May 7th, 2012

Editing, Producing, and Directing:

In response to my post Editing With Intention, Rob at York University wrote:

I just returned from a masterclass with Joe Walker editor of SteveMcQueen’s Hunger + Shame. His points matched closely with what you say. He explained how McQueen shoots very little (and in fact hates the word) coverage forcing him as an editor to hold on shots. Ultimately this is good because it allows you to pinpoint what is really important in the scene + question what the audience has to see, ie. do we REALLY need to see character A when he talks? Directing can force pace.

The rest of Rob’s experience, which is posted here, is an interesting recap on how much impact the director’s decisions in production have on what is possible in post-production. This might seem obvious, but in the case of a director/editor relationship like Steven Spielberg and Verna Fields, Verna exerted quite a bit of power and influence on a film like Jaws because Spielberg was able to shoot so much footage.

There is, of course, not right way of doing things, but shooting more footage (and spending more money in turn) will give you much more flexibility in post-production.  Now that we’re talking time and money, the producer will inevitably weigh in with their thoughts on how the film should be made.  In the end, people often associate a movie and the term ‘filmmaker’ with a director.  Depending on the flick, this may or may not be the case.

April 19th, 2012
Hilarious.  By the way, there are only two ways to make it in showbiz:
Be born in it.
Ignore it.
If you ignore it and stick to your convictions, you have a chance of standing out just enough to break in.  That is, if the timing is just right.  
Striving to be the next Michael Bay isn’t good enough.  Michael Bay is already a better Michael Bay than you are.
~ü
(via Check The Gate)

Hilarious.  By the way, there are only two ways to make it in showbiz:

  1. Be born in it.
  2. Ignore it.

If you ignore it and stick to your convictions, you have a chance of standing out just enough to break in.  That is, if the timing is just right.  

Striving to be the next Michael Bay isn’t good enough.  Michael Bay is already a better Michael Bay than you are.

(via Check The Gate)

(Source: jessicanncats)

Reblogged from
April 5th, 2012

What is Your Guiding Principle?

Yesterday, I posted an innocuous video of Andrei Tarkovsky at a Q&A in Italy.  While his diatribe on “poor miserable producers” seems like the nugget here, I was especially struck by his assertion of truth and beauty as his driving force.  This is not the first time Tarkovksy asserted this.  I find it remarkable because of the consistency of his message.  He serves a higher power.  In its essence, it is God, but in his practice, it is truth and beauty.

Tarkovsky has deep ties to the Russian Orthodox faith.  The faith’s powerful aesthetic can be felt in many of its children - Fyodor Dostoevsky, Arvo Pärt, and Andrei Tarkovksy.  These men made work with a powerful spiritual force.  Although Tarkovksy cites “producers that act like drug peddlers” as the problem, the other side of the equation, contemporary directors, seem largely ill-equipped to approach such lofty, perhaps elusively simple, ambitions.

February 23rd, 2012
February 18th, 2012
The Artistry and Craftsmanship of Screenwriting: 
When I consider a script, the quality of the craftsmanship is immediately indicated by the writer’s ability to balance deliberate language while allowing the story to be told without attempting to direct from the page.  Giving a character an action - he cried - is always better than giving them a thought - he felt sad.  Giving the location essential details - the old house creaks with every step - is better than writing about its essence - the house is eerie.  
Well, I violate all those rules in the treatment below.  Elements is a series of experimental short films where I attempt to go beyond the bounds of traditional cinematic narrative storytelling.  The animated gif above is an actual loop from the film.  I think it illustrates the feeling that the script is going after.
~ ü
If you’re inclined to see how I break the rules, I’ve included the aforementioned treatment below.  You’ll see it resembles prose more than it does screenwriting.
Also, here’s a link to the previous film in the Elements series.  
Without. Within. 
Elements • Winter 2012 
He crosses his shoelaces, winds one side underneath and pulls them tight with a single yank.  He forms a loop, rounds the second string behind it, forms a second loop and pulls it through.  One more yank.  The shoe is snug.  
He sits motionless.  Although he is filled with tension, it is so deep-seeded that he likely isn’t even aware.  His right leg bounces.  The old chair creaks along, asking for mercy.   The young man remembers his fiancé wrapped in the warm glow of the fireplace.  She is cutting out paper snowflakes.
The fire burns.  He stares at it with an empty look.  His arms ride along with his active leg.  He suddenly pushes off his thighs and shoots out of his chair.  He leaves his apartment and slams the door behind him.  The sound echoes through the sparse room.  The fireplace and lonesome chair do not react.
It’s winter outside.  Cold.  Inert.  The wind shakes the hibernating trees.  Almost nothing else moves.  The sky is a wash of grey.  Grey smoke bellows from a chimney and disappears into the grey sky.  The muddy earth offers a reprieve.  At least the brown is not grey.
But there is something to be seen in these spaces.  The emptiness is full of life waiting to happen.  The cracked ice floating on Lake Michigan is a sign of mercy.  The wind lifts the seagulls high above the earth.  The sun sits on the horizon.  The winter ebbs.  
He jogs through the bitter winter night.  His steps charge through the piles of snow.  His face reacts to the bite of the cold air.  He powers through it and, for one moment, forgets about what he has lost.  The momentary reprieve offers an opportunity to see things in a new light.  At this very instance, he is stopped by a startling sign: paper snowflakes dangle from the barren limbs of a tree.  They float effortlessly through the wind, like memories through the mind.  There is sudden new rush of meaning.  An opportunity to grow.  A cause to remember.  He carries her within him.  She is everywhere he goes, in everything he sees.  She is alive within him.
And suddenly, there is no longer snow.  Only a clear path remains.  Spring has come. 

The Artistry and Craftsmanship of Screenwriting: 

When I consider a script, the quality of the craftsmanship is immediately indicated by the writer’s ability to balance deliberate language while allowing the story to be told without attempting to direct from the page.  Giving a character an action - he cried - is always better than giving them a thought - he felt sad.  Giving the location essential details - the old house creaks with every step - is better than writing about its essence - the house is eerie.  

Well, I violate all those rules in the treatment below.  Elements is a series of experimental short films where I attempt to go beyond the bounds of traditional cinematic narrative storytelling.  The animated gif above is an actual loop from the film.  I think it illustrates the feeling that the script is going after.

~ ü

If you’re inclined to see how I break the rules, I’ve included the aforementioned treatment below.  You’ll see it resembles prose more than it does screenwriting.

Also, here’s a link to the previous film in the Elements series.  

Without. Within. 

Elements • Winter 2012 

He crosses his shoelaces, winds one side underneath and pulls them tight with a single yank.  He forms a loop, rounds the second string behind it, forms a second loop and pulls it through.  One more yank.  The shoe is snug.  

He sits motionless.  Although he is filled with tension, it is so deep-seeded that he likely isn’t even aware.  His right leg bounces.  The old chair creaks along, asking for mercy.   The young man remembers his fiancé wrapped in the warm glow of the fireplace.  She is cutting out paper snowflakes.

The fire burns.  He stares at it with an empty look.  His arms ride along with his active leg.  He suddenly pushes off his thighs and shoots out of his chair.  He leaves his apartment and slams the door behind him.  The sound echoes through the sparse room.  The fireplace and lonesome chair do not react.

It’s winter outside.  Cold.  Inert.  The wind shakes the hibernating trees.  Almost nothing else moves.  The sky is a wash of grey.  Grey smoke bellows from a chimney and disappears into the grey sky.  The muddy earth offers a reprieve.  At least the brown is not grey.

But there is something to be seen in these spaces.  The emptiness is full of life waiting to happen.  The cracked ice floating on Lake Michigan is a sign of mercy.  The wind lifts the seagulls high above the earth.  The sun sits on the horizon.  The winter ebbs.  

He jogs through the bitter winter night.  His steps charge through the piles of snow.  His face reacts to the bite of the cold air.  He powers through it and, for one moment, forgets about what he has lost.  The momentary reprieve offers an opportunity to see things in a new light.  At this very instance, he is stopped by a startling sign: paper snowflakes dangle from the barren limbs of a tree.  They float effortlessly through the wind, like memories through the mind.  There is sudden new rush of meaning.  An opportunity to grow.  A cause to remember.  He carries her within him.  She is everywhere he goes, in everything he sees.  She is alive within him.

And suddenly, there is no longer snow.  Only a clear path remains.  Spring has come. 

February 16th, 2012
Nine-tenths of our movements obey habit and automatism. It is anti-nature to subordinate them to will and to thought.

~ Robert Bresson Notes sur le Cinématographe

Authentic performances come from habit.  This is the power of method acting.  You live as the character to such an extent that you take on their habits.  Their unconscious posture.  When they squint.  When they crack their knuckles.  It’s not about minutia.  It’s about habit.  Once you start thinking about your performance, you are no longer working in habit.  

A director must realize this and help facilitate it.

[Image: Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver]

February 3rd, 2012

Two Languages of a Character: Body and Spoken

As a director, I start off by working with the body.  The body encapsulates the character’s honest intention.  A great character will often say lines that work in contrast to what the body language implies.  

In a film, this performance comes off as authentic because we experience it every day of our lives.  It is the disconcerting disconnect between the spoken word and the body, when a lover says something that they don’t seem to mean.  It’s tension; it’s drama and it can be imbued in every line a character speaks.

I write more about this idea in The Aesthetics of the Invisible World.

January 23rd, 2012

Great acting starts with great writing:

But I always seek projects that I just love the writing, because the good writing on a project will alleviate the need for an actor to act. I remember one of the great things I read about David Mamet saying was that an actor doesn’t really need to act - that a good film with good writing and good direction, you could almost like a fucking mannequin there and there will be an emotional journey. And we should be able to march around being very po faced and not act the shit out of every scene you know. Actors want to act, actors want to emote. It’s like the emotional equivalent of tearing your shirt off and screaming to the heavens; you want to express and you want to be seen to be expressing. And that is an urge and it exists in most actors I’m sure, but when a great writer gives you a great piece, then they navigate for you in a way what needs to happen and then you just stay true to each moment. Otherwise, an actor finds themselves feeling responsible for writing the journey. And I think an actor in many ways should just be like getting on a well plotted cruise, if you’re lucky

~ Australian actor Joel Edgerton in the Hollywood Reporter

January 16th, 2012

Being Well-Rounded

I always try to reshape my ideas in other forms: dance, soap opera, Olympic competition, children’s games, pornography – anything that will keep turning them for possibilities.

~ Rupert Goold, director

I have canoed around the midwest United States, painted portraits, taken photographs, volunteered at soup kitchens and after-school programs, drank too much, programmed extensively in Java, C++, Lisp, Pascal, BASIC and Ada, embarrassed myself, thrown away finished artwork, taught college, played bandoneon, danced ballroom, felt inadequate, choreographed, performed as a dancer and a musician, composed, won grants, came up short more times than I can count, experimented, dedicated parts of my life to Buddhism, played a lot of basketball, dated beautiful women, traveled less than I would have liked, dated women that weren’t good for me, studied movement, stayed up until sunrise entrenched in conversation, reflected, directed films…..  experienced life.

Essential to being a great director.

January 13th, 2012

Jim Jarmusch’s Golden Rlues

Rule #1: There are no rules. There are as many ways to make a film as there are potential filmmakers. It’s an open form. Anyway, I would personally never presume to tell anyone else what to do or how to do anything. To me that’s like telling someone else what their religious beliefs should be. Fuck that. That’s against my personal philosophy—more of a code than a set of “rules.” Therefore, disregard the “rules” you are presently reading, and instead consider them to be merely notes to myself. One should make one’s own “notes” because there is no one way to do anything. If anyone tells you there is only one way, their way, get as far away from them as possible, both physically and philosophically.

Rule #2: Don’t let the fuckers get ya. They can either help you, or not help you, but they can’t stop you. People who finance films, distribute films, promote films and exhibit films are not filmmakers. They are not interested in letting filmmakers define and dictate the way they do their business, so filmmakers should have no interest in allowing them to dictate the way a film is made. Carry a gun if necessary.

Also, avoid sycophants at all costs. There are always people around who only want to be involved in filmmaking to get rich, get famous, or get laid. Generally, they know as much about filmmaking as George W. Bush knows about hand-to-hand combat.

Rule #3: The production is there to serve the film. The film is not there to serve the production. Unfortunately, in the world of filmmaking this is almost universally backwards. The film is not being made to serve the budget, the schedule, or the resumes of those involved. Filmmakers who don’t understand this should be hung from their ankles and asked why the sky appears to be upside down.

Rule #4: Filmmaking is a collaborative process. You get the chance to work with others whose minds and ideas may be stronger than your own. Make sure they remain focused on their own function and not someone else’s job, or you’ll have a big mess. But treat all collaborators as equals and with respect. A production assistant who is holding back traffic so the crew can get a shot is no less important than the actors in the scene, the director of photography, the production designer or the director. Hierarchy is for those whose egos are inflated or out of control, or for people in the military. Those with whom you choose to collaborate, if you make good choices, can elevate the quality and content of your film to a much higher plane than any one mind could imagine on its own. If you don’t want to work with other people, go paint a painting or write a book. (And if you want to be a fucking dictator, I guess these days you just have to go into politics…).

Rule #5: Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

~ Jim Jarmusch MovieMaker Magazine #53 (Winter, January 22, 2004)

(Source: jim-jarmusch.net)

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@dschmudde

Techniques for directing film. More than the script, bigger than the screen - the tangible and mystical characteristics of truly great filmmaking.