black holes: a january update [part 2] (Patreon)

Hello, dear strange and wonderful readers–
As promised, I've got the second half of your January update here. 2024 is certainly off to an unexpected start.
Some quick and dirty highlights before The Big One™️:

🎖 I completed & submitted my Final Report and Final Budget for the Big Giant 2-Year Grant from the Canada Council for the Arts that made Le Numéro Barbette, it's filming, and the creation of SLOW CIRCUS: BARBETTE possible. It's been approved by a grant officer, which means this chapter of grant-work is formally and officially closed. Some part of my brain is registering that this is a big accomplishment, but it hasn't sunk in yet.

✍🏻 This week, I'm working as a peer assessor for the Canada Council for the Arts again: In the past two weeks, I've read forty-eight composite grants from theatre makers, dance companies, visual artists, musicians, and more who have all submitted proposals for multi-faceted projects like my now-closed Le Numéro Barbette one.   Along with three other jurors from across Canada, I've got multiple 4-hour meetings this week to discuss applications and finalize the scores we assign them based on artistic merit, impact, and feasibility. Our recommendations are given to grant officers, program directors, and other full-time employees with the Canada Council for the Arts who make the actual decisions about who gets funding, and how much.   It's been fascinating and eye-opening to see how artists in other fields who are mid-career structure their projects and funding requests and I've learned so much. A lot of it is wrapped up in NDA / confidential, but I think it's safe to say at least one thing I'm gathering from soaking my brain and eyeballs in dozens of excellent, competent grant proposals: I have never asked for high enough artists fees for what I do. I'll try to distill this experience out into some other seeds of truth that don't tread near NDA/confidentiality issues this year for us.

⏰ I'm waiting to hear back about my own second composite grant application (obviously, my application is in a separate pool of peer jurors / I'm not evaluating my own work for funding).

Back in September, when I was in Ireland, I blasted out a massive 3-year proposal to develop the existing research and choreography for Le Numéro Barbette into a solo show. It seemed like the logical thing to do at the time: there was a film strike happening; I didn't think I was going to get into Cirque de Demain (I didn't); and I'd been warned that there would be funding cuts coming soon. Results get sent out around the end of February for these proposals.

The Canada Council switched evaluation formats a year or two ago and all performing arts are grouped together for review. There is no longer separate pools for music funding, for theatre funding, for dance funding, for circus funding. It's all lumped in together. This is ... not great for inter-arts, circus arts, and dance: music grants disproportionately represented the most funding awarded last year with this new model. And after reading so many proposals from theatre makers in my own pool of grant evaluations, I can spot so many feasibility 'problems' [holes] in the grant proposal I submitted in the fall.

I'm proud of the proposal that I wrote, but for the first time in my career I find myself hoping that I don't get the funding for my proposal. I need a break from Barbette. I don't particularly want to jump right into another three years of being buried in that material. So...frankly, chances are high that it won't receive funding; and, frankly, I would be very okay with that this round.

I have other artistic ideas banging on the inside of my school insisting to be let out that I'm slowly gathering materials for in the background–I'm hoping I can 

And finally ... 

🎬 Remember how I've written a few times over the years about how I don't do stunts anymore? Well, the Universe loves to laugh, doesn't it. For the first time in a couple years, I will be Toronto-based for a few months (MONTHS?!) on a big movie that's in pre-production at the moment / starts filming in March. 

Re-stating this so we don't all get excited the wrong-way-round about it: it's stunts only that I'm doing. Not an acting gig.

As with all film and TV contract stuff, I err heavily on the side of caution when it comes to NDAs and confidentiality, BUT -- since the bossman himself posted this a few days ago, I think that this much is probably safe to share:

( https://www.blogto.com/film/2024/01/guillermo-del-toro-frankenstein-movie-toronto/ )

⚓️ Yes, that is a gigantic old-timey ship that they've built in the parking lot of one of the Netflix Studio lots in downtown Toronto. It is MASSIVE. And it is one of many key set pieces for Del Toro's new Frankenstein project. My car is usually parked somewhere just out of frame to the left these days.

😳 As for me,  I've been hired onto this project as part of the core stunt team for the first time in my ... (counts on fingers) eight-ish years in the film & tv industry.
In my experience so far, the guys that I see getting booked onto stunt teams (and weekly contracts) are the competent generalists who also happen to be of a highly-usable size (read: not too tall; not too short; not too big; not too small): guys that can do hard hits, big falls, big wire gags, tricking, acrobatics, weapon-work, you name it.

Me, on the other hand? I've spent the last several years specializing in circus arts. This skillset occasionally comes up in film, but not all that often. In my career experience, my contortion skillset makes me useful for quick little moments –a day or two of work at the most– but not useful enough to keep me on board a show for a long period of time.

But the coordinator on this show --who is from out of town / not local to Toronto-- wanted a contortion specialist on the team. To die in weird ways in some of the fight scenes. He got my number off another stunt guy and cold-messaged me out of nowhere. And so I'm here.

❓What does that mean, work-wise?
If I was going to translate this into circus terms, it's a little bit like ... getting booked onto a touring show for Cirque du Soleil versus working 1-off corporate events or special events. You're with the show. Your entire life needs to revolve around it. There isn't time for anything else. You're not just picking up a day of work here or there. It's your full-time gig, until it's over.

(Before we all get excited about the illusion of job security here, let me clarify that while I am expected to keep my calendar clear until ... at least mid-April, I'm not actually formally contracted until mid-April. My contract lasts as long as each week: each Saturday I get a new contract for the next week. I could be let go at any time; or the production could [theoretically] fold at any time [I doubt it will]; or they could cut the stunt team down from 10 to 5 and I get dropped; and they'll say "thanks!" and that'll be it. So ... we'll see what happens?)

🌅 What does being on the core team for this show involve?
Well, so far from what I can tell, it means that (along with about 10 other stunt guys) I'm "locked in" for two months of pre-production, and one to two months of filming (possibly longer) on this show.   

It means that I show up at the studio from 7am to 4pm, or 8am to 5pm, or 12pm to 9pm (you get the picture) Monday to Friday, to work on whatever the stunt coordinator says we're all doing that day.

We make "pre-vis" (pre-visualizations) of what fight scenes and action moments might look like, film them, and present them to the director and other Heads of Department for notes, corrections, and then do it all over again. We practice wire gags and rehearse the stunts that are multi-part, complicated, and involved.   We'll do this preparation until we "go to camera," as we say in the industry (start filming)

This length pre-production period is unique to the world of film. TV timelines are too short (and budgets too small) for such things. Feature films that are action-heavy, or have action scenes that are pivotal to the narrative, will often have a stunt department working on these moments well in advance of the filming day so that it looks as good as possible (and so that the more chaotic / involved / risky elements are as safe and repeatable as possible).

❌ "I thought you didn't do stunts anymore":
I don't–or, at least, I thought I didn't.  Broadly speaking, I don't particularly want to be too hireable as a stunt performer. Most importantly, my too-many head injuries makes it pure folly for me to be aiming to be hireable on jobs that practically guarantee further concussions, sooner or later.

For another thing, being too noodly and my joints being too unstable to do big wrecks and hits doesn't make me 'valuable' on a team. Being hired on as a contortion special-feature for a big fight piece on a huge movie is the statistically-improbable Goldilocks situation that leads me to this moment where I'm sitting in my car at 6:30am every morning to drive to work without being filled with massive anxiety that I'm about to get so wrecked at work that my quality of life across the board is about to take a nosedive...because my job is to move well, be competent, and...largely...be bendy in a key moment here or there.

For another thing, my decision to come out and transition is something I (correctly) assumed would cause my phone to stop ringing pretty quickly for stunt work. I won't get into the nuances of why that is in this post. I've touched on it long ago in older writings and it merits a re-visit in the future (perhaps when Tournelle du Soleil has wrapped up).  

Some of it is for the overt reasons you might assume; a lot of the other reasons are more nuanced and subtle. Harder to pick out. The point in my transition I've started to reach –being read as a young man more 'easily' to a lot of people– has nudged this situation in yet another new direction, from what I can tell.

😮‍💨 There's a lot of gender stuff going on for me with this contract, and in a way I haven't had to deal with before. Yayyyyy...
Without going into any NDA-violating details, the parts of this film that have action (stunts) involved occur in specific times / places / contexts where there ... simply aren't women present. The ND (non-descript) character(s) that I'll be dressed up as for different stunt moments will all be men. My options in this workplace are to be a woman or to be a man. And since there are no women on this show (in a stunt-related capacity, anyway), I'm a man on this job.

The entire stunt team is men. All of them are pretty chill. Most are friendly. Most of them are straight. Any of them who are bisexual are not open about it. All of them are cis. Most are progressive. Some are not.  This is not a team of coworkers who spends a lot of time with queer people, or trans people. I'm pretty sure most of them are fine with both those things –– but probably largely in theory, not in practice.

Many of them cannot (or will not) wrap their minds around non-binary identity, even if I asked them to (which I haven't, and won't). Most have never been asked to; or if they have been asked, they've (best-case scenario) dissociated away from it because it's confusing to them, or (not-best-case-scenario) scoffed and said "that shit is stupid I don't get it" and ignored it.

This workplace is not a space to talk about my identity. This is not a space where we introduce ourselves with pronouns or ask for others'. This is my first time being in an all-male work environment as someone (trying to) pass as male (succeeding sometimes; failing other times). There is no middle ground for these men. I would be making my life a living hell by being honest about that, or asking for neutral pronoun use. So, I've been trying to white-knuckle my way through asserting a male identity at work, rather than passively accepting it if people see it.

😬 How's that going, then...?
The stunt coordinator has set a great tone for the show and for our team: he's kind, warm, approachable, experienced/competent, and doesn't seem to hold a trace of ego-driven tough-guy mentality in his bones (I cannot say the same for most other stunt coordinators I've worked with over my time in the industry). I'm really happy to be working for him.

This coordinator refers to me with /he/him/ pronouns. (I haven't spoken about it with the coordinator. This coordinator has seen my Instagram (that's how he first contacted me), but we've never personally had a conversation about identity or pronouns. I did have a conversation with the stunt office administrator about it (it came up naturally) and perhaps she shared it with him discreetly; but that's just a guess.)

The stunt rigging coordinator (from out West / not local) thinks I'm a young man. We've never talked about it.

So does the makeup department, the hair department, and the costume department. We've also never talked about it; they just assume and I reinforce it where and when I can.

In the way that language often courses through a group of people like an invisible current, these folks' use of masculine pronouns prompts most of the others to do so as well.

The stunt team itself is divided: some automatically use /he/him/ pronouns. Others –who knew me at the start of my stunt career, 7 years ago and well before transitioning– have been trying to address me with /she/her/ pronouns (which confuses the others). Others who were using /he/him/ for me at first have randomly slipped in a few /she/her/ references out of nowhere, totally resetting my evaluation of where I thought were all at on the subject. It feels like the ground is shifting underneath me every day. I'm never sure what I'm going to be walking into each morning, each time I walk back into the room.

I've taken aside a couple of them who were using /she/her/ consistently at the start of things to privately to ask that they use /he/him/ with me–the ones I thought might be open to to it.

But even this feels like a risk. I could talk around this by saying that this is my first time in a long time where I'm in a close-quarters work environment for an extended period of time with the full political spectrum present. The liberal guys keep their opinions mostly to themselves; the conservative guys mostly do as well. People try to not rock the boat or bring up contentious subjects. Everyone wants to stay in the team mindset.

These folks I spoke to privately were gracious about it, but still mess up (as in: they still see me as a woman).

For the most part, I leave these conversations with other peers alone, hoping the collective language of the group will eventually tip over to consistent male gendering (because, if I asked them, there's a non-zero chance it would be received as a request for  a woke memorization exercise to indulge in their coworker's [me] mental health problems–not that they'd ever say that to my face).

Like I said–the coordinator is great. If there was ever an overt problem, I could go to him about it. I don't think there will ever be an overt problem. But holy shit, my moment-to-moment brainspace has not been taken up in this gender hypervigilance and masculine performativity to this degree in...well, not that I can remember in recent times. Or ever.

If I've been in these environments before, it's been for short, finite periods of time.
Not Monday to Friday, 9 hours at a time, and longer than that once we go to camera.

I'm two weeks deep into this contract and somewhat in disbelief about it still.
I'm incredibly lucky to have been selected for this job that never in a million years could I have applied for. But I'm anxious about it all day, every day; and in pretty deep brain fog after I'm done work each day.  

It's a weird and off-balance feeling to be in the midst of so many people for whom it's their dream to do this work; it feels hard to hold onto my centre of knowing and remembering my value outside this world as a circus artist. Or just an artist that doesn't prioritize stunts above everything else in life.

It's mentally exhausting to constantly evaluate and re-evaluate and supervise my gestures, voice, posture, movement, facial expressions, to create a mask of masculinity for these (largely) hyper-masculine people. The stupid thing is is that as everyone starts to relax and get to know each other, I see their goofy sides coming out; see their own hyper-masculine fronts get set aside. I cannot do the same, because it's read as feminine. For now, anyways.

I'm just trying to get through each day. Trying to stay centred, stay patient, be consistent. Waiting for it to tip over into something that feels easier.

I'm not there yet, though.

I know I'll have a lot to reflect on through this process, and when it's all done.

I'll stop here for now, though–I've already gone on long enough. I'm working away on lining up your steady drip of Tournelle du Soleil stories for you through the rest of today and this week.

Thanks for your patience, your presence, your support <3
Stay strange and wonderful–

xoxoxo - s