The Case of the Missing Videographer

by Denise Doucette, RDR, CLVS

I've been a court reporter for a number of years now (please don't ask), and since I specialize in complex and technical litigation, I've reported more than my share of videotaped depositions. Although the vast majority of videographers I've worked with have been thorough professionals, there have been a notable few who have managed to annoy and amaze me with their behavior. I'll share these stories with you not to embarrass anyone, but to point out some pitfalls to be avoided if you aspire to receive repeat business and/or not be the butt of attorneys' jokes every time they think of you.

Probably the most annoyed I ever got with a videographer occurred a few years back. I arrived on site to find the videographer midway through his equipment setup. "Hey, do you have a three-prong adapter?" he asked me. "I wasn't expecting to need one today." I cheerfully replied that of course, I had one, and I opened my case and passed it over. "You wouldn't happen to have an extension cord, would you?" was his next query. He at least had the decency to look sheepish when he asked that one. I handed him my extension cord, but this time my smile was a bit forced. The videographer began fumbling around in his backpack. I heard him curse under his breath, and then he asked, "Do you have any duct tape?" I shook my head no. A few minutes passed, and then came the final straw. "Oh, gee. I guess I forgot my cassette tapes. Hey, did you bring any tapes with you today?"

My annoyance was becoming hard to conceal. After all, I wouldn't dream of expecting the videographer to show up at a deposition with a supply of court reporting materials, so this guy had a lot of nerve. I knew giving him a lecture on the spot would be unproductive; I'd let his supervisor handle that task later. We agreed the videographer would provide me with an audio backup from the master video once he returned to his office, and I prayed the attorneys wouldn't ask for a next-day turnaround on the transcript. The job turned out to be a standard ten-day delivery; no harm done. However, the memory of the irritation I felt at the videographer's failure to be prepared lingers to this day.

There have been lesser gaffes performed by videographers, mostly minor (and sometimes welcome) distractions from the banality of many depositions. I'll always remember one young videographer who, during a long and particularly boring deposition, managed to attract the attention of a roomful of attorneys by clipping his fingernails. We all turned to look at the videographer, who was completely absorbed in his task. He was dutifully wearing his earmuff-style headphones, so he was unaware how loud the clipping noises sounded during lulls in the testimony. The videographer remained utterly oblivious to the fact he had become the center of attention. You know the testimony is pretty boring when you'd rather watch someone clipping his fingernails. And then there was the videographer who burst into song in the midst of a deposition. I had wondered to myself earlier why he had two sets of headphones, one earmuff style and one smaller set of Walkman-style earphones. Apparently the earmuffs were for use in monitoring the deposition, and the smaller earphones were for listening to his favorite cassettes when the testimony became too boring to bear. The participants were more amused than annoyed, and the videographer was rightfully mortified when he realized what he had done. I'll bet given a choice, everyone in that room would have rather listened to Eric Clapton than our actuarial witness that day.

One video deposition is a clear winner in my personal portfolio of lifetime "worst-of" scenarios (i.e., worst videographer, worst interpreter, worst witness, etc.). One of my favorite clients had scheduled the videotaped deposition of an expert witness who lived and worked in a remote rural location. In order to accommodate the witness, eight attorneys and I each drove four hours one way in order to conduct the deposition at the witness's office. My client arranged for the services of a local videographer. I arrived well in advance of the scheduled starting time and was ushered into the "deposition suite," which turned out to be a large one-room, warehouse-like structure situated directly behind the witness's modest office building. The cavernous room was outfitted with long cafeteria-style tables and metal folding chairs for the occasion. The lighting was poor and the acoustics a nightmare. I began to question my sanity for accepting this assignment. However, real panic didn't set in until after the videographer arrived.

I introduced myself and offered to assist in any way I could. My offer was met with a blank stare. I bravely pushed ahead. "Have you done many depos?" I inquired. "Yeah, a couple," came the answer. "Are you certified?" I asked. "Nah, you don't have to be certified to do this. Those programs are just a rip-off, anyway." I bit my tongue and smiled. No need entering into a debate this early in the game. I watched as the videographer set up his equipment. Some key ingredients were missing; I just had to ask. No, he wouldn't be using supplemental lighting, and no, he wouldn't be making an audio recording. By now the attorneys were beginning to arrive, so I decided to keep my mouth shut and let the drama unfold. My sixth sense had told me to bring along a portable audio cassette recorder, but I knew the quality would be poor due to the acoustics of the room and the inadequate built-in microphone. Anything was better than nothing, though; I'd just have to make the best of the situation. Although some of the attorneys commented on the dim lighting, no one questioned how that might affect the quality of the video recording. The deposition began, and as in prior depos in the same case, the attorneys frequently objected and engaged in rancorous debate. The presence of video usually brings out a measure of forced civility among adversaries, but not this group. I prayed for the batteries in my cassette recorder and concentrated on creating an accurate record. The attorneys took no recesses when one questioner concluded and the next in line began, choosing instead to remain on the record and just play quick musical chairs. These guys were in a hurry to finish up and start the four-hour return drive back to civilization.

During one of the musical-chairs sessions I heard an "Oops" and looked up to see the most recent questioner holding a broken lavaliere microphone in his hands. The noticing attorney said, "Let's go off the record." All eyes turned to the videographer. More accurately, all eyes turned to the empty chair where the videographer had once been seated. I, for one, had been concentrating so intently on the proceedings that I failed to notice the departure of the videographer. The next attorney in line quickly stepped up, took hold of the now-clipless microphone, and said, "I'll just hold it in place." The deposition continued with each questioner in succession holding the microphone in one hand while fumbling through a mass of documentary exhibits with the other. Mercifully, the whole ordeal was over within an hour and a half, and the videographer did manage to return in time to make the closing remarks as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Well, maybe it was ordinary for him. I understand that local customs do differ; but in my area, it's customary for the videographer to remain in the room while the deposition is in session. After all, if you're going to perform acts of personal hygiene or break into spontaneous song, it would be unfair to deprive the rest of us of the vicarious thrill of watching you; it could be the most exciting thing to happen to us all day.

 

 

 

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