© 1998 by Joseph L. Puente
Like most veterans, the fondest memories I have of being in the service are those of my friends. It was something I knew I would appreciate even before I signed my contract. But even though I knew I'd make friends, I was unprepared for how important those friends would be to me. We were more than just a clique. We distinguished ourselves from any other group of friends out there. We were Winter Park. An obvious take on the outrageous cartoon. We all had our alter egos on the program. Jeremy Para was like Stan, the hero, our leading man. Ryan Nardi was Cartman, the strong sensitive type. Bill Cuellar was like Kenny, most likely to die in a horrible fashion (he does want to be a SEAL you know). Arie Beugelsdijk was our seldom seem little brother Ike. And I identified with Kyle.
When you would walk by our rooms in the barracks and you would see the official Winter Park emblems on our doors. Our diminutive caricatures standing proudly side by side. But it doesn't stop there. The next time you run into one of the Winter Park kids, ask him for his official Winter Park business card. We all have them! Personalized with our likeness and hotmail address. You might even catch one of us wearing the official Winter Park T-shirt. No, I'm not kidding. We all have them!
With Winter Park, we established ourselves in Winter Harbor as a special group. But it would be for a little film called Barracks Rats that we would be remembered.
The project began in December of 1997. I had just finished my directing debut with the Hammond Hall Players' production of Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Jeremy was in charge of the music. Bill was our sound effects man. Nardi, who had come to one of the performances, approached me about getting involved with the next play. I knew that I wasn't going to be in Winter Harbor for the next Hammond Hall production but Nardi gave me an idea.
Two years earlier, Nick Heudecker and I wanted to make an independent film, having just seen Kevin Smith's Clerks . But changes in our respective work schedules and other circumstances prevented that from happening.
At this time, Jeremy, Bill, Nardi and myself were all working at Building 85 in Section One. It was during a mid that Nardi and I brought the idea of reviving the film to Bill and Jeremy. I was a little apprehensive, I wasn't sure that they would go for the idea. But they liked it, so we started writing a story.
We used little if any of the material from the original project. Nick was able to help out by filming a few scenes for us and his name is listed as the first of our GlideCam operators.
The script was completed in March, using the same format as any Hollywood screenplay, and filming had already begun. We had film schedules, technical crews, visual effects, sound effects, a best boy (thanks again, Stew), and location shots. While there was no official budget for Barracks Rats, we estimated that between the cost of video tapes, camera equipment, travel expenses and brainstorming lunches at Chase's (I'm serious) we produced our film for about $400. From idea to finished project, Barracks Rats was completed in about five months.
Barracks Rats was by no means an easy project. Early on, we were met with obstacles. Work schedules were changed. Nardi became a day worker, which meant he was only available for filming in the evening and on weekends, then Bill was put into Section Four. That meant that we had only one day off in common. Though we were able to do some filming during our work week, that one day off that we all had together was usually a sixteen hour day of filming. For Jeremy and me, it meant hanging the Mid.
The project wasn't only plagued by uncompromising schedules, it was also plagued by illness. Jeremy was sick during the filming of two key scenes. I struggled through a couple of days of filming with the flu, then lost three entire days of filming when I couldn't even get out of bed. Through all these road blocks, there was plenty of tension between the kids of Winter Park. We pissed each other off and we got on each other's nerves. But we always managed to forgive and forget. Or, as Bill might put it, adapt and overcome.
The concept of our film, boredom and a lack of anything interesting to do, became ironic to us. How could we be bored when we were coming up with ideas for our movie? Or when we were taking turns writing the script? Or filming an impromptu or improvised scene? Unlike the Barracks Rats versions of ourselves, we weren't in need of something to do. We were making a movie.
During this whole process, as the director, I had to keep everybody motivated. Jeremy, who took on the uncredited role of assistant director was key to making this happen. Sometimes I couldn't bring myself to drag Bill or Nardi out of bed on a Sunday morning to film. When Nardi would say, "ÄI was up all night!" Jeremy would say, "Me and Joe are off the mid, do you hear us complaining?" One thing I tried to do at the end of each filming day was tell these guys, "You're going to be heroes. Nobody else has ever done this before. We're the first and people are going to be talking about this for years."
I have to admit, there were times when I was afraid we wouldn't be able to pull it off. When that deadline got closer and closer and we still had lots to film. I tried to keep these fears to myself, but I think we were all afraid of that happening. But those fears were put to rest around three in the morning when Jeremy and I spliced in the last bit of music to the last scene in the movie.
After the first public screening at the club, Jeremy and I were kicking back having a "second hand smoke." I'll never forget the look on his face. He was smiling ear to ear and saying, "I can't believe we actually did it. We actually pulled it off." We were heroes. With Winter Park, we bonded our friendship. With Barracks Rats we left our mark.