Author

  Tony Bill, after graduating from Notre Dame with majors in English and Art, began his career in the film industry as an actor. His acting years were distinguished by the quality of the directors who chose him for their films: Bud Yorkin, Sydney Pollack, Terrence Malick, Steven Spielberg, Francis Coppola, Hal Ashby and others, such as Sir Carol Reed, and John Sturges. Despite being hailed by critics as an exciting newcomer, Mr. Bill wanted to become a filmmaker, not a movie star. He made the transition to producer with DEADHEAD MILES (1971), which he followed with STEELYARD BLUES (1973). His next feature, THE STING (1973), brought him an Academy Award for Best Picture and won six additional Oscars...

  When is "groucho" not a comedian? A "seagull" not a bird? A "banana" not a fruit, and a "taco cart" not a food stand? What's the "Castle rock rule" and when should you call for a "buff & puff"? And why expect trouble when the A.D. (assistant director) knowingly mumbles "Gone With the Wind in the morning, Dukes of Hazzard after lunch"? An oral tradition gathered and passed down for more than a hundred years, the language of moviemaking, like other secret lexicons, is the only accepted way of communicating on a set-and is all but unknown to the outside world. Technical, odd, colorful, mysterious, the working language of movies sheds light not only on the hugely complex process of making a film, but on the invisible hierarchies of a set, the unspoken etiquette between cast and crew, and the evolution of a process that's endlessly fascinating...

  When is "groucho" not a comedian? A "seagull" not a bird? A "banana" not a fruit, and a "taco cart" not a food stand? What's the "Castle rock rule" and when should you call for a "buff & puff"? And why expect trouble when the A.D. (assistant director) knowingly mumbles "Gone With the Wind in the morning, Dukes of Hazzard after lunch"? An oral tradition gathered and passed down for more than a hundred years, the language of moviemaking, like other secret lexicons, is the only accepted way of communicating on a set-and is all but unknown to the outside world. Technical, odd, colorful, mysterious, the working language of movies sheds light not only on the hugely complex process of making a film, but on the invisible hierarchies of a set, the unspoken etiquette between cast and crew, and the evolution of a process that's endlessly fascinating.