That’s a wrap
Three days on set this week, the three most intense working days of my life. My first time directing a film. My first time with a big crew (about 30 people plus 12 actors). I can’t put the emotional experience into words. There’s an intoxicating camaraderie that develops on set that can’t really be expressed, a high as you get immersed in the flow of production.
Filmmaking is beautiful on two levels. One is the level of creating can capturing beautiful images and moments; the output.
The other is behind the camera, watching 40 people work at the top of their game. When we move to a new setup, the camera is set, actors are running lines, art is dressing the set and putting props together, the AC is putting a new lens in, I’m talking to the actors and then the script supervisor to check continuity and talk trough how the coverage will work in the edit, makeup is being applied, wardrobe is making adjustments to a collar, I’m asking another actor how his mother is doing after being hospitalized last night, PAs are washing the windows and making a coffee run, the producer is figuring out how to put up a tarp to stop the rain from leaking onto the costume rack, people are joking, someone is walking in off the street trying to order coffee from the cafe because he didn’t see the sign that says the cafe is closed and then turns around in a daze to see the lighting rigging and a camera in his face, the AD is telling me that we don’t have time to get all the shots I want and maybe we can cut the next close up and use the wide instead, the DP and gaffer are talking in their opaque shorthand, then lights and flags and screens are going up, and 20 minutes later there’s a beautiful image on the monitor.
And it’s like that for 3 days with just constant flow, a constant flow of interruptions and thoughts and notes and side discussions and jokes and war stories and bits and excuse mes because we’re all on top of each other in a cramped space and it’s like that for 12 hours a day and nobody snaps or loses their shit, even though half of us have never been through this before and the other half are doing it for a tenth of their normal day rate.
About halfway through the first day, I stopped and thought “this is what I want to do.” I’m not sure how to do it for a living but it’s what I want to do and I will keep doing it even if I can’t make a living doing it.
Truffaut on filmmaking
Making a film is like a stagecoach ride in the old west. When you start, you are hoping for a pleasant trip. By the halfway point, you just hope to survive.
— Ferrand, the Director in Day for Night
That sounds about right.
Directing kissing scenes
There are two scenes in The Deadline where actors have to kiss. I brought a jug of Listerine to rehearsal yesterday and had everyone wash their mouth out (so no one actor is singled out). At the very least, nobody will have bad breath.
One of the scenes has three people making out. It’s a bid unconventional from the actor’s perspective because the kissing is… unmotivated? I don’t know if that’s the right word, but they’re not in romantic relationships that lead up to a moment of intimacy. They plunge into intimacy spontaneously. I had them run the scene several times to get the choreography right (there are a lot of moving pieces that have to work in sync) and then once the timing was down, I did a take with lips engaged. Then another because the first time they were uncomfortable and the kissing was too comedic.
The point is, I tried to minimize the discomfort (if there is any, some may enjoy it). It’s part of being an actor but I don’t want to abuse their sense of professionalism.
I think I might have been more anxious about it then they were.
One of the actors is playing a non-speaking role and was so incredibly awesome about the whole thing. I asked him (in private) about 3 minutes before running the scene if was cool with the kissing and he was 100% in.
The day before production
I feel like a child before a 3-day Christmas.
When I get excited with nervous anticipation, everything slows down and I have trouble focusing on one thing at a time.
I’m running around getting bottled water and snacks for set, withdrawing cash to pay for the lighting truck, buying a clipboard, reviewing tomorrow’s shooting schedule, taking notes on what I need to remember to tell the actors during their scenes tomorrow, passing out flyers to the businesses and residents that live next to the location so they know we are filming and have the producer’s contact info in case of questions, prepping the location with the art department, cooking a big batch of food so I don’t have to worry about breakfast and dinner for the next 3 days, and laying out clothes so I don’t have to make decisions about what to wear, and moving anything in my to-do list to after the shoots so my mind is uncluttered.
And playing tennis to spend the nerves so I can relax and will be able to fall asleep tonight.
Total commitment to a single project is an interesting thing, almost a religious practice.
Mike Nichols on Directing
I didn’t realize it at the time, but this is what I had been training for.
— Mike Nichols in an excellent American Masters episode from PBS
‘At the time’ refers to his time as an actor, writer, and his work before becoming a director.
Most of what I learned about working with actors came from taking acting classes and watching how the great teachers work with actors.
I was talking to some other directors in Chicago last week and we were talking about how it’s a very generalist position. It’s like you figure out one piece and then another and then it comes together more or less.
Some people learn the pieces before directing, and some learn after they start directing. If you learn before, then it’s kind of a revelation when you realize that this is what you were training for (even though you thought you were just trying to be a better actor or coach a team or watching a lot of movies because you loved them).
Listen to everything, but say no to almost everything
The trick is to listen to everything, but also say no to almost everything.
Breaking down a script as a director
We’re two weeks away from shooting The Deadline, which is the biggest project I’ve ever done in terms of budget, cast, crew, and pretty much everything else. I have a great producer that I’m working with and she takes a lot of the producing load off of my shoulder but there’s still a lot to do on my side. So much that it sometimes feels like there’s not much time to actually think about directing — what I want from the camera and from the actors.
Now that there’s a lull in producing responsibilities, I’ve been going through the script scene by scene to figure out what I want out of it in terms of camera movement/framing and actor performances. I think that preparation in this realm is essential because I want to have an answer to the eternal question that actors ask: what the hell do you want from me here?
So I came up with this little checklist of what to look for in each scene.
For each scene, find the:
- camera movements
- objectives
- character POVs
- blocking
- circumstances to remember (the moment before, character-specific notes)
- internal states
- moment to moment, anything you want to see
- moments of play or improvisation
- how to play it
- any looks you want or specific reactions to try
The script is only 13 pages and takes place in one location, so by traditional screenwriting rules, it’s only one “scene.” But we broke it out into 13 mini-scenes to make it easier to shoot. And each mini-scene has its own story, its own beginning, middle, and end. I had a writing teacher a few years ago that taught us to break sketches down into beats, and then work each beat to make sure that it told its own little story.
Basically, something should be changing in every mini-beat — an emotional change, a physical one, a status change, etc. Breaking the script down into 13 mini-scenes fits into this framework naturally and makes it easier to answer the above questions at any given moment.
So I take each one and jot things down, usually breaking the notes out into sub-heads: one for camera, and then for each character that appears in the scene. I’ll take these notes with me to rehearsals and to set when we film. My hope is that by the time we’ve rehearsed twice, that these will all be second nature to the actors and myself–we’ll all know what’s supposed to happen so well that we’ll nail it after a few takes and then have time to play and improvise a little bit.
And any time I think of something interesting to try in a scene, I add it to my notes so that I can forget it for now and have it in front of me when I’m working with the actors.
And I don’t write down notes for all the things listed above, just the ones that are apt.
I think this is a useful exercise, even if you don’t end up using any of the notes, because it forces you to clarify what you want and it uncovers any weaknesses in the script (that can be fixed now). I’m always open to happy surprises, but when in doubt, I prefer to be prepared. Some day I hope to be so good that I don’t need to prepare at all and I can do everything by instinct and feel. Until then…
The task of the craftsman
As Dreyfus and Kelly explain, such sacredness is common to craftsmanship. The task of the craftsman, they conclude, “is not to generate meaning, but rather to cultivate in himself the skill of discerning the meanings that are already there. This frees the craftsman of the nihilism of autonomous individualism, providing an ordered world of meaning.
— Cal Newport in his excellent book Deep Work
Kubrick on originality in film
I try to be, anyway. I think that one of the problems with twentieth-century art is its preoccupation with subjectivity and originality at the expense of everything else. This has been especially true in painting and music. Though initially stimulating, this soon impeded the full development of any particular style, and rewarded uninteresting and sterile originality. At the same time, it is very sad to say, films have had the opposite problem — they have consistently tried to formalize and repeat success, and they have clung to a form and style introduced in their infancy. The sure thing is what everone wants, and originality is not a nice word in this context. This is true despite the repeated example that nothing is as dangerous as a sure thing.
Via.
Kubrick on suspense vs. surprise
In the same vein as Hitchcock/Truffaut, here talking about Barry Lyndon:
Barry Lyndon is a story which does not depend upon surprise. What is important is not what is going to happen, but how it will happen. I think Thackeray trades off the advantage of surprise to gain a greater sense of inevitability and a better integration of what might otherwise seem melodramatic or contrived. In the scene you refer to where Barry meets the Chevalier, the film’s voice-over establishes the necessary groundwork for the important new relationship which is rapidly to develop between the two men. By talking about Barry’s loneliness being so far from home, his sense of isolation as an exile, and his joy at meeting a fellow countryman in a foreign land, the commentary prepares the way for the scenes which are quickly to follow showing his close attachment to the Chevalier. Another place in the story where I think this technique works particularly well is where we are told that Barry’s young son, Bryan, is going to die at the same time we watch the two of them playing happily together. In this case, I think the commentary creates the same dramatic effect as, for example, the knowledge that the Titanic is doomed while you watch the carefree scenes of preparation and departure. These early scenes would be inexplicably dull if you didn’t know about the ship’s appointment with the iceberg. Being told in advance of the impending disaster gives away surprise but creates suspense.