It may seem to you that some of the work that you are doing in your location search and in your discussions of sets comes perilously close to a producer’s decisions. I promise you, they are very much a director’s decisions. On a big feature film that uses lots of locations— for instance, Ragtime—a director (in that case, Milos Forman) would not hesitate to suggest a location that needed a great deal of “dressing” and repainting. He would find a house and pay the owner a great deal to get it right. Woody Allen is famous for that kind of search. You want your film to look right, and you will have to find the right location and defend it, if money or blindness to its beauties gets in the way. On the other hand, as we discussed in chapter 3, you may have to give a little here, to get a lot more there. Money is never easy to come by and getting the right set (in the studio or on location) may require more ingenuity than money, or more money than is available. Compromise where necessary, bargain where possible.
Some directors hate this work and there is a person called a “location scout” whom a P.M. will often use to do it. But when it comes down to the final choice, you, your art director, your P.M., and your D.P. must go along, and you must say whether or not it will work. I’m told that Milos Forman, when looking for that house in Ragtime, sent scouts out all over the place, but when they had found three or four “perfect” houses, he went out there with a group of his important team members and they talked through all the problems and all the possibilities in each place until they were certain it would do. You can’t be expected to know all the technical problems that may arise in a particular location, but you can know what it is you want to accomplish and how you want to shoot. Ask, probe, listen, then make up your own mind based on all the alternatives.
COSTUMES
You and your producer will hire a costume designer. Make sure it’s someone you meet and talk with. Is she or he familiar with the period? Is she or he experienced enough in getting the kind of detail you want or, conversely, too detail-oriented? (I’ve gone crazy waiting for the “right” bow tie when all I was going to see was a profile of that particular extra!) What was the last film the designer did? Call the director and have a chat. This goes for hiring everyone you have a say about, of course, but it’s particularly important for those people with whom you will work closely as the days of the shoot get nearer. Some directors don’t pay much attention to costumes, letting the designer work pretty much alone and approving only those outfits that seem crucial. My own preference is to participate in a lot of the costume work because (1) it’s fun, and (2) I feel more secure not having surprises when the character arrives on set all dressed in something I haven’t seen.
What kinds of things do you look for? I already mentioned the picky-details kind of designer. You can reassure such a person that you’re not going to see the feet, so shoes don’t matter, but be very sure that you don’t see the feet during the shoot, otherwise you’re going to have an irate designer on your hands, and rightfully so. Look for those details that will make a difference in the kind of character you’re trying to portray. Is it a hat or is it a waistcoat? Is it the checked pants or is it the “punk” sweatshirt? What gives you the right feeling about that person? If you are knowledgeable about lighting, you’ll know that a bright white shirt will distract an audience from someone’s face. Most costume designers know this, too, but they may forget it in the act of buying something wonderful. They will certainly not always know what you think is too bright or too distracting. Speak up if you’re worried. They should listen and buy an alternative that you can have handy. Watch for those clothes that won’t stand up during a scene or that will be too bulky in a love scene, or that will look out of place in the set your art director is building. Remember that only you know all the details of your production plans, and that others may do things that would work independently but not within the context of the entire affair. Are there wigs? What’s the makeup like? What colors do you want? Get the D.P., the art director, the makeup people, and the costume designer together at least once for a meeting to discuss these things. On small-budget films this is seldom done, but what a relief when it is!
If you’re going to have a lot of extras on the set, help your costume designer out by telling him or her how they’re going to be used. This may take a little more time on your part, but it could save the production a lot of time or money (if you’re going to see them in silhouette, for instance), or a lot of embarrassment (if you’re planning to have them appear in two or three scenes and only one costume was rented for each).
You should feel perfectly free to go to costume fittings if you have the time and it doesn’t hamper the work of the designer, but don’t feel you have to be there all the time. Ask to have crucial items brought to you for approval so that you can make comments before they’re bought or rented (this is standard practice, and the stores or rental houses understand). Costumes, like the sets and the actors you’ve cast, are crucial elements in a scene. If they’re wrong, they’ll stick out; if they’re just right, then you’ll have a subtle, but important contribution to your film.
MAKEUP AND HAIR DESIGN
Like costumes, these elements are often left to the producer or the P.M. They shouldn’t be. After all, your understanding of the characters and of the atmosphere they are to create is affected by the totality of the image, not just by words and scenery. When I was acting in college, I remember being surprised that I was to wear a beard for my role as the chaplain in The Lady’s Not for Burning by Christopher Fry, because I didn’t think of that character as having facial hair. The director wanted to have me look different from the others in the cast, but I convinced her that my character was too meek a man to be asserting himself by being the only one with a beard. She acquiesced. Whether I should have had a beard or not is unimportant. What is important is that we both had conceptions of the character, and that we came to an agreement long before dress rehearsal. You and your makeup and hair design people should discuss all aspects of the characters and plan to test out any special effects you want well before the shoot. This is obviously very important when doing “period” films or tapes, but also when doing contemporary material. By the way, don’t forget to consult actors and actresses if you’re planning radical changes for their looks. They may like the way they come across on the screen and not be eager to change.
Do some research before all these consultations begin. You may be surprised to discover, for instance, that long hair was not the fashion in the early part of this century. Is your leading man going to let you cut his locks? Will your leading lady let you give her a red wig? If your research is carefully done, you and your designers will have an easier time persuading the actors to let you alter their appearance.
REHEARSALS
This is the time to discuss seriously with your producer when and how you will rehearse. It’s no secret that in much of the world of film television, actors are expected to come to the set “prepared,” which is a nice way of saying set in their roles so they won’t have to rehearse. This may be fine for the producer—saving him money—but what does it mean for you? If this is Hollywood, with television episodes being shot one right after the other, you may have to put up with the notion. A movie-of-the week will have rehearsals. So will many a public television film or videotape, an educational documentary or reenactment, or a feature film. It’s very difficult to make an impact on the acting in a film without them, and all the work you’ve gone through with your other team members concerning the set, costumes, makeup, and hair will be merely fluff on top of performances that have been self-generated. In chapter 7 we deal with how to cope with the absence of rehearsals, but here we should talk about how to handle rehearsals when you actually get the opportunity.
You will want to set a date for rehearsal as far in advance of shooting as your producer will allow. (If there are script problems, you want to have time to make changes, and the more time you have the better.) But it costs a lot of money to have a rehearsal two or three week
s early. The unions for actors—American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA) and Screen Actors Guild (SAG)—protect their members by requiring producers to pay for every day between the time they’re called in for rehearsals and the first shooting day. This means that a producer is not likely to let you have rehearsals very many days before the shoot starts. In non-unionized situations, though, or in special circumstances, you may, indeed, be able to do so. And it will be well worth the effort. Let’s say you actually get rehearsals,11 what are you going to do?
As I suggested in chapter 3, directing actors is quite different from teaching actors, and directing actors for film is different from directing actors for the stage. And finally, directing actors and rehearsing actors are two different things. Rehearsing is a way of facilitating, guiding, leading, and permitting things to happen so that you can make other things happen.
Actors have both an idea about the script and an idea about how to accomplish the goals they see in the script. They want their characters to be consistent, and they want to understand both their characters and the goals the characters have set for themselves (or the script has set for them). They also want to understand relationships. That’s all very intellectual. On the other side of it is craft: how to convey those ideas to an audience. This their training has taught them, but each script, each play, each film requires amending some of those avenues of approach. In rehearsal, if you have the time, you must be able to see what it is they want to do and be able to help them change, if you can. If you can’t, leave them alone. Of course, when you are actually making the film, you can’t leave them alone; but rehearsal is a time for finding answers and asking questions, and if you’re not going to be any help, then don’t get in the way. This may seem ridiculous since you are the director, but many directors don’t have the knowledge required to help actors, so they shouldn’t try. (Nothing prevents you from learning to act, or from learning how to work with actors; all I’m saying here is wait until you can help before you interfere.) This warning aside, just what is it you can do during rehearsal?
You listen. Just like you did at the casting readings. The first time through the script, you just listen. You may answer a few questions if your actors ask—What accent do you want? Is this in Vermont or South Dakota?—but you don’t tell them how to play the roles. The reason for this silence is that you want to see what they bring to the parts, what nuances or ideas that may have escaped you. Only after they have read through do you start talking, giving them changes that you feel are crucial. It’s amazing how much you will learn from that one reading; how much they have read into the script, or learned from it. To be sure, there may be one or two who are off base, but in the absence of any sure-fire instructions from you or anyone else, the actors have gone ahead and made the script theirs.(Wouldn’t it be nice if you had been able to do what stage actors do—start slowly, with a reading, rehearse slowly, move up to a full production? But you can’t. Unless you’re very, very lucky, you will get this one rehearsal before you have to work with a full crew and a “running meter.” Here, at least, you have four hours or so, with the continuity person timing scenes so you have something to judge against when you’re shooting.)
You now go back and start again, scene by scene, but this time stopping each time you hear something amiss. Gently, but firmly, you suggest a characterization a shade less vigorous, or a line reading less cynical. You may hear a line mangled and ask if it’s a problem. You may do some quick rewriting, or cut an ambiguous or redundant line. Questions will begin to come from the actors as they realize you are actually willing to help them, that they don’t have to do it all themselves, that this time, “director” means just that. Is this reading too strong? What does this line mean? Do they have this right? You may be asked to tell them information about their character that isn’t in the script: When was he born? Where did she go to college? What are her political beliefs? If you don’t have an answer to these questions, don’t put the actors off by saying, “It doesn’t matter.” If they need to know, you should find out—which might mean making it up—but that’s good for a director, too. Knowing details about characters will mean that they have a life off of the page; it increases their three-dimensionality.
How do you go about asking actors to change readings? I think, as in everything else in this business, using straightforward language probably will help. If you don’t understand something they’re doing, ask why they’re doing it. If you want a character to be less like a caricature and more like a real person, discuss the style of the film you’re doing and how this character fits in. If the actor doesn’t get what you’re saying, be specific: “I think you’re playing it more like a comic commentary on the character. As far as I’m concerned, this person could exist in the real world.” The actor may still not get it, or, worse yet, may be unable to play it differently, but more likely the actor will realize that he or she is playing it too comic and not straight enough. One thing you won’t do is to tell the actors, “faster, slower, louder,” because that’s just giving them end results that don’t help them with character or with understanding the “why” of things. (Of course, there are always exceptions. If someone is speaking too softly on the set, you can ask him to speak louder because the microphone isn’t picking up what he’s saying. He probably won’t ask you for “motivation” for that instruction.)
Some of the hardest things to deal with are the smallest. An actor may understand exactly what the character is all about and be giving you a fine interpretation, but the reading of one or two lines may be wrong. The emphasis might be on the “should” in the sentence, for instance, “What should I be doing?” when you want it on the “I.” From time immemorial we’ve been told not to give actors “line” readings. This is a good rule, because line readings are a mechanical tool, one that can easily be forgotten later on. In trying to change the above reading, then, you may want to suggest that the actor think of the line as asking what he can do to help, as opposed to what others can do. At this point, the reading may change or it may not. You can then give up your insistence on your version. Or, perhaps the actor will say, “For God’s sake, what’s wrong with the way I’m reading it?” and you will give him a line reading and he will say, “Oh, that’s what you wanted. Why didn’t you say so?”
Silly? I don’t think so. It’s worth trying to work actors or actresses around to your way of thinking through understanding first, and only resort to giving them a reading at the final moment. If you have time, that is.
Speaking of time, is there time for another read through? If so, do it, listening to see if your suggestions have made a difference, if they’ve been incorporated into the actors’ thoughts. (Unlike the theater, where changes can be worked on over a few days’ time, film and television actors have to incorporate them at once.) You talk to the continuity person. How long did the scenes run? You check this against your own guesses. Is a scene too long? Too short? How about the pace? Establish some guidelines with him or her, to be checked on later (during the shoot). If you’re unhappy or unsure about something, stop and rectify it now. Is a scene wrong? Is some of dialogue wrong? You may want to cancel tomorrow’s shooting of a scene or the next day’s until you’ve rewritten or checked with the prop person or the producer. Don’t get off on the wrong foot by shooting something that will then have to be corrected in the editing room, if a simple rewrite or new prop or costume will correct it. And don’t be afraid to make changes at the last moment. If you’re sure things could be better, take the time now to make them better. Give notes for tomorrow and the next day. Remind the actors that they won’t be able to use one scene to prepare for the next, because everything will be shot out of sequence, so if they have any questions about pace or motivation, they’re to ask you at any time.
After the rehearsal, it sometimes pays to get one or two actors aside and give them separate notes if you have something important to say. Often one or more actors may be out of kilter with the others or, c
onversely, have done something especially wonderful that you want them to keep. Singling them out for this kind of note is a reinforcement that will pay off when the time comes to shoot the scene.
Rehearsals, then, are a time for ironing out all the questions actors have, but they’re also a time for getting a handle on the things that don’t work in a script and pulling them out. It’s fun to rewrite once you’ve heard actors do the script. It’s fun, because it means that you’re molding the script to the characters, creating a bond that’s less and less artificial. Some lines shouldn’t be changed, but many should. It would be wonderful to have the writer at the first rehearsal so that these changes can be in the writer’s language, not yours, but that’s not always possible. And, sometimes, it’s not desirable. If you have a writer who is likely to say, “What’s wrong with you? I think that’s an easy line to say,” then the whole value of having the writer there is lost.
Rehearsals are most valuable for giving the actors a chance to play together and find rhythms and paths to working together. This is not a mystical but a very practical matter. Two actors, or three, or four, have to play a scene together. They will play the scene in a “master shot,” but also in close-ups with the camera and crew hanging over their shoulders. They will want to feel that the actors they’re playing with are real characters, with whom they have real relationships. Their craft will help them do this, but having the opportunity to work with the actors over and over again before being on the set is a bonus, the value of which cannot be overlooked. It is rather like the rehearsals that go on in the theater that give us the feeling, when we leave, that these people have lived together. So, you will want to use rehearsals not just for line readings, not just for an understanding among all of you as to what is meant by the script, but also to create an “ensemble.” That means that the real relationships between characters must be established, and you and they must feel comfortable with the pace and readings of everyone. This can mean working on everything from the simplest kind of disagreement over dialect, to the complex concept of whether or not two characters really love each other and how they can convey that without using words. Sometimes this is so crucial that you will want to work on this in small groups, away from the rest of the cast.
Directing for Film and Television Page 12