The peculiar alchemy that makes up a great film is rarely achieved—little wonder, considering the demands on the team of people who must come together to support a common vision. It starts with the screenplay and over time crystallizes into another form through the efforts of the producer and director, actors, production and costume designers, cinematographer, editor, composer, and scores of others in each department. And, film being the most expensive art form to realize, the team is working under pressures of time and finance that can often harm—although sometimes enhance—the finished work.
There is no formula for making a film. Like a building, it is constructed from the ground up each time, using the basic blueprint of script and director. Knowledge and experience are key, but beyond that a film requires that special, indefinable vision that all great artists possess. For that reason, the FilmCraft project can never be a simple “how to” guide to the crafts; each subject will illustrate his or her process, but what makes them unique cannot be learned or replicated.
The cinematographer—or director of photography—is often the key conduit for all the other craftspeople on a film set. Through the cinematographer’s lens, all performance, direction, and design must pass, and the cinematographer’s own choices in cameras, lighting, and movement can inform and further the story in both obvious and subtle ways.
In the early days of cinema, the director also operated the camera; lighting was provided by direct sunlight or sunlight diffused by the glass ceilings of early studios. But by the turn of the century, as filmmaking became more sophisticated and films began to consist of multiple shots and locations, a breed of specialist camera operators emerged. Artificial lighting on sound stages was added to the mix, beginning an era of creative lighting that could change the mood and look of a film entirely. The use of different lenses, the introduction of color, and ongoing technical innovations throughout the twentieth century gave rise to an explosion of creative solutions and interpretations on the part of filmmakers who repeatedly defied convention to establish particular looks and moods.
The cinematographer is no longer merely the camera operator, but leads a team of people that often includes an operator, a focus puller, loader, grip and gaffer (see here). The best cinematographers take the job of being a leader very seriously. “As a Director of Photography, I direct everything that has to do with photography,” Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind DP Ellen Kuras says. “Yet, I don’t simply see myself as a cinematographer. I’m very embracing and caring of the crew and everything that goes on around me. That means the art department, the wardrobe, everything. Those people are under my wing, and I’m gonna take care of them. It’s my responsibility.”
Working with the director, the cinematographer establishes the composition of a scene, the way it is lit, the movement of the camera in relation to the actors or location, and can often have a say, alongside the director and designers, on which colors should be used. “Not all directors are visual,” cinematographer Ed Lachman told us. “So you have to find your footing with the director for how you create that language, because for me the language of cinema is images. The images are the subtext for the psychological world that you create for the characters.”
Budget levels are another factor. Hong Kong-based Christopher Doyle, for example, has worked on largely non-US films, mostly not in English, with budgets that are often a fraction of what would be devoted to a Hollywood studio blockbuster. Doyle says that part of his art consists of working out the most creative solution within the confines of budget and location.
It is often the most ostentatiously grand imagery that gets official recognition from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Only when the images captured are extraordinary and the colors breathtaking do some viewers believe they are watching the work of a great DP. In the first decade of this century Oscars have gone, as is traditional, to large spectacles, period pieces and stories that encompass beautiful widescreen vistas or seascapes. And while epic films like The Lord of the Rings, Master and Commander, The Aviator, and Avatar require a huge amount of planning and preparation to capture those shots, cinematographers will tell you that the most challenging—and perhaps, therefore, the “best”—work is done when operating in a tiny apartment or alleyway. But maybe that’s the point of good cinematography: You can’t notice it. It influences, guides, and moves you on a subconscious level.
As the following 16 interviews will demonstrate, no two DPs are alike and all are fascinating, sometimes eccentric personalities with strong opinions and ideas. Take Vittorio Storaro, one of the living legends in the field. His credits speak for themselves. The Conformist, Last Tango in Paris, Apocalypse Now, Reds, The Last Emperor, and Dick Tracy are just a few of them. Storaro has developed a rich philosophy about lighting and color which relates to art, literature, and philosophy through the ages. Colors have specific meanings in the work of Storaro and lighting is designed to tell a story. He has written three books on his theories.
Others prefer to rely on spontaneity and instinct, working without lighting design plans or color schemes and implanting impromptu meaning into light and color while on set. Some resent storyboards as limiting their creativity; others prefer not to work with directors who insist on dictating all the cinematography decisions. Some like to come to the first meeting with the director full of ideas, some want to talk to the director without any preconceived notions. But none of them want to be pigeonholed, either to a particular type of film or shooting style. Take Rodrigo Prieto, who has worked extensively with director Alejandro González Iñárritu. Although he brilliantly incorporates handheld camera to emphasize the raw drama, he doesn’t think the technique should be used as a crutch. “Another director might say, ‘Move the camera so it looks energetic,’” Prieto says. “That’s frankly something that I do not like. I try to have the camera move if the scene’s energy makes it move.”
What all the cinematographers have in common is their love of working with actors, and the special historic relationship between cinematographer and the actors continues undiminished. Actors are the most vulnerable participants on a film set, standing in front of the camera and performing while all around focus on them. The cinematographer can make their lives easier by ensuring that they look as good as they can, and making them feel comfortable. In the golden age of Hollywood, big name stars, especially actresses of a certain stature, would rely on the DP to make them shine. That relationship of trust and complicity still exists, sometimes even out of the director’s earshot.
But the modern-day cinematographer has also to capture key moments of intimacy between actors without disrupting the moment. In the case of Kuras, who shot director Rebecca Miller’s delicate The Ballad of Jack and Rose, the biggest compliment she could have asked for was when the film’s star, Daniel Day-Lewis, told her that he never knew she was there, despite working together in such close quarters.
What was also striking about these acclaimed craftspeople was the amount of time and care they gave to discussing cinematography. In an era when most interviews with Hollywood talent are carefully manufactured affairs that are closely overseen by studios and publicists, resulting in bland sound bites wholly lacking in insight or depth, these DPs were enormously generous and lively, spending hours at restaurants, cafes, and their homes to discuss their training, their influences and their philosophies. In the case of the great Spanish cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe, responsible for the gorgeous romanticism of Vicky Cristina Barcelona and the nightmarish post-apocalyptic landscapes of The Road, he insisted on having a translator present so that he could better articulate his thoughts in his native language. For Ed Lachman, who has worked with Steven Soderbergh and Todd Haynes, the interview included instances in which he consulted a handwritten journal that included jotted-down talking points he wanted to make sure to bring up.
The urgency these individuals brought to the discussion of cinematography was, in part, an attempt to clear up misconceptions about their craft. While they could talk about types of lenses and other technical jargon, a prevailing sentiment was that, in the end, such discussion must take a backseat to an intuitive, emotional response to the material and to the performances. Perhaps no other job on a film shoot is so evenly divided between the technical and the creative as a DP’s. A common thread among our interview subjects was a belief that an understanding of the tools of filmmaking was essential, but only because once one learned that aspect of the job it could be put away so that the more important artistic demands could be addressed fully.
The cinematographers we interviewed came from a range of backgrounds. Though they shared a love of film in their youth, they also had divergent interests, including being captains of sports teams, or political junkies, or special-effects hobbyists, or impassioned shutterbugs. Some went to film school, while others studied anthropology or mathematics. Collectively, though, these DPs speak to the fact that any aspiring artist must draw from the cumulative experiences of his or her own life. For Caleb Deschanel, who was raised a Quaker, lensing The Passion of the Christ was less about the film’s religious implications than it was about the storytelling. “I didn’t have any real teachings about Jesus and the Bible,” he said. “For me, it was this great dramatic story of the hero sacrificing himself for the betterment of others.” Another DP would have approached the film from a different perspective, but it was Deschanel’s unique slant on the material that made it so astounding.
2011 is a fascinating time to be talking to some of the world’s greatest cinematographers. Technological change has impacted the creation of the moving image, not just in the emergence of digital cameras, but in the arrival of 3D technology, both as a means of shooting movies and in post-production in a conversion process from 2D to 3D.
DPs who might have initially sworn never to abandon film, or scoffed at shooting with a 3D camera, are frequently now experimenting with the new technology as it becomes easier to use and delivers a higher quality result. Doyle had just come off shooting his first 3D film—Takashi Shimizu’s Tormented—in Japan when we spoke to him, and his experience was revelatory. He fast adapted to the camera and shot as he would normally. “I was astonished how beautiful it was, because it defied all the prejudices I have against 3D films,” he said, adding that his chief agenda on the film was to avoid the technology becoming central to the process and keep the story and performance at the heart of the film.
Indeed, while all the interviewees speak of their flirtations and experiments with new technology, the raison d’être for a DP is to serve the story and the director. Yes, the subjects in this book are brimming with artistic passion and bright personalities but, while on set, they remain devoted, perhaps subservient, to the vision driving the film. At one time or another in the interviews, all of them referred to story as everything and even their boldest experiments with lighting or darkness were specific to what the film was trying to express or evoke.
The partnership with directors, of course, is essential in this regard and most of the cinematographers in the book have multiple films under their belt with certain filmmakers. Vittorio Storaro has worked extensively with Bernardo Bertolucci, Francis Ford Coppola, Warren Beatty, and Carlos Saura in his long career; Prieto with Alejandro González Iñárritu; Peter Suschitzky with David Cronenberg; and Christopher Doyle with Wong Kar-wai. They develop a professional shorthand with their directors, often lifelong friendships as well, which is sometimes wordless, sometimes argumentative, and usually results in a visual richness that perfectly combines their talents with the requirements of each narrative.
It was notable as we met the cinematographers and talked to them about their craft and work that there is a great sense of community at this top tier of the profession. Storaro recalled how Chris Menges had approached him when he was shooting Agatha in London in 1977 and expressed his desire to watch him at work; Menges worked as an operator on Agatha and later contributed to Reds. Menges himself told us that he had just returned from a visit to the set of Martin Scorsese’s Hugo outside London to observe Robert Richardson shooting with 3D cameras. Menges meanwhile was a mentor of sorts to Barry Ackroyd, who shot a film Menges directed called The Lost Son; Menges also stepped in for his old friend Roger Deakins when Deakins had to leave the shooting of The Reader for a prior commitment. Seamus McGarvey told us that he called up Peter Suschitzky when he was struggling with an issue on the set of a film.
The network of connections, mentorships, and mutual support was especially exciting to hear and it extends to younger cinematographers. In his conversation, the colorful and outspoken Doyle urged young DPs to work with what they’ve got, even if that is shooting their surroundings for a YouTube clip. “They shouldn’t try to make stories at first,” he advised. “They should try to make some response to their environment and engage with it.”
Also common to these master cinematographers is a hectic travel schedule. Indeed, one suspects that a comfort with being on the road is a vital pre-requisite for this craft. Menges was just preparing to fly from his home in Wales to New York City for four months to shoot Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close for director Stephen Daldry; McGarvey was in LA when we caught him en route from New York (where he had shot We Need to Talk About Kevin for Lynne Ramsay) to New Mexico for six months on the comic book epic The Avengers with Joss Whedon; Ackroyd was heading out of London to New Orleans to work on the thriller Contraband with Baltasar Kormákur. Beebe had just spent eight months in New Orleans on Green Lantern. Doyle was in Hong Kong en route from Japan to Austria via Los Angeles. The travel requirements are dizzying.
Throughout the project, the names of great innovators and pioneers in the craft kept popping up and that is why five cinematographers are profiled for their legacy. Gregg Toland, Freddie Young, Jack Cardiff, Sven Nykvist, and Raoul Coutard changed the medium through their films, and their work is the touchstone for many cinematographers working today. The legacy chapters aim to show why they made a difference and why they still matter today. The first four of those legacy subjects are no longer with us; Raoul Coutard is 86 and lives in France and, although he hasn’t shot a film in over a decade, is probably the most influential DP alive today.
In our final choices of interviewees, we wanted to include a breadth of different styles and tastes, a range of different ages, and representations of different filmmaking cultures and budget ranges. Sixty years ago, The Academy released a promotional short film called The Cinematographer, which offered a breezy introduction to this crucial profession in the movie industry. The short concluded with the unnamed voiceover actor proudly intoning, “The cinematographer, the director of photography, has but one purpose: to add to your movie-going pleasure by giving you what you want to see—top entertainment in pictures.” Though entertainment continues to be part of the equation, it’s a sign of how much filmmaking has evolved that a cinematographer’s role isn’t so simple anymore. These dedicated artists challenge us, move us, astound us, and show us our world in ways we couldn’t possibly have imagined. They usually communicate through images: This book allows them to speak to us directly in their own words.
In addition to each of the inspiring subjects, many people deserve thanks for helping to put this book together, notably the editorial team at Ilex Press led by Natalia Price-Cabrera and Zara Larcombe.
Thanks should also go to the representatives who helped facilitate access to their clients: Lynda Mamy at United Agents, Catherine Disabato at Dattner Dispoto & Associates, David Gersh and Kevin Rowe at The Gersh Agency, Paul Hook and Nikolas Palchikoff at ICM, Wayne Fitterman and Ryan Tracey at UTA, Julia Kole and Miranda Peters at The Julia Kole Agency, Kate Bloxham at Casarotto, Tom Marquardt and Michael Kirschner at ICM, Craig Bernstein at ICM, Heather Salazar at 42West, Kim Weston at the American Society Of Cinematographers, Angela Carbonetti of Parseghian Planco, and John Baumgartner.
Other thanks to Susan Stoebner, Elinor Actipis and Anais Wheeler at Focal Press.
Mike Goodridge
Tim Grierson
Oct 2011