Some time ago, I was scouting a woman’s house for filming, an “Anywhere USA” 2-story in the Valley.

After taking pictures of the first floor, I asked if I could grab a few photos of the master bedroom, which we’d previously discussed – and suddenly, she seemed reluctant.

People understandably are often uneasy about letting a stranger into rooms beyond the common areas of their home for a variety of reasons (including safety)…which is why I’m ALWAYS specific before the appointment about what areas I’d like to scout, to be sure they’re onboard.

But regardless of what was agreed upon, if I ever sense discomfort while scouting, I always hit the brakes and assure people there’s no reason to do anything that makes them uncomfortable. It’s easy enough to stick with just the exterior and common rooms, then schedule a follow-up scout at a later date if the director responds positively.

And it often gives them a moment to reflect on whether they really are comfortable with a crew of 100+ trampling through their home over the course of several days.

After a moment of consideration, the woman insisted it was OK to shoot today, that her bedroom was just messy because she was involved in a project, and she was embarrassed to show it. 

Now, I hear something like this at almost every home I scout. As I walk through, homeowners will often point out every element of their home that they’re insecure about. “We’ve been meaning to repaint that room…” “We’re going to re-drywall next week…” “It’s such a mess, I can’t believe you’d want to film here…”

I’ll stress again and again, all we care about is size, layout, and the broad strokes – which is true! But I get it – it’s a vulnerable situation to have someone in the most intimate areas of your home who is explicitly there to cast a level of judgement over what you’ve built.

As we went upstairs, I assured the woman that we in fact like messes, that production designers very much prefer to see a “lived in” feel rather than an immaculately clean home.

She seemed unconvinced, and as we neared the bedroom door, I began to wonder: what exactly was I about to see? I’ve been in homes where “the mess” turns out to be a sock on the floor, and in others where it’s a legitimate hoarder situation, with old newspapers stacked floor to ceiling. I stepped through the doorway –

And the “mess” was the last thing I could’ve expected.

There were Legos everywhere. Not built sets, but Lego pieces. Thousands, if not tens of thousands, strewn out across a series of folding tables that dominated the room, the queen-size bed pushed to the corner as though an after-thought.

Looking closer, I saw the tables were covered in storage shelves with tiny drawers labeled by the particular Lego part and color they contained. There were sets in the process of being dismantled, piles of instruction manuals, Legos on the carpet…

Most of the time, the “mess” is something so minor, it’s easy to ignore. But other times, the explanation begins without a question even being asked.

“It’s my side hustle,” she explained, with an air of embarrassed defeat.

“It started when my son told me to sell his old Legos. I learned that you made more money if the sets were complete. And then I found out that there’s a lot of money in selling individual pieces. I’m a teacher, but we can really really use the money. 

“It’s weird, I know.” She almost seemed like she might cry.

These are the moments that get me most as a scout, when you see the unexpected side of someone’s life you’d never know from the perfectly normal living room, the perfectly average kitchen, the perfectly typical backyard.

The moments where you see the real person, the struggles, the ingenuity, the creativity, the unexpected, the resilience. Where you’re reminded yet again how complex and surprising and nuanced people are behind the mask they present to the world.

And as you’re taking it in, the idea that there’s someone out there who could look at her situation and cast judgment and mockery just reminds you who the real monsters are.

I assured the woman that the history of my job was coming upon things like this in people’s homes, and it couldn’t be more normal. Open enough doors or closets or drawers, and eventually you find something like this at any house. Thankfully, she seemed to believe me.

When scouts like this wrap up, there’s always a funny cheeriness that follows, like when you go to the dentist expecting a cavity and are instead given a clean bill of health. And honestly, what better feeling is there than letting your guard down completely – and finding there was nothing to be afraid of after all?

At a time when it’s never been easier to reduce people in our minds as the worst of one-dimensional caricatures, I’ve always appreciated my job for constantly providing me with evidence that most people turn out to be anything but.

And it’s a nice day when the world seems surprised to agree.

Last week, I was scouting desert backroads and thinking how lonely location scouting can sometimes be, when I looked up and saw I had a companion!

About a hundred yards so off the road, I saw a bobcat. He didn’t seem to notice (or care about) me, so I quietly drove alongside and watched as he found what he was hunting for…

Then we parted ways, and I headed off to do the same.

This is ridiculously hyperspecific to my particular profession, but one of my favorite work occurrences as a movie location scout is when we take the director and VIPs to visit The House Where You Have To Take Off Your Shoes.

Some background on what the heck I’m talking about –

Location scouting works like this: as a scout, I clear and photograph a ton of options for the location manager, who then reviews them with the production designer and director. A handful of “selects” are then chosen to visit on a director scout. 

Now, I have NO issue with any home that asks me to take off my shoes before I scout. Homeowners will often be so bashful when making the request, but I always assure them, I’m the guest, and am happy to abide by their rules.

There’s only one slight hiccup that occurs with surprising frequency: the homeowner will ask if I’ll take off my shoes, and I’ll say of course, and then I look around the entrance for a bench or stool to sit on…and there’s nothing. 

I’ll sort of sneak a glance at the owner to see if there’s a place I’m supposed to sit, but their expression will be a blank smile, and I realize: the floor is the option. 

So I’ll plunk down on the floor, and man, nothing makes you feel more like you’re a little kid again than sitting on your butt trying to hurriedly wrestle off your shoes. 

Of course, this will be the moment your laces get stuck, so you’re trying to make small talk while calmly undoing some ungodly knot. It’s tricky! 

Over the years, I’ve mostly managed to master the more composed “kneeling” shoe-removal method, where you look a little more “adult” by dropping to one knee for one shoe, then switch to do the other – though it’s very easy to teeter if you haven’t developed those requisite shoe-changing muscles. 

The funniest thing is that I’ll usually have to shoot the backyard. So they’ll take me to the backdoor, and I’ll say, “Oh, should I go get my shoes?” And they’ll say, “no it’s OK.” And then I realize: they’re saying they’re OK me with me walking around outside in my socks, then coming back in the house. Which always seems a bit odd to me, because it feels like my socks are going to track in much more dirt than my shoes? But again, their house, their rules!

Eventually, we narrow down the locations I’ve scouted to a few selects, then pile into a van so the VIPs can visit each in person to ultimately choose one.

These van rides are among my absolute least favorite parts of the filmmaking process. Individually, most people you work with in 2026 are pretty chill and easy to talk to, no matter where they fall on the movie ladder. Long gone (for the most part) are the horrific egos and “how dare you talk to me” pretensions of Hollywood’s decades of yore. 

But something changes when everyone gets in the van. Right off the bat, the hierarchy becomes apparent as people choose seats. Obviously the director is going to sit up front, and then the producer, prod designer, LM, and 1st AD will all want to be close. And then others will take the further back seats. 

And then, a strange spell settles over, where everyone gets really quiet and reserved, as though any comment is being made in front of a firing squad.

People will mostly keep to themselves, but then a topic about the movie will come up. And for some reason, the van environment just skews toward negativity.

So people will weigh in on the topic in noncommittal ways. And then, suddenly, someone will find the guts and say, “I think X would be a great idea.” 

The van goes silent. Time passes as people read the room. 

And then, more often than not, someone will say, “ehh, I’m not so sure,” and then someone else will agree that it’s not right – and then, the whole group will dismiss the idea and move on, leaving the original person having learned their lesson about offering ideas in the van. 

Which is weird! Because in literally EVERY other part of the process, filmmaking is THE consummate collaborative group exercise. People are incredibly inviting and encouraging of one’s thoughts and contributions in nearly every other setting. 

But the van just introduces some sort of weird social dynamic where it’s easier to be negative than positive. So the whole thing just ends up feeling like a weird mirror universe of the job. 

Which is why I love rolling up to the house where you have to take off your shoes.

Because this bubble of stark austerity INSTANTLY pops when you have ten or more grown adults all trying to gracefully squat on the front hallway rug as they writhe to take off their shoes, like little kids about to go into a pre-K class. 

Everyone always look so disheveled after standing back up again, shirts untucked, hair unkempt. And it’s a good reminder why it’s important to keep your sock game on point! Because someone always has a hole in their socks (I’m guilty myself! best to try and hide it by scrunching up the torn fabric in your toes!). 

Someone else will always be revealed as wearing a pair of killer socks with a smart print, so everyone compliments that. Mismatched socks are always a fun surprise. 

But my favorite was on a shoot with a director who indeed had been a bit full of himself. So it was nice when he pulled off his $300 limited edition sneakers to reveal the same cheap Kirkland socks I was wearing. “Ah, a fellow Costco connoisseur,” my eye contact must have conveyed. 

But as silly as it sounds, I find that the simple act of removing one’s shoes can serve as a MUCH needed reset button on director scouts. Because let’s face it: filmmaking is professional make-believe. And in my experience, such pursuits only flourish when levity and risk are not only allowed, but fully embraced. 

Nothing beats a director scout where everyone is walking around in their socks, like we’re all on a sleepover at a friend’s house. All of a sudden, people are laughing and joking again.

And then, the real work can finally resume.

This is Part 2 of a then-and-now look at the New York City filming locations of The Warriors. Click here for Part 1!

Resuming where we left off, the Warriors are on a train heading toward Union Square when a nearby fire forces them out into the the Tremont section of the Bronx on foot. This is definitely somewhere under the J train, most likely near Broadway Junction where the chase scene was filmed, but I wasn’t able to identify it. Any thoughts?

Meanwhile, we find Luther and the Rogues gang (responsible for murdering Cyrus, then pinning it on the Warriors) cruising around:

This was shot on First Avenue approaching 1st Street:

They stop at a soda fountain to make a phone call, located at 17 First Avenue…

…which is now a locksmith shop:

Meanwhile, the Warriors continue through Tremont to the next stop. Except, they’re not in the Bronx…

They’re on 45th Road (just off of 23rd Street) in Long Island City, Queens:

45th Road, along with the extraordinarily beautiful 45th Ave one block north, are routinely used in movies because they can be easily faked as Any Borough, NYC. Here they’re given a down-and-out look, but they’re typically used as upscale neighborhoods:

The Warriors run into the Orphans gang, who watch them from all sides:

Across the street, the stationary store is now a barber shop:

Just as it seems all will be OK, a woman named Mercy comes out to cause some mischief:

Mercy convinces the Orphans to deny them passage, but the Warriors continue through anyway. So sad to see that great porch building is gone:

The Warriors continue down the block and turn a corner…

…and are magically transported to way way way out in Brooklyn at 62nd Street and 15th Avenue, a block away from the New Utrecht Ave subway station:

The Orphans arrive, and it looks as though a fight will break out:

As tensions rise, Mercy heads toward the scene, though she’s technically going in the wrong direction. This shot was filmed on 15th Avenue right around the block, but to find the gangs, she should head in the opposite direction to the corner, then turn left.

But such is filmmaking, and she winds up at 62nd Street anyway:

The two gangs square off…

Then, one of the Warriors throws a Molotov cocktail, allowing them to escape:

They run just up the block to the New Utrecht Ave subway stop…

…head through the doors…

…and the camera rises to catch them as they come out on the platform upstairs:

This is one of my favorite shots in the film, as the layout of the subway perfectly facilitates this graceful, non-stop motion:

Meanwhile, Luther and the Rogues stop at a gas station to make another call about the status of the hunt for the Warriors. I did a lot of searching, but wasn’t able to locate this one…Anyone recognize it?

Back en route to Union Square, The Warriors find the train lingering suspiciously long at 96th Street station and decide to make a run for it.

At first glance, you’d assume this was shot at the 96th Street and Broadway station, except…

…why do the walls say Hoyt on them?

That’s because this was actually filmed on the abandoned platform at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn station in Brooklyn. Dozens of movies have been shot here, including The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3 (remake), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Michael Jackson’s Bad music video.

Unfortunately, the police spring on the Warriors, and the gang splits up:

Four of the Warriors head up to street level…

…and suddenly, they’re at the 72nd Street 1-2-3 station in Manhattan:

They go outside…

…and run into the totally creepy Baseball Furies gang. This was shot on West 72nd Street looking north-east from the station:

The Warriors head south-west, with the Baseball Furies right on their tail…

…passing this restaurant on the corner.

From West 72nd, they then jump again to West 100th Street between Riverside and West End Avenue, heading toward the park:

A second shot – always great to see how those trees have grown up:

The Warriors rush into Riverside Park by way of the Firemen’s Memorial, another fantastic use of existing New York statuary:

Despite the grittiness of New York circa 1979, this graffiti is a little too photogenic to be completely authentic:

Stone benches have now replaced the old wooden ones:

The Baseball Furies continue their pursuit:

The action then moves a few blocks south, as the Warriors enter Riverside Park via the 97th Street ramp:

Now in the park, they run north along the dirt path that still exists today. Compare the tree on the left for accuracy!

A fight breaks out in the field just a few blocks north, and the Warriors are victorious:

But they still have a ways to go to Coney Island… Part 3 to conclude shortly!

-SCOUT

My trusty Red Wings after five years (and three resoles!) of movie location scouting…

I think it’s finally time for a new pair…but it’s hard to say goodbye!

As a location scout, prob 50% of the places I scout are houses, and it’s always interesting when you see The Hip New Thing suddenly start to show up everywhere. Like the stove with the red knobs —

You know this sort of thing when you see it, because your reaction is always the same: “Hey, there’s some minor thing I never thought twice about, being done in a dramatically new and eye-catching way!” Another is the grass-grid driveway —

For most of contemporary history, we were all perfectly happy with black/stainless steel stove knobs and slabs of concrete for driveways… And then these hit, and it’s like everyone collectively goes: “Yeah, why didn’t we ever think of this before??”

It’s fascinating to me from a sociological perspective, because I have the exact same reaction as everyone else when I first see it. Except, because I scout so many homes, the novelty of these overnight trends very quickly becomes stock and mundane for me, and I’ll find myself unconsciously starting a countdown in my head: how long until everyone considers this outdated? Because just as suddenly as these trends go viral, they end without warning. The classic example is the gray tile backsplash —

This one spread like wildfire. It was like overnight, every single kitchen I’d scout had this exact backsplash. But it also became passé quicker than most, I think because of its ubiquity. Because it was so common, directors/production designers would explicitly avoid it.

The one that kills me is the recent popularity of the gray laminate floor. Again, I’m speaking from a filmmaking perspective, NOT interior design; but on screen, the gray just so easily falls into the vibe of corporate office building, which is too bad, because literally any other vaguely natural shade of wood would likely stand the test of time for far longer.

Finally, at the opposite end of the trend timeline is the garden window, which I believe peaked as The New Hip Thing sometime in the 1980s:

Whenever I see them on homes around LA, rarely with the intended flowers inside, it always occurs to me that they once caused the same reaction as the red-knob stove: “Why haven’t we ever thought of doing this before?? Windows don’t need to be flat!”

And then, one day for no particular reason, we all collectively decide that in fact we prefer our windows flat, our stove knobs black or steel, and our driveways a single slab. And the thought of these ever being trendy seems like a strange dream…

Just to make it clear one last time, I’m speaking from the perspective of a location scout, NOT an interior designer! If you have any of these things in your home, I’m not criticizing your choices or saying you have bad taste!

And I’ll fully admit it: I think the red knobs are cool too.

Well this was unexpected. I pulled over at this random spot in the desert to take pictures, and I see a blue glint in a bush —

I look closer and it’s a bike —

With this message scribbled on it: “June 18, 2026: I will return for this bike, leave it here!”

Now I’m preoccupied by two things: whether the mystery bike owner is ever going to return; and that their request has apparently been respected all these months. I too shall abide!

Last week, I was scouting outside Barstow along a lonely stretch of the old Route 66 when I came across what seems like nothing more than an overgrown field – but look closer and you’ll find surprising traces of what it used to be…

Standing in the middle of the 7-acre lot, you might just notice that the foliage seems to be growing oddly in parallel arcs…

The satellite view makes this more apparent, a series of concentric arcs all focused on one point… But for what purpose??

A drive-in movie screen! This was once the Bar-Len Drive-in, opened in December 1948 and so-named because it straddled the line between the desert communities of Barstow and Lenwood.

Able to accommodate 500 cars, the drive-in operated throughout much of Route 66’s cultural peak, finally closing in 1968. The screen was still standing in 1980, though in significant disrepair.

Though it’s too contemporary to be considered of much historical interest now, I always wonder if, in a few centuries, historians will point to those arcs of scrub as rare evidence of how the people of yore once sat in their cars to watch that old-fashioned contrivance: a movie.