How a $0.03 laundry clip punked an entire studio finance department

Act I: The Great Clothespin Controversy

Let’s set the scene. It’s a few decades ago—some say the 1940s, others swear it was the ‘70s, and one guy with a boom pole claims it was during Waterworld (which would explain the budget issues). A production team is prepping for a massive shoot. Lighting setups are complicated. Gels need to be secured. Heat-resistant metal clips? Too expensive. Plastic clips? Melt faster than the lead actor’s ego in the sun.

Enter: The Clothespin, aka-C-47. The wooden hero no one saw coming. Affordable. Heat-resistant. Dependable. Like your grandpa in World War II. It could hold gels on barn doors all day and still be used to close a bag of chips at lunch. Truly the Swiss Army knife of the grip department.

Naturally, the crew ordered several hundred. They put them on the budget as “clothespins”—because they were honest folk. Honest, hardworking, gel-clipping folk. The studio execs, however, saw that line item and panicked. “Clothespins? Are we drying laundry between takes now?” – Anonymous Producer, whose only connection to filmmaking was funding his nephew’s script about a talking dog in space.

The request was denied. Not trimmed. Not questioned. Flat-out denied. Because why would a multi-million-dollar movie need several hundred household laundry tools?

Act II: Guerrilla Budgeting and the Birth of a Legend

Defeated but not destroyed, the production team did what filmmakers do best when faced with adversity: they got creative. They renamed the line item.

But not just “wooden clips” or “light accessories.” No, no—that would still raise questions. Instead, they went full Top Gun and labeled them “C-47s.” And here’s where it gets beautiful: nobody asked a single question. It sounded official. Cold. Military. Budget-worthy. You can almost imagine the finance team nodding solemnly in their office: “Ah yes, C-47s. Very important. We’ll approve those immediately. Can’t shoot a movie without your C-47s.”

Act III: A Name That Stuck Like a Clamp on a Fresnel

Suddenly, across the country—maybe even across the world—grips, gaffers, and lighting techs began referring to clothespins as C-47s. Some out of necessity. Others out of sarcasm. And eventually, everyone just accepted it.

By the late 1980s, it was industry gospel. If you were new to a set and asked for a “clothespin,” people looked at you like you had two heads. But ask for a “C-47,” and you were immediately handed one, no questions asked—like a secret password to the Illuminati of light rigs.

Bonus Tales from the Set

1. The Intern Who Tried to Google It

There’s a story of an intern on a major network show who was sent to “get more C-47s from the truck.” The poor soul disappeared for 40 minutes, Googling military aircraft and assuming he was being pranked. He returned with a scale model of a WWII plane from a toy store.

He was not asked back.

2. The Director Who Tried to Look Smart

On a particularly hot day in Los Angeles, a director—fresh out of film school and wearing a scarf for some reason—pointed to a C-47 on set and said: “Can we get that removed from the frame? It’s distracting and… honestly, I don’t know why we even have prop planes on set today.”

The key grip just stared, nodded, and then made a “firing up the propeller” motion behind his back.

3. The Day a Producer Tried to ‘Improve the Budget’

One penny-pinching producer saw a box of C-47s on set and asked, “Do we really need this many? Can’t we just tape the gels on?” The gaffer deadpanned: “Sure. But when your light rig catches fire and burns down half the set, that’s on your insurance, buddy.” The C-47 budget was increased the next day.

A Tool for the Ages

Despite costing just a few cents, C-47s have done more for cinema than most interns, at a fraction of the budget. They’ve held filters during Oscar-winning performances. They’ve clipped call sheets to cork boards during 20-hour shoot days. They’ve even been used to hold snacks, block out wardrobe malfunctions, and once, allegedly, fix a broken zipper on a $4,000 costume mid-take.

The mighty C-47 does not discriminate. It does not break under pressure. It doesn’t need calibration, recharging, or firmware updates. It just clips.

Moral of the Story?

Don’t underestimate the tiny, boring-looking things on your set—or in your crew. They might just be the C-47s holding everything together behind the scenes. And always remember: when the budget’s tight, and the lights are hot, the real heroes don’t wear capes…they clip gels with clothespins.

Sorry—C-47s.