual because of his own
bad choices. It’s even more tragic, though, to lose someone who falls victim to
other people’s carelessness and bad policy decisions. Unfortunately, there’s a
lot of that going on in Greater Hollywood.
In the ramp-up to the Oscars, a young woman’s death on a
movie set galvanized thousands of below-the-line folk who believe their
well-being is often compromised by higher-ups more worried about keeping to
their schedule than about basic safety concerns. Sarah Jones, a popular young camera
assistant, was killed in rural Georgia on February 20 while working on an
Allman Brothers biopic, Midnight Rider. The
accident is still being investigated, but it involved a scene being shot on a railroad
bridge. No trains were expected: when
one suddenly appeared, the crew scattered, with fatal results for Sarah, who
was apparently struck by debris from a damaged prop.
Sarah’s grief-stricken co-workers launched a “Slates for Sarah” Facebook page, campaigning to have her death recognized as part of the
Oscar ceremony. Though 58,000 people signed an online petition, her photo was ultimately
not included in the ranks of the In Memoriam honorees. Still, Sarah got her own
tiny moment. Just before the networks cut to commercial, there appeared at the
bottom of my screen a small banner, mentioning Sarah and pointing the viewer
toward a more complete list of passings on the Academy website, titled “Oscar Remembers.” (Sarah is represented by a full-color photograph; she’s #38 on a
list of 112, tactfully arranged in alphabetical order.)
Sarah’s death has elicited grief, but also anger. Many who
know the industry well are convinced that it was preventable. It seems those in
charge of her set did not bother to take adequate precautions. I gather no
representative of the railroad was present to oversee the filming, and
just-in-case procedures were inadequate, at best. Years ago, I interviewed
Haskell Wexler, the ace cinematographer who has won two Oscars for his work.
Haskell, a firebrand from way back, self-financed a 2006 documentary called Who Needs Sleep? It was a plea to his colleagues to limit a
film crew’s work hours, in response to the death of a cameraman in a car crash
after working 19-hour-days on the film Pleasantville.
Haskell’s commonsense proposal of a 12 on/12 off work day was soundly
rejected, both by movie producers worried about the bottom line and by his own
union colleagues, unwilling to seem weak. Today a heart-sick Haskell blames Sarah’s
death on “criminal negligence.” Footnote: this would never have happened to the
film’s stars, who on a set are always beautifully protected from harm.
When Hollywood’s glitterati put on their designer duds and
celebrate the magic of cinema, I hope they occasionally think about the crews
who make their movies possibles. Those who work the long hours and get none of
the glory. And occasionally die doing
what they love.
Here, from an industry web site called Stage 32, is one producer's angry and anguished reaction to Sarah's death.
