Episode 124
Like many visual effects artists of a certain vintage, Jeff Okun didn’t plan on a career in VFX. In fact, by his own account, he didn't even plan to work in film at all. "I’m a completely accidental human being," he told me with a chuckle. His ambitions began on a very different stage — as a stand-up comic — until a sharply atheistic routine delivered at home earned him a lifetime ban from performing in front of his parents. Instead, Okun’s creative outlet took the form of magic tricks, homemade stunts, and Super 8 visual gags. “I would blow up model ships and fake fights in rush hour traffic,” he said, “and I’d be in the bushes filming with ketchup for blood.” All of this childhood chicanery ultimately gave way to a fascination with the trickery of movies — the kind of illusions you could only pull off with careful camera work, sleight-of-hand editing, and an appetite for mischief. Learning the Craft the Hard Way Okun's first job in film was with the legendary graphic designer and filmmaker Saul Bass. The experience was, in Okun's words, “awful,” but also profoundly formative. As Bass’s gopher-turned-editor, Okun was thrown into the deep end. “I hated him,” he laughed. “But he taught me everything: editing, sound, post-production supervision, how to shoot, how to frame. It was a masterclass.” Working for Bass meant operating in a visually precise, effects-heavy style — layering camera moves, creating in-camera effects, and often relying on labor-intensive optical printing processes. When optical houses turned down Bass’s business — too exacting, too expensive — Okun stepped in with cost-saving workarounds and pricing schemes that actually worked. “We doubled the budget, added a contingency, and somehow still landed exactly on target.”
“By the end of it, I ended up loving the man,” Okun said. “Not because he gave me a break, but because he was so specific and difficult to please that when you did please him, it meant something. He learned how to prep lineup sheets, how to composite with interpositives, and how to break down 140-layer optical shots into manageable components. “I was just the fix-it guy. I didn't know what I was doing half the time. I still don't.” VFX by Way of Accident It wasn’t long before optical houses and producers began calling on Okun when their films were in trouble. One fix led to another. His reputation grew as someone who could step into a crisis and calmly solve it — usually with a combination of ingenuity, humour, and brute-force trial and error. “I think Saul trained me to see puzzles. That’s what it comes down to — seeing what’s broken and putting it together in a way that works. Most of the time, it wasn’t about having the right answer. It was about trying 50 wrong ones.” This kind of lateral thinking came into its own on films like Stargate (1994), where Okun — working with Jeff Kleiser and Diana Walczak’s fledgling CG company — had to convince director Roland Emmerich that computer graphics were even worth attempting. “Roland didn’t believe in CG. So we built the shot, made the CG glider deliberately less detailed to match the miniature footage. Showed it to him. He said, ‘Exactly — that’s what I’m talking about. Miniatures are the way to go.’ And we said, ‘Nope. All CG.’ That’s when he finally came around.” (Fun fact, VFX supervisor Jeff Okun was paid homage by Brent Spiner in Independence Day in the role of Dr. Brackish Okun. There’s uh, a slight resemblance.) - Credit to Nofilmschool.com
Penguins, Moose, and the Invisible Effect Okun is quick to point out he wasn’t a Star Wars kid. In fact, he avoided the original film for weeks on principle — he doesn’t do queues. But he did get a behind-the-scenes tour of ILM’s original Van Nuys facility courtesy of Bass and George Lucas. There, he saw motion control rigs, Richard Edlund on his knees filming the crawl, Phil Tippett animating the chess game, and pyro tests in the parking lot. It was, he admits, a little magical — though it didn’t change the fact that his creative allegiance remained with illusion, not spectacle. “My favourite effects are the invisible ones. I started out as a magician. The goal is to make people believe there’s no trick. That’s where the real artistry is.” Still, that didn’t stop him from sneaking penguins and moose into the background of multiple films. He once gave a horse antlers in a Cameron Crowe movie. In Blood Diamond, he added a huge penguin family to a wide evacuation shot — no one noticed. “It’s like the gorilla basketball video. You just don’t see what you’re not looking for.” The Shark That Ate Sam Perhaps his most famous — or infamous — contribution to pop culture came on Deep Blue Sea. Samuel L. Jackson had just delivered a particularly rough eight-page monologue, and Okun, unimpressed with the script, asked Jackson what he wanted to do. “He just said, ‘Kill me.’ So I said, ‘If you make it to the front of the moon pool, I’ll kill you.’” The surprise shark attack that interrupts Jackson mid-speech is now legendary. It wasn’t in the script. “Renny Harlin didn’t know until the day,” Okun said. “Sam did take after take but always got to the kill spot early. We cut the rest. I shot the elements. It was a massacre. We even had baby sharks pull him apart for fun.” The Changing Landscape Much of our conversation revolved around the changing realities of visual effects — the rise of AI, the complications of LED walls, and the shifting expectations from directors and studios. “People think VFX is just hitting the ‘do it right’ button and then the ‘do it fast’ button,” he said. “There’s so little appreciation for how hard this stuff is, and we’ve done ourselves no favours by making it all invisible.” He sees today’s VFX artists as increasingly anonymous — a shift he’s spent much of his career trying to reverse, both through his own visibility and via his tenure at the Visual Effects Society. “We don’t sell our artistry. We sell our software. You know the names of the DPs, but no one can name last year’s VFX Oscar winners. That’s not sustainable.” The Invisible War Stories At the end of our chat, Okun expressed a desire to tell more of the “true” stories of VFX — the screw-ups, the late-night fixes, the shots that weren’t supposed to work. He wants more people to know that the chaos behind the curtain is often where the real creative breakthroughs happen. “It’s always fun. That’s the only reason I still do it. And when it’s collaborative, when it’s people bouncing ideas off each other, it’s magical. That’s when everyone forgets the pain and just remembers the movie.”
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