Hollywood Studio Magazine (November 1969)

SUBSCRIBE I NOW — enjoy STUDIO ever y month 24 HOUR or DAY TELEPHONE ANSWERING SERVICE • Professional • Commercial • Residential Si’i vi'rKj STATE • DICKENS DIAMOND • TRIANGLf WEST VALLEY TELEPHONE EXCHANGE 7018 Reseda Blvd Dl 3 1901 VAN NUYS TELEPHONE EXCHANGE 14532 Vanowen ST 5 5406 • TR 3 1550 SAN QUENTIN MOVIE MAKERS Continued from Page 5 been sparse. This leaves Queirolo faced with promoting odds and ends of usable material to keep things rolling. Even the members are hamstrung in efforts to raise money under prison rules. While he is an inmate, a man can work at various occupations in San Quentin that will pay him a maximum of 16 cents per hour. But the workshop doesn’t fit this category and a member must sacrifice this small income in order to do it full time. Thus the entire cost must be funded outside the prison system. Even extra furniture and office supplies are scrounged by Queirolo and his friends. “We have a shoestring operation here,” Queirolo admits, “but local television stations save us pieces of unexposed film and develop them free. I let the boys use my equipment, so they manage one way or another. Nobody is more resourceful than a con.” Rules imposed on convicts who want to join the workshop are strict because it is considered a privilege. A man’s record inside the prison must be spotless for a full year. Talking about his involvement in the workshop, a member told me, “I care enough about myself and the chance to be in the film project, I want to stay clean. If I goof up, I will be out of here before I can blink my eyes. Learning to make movies has given me hope.” Besides being the first movie experiment in penal history, the Inmate Film Workshop was also an experimental program on new methods of rehabilitation and custody. Students under the supervision of Queirolo and a guard were taken outside San Quentin for special shooting assignments in other penal institutions and even of Market Street in San Francisco. “We took a big chance with the guys the first time,” Queirolo admits, “but I trusted them and expected each man to realize what an escape would mean to the program and me personally. They could have melted into the crowds in a second and I couldn’t have stopped them.” Besides the San Francisco trip, the men were allowed to travel with Queirolo to an institution in Northern California to complete important scenes in a training movie. So far, the men have completed 54 films ranging from serious dramatic productions to “fun” movies of one or two minutes in length. Because the state could see advantages in using the men’s experience, they have been approached by officials seeking to have movies made. “They ask us if we would like to make a movie for them. It makes us feel like men again,” one inmate said with pride. The group is excited about the film it has just completed for the Peace Officers Association on a budget of $1,500. “We don’t show guards on the walks with guns or practicing on the target range,” one of the convicts explained, “because this is a public relations movie.” One of the workshop crew said, “We don’t like to brag, but we had to give the state a few hints on holding prisoners. After looking at their old movie on the subject we saw a number of loopholes and told them how to cure them. You might call it technical direction.” Because of the select status workshop members enjoy among the prison population, there is a waiting list of applicants. The number of men enrolled at ' any one time varies because of “graduations” and transfers. Queirolo is anxious to fill empty spots, but allows the workshop members to play a large roll in this selection. “You can’t lift some con out of the yard,” said one, “he could do some crazy stunt and blow the whole deal.” Because of the difficult, and technical nature of film making, members must spend months poring over technical manuals, scientific papers and professional publications. Without this study, it would be impossible to learn even the basics of production. On the outside, Queirolo has met with certain opposition to his project, but he has been encouraged by help from private industry. The Famous Photographers School gave his men a free course, and a local photographic company donated a new enlarger. Woody Allen, who made a motion picture at San Quentin was impressed by the efforts of Queirolo’s students and prodding Warner Bros. Seven Arts with his influence, a number of older studio lights were donated. So far, however, these outside contributions have been far from adequate. The difference is made up by Queirolo out of his own pockets. “They have half my equipment here,” he says with a grin. “When I need something I have to come to the Workshop to get it.” Queirolo’s interest in his students doesn’t end with their discharge however. To date he has personally placed six graduates of his workshop in the film industry . That is enough proof of success for Queirolo’s efforts. His payment for long hours and hard work is the sure knowledge he has helped others help themselves. Page 8