By Darrin Quigley
My path in this crazy industry hasn’t been clean. It’s been crooked, loud, funny, painful, sometimes ridiculous — and it has involved a lot of drinking.
But this is my story.
When I was about three years old, we moved to a city called Haverhill, about half an hour north of Boston. This town was where Louis B. Mayer, later the studio head at MGM, had his first theater, called the Gem.
My own first taste of show business came when my father opened a nightclub called the Raven. The acts included nationally recognized entertainers like Tiny Tim and David Brenner. There were also hypnotists, musical acts, dancers — and some gangsters. One of my dad’s friends was Alex Rocco, who had ties to the underworld and later became famous playing Moe Greene, the casino boss in “The Godfather.”
Louis B. Mayer viewing what was once the
Orpheum in 1954. PHOTO: MERRIMACK VALLEY LIFE
I remember the lights, the curtains, the smoke, and the excitement of the stage. Even at my young age, I could feel it. My friends and I loved horror movies. We filmed our own 8mm versions of “Frankenstein,” “The Wolf Man,” even “The Exorcist.” When the “8s” came back from the pharmacy where we had them processed, we would sneak out around midnight and have a screening at the house of the director, an older kid who owned the equipment.
I wanted to go to film school, but money was tight. Instead, I volunteered at the local public-access TV station as a PA and eventually worked my way up to program director.
That was my college. I learned by doing local television. I shot and edited footage, made and fixed mistakes, learned to deal with others’ egos, and got the program out.
I had friends who worked in the news business in Boston, so I made my way there and landed a job as an editor at a local station. My first day was the Columbine shooting. Later came the death of JFK Jr., the 2000 election, 9/11, the Station nightclub fire, and Katrina. News keeps you honest. As editors, we had an obligation to tell the story in its purest form and give the audience the truth: real people, real grief, real fear, and real time.
Probably 10 years too late, in search of new challenges, I moved to Los Angeles with a pregnant wife and a 15-month-old boy. I still loved show business — the studios, the sound stages, the edit bays, the chaos, the people, and the strange version of Hollywood that lives in your head before you ever get there. Just seeing the Hollywood sign turned me on.
I worked as an assistant editor and editor on shows, independent projects, documentaries, pilots, promos, news, sports, PA work, and whatever else kept me close to this wonderful, crazy mayhem we all know and love.
I love walking into an edit bay for the first time, being at the beginning of a new project. It’s like you have this new world to explore. At the best times, the edits seem to come from nowhere; you work seamlessly and feel like there’s this guiding spirit that is just working. Musicians call it being “in the pocket.” Then, maybe the next day, nothing will go right. But with perseverance, a great producer, and maybe a few notes, magic can still happen.
Darrin Quigley.
The first time I really felt like I was part of Hollywood was when I became a member of the Motion Picture Editors Guild. I had been around unions before in broadcast, electrical, and technical work, but this one felt different. Being in the Guild means a lot to me. I am part of something that has a long history. I haven’t done what I set out to do yet, but I am part of the craft. And the union matters.
I love walking into the edit bay for the first time.
I’ve been around productions where people are treated badly. That is why the union matters. The hours matter. The health plan matters. The pension matters. The credit matters. The life outside the room matters.
There are costs to this career. I paid a high price chasing my dream. My parents passed away back East while I was out in Los Angeles trying to make it. My marriage did not survive the uncertainty and stress of this business. I worried about the impact of this highly demanding job on my kids.
Being in the union has made me aware that nearly everyone else has the same concerns, too. We love what we do, but we must take care of the rest of our lives. Unlike the shows we work on, we don’t go into syndication. We only get one run.
Local 700 is not just a card. It’s a sanctuary. It is a place where people understand the real cost of this life, and what we all go through for it: The ups and downs, the phone calls that don’t come, the stress, the success, the failure, the fear, the pride, the rejection, and the comeback. We are all part of the same insanity. We are all, in some way, patients in the same sanitarium, still believing we’ll make the cut on time.
When we edit, we cut for emotional impact. And although we may not always think of it this way, we often live our lives that way, too – making choices for what feels right, for what turns us on. Our lives are a bunch of keyframes, and it’s how we work each one that counts.
I told myself that if I ever drove south on the 170 and the Hollywood and Los Angeles signs no longer turned me on, it would be time to go back home to Boston.
They still turn me on.
Darrin Quigley, a picture editor, serves on the Guild’s Publications Committee.
