The Kanashimi post-production workflow is very much based on the traditional pre-digital film-centric way of doing things. For example, we shot with a separate digital sound recorder and used an old-fashioned slate and clapper board to sync the sound later. It was not even a digital slate with time code that goes "beep". It was just a regular old dry-erase slate with the black-and-white hinged sticks at the top. Stone-age!
But I like that. Simple == reliable. A non-digital slate does not need batteries or cables. It won't crash because of a bug in the firmware. Lining up the sticks and the "snap" in Adobe Premiere works exactly the same way it did on a Steenbeck or a Moviola (conceptually, at least). Also, it feels more like I'm making a film.
Other aspects of the work flow are film-like, too. For example, we've transcoded the good takes to Apple ProRes proxy, a full-resolution, low bit-rate format that is very resource friendly for a smoother, faster cutting experience. This is the equivalent of printing the takes you like with standard printing lights in a more-or-less disposable form for cutting, taping, ripping apart, marking up with grease pencils, and so on. For the grading and effects, the plan is to transcode just those parts we need to the ProRes 4444 format (which is much more disk-hungry, but is nearly lossless in quality). This is something like making fine-grained dupe negatives or interpositives for detailed opticals and color work. For heavy-duty stuff (and there will be some), we'll go for lossless PNG image sequences, which hold up through an indefinite number of generations. This is sort of like blowing up the negative to 70mm low-contrast fine-grain stock so the multipass optical effects don't degrade the quality as quickly.
In the olden days, the goal of all this film manipulation was to preserve the negative so that the highest-quality prints could be struck from it for distribution to theaters. In the digital age, we could theoretically work from a perfect copy of the "negative" throughout the whole process. Some do. But we just don't have the money for huge disk arrays and extremely beefy video cards. So we're borrowing the techniques of filmmakers past and using digital equivalents to keep our resources manageable for more modest equipment.
I suspect many readers of this blog who are also independent or hobbyist filmmakers will find themselves in the same boat, trying to decide whether the limited budget they have is better spent on food, locations, actors, and logistics, or on renting or purchasing a more robust editing system that allows them to work faster with fewer resource constraints. We've tried to find the "sweet spot", but - frankly - these are untested waters for us, er - me. As you can probably tell, despite my working in computer technology, my filmmaking chops (such as they are) were cut on more, shall we say, analog technology. More often video than film, too, for economic reasons. In fact, there are analog video equivalents for this workflow schema, too - the use of small-format dubs with the time code "burned in" for offline editing, for example, followed by the output of an EDL (Edit Decision List) for final assembly on a more expensive online system with the precious master tapes at stake (instead of the camera negative).
So I'm taking the somewhat unusual step of actually "finishing" the first four minutes of the film before moving on to the rest. Soup to nuts - fine cutting, effects, grading, and sound. Even the score if I can get David to start working on it. Why? So I can shake out the process and make improvements to streamline it before going all-in. It might even make a good promo piece for YouTube.
I'll let you know how it goes - what problems crop up, and whatever solutions we find. If you have suggestions or comments please leave them. I look forward to reading what you have to say.
Stay tuned!
Monday, March 25, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Post-production begins in earnest
Many of the most respected names in the movie business believe that editing is where the film actually gets "made". Filming is just the prelude; FX, sound design, and music are the finishing touches. Editing is where you decide just what, exactly, the audience will be seeing and hearing (in terms of dialogue, anyway) from moment to moment. Which angle, which take, how long it will be on screen, whether you show the door opening or just have the actor begin in the room, whether the teardrop falls from her face or just slides down her cheek, whether he actually sweeps everything off the table in a fit of anger or just contemplates it in a silent rage, and so on.
A film is made of thousands of these little choices, each of which - taken on its own - is relatively insignificant, but which add up to the whole. It is the equivalent in creative writing of figuring out which words to use, which to leave out, how long to let sentences run, how thoroughly to describe a setting, etc. Each of this little decisions adds up to something that either succeeds or fails collectively. It's not that the writing, casting, shooting, set design, costumes, locations, and performances are unimportant. Goodness no! All of them (especially the writing!) are critical elements. But consider this:
Suppose you took the raw footage of any great film of any era, and went out of your way to pick the worst takes, the most mangled lines, and the technical mistakes, then used them to cut together your version of the film. Don't worry about pace - cut scenes off willy-nilly, or let them run as long you can. Don't think about the dramatic impact of each choice. Just slap the thing together and be done with it. How do you suppose it would come out? I have a feeling even Casablanca, Amadeus, or 2001: A Space Odyssey would turn out pretty poorly.
Great editing can make the most of a mediocre film - even "save" it in some cases. But poor editing can utterly destroy the best written, most compellingly acted and photographed effort. There are exceptions to every rule, of course. Consider Hitchcock's Rope, a play-like film paced entirely in 20-minute takes with no "editing" in the conventional sense.
Let's look at the typical post-production work flow as I learned it (which was through self-study and actually doing it) to illustrate the how's and why's of many of these choices. Some readers (especially younger ones, or those schooled primarily in video) may take issue with them, and not without reason. The world of film production is changing quickly, and even in traditional "old school" film production (from which I draw these post-production steps) the lines are often less distinct than I present them here. With that said, a film in post-production generally progresses like this:
ROUGH CUT: the rough cut is put together with very little awareness of pacing. The idea is not to create a "complete" film but to see if what you have is working dramatically. It emphasizes the performances, not the montage. The goal is to see where things are weak or strong "out of the box"; where the acting and dialogue can carry things without much help, and where they need the assistance of other departments (additional photography, music, special effects, tricky editing) to shore them up. Most rough cuts are unwatchable to the average film-goer. But they are valuable in evaluating your material and making crucial decisions about finishing.
I did not let anyone but the cast and crew watch the rough cut of Kanashimi, because it's frankly pretty crummy, in places. The parts that really work are the ones where the acting and writing are strong enough to "punch through". That's the point of a rough cut, though: to be able to evaluate the material without the distraction of artsy editing or glitzy effects to distract you from the writing and acting. You do pick your best takes, and you do try to put together the best moments from them. But - by design - they get no other help. They stand or fall on their own merits.
WORK PRINT: this is the part where you spend the most time, and this is the phase Kanashimi is entering. The term comes from the days when most films were actually made on film and temporary "work" prints were made from the camera negative with little or no color-correction so that the editor can "play with" the film with impunity. He or she can cut, re-cut, cut again, add stock sound effects and temp music; screen it, evaluate it, and keep playing with it generally until it starts to look like something. An advanced version of the work print is what most people think of as a "rough cut", but that's more a marketing thing to drum-up word of mouth, than a formal definition. Work prints are often shown as "rough cuts" in major cities at surprise screenings both to get feedback from audiences and to get word-of-mouth going for the film. An actual rough-cut (as I define it here) would NEVER be shown like this, unless the studio marketing department is suicidal.
FX-laden films (science fiction, fantasy, and - increasingly - every other genre) will sometimes have low-resolution, quickly-rendered "placeholder" shots, or animatics, or just shots of the storyboards cut in to inform viewers of what is supposed to go where, since these elements are usually just beginning serious work.
FINE CUT: (as opposed to "final" cut). This is really a very worked-over workprint with most or all of the completed effects shots, opticals (dissolves and such, which are mostly done digitally, now), and sound effects put in. But NOT the music, although there is probably a temp track! By this point, color correction has been done (though usually not final grading). The film is very close to what general audiences will actually see at this point. This is where you really let people (the stakeholders, formal test audiences) look it over. Adjustments are typically small from here on out. A lot of effort has been put into polishing and bringing out the little moments that make the film work. Or fail to, as the case may be.
FINAL CUT: when the fine cut is "locked", and no more changes are anticipated, the "final cut" has arrived. The composer and sound designer get hold of it to compose the score and perform the sound mix with all the effects, and any re-recorded dialogue. The reason these things happen so late is that the sound and music must be in sync with the picture, and cutting scenes longer or shorter will require re-working them. You don't want to pay a 100-piece orchestra to record a new version of the background score unless you absolutely HAVE to!
ANSWER PRINT: again, a term from the days when films were exclusively shot and edited on film. It used to be the actual camera negative ("original negative", or "o-neg") would get cut together (or "conformed") to match the final cut, then it would be printed by the lab, along with the completed sound track, for screening by the makers to ensure that everything is fine and dandy. If so, then the process of making prints for theatrical distribution would happen next. If not, then more adjustments would be made (usually to the sound mix or the color-correction) and a new answer print would be struck, until everyone was happy.
Digital technology has has made these boundaries quite slippery. It's now common to never even touch the camera negative (if the film was even shot on, well, film), even to make a work print. It's transferred directly to hard disks for FX work, color grading, editing, and everything else. A printing negative is made from the digital sources, or (more and more, these days) copies are made on digital media for electronic projection. Or even just beamed to the theaters over encrypted digital satellite links.
Nonetheless, each of these stages have some equivalency in the new world of digital film production, and so I shall use them as a reference point in Kanmashimi's post-production.
A film is made of thousands of these little choices, each of which - taken on its own - is relatively insignificant, but which add up to the whole. It is the equivalent in creative writing of figuring out which words to use, which to leave out, how long to let sentences run, how thoroughly to describe a setting, etc. Each of this little decisions adds up to something that either succeeds or fails collectively. It's not that the writing, casting, shooting, set design, costumes, locations, and performances are unimportant. Goodness no! All of them (especially the writing!) are critical elements. But consider this:
Suppose you took the raw footage of any great film of any era, and went out of your way to pick the worst takes, the most mangled lines, and the technical mistakes, then used them to cut together your version of the film. Don't worry about pace - cut scenes off willy-nilly, or let them run as long you can. Don't think about the dramatic impact of each choice. Just slap the thing together and be done with it. How do you suppose it would come out? I have a feeling even Casablanca, Amadeus, or 2001: A Space Odyssey would turn out pretty poorly.
Great editing can make the most of a mediocre film - even "save" it in some cases. But poor editing can utterly destroy the best written, most compellingly acted and photographed effort. There are exceptions to every rule, of course. Consider Hitchcock's Rope, a play-like film paced entirely in 20-minute takes with no "editing" in the conventional sense.
Let's look at the typical post-production work flow as I learned it (which was through self-study and actually doing it) to illustrate the how's and why's of many of these choices. Some readers (especially younger ones, or those schooled primarily in video) may take issue with them, and not without reason. The world of film production is changing quickly, and even in traditional "old school" film production (from which I draw these post-production steps) the lines are often less distinct than I present them here. With that said, a film in post-production generally progresses like this:
ROUGH CUT: the rough cut is put together with very little awareness of pacing. The idea is not to create a "complete" film but to see if what you have is working dramatically. It emphasizes the performances, not the montage. The goal is to see where things are weak or strong "out of the box"; where the acting and dialogue can carry things without much help, and where they need the assistance of other departments (additional photography, music, special effects, tricky editing) to shore them up. Most rough cuts are unwatchable to the average film-goer. But they are valuable in evaluating your material and making crucial decisions about finishing.
I did not let anyone but the cast and crew watch the rough cut of Kanashimi, because it's frankly pretty crummy, in places. The parts that really work are the ones where the acting and writing are strong enough to "punch through". That's the point of a rough cut, though: to be able to evaluate the material without the distraction of artsy editing or glitzy effects to distract you from the writing and acting. You do pick your best takes, and you do try to put together the best moments from them. But - by design - they get no other help. They stand or fall on their own merits.
WORK PRINT: this is the part where you spend the most time, and this is the phase Kanashimi is entering. The term comes from the days when most films were actually made on film and temporary "work" prints were made from the camera negative with little or no color-correction so that the editor can "play with" the film with impunity. He or she can cut, re-cut, cut again, add stock sound effects and temp music; screen it, evaluate it, and keep playing with it generally until it starts to look like something. An advanced version of the work print is what most people think of as a "rough cut", but that's more a marketing thing to drum-up word of mouth, than a formal definition. Work prints are often shown as "rough cuts" in major cities at surprise screenings both to get feedback from audiences and to get word-of-mouth going for the film. An actual rough-cut (as I define it here) would NEVER be shown like this, unless the studio marketing department is suicidal.
FX-laden films (science fiction, fantasy, and - increasingly - every other genre) will sometimes have low-resolution, quickly-rendered "placeholder" shots, or animatics, or just shots of the storyboards cut in to inform viewers of what is supposed to go where, since these elements are usually just beginning serious work.
FINE CUT: (as opposed to "final" cut). This is really a very worked-over workprint with most or all of the completed effects shots, opticals (dissolves and such, which are mostly done digitally, now), and sound effects put in. But NOT the music, although there is probably a temp track! By this point, color correction has been done (though usually not final grading). The film is very close to what general audiences will actually see at this point. This is where you really let people (the stakeholders, formal test audiences) look it over. Adjustments are typically small from here on out. A lot of effort has been put into polishing and bringing out the little moments that make the film work. Or fail to, as the case may be.
FINAL CUT: when the fine cut is "locked", and no more changes are anticipated, the "final cut" has arrived. The composer and sound designer get hold of it to compose the score and perform the sound mix with all the effects, and any re-recorded dialogue. The reason these things happen so late is that the sound and music must be in sync with the picture, and cutting scenes longer or shorter will require re-working them. You don't want to pay a 100-piece orchestra to record a new version of the background score unless you absolutely HAVE to!
ANSWER PRINT: again, a term from the days when films were exclusively shot and edited on film. It used to be the actual camera negative ("original negative", or "o-neg") would get cut together (or "conformed") to match the final cut, then it would be printed by the lab, along with the completed sound track, for screening by the makers to ensure that everything is fine and dandy. If so, then the process of making prints for theatrical distribution would happen next. If not, then more adjustments would be made (usually to the sound mix or the color-correction) and a new answer print would be struck, until everyone was happy.
Digital technology has has made these boundaries quite slippery. It's now common to never even touch the camera negative (if the film was even shot on, well, film), even to make a work print. It's transferred directly to hard disks for FX work, color grading, editing, and everything else. A printing negative is made from the digital sources, or (more and more, these days) copies are made on digital media for electronic projection. Or even just beamed to the theaters over encrypted digital satellite links.
Nonetheless, each of these stages have some equivalency in the new world of digital film production, and so I shall use them as a reference point in Kanmashimi's post-production.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Principal photography (finally!) wraps
Ah, what naivete we have going into these things! For reasons that seemed (and were) quite practical at the time, we'd scheduled Principal Photography over two weeks in January. For a 30-minute short film, this is not an unreasonable schedule. It is, in fact, pretty generous compared to your average hour-long TV drama.
But everything takes longer than you think. I've been a professional software developer for about 14 years, and the same is true in that profession. As alluded to in previous posts, even the most seasoned software developers and filmmakers sometimes have a hard time knowing how long something will take to do, given a minimum standard of quality to meet, plus all the thousands of variables over which you have little or no actual control.
So we had to shoot a couple of weekends worth of pickups, inserts, and what would, on a bigger production, be considered "second unit" photography. We have no second unit, but idea is the same: anything that the actors are not in, which is used to, say, establish the location or provide connecting material is usually done separately - at the same time, by another crew - the "second unit" - or (as in our case) by the "main unit" after the pressure of having actors on the set waiting to work has been relieved. In many cases, it was just me and Erik Mayne (http://www.mediafxvideo.com) driving around town, shooting things that looked interesting and which might fit in dramatically. Some of it was carefully planned for use in the film; most was just stuff that looked like it could be useful someplace. I encouraged Erik to just grab stuff that he thought was cool looking. A couple of those shots he grabbed are DEFINITELY going in. They are beautiful.
We also had to mix in work with the principal actors to get some missing material. Anyone watching the rough cut from a few weeks ago, who had not also read the script, would have been very confused because some key moments were still missing. I'm happy to report that we have them now, and they look fantastic. Supporting actor Darryl Small played a key part behind the camera, as an honorary crew member, because he happened to live close to one of the locations and could get us a car we needed to make the shots work.
Special thanks to Holly Rose, whose outstanding reading (of a shortened version) of my fake Japanese legend (posted in this very blog a few weeks back) turned out to be the key to making the revamped opening of the film work. Lisa Sherman's (http://www.mediafxvideo.com) cinematography is at its finest in this scene - a simple tracking shot of a mother reading her son a story. The lighting and composition are spot-on.
Leading man Thurman Kellogg also stepped up to the plate to deliver the goods for some reshoots against green screen of perhaps the most emotionally draining scene in the film for everyone. The reshoots were not because of anything he or the crew did wrong - it was all me, baby. I just didn't get everything I needed the first time. He and Erik graciously committed their time and talent to make it work. They went 100%, full throttle. I cannot WAIT to get it cut together with the background plates keyed in.
Making a film - any kind of film - is very hard work. Next time you see a movie, even a bad one, think about the fact that a lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into making it. Hats off to anyone who can see the process all the way through.
And a standing ovation for those who manage the trick of making a wonderful film while they're at it. It's too early to say if Kanashimi will be as good as we all hope, but if it is not, it won't be for lack of effort or dedication!
But everything takes longer than you think. I've been a professional software developer for about 14 years, and the same is true in that profession. As alluded to in previous posts, even the most seasoned software developers and filmmakers sometimes have a hard time knowing how long something will take to do, given a minimum standard of quality to meet, plus all the thousands of variables over which you have little or no actual control.
So we had to shoot a couple of weekends worth of pickups, inserts, and what would, on a bigger production, be considered "second unit" photography. We have no second unit, but idea is the same: anything that the actors are not in, which is used to, say, establish the location or provide connecting material is usually done separately - at the same time, by another crew - the "second unit" - or (as in our case) by the "main unit" after the pressure of having actors on the set waiting to work has been relieved. In many cases, it was just me and Erik Mayne (http://www.mediafxvideo.com) driving around town, shooting things that looked interesting and which might fit in dramatically. Some of it was carefully planned for use in the film; most was just stuff that looked like it could be useful someplace. I encouraged Erik to just grab stuff that he thought was cool looking. A couple of those shots he grabbed are DEFINITELY going in. They are beautiful.
We also had to mix in work with the principal actors to get some missing material. Anyone watching the rough cut from a few weeks ago, who had not also read the script, would have been very confused because some key moments were still missing. I'm happy to report that we have them now, and they look fantastic. Supporting actor Darryl Small played a key part behind the camera, as an honorary crew member, because he happened to live close to one of the locations and could get us a car we needed to make the shots work.
Special thanks to Holly Rose, whose outstanding reading (of a shortened version) of my fake Japanese legend (posted in this very blog a few weeks back) turned out to be the key to making the revamped opening of the film work. Lisa Sherman's (http://www.mediafxvideo.com) cinematography is at its finest in this scene - a simple tracking shot of a mother reading her son a story. The lighting and composition are spot-on.
Leading man Thurman Kellogg also stepped up to the plate to deliver the goods for some reshoots against green screen of perhaps the most emotionally draining scene in the film for everyone. The reshoots were not because of anything he or the crew did wrong - it was all me, baby. I just didn't get everything I needed the first time. He and Erik graciously committed their time and talent to make it work. They went 100%, full throttle. I cannot WAIT to get it cut together with the background plates keyed in.
Making a film - any kind of film - is very hard work. Next time you see a movie, even a bad one, think about the fact that a lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into making it. Hats off to anyone who can see the process all the way through.
And a standing ovation for those who manage the trick of making a wonderful film while they're at it. It's too early to say if Kanashimi will be as good as we all hope, but if it is not, it won't be for lack of effort or dedication!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Shooting pickups...
This last weekend we shot some pickups, based on needs identified from the rough cut. My fake Japanese "legend" became the basis for a new scene to replace some material we were less than happy with. The scene it's replacing just did not quite work, despite heroic performances by the cast and lovely cinematography by Lisa Sherman. The problem was my writing.
Sometimes it happens that you write something that just does not quite work, for reasons that are hard to identify. On paper, it looked fine. It had the right tone and pace, it said what was needed, and everyone seemed to like it. But then it came time to shoot it, and we all realized something just did not seem right.
For one, it was hard for the actors to get the feel for the line readings. Not their fault; the dialogue was just...hard to say. It read fine, but it felt odd to the mouth and the ears. Still, we plugged on through multiple takes and setups, including a fairly complex tracking shot that looked quite impressive.
I found myself asking all the questions a screen writer should ask under these circumstances:
And no amount of playing with it in editing helped.
The story of the fake legend, though - that helped. Because it has a dramatic arc, as well as information to orient the audience, if only in terms of telling us why we have Japanese Noh masks as a motif in an American domestic drama. It also set the mood as a tragedy with symbolic overtones and a supernatural element. In other words, working the "legend" into the script as a story being told by one of the characters serves to set the stage for what's to follow.
This is a dramatic technique at least as old as Shakespeare (Hamlet's play-within-the-play comes immediately to mind, as do the marionette sequences in Being John Malkovitch and The Double Life of Veronique, or the ballet sequences in Black Swan, to cite a couple of modern examples).
We also decided to go more abstract with the visuals; more dream-like. We took full advantage of having an ace Steadicam operator by choreographing a new version of the rejected scene - this time in slow motion, without dialogue, and running as a single, long take. It's eerie and beautiful, with the camera floating through a stylized choreography of movement with the actors as they go about a Halloween celebration. Played against the story of the tragic thunder demon, it tells us all we need to know. Indirectly, of course.
I cut it together and slapped some temp music and stock sound effects in, then sent out the new opening - all three minutes of it - to the cast and crew. The reaction was unanimous: much, much better.
I agree, and it's due in no small part to the work of our Steadicam operator, Mark Vetanen of Event One Video Production Services. He did an amazing job. If you need a Steadicam guy in the Portland/Seattle corridor, look him up. Seriously.
Also prominent were the performances of our two leads, Thurman Kellogg and Holly Rose, an accomplished actor/director who runs the Rosebud Children's Theater. Their performances were pitch-perfect as a married couple who tragically lose a young son in an auto accident. Put simply, the acting could not have been better.
Just a little more to go to wrap up filming. In the coming weeks, I'll also start focusing on the post-production process - the editing work flow, the scoring process (with composer David Fick, who created a marvelous Christmas Album you can order on Amazon.com), and the special effects. It's an exciting time!
Sometimes it happens that you write something that just does not quite work, for reasons that are hard to identify. On paper, it looked fine. It had the right tone and pace, it said what was needed, and everyone seemed to like it. But then it came time to shoot it, and we all realized something just did not seem right.
For one, it was hard for the actors to get the feel for the line readings. Not their fault; the dialogue was just...hard to say. It read fine, but it felt odd to the mouth and the ears. Still, we plugged on through multiple takes and setups, including a fairly complex tracking shot that looked quite impressive.
I found myself asking all the questions a screen writer should ask under these circumstances:
- Is it advancing the story? Yes.
- Are things actually happening in the scene? Yes.
- Is there a dramatic subtext that makes sense? Yes.
- Is it authentic? Yes.
- Is this working?
And no amount of playing with it in editing helped.
The story of the fake legend, though - that helped. Because it has a dramatic arc, as well as information to orient the audience, if only in terms of telling us why we have Japanese Noh masks as a motif in an American domestic drama. It also set the mood as a tragedy with symbolic overtones and a supernatural element. In other words, working the "legend" into the script as a story being told by one of the characters serves to set the stage for what's to follow.
This is a dramatic technique at least as old as Shakespeare (Hamlet's play-within-the-play comes immediately to mind, as do the marionette sequences in Being John Malkovitch and The Double Life of Veronique, or the ballet sequences in Black Swan, to cite a couple of modern examples).
We also decided to go more abstract with the visuals; more dream-like. We took full advantage of having an ace Steadicam operator by choreographing a new version of the rejected scene - this time in slow motion, without dialogue, and running as a single, long take. It's eerie and beautiful, with the camera floating through a stylized choreography of movement with the actors as they go about a Halloween celebration. Played against the story of the tragic thunder demon, it tells us all we need to know. Indirectly, of course.
I cut it together and slapped some temp music and stock sound effects in, then sent out the new opening - all three minutes of it - to the cast and crew. The reaction was unanimous: much, much better.
I agree, and it's due in no small part to the work of our Steadicam operator, Mark Vetanen of Event One Video Production Services. He did an amazing job. If you need a Steadicam guy in the Portland/Seattle corridor, look him up. Seriously.
Also prominent were the performances of our two leads, Thurman Kellogg and Holly Rose, an accomplished actor/director who runs the Rosebud Children's Theater. Their performances were pitch-perfect as a married couple who tragically lose a young son in an auto accident. Put simply, the acting could not have been better.
Just a little more to go to wrap up filming. In the coming weeks, I'll also start focusing on the post-production process - the editing work flow, the scoring process (with composer David Fick, who created a marvelous Christmas Album you can order on Amazon.com), and the special effects. It's an exciting time!
Monday, February 18, 2013
A Japanese Legend
We now have a schedule in place for filming the remaining footage for Kanashimi. It's been an interesting few weeks, with the completion of a rough cut to get a feel for what we really needed to finish up, and some good, constructive feedback to help. One of the crew (somewhat approvingly) called what we're doing a kind of "jazz film-making". We started with a full score (the script, the shooting schedule), but budget limitations, minor disasters, and just plain lack of time forced us to begin improvising and riffing on the basic story. Not unprecedented in the movie business, but not what we had in mind when we started, either.
No matter. All films, to some degree or other, depart from their original plans - even Hitchcock had to adapt, on occasion.
Apropos of the coming shoot, here is a bit of backstory for the film, in the form of a short piece I wrote yesterday. It's designed to provide a rationale for some of the symbolic elements of the story, including the use of two Japanese Noh masks as key props. This one is called Hannya:
Hannya is a female demon who was once human, and was transformed into horned, fanged beast by jealousy. In our film, the mask is used as part of a Halloween costume, so there is nothing to explain. She's just supposed to be scary. But creating a rationale for the inclusion of the other mask proved a little more difficult, since he is supposed to have symbolic meaning, as well as just being creepy. That one is O-Tobide:
"O-Tobide" is Japanese for "startled expression", which the mask reflects. In Noh theater, the mask is worn to represent a supernatural character, usually a demon of thunder. The Noh plays, while interesting, are lyrical, philosophical, and poetic (as well as being very "Japanese"), and thus were not suitable to provide an interesting back story for Kanashimi.
As Werner Herzog did not say (but easily could have), "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story." So, in that spirit, I present:
雷鬼の悲しみ
(Kaminari oni no Kanashimi - The Sorrow of the Thunder Demon)
(a Japanese "legend" I made up, with elements taken from the Noh play, Kamo)
A man and his young son were walking to Kyoto to visit the shrine known as Shimogamo Jinja. A thunderstorm struck, but they continued on in the rain, for they were on their way to pray for the soul of the man's wife, who had passed away on that very morning. Fed by the storm, the Takano river swelled as they were crossing the bridge, and the man's son was swept away in the current. Heartbroken, the man cried out to Wakeikazuchi, the god of thunder, who answered by striking the bridge in front of him with lightening. The man was so shocked that his countenance was frozen in astonishment and fear. Nonetheless, the man pleaded with the god to return his son. But it was too late, the boy had already joined his mother in the land of the dead. Overcome with grief, the man pleaded twice more, until, in an act of pity, the god transformed the man into a supernatural being - kaminari oni - a demon of thunder. Now he could strike at will between heaven and earth; he could visit both the living and the dead, but could not be a part of either world. To this day, he is called "o tobide", for the look of surprise and grief that he will wear for all eternity.
Monday, February 4, 2013
The Value of Diversity
The Value of Diversity - it's not just a politically correct sentiment. It's actually a useful concept, especially in film-making. Allow me to explain:
I had to replace our original DP, who shall, for the moment, remain nameless. Regular readers (all two or three of you) will know who he is/was 'cause I bragged on him back when I thought it was a done deal. I bragged pretty fiercely. Very talented fellow, who liked the script and believed in the project.
Then, he had a prior commitment (a paying one) extend the shoot into overlapping with our Kanashimi schedule, which, unfortunately for his participation, was quite inflexible. So I released him of his obligation, no hard feelings. I scrubbed the old posts referring to him, mainly to avoid embarrassing either of us professionally. He's a good guy, and we may work together in the future.
As I told him, though, I had a contingency. I always have a contingency. I'd made up my mind to put a friend of mine on the short list as a replacement, and her name I shall tell you: the lovely, the talented Lisa Sherman. She and I have known each other off and on for about 30+ years. We went to school together. As teens back in Florida we made silly little horror movies and dreamed of Hollywood. She actually went; I didn't. A USC Film School graduate, she now owns a company in Portland, Oregon called Media FX.
So I talked her and her business partner Erik Mayne into joining the team, serving as the Camera Department.
Here's where the "diversity" part comes in. No, not her gender; I couldn't care less about that. I'm talking about her training and her vision. While I have worked in TV and directed a few short films to order, I'd never been to film school. Nor had I ever originated a film from the ground up (outside of the aforementioned teen-aged cinematic extravaganzas we'd shot on Super-8 and VHS). I was always a hired gun, with someone else to handle the fine details (like craft services).
Lisa, on the other hand, knows the "right" way to do things. She like, went to school for it. This created an interesting dynamic between my sort of theoretical, self-taught approach and her more grounded world view. She knew when I was off on a losing tangent, even when I didn't, and would reel me back in. Sometimes gently; more often, not so. The first couple of days, I was so sure I'd planned everything pretty well, and she was so sure I had not. Guess who was right? Yep. Score one for Lisa.
Fortunately (and perhaps miraculously), my ego stood down long enough to listen to her guidance, and - by the third day - we were humming along like a well-oiled machine, with proper preparations and even (gasp!) short production meetings every morning. My prior experience, as it turned out, did help, because it taught me to listen to people who know more than I. Directing a scene on the floor and working with actors is something very much in my comfort zone, but worrying about what people were eating and how to make sure the crew stayed on the same page throughout the day? Well, that had always been someone else's department. Now I have a fair clue about that part of the process, too.
Beyond that, though, was the fact that I'd almost always DP'd my own work. With few exceptions, I used to set my own lights, operate the camera, and get what I wanted by just doing it. The people who used to hire me loved that. This time I had my hands full as a first-time Executive Producer, Location Manager, and Chief Assistant Cook and Bottle Washer as well. All that and photograph it, too? Are you KIDDING?!
So it was that, this time, I actually sat back and watched someone else light the set. Frequently, her ideas were utterly different from my original conception. I would start to say something, then let the words die in my throat and just take it in. Most of the time, I just let her do her thing, even though it's not what I had in mind, because - God help me - I found it inspiring to see someone else's take on the same material I'd been living with for almost a year, now, in the form of script drafts and storyboards and concept art. The similarities in our visions were instructive, but more so the differences, which forced me to look at the script, the set, and the performances through new eyes.
In other words - and this is very important for you aspiring film-makers to soak in - the diversity of our artistic visions led to some awesome solutions that, alone, I would never have seen. When she got through lighting the office scene, for example (which I had envisioned as flat, pasty, and dull), it looked dark and menacing - like the undocumented 8th level of hell. This spurred me to compose a shot that was never in the storyboards, which led to an inspiration that literally saved the days' shooting schedule when one of the actors could not show up. Her lighting played no small part in getting me to think about the scene in a different way and solve the problem of the missing character by framing a master shot completely different from my original concept. That and some excellent improv by lead actor Thurman Kellogg.
So, whatever your political leanings, don't dismiss the concept of "diversity" as empty Liberal happy talk, or embrace it for the wrong reasons (as a quota process). Actually use it to try and view the project through other peoples' eyes. You'll be amazed and delighted at what you see.
I had to replace our original DP, who shall, for the moment, remain nameless. Regular readers (all two or three of you) will know who he is/was 'cause I bragged on him back when I thought it was a done deal. I bragged pretty fiercely. Very talented fellow, who liked the script and believed in the project.
Then, he had a prior commitment (a paying one) extend the shoot into overlapping with our Kanashimi schedule, which, unfortunately for his participation, was quite inflexible. So I released him of his obligation, no hard feelings. I scrubbed the old posts referring to him, mainly to avoid embarrassing either of us professionally. He's a good guy, and we may work together in the future.
As I told him, though, I had a contingency. I always have a contingency. I'd made up my mind to put a friend of mine on the short list as a replacement, and her name I shall tell you: the lovely, the talented Lisa Sherman. She and I have known each other off and on for about 30+ years. We went to school together. As teens back in Florida we made silly little horror movies and dreamed of Hollywood. She actually went; I didn't. A USC Film School graduate, she now owns a company in Portland, Oregon called Media FX.
So I talked her and her business partner Erik Mayne into joining the team, serving as the Camera Department.
Here's where the "diversity" part comes in. No, not her gender; I couldn't care less about that. I'm talking about her training and her vision. While I have worked in TV and directed a few short films to order, I'd never been to film school. Nor had I ever originated a film from the ground up (outside of the aforementioned teen-aged cinematic extravaganzas we'd shot on Super-8 and VHS). I was always a hired gun, with someone else to handle the fine details (like craft services).
Lisa, on the other hand, knows the "right" way to do things. She like, went to school for it. This created an interesting dynamic between my sort of theoretical, self-taught approach and her more grounded world view. She knew when I was off on a losing tangent, even when I didn't, and would reel me back in. Sometimes gently; more often, not so. The first couple of days, I was so sure I'd planned everything pretty well, and she was so sure I had not. Guess who was right? Yep. Score one for Lisa.
Fortunately (and perhaps miraculously), my ego stood down long enough to listen to her guidance, and - by the third day - we were humming along like a well-oiled machine, with proper preparations and even (gasp!) short production meetings every morning. My prior experience, as it turned out, did help, because it taught me to listen to people who know more than I. Directing a scene on the floor and working with actors is something very much in my comfort zone, but worrying about what people were eating and how to make sure the crew stayed on the same page throughout the day? Well, that had always been someone else's department. Now I have a fair clue about that part of the process, too.
Beyond that, though, was the fact that I'd almost always DP'd my own work. With few exceptions, I used to set my own lights, operate the camera, and get what I wanted by just doing it. The people who used to hire me loved that. This time I had my hands full as a first-time Executive Producer, Location Manager, and Chief Assistant Cook and Bottle Washer as well. All that and photograph it, too? Are you KIDDING?!
So it was that, this time, I actually sat back and watched someone else light the set. Frequently, her ideas were utterly different from my original conception. I would start to say something, then let the words die in my throat and just take it in. Most of the time, I just let her do her thing, even though it's not what I had in mind, because - God help me - I found it inspiring to see someone else's take on the same material I'd been living with for almost a year, now, in the form of script drafts and storyboards and concept art. The similarities in our visions were instructive, but more so the differences, which forced me to look at the script, the set, and the performances through new eyes.
In other words - and this is very important for you aspiring film-makers to soak in - the diversity of our artistic visions led to some awesome solutions that, alone, I would never have seen. When she got through lighting the office scene, for example (which I had envisioned as flat, pasty, and dull), it looked dark and menacing - like the undocumented 8th level of hell. This spurred me to compose a shot that was never in the storyboards, which led to an inspiration that literally saved the days' shooting schedule when one of the actors could not show up. Her lighting played no small part in getting me to think about the scene in a different way and solve the problem of the missing character by framing a master shot completely different from my original concept. That and some excellent improv by lead actor Thurman Kellogg.
So, whatever your political leanings, don't dismiss the concept of "diversity" as empty Liberal happy talk, or embrace it for the wrong reasons (as a quota process). Actually use it to try and view the project through other peoples' eyes. You'll be amazed and delighted at what you see.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Long time, no see...
Wow. So much has happened since the last post. Now, symbolically, I shall drop the mask.
The mask of which I speak is the mask of "professionalism", the one I put on to try and seem impressive. Someday, perhaps soon, it will go back up. It's the "corporate" thing to do - to wear a slightly formal identity where you avoid pronouns like "I", and try to sound like you know what you're doing.
But it seems rather ridiculous and pretentious to try that now. Especially since it's been so long since the last post. Corporations don't go months without updating, normal people do. And you know what? I'm just a normal guy, trying to make a movie.
So for the moment, I'll stop trying to impress you. I'll just talk in my own voice.
Kanashimi is about 90% shot. The prior schedule held - principal photography went more or less as planned during the mentioned time frame More or less. By which I mean there were the usual disasters, which required the usual kinds of improvised solutions.
Which is why we're 90% done instead of 100%. Just like the software business. My day job is software developer for a Major Corporation (one whose name you'd immediately recognize and whose products you literally use every single day). In that business we have a saying - there's the first 90% of the project, then the other 90%.
Now it's time for the other 90%.
Here's a short list of things we had to overcome:
Right now, I'm cutting together a rough assembly of what we have shot, so we can figure out what we really need to finish shooting (as opposed to what we think we need to finish shooting). So stay tuned; it's about to get more interesting.
Special thanks to a spectacular cast and crew, without whom this little project would be literally impossible. I'll be getting into specifics in the coming weeks, but let's just say we have some terrific talent working on this thing!
The mask of which I speak is the mask of "professionalism", the one I put on to try and seem impressive. Someday, perhaps soon, it will go back up. It's the "corporate" thing to do - to wear a slightly formal identity where you avoid pronouns like "I", and try to sound like you know what you're doing.
But it seems rather ridiculous and pretentious to try that now. Especially since it's been so long since the last post. Corporations don't go months without updating, normal people do. And you know what? I'm just a normal guy, trying to make a movie.
So for the moment, I'll stop trying to impress you. I'll just talk in my own voice.
Kanashimi is about 90% shot. The prior schedule held - principal photography went more or less as planned during the mentioned time frame More or less. By which I mean there were the usual disasters, which required the usual kinds of improvised solutions.
Which is why we're 90% done instead of 100%. Just like the software business. My day job is software developer for a Major Corporation (one whose name you'd immediately recognize and whose products you literally use every single day). In that business we have a saying - there's the first 90% of the project, then the other 90%.
Now it's time for the other 90%.
Here's a short list of things we had to overcome:
- We had to replace our original Director of Photography
- We lost several locations
- The locations we replaced them with were fine, but there were some, er, complications
- An actor got sick and had to be replaced the day of filming
- Another actor got the schedule mixed up and didn't show on his big day
- It took longer than we thought to shoot some things (doesn't it always?)
- I did a lousy job the first day or two of keeping everyone happy and fed
Right now, I'm cutting together a rough assembly of what we have shot, so we can figure out what we really need to finish shooting (as opposed to what we think we need to finish shooting). So stay tuned; it's about to get more interesting.
Special thanks to a spectacular cast and crew, without whom this little project would be literally impossible. I'll be getting into specifics in the coming weeks, but let's just say we have some terrific talent working on this thing!
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