TV Commercial Production with Intoxicated Japanese

In the early 1980s I worked on a lot of TV commercial production jobs with crews from Japan. One of my major clients was PMC Inc. Their business was servicing foreign film crews – mostly TV commercial production companies – when they came to shoot in the USA. I really liked the owner George Braun and his lovely wife, Junko.

And I liked the Japanese guys (all men) who descended in large groups for the shoots. In addition to the usual location scouting team – Director, DP (Director of Photography) and Art Director – there were always at least six or seven more Japanese most of who’s functions I never figured out. And they went everywhere together, always a fully packed van plus another car.

After one of the bigger shoots the Japanese took me to their wrap dinner at (probably) the best Japanese restaurant in New York.

The group at dinner comprised all the Japanese as well as George, Junko and me. I think that their crew favorite NYC crew member, Raffi Ferucci, may have been there, too. The director and DP sat me down between them and, with translation by George, explained their custom regarding the sharing of sake. I don’t recall the exact routine but it went something like this. When your friend offered to pour you some sake it was impolite to decline and when he poured you had to drink. The director and the DP ping ponged me throughout the dinner in an obvious attempt to get me drunk. I had never had saki before and I was surprised (as were they) at how little effect it had on me. The two conspirators, however, were feeling the effects of their own excess and tried even harder. Their efforts were reminiscent of the scene in No Time for Sergeants when his fellow soldiers try to get Will (Andy Griffith) smashed and find him impervious as they all become falling down drunk. But although I remained seemingly unaffected by the powerful stuff I awoke the next morning with a mighty headache.

Many of these Nipponese guys were very fond of the herb. How the word got out that I was both an aficionado and cultivator of fine sinsemilla I do not know but get out it did. In Japan the use of any controlled substance, even harmless marijuana, is (or was then) a serious offense. Therefore these guys never indulged together because if caught at home they would be persuaded to rat out fellow felons. So I rolled joints and surreptitiously slipped them to my Asian colleagues from time to time.

One of the DPs, Mr. Sato, (not his actual name) a very small man who was unable to smoke because of asthma, asked if my wife would bake him some cookies. Elizabeth complied with his wishes and on a Friday afternoon I gave him a little bag. I advised him strongly to get some other cookies or munchie sweets because when the herb made him hungry he should not assuage his desire by eating more of the pot-laced treats. His English was good so I knew that he understood me.

Turned out that understanding advice and following same are two entirely different things. He showed up Monday morning looking as though he’d slept under a bus. His eyes were bloodshot and he could barely drag himself into the office. But he was smiling. You guessed it. He ate the entire bag, about a dozen heavily herbed cookies between Friday night and noon Saturday and this massive dose of tetrahydrocannabinol on his slight body was that of a large tab of acid. When we were able to be alone he told me that he hadn’t slept the entire weekend and he wandered around the city in a happy daze enjoying himself immensely.

The proceeding tales were excerpted and massaged a bit from my TV commercial production book, Circumstances Beyond My Control. You can get it here.

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