Duck Panic
Funny Farm was my 15 minutes of cinematic fame, though I'd have to be there watching it with you to point out the scenes.
In the movie, I threw a snowball at Chevy Chase, walked by him as he was heading in to eat his "lamb fries," danced in front of the town gazebo, and ran across a field.
At the time, I was living in Grafton, VT, where much of the movie was filmed (indeed, where the "funny farm" homestead itself is located). I was outside in my front yard when a woman in a Girl Scout uniform walked by and said "Hey, you want to be in a movie?" (A suspect line, but who could resist that intrigue?)
Apparently, a busload of Extras hadn't arrived that day, and the production company was scrambling around town getting Grafton residents to come and appear as Extras. So, why not, I went up to the church where they'd set up a makeshift wardrobe department, met a few of my fellow Graftonites there who'd been recruited in similar haste, and off we went.
Personally, I think the film's a stinker, and most of us who "starred" in it thought so. After we'd all attended the world premiere in Springfield, VT, the consensus was: How could the director of The Sting, and Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid have been responsible for this lame comedy?
My impression of George Roy Hill on the set(s) was of a passionless man going through the motions. To me, he looked like the coach of a last-place team at the season's last meaningless game. His lack of interest in the thing was apparent to most of us who'd been there, and especially when we saw the finished product. I remember hearing someone say (I think it was me): "He must've owed someone a favor."
A sad, disappointing film by an otherwise heralded director, but we did all have fun on the set for a few weeks, and were fed like kings by the catering company. I personally loved the fake icicles nailed to the eaves, and the plastic skating pond. If you've seen the film, folks, you've seen people skating on plastic in the outdoor "winter" scenes. The fake snow & ice, needless to say, was greeted with a hearty, collective tongue-in-cheek by a local populace living in the middle of snow country.
My fondest memory of the experience?
It came when -- after numerous unsuccessful attempts to film two ducks going through a Dutch door amidst a hail of snowballs -- someone in the production staff finally listened to a "local" authority on duck psychology, and accepted the fact that ducks will not go through a Dutch door amidst a hail of snowballs. Even movie ducks. Even trained movie ducks. They just won't do it.
So ... we were then instructed to hold our snowballs until the ducks went through the door, (after the ducks were prompted, I swear, by a guy on the other side with an electronic quacker) and they performed perfectly.
All best,
El
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