Glassing the Masses

If you're looking for a place to major in cameramanthropology, you'll do no better than your local water park. There you'll thrill to the splendor of a thousand double-takes, spark panic in the hearts of housewives and emit a contrail of eleven year olds. It's a target-rich environment, but if you're not careful, YOU could become the hunted. Don't know what I mean? Apparently, you've never slogged through a county fair with a lights and logo on your shoulder. Or plowed into a tailgating party with your number two sports guy trailing close behind. I have and can tell you with great sincerity that few arena parking lots compare with your average water-slide emporium, a modern day Colossus with a milieu somewhere between moonshine bust and American Idol audition. Trust me, I been to both. And while no one threw corn liquor in my face or insisted on singing Streisand, I can assure you, it was a grueling experience.

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the Bataan Death March. But my sixty minute slog through concrete and Dippin' Dots packed its own kind of casualties. Namely, the collective dignity of the human race. Falling bodies, hairy uncles, turbo wedgies: for the fully-loaded photog, it's a sea of possibilities. Why if you can't stroll through such as place and this and fill your tape or disc or card with memorable images, well then, you might want to remove that lens cap. And while you're at it, take the following advice from your Uncle Lenslinger, patron saint of distracted glass masters...

Keep Moving - Though many in the crowd will try to hide from your lens, a fair contingency will pivot on your every move. Bear this in mind when backing up, lest you crush a phalanx of frothing fifth graders - who’ve been flashing made-up gang signs at you and your tripod ever since you two entered the place.

Wear Your Game Face - Ask any of those %$@#& I work with, I’m an expressive, loving person. But in unruly crowds as this, I’ll not hesitate to go total robot. No emotion, eyes darting, little whooshing noise when I walk. How else are you supposed to survive when your only eye protection is a thousand yard stare?

Do No Harm - Mere happenstance determines where we take our lens. Don’t make others pay the price. See those bendy straws sticking out of the kiddie pool? Those are the life support systems of three stay at home Moms who didn’t count on a cameraman when they put on that swimsuit that used to fit. Move along - they’re almost out of air.

Eyes OFF the Prize - It’s a water park and you are human. Whether busty coeds or chiseled frat pukes trip you trigger, do NOT indulge in any eyeball reconnaissance. You are, after all, carrying an oversized recording device with incredible zooming capability into a sea of scantily clad citizens. Don’t be that guy. The world’s got enough of that guy.

Bite Your Tongue - People don’t see you. They see that logo. Thus, now may not be the time to use those zingers you heard on the Comedy Central roast. You will be tempted. In fact, the lower back tattoos, butt-encrusted Speedos and occasional pair of black socks will virtually demand your clever commentary. Do not - I repeat, Do NOT indulge in any --- excuse me, won’t you?

“YO MISS - in the rebel flag bikini and strawberry blond dreadlocks - Has Bill Cosby gotta come back in town and choke a bitch!?!”

Now then, where was I?

Anatomy of a Walkdown

As perp walks go, it’s pretty pedestrian. But this twenty second journey of an accused killer is worth reviewing anyway, if only because someone caught it on their fancy new phone. In it we see the backpedaling begin, a fugacious parade of shackles and glass that fed the opening moments of a half dozen newscasts. I wasn’t there, but have waited on enough Crown Vics to know what to do when what passes for Justice rushes up. So too do my cohorts, who set aside the small talk long enough to bag their prey - in this case a man accused of murdering his mother and setting her home ablaze. That's Top Story Strong and nothing would do for either of them to miss their mark. Still, nary an elbow set sail as an ad hoc welcome wagon surrounded the guest of dishonor. The competition ain't always that friendly, but in our analysis, the Lenslinger Institute finds no foul. Thus, the analysis that follows should be used only for entertainment purposes and not even linked without the express written permission of that sweaty executive I put on TV last week. Remember, no shrubberies were trampled in the making of this report. Names have NOT been changed to protect the indifferent. Please, no wagering...

:02 The footage begins with Weaver (in light blue) trailing the suspect closely, tossing out a question and getting a cryptic response. For Weave, the rest of the trek is but a cutaway. Meanwhile, Justin (in black and white) backpedals before the approaching trio like a man walking on marshmallows. Why you'd wanna walk on marshmallows, I haven't the foggiest.

:04 From screen left, lovely Caroline (in white) enters the field, sashaying across the lawn like she’s at a garden party. Do not be fooled. She’s a seasoned operator and can crunch scrum knuckles with the ugliest of us. As she swoops in, Weaver pries an eyelid off his screen long enough to notice an approaching pole. He dodges it.

:06 Justin too comes up for air, sees an ill-placed cement thingie and deftly slithers around it. His lens never leaves the mug of the man in the middle. At precisely the same time, a second shooter (in blue) appears, choosing a crossed ankle lope to smooth out the middle distance while working the far end of his full-sized lens.

:08 Corner fully rounded, the seven people proceed toward the Sheriff's department door, four squinting through lenses, two bearing arms and in one in a paper jumpsuit authorities made him put on after they found him naked near a swimming pool. You can’t make this stuff up. I’ve tried.

:10 The scrum congeals as the straightaway opens up. Weaver and Caroline fall into cadence on the arrestee's right. To his left Justin juggles his wriggling baby-cam. It is here lenslingers dare to zoom, darting in for a close up at the risk of eating an ill-placed phone pole. As for the man of the hour, he's entering 'the squeal zone'.

:12 "Why'd you set a house on fire" It's the only audio of note, a vexing question lobbed at a bloke well on his way to the pokey. He chose not to answer, keeping the details of his day to himself. But many times men in handcuffs do tell tales, so you'd better be rollin'. I've seen 'em confess on cam...

:14 No such luck this time. the suspect grooves on his shoes as he shuffles past on (mostly) his own power. No comment personified. Justin, Weave and Caroline trail alongside, lest he change his mind. Second shooter pans the passing parade. Nelson from the newspaper fires a closing shot.

:16 A squeal of feedback can be heard as the video freezes. I'd like to report that it was a passing spaceship dropping off Sasquatch for a press conference on Osama Bin Laden's whereabouts, but in reality the phone stopped recording once a call came in. It was a nightsider, wanting directions to the scene. Funny how news works.

...So, there you have it. Gratuitous perusal of found footage, the likes of which prove little more than I've logged too much time on my new Mac. If nothing else, perhaps you'll put some names to faces the NEXT time you're being frog-marched into a county-owned enclosure. Tell 'em Lenslinger sent ya...

Quiz's Rig

Once upon a crime scene, you knew what to expect when you glanced at the other guy’s gear. These days, not so much. Take this set-up, for example: a stack of plastic and glass so nonsensical Dr. Seuss might hide it in the live truck. Me, I’d strap that contraption to one sore forearm and wade into the fray, oversized logo lit by a lone tally light. So what if Rube Goldberg wouldn’t shoot his kid’s bar mitzvah with that rig? We got menus to cruise through! Besides, it ain’t the components you tote, it’s the moments you scope. And who knows, this plastic axe may be just what you need for that upcoming clown-car ride-along. Imagine the pride when you all pile out, knowing that A.) you’re rockin’ the very latest in news-gathering technology, or B.) those virgins down at Radio Shack have been playing Jenga in the back room again...