Guest blogger John August on publicity shots

This is the second in a series of guest-blog posts by writer/director John August, in which he explains how movie promotional campaigns work via the example of his upcoming release, The Nines.

This morning, I drank my coffee, ate a hard-boiled egg, and had my picture taken for the New York Times.

What they don't teach you in film school is that if you ever actually direct a movie (like The Nines, August 31st), there's a strong likelihood that you'll have to get your photo taken. A lot. It doesn't matter that you are not classically photogenic. They'll want a photo to run next to that profile piece, and they're not willing to simply re-run the one photo of yourself you kind of like. (The one you see next to this column.)

The photographer showed up at 7:30. This early hour was dictated by my schedule, which was clogged with meetings, lunches, and conference calls where plans could be set to take my photo for yet another media outlet. For the New York Times, the plan was to shoot at my house — which was convenient for me, because I live here.

I also shot a large portion of The Nines at my house. (Again, convenient.) The New York Times liked the meta-aspect of shooting me in situ, and thus I was able to avoid putting on shoes for the whole process.

There was one aspect of letting a photographer into my house that I hadn't considered: my daughter. She's two, and from the time she was born, every camera lens has been aimed in her direction. So it was understandably bewildering to her that someone would care to take a picture of Papa. When she could no longer be held at bay, I brought her up into my lap to play some piano. I heard the shutter clicking, and realized, "Oh, crap."

I suddenly had to decide whether my daughter was part of the John August media package.

[John's decision, after the jump...]

When you see magazine photo shoots about celebrity parents, the kids are often turned away from camera, playing in the background. You might think it's because they're shy. No. They're obscured so that there's still some veil of privacy. On its darkest level, it's so they won't get kidnapped.

Click, click, click.

I also thought about the story the New York Times would be running.
It focuses one of the three sections of The Nines, based upon my experience as a TV showrunner, and the slow-motion nervous breakdown I had. My daughter figures nowhere in that tale. So it would be a strange picture to run.

Click, click.

What's more, I've sort of set a rule about not mentioning my daughter by name in the press, so what would the photo caption read? "John August plays piano with his unnamed daughter."

(Of course, if the story were about gay parenting, I might have different rules. I'd probably be willing to sacrifice a bit of privacy for the good of the cause.)

Click, click, click.

And then I said, "You know, actually, I don't want her in any of these photos." The photographer didn't protest, though I could sense he knew that the pretty blonde cherub was the best thing about the photos he'd taken so far.

In truth, I don't harbor great fears that some psychopath would neatly clip the photo of my daughter from the Times and tack it to his wall. But I'm protective. And honestly, selfish. I want photos of my daughter in my iPhone, not strangers' inky hands. If one day her photo appears in the New York Times, I'd love for it be through her own merit. You know, when she cures cancer and negotiates an impossible peace treaty.

Meanwhile, I'm just a guy who directed a movie. They're scheduling a photo shoot for the L.A. Times, which won't be at the house. Which will mean I have to wear shoes. Damn.