TIME IN
YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE TEAM
You’ve noticed that this is a large team. To be sure, not all of the people I’ve described are actually on every shoot you’re going to go on, but enough of them are-especially in the world of television, where many of you will end up-that you need to know how to deal with them.
First things first. You’re not the king. Directors used to be, and on some movies they still are, but the days when the director was always the top man are gone now that series television is here. When I first went to work in Hollywood in 1957, my executive producer told me not to say a word on the sound stage; the director was in charge, and his orders were always to be obeyed. After a few days, I noticed that my boss was wandering on the set, pulling the director aside, and telling him what to do. I began to get the idea that the jodhpurs-and-megaphone days were gone, that there might be places somewhere in town where the director called all the shots, but where I was, he was just one of the boys. Twenty-five years later, that’s truer than ever, and now that women are an integral part of the directing force, they will have to accept the fact that many times they, too, are just “one of the boys.”
There are three rules to remember:
1. Know what the rights and responsibilities of a director are;
2. Know whom you have to deal with, what you have to know, and what you don’t have to know; and
3. Say “thank you.”
Rule 3 Before moving on to the first and second rules, a brief word about the third. Why do I bother to add it? For the same reason that I mentioned there are no more jodhpurs-and-megaphone days. If the director is no longer king, he or she is also no longer God, no longer able to push people around and get away with it. So, if I wasn’t impelled to issue rule 3 just because it’s nice to be a nice guy, I would be impelled to do so because it is a way of getting things done. In other words, it’s to your advantage to be polite. Some people find that difficult when they’re under pressure or when they’re being “creative.” I’ve seen this happen in film schools, and I’ve seen it under professional circumstances. But the fact is, the men and women a director works with, from the wardrobe mistress to the executive producer, also think they’re being creative and, God knows, they’re under pressure too. If they all behaved like boors and frustrated artists, the movie set would be chaotic. In actual fact, under the right circumstances, a film set is a remarkable place. People who may or may not have worked together before operate like a team. Props, sound crews, and grips put themselves out for each other and for the director, offering suggestions, help, and energy—just for the sake of getting the thing done right. But they won’t do it forever, and if you don’t get in the habit of saying “thank you,” you may find that the energy, the help, and the suggestions get left behind, until what was a team becomes just a bunch of pressured people putting in their time. That’s a sad thing to see and can be avoided by remembering rule 3.
Rule 1 Know what the rights and responsibilities of a director are. The DGA has a set of rules and regulations, called the “standard contract,” which tells employers and directors alike what is expected of them. Some of the points covered in that contract include the hours a director may work before getting additional compensation, what rights he or she has in terms of casting, how and when he or she can supervise the first edit of the film, and so forth. In point of fact, while directors are indeed entitled to these things, much of the time someone else takes over those responsibilities. This happens because in television series the format, the cast, the script, and the money raising have all been arranged before most directors come on the scene.
Typically, an executive producer or a producer brings an idea to a studio or production company, after having gone through the origination of a pilot program with another director, or initiates the project without a director at all. Then, when and if money is raised, the original director may not be available, or he or she may be too expensive, or there may have been a quarrel (heaven forfend!) and so other directors are hired. Or, with an hour-long series, the production company may hire two directors to work on two episodes simultaneously (back-to-back) because of time restrictions. Obviously, each director cannot have casting approval over a cast that works in two different episodes. Additionally, a director may be hired to direct two or three episodes of the same television series, which naturally would prohibit him from having much, if anything, to do with the editing of the first episode.
All this information is simply intended to introduce the notion that the “directorial chores” as defined by the DGA, or as outlined in your head, may have to undergo some revisions. It is likely, for instance, that the producer will actually supervise the editing of the television production or that his associate producer may do it. (The physical editing, of course, is done by the editor and his or her assistant.) Similarly, casting, even for moderately important roles, may actually be done by the producer. You the director have the right and, if you enjoy such things, the pleasure of doing much yourself, but you need to be aware that if the producer has gotten used to doing these chores, you may be entering into a conflict, and that conflict may get in the way of your doing some things you are actually better at and from which you get more pleasure.
In other chapters I will be defending the importance of the director making the crucial decisions in the areas of casting and editing. How, then, can I say here that those chores can be passed on to others? It’s simple: I’m of two minds. With one part of me, I believe wholeheartedly in a director doing every aspect of a director’s job; with the other part of me, I’m trying to retain a smidgeon of pragmatism. If other members of a team have, by dint of their position, taken over certain aspects of your job and you won’t hurt your film or your reputation by letting them continue to do those tasks, then I suggest you do so. In other words, there are tradeoffs. Are there places to draw the line? You bet! One of these is how you direct actors. Another is what your shots look like. And there are many more. All I’m trying to say is that your relationship with the producer and the executive producer (and, often, the associate producer and even the assistant to the producer) requires giving a little so you can get a lot more in terms of creative freedom.
All of this may seem a little strange to those whose experience with film or television has been a three-person crew in a film school or in a low-budget operation. There was no producer, let alone an executive producer. There was no unit manager or story editor. You did it all yourselves. Well, as I mentioned earlier, this book is both for those who are going to do a lot of professional work and for those who wanted some information for more modest kinds of production. These suggestions are for those involved in a professional, unionized, formalized world.
Of course, some people who work in the professional world, who have had experience with, say, high-quality movies-of-the-week or feature films or single dramas on television, where the director is given a great deal of autonomy and input into all those areas of filmmaking that are so crucial to a quality production, will find my remarks equally strange. In those productions, for a variety of reasons, the director is treated with much more respect and assumed to be the master of the art form that, in many cases, he or she really is. There, the director is given control, or takes control, over 90 percent of the production aspects (the creative ones). So, when I say,” Know your responsibilities,” it’s a different matter for each situation into which you are thrown. This is true, too, for rule 2.
Rule 2 Know whom you have to deal with, what you have to know, and what you don’t have to know. I listed many people that a potential director may have to deal with. With which of these should he or she establish a meaningful relationship, and whom may the director deal with in only a cursory manner? You can see by my discussion of rule 1 that the executive producer and the producer are crucial. You will have met them somewhere long before they hired you—you may even be college friends—and they will have discussed the project with you. Your relationship with
them may stay good, or it may rapidly deteriorate if, once production is under way, you discover that their taste isn’t nearly as interesting or good as you thought it was. (They may, incidentally, think the same about you.) And yet you will want to keep a cautious relationship with them, because the time will undoubtedly come when you want to demand something from them for the sake of the production. If you have alienated them, or vice versa, it’s going to be hard to demand anything, your DGA contract notwithstanding. The following is a case in point.
Some years back, I was producing a program in the series The American Short Story. The director was a charming man who was making (I believe) only his second or third film. He had been a film editor, and a very respected and talented one at that, and he was now changing his career. In preparing the schedule, he said he thought he might need an extra day of shooting. The production manager and I thought the director could get by without it. We were going to be on location and it would cost us a large amount of money if we used that extra day. The director was a reasonable man; we got on very well, laughed at the same jokes, and shared some of the same tastes in food. I wanted it to be a very relaxed production, so I promised him that if he needed it, we’d squeeze in the extra day for some difficult scenes. As it turned out, the director finished early, didn’t need the extra day, and that was that. We handled the whole matter in a casual, friendly fashion. The point is, had we ended up on location and the director really needed something, he could have demanded it from me—successfully, and without rancor—because our relationship had been established and was good. He was as much responsible for the comfortable relationship as was I. We both made an effort.
This relationship needs to be discussed a little more. The producer, believe it or not, may actually be a very creative person. We tend to place producers in a category with that of the executive producer— someone who is concerned with money, with coming in under budget and ahead of time. To be sure, all producers have responsibilities beyond the aesthetic perfection of the film. But so do you. You wouldn’t dream of accepting a job as director, with all the responsibility that it entails, and then go off and make a film about something else, or purposely go over budget, or do any number of other irresponsible things. Well, neither would the producer. He or she has taken the job with a number of goals in mind. Some of those goals actually dovetail or overlap yours. The producer is very interested in making a good picture, in creative filmmaking. He or she just happened to fall into, or chose, a different way of coming into the business. So, don’t make the mistake of thinking that the producer’s interest runs counter to yours. Get to know your producer; find out what creative instincts he or she has that are similar to yours. Use those creative urges and talents to help you make your film even better.
This approach to producers doesn’t mean that there aren’t terrible human beings who produce films, or that you’ll have a wonderful relationship with your producer every time. Being a director is actually a lot more fun than being a producer (I’ve been both), but both jobs weigh heavily, so you and your producer may, from time to time, not see eye to eye about how to make this film or videotape. You may even fight; you may stop speaking to each other. But it would be a shame if that happened, because there are probably a lot of things you two have in common, including the desire to make this film come out right. How to do that may be something on which you disagree, but a pleasant lunch or a good bottle of beer or a laugh may be the best (and most creative) way to iron out differences, not a fight that sours the entire relationship.
Who beyond the E.P. and the producer will you want to know well and have a special relationship with? Certainly, the director of photography. This craftsperson is an extension of yourself; it is the D.P.’s vision and experience that will allow you to carry out your vision. You should discuss any and all special ideas you have about the look of the film and the shots you want to have with the D.P. If the producer doesn’t call him or her in early to go on location and to help make decisions with the art director, you will want to suggest in a very firm manner that it be done. But how do you communicate with a cinematographer? Don’t try to use jargon if you’re not comfortable with it. The D.P. isn’t interested in your idea of what f-stop he should use, or in your technical knowledge of lenses. He or she really wants to know what you see, and that can best be communicated in your own words.
Sometimes the D.P. knows some arcane method for doing things that just can’t be communicated to you because of a language barrier, or because you have never seen that particular effect—“pushing” film stocks, “post-flashing,” using a star filter, or any number of other devices you may not know about. Get the cinematographer to run a test. For a few dollars you’ll have your film to look at and be able to discuss it with the D.P., the producer, and the art director, and then you’ll know for sure what will or will not work.
On location, the D.P. will have all sorts of suggestions. You and your art director (and the ever-present production manager) may have picked a place to shoot that presents problems for him or her. It may be on the second floor and lights can’t be brought up there without a lot of trouble. It may be too dark, too light, the wrong color, too big, or too small. The cinematographer is obviously trained to see these things differently from you. Use that training.
During the shoot, despite all of the discussions beforehand, directors and D.P.s may come to a parting of artistic ways. They will usually give way to your taste and to your needs—that’s part of their training—but don’t be surprised if they sometimes put up a hell of a fight. The point is, a good cinematographer has his or her creative vision to satisfy, too. Of course, in the end, you’re responsible for the picture, so your ideas must be heeded, but you might do well to listen twice (or even three times) before discarding the inner muse of your D.P.
A peculiar thing often happens in filmmaking. You begin to pay a tremendous amount of attention to the image and very little to the sound—that is, until something goes wrong. Such as when you’re in “dailies” and all you hear is an airplane that you didn’t even know existed. Or, God forbid, in the final mix, when you can’t balance the two versions of the leading woman’s dialogue, though your editor thought you could. How does that happen, when your producer paid for one of the best sound persons around, a mixer of unique talents? Very easily. A drawing of a typical studio set or a location shoot will give you a hint. There, in the forefront, is the action: the actors, the lights, the set. Next, facing the action is the camera, with the D.P. prominently displayed. Next to him is the director, whose face is also turned toward the action and, occasionally, looking through the camera to get a picture of what’s going on (this is a good idea, which will be emphasized in later chapters). Where is the sound person? Well, there’s the boom man, holding the “fishpole” with its microphone and keeping very quiet (on sneakers) so as not to make a sound. And there, at the very back, is the mixer.
Up there in front, with the picture, you assumed the sound was fine. (You’d never do that with the image, would you?) And, so, unless the mixer is not only talented, but somewhat aggressive, you sometimes end up with sound that is less than perfect. So, what should you do? Encourage the mixer to speak up. Spend some time with him or her. Tell the mixer what is happening, what kind of sound problems may occur. Think sound. That takes effort on your part, but it will pay off. Such encouragement can, of course, lead to problems. Someday your sound crew, usually so quiet, might actually speak up; a mixer might say, out loud, “Hold it! We’ve got trouble.” And you’ll find yourself saying, or muttering, “Why aren’t they ever ready?” Which isn’t reasonable, since they’re usually ready, and since all sorts of other people are seldom ready as soon as you’d like them to be, but you say it, nevertheless, because we’re trained to think image, not sound. So, now you’re warned, and you’ll behave differently on the set? Alas, I doubt it. You’ll probably fall into the trap like most of us, and one day you’ll hear some sound that’s not as good as it should be and
you’ll say, “What was wrong with that mixer?” What was wrong was that you didn’t establish the kind of relationship you should have with the mixer.
TIME OUT
Some years back, I was doing a remote shoot at Orchestra Hall in Chicago. We had two thousand singers and an orchestra, and they were all doing Handel’s Messiah. There was no rehearsal; this was truly a one-time-only chance. I had five cameras, ten microphones, and a crew of twenty. What did I pay attention to? The cameras. What did I neglect? The audio man. Why? Because (1) he had a sterling reputation as a live sound mixer, and (2) I always paid more attention to picture than to sound. The fact is, this particular man was better at mixing popular music than classical music. So, naturally, he mixed the audio for the concert with the orchestra being almost as loud as the voices. That was the wrong mix for the Messiah, but I hadn’t discussed it with him beforehand. I’m not a careless director, but my bias toward picture had gotten in the way.
TIME IN
“After you’ve established your relationship with the mixer, what is it you should listen for? What do you want this expert to do? We’ll get to that in chapter 8.
It will probably be impossible for you to have a truly fine relationship with your production manager, who works for the producer and is responsible for keeping a tight rein on money. Therefore, it is unlikely that your blessings will be given very often to the kind of shortcuts that a good P.M. wants to make (and if you find yourself concurring too often, then maybe you should examine your own ideas). I suppose a word is in order to those people who think that production managers unfairly get a bad name. As I tried to indicate, the P.M. is an indispensable member of the team. There has to be someone controlling the purse strings and overtime at every moment. All I’m trying to indicate in this book is that the natural instincts of a director—to achieve perfection—almost always seem to run counter to some people’s ideas of financial curtailment. On the other hand, it would be very foolhardy to set up an adversary relationship with the P.M. You may be lucky and find a production where the word has gone out to slacken the financial reins a little in the interest of ending up with a better film. Or, if you’ve worked for this company before, they may know you as someone who keeps a reasonable control on your impulses and doesn’t need a heavy hand. More important, for ten days or ten weeks you and the P.M. will work on the same film. A strange bedfellow the P.M. may be, but a bedfellow nonetheless.
Directing for Film and Television Page 5