The ‘A’ shot

It takes three minutes of screen time to blow an unknown snowboarder into a star -- or to make last year’s star appear lame. It takes months of contract negotiations, planning and riding to get those 180 seconds of “A”-shot footage. The challenge of getting three minutes that will stand out in the avalanche of 30 or so titles released each fall keeps snowboarders stressing full time almost year-round. Todd Richards, a 33-year-old pro with more than a dozen credits, including “Brainstorm” (Kingpin Productions) and “This Time” (Standard Films), helps explain the sometimes agonizing process.

Slip the doorman

a bill

That teetering pile of contest medals won’t buy you a part in a video, so lean on your sponsors to hook one up. Video producers cover their costs by wrangling money from snowboarders’ corporate backers. “Sometimes, you’re going to rip so hard that if a producer wants to sell videos, they’re going to have to put you in it,” Richards says. “But 90% of the time, your sponsor has to kick down [money] for you to get in.”

Scour the backcountry

After your sponsor overnights a five-figure check to the filmmaker, grab a calendar and start crossing off dates. Plan at least 10 trips, some as long as two weeks, from December to midyear. Gas up the truck and the snowmobile. Maintain constant surveillance of the Weather Channel. Be prepared to drop the fork and go.

A few years ago, a snowboarder could bang out a terrain park video sequence in a day. Now, the man-made parks are overblown, and the pressure is on to scout unexposed backcountry locations -- the farther off-road, the better. Forest maps help. “You look for mountain passes because if there’s snowmobile access you can cruise around,” Richards says. But watch for tracks. If another video crew has already marked your territory, drive deeper into the wild.

Scout for a natural launch ramp or ridable cliff. You can always build a snow jump, but first find a sweet spot. Backtrack from an ideal landing zone -- a long, steep run-out free of trees and backbreaking boulders. From there, line up a direct route to the potential launch site. Wait for a big dump of snow.

Enter the dudestew

Meet up near the predetermined top-secret backcountry spot with assorted camera guys, the director, a still photographer from a snowboard magazine and three or more snowboarders. Join the dudestew -- as many as 20 dudes heaped into a tiny condo -- to save your sponsor money. With a grocery list of sponsors, Richards can slide the plastic for solitary lodging, but the dudestew drill of ro-sham-boing for prime floor space still haunts him.

Make the

cheese wedge

Unload the snowmobiles and caravan to the top-secret spot by 6 a.m. Is there anything more calming than escaping to the wilderness? “You’ll be in the middle of the backcountry thinking nobody else is around and there’ll be six film crews,” Richards says. Sweat all day building a 10-foot-high cheese-wedge-shaped jump. How? Using a rake and shovel, cut the snow into 4-foot-square blocks and stack them as if they were giant Legos. Coat the top with moisture-sucking salt to make it tarmac hard. When you leave at dusk, pray that in the fading light nobody finds the jump and leaves tracks -- or worse. “Bomb holes,” or butt craters left by fallen snowboarders, not only pock pristine powder but also blow out the knees and compress the vertebrae of snowboarders who land in them.

Nail the ‘A’ shots --

or not

Land an insane trick smoothly with no frantic chicken flapping or butt scraping. Do this on the first take, because ugly tracks in the snow can demote a stellar trick to a “B” shot. “If you tomahawk down some face into fresh powder, you’re usually not all that popular with the crew,” Richards says dryly.

(Note: Do not sabotage the “A” shot even before landing a trick. Do not drive for an hour, unload the snowmobile and realize you left your boots buried in the dudestew debris. Forget one glove? “That’s the worst,” Richards says, eyes rolling. “It’s not enough to make you go back, so you’re riding with one hand in your jacket.”)

When filming is complete, render the jump useless to other video crews by caving it in. Or, do as one crew did -- stuff a few half-sticks of lighted dynamite into the wedge and run.

Do the math:

‘B’ + ‘B’ = zilch

After a few trips to various top-secret backcountry spots, mentally catalog the footage. Are there enough “A” shots to edit into a three-minute sequence? Any “A’s” at all? “I can go a whole season and get a stack of ‘B’ shots,” Richards says, laughing. “It’s always on your shoulders -- ‘Man, it’s March and I only have two shots.’ ” Production companies often release a video teaser midseason to generate buzz and feelings of inadequacy. “Some guys have 10 shots by the time that thing rolls around. And you,” Richards pauses, “have one shot.”

When the season melts down in North America, fly to the chilly Southern Hemisphere, perhaps New Zealand, and step off the plane into a freak weather front and warm rain. Turn around, go home.

Bond with the editor

Time’s up. Wearing flip-flops and shorts, enter a small, dark room with an Apple G5, thousands of dollars in editing software and a vitamin-D-deficient editor who is already dicing up your footage. Begin the haggling over grades. “A” or “B”?

Snowboarder: Oh man, that’s a sweet shot. Look at that front flip.

Editor: Hmm. Maybe.

Snowboarder: You know how long it took us to get up there?

Editor: You’re too attached. This footage should hit the floor.

Snowboarder: No! You can’t! Flying 80 feet! Tweaked!

Editor: Bob has footage doing a rodeo off it and he’s clearing a hundred feet.

Snowboarder: I think I chucked mine a hundred too.

Editor: Look at your arms when you land. What are you doing, churning butter?

“Usually, the editor wins,” Richards says. “You’ll leave and he’ll hit the delete button.”

The months of slams, the wrestling with the snowmobile, the riding with one hand curled up in a sleeve all funnel into a series of shots as long as a song on the radio. “You want an opening banger [trick], a middle banger and a closer shot,” Richards explains, describing the formula for a shot sequence. Sprinkle in some higher-grade “B” shots between the “A’s.” Your closer shot had better be worthy or ridicule will rain down on you.

Now pick music to fit the moves. Agro punk? Booming hip-hop? Introspective Radiohead? Select three in case the publishing rights can’t be had.

After two or three days, exit the editing bay happy, images and sound in sync, believing the editor is happy too.

Enjoy the show?

It’s September now. Hang out all day at the Action Sports Retailer trade show, where nearly naked models and the skateboarders, surfers and snowboarders who ogle them descend like party locusts. Make sure you have the latest bro’ shake dialed.

At night, head over to your video premiere at a rented theater. Wade through a sea of beer, beanies and exposed boxer waistbands.

Pretend not to know how gnarly you are, how banging your footage is. Sign autographs for the kids who scored a coveted ticket. Settle down in your seat as the lights dim. Watch as the title flashes and a primo shot kick-starts the cheering. Here comes your part ... and there it goes -- half the footage of the “finished” cut the director showed you last week.

Confront the director at the after-party while a DJ does his best to discourage conversation. Wait in vain for an explanation/apology. Comfort yourself with thoughts of others less fortunate, such as the sorry snowboarder who two years ago filmed all season and didn’t see a single shot in the final cut. Whine to a fellow professional who recently started a production company to take control of his footage. Say “yes” when he offers you a spot in his next video. Huddle together in a corner and start stabbing at the PalmPilot, blocking off dates as you try to recall where you stashed the forest maps.

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Staying on top of the annual avalanche of titles

A snowboarding flick lasts about as long as a sitcom on the screen and an anemic six months on the action-sports video and DVD shelves, but it can deliver an advertorial wallop -- the rapt attention of an otherwise twitchy audience -- for the featured snowboarders and the apparel and gear makers that sponsor them. Unlike skateboard videos, which are usually shot on digital, the top-tier snowboard movies use 16- and occasionally 35-millimeter film, a considerably more expensive medium. Mike Hatchett, producer of the popular Standard Films series, says his projects cost $200,000 and more.

With 30 or so titles released each fall, it’s tough to survive the avalanche. The projects that surface as standouts season after season tend to come from a handful of production companies: Mack Dawg, Robot Food, Standard Films and Absinthe. Typically working on film with budgets that hit six digits, these crews are known for showcasing the sport’s hottest stars in the most exotic locations. Mike Nusenow, publisher of San Juan Capistrano-based Snowboarder magazine, likes Robot Food projects in particular, because they “put the fun back into snowboarding. There’s a lot of personality in that crew.”

-- Sean Mortimer