On Landing My First Job in the Business on Martin Scorsese’s ‘Mean Streets’

On Landing My First Job in the Business on Martin Scorsese's 'Mean Streets'

10 pm.  NYU Film
School, The East Building 8th floor, Editing Room.    

“Who wants to work on a movie?” a voice pitched, over the
din of old time moviolas.

We worked on the same ultra durable film sewing machine used
by all the studios in their heyday. (It now occurs to me that maybe these are
what inspired “Star Wars Episode V’”s AT Walkers.) We used a form of scotch tape
to make temp edits, and carefully scraped the tape with razor blades to carve the
film sprocket holes, a frustrating and messy business.  Hours melted away. Time stood still.

Every wannabe filmmaker in the editing bay just wanted to finish
and be done. “I need two camera assistants… a gaffer and…a script girl,” announced
the voice I now recognized as Mitchell, our TA. Groans were heard. “OK, there’s coffee in it, on me,” definitely
sounding like Mitchell. Heads poked out. Five guys plus me, the only girl
around, threw on our coats and shuffled past the purple walls trimmed with
bright yellow paint, yawning and stretching.

We piled into a station wagon parked in a red zone. I asked, “Is this your car?” 

“No,” Mitchell answered, “It belongs to the bank, it’s a
lease car.” 

“What’s a lease car?,” I wondered.

Around eleven, we pulled in front of the Gramercy Park
Hotel, a seedy place in those days. The
lobby couldn’t have been creepier. But the elevator, an old fashioned cage,
was. It occurred to me as we were being yanked up a few flights, that maybe I‘d
made a mistake.

The cage opened onto a fairly well lit hallway. But that
wasn’t a good thing.  A door opened and light
spilled out like the sun just came up. Guys
were pacing around as far as the phone chords would take them.  Things settled down, however, when the eye of
the storm, a dynamo with shoulder length black hair and a dark but smiling
countenance, became the center of attention. 

“Mitchell! So, are these the

“Yeah, Marty,” said Mitchell, who then pointed out two camera
assistants, two gaffers and me, whom he called, “the script girl.”

Marty stared at me and said, “This girl?
She’s… tall. I mean look at her. Look at me…. Look at her.” Just as directed,
the entire room fell silent, looking at me. Marty threw up his hands, shaking
his head. With that, he left the room. 

I felt my feet move to follow him to another part of the
suite, where someone was on the phone with “the coast.” Then it hit me that all these people were here from
California, a place I’d never been. All around were sketches of scenes from the
film they were making.  Marty sat down at
a nearby desk. Instinctively I sat down and said, “I don’t have to be tall.”

He grinned and said, “that’s good.” He showed me some of his sketches. They were very specific. He
explained how he wanted the continuity notes to be, since he’d be referring to
them in the editing room in California. “So, you think you can do this?” he asked. 

“Yes, I can,” I nodded. 

Then we both stood up.
The disparity in our heights threw him again. “Okay,” he said, sounding as if inspiration had just struck. He threw
his shoulders forward as if to model a dance move or do a James Cagney

Instinctively I followed his lead. I gently hunched in his direction. He
beamed, “Yeah, that’s good.”

We spent the next ten days strategically focused like our
lives depended on it. Rest was something the rest of the world did. We filmed
in Little Italy, one step ahead of the teamsters, since we were a non-union
shoot. The local cops watched out for us. One night, Marty’s mom, Catherine, acted
in a scene. A restaurant in Marty’s old neighborhood opened its doors at 3am
and treated us to the meal of our lives.

Marty was patient and kind. Only once did I truly fuck up.
In one scene Robert De Niro was holding a gun. In the middle of shooting he
switched hands. I shouted in a panic, “The gun needs to be in your other hand!” Needless to say, I made the man angry. De Niro stepped out of the scene. He
walked up to me. “Please don’t do that,” he said in that soft voice that made
you feel you had his complete attention and you wondered if maybe that wasn’t a
good thing. Then he walked back into the scene, as though nothing had happened.

On our last day, we were shooting at night in an old
cemetery, a stone’s throw from an apartment building where a party scene was
being staged above us. This was an exterior pick up shot of the action inside
through the window. I got to stretch out and rest. Earlier in the evening the
crew had given me flowers because it was my birthday. I plopped onto the cold
ground, leaned up against one of the thin granite tombstones with the flowers,
my shooting script now fat with notes to Marty, my stop watch around my neck,
looked up at the moon and thought, “So this is the film business. Wonder if
anyone will ever see his little movie.” The rest, as they say, is history.

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Marcy Prager

This account was thrilling to read! You painted the whole scenario, from beginning to end. I felt like I was there, next to you, feeling the excitement, the newness, the awkwardness, the getting more comfortable state, and the terror of DiNiro's soft, but don't ________ with me voice. I'm sorry it took so long for me to read this! Pure joy!

Sara Greenfield

My sister has worked and edited a number of scripts, and was always in the right place at the right time. She never told me what the scripts were, they were all in confidence. TO this day, I have no idea which scripts came from her office, and which ones did not… But I can see she deserves a bit more money and notoriety inside of her profession. It seems the actors and director get all of the notoriety, and the rest of the crew and script writers get zilch…. Keep at it…and you will do well….This piece truly shows the type of crap a female had to overcome back in the day, and still does, in one form or another… Tenacity rules the roost….

Tristine Rainer

Your piece is great, Nancy. You asked for others to add stories on getting their first job in the biz. Here's mine in brief. I wish I'd had your savoir-faire, and that I had bragging rights to Scorsese. But I was in L.A. and desperate for any job, even TV which I never watched.

My decade in grad school studying for a Ph.D. in English Lit wasn’t helping me find a job in the entertainment business. I’d been looking unsuccessfully for a gig as a script reader for 8 months by the time I got an interview for a development job with T.V. producer/director Dan Curtis, known as Super Jew, perhaps because he was 6’4” and yelled at top decibel, almost non-stop. Dan was just coming off of the series Dark Shadows and hadn’t yet started prep for the mini-series Winds of War.
“So how to you know Deanne Barkley?” he leaned back in his leather chair looking down at little me from behind his giant desk. Deanne Barkley was then V.P. Movies and Mini-series at NBC, and had told Dan Curtis to interview me. I didn’t think I should tell him the truth, that a mutual friend who often smoked pot on weekends with Deanne in her hot tub at her Bel Air house, had brought me along on several evenings, and I’d managed to hold my own in their lively conversations through the smoke and the steam.
“We have a mutual friend,” I didn’t lie.
“And why should I hire you rather than all the other young women vying for a development job here. You have no experience.”
“Because I have all those years of education getting my Ph.D. You like Gothic material and I've studied Romantic Literature, and can lead you to it; and you get to hire me for minimum wage.”
“You should be paying me for this job.”
“Maybe so, but I have to pay rent. I don’t have a trust fund.”
He wasn’t impressed with my arguments, but he hired me anyway, paying me minimum wage, and re-enforcing the first lesson about the entertainment business, it’s not what you know, but who you know. “I’ll give you a try because Deanne recommended you, and I want to sell her some TV movies. That will be your job.”
I was 30 years old, over-educated, and completely unprepared.

La Reine

Loved this piece – took me back to my first job in the newsroom, which was surprisingly similar in many ways. Evocative and beautifully written. Thanks, Nancy.


If Scorcese said to me blowing off steam at the end of the day…. "This audacious woman walks on the set today and she was way too tall for what I had ordered"….Well, did you tell her that? "Yes, and then she follows me all the way to my office and sits down as if I had invited her in"…and?…"And then she said to me in this sultry voice "I don't have to be tall"…not even a beat passes..Nancy Nigrosh was here? Did she leave? I want to see her.

In the presence of men Nancy Nigrosh you have always been an Oak and we are mere Willows and we will always proudly bow to you..It's your gift and It's brilliant to watch.


So that was your FIRST job in "the business." Which implies that it led to gainful employment down the road. Did it? And doing what? Inquiring minds want to know.


Can you guys do more of these for multiple films. This is great!

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