Former Windmill Lane Pictures staffer Clare Kavanagh celebrates the iconic production studio in Dublin's docklands, a mecca for music, film and creative activity long associated with the glory days of U2, following its closure earlier this month.
"Who wants to run on Paddy's Day?" Bronwen asked the motley crew of Windmill Lane Pictures runners assembled at reception. "I will", I said, needing some serious brownie points after a week of being late: "What do I have to do?" I was cautious, as previous volunteering had meant painting two edit suites and minding a client’s pedigree pet. "Look after the editors with tea, coffee and giving them a hand getting food in". In those days, that meant ringing the Langkawi Restaurant on Baggot St, easy peasy. Turned up, made tea, coffee and batch toast with butter & marmalade for everyone.
When I was clearing up, Brian McCue pointed to a box of tapes that had just arrived in and asked me to look through them and log the footage. The tape ops set me up on a beta machine and I made note after note, describing shot after shot. Brian said to go through them again. Find me all the silhouette shots. Find faces, dancing, animals, politicians, evangelists, nazis. By the end of Paddy’s weekend, I could pretty much instantly locate any shot in five full cardboard boxes of tapes. Eventually, but not then, we compiled the hero shots onto a 90-minute tape that for some reason we called Beta 555. Probably because of Martin Crowe and his logical mind and it being tape number 555 of raw material!
On Tuesday I went back to my normal running duties and at 4pm I was called by Bronwen into Bookings. She said "I don’t know what you did all weekend, but they say they can’t do without you in Edit 1". That was the top suite... I’d made it to Edit 1!
I backed out of the room and legged it before Bronwen could change her mind.
I spent the next four months working with the epic creative army who were constructing U2’s Zoo TV and Zooropa visuals. By the end, the tapes lined every room and corridor. The good, great and infamous wandered through with their contributions: Brian Eno, Daniel Lanois, Allen Ginsberg, Salman Rushdie (with fatwah), Chuck Fishbein, Mark Pellington, Steve Averill, Mark Neale; anchored always by the stamina and genius of Brian McCue, Maurice Linanne, Richie Smyth, Tim Morris, Tom, Hubert, Philip, Stephen, Eamonn, Colm O’Brien, Alan, Jim, Gerri and all the Windmill greats.
We met Nelson Mandela for flips sake! Bill Clinton. Desmond Tutu, Quincy Jones. Naomi Campbell, Eric Clapton, Mark Knoffler, Gerry Conlon, Jonah Lomu the legendary All Black. Julia Roberts when she legged it from her engagement to Kiefer Sutherland and hid from the world press in The Dockers pub with The Edge. Daniel Day Lewis mid filming In the Name of the Father having to say everything to Paddy Dockers twice because his Belfast accent was so strong. Brad Pitt. Annie Liebovitz coming into Windmill to film something for Vanity Fair with Jim Sheridan and Noel Pearson. I got stuck for weeks in the room beside Jim Sheridan's edit suite in Windmill when he was cutting Get Rich or Die Tryin’ - he recorded the guide voiceover himself, I’ve heard the story of 50 Cent’s life, but in Jim Sheridan’s accent.
a favourite Windmill Lane hangout (Pic: Stefano Giovanni)
Lee and Neil taking a break from the edit suite on the fire exit when they saw one of the new runners run straight into The Edge in the car park - and send him flying onto the ground. All they saw was the runner profusely saying sorry and helping to pick him up. When we asked later what The Edge said to him - he said he just said "You wouldn't believe the amount of people who would have liked to have done that to me!!" Filming Shane MacGowan for Bow Street Studios when they were beginning a new life under Lenny Abrahamson and Stephen Rennicks. Sinéad O’Connor was coming in next to record and I asked Shane to write her a note saying that he had filmed with us, it had gone well and would she consider doing it too. He carefully wrote a note to Sinéad, read it aloud to us and laughed "This sounds like you’ve taken me hostage" so he rewrote it with more swearing. When she came in not only did Sinéad film with us, she brought us to see Sly & Robbie play in Dublin that night. They don’t make rockstars like that anymore.
When the news came in earlier this month that Windmill Lane had closed, messages flew around the globe between former staff. We shared stories of our time there, all from different blocks of years but with common themes emerging (encapsulated by former team member Shane Woods in this article): 'It was the first real job I’d ever had, my longest single place of employment, half my lifetime ago and the impact it still has on me..." The stories are a book in themselves: running up to Grafton Street to get photos developed of rooftops in LA, which turned out to be recce photos for U2’s Where The Streets Have No Name video… Windmill’s camera crew covertly meeting in Dublin Airport to fly to Florence to film David Bowie’s wedding to Iman (it was Bono’s wedding present to Bowie)... Showing Salman Rushdie into the studio to film a clip for U2’s Zoo TV... Ambassadors, hoodlums, rock stars and politicians pepper the stories but the over riding theme is what remains with us today - how lucky we all felt to work there.
Windmill Lane was a place full of energy, full of passion, it was our college, it was our PhD in creativity but also in life skills. When we left it was a springboard into a life that was unimaginable a few years earlier. It changed all of us and it changed this country. Ireland in the 1980s was in the horrors - unemployment at 19%, mortgages at 17% - not only were we lucky to enjoy our work (not all the time, it was hard work, but by and large), we were the few people of our generation in the country who had stable work and a decent income. The company that James Morris, Russ Russell and Meiert Avis formed in 1975 which became Windmill Lane was the foundation stone of the Irish post-production industry and without them it was the boat to Soho for Irish production. Without Windmill there'd be no pool of home-grown talent, no TV3, no Oireachtas Broadcasting Unit, no The Mill in London, no MT USA, no MTV Awards for videos, no tour buses of tourists to sign the walls outside, It hosted a post-production premiership made up of a collective of creatives, from runners, artists, technicians to management, all working together to create at a world-class level. It was that then and was still that when the announcement to close was made.
The great and the good who hand out awards and honourary doctorates might consider the service that James, Russ, Meiert and Windmill Lane have done for the industry which resonates globally still today. It is Ireland’s Hall of Fame.
Windmill Lane. If you were lucky enough to have been part of it you’ve contributed to the cultural soul of Dublin. Our city where creativity and legends have collided for decades. The talent and vision that Windmill nurtured into the world for decades is undeniable. It is very hard to hear of its closure. To me, Windmill was always about the people - I'll love my Windmill friends forever.
All that's left is to wish all the people there a bright future as they carry the legacy on and out into the world. You are the best in the industry. You’re Windmill Lane. I could’ve chosen a U2, Waterboys, Kate Bush, or Def Leppard track to put on this morning but I chose Terence Trent Darby’s Wishing Well. When he was in studio the runners were asked every morning to turn his motorbike around for him in the car park to face towards the gate, it was weird but cool. He also asked a runner to buy him 100 condoms, at which point he learned of Ireland’s Roman Catholic status which meant birth control was illegal here. The shock on his face was a window to another world.
James Morris. Russ Russell. Meiert Avis. Visionaries, Trailblazers. Windmill Lane. Family.
The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ
