Shooting Diary

Excerpts from the shooting diary of Klaus Pridnig,
assistant director and producer Ukraine

26th shooting day Winter 2006,
eastern Ukraine, –20º to –30º C (–4 to –22º F)

I’ve seen Seidl smiling and happy twice during shooting. Once, when we were surprised by a blizzard while shooting in Košice, and we could barely see our hands in front of our eyes, and the second time in eastern Ukraine, with snowdrifts and –30° weather. Everyone was at the extreme limits of what they could give and take, only one person was happy: Seidl.

34th shooting day Red Bar in the Hotel Zarkarpatia,
Uzhgorod, western Ukraine

Since Seidl insists that all locations be left as they are in terms of atmosphere and people, we had to shoot in the red Bar while it was in full swing. Caught between drunken Ukrainian rowdies and corrupt, semi-criminal security guards, we filmed for two nights while people insulted and threatened us. Once we even had to call in the police, who immediately demanded money to get rid of the drunken rowdies terrorizing us. Seidl, concentrating on directing, barely noticed and, like he did during the snowstorm at –30°, smiled happily. For the third time, as it happens.

42nd shooting day On how Ukrainians never
fill up their gas tanks

Vehicles often ran out of gas because we shot longer than I originally estimated. Once Seidl stamped his feet like rumpelstiltskin because a motorcyle ran out of gas. He didn’t understand that no matter how much money I gave the vehicles manager, the guy would put only a pint or two of gas in the tank and pocket the rest of the money. In the poverty of eastern Ukraine, minimal tanking up (a few drops at a time) is a tradition that can’t be overturned by anything. And certainly not simply because an Austrian director wills it so.

45th shooting day Enakievo steel plant and the mafia

One of our favourite locations was a steel mill in Enakievo. In order to get permission to shoot there we had to negotiate directly with a branch of the Donetsk mafia. After intense discussions with one of the local bosses during an alcohol-overloaded evening that played havoc with my health, we managed to obtain permission. But, as is so often the case with Seidl, shortly before we were about to shoot, he decided not to use the location after all and simply cancelled our filming there. The boss couldn’t believe it. Only when we paid the rent for the (unused) location, throwing in a bottle of fine brandy with it, did he promise not to kill us – as long as we kept out of his sight.

47th shooting day Turning off the heating at –20°

In eastern Ukraine we’d chosen an apartment for the character of Olga. Like many other cold apartments in eastern Ukraine, the heating was centrally controlled. That is, the State turned the heating on and off. As luck would have it, the apartment was warmer than usual. But because Seidl wanted to see people’s breath, the way he had during his research, we had to wangle the owners’ permission to put valves in the pipes so we could turn off the heat. For days they were convinced we were crazy – who turns off the heat at –20°? After heated discussions, they finally agreed to let Seidl freeze.

51st shooting day Casting lay actors in the geriatric ward

Despite my conviction that the shoot could not possibly be any more difficult, Seidl insisted on having a dog at the side of Andi, the nursing assistant. And as Seidl almost never casts professional actors, of course the dog also had to be an amateur actor – a trained canine was out of the question. We combed the hospital grounds looking for nurses, doctors and support staff who owned a dog. We organized what could be called a doggy casting call. The dog we finally chose added to our stress level more than anything else because it only appears in only two scenes in the final film.

57th shooting day Mardi gras in the geriatric hospital

The most difficult aspect of the entire shoot in the geriatric hospital was the mardi gras party. Bringing all the elderly patients from the different wards to the location, getting them dressed and made up, coordinating our shooting schedule with their meal schedule, convincing the staff to cooperate or at least calming them down – all of this with Strauss’s “Wiener Blut” waltz playing hour after hour – it was a Sisyphean labour. Of all our shooting days at the Lainz clinic, this was the most strenuous, the most difficult, the most complicated in terms of organisation, and the most sensitive with respect to obtaining authorizations. Seldom were we as happy to have completed a day’s shooting… What’s more, seldom were we as happy to have gotten it in the can at all! This sort of thing doesn’t impress Seidl. months later, we shot the same scene all over again because Seidl wasn’t happy with his material. I know him. I could have predicted it.

62nd shooting day Mister Koller and the roast pork

One difficult patient, mister Koller, was only willing to cooperate when his television was playing. For hours he lay, leaning on his side in bed, his nose an inch from the screen, because he was almost blind, with the volume cranked up, because his hearing was bad. If ever we asked him to turn off the television or to turn down the sound, our answer was a screaming fit of the highest order. mister Koller yelled, mister Koller shouted. It was unbearable. Then Seidl appeared. He talked with him and promised to bring him roast pork the next time. From that moment on mister Koller didn’t stop asking about mister Seidl, if perhaps he’d brought more roast pork. The television was no longer a problem. The roast pork he ate at night, when everyone else was asleep.

68th shooting day Dear Saint Mister Ulrich

As soon as anyone entered her room, Frau Schlamm, ancient and bed-ridden, began to pray. “St Anthony,” she would implore, “please, please bring me to my parents’ garden. Please, bring me to the bus stop so I can at least take the bus there. Please, dear St Anthony, my parents will pay you back with lots of fruit for you.” After we’d shot there for two days she now prayed, “Dear mister Ulrich, please bring me to the bus stop so I can take the bus to my parents. Please, please dear mister Ulrich...“