You haven’t made movies until you’ve done a western and a war film. -  Joe Lombardi

When Trumpets Fade – at a decommissioned Soviet army base near Balatönfured, Hungary, winter 1997 – from my journal

Prep 

NAPALM. On Sunday, we watch the Hungarian Air Force drop 8 tons of napalm on an unsuspecting oak forest in preparation for the next day’s photography. Our opening and closing scenes feature two wounded soldiers retreating through a blackened forest.  I am ashamed for the arrogance of my profession. 

Burn these for movie smoke

Our special effects man, Joe Lombardi (Apocalypse Now, Godfather) has collected 22,000 tires that he will burn over the next two months to create black smoke for our shots, all of it drifting straight into our lungs. Thick, toxic smoke. This will be my third picture with Joe, and I trust him, but…

No one seems bothered

Day 1 - Principal Photography 

We prepare the first battle scene. Seven cameras, one take. Then on to the next seven camera setup as our soldiers advance. Three operators, Two assistants, and a gang of eager, inexperienced film school graduates. The morning goes smoothly. Perfect light. Joe’s burning tires block the winter sun, setting the appropriate battle gloom. The images are strong. An homage to Robert Capa. Director John Irvin and producer John Kemeny are happy. 

The smoke is horrendous. Within minutes our faces turn black. The wind blows it into our faces no matter where we stand. Noses run black. I don’t know how I will bear it for two months. Smoke is scheduled for every day. Exploding bags of cement filter fine dust into your lungs, and combined with the burning rubber, create a lethal inhalation. Facemasks help a little. Joe refuses to wear one. Joe loves his explosions. However unpleasant they are, his smoke and dust make the picture work.  

Setting up

We wrap at dusk and stagger back to the hotel. My bath water is charcoal grey. I’m not hungry, but maybe I’ll have a drink and debrief at the bar. I just looked in the mirror - even after a good scrub my face is grey. Oh dear.

After my bath

Day 6 – End of Week One

So far, I’m pleased with our pictures - we must keep it up for six more weeks. The warriors, one side indistinguishable from the other, are shadows in tones of grey, dancing amongst explosions of flame and curtains of dust. A stark ethereal imagery of war, almost like some modern ballet. Mythic symbolism! John, the director, calls out his “Summon up the Blood!” war cry every once in a while, his version of a rebel yell. The Hungarians think he’s shouting as usual. Like I said, Like I said, if we can only keep it up...

Director John Irvin on the battlefield

John is protective of his friends. Joe Lombardi set 12 big bombs on a densely forested hillside in the early morning, pissing rain against a lovely slate sky. By the time everything was ready, the charges were soaked. Only half of them went off. Before anyone could say a word, John leapt out of his chair extoling their magnificence. He does the same for me. Loyalty. A good feeling.

On his day off the 1st AD beat up his wife, the production accountant. He’s fired. Like that’ll help. The 2nd AD runs the set, now covered in snow. Not a match for yesterday’s work. Tanker trucks filled with hot water are towed up the muddy, rutted road as firemen melt the snow and the set turns into a skating rink. We shoot some stuff but don’t make our day. 

Day 21 -A World Record

Joe Lombardi confessed to me that he’s burned 10,000 tires in seven days and is combing the countryside for more. He said that on Hamburger Hill they had set a world’s record, even more than Apocalypse Now!, and burnt 30,000 tires, all the rubber available in Manila! We’re about to win the dubious honour of most tires burnt in the motion picture industry ever. 

A lovely day

Day 27

We are bedevilled by changeable weather, all of it bad. Snow, freezing rain, sleet, hail, and fog. Yesterday we arrived on the hilltop where we’ve been busy blowing up a German '88' battery, only to find the set missing. Lost in the fog. Couldn’t see a thing. Impossible to match the previous day’s rubber smoke overcast. We regrouped to the forest and shot a beautiful scene, the trees receding into shades of pale grey, the sky only one tone lighter. Unearthly. And...no smoke! For once we could actually inhale! Such luxury! Two illnesses are currently shared by the crew: a messy stomach flu and a nasty head cold. I  contracted the latter. Fuck. This is a tough show. The weather is brutal, but I feel like we're winning.

Day 36

Two months later, the end is in sight. The hotel needs to close for Christmas so they're kicking us out on December 21 at noon. We’ll shoot all night tomorrow and face another all-nighter the following day. 

The set for our opening and closing scenes

Day 38

Things continue to fall apart at an alarming rate. Joe, SPFX warrior, the man who creates dark atmosphere, fell ill a few days ago with fever, dizziness, and headache. Doc told him to stay in bed. But Joe’s just not that type of guy. He showed up for work and got really sick. I recall his wardrobe on that damp and windy day. I was wearing my arctic parka with all the layers: hi-tech underwear, hats, gloves, insulated boots...the whole deal. While talking with Joe, I found myself looking at his old leathery neck exposed to the elements. I counted his layers: Long johns, T-shirt, cotton flannel shirt, a thin fake-leather jacket with an Aggreko Air Conditioners logo, and an ancient, torn rubber jacket bearing the emblem of an Italian explosives firm. That was Joe’s cold-weather gear. Oh yeah, and a hat. Finally, a hat. No gloves. Fucking cold. And that's the most he's worn on the show. 

So, now Joe is very ill, in bed and needs to go home. Feverish and weak. The doctor wants him in hospital, but stubborn old Joe refuses and books a flight to LA. He was blind, couldn’t see a thing.

Day 39

With a yellow pallor the day he left, Joe got on the plane with the help of a wheelchair. Our director, John sent his son Luke to accompany him to Heathrow and get him on the LA flight. But Joe was taken off the plane in London, and rushed straight to the hospital by ambulance. No one's heard yet what's the matter with him. I pray he'll be okay. A vital 76-year-old man, full of heart and energy.

Director Irvin’s son, Luke, SPFX assistant having lunch with Joe’s explosives

Day 40 - Joe dies

Joe Lombardi died today in a hospital near Heathrow Airport. Luke was with him when he passed and said Joe's last words were: "Didn’t want to leave, never left a show before it was over. Well, at least we gave 'em all the gags." We hear the news at breakfast. We’re all devastated. The executive producer, unnerved by the silence, stands, announcing to the room: “Old people die. It’s only natural.” No one has touched their food. Now the room weeps as one.

We were numb. I've made three films with him. Joe took a shine to me and I to him. I saw Stan, Joe’s son-in-law and longtime SPFX key, in the lobby and went over to say how sorry I was. I gave him a hug and began to sob. That set Stan off. We cried and cried in the car all the way to work. I don't know who I cried for, Joe or the miserable unfair world we live in. John remained quiet. He made a fine speech on the hillside where we’d staged the tank battle scene, Joe's last. While John was speaking, I looked up and there, circling overhead, was a hawk. He soared round and round until John finished, and during our moment of silence, he flew off towards the west. 

Worried

Day 41

Well, it’s done. We wrapped the picture before dawn after a difficult, cold, wet 16-hour day. The Movie Gods smiled on us as we made our final company move. For days, both huge camera trucks had to be towed from one location to the next - engine trouble. The ancient Soviet monsters are recalcitrant and slow to tow. Especially over calf-deep mud frozen into rock-hard obstacle course ruts that make even walking a challenge. 

One of our beasts on a better day

A two-hour move got us to the final minefield/barbed wire location. Around midnight the weather warmed up and a beautiful fog settled in. The ruined battlefield became a Japanese watercolor.  What a way to end the shoot. We made our day. 

Joe Lombardi once told me that you had to make a western and a war film before you understood moviemaking. Well, now I've done both, and under his tutelage. Andrew, Joe's Hungarian interpreter whom Joe chewed out daily and who, despite the yelling, continued to make SPFX suggestions - where to plant a bomb, how big it should be -  laid a wreath in Joe’s chair at their regular breakfast table, decorated with snapshots of Joe at work. He wept all day. Andrew told me he always knew he would remember this, his first film experience, until he died. Now he says he’ll remember it beyond the grave.

Around this time every year, ever since 1997, I recall my adventures with Joe Lombardi and what he taught me about being human, about being professional, and how the two qualities mesh.  I learned that the Art of filmmaking is in the relationships we build, our collaboration. When we respect our colleagues and we do our job cleanly, then we have created something. Art in the medium of human relations. 

Joe Lombardi in his element

~ Thomas Burstyn CSC, NZCS