Note: This originally appeared two years ago, but I thought you might enjoy it — and I’m too lazy to write something new.
Back in the TV days, I used to love shooting things at Saratoga. It was a great place to get man on the street sound because everyone was in a good mood and talkative. True, sometimes there might have been a little alcohol involved, but I assure you, only a little.
The best thing about this was you could get people to say pretty much whatever you wanted, which is golden. We’d go back and slam something like this together:
Sometimes people wouldn’t want to talk. Here’s what I heard all the time: “No cameras! My boss might see this and he’ll know I wasn’t really sick today!”
I’d try to explain that it would not actually be on TV for several days and his boss would never know when we taped it. No dice.
Other people at the track had even stronger objections to being videotaped. Years ago a big swrthy fellow approached me at the paddock rail. “Hey, see that table in the tent over there? If you point your f***ing camera at them one more time, I’m gonna come over here and break your arm.”
I looked over to were he was pointing and observed several well coiffed gentlemen wearing sunglasses and smoking cigars. I did not point my f***ing camera at them one more time.