NACHAS, NERVES, AND A HOUSEBOAT IN FORT LAUDERDALE: How Breaking the Rules Helped Me Break the Ice with Martin Scorsese
Updated: Sep 3
by Jeff Fisher
I was less than a year out of college, and I was about to get the education of a lifetime — though I had no idea it would come from a random word I'd never used before.
SOUTH FLORIDA SWEAT AND A LUCKY BREAK
My first real production job in South Florida was doing Craft Service on a show for PBS/American Playhouse called THE SUNSET GANG — three short stories about people in their golden years. It had a great cast (Jerry Stiller, Anne Meara, Uta Hagen!) and I was psyched to be doing anything in the film and television industry.
Craft Service means keeping the cast and crew in snacks and drinks. Not the easiest job in South Florida in July — especially when the plot involves octogenarians having a bicycle race. To say it was hot and humid is like saying "The Odyssey" is a scrappy indie movie. A huge understatement. While learning the ropes and trying not to screw up, I was basically running around making sure nobody passed out from dehydration.
But I must have done something right, because a local coordinator I'd worked with recommended me for a new gig coming to town. A movie called CAPE FEAR. Director: Martin Scorsese. Stars: Robert De Niro, Nick Nolte, Jessica Lange, Juliette Lewis.
No big deal, right?
A LOT OF TATTOO FOR ONE P.A. TO PROCESS
I was hired to be Robert De Niro's Production Assistant during pre-production — just until his regular assistant wrapped GOODFELLAS and could get down to Florida.
My first day, production sent me to Mr. De Niro's rental house to help him get supplies. Now, if you haven't seen CAPE FEAR lately: Mr. De Niro is RIPPED in that movie. His character, Max Cady, also has a huge cross tattooed on his back, TRUTH on one side, JUSTICE on the other.
Now, it's not like they were giving a day player PA the script to read, so I didn't realize it was part of his character.
Keep in mind, this was 1991 — tattoos weren't the everyday thing they are now. I mean all I really knew about tattoos were that they were popular with Hell's Angel biker types and if you had one, you couldn't be buried in a Jewish cemetery. So there I am, looking at this movie star back, thinking, "Wow, Robert De Niro is in sick shape, and he's got some seriously intense tattoos going on." Also: who covered that thing for RAGING BULL?
But despite playing a terrifying villain, Mr. De Niro had the kindest vibe. Gracious, polite. My first real lesson in the craft — how great actors completely inhabit a character while remaining, off camera, exactly who they are.
“DON’T TALK TO MARTY.”
Let's be honest about something: this whole job was a BIG DEAL to me. I was pinching myself just landing the De Niro PA gig for what I thought was one week of pre-production.
I was desperately hoping it could somehow last even longer than that.
Then Deborah Lee, the Unit Production Manager, asked if I'd be interested in the Video PA position.
It took me about one second to get the YES out. That it turned into a job that ran the entire shoot still didn't feel real.
My job was a version of what they called video assist — two TV monitors on a cart, running cable from the camera to wherever Mr. Scorsese was seated. Close to everything, getting to watch these greats at work. I mean, come on!
The First Assistant Director, was a PRINCE among men and remains the gold standard of First ADs in my book. He also made one thing crystal clear during the interview for that position: "Don't talk to Marty." He said it in a friendly way, but I got the message loud and clear.
And honestly? I took that instruction exactly the way it was meant. This is an A-list director making a big studio movie. He does not need some over-enthusiastic kid fresh out of film school bugging him while he's trying to figure out how to mount a parade sequence, or dealing with three movie stars arriving on set in three minutes. I was so grateful to be there; I was down for whatever they asked. No talk, no problem.
MASTERCLASS, UNINVITED
Six weeks into shooting, I was living the dream — even if I had to stay silent to do it.
Mr. Scorsese had hired Freddie Francis as Director of Photography. Freddie had just won the Oscar for shooting GLORY the previous year.
I'd be standing there pretending I knew how to properly wrap a cable — a skill I was very much faking — while these two masters of the craft worked out how to make each scene feel a little darker, a little more dangerous, every time Max Cady got closer to the Bowden family.
Nobody watching the movie consciously clocks that kind of thing. But it works on you anyway. That's the whole trick. I remember thinking: oh, THAT'S how you build suspense without anyone noticing you're doing it.
(Years later, directing THE IMAGE OF YOU, I used that exact idea as the character of Zoe closed in on Anna and Nick's relationship.)
I was learning more in those six weeks than in film school and my, uh, previous jobs (Movie theater usher! Video store clerk!) combined.
Then the Oscar nominations came out.
ALONE WITH MARTY
While we were shooting CAPE FEAR, GOODFELLAS received a lot of Oscar nominations, including Best Picture and Best Director.
The day after the nominations, I found myself alone with Mr. Scorsese in the Bowden family bedroom set, setting up monitors. Just the two of us in this smaller space, which was unusual.
The whole time, one sentence was on a loop in my head: Don't talk to Marty. Don't talk to Marty. DON'T. TALK. TO. MARTY.
I was doing my best to honor it. But I made eye contact. And I couldn't help myself.
How could I NOT congratulate him? This man had just picked up multiple Academy Award nominations, and I was standing three feet away from him.
I was nervous as f*ck about breaking the rule. But I also figured: if I'm going down for this, at least it isn't a bad way to go.
I didn't know what to say, but I knew if I was going to say it, I better say it fast.
And for some reason, some random Yiddish word my grandmother (my "bubby") used to say came out of my mouth.
"Mr. Scorsese, I just wanted to say congratulations on all the Nachas."
(Quick pronunciation note: that's NA-CHHAS — with a big, guttural "CHHHH," like you're clearing something out of your throat. Like Barbara Streisand might say it.
In Yentl.)
Nachas? WTF? That's what you're going with?
More appropriate in, say, turn-of-the-century Russia than a South Florida film set?
I couldn't believe what just came out of my mouth.
WHERE DID THAT EVEN COME FROM?
While my Bubby was the person I remember first using it, Nachas was always an aspirational term in my house. It got trotted out for the big stuff: my cousin Lisa getting into Duke. My uncle becoming a doctor (the actual Super Bowl of nachas for any Jewish mother of that generation).
It was decidedly NOT the word anyone used for me. I was far more invested in what was playing at the Mall movie theater, or who was guest-starring on THE LOVE BOAT reruns. Straight-A's and med school were somebody else's storyline.
Nachas roughly translates to "pride and joy from someone's achievement." But it's deeper than that — it's the warm, glowing feeling when someone you care about does something remarkable. It's got heart in it.
So there I was — three feet from a man who'd just been nominated for Best Director — and in my nervousness, trying to find something real to say, that's the word that came flying out.
HE LAUGHED. I DIDN'T GET FIRED.
Mr. Scorsese let out a big laugh.
"I love that word... that's a great expression," he said. Turns out he used to hear it around the neighborhood where he grew up. Man, I am grateful that sometimes New York Italians and New York Jews are closer than people might imagine.
I apologized for talking when I wasn't supposed to. He could not have been nicer.
From that day on, we had small conversations. He was so cool, so kind, so incredibly interesting.
I remember asking what it was like to work with huge movie stars. What stuck with me most was him saying that when you're working with actors of that caliber, you really don't have to offer that much direction. I'm sure he was being modest, but I see what he meant. Casting is 90% of the job. The right actor makes all the difference.
INTO THE TANK
After we wrapped the house set, we moved to the houseboat set — a huge tank in a Fort Lauderdale warehouse. We put up a plastic barrier to protect Video Village from the water, which meant I was now inside this small space with all these movie heavyweights. Mr. Scorsese. Freddie Francis. The producers. Key crew.
To say I felt unbelievably lucky is, well, yet another understatement.
WEST, WITH A NEST EGG
When CAPE FEAR wrapped, my dad did a really nice thing. He'd been more than a little worried when I set my goal of being a director back in elementary school. But he believed in me enough to make an offer: if I gave him my weekly paycheck during the shoot, he'd match it. At the end of the show, I'd have a small nest egg to relocate to Los Angeles, where I was desperate to go.
And he did just that.
After wrap, with two phone numbers in my pocket and my Mazda hatchback packed to the gills — I drove cross-country from Florida to Los Angeles.
I was thinking, "I just got off a Scorsese flick! I'm going to get a job in LA, no problem."
A month later, I was folding shirts at Banana Republic on Main Street in Santa Monica.
But I stuck it out. And eventually, I made some headway.
ONE MORE THING ABOUT DEBORAH LEE
Remember Deborah Lee, the Unit Production Manager who bumped me up to Video PA and got me on for the run of the show?
She didn't just hand a kid an opportunity and move on. Deborah became a real friend and mentor. Years later, she produced GARAGE SALE, my first short film — one that actually helped me get my first paid directing gig. When I finally worked up the nerve to move to LA and go after the bigger dream, she was there on the other side of it, in my corner.
Deborah passed away a few years back. She's still one of the relationships I'm most grateful for in this business — the person who had some faith in a kid running cable on a cart, before there was any real reason to.
If I could tell her about any of this — the movies, the Hallmark gigs, whatever nachas I've managed to generate since — I would. I hope maybe somehow she knows.
WHAT THIS TAUGHT ME ABOUT DIRECTING (AND LIFE)
That moment with the word Nachas — that split-second decision to be authentic instead of playing it safe — taught me something fundamental about this business and about directing.
The most important breakthroughs often come from being authentically human, not perfectly professional.
When you're directing, you're managing chaos. Problem-solving on the fly. Dealing with personalities, egos, weather, budget cuts, and a hundred other things that can go sideways.
But the core of it — the heart of it — is human connection.
It's creating an environment where actors feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Where crew members trust you enough to go along with your vision. Where everyone feels they're part of something meaningful.
That day in the Bowden family bedroom, I learned that authenticity trumps anxiety. That real human connection matters more than following every rule. That sometimes the family wisdom you carry shows up exactly when you need it most.
I'm not saying ignore the rules or disrespect the chain of command. The AD gave me that instruction for a reason, and it was right for 99% of my time on that show.
But there are rare moments when being human is more important than being invisible. Maybe it's a word from your grandmother. Maybe it's a genuine compliment. Maybe it's being honest about not knowing something instead of faking it.
Because in an industry built on artifice, authenticity is the thing people remember.
Whether you're trying to figure out what to say in the room that actually matters, or how to turn what makes you YOU into your biggest professional asset — I offer one-on-one coaching and consulting sessions. Reach out at reeltalkwithjeff.com and let's get you ready.
Use the code REELTALK25 for $25 off any service.
Jeff Fisher is a director and writer whose credits include Paramount Pictures’ "The Stranger in My Home" and "The Image of You," Hallmark’s highest-rated film of the year "My Christmas Love," and reality hits spanning from "The Simple Life" to "Keeping Up With The Kardashians." Visit www.jefffisherdirector.com to see his work and www.reeltalkwithjeff.com for more industry insights. @jefffisher_insta
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