We did a lot of television these past few weeks, and I’m struck by the differences in studios and the effects on the interviews. The Access Hollywood studio in Burbank was full of bustling people: producers, hosts, camera operators, gaffers, powder-puffers, etc. The atmosphere was lively, jokey, fun, and efficient. Among the crew, there were winks, high-fives, and laughs, though within a sense of electric urgency: let’s get this done, but have a good time doing it.
On the set of Access Hollywood with hosts Kit Hoover and Billy Bush.KCAL's human-free newscast studio.
Contrast that with KCAL’s Studio City set at KCBS. The huge set was dark and completely empty of humans, except for the two hosts. Acres of polished cement were trod only by electronic cameras, which glided silently, each trailing a thick tail of bound cords. The atmosphere was…dead. The interview was humdrum. Uninspired. Perhaps there was a party going on in the control room, I don’t know.
NBC Nonstop L.A. with Colleen Williams
Same went for the KNBC Studio. Robotic cameras clicked and whirred in the darkness, rolling across the floor, rising, lowering, like ghost-spys. Their thick yellow umbilicals were, presumably, coiled by flesh-and-blood hands. Lack of human warmth leads to stilted talk, at least with a performer used to working in front of a live audience. The interview with Colleen Williams was interesting and informative, but dry.
Electric Playground's adorable Miri Jedeikin interviews Bob Arno in the street
Understandably different were the streetside interviews. Electric Playground’s adorable Miri Jedeikin obviously had a blast interviewing Bob in the heart of Hollywood, and it shows in the finished product.
The Examiner‘s Danielle Turchiano and KABC-TV’s Ric Romero did lively sidewalk interviews in which Bob was able to demonstrate on passersby—always fun and successful.
In two trips to New York City, Bob appeared twice on Fox & Friends and once on The Today Show (which I can’t find online).
Denouement. None of us wanted to leave the park. After the demos, the dinner, and the as-yet-untold experience on the buses, after the conversation, the exchange of trade secrets, the trust, and yes, the new friendships, we sort of bonded. And I mean all of us: the band of thieves, the filmmaking crew, and the Arnos in the middle.
We stand there in the park in two concentric circles. The inner circle is Bob, Michele, Frank, Andy, and Marc. The outer circle is Van with the Red on his shoulder and his assistant holding his shoulders to guide him, director Kun, producer Kath, fixer Rosie, and me. None of us want to say goodbye.
Work finally pulls Marc and Andy away, but Frank remains. And finally, after two complete rounds of hugs and kisses, Frank straddles his bike, snaps on his helmet, and rides away. Van follows him with the camera until he’s out of sight.
We’re all physically and mentally exhausted; spent. I don’t know how the crew kept going; they were up hours before us every day and working for hours after we said goodnight. Yesterday they went nonstop from the market to the thieves’ restaurant to the second restaurant without a break, setting up and taking down equipment repeatedly. They are champions, all of them.
Making this documentary allowed Bob and me to fulfill certain long-held dreams. It allowed us the time in which to develop relationships with our subjects. It allowed us to have top-notch translators, especially my hero Michele. It enabled us to host our gang of thieves at a meal that Bob and I alone would need investors to fund, but which was integral to the building or our relationship, which gave us the ability to dig deeper into the life and times of pickpockets. And lastly, the documentary gives a soapbox to the subjects, a platform for the pickpockets themselves to explain their methods and motivations, their regrets and their desires.
Writing these stories has been difficult for me. The “easy difficulty,” if there is such a thing, has been simply finding the time to write in the midst of our action-packed days, and then finding an internet connection to get them online. But that’s just a technicality. The true difficulties have been several.
First, whitewashing our incredible host city [Naples!], and by necessity, the characters and true identities of the men in our story. How I had to restrain myself! As a writer, I tend to be of the descriptive sort. I would never say we drank “liqueur!” I want to say what kind [Limoncello], what color [sunshine yellow], and how lovely the fruit it was made from [lemons]. I want to tell about the marvelous restaurants we visited and the wonders of the local cuisine. I want to praise our cliffside hotel [San Francesco al Monte] and describe the view from its terraces, that you can see all the way to …
Sigh.
And—wait a minute! What will this film do to tourism in this mystery town? Will we repel visitors, or intrigue them? Our goal is to balance the stardust with the dirt, to spotlight the unique riches this place has to offer. We hope it comes through in the film. I certainly left it out of these stories.
And there is something of a moral dilemma. In an exchange of thievery techniques, are we teaching known criminals how to steal more and better? We don’t think so, but how do you see it? What about the techniques the general public will learn from watching the film—should we be concerned about how that knowledge may be used? We don’t think so, but we agree that it looks bad—as if we’re teaching how to steal.
I’m afraid of what the public will think of Bob and me in our pursuit of thieves. Will you chastise us for not stopping thefts when we see them? Or will you understand that our method, getting “in” with these criminals, has a greater end? Will you think us awful for liking the pickpockets, despite knowing what havoc they wreak, what distress they cause? In the film, it will be up to Kun to portray us honestly alongside our motives. But here in these writings, it was my responsibility. Do you think it’s all fun and games for us, that we dine with thieves for a lark? Do you understand that as outsiders, allowed into an underground brotherhood of thieves, we are able to gather knowledge for the greater good? Please comment. We need to know if we should hide under a rock when the film comes out.
We are incredibly grateful to film director Kun Chang, who has pushed this project forward for more than four years already. Bob and I have complete faith in him and have no doubt that he’ll put together a documentary that is as beautiful and dramatic as it is fascinating and educational.
While the shooting isn’t over, the exciting part is. What’s left is hard work, mostly by Kun and his editing team. It’s impossible for me to imagine how they’ll make sense of the vast amount of gripping footage we have accumulated. I also recognize that my perception of the experience is not the same as Kun’s. The sterile, stripped-down story I told here, missing highlights (believe it or not), missing local color (of which there’s tons), genericizing everything for the sake of the eventual film, may have little resemblance to Kun’s vision. We will all be surprised at the film: you, readers; and Bob and I.
This is Part 21 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 10/5/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Bob gets cold feet. Overnight, reality began to percolate and bubble over the exhilaration of yesterday’s thieves’ challenge. By morning it was clear to Bob that stealing from the innocent public requires a set of attributes he lacked. Pickpockets in the U.S. call it heart, but they are referring to a lower part of the anatomy. They mean balls. I call it a criminal core.
Bob will not disappoint our gang of thieves in the park, assuming they show up. We will go to the park to thank them for the good time last evening and for participating in our film, and concede defeat in the great steal-off that never was.
Our director is fine with this decision. Crew and cameras are packed into the van; Bob and I are put in a taxi. We meet in the park. Bob paces, still somewhat conflicted. He wrongly accepted this dare in a feverish party atmosphere; but he is not a man to go back on his word, either. Not even to a band of crooks.
Maybe they won’t show up. Then Bob will be off the hook. Of course they’ll show up. Just like they did for the demo in this same park weeks ago, and yesterday’s dinner party. Bob paces in the shadow of the kiddie rides.
Frank & Bob
Frank zooms up on his motorcycle, grinning. He doesn’t know if the others will come; Andy’s not too reliable, he says. After a few minutes of chat, Bob swings his leg over the bike, wanting to putt around the park. Frank first pushes his helmet on Bob, and ensures that it’s safely fastened.
By the time Bob returns, Ed, Marc, and Andy have arrived. The regrouping of the party gang revs up the mood a few notches and distorts reality once again. The thieves are eager to pit themselves against the stage professional, and their enthusiasm is contagious. The laughter and excitement rise. Then talk turns to location.
“On the buses, of course,” they say in unison, “that’s where we work!”
“How about the market,” Bob suggests. He’s hoping for an environment in which he’d feel a little more control. A place with a large number of potential victims so he can pick just the right one, in just the right situation.
“No, another group is working there today. We don’t want to ruin their day. The bus!”
Somehow it was agreed. It was also agreed that all items would be returned to their owners. Certainly we could not be involved in stealing things for real; not even in accompanying known thieves while they commit criminal acts. All pickpockets, Bob included, would take, display, and return or replace ill-begotten gains.
Again we are a large group. Four thieves, Bob and I, and a crew of five. The eleven of us cross the park and board the next bus.
What happens next is—is—well, I’m very sorry but I can’t say. I will tell you that it is the climax of the film. It is beyond the dinner with thieves in excitement, fascination, and entertainment value. The added element of danger looms large. The speed in which events occur, the drama, and the revelations to us all combine to create lifetime impressions for all of us. Perhaps for you, too, when you see the film.
I know it’s mean to leave a cliffhanger. I admitted in part one of this narrative that I’d be compelled to leave out much good stuff. I’m sorry. But let’s go on.
Two hours later we regroup in the park. There’s been a little one-upmanship between Frank and Andy, a kind of battle using warmth-charisma-speed-guts-and-raw-skill. No hard feelings—it was all in fun. But which of them will be the pickpocket face of this city?
We’re debriefing now. Interviews in the park with the big Red camera back on its tripod and Michele translating while responsible for impeccable sound.
These men are thieves—criminal scavengers—but they are also poets. On camera Andy says:
“Bob, what we do is the same, but we are different. You make people laugh. I make people cry.”
This is Part 20 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel. Right. There’s no part 19. The original Part 19 is here.
—Originally posted 10/410 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Dinner with thieves, continued. Carafes of white wine land on the table. I join Andy and Lou and have beer. Among much laughter, the feast begins, family style. Plates of bruschetta arrive, and large rounds of mozzarella draped in prosciutto. Andy stands, carves the cheese, and serves everyone. Before he finishes, platters of fried items are placed on the table. Fried cheese, fried mashed potatoes, fried fishballs on sticks, fried squid, fried octopus. Before anyone begins, all glasses must clink all other glasses. Then men stretch across the table, serving themselves and each other with their hands. Ed puts handfuls of crisp-fried squid on my plate, and squeezes a lemon over it all.
Bob and several of the pickpockets are standing again, clowning around and swiping stuff. Watch me! No, wait—try it this way! Our plates are cleared and fresh ones laid down. The room is thick with smoke and loud with laughter. Ed is taking pictures with his mobile phone, or maybe he’s taking video. Bowls of stewed octopus come, and others heaped with steamed mussels. Bob borrows someone’s lit cigarette and pushes it though a handkerchief—no hole!—no burn! The men love it. More beer, more wine, more bread… Bob calls for dessert—”maybe some fruit.” The thieves laugh. Not yet! We have more courses coming!
Michele is translating for six pickpockets and Bob, as fast as he can. In such demand, he sometimes forgets he’s also sound recordist for a big-time film and someone has to remind him: “Michele, the boom!” I make a little conversation with Ed, on my left, but since I don’t have a translator, I mostly just observe.
A huge platter of pasta comes, covered with buttery mussels and a variety of clams. Its fragrant steam masks the cigarette smoke for a few minutes. It’s a work of art. The pasta is thick and chewy, the clams sweet, garlicky, divine. This dish, served in the den of thieves, is my favorite of all the spectacular meals enjoyed in our host city. It pains me to withhold credit where credit is due. I want to shout the name of the restaurant, and the city we’re in. I will… later. [Naples!]
There’s serious eating for a while. This is food to pay attention to, and these men are no strangers to fine cuisine. Another platter is added to the table, this one heaped with shell fish, crustaceans, and fish. Really, it is too much. Yet Ed is popping baby squids into my mouth with his fingers, and I’m enjoying them. There is some metaphor here—something about the fingers of a thief being exempt from all rules.
The men rise for more demonstrations. Bob swipes the restaurant owner’s wallet, then Andy shows how he can take cash without removing the wallet. Finally, they get to that special front pocket technique, unique to this city. Andy crushes against Bob, as if on a lurching bus. Frank holds Bob in place from the other side. Andy removes bill after bill from Bob’s front pocket, handing them off to Marc. Then Andy turns and skulks away. Playing along, Bob shouts “who took my money!” Marc passes the cash back to Andy, who presents it to Bob with a half bow and hand up in apology. Bob accepts the cash and Andy departs.
Left: Andy takes cash from Bob’s front pocket. Right: After Bob’s accusation, Andy returns the cash—but his left hand palms half of it in a practiced short-change move.
“We return the money when we have to,” he explains, “but it’s never the same amount.” Exactly like a magician, he has palmed half the cash before returning it. The victim never counts it on the spot. Andy grins hugely, full of pride.
Lou, now retired, sits out most of the demonstrations, but can’t help getting into the action to show his own wallet extractions. He rocks the wallet—zig-zags it out. The demonstrations and raucous laughter extend through dessert and beyond; through coffee, through liqueur. Then it’s time for picture-taking. All the thieves want to get between Bob and me for a photo.
There’s a surprise: everyone signs full releases agreeing to be in our film, faces shown. We are ecstatic. The thought of blurring these expressive, lively faces was distressing. Now these men, the true stars of our pickpocket documentary, will be laid bare; not only their identities, but their emotions, their humanity.
And there’s a challenge. The pickpockets have admired Bob’s steals, but insist their work is different. Can he perform in their world? Has he got the heart? By that they mean the guts—the nerve. They summons Bob to a test. We’ll meet in the park. Tomorrow.
This is Part 18 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 10/210 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Dinner with thieves. It’s 3:00. The film crew’s still perfecting camera angles, lighting, and table arrangements. I’ve taken my seat as requested, so cameras can be adjusted behind me.
I’m antsy. Bob’s irritated. All invitees arrived on time at 2. They’ve been asked to wait in a nearby café. But for how long? They’re our guests and I’m feeling rude.
The restaurant has closed to the public. Its owners and staff stand in the back, arms crossed, unsmiling. Its lighting has been draped with black or white fabric and our own lights have been arranged on large stands. My eyes bounce from the frenzied crew to my watch to the prominent tanks of live seafood bubbling noisily. Sound man Michele frowns at the hum but, as a homeboy, he knows he can’t ask the restaurant owner to turn off the vital air supply to the pricey perishables.
Bob and I were skeptical as the taxi cruised along the unfamiliar streets of this neighborhood. This small restaurant, chosen by Andy, is the best-looking address on the street. Inside, its homey atmosphere is comforting. We can’t help wondering: are the owners relatives?; if not, do they know who today’s guests are?
We thought this gathering would just be a dinner, maybe a party, but it’s more—it’s an ad hoc film set. The crew are now trying to rig a camera to fly over the table. Our producer and official whip-cracker, Kath, is putting on the pressure to open the doors; but sound must be perfect. Lighting and cameras must be just so. I’m wondering if we’ll have any guests at all by the time they’re ready. Finally, at 4:00, the thieves are called in.
The pickpockets arrive, smiling: Frank, and his brother Ed; Andy, and his brother Lou; Lou’s son-in-law Marc; and Clay. Handshakes and hugs all around, as at any dinner party. Then Andy goes straight for Bob’s pockets, feeling him up. With a flourish and a spin, he whips out a wallet from Bob’s breast pocket, laughing. To complete the charade, he hands it off to Marc, who skulks away. The room cracks up. Applause.
Frank has dressed for the occasion, in a purple silk shirt. When we first met him on the bus he was clean-shaven. The next day in the park he signed a release agreeing to be in our film. Now he has a mustache. Has he grown it as a disguise? For a debonaire film-star look? I forget to ask him.
This is Part 17 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 10/1/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Anticipation. Frank has RSVPed by email, with enthusiasm. But what about the others? Will they come to our dinner? I wonder about the restaurant chosen by Andy. Is it owned by a relative? Is it a regular thieves’ den? Will the food be appetizing and safe to eat? Is it a dive, or has he taken advantage of our offer to select an outrageously expensive place?
It’s in a rough neighborhood, is all we are told. Later, our crew go there to scout the lighting needs and see how they’ll set up cameras, but the place is closed.
At the dinner, we hope to exchange pickpocketing techniques. Bob is particularly interested in learning the moves involved in a slow, steady extraction from the front pants pocket. To be on the safe side, we decide to buy a pair of pants with the kind of pocket we know will work.
We go shopping, camera crew in tow. And given the neighborhood, given the mass of equipment that surrounds us on this excursion, we have police protection. Not one, but two cops escort us into the alley of cheap clothing, where we find what we think are the perfect pants. Michele shouts as a man runs toward Van, who has the Red on his shoulder; Van can only see what’s in his frame. One of our cops steers the man away.
Waiting for the dinner, we feel we must stay off the buses. We don’t want our pickpocket friends to think we’re looking for their competitors. Neither do we want to infringe on their work—we’re not law enforcement, we remind ourselves. This city could put a dent in thievery if it wanted to, but criminal activity is an innate and intrinsic part of society here; our values are outsiders’ ethics.
We feel it’s safe, so-to-speak, to research another territory. We make a morning trip to a huge outdoor market where we’re told a few female pickpockets work plucking wallets out of women’s purses. Bob and I wander the aisles of clothing, shoes, hardware, luggage, housewares, and electronics. I’m totally, naturally, distracted by the shoes—of top quality and bottom price. A fabulous pair of tall, lace-up boots costs €25, about $30—10% of regular retail! I want to try them on but I’m supposed to be thiefhunting. Our crew is following us with their hidden cameras. Kun is using an exposed Canon D5 for stills, but it also shoots gorgeous video. We have undercover police guards tailing us at the ends of each aisle. Nothing happens. I try on shoes, I set down my purse, I turn my back on it. Nothing. No takers.
Victims report
Back in the police office we dissect our failure to attract thieves. Kun’s camera was too obvious, the police say. Shouts were heard warning of cameras. The books containing hidden cameras were held unnaturally, raising suspicion. My purse was carried too carelessly, they say, no local woman would hold it like that.
While we’re debriefing in the police office, three separate victims come to report thefts from their purses. The thieves are there. They’re working. But they’re savvy, and they don’t like me as a victim.
The market is closing now; each vendor is packing up and loading boxes onto trucks. Our dinner with thieves is nearing.
This is Part 16 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 9/29/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Thieves find us, more. It was a big day for us, and for the whole documentary team. The lowlifers stealing Bob’s wallet, finding Marc and Andy on a bus, catching up on a few years with Andy at a café, then making plans for a big dinner.
I haven’t mentioned that somehow during the day, Bob’s wallet really did disappear, and it isn’t clear how that happened. Did Marc or Andy take it? Could it have been the third man with them, whom we didn’t recognize and lost track of in the excitement? Or was it our own film crew, who never replaced the wallet in Bob’s pocket after filming those pickup shots?
In any case, it’s gone. This upsets Bob, because he’s lost that very wallet hundreds of times in our thiefhunting exploits, and he’s always gotten it back. Now the wallet is gone.
Michele’s on the floor with his sound equipment so as not to be seen in the mirrors.
To relax and clear his head, Bob goes for a long shower. From the bathroom he calls me. “Go get the crew. I want to share my thoughts on the day. They can film in here if they want to, I don’t mind.”
They bring the big old Red into the steamy bathroom. Director of photography, film director, and sound man all in the bathroom, shifting angles to avoid seeing themselves in the mirrors. Bob’s in the clear glass shower, water pouring off him, explaining the meaning of that damn wallet, its loss, and how a shower calms him.
This is too good. Van gets one more shot with another camera.
After Bob’s shower, we sit on the bed talking a little more to the cameras. It’s late. I’ve got my computer and I check email for the last time before bed. And… there’s an email from Frank. Email from a pickpocket!
It was a long and heartfelt letter and, even with a rough google translation, we could sense the warmth and charm Frank was trying to express. I’m sure Frank won’t mind that I quote this short poetic bit:
I know perfectly well that to touch the soul you can impress both the astonishing perception that sharpens our satisfaction, even if our directions are very different. Yours can be a funny show, quite surreal. but you may feel sick from the fleeting moment of reality that is reflected in my ever infinite talent.
After a long, frustrated account of the city’s political and criminal problems, Frank writes: “I believe that here it is becoming worse. Who would not want to hold a secure job and live a life of tranquility?” Then suddenly, a sentence that had me on the floor laughing. “Dear Bob, I’m a bit pathetically away from our subject…” Frank’s main point was to confirm our restaurant plans. He was politely RSVPing.
This is Part 15 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 9/28/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Thieves find us, continued. We’re not looking for pickpockets; just busy filming pickup shots on the bus for the documentary, when known thieves Marc and Andy board the bus with a third man we don’t recognize. “Marc!” we all say, swiveling our cameras in his direction. “Andy!” I say, as the two push past me. Bob and I recognize Andy from past years, but the film crew don’t know him.
The men had boarded at the back of the now-crowded bus. They shimmy through the tightly packed aisle like river water through stones. Marc and Andy pretend they don’t know us, but we and our crew are in relentless pursuit, struggling through the aisle crowd to catch up, to make contact. From the beginning, Marc has been the shifty-eyed cautious one. Even now, he makes as if to jump ship at the first stop, eager to escape. But Bob catches up with him, all smiles, and when the bus lurches to its next stop, we all jump off together: two thieves, Bob and I, and our whole crew.
We land at a café and take a few tables. The big Red camera looks our way and the furry boom mic hovers over us. We order coffee, lemon ice, a few snacks. Andy reminisces over past meetings with Bob and me. Marc reverts to his friendlier self on Andy’s cue.
The best pickpocket
Bob pulls out his iPod and shows Andy our gallery of local thieves. Andy smiles, laughs, pointing to photos of his friends. He knows every face. He stops at Lou, his brother, and tells us that he’s retired now. At 57, Lou now has a cigarette kiosk and makes a decent living. Bob and I are glad to hear this. We’ve known Lou for 12 years now; he was the first pickpocket we met in this city. Or rather, the first one we spoke with at length.
Though we figure Andy’s already aware of it, Bob expresses his wish to find the most talented pickpocket in this city of talented pickpockets. Andy doesn’t hesitate. “I’m the best!” he brags. “Ask anyone.” Marc nods. Bob describes the technique he hopes to have demonstrated and Andy pops out of his chair, ready to show it. Andy’s talking a blue streak and sound man Michele, translating yet another thief, is listening with a broad grin. He can’t translate everything fast enough, but at one point he beams at me. “He’s incredibly charming. Full of character, like an actor!”
“You say you’re the best,” Bob says. “Then it’s you I’m looking for!” Bob proposes dinner—a big dinner with thieves. “We’ll have a contest and share techniques,” he says. He invites Marc and Andy, and tells them to invite Frank and Frank’s brother Ed. And Clay, because he was there at the demonstration party in the park. And Lou, of course, retired or not!
“We can’t do dinner,” Andy explains. Frank is on restriction; he’s not allowed out after 9 p.m. “Say 2:00 on Friday. Where?”
“Where would you like to go?” our producer chips in generously. Andy names a restaurant without hesitation, and volunteers to make reservations. He scribbles the name and address of the place for us and stands, eager to get back to work.
After Marc and Andy disappear on a bus, Bob and I need a walk to come down. We know the neighborhood and its risks, so we turn in our hidden cameras to the crew. Our van has come to meet us at the café and it will take all the equipment. Bob and I walk.
This is Part 14 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 9/27/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
Thieves find us. “Police, police! She took my wallet!” That’s Bob screaming at ear-splitting volume. Not his usual reaction to pickpocketing! Usually, he turns and simply asks for the wallet back. Or if he has the time, he’ll steal something else from the thief—his phone or sunglasses—and then propose a trade.
We’d noticed this thief, a lowlife drug-addled woman, at a bus stop, as she and her boyfriend lit cigarette butts plucked from the ground. The bus stop was thick with thieves, all more interesting than this desperado; Bob was hoping his wallet would attract one of the others. But the woman wormed her way through the boarding throng, cutting between Bob and me. I had the perfect view of her sloppy steal. So did our film crew.
We’re at the bus stop for “pickup shots” after the rush and excitement of the past few days. We’d found the pickpocket trio Frank, Marc, and Ed so quickly, and things progressed in such a rush, our film director realized that we needed some establishing shots and close-ups on the bus to set the scene for viewers of the documentary.
Director Kun Chang asks Bob to board the next bus, then hop off before it leaves. That’s when the junkie grabs his wallet. Bob makes a scene and the boyfriend shoves the wallet back in. Cute. Usually they just drop it on the ground. Bob gets off the bus and together, we marvel at the number of “suspects” around us. We don’t recognize any individuals from prior visits, but they all fit the pattern.
Today, though, we’re not thiefhunting, tempting as it is. We need those pickup shots, so we let the bus go without us, onboard thieves free to do their thing unwatched. Bob and I are to board the next red bus, because that’s the kind we rode two days ago with Frank, Marc, and Ed.
Here comes one. We board, along with our film crew. It’s empty—I mean, no pickpockets, no suspects. Bob and I stand where we were when Frank & Co. found us, and the cameras get their shots. Until…
The bus stops and doors open and I glance out the window to see faces I recognize. It’s Marc, the younger of the pickpockets we’d met two days ago, and with him Andy, Marc’s uncle-by-marriage and a thief Bob and I have known for years.
We don’t expect them to board. We think they’ll see us and turn away. But no. Along with a third man we don’t recognize, they climb the stairs to work the bus.
This is Part 13 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
Right. There’s no part 12. The original Part 12 is here.
—Originally posted 9/25/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
On making a documentary. As I said, you’d think a documentary is just a camera following the action—but the action must be lit and wired for sound. And the cameras have to catch it from all the right angles.
It takes a long time to set up each scene, even if we’re just talking to the camera in our hotel room. Our team is shooting on a Red, the ultimate digital cinematography camera, the most expensive, the hardest to use. It records raw data without compression and therefore requires enormous hard drives. The Red is top on the list of our investor/distributor’s camera requirements; and our investor/distributor is a name in documentary films known and respected by all (even you). Their requirements are stringent.
Our days are long, starting very early and ending past midnight. But whatever time we get up, director of photography Van Royko has been up hours earlier, preparing the Red One. Director Kun Chang stays up hours later, transferring the day’s data. We’re all working non-stop, even on our scheduled day off. The payoff will be a phenomenal documentary film.
Room shoot
I quickly get used to the sound man tucking the tiny microphone between my breasts, running wires around my body, and cramming the battery-pack transmitter and excess cable down my pants. Repeating simple actions becomes routine: “can you get back in the car and get out again?” I learn to ignore the giant lens two inches from my face while I brush my teeth or change earrings. These small acts, while unimportant, will eventually help tie together the big events in our story. In the end, only a few seconds will be used—just a flash, a tiny fraction of the footage the filmmakers shoot.
At the beginning of the shoot, I’m determined to be conscious of my posture and to remember to smile. That works for about half a day. When you’re eating and packing and arguing in front of the cameras, you give up vanity and just be who you are. In fact, I’m later surprised to discover that I loathe the prospect of projecting myself unrealistically, which results in a scene in which I remove my shirt on camera because that is what I would have done had the camera not been there.
On the other hand, I want to be somewhat careful of what I say. Sound bites can be taken out of context. I can’t unsay something. So maybe I’m not totally myself after all.
I don’t keep track of what I’ve worn. Often, it’s ugly, neutral “thiefhunting” clothes, chosen to be forgotten, unnoticed by those we follow. Events happen fast and unpredictably, moving from location to location. Sometimes the filmmakers need “pickup shots:” closeups or establishing shots that help explain to the viewers where we are or how we got there. “Can you put on the clothes you wore three days ago?” Hmmm, what was that?
I guess I can divide the shooting into three categories.
Interviews. Bob and me, separately or together, looking into the camera and talking.
Bob and my thiefhunting activities. That would include hidden camera rigging, searching for thieves, and interacting with them.
Fly-on-the-wall. Bob and me going about our business with cameras watching. At breakfast, in restaurants, in our hotel room, and in the city.
The second two categories are easy and standard for documentaries. The first is extremely difficult, since we don’t know what we will do, what we will find, or what might happen. Yet, the crew must follow us, must remain invisible, and must be ready to turn on a dime. They must compromise sound and image quality in order to use equipment that keeps them maneuverable.
Rosie ferries Bob through streets one dares not walk alone.
We have a “fixer” whom I’ll call Rosie. A native of this city, she is a well-connected miracle-worker. She zips around town on her motorcycle in the aggressive local driving style, and claims the iPad changed her life. From it, she can do anything, anywhere.
Some days into the shoot, Bob surprises everyone by getting a haircut. The producer notices instantly and her head falls into her hands. Bad boy, Bob. Director Kun Chang explains that the haircut screws with his timeline, making it impossible to intercut scenes, especially interviews and those pickup shots. By sheer coincidence, sound recordist Michele also gets a haircut on the same evening off. This shouldn’t matter for a sound man, but Michele is an integral part of the film as on-camera translator, so it matters a lot.
There’s much more exciting stuff to tell about our interactions with thieves, but I’m having trouble keeping up with daily posts. The story continues!
This is Part 11 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 9/22/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
