The Colorful Lexicon of the Film Set and the Language of Film(making)

One of my first classes at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts was “The Language of Film.” The goal of the course was to provide an “overview of the historical development of cinema as an artistic and social force, while at the same time introducing the aesthetic elements of the cinema, the terminology governing film production, and the lines of critical inquiry that have been developed for the medium.” My professor, Nick Tanis, was an intellectual film savant who inspired my classmates and I to dig deep and challenge each other and ourselves as creatives. He championed film as a craft, one that without the context of history would be empty and void of understanding and invention. The course introduced us to luminaries like Louis Lumière, who is credited as once remarking, “cinema is an invention without any future.” I wonder what he would think of the advancement of technology and invention in today’s world of movie making? Would he be open to prompting #SORA or capturing the moving image on his iPhone? Perhaps. He was a pioneer willing to embrace new technology. I am inclined to believe “yes.”

Recently, I was on set, and I was moving some props around to the disdain of my production designer. (I am not one to sit still or lounge in a director’s chair; the last time I sat in one, the canvas gave way and I started to rethink the crafty selection). In the process of adjusting things for the camera I enlisted some green PAs to help me out. Out of habit, I started requesting things in the way that I was taught on set (which has absolutely nothing to do with Nick’s “Language of Film” syllabus) using terms like C-47, stingers and sticks. I was surprised to see they did not know what the production-hell I was talking about. Admittedly, “C-47” is one that propels people to pause most of the time, and the process started us down a path of using every term we could think of for just about anything we could think of. 10-1, anyone? 86 that. 

As most people know, filmmaking has its own unique language, a language that can leave people scratching their heads, or googling if time allows. I thought it would be fun to explore some of the phrases and their humble beginnings. Of course, much of the history behind this jargon is questionable, but fun nonetheless.

So, let’s start with my favorite. The C-47. One of the most ubiquitous yet unassuming tools on a film set is the humble clothespin, known affectionately as the “C-47.” This innocuous moniker has spawned a multitude of theories. Some say it’s a nod to the equally versatile WWII military transport plane, the C-47. Others claim it was a clever accounting trick, disguising the mundane “clothespin” as the more impressive-sounding “C-47” to slip past budget-conscious studio executives who questioned the expense. (I imagine the US military budget has more than one C-47 hiding in ledgers.) Then there’s a tale of a mysterious storage bin, row C, slot 47, where these ingenious tools were allegedly stashed in the early days of Hollywood. This tale is so obscure that hardly anyone I asked heard of it. I am inclined to lean into the accounting myth.

Regardless of its origins, the C-47 has become an integral part of every film crew’s arsenal, securing filters, holding up fabric, and even serving as makeshift wooden tweezers for handling hot scrims.

Leaving the C-47 at the airfield, we head on down to Fraggle Rock where we find the beloved Gobo. Hold on, let’s 86 that too. Instead, let’s quickly move over to the grip department. The “gobo” is that mystical master of light and shadow. An essential piece of equipment, its etymological origin is shrouded in mystery. While its exact derivation is unclear, it’s believed to be an abbreviation of “go-between” or “goes before optics,” referring to its role in controlling the shape of light and shadow. (If you have a theory, I want to hear it.)

On a film set, gobos come in various forms and shapes, from simple flags and dots to elaborate hinged panels. These opaque barriers are strategically placed between the light source and the subject, subtracting light and creating intricate patterns of shadow and contrast. We also use them at times to block unwanted reflections or flares from interfering with the shot. 

Of course, what is a gobo without light to control? Lighting is essential to the look and feel of every cinematic project, and it is nothing to laugh about, which brings us to the “Joker”. Not the make-up-wearing terror of Gotham, no, I am referring to the humble, lightweight, but rugged HMI light. The name’s origin? That falls to the manufacturer, K5600, Inc., out of Burbank. They have Jokers, Joker-Bugs, Alphas and a host of other lighting options. In their own words, “the Joker has been around since 1992. Starting as a traditional PAR light, it evolved into the “swiss-army” knife of lighting. Its bare bulb design allows for countless accessory attachments, shaping light depending on the scene.” For a little extra lighting fun, they also offer a Bug-A-Beam adapter.  

While we are on the subject, it is likely if you are going to run a light you need to power it. That’s where the “stinger” comes in. No, it  isn’t a painful insect bite but rather a humble extension cord. These heavy-duty cables are essential for powering lights, cameras, and other equipment on set. The term likely originated from the electrical industry, where “stinger” refers to a live wire.

On a busy set, stingers are everywhere, snaking across the floor and providing the lifeblood of electricity to the production. A good grip or electrician knows how to manage these cords efficiently, ensuring that the set remains safe and organized. (I can still coil a stinger pretty quickly and efficiently. An efficient coil means you can quickly whip it out like Indiana Jones, extending the cord to its desired location with the grace of an annoyed Harrison Ford.)

While we are on the subject of power, let’s talk about “bricks.” Bricks are the building blocks of essential gear like walkies, monitors, cameras, and transmitters. Mind your temp. “Cold” bricks are dead and “hot” bricks are fully charged. Keeping track of these power packs is a crucial task. If you want to raise the temp of the production manager, hand her a dead walkie.

Speaking of heat, when a set is labeled “hot,” it means that everything is in place and ready for filming. No one is allowed to move or touch anything, as even the slightest adjustment could disrupt continuity. A hot set is a delicate ecosystem, meticulously arranged to ensure that every shot matches perfectly. (Which might be why my production designer doesn’t like me touching things on set.)

Memorized these yet? Maybe it’s time for a drink. Martini anyone?

The “Martini Shot” is well known and rarely needs an explanation unlike its counterpart the “Abby Singer.” The former refers to the final shot of the day, a nod to the celebratory post-wrap drink that crew members would enjoy after a long day’s work.

The latter, named after legendary assistant film director and production manager Abby Singer, is the second-to-last shot. Legend has it that Singer would call for this penultimate shot, ensuring that the crew was prepared for the final “Martini shot” of the day.

In recent years, some off-color terms have leaked on set. The horribly named “JFK shot” refers to the shot that happens after the Martini, it refers to the shot you never saw coming. Horrible, I know.

If your stomach didn’t turn from that lovely anecdote, let’s turn to food. 

On any given film set, you’re bound to encounter a stack of unassuming wooden boxes, often mistaken for forgotten cargo. These humble containers, known as “apple boxes,” have become an indispensable tool in the filmmaker’s arsenal. Their origins can be traced back to the early days of Hollywood, when resourceful crew members repurposed the sturdy crates used for transporting fruit to aid in their craft.

Apple boxes come in various sizes, typically labeled as “quarters,” “halves,” “fulls,” and “pancakes,” allowing for precise adjustments in height and positioning. Whether it’s raising an actor to the perfect eye-line (talking to you Tom Cruise), providing a stable base for a camera, or serving as an impromptu seat for a weary crew member, these unsung heroes have proven their versatility time and time again. In an industry where every inch counts, the apple box reigns supreme.

Hungry for more? In filmmaking, where gravity-defying camera movements are the norm, a peculiar piece of equipment known as the “meat axe” plays a crucial role. This unwieldy tool, consisting of a long, sturdy pole with a sandbag suspended at one end, serves as a counterweight for camera cranes and booms, ensuring stability during intricate camera movements.

The origin of its name remains shrouded in mystery, with some speculating that it’s a nod to the tool’s imposing appearance, while others suggest it’s a playful reference to the “butchery” involved in shaping a shot. Regardless of its linguistic roots, the meat axe is a testament to the ingenuity of filmmakers, who have transformed a simple concept into a powerful tool for capturing breathtaking visuals.

I can go on and on. There is no shortage of terms and codes used on set, but I think it’s time to call a “wrap” and pack up the “sticks” and “dead cats” for the day. The lexicon of production is a reflection of the camaraderie and shared experiences that bind film crews together, a testament to the industry’s rich history and traditions. What are we if not storytellers continuing a rich history of tradition. 

So with that I raise a glass to Nick, my other professors, and the countless crew members who pass their knowledge to the next generation of filmmakers and content creators.

FYI, if you want to read one of the required readings, check out FILM ART: AN INTRODUCTION by David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson