The Day I Tried to Sneak a Location—and Lost a Helicopter Shot

When it comes to production, somehow, some way, it always works out. On a daily basis, you’ll hear someone say, “It’ll work out”—until it doesn’t. I was producing and directing a music video for a local artist in Detroit. I had already directed one of his videos, and it had good word of mouth. People liked the creativity and the quality of the video. If nothing else, I know how to make a dollar look ten times that on camera. So, when they came to me to do the second video, I had something to prove. I chose a completely different production team—more on that in another blog—and I searched my mind for the best practical locations that would give me the production value I needed. This video would focus on sporty and muscle cars with suicide doors, and I wanted to take this out of the studio and into the environment. 

One of the locations I chose was a really cool-looking circular parking ramp leading to the rooftop of what used to be Cobo Hall in Detroit. There was no way I could pay a fee for this, so we (as in I) decided to steal the shot by shooting on a day we knew it would be closed. It’s a parking ramp—remote-looking, quiet—the kind of place you convince yourself is basically free. I thought we’d roll in, grab shots of everything—it’s a music video, so continuity wasn’t an issue. I got there first with the DP. The plan was to get out with the camera and grab shots of cars as they drove up, gather them on the roof and shoot whatever we could get, then drive down as quickly as we arrived. 

Before my Nikes (really, probably Skechers) could hit the pavement, a voice from nowhere said, “Can I help you?” It was security. We were being monitored on video, and there was no way we were going to steal a single shot without the police being called on us. 

I did what producers do: panic, held back tears, then quickly regrouped—no time for tears. Between my producing partner, the DP, and I someone came up with the idea of Riverside Park under the Ambassador Bridge—the bridge that connects Detroit to Canada. We had to scramble, call the cast and all the vehicle owners, and reroute them to the park—which, fortunately, was only a 10-minute drive away—but the hiccup had blown my timeline. And, as luck would have it, the next setup that day was my biggest set piece—a helicopter sequence. When we finally landed at the park, the window for filming the helicopter scenes was shrinking by the minute. We ultimately got to the helicopter location three hours later than planned, which left me to shoot less than half of what I wanted. This was not shaping up to be the sophomore flex I’d imagined. 

The root cause wasn’t bad luck. It was me trying to sneak what needed to be secured. There’s sneaking a location, and then there’s stealing a location. There are subtle differences. In this world of micro-budget filmmaking, there are times when you need to sneak a location—and I have done it effectively: a no-footprint shoot with one or two actors and the DP inconspicuously filming them; shots at an event—especially something where it’s expected that people will be filming (like a concert). But if the shot or scene is as important to your production as this was to mine, you definitely need to have a locked location or have a backup plan in place that you can control. No producer sorcery will save you from the math of time once you’ve been turned away at a gate. The pushback doesn’t just blow the schedule; it cools performances and makes precision work riskier. I was scrambling and off my creative game (just a bit). In the end, it was not worth the risk.  

I was trying to be impressive and was maybe being impractical. Sports cars (each with a driver), helicopters, and traveling from downtown Detroit to Pontiac in the same day—what was I thinking? (I wasn’t.) Here’s what I do differently now. I match my footprint to my ask and tell the truth about impact—always, always be upfront with a location you’ve booked; the last thing you want is for them to shut you down. I call security in advance and make them allies instead of obstacles—(plying them with good snacks helps too). I prep a crew list for them that includes names, times, plate numbers, a single point of contact, and a simple one-pager that says exactly who we are, when we arrive, where we park —often times the contact person you made the agreement with has not provided security with all the information they need or want. If you do, they will be appreciative and treat you accordingly. 

I also keep a real Plan B – a “cover set” —scouted, approved, practical, within close proximity—so if the first door shuts, we aren’t reinventing the video or movie on the sidewalk. It’s also good practice to notify neighbors that you’re filming in their area; have signage; printed permits (if applicable); releases; petty cash (you may have to “donate” some cash to a loud neighbor for “quiet on set”. It’s still indie life, still micro-budget, still creative and scrappy—but it’s professional. 

The lesson for me was simple and annoying: I allowed my “doing it big” attitude to become wishful thinking. I knew filming at Cobo Hall was a big risk. I should’ve chosen another location when I realized we couldn’t afford it. That trade off wasn’t worth it. Secure the location. Protect the day. Micro-budget doesn’t mean messy—it means intentional. And intention, not luck, is what gets your project in the can.