Tassie & Amy Cameron

Ouareau alumnae and sisters Tassie and Amy Cameron are executive producers on the new CBC police drama PRETTY HARD CASES (February 3 at 9pm EST (9:30NL) starring Meredith MacNeill (BARONESS VON SKETCH) and Adrienne C. Moore (ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK.) Tassie is also the co-creator and co-showrunner on the series which is a fun and honest portrayal of two radically different female detectives in their early 40s. The following is Amy’s reflection on the similarities between camp and producing television:

There was something about the woman in the parking lot. I’d been watching Nicole for weeks and she seemed so familiar. She was our 4th AD on the television show I produced last summer, which meant she managed the trailers at base camp — moving people through the various hair, makeup, wardrobe and cast trailers while keeping the director and producers on set informed about timing and any potential problems.

Looking back, I think it was the bandana that finally unlocked why I was so comfortable with her. It was raining. We were both wearing sensible slickers and waterproof boots but Nicole had a bandana beneath her hood. As she firmly but gently handled our cast, she cracked jokes, juggled umbrellas and discreetly stuffed food in her mouth beneath her medical mask. And it hit me. “You were a counsellor, weren’t you?” I asked. “YES!” she laughed. “I loved camp! I was a counsellor for years at YLCC in Oro Medonte. You too?”

Yup. Me, too. More than 20 years ago, I celebrated 15 years at Ouareau — 10 as a camper, one as a CIT and four as a counsellor. And the experiences I had at camp have never left me. More important, the skills I developed at camp were critical in helping me manage the hardest job I’ve ever had — producing the first season of our comedic cop show for CBC while also grappling with a pandemic and the long overdue culture shift prompted by Black Lives Matter.

. . .

The job of producing a television series is a tricky thing to describe. I find and hire key creative people to star in, design and write the show. And yes, I also find and borrow the money to make the show. But one of the most important things I do, to put it in Ouareau terms, is become the program director. I bring a group of 150+ strangers together over an intense, and relatively short, period of time to create a beautiful, special thing. I plan that experience — working with talented, smart people to make sure we get everything done on time, on budget and safely — while also balancing the very real human needs of food, fun and rainy day activities (in TV that means alternate scenes to shoot in case a cast member is sick or a location falls through.)

“And it hit me. “You were a counsellor, weren’t you?” I asked. “YES!” she laughed. “I loved camp! I was a counsellor for years at YLCC in Oro Medonte. You too?””

I’m new to this job. I’ve been in television for a while in different roles (and have been a storyteller since my Ouareau days of pirate campfires by the canoe dock) but my sister Tassie and I only started our Toronto-based production company, Cameron Pictures Inc., five years ago. We have three fulltime and two parttime employees. And last March, like the rest of the world, we went on lockdown. It was the day before we were supposed to start prepping the 10 episodes of our new one-hour, police procedural PRETTY HARD CASES.

We had hired everyone from costume designer to gaffer (the head of the electrical/lighting department.) We had cast the show and started to move our two stars — Meredith MacNeill from Nova Scotia and Adrienne C. Moore from New York. We had an empty, and very expensive, studio space where we were going to build our police station. We had a mindboggling bank loan.

And then we had a virus — an invisible threat that spreads with close contact, especially when not wearing a mask. Remember the 150+ people we bring together? About half of those people traditionally work in tight quarters behind the camera to support unmasked actors who are definitely standing closer than six feet.

And then we had BLM — a movement that recognizes the all too tangible threat that Black people face every day. Remember the funny cop show with a Black actress as one of our two stars? It was clear we needed to do a rethink of how to portray police on television. In a world of “defund the police” we had to make sure we were not canonizing our characters, turning cops into heroes because they bring the bad guys down no matter what the human cost.

I’ve never been more terrified. How were we going to do this? How could we bring people together and still keep people safe? How could we entertain people with a cop show in this environment? On top of this, Tassie and I are committed changing the traditionally white, male face of television — we want our shows to be inclusive, bringing diverse perspectives into every aspect of our cast and crew, while also having women in key creative and decision-making roles. The whole endeavour seemed impossible.

Nine months later, when we wrapped production on December 22, 2020, I fell apart. Within minutes of calling wrap, I found a dark corner of the studio and wept with relief. It was over. We’d done it. And it was a success — we started four months later than projected and spent more money than you can imagine on PPE and Covid tests but the network loved the material, the crew were happy, we didn’t blow our budget and we finished on time. In addition, 45% of our cast and crew were women and we achieved the national average for Canadians of colour on our set (the 2016 census notes 22.3% of Canadians identify as a “visible minority.”)

The success to me, however, is measured almost entirely by keeping our cast and crew healthy and Covid-safe.

It felt like a miracle but it was, in fact, a ton of hard work using so many of the lessons I first absorbed within the safe world of Ouareau. Leadership, problem solving, flexibility, team building, communication and patience — skills I learned these at camp. The safety protocols we implemented in our production to keep everyone healthy? It was like running emergency scenarios in pre-camp, asking questions and testing theories until we all knew what to do. Wrangling the anxiety of cast and crew? Similar to managing the fears of campers away from home for the first time. It was just on a different scale.

One of our biggest challenges on the show was communication. We needed to limit exposure between departments which meant most meetings happened on Zoom. Any meetings in person were conducted with masks on and at a safe distance or outside. (Side note: I would not recognize half of my crew if I saw their whole face but give me a set of eyes and I can identify every single one of them.) For the first month, we were a mess. Conversations felt awkward and uncomfortable without all of the non-verbal cues and facial expressions we rely on. Misunderstandings, confusion, frustration, hurt feelings. The whole shebang. But then, slowly, we found our new shared language. A way to express ourselves, even with masks on, so that we could be clear, communicate effectively and yet still show some personality. Some crew drew a new mustache on their masks every day. Others relied on wild, colourful sweaters. Nicole of the trailers perfected the moonwalk to exit conversations. It reminded me so much of campers trying to find a way to communicate with their French or English cabin mates.

. . .  

The summer I was program director at Ouareau, there was an emergency at the sailing dock. A camper, returning from her lesson, had a serious asthma attack and couldn’t breathe. This was in the era of no cell phones or walkies. A staff member ran up to tell me in the office and then called Jacqui at her house. I remember flying down there, thinking, “What do I do? Jacqui isn’t there and so I’m in charge and I need to do something.” The minute I saw that girl struggling to breathe, my training kicked in. Though I was a quivering wreck inside, I presented as a calm, strong leader. I was the adult. And that camper was okay. (That’s not to say I wasn’t enormously relieved when Jacqui ran down the stairs!)

This fall, I got a call from set as I was pulling into the parking lot. “We can smell gas in the studio.” I had the exact feeling I’d had decades ago in those Quebec woods. “What do I do? I’m in charge and I need to do something.” I ran into the building and the smell of gas was faint but undeniable. People were still working but I could feel their worry. My training kicked in. I was the adult. “Everybody out please,” I said. I shut down production, called 911 and we didn’t go back to work until it was cleared by the fire department and the gas company. (It was a leak in one of our heaters on the roof.) Later that day, as I thought about my response to the emergency, I drew the connection to Ouareau. The circumstances were different but the feeling was the same — I can handle this.

“Later that day, as I thought about my response to the emergency, I drew the connection to Ouareau. The circumstances were different but the feeling was the same — I can handle this.”

Even as I resist middle age, I feel so lucky to have learned the things I did at camp. Ouareau was a gift. It was a safe place for me to find my authority, learn hard lessons about leadership and patience and become an adult, all while being supported by other women who were learning the same things. Upon reflection, it is no wonder to me that I felt a kinship with Nicole and recognized a fellow counsellor in the wild. With the masks on, it just took me a little longer.