My Week As A Paparazzo

We're all familiar with the paparazzi, right?
The paparazzi is a class of photographers that focuses solely on invading the privacy of celebrities. Your average member of the paparazzi (singular term: "paparazzo") will spend his entire day hunting down a famous person in public and shoving a camera in that individual's face with no regard for basic decency or personal safety. Magazines and websites will pay thousands of dollars for just one shot of, say, George Clooney drinking a Slurpy outside of a San Diego Shoney's, or Sandra Bullock chatting up a liquor store clerk. So, it stands to reason that the dedicated paparazzo will stop at nothing to get such valuable pictures. And, generally speaking, the more wild a celebrity's antics, the more demand there will be for photos.


The interesting thing about the paparazzi is just how far they will go in the pursuit of their mission. I've read that a paparazzo will shout horrible insults at young starlets in hopes of getting them to cry or become angry since such images are more valuable. Paparazzi are also known to break into hotel rooms and take shots through hidden cameras to get the juicy stuff. Heck, there are a few crazy sons of guns who will intentionally get in front of a celebrity's moving car to cause a scandalous accident that will sell more magazines. My God, they're really out of control. I mean, can you imagine?

Picture yourself just walking down the driveway to take out the trash. What if there was some guy with a camera standing out there, yelling questions about your divorce and recent weight gain to you while snapping 40 pictures a minute? At the very least, you'll probably get slightly annoyed and shoot him a nasty look. Perfectly justified, yes; but also very lucrative for the sleazy paparazzo. He'll sell those pics of you giving him the evil eye to People Magazine, and everyone who sees them will think you're some kind of jerk who just walks around scowling all of the time. Not to mention, the paparazzo is going to sort through your trash as soon as you place it on the curb, so you'd better make sure there's nothing embarrassing in there.


Yes, the life of a paparazzo is a harrowing one. Dangerous, dark, shameful, utterly devoid of real meaning....It's a rare breed that can go into the field and make it. I should know -- I tried it myself a few years back.


What can I say? I'm just drawn to glitz and glamor, baby! I've always wanted to be part of HOLLYWOOD, the Stardust Rodeo, rubbing elbows with movie stars and pop singers. Why can't it be ME over there on the red carpet with Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, and Scott Baio? What, just because "I'm not talented or good-looking"??? That's not fair. I should get to be part of the showbiz scene, too!

Well, I eventually realized that the only way I could ever break into Hollywood was to become part of the paparazzi. See, I'm no dummy; I know my limits. I accepted the fact that there was no chance I'd ever succeed in acting, writing, directing, editing, sound engineering, costuming, catering or drug dealing, and settled on something else: guerrilla photography. So, I bought myself one of them fancy cameras with the heavy lenses at a pawn shop and set out for the City of Angels. This was around the summer of 2009.

(I'll see you soon, Afleck)

When I arrived in California, I found a celebrity photography agency and applied for an entry level position. Called "Famous Skin Enterprises," the place was run by a chain-smoking guy named Frank who said he'd start me off at 100 dollars a week. I was shocked.

--ME: 100??? I thought this racket paid, like, a grand per photo!
--FRANK: Kid, that's not until you hit the major leagues. You gotta start off small, following has-beens like Luke Perry and Burt Reynolds. Then, if you're good, MAYBE one day I'll bump you up to stuff like Lindsay Lohan upskirts and Paris Hilton fenderbenders. If you do OK there, who knows how far you'll rise? Stick with me. If you're really a go-getter, I'll have you rummaging through Brad Pitt's garbage in no time!
--ME: OK, OK....So, which celebrity do you want me to stalk this week?
--FRANK: Sinbad.
--ME: Sinbad? The comedian??? I thought he was dead!
--FRANK: No, he's still alive and living in Los Angles. I got a hunch he's poised for a comeback, and I want as many rolls of film of him as possible. Try to dig up something shocking that I can sell to TMZ. That Sinbad's GOTTA be up to something. Heck, he's got "Sin" and "Bad" right there in his name!
--ME: All right, fine. Everyone has to start somewhere. I'll get you your Sinbad pictures, boss.

I immediately set about the task of locating Sinbad, stand-up comedy icon of the early 1990s, and spent a week trailing his every move. This is my story.


--DAY ONE. SINBAD WATERS THE LAWN:

I found Sinbad's modest ranch-style home in a suburb not far from the airport. As I approached the house, I spotted him watering the front lawn, quietly humming "Son of a Preacher Man" to himself. After getting a few candid action shots from about 40 yards away, I jumped out of the van and ran right up to the edge of the grass.

Sinbad heard the rapid fire clicking of my camera and looked up, somewhat puzzled.

--SINBAD: Hey man, what are you doin'?
--ME: I'm with the paparazzi, and I'm here to harass you.
--SINBAD: Paparazzi? Is this some kind of joke? I haven't been photographed since 1994! Go and run along home, white boy.
--ME: This is a public sidewalk! I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HERE!!!

Sinbad shrugged, and returned to his lawn watering. I took about 190 shots before he went inside. At one point, his wife peeked out through the curtains to see what all the commotion was about, and I snapped a couple images of her, as well. Success.


--DAY TWO. SINBAD GOES SHOPPING:

After picking up the previous day's pictures from a nearby one-hour photomat (JEEZ -- it cost almost 140 dollars!), I trailed Sinbad to a supermarket just outside the city of Downey. He was in the veggie aisle, and as I ran toward him snapping pictures, I could tell that he recognized me.

--SINBAD: You again? Man, I've got shopping to do.
--ME: I have a right to be here. I have a right to be here!
--SINBAD: What are you, some kind of prankster? Did my brother put you up to this? He did, didn't he? Ha HA! That Raymond is always pulling crazy jokes on me.
--ME: No, I told you that I'm paparazzi. These pictures are for magazines!
--SINBAD: Yeah, yeah. Whatever, "Mr...PAPARAZZI MAN"....

Convinced that the whole thing was a joke, Sinbad finished his shopping in good spirits as I took at least 230 pictures. I could sense that he was a little embarrassed by the scene I was making, but there was no way he'd crack and show his anger. Not yet, anyway. A cool, collected sort of chap, this Sinbad. He even posed for a few pics on his way out to the parking lot to show what a good sport he was.


I had to bide my time.

--DAY THREE. SINBAD GOES TO THE BEACH:

After picking up my grocery store photos from the Save-A-Lot (another 167 dollars!), I reached Sinbad's house just in time to catch him pulling out of the driveway. I tailed him as closely as I could, getting right up on his rear bumper, which I'm pretty sure scared his family. Eventually, we wound up at a private beach. Seems Sinbad had plans to take the wife and kids out for a nice day of swimming.


He spotted me right away and gave me the finger. BINGO! I thought for sure that I had my first Triple-A shot of him, but realized a moment later that I'd left the lens cap on my stupid camera. Crap. It figures.

Anyway, Sinbad apparently figured out the previous night that I wasn't really just a guy hired by his brother to pull a prank, so he was in no mood to treat me with kindness. Turns out that he'd also made arrangements with the beach owner to ban me from the premises for the day. I had to rent a paddle boat and take pictures from a bit of a distance.

I finished the day with zero photos of Sinbad, but 26 rolls of his 18 year-old, bikini-clad daughter. Hey, I'm not proud of it...but I'm not ashamed, either.

--DAY FOUR. SINBAD WATERS THE LAWN AGAIN:

I arrived at Sinbad's house on Day Four to find a police officer waiting. He told me that a restraining order had been filed against me and that I was prohibited from going within 100 yards of the property.

--ME: This is an outrage! I'm with the PRESS!!!
--COP: The law is the law. You're harassing this man.
--ME: What about the First Amendment??? That's the only law I recognize!!!
--COP: Leave now, or I'll arrest you.
--ME: I have a right to be here! I HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HERE!!!!

Despite my indignation, the officer quickly made a pretty compelling argument for why I should leave.

("Say no more, officer!")

I returned a few hours later, after getting my bikini pics from the day before developed (400 dollars this time!) and stopping to spend my last nine bucks on gas. Sinbad was watering the lawn again, but I didn't have enough film left to get any photographs.

--SINBAD: I thought you'd know better than to come back here!
--ME: It's a public sidewalk.
--SINBAD: You're a sick man. And where's your camera this time?
--ME: I...I...ran out of film and don't have any money to buy more.
--SINBAD: AH-HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAAAA!!!!

After calming down, Sinbad waved the restraining order at me and told me to leave.

(I assure you, this photograph has not been altered in any way. Also, note the restraining order in Sinbad's hand.)

I went back to the motel, feeling totally drained.

--DAY FIVE. I REST:

Since I had no money, I figured I'd better just chill out for the day and try to learn how to develop my own pictures. I found a neat website with all sorts of information on the topic, and more-or-less sort of got the concept (kinda).

Then, I pawned my guitar and VCR to get cash for more film and gas.

--DAY SIX. SINBAD HIDES OUT IN THE MOUNTANS:

I arrived early at Sinbad's house to find no one there. Luckily, the GPS device I'd hidden under his bumper told me that he had retreated to a cabin on Mount Davis, quite a drive from where I was. Still, I managed to get out there. No way I was going to let him beat me.

I found Sinbad sitting on a boulder deep in the wilderness. He appeared to be reflecting on the beauty of the scenery, quietly gazing at the mountain peaks surrounding us. A single tear rolled down his cheek, perhaps as he thought of how overwhelming God's true greatness is. Yes, it was a moment of serene peace for Sinbad....

Until I ran up to him, snapping pictures.


Sinbad didn't speak; he just stared at me as I used up my last three rolls of film. I hollered a few insults at him in hopes of provoking a reaction, but it was to no avail. He just gave in and waited for me to finish.

Success!

--DAY SEVEN. I GET FIRED.

I returned to Frank's office at Famous Skin Enterprises with my Sinbad pictures. He wasn't impressed.

--FRANK: Kid, these are terrible. Almost all of them are blurry. What, did you use one of those cheap, disposable cameras?
--ME: Well...for some of them I did. See, the battery died on my big camera, and...
--FRANK: Shut up. There are hundreds of lousy pictures here. I'm not going to sift through all this garbage! Just get out. You're fired.
--ME: But I want to be a paparazzo!
--FRANK: It's ain't happenin', kid. You don't got what it takes.
--ME: Can I still have my 100 dollars?
--FRANK: No.

I hitchhiked back to Michigan, a thoroughly broken man. My attempt to be a big-time celebrity photographer had failed.


I guess the moral of the story is that it's better to have a few really good shots of something than a whole ton of really bad ones. You know -- quality over quantity. Oh, and Hollywood's a jungle. Remember that.

Now here's a quick capsule review of a film that depicts the founding of Facebook, a website that makes us all feel like we're public figures.

The Social Network (2010)
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1285016/


Netflix description:
David Fincher's biographical drama chronicles the meteoric rise of Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) from Harvard sophomore to Internet superstar, examining his relationships with co-founder Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and Napster founder Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake). Aaron Sorkin penned the screenplay based on Ben Mezrich's best-seller The Accidental Billionaires: The Founding of Facebook.

Yes, I know it would have made more sense to review this film with the Facebook post I wrote just the other day. What can I say? Very little of what I do makes sense.

Anyway, The Social Network is the true story of Facebook founder and CEO Mark Zuckerburg. I won't spend a whole lot of time talking about it, but I will say that this motion picture is a thoroughly engaging, and expertly-made depiction of a sociopathic genius. Jesse Eisenberg is excellent as the constantly babbling Zuckerburg, who screws over his own best friend to get control of the company they started together. Not to mention, he stole the idea from someone else in the first place!

No movie could have been more timely than The Social Network, and fortunately, it's more than just topical. This film really is quite good on its own. It tells a compelling story, and does it well.


The only thing that troubles me is the strong possibility that this film depicts Zuckerberg a little TOO harshly. I mean, there are plenty of articles about how much David Fincher's film exaggerates everything that really happened. Still, that doesn't stop it from being good.

You don't have to be a Facebook user to enjoy The Social Network. It's a genuine high-quality movie. Go and check it out.

4 out of 5.

b.