In 1999, I stepped on to my first moving pictures set as the grand pooh-bah. When I looked out at the crew, they were all running around building a crane, running cables from a generator, and attending to various other duties with remarkable efficiency and precision. Why wouldn’t they be—these were all feature film veterans who were working way below their pay scale as a favor to me and the production company that took me on. I was struck by the fact that the only person on the set who had less experience in the movie business than me was the four-old-girl who was the star of the first scene of my commercial. And, in spite of her youth, her four years were spent being exposed to her father, a screen-writer, and her mother, a producer for Ridley Scott. One could argue that subconsciously she knew more about what was going on than I did.
I was a long way from my days of grabbing a model and a makeup artist and driving to a cool location to bang out a model test at sunset. I took a large, loud gulp of my coffee and focused on the advice of Fernando Vallejo, the veteran director whose company No Guns Pictures was backing me. He told me that if I got nervous that I should focus on the vision of the piece and trust my crew to deliver what I asked of them. Great, but what if I asked the wrong things?
Fortunately, I had a veteran first AD (first assistant director) named Jeff Trachtman and a veteran cinematographer named Jaron Presant. When I asked the dumb questions, they didn’t look at me wall-eyed or anything. It was quite the opposite; they were gentlemen. They lowered their voices to a whisper and gave me answers I needed. They made me look like a pro to the rest of the production, even though I was a rookie. This was the first, most valuable lesson I learned. There are no stupid questions. It is better to ask the people who know and get the right answers in private rather than to make an ass of yourself in public.
As a director, you’re given a monitor to look at so you can see what the camera is seeing, and, depending on the way the sound is set up, you’ll be given headphones to monitor the dialogue. To a photographer, this set-up is disarming. Where you are used to holding a camera you have an almost intimate interaction with what you are shooting. On a film set, you’re sent out to the hinterland to a place called video village. This radical detachment from your camera and proximity to your talent requires a new way of looking at your production. First off, and probably the most important, you have to trust your camera operator. By watching the monitor, you’ll still have relative control over the camera movement, lens choice etcetera, but that subtlety of motion and capture that you are used to with photography is gone when you sit in the director’s chair. Which, as it turns out, isn’t a bad thing.
There is no one correct style of directing just like there is no one correct way of being a photographer. This past weekend at the Palm Springs Photo Festival, my co-authors and I taught a DSLR workshop that included shooting a scene that I wrote at 5:30 AM the morning of the workshop. We were extremely fortunate to have Vincent La Foret and Brian Smith stop by as we shot the scene. They were both kind enough to contribute their time and talent. Mr. La Foret set up a shot, and Brian Smith took a turn at directing the scene. Just within that brief period you could see three distinct styles of directing. Brian Smith took the romantic scene with a jarring conclusion into a hilarious comedic direction. La Foret effectively and quickly established the critical story point of the occupation of the female protagonist in the scene with a brilliant shot that showcased his fantastic visual storytelling prowess. As for me, I was focused on the body language and dialogue delivery of our actors. All three styles were different and told the story of the screenplay in three ways. None is any better than the other, and each resulted in a different feel.
Directing is a game of subtlety that builds on the foundation of an overall vision of the story in anything from feature film to shorts to commercials. In order to be effective, the director must maintain the integrity of the story he is telling. That means keeping the overall tone, talent performance, and look consistent with your vision of the story. Unlike photography, where you can establish an overall feel for a shoot and then depend on serendipity and spontaneity to get a fabulous result, shooting motion requires strictly following your storyboards, which have been laid out in advance of the shoot day. If you don’t, there’s no way you’ll keep to your schedule. Not keeping to your schedule means an enormous amount of lost dollars.
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There are of course exceptions to everything. Documentary is a genre that, like photography, depends on starting with a solid idea and then getting gobs of footage so you can shape your story in post-production. Also, there are many friends of mine who are director/DPS and others who are director/DP/operators. Basically, this means that they direct the talent and the camera set-ups, or they direct the talent, the camera set-ups, and they run the camera as well, which is how many of you will probably start out.
There is behind the scenes footage on almost every DVD in the marketplace these days. I suggest that you look at some to get a brief glimpse as to what it is like on the set. However, I dispense this advice with an emphatic warning. If you look at the behind the scenes footage of a crap movie, you’ll be watching crap directing.
Another source that will help you with your directing is watching interviews with well-known feature film directors. Listen to what they say about their craft and how they make the decisions. Doing so will help you understand the complexity of executing a story on the screen.
To my mind, there is no one director better than any other; they are all just different. Seek out the interviews of the directors whom you like the most. Remember, much like you did with photography, you’re looking for professional influences to help get you out of the gate.
If you are lucky enough to get on to a feature film set, even for a day, no matter how much of a honcho you are in the photography world, do so. There is no better way to learn more, more quickly.
He sat behind a large 35mm movie camera with his eye glued to the eyepiece and a cloud of cigar smoke floating above his worn red baseball cap. There were dozens of other people on the set. Extras, crew members, and cops. All milling about a respectful distance from the man with the cigar who kept popping his head up from behind the camera to look at the cordoned off street of downtown Los Angeles in front of him.
Director Tony Scott took the cigar out of his mouth as the first assistant director (First AD), James Skotchdopole, approached him. They had a brief conversation, and then Skotchdopole walked toward the milling masses and started giving instructions. Everyone snapped to his job, and the setting went from casual chaos to a tightly choreographed routine.
The movie was Enemy of the State with Will Smith. I was there in a very minor capacity to shoot photos that were going to be used as props in the movie. As the day unfolded, I watched James Skotchdopole deftly manage the location, droves of people, me, and about a thousand other elements crucial to the shooting of the scene. It was evident that the set was moving with military precision under the leadership of Skotchdopole.
The military style hierarchy translated into an effective well-run set. It had to. There were too many elements involved in the shot for it work any other way. As nice and approachable as Skotchdopole is, there was always a buffer of respect between him and the rest of the crew. He had found a balance of congeniality and command—attributes that my photography sets could benefit from.
Inspired and emboldened by James Skotchdopole’s style, I approached my next shoot with the intention of running my set the same way. Just distant enough to be respected, but still personable.
I walked onto the set the day of the shoot with just a hint of attitude, anticipating that it would give me the respect I was seeking. What I got was a pat on the ass from the makeup artist, a first assistant who was on the edge of an emotional breakdown because his girlfriend was dumping him, and a recounting of the “shoot I just did in South Beach” from the model that was so long-winded it almost put us behind schedule. Try as I might to move the production forward more quickly, I could see I was only having a very minimal effect with my pleadings. It became obvious that there was a lot more to Skotchdopole’s leadership style than copping a little attitude.
I confess, I’ve never been much of a dictator. Probably because I started working very young (19 years old) in an industry full of enormous personalities. When I started, I didn’t possess the talent that granted me the aristocratic right of the tantrum. So I did the opposite and tried be everyone’s friend. This actually served me well as I was learning the ropes.
But as my career started to evolve into better, more complicated, higher-paying jobs, I was beginning to notice that my sets were becoming increasingly disorganized. Also, there was this bizarre, constant, undercurrent of drama. The drama was effectively masked from the client, but I was starting to feel like Dr. Phil with a camera. Minor conflict resolutions, tirelessly understanding when crew members showed up late mumbling something “my baby, my sweetie, my honey.” It was exhausting and felt unprofessional. If my career was going to continue on a successful path, I was going to have to change some things about how I ran my set.
“Everyone on the set exists for the vision of the director.” That’s a quote from James Skotchdopole. And it’s true. As a photographer, you have to come to terms with the fact that you’ve been hired for your visual abilities, not because you know what end of the camera to put a compact flash card in.
With that in mind, you need to also understand that everyone on your set is getting paid by you, to aide you in executing your vision. That’s the only reason anyone showed up at the designated call time. It’s a mindset and a responsibility that you need to get used to. Confidence in your own abilities and position in the hierarchy are paramount in garnering respect. Even if you find yourself shooting a gig that’s way over your head, no one else needs to know that.
James had great people working for him. They respected and supported him and his decisions. When you’re working with a producer, they should have the same respect and loyalty for you. But by the same token, you should harbor an environment where your producer can raise a question if he or she thinks you’re making a mistake. All of the producers that I’ve worked with had the freedom to do this—but they did it quietly. Always taking me aside out of the earshot of everyone else. Even their body language was subdued. There was nothing audible or visual that conveyed the fact that we were trying to sort out a problem, or that one of my decisions may not have been the smartest.
A film shoot is the culmination of a lot of different types of talent—production staff, makeup, wardrobe, and props. These are departments. Your first assistant director handles production issues and should be allowed to hire his or her own people. If a crew person perceives a problem or has a suggestion, it should be brought to your first AD and then if the AD thinks it’s worth your time, he or she will bring it to you. Trusting your people is an important part of setting up a chain of command that will shield you from ridiculous questions.
The same goes for the other departments on your set. Makeup, props, and wardrobe—all these areas should have smart, experienced people in charge. They’ll handle the little stuff, leaving you to focus on the overall vision. Your demeanor should be one in which the people working for you have the latitude to make suggestions, because you never know where the next great idea is going to come from. Ultimately, however, the final decision is yours and should be enacted without question.
When I was on the set of the movie with James, the director was trying to get a complicated shot in the can. The shot involved the movement of traffic, extras walking on the street, and a myriad of other elements. Somehow Skotchdopole had to coordinate all this at the same time. He was doing brilliantly until a wardrobe stylist with nothing to do decided to lend a helping hand.
A group of extras that were set to walk into frame when they were cued could not hear their cue when James yelled it. To compensate for the problem, James had arranged for a PA with a walkie to stand near the group and flag them on when the PA heard the cue in his earpiece.
The “helpful” stylist was in position between James and the extras and decided that she would flag the group on at the appropriate time. She totally screwed the shot. James very sternly and directly told her to back off and leave the job to him. He made his point quickly and effectively without resorting to a tantrum of swearing. He was focused on one thing, and that was shooting the scene.
On your own set when directing talent, lighting, or any element of the shot, there should be one voice and one voice only yelling directions. Personally, I like to tell my first AD what I want from the production people. She usually knows the fastest way to get things accomplished because she knows the crew and their assets.
I’m the only one who directs the talent. Even if a client starts chiming in, I usually stop shooting and ask them not to yell directions from behind me. I ask the client what they want and then I translate that to the models. A cacophony of voices will only serve to disrupt and confuse things.
Throughout your career, you’re going to have to make tough decisions. Not all of those decisions are going to make everyone happy. Get used to the idea that you’re not on the set to be everyone’s friend. The reason you were hired is to create images. Your absolute loyalty is to the job and your reputation. If there is a person or situation endangering that ideal, do not compromise because you’re worried about hurting someone’s feelings.
With that said, don’t be an ass just because you’re the boss. It harbors a lot of ill will. It also tends to cause your crew to keep to themselves, which can be a handicap. Some of the best ideas that I’ve had on a shoot have come from my crew. The distance between you and the people who work for you should be just enough that a hierarchy exists, but not so much that ideas can’t flow.
When I started directing commercials, the executive producer of the production company representing me wanted to take me to a shoot of one of his other directors. When we got to the set, he was having a ridiculous tantrum over a warm cafè latte. Apparently he wanted it hot. I saw some poor PA get reamed for the egregious offense of a few degrees of temperature.
Everyone else on the set had that weird, uncomfortable look that you get when you watch a movie and you’re embarrassed for what’s happening on the screen. Morale on the set plummeted. The crew and everyone else maintained their professionalism, but no one was offering any inspired suggestions. And, no one was having any fun.
Conversely, some people who work for you are going to screw up. It’s a reality of the gig. Most of the time, they didn’t mean to screw up; it’s just inexperience. Don’t lose your temper and make them feel like crap. Trust me, they are already beating themselves up worse than you ever could. What I’ve found is that the person who made the mistake is already halfway to a solution by the time the problem reaches your ears. Give them the opportunity to redeem themselves. They’ll put a lot of passion and energy into it, and you’ll command even more respect for addressing the problem with a cool head.
Finally, there are the ding-dongs. People who put themselves up for work on a set, but really have no business being there. Fortunately, this business has a wonderful gossip networkm and the bad apples get ferreted out pretty rapidly. But if you find someone on your set who is beyond redemption, dispatch them immediately.
Film production depends on a convergence of different talents and personalities that exist to serve one unique vision that is yours. You cannot micro-manage a set and be creative at the same time. The two disciplines are mutually exclusive. The idea of employing and maintaining a military hierarchy on the set is to keep you insulated from the insignificant, mundane details, and focused on the big decisions and the overall vision of the story.