For as long as I can remember, my family has hosted Oscar parties with betting pools and menus reflective of the nominated films.
The fervor is every bit the equal of the Super Bowl parties more common in other households. And when I’m watching Sunday night I’ll be rooting especially hard for hometown hero Michael Keaton’s work in the brilliant “Birdman.”
But it was far more personal than that for me on Oscar night in 1992. I had been a crew member and played a walk-on part in a Pittsburgh-made film that was up for multiple awards.
It was so odd that night to see my “Silence of the Lambs” family on television, all glammed up, smiling at the crowds. The last time we had been together was in a grimy sound stage in Turtle Creek listening to pleading screams of the serial killer’s prey.
Back in December 1989, acting on a tip that a movie was being shot in town, I showed up at a makeshift production office in the William Penn Hotel to apply for work — any work. It was teeming with people and props and New York accents.
I explained to the girl manning an enormous, cluttered desk that I needed a job. To my astonishment, she summoned a tall, stick-thin blonde who asked me if I could write. It was just like a scene in a movie.
For the next four months, I was part of the crew of “The Silence of The Lambs.” My job in the publicity department encompassed everything from writing press releases to fetching coffee. I even made it into the final film, playing a reporter. Running in a cluster, I’m the one on the right chasing down the district attorney.
The first time I met Jodie Foster, my head was down in the keys of my typewriter, proofing what was probably the 400th roll of film I’d captioned. Her familiar voice filled our little office space: “Mind if I eat my lunch in here?”
She was tiny and luminous. Now I understood why our costume designer was challenged to make her Clarice look ordinary. In person, Jodie Foster was stunning. To paraphrase F. Scott Fitzgerald, the famous are not like you and me.
Bumping into Anthony Hopkins was another story entirely. He was clad in his white outfit from the set, hair slicked back, eyes glittering. In his now-famous cadence, he said, “Hellooo, Jennifa …” I jumped back a little, reddening at my foolishness and nodding limply in response.
Toiling in the office or on set, it all felt like playing make-believe. To me, a horror movie hater, it was akin to a school play. Budget constraints inspired impromptu bits. A producer played the funeral director. I bet that none of us who worked on the film imagined it becoming such a classic or that it would score the top five Oscars, as unlikely as Hannibal Lecter’s meal of fava beans, Chianti and liver.
When the crew left for Bimini to film the final scene, I moved on to work as a location scout and truck driver on several more movies shot in town, all forgettable. After a year, I was burned out and embarked on what has been a long, good career in marketing and journalism.
As large a part of the American film repertoire as “The Silence of the Lambs” became, it will always be mine. Soldiers & Sailors Memorial Hall is Lecter in that big fake cage and us crowded in the extras room. Turtle Creek means a giant sound stage containing the pretend hole into which Buffalo Bill threw his victims.
I kept all of my caption lists and a sheet recording my hours of work. My “Silence of the Lambs” crew shirt, with its fluttering moths, sits quietly in my hope chest. My mom has my signed Jodie Foster photo hanging in her den. In my closet is an FBI Academy jacket from Quantico.
“The Silence of The Lambs” remains one of the great experiences of my life. To have played a tiny role in our movie lineage is a great honor.
And in my own small way, I’ll appreciate just what Michael Keaton’s feeling when he proudly graces the stage at the Oscars.
Jennifer Papale Rignani of Mt. Lebanon, senior writer and public relations manager for BusinessForward, can be reached at jenrignani@gmail.com.
The PG Portfolio welcomes “Local Dispatch” submissions and other reader essays. Send your writing to page2@post-gazette.com; or by mail to Portfolio, Post-Gazette, 34 Blvd. of the Allies, Pittsburgh PA 15222. Portfolio editor Gary Rotstein may be reached at 412-263-1255.
First Published: February 20, 2015, 5:00 a.m.
