Having integrity above and below the line

Someone who makes a mistake during production may or may not be tasked with fixing it. It might require a filmmaker with more experience to take the lead—thus, a teachable moment presents itself. Whether or not that translates into an actual learning opportunity depends on an individual’s willingness to own their mistake. To do so requires humility, self-awareness, and honesty—with everyone, including oneself. In other words, integrity.

Some people never get passed their own cognitive biases and keep making the same mistakes over and over again. This stems from an inability to be honest with themselves, reinforcing their biases and fueling their egos. Such individuals may become technically proficient elsewhere in the process. Still, their unwillingness to learn from their biggest mistakes and/or acknowledge their own weaknesses gets rewritten in their memories as they continue to repeat them and disregard anyone who dares to suggest a better/more efficient way of doing something—such as an established technical or industry standard. This is the way of the faux-pro (“faux-professional”).

What others recognize as stubbornness and foolish pride is simply rebranded in the faux-pro’s mind as “doing things my own way” or “establishing a new paradigm,” often justified with repeated clichés like, “Sometimes you’ve got to break the rules.” They fail to recognize the difference between experimenting with new techniques within an established framework and trying to cut corners or take shortcuts that will undermine their own efforts.

For example, a scene in a motion picture will typically change shots every five-to-ten seconds. Cutting from one person to another during dialogue, maintaining a consistent angle for each character, never exceeding a typical duration. This is one of those artistic “rules” established over a century of narrative filmmaking—but it isn’t carved in stone, it’s not included in any contract, nor does any union mandate it.

An amateur filmmaker who doesn’t understand that “rule” might break it unintentionally, resulting in a confusing final edit that momentarily distracts the audience and ruins the experience of the film.

A filmmaker who does understand the “rule” may intentionally break it for dramatic effect. Chaotic, emotional dialogue can be well served by randomized, atypical camera angles, heightening the audience’s emotional response to the scene. An extended, single take on a character struggling to concentrate on the events around them can elicit discomfort in the audience.

However, when the “rules” that are being broken are actual rules, like labor laws or the laws of physics, it doesn’t usually end well for the self-styled “rebels” doing their “own thing.”

Faux-pro filmmakers are everywhere. They’re very good at creating notoriety for themselves—typically limited to their own sphere of influence—with a visually impressive resume/C.V. A quote attributed to Stalin—or an American Defense consultant in the 70s, depending on who you ask—seems apropos when taking only a cursory glance at a faux-pro’s IMDb page: "Quantity has a quality all its own."

It’s important to remember that a demonstrable lack of integrity does not necessarily indicate a moral failing—an ethical deficiency, perhaps—but, as stated above, such a deficit goes hand-in-hand with a lack of self-awareness. A personality trait with myriad potential root causes that this writer is not qualified to examine.

However, integrity is vital to maintaining a sustainable career in any industry. Especially one that relies heavily on expansive collaboration between multiple disciplines with time-sensitive workflows. Faux-professionals are quite good at freezing themselves out of such opportunities, but they can still affect others they work with, who—upon breaking an actual rule—may feel the pain of being fired from an industry project because they never learned how to own their own mistakes. This doesn’t mean that they can’t still learn. Breaking bad habits and understanding the distinction between personal and professional judgments is still possible. Opportunities to examine one’s mistakes and failures should not be squandered with self-pity when so much can be gained from self-reflection.

One may even learn to appreciate the “wasted” time appealing to the egos of faux-pros. Not everyone gets a front-row seat to a demonstration of how not to do something. Limiting one’s judgment to the criteria demanded by professionalism can also help put the faux-pro’s unfortunate habits into proper perspective. They may be self-serving narcissists dispelling bad advice and empty promises, but that does not make them quantifiably evil.

In the words of Robert J. Hanlon:

"Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity."

—Joe Puente

Founder/Administrator
Utah Filmmakers™ Association

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the official policies and/or practice of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers and/or associates.

Integrity requires owning one’s mistakes

In the late summer of 2019, I contacted a member of our official forum via direct message to clarify some points of confusion in a recent comment thread. Our conversation was mostly productive, but I felt something was missing that couldn’t be effectively communicated online. So, I invited him to meet at a local coffee shop, which made all the difference. Travis Babcock is now one of our Official Forum Moderators and a Utah Filmmakers™ Associate.

One of the topics we discussed was the importance of mentorship for training new filmmakers. At the time, Facebook had implemented a mentorship feature that we enabled for the Utah Filmmakers™ group, and several members, including Travis, were able to get some productive use out of it.

While Facebook offered few tools for moderators to determine who was and was not qualified to effectively mentor novice filmmakers into the industry, Travis and I decided it could still serve as a pilot program for something more formal and organized. This included defining standards and a vetting process. One of the standards Travis recommended is part of our UFA™ Core Values:

Integrity

I asked Travis, “How does one assess a person’s integrity?”

His answer: “A willingness to own one’s mistakes.”

“I’ve made many mistakes,” Travis continued, “but I always owned them, learned from them, and rarely made the same mistake twice. This doesn’t mean that I don’t still make mistakes—because I do—but the ones I make now are much smaller than those I made when I was starting out.”

What I found especially appealing about this simple truth is that one can apply it anywhere: professionally and personally, in one’s work, art, and even in one’s relationships—be they social or in business.

As a filmmaker, every production presents new creative and technical challenges and opportunities to learn—opportunities that usually come in the form of mistakes made. Some mistakes just need a quick adjustment and a second take. Others can be “fixed in post.” Some can cost a shot, a scene, or even a production day. Sometimes, there is no fix, and what may have seemed like only a setback is the first sign of a complete failure.

As a member of the Utah Filmmakers™ group—especially in my role as an Administrator—I’ve made mistakes and tried my best to own them, rectify them, commit to learning from them, and—most importantly—be transparent about them.

The conversation between Travis and myself informed the creation of a mentorship program intended to go beyond what was offered in our Facebook group. Additional advice was sought, other tools researched, and a detailed proposal was written. The program was then presented to the Utah Film Commission, who agreed to help us with our vetting process—with a particular focus on the importance of integrity.

In 2021, the Utah Filmmakers™ Association received a modest grant to help promote this new program to attract mentors in the film industry and mentees committed to learning. We reached out to the local media and other nonprofit organizations. I made a couple of television appearances and radio interviews. Applications for potential mentors and mentees came in, many were selected, but a few were not. Mentors were assigned their mentees and provided with tools to help them facilitate their journeys.

I wish I could say that the program was a success and continues to meet its objectives, but being true to our organization’s core values of Professionalism, Integrity, and Respect, requires acknowledgment that it went nowhere. It was, for all practical purposes, a failed experiment. I wouldn’t call it a “spectacular” failure. It was pretty quiet and unremarkable—but no less of a disappointing experience, which reminds me of an important truth:

So, what did we learn from this failure?

That some things cannot be forced—no pun intended—into existence. We might be able to create and present opportunities, provide tools and make introductions, but we can’t predict what people will do or determine the final outcome. Some things lend themselves well to artificial facilitation, but only under specific circumstances. Others are just meant to happen organically, and that’s okay. It’s true of nonprofit programs, for-profit endeavors, and online communities. What’s important to remember is that one’s mistakes or failures are not an accurate gauge of one’s integrity, but how one responds to them can be very informative.

—Joe Puente Founder/Administrator Utah Filmmakers™ Association

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the official policies and/or practice of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers and/or associates.

Justus Page on the Director/DP relationship

Justus Page

My DP career began 6 years ago. What was my understanding of the Director/DP relationship back then? I was there to do what I was told. And yet inside I was angry because a part of me felt like that wasn’t right. I should have a say. But I felt too self-conscious in my abilities to be able to speak up. We existed with different expectations of each other.

This can be a very common experience for young DP’s and directors who are finding their footing. You might’ve been lucky to find someone you clicked with right at the beginning, but most are not so lucky. What is supposed to happen is an evolution of your working process. But let’s be honest; Is that what’s happening for YOU?

I think many people running in the independent/no budget circuit innocently never learned about this evolution. Nobody told them. Certainly, nobody told me. It was years of trial and error. But I found that in those roles, that evolution is a big part of your upward mobility in the industry.

Directors: Who is your cinematographer to you? Is it someone you hired to make your film look pretty? Naively, but understandably, this is often where our headspace can be, right? What’s your expectation of them? Are they there to hear your ideas and nod? Are they there to do what you tell them to? Do you want them to just show up and take command of the visuals entirely?

Image courtesy of the author

DP’s: What are you looking for in a director? Are you looking for someone to hand-hold you? Or someone completely hands-off who leaves you alone to do what you know best? You are the professional after all. A director who vomits meaning into every angle? Or a director who couldn’t care less, as long as it looks fine.

Let’s diverge from all of these entirely, and consider another possibility. Your DP/Director is your co-collaborator​. Some seasoned DP’s and Directors might scoff when they read this part because many of them understand this is how it’s supposed to be, ​duh​. But it’s not a given.

The first time I mustered up the courage and gave honest feedback on a script I was offered and the Director went “Oh, that’s a great insight! Let’s make that change,” my whole career evolved. I realized that I could insist on reading a script first, insist on giving feedback, and have an open dialogue with my prospective director. I realized I didn’t want to work with Directors who wouldn’t give me that consideration. But also, those that did showed me their ego was left at the door. They cared most about telling the best story, whatever form that took. It no longer mattered to me whether my director wanted to plan all the shots themselves, or whether they left all of that to me; My expertise was respected, my opinion was welcomed, and that created the type of working environment most conducive to doing our best work.

Image courtesy of the author

Shooting a pivotal moment in the film, the director could say, “Let’s do the shot like this,” and I could feel comfortable saying, “Actually, based on the discussions we’ve had about what we’re trying to say about this character, I think we might be better served doing this.” And guess what? The director can say “I disagree. Let’s do it my way,” and I am absolutely fine with that. That given respect is mutual. Oftentimes, conversations like the one above are avoided on the day, because I do extensive prep and planning with my directors involving look books, breakdowns, discussing character motivations, doing boards, writing shot lists, and religiously reading the script. This gets us all on the same page long before we walk on set.

Who are we as DP’s? We are the guardians of our Director’s vision. We are meant to champion their creative integrity and protect them however we can. We do this by doing everything in our power to understand them, ask 8 million questions until we’re sure we know what the expectations are and what they’re trying to achieve. We stand up for them if someone calls into question that integrity. We go the extra mile to be involved wherever we can, just to gain even an extra ounce of understanding of the vision.

As a Director, doesn’t having someone who champions these things sound exciting? Does it not sound like a weight off your shoulders? Can you sleep better knowing your vision won’t be compromised? Doesn’t it ease your tensions to know you can confide in your DP and ask them for their help? This is the world we’re all trying to live in. And it’s possible. But it takes vulnerability to open yourself up to this dynamic. You as a Director have to be open to ideas and to accept that help. You have to be open to being wrong, but also be comfortable being right, and knowing that standing your ground won’t ruffle any feathers because you’ve fostered this relationship. As DP’s we have to be open to considering ourselves as storytellers in our own right and respect ourselves enough to accept that our jobs are so closely tied to telling a story. Even if, at the end of the day, the Director gets the final word, we can allow ourselves to express our ideas to them openly, and ego-free.

In this day and age, it isn’t too hard to find someone who will make your film look good. But what about someone who makes your story better? Someone who’s invested in its success? Someone who wants to throw the full weight of their craft behind enhancing what’s on the page, and finding ways to make it even better than it was?

The key to being better storytellers for us all is collaboration. Don’t take my word for it. Go discover it for yourself! You’ll never go back to the way things were. And that, I can promise.

Feel free to reach out and open a dialogue! I’m always happy to chat!

Justus Page

https://justuspage.myportfolio.com/

 

The opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and—especially where guest posts are concerned—do not necessarily reflect the opinions or views of the Utah Filmmakers™ Association, its officers and/or associates. Utah Filmmaker(s)™ and UFA™ are trademarks registered with the Utah Department of Commerce Division of Corporations and Commercial Code, Registration Numbers 10706542-0190 , 11025542-0190 and 10502093-0190 respectively.

Kindness vs. Honesty

A friend posted the following on social media:

“Brutal feedback tends to shut us down as #actors & #writers. So let's be kind when we're giving critiques to others.”

Generally, I'm all for kindness but more than anything else, I place a much higher premium on honesty.

(CC BY-ND 4.0) Alex Pepperhill

No matter how much someone might try to prepare themselves, honest, constructive feedback can still feel brutal, even when those offering said feedback have absolutely no intention of hurting anyone’s feelings. Of course, I can’t think of a situation where any decent person would deliberately try to inflict emotional trauma onto another by offering malicious feedback.

Some might conflate “kindness” with “sugar coating” when it comes to offering notes on someone’s work but I think this can be counterproductive. Especially if doing so negates any chance for the person receiving the notes to actually implement them.

I would much rather be subjected to a brutally honest critique, stated cogently—passionately even—than to get the critical equivalent of a pat on the head for my efforts all because someone wanted to be kind instead of honest.

From time to time, I participate in a writers group that focuses it’s efforts on screenwriting. I’ve submitted a number of screenplays to this group—as well as an extended essay that I later published—and received a great deal of very helpful feedback from them. There have been occasions when I’ve gone home feeling somewhat demotivated–even a little depressed–after listening to the critiques. Those feelings even carried over into the following days. It’s not a pleasant experience but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I consider the members of this group to be my friends and they know a lot more about screenwriting than I do so in addition to the great deal of affection that I feel for them, I also have a great deal of respect for their knowledge and experience and I know that taking their notes seriously will improve my storytelling and make me a better writer.

I’ve attended other writers groups, including one that existed for the sole purpose of encouraging its members to keep writing—there’s nothing at all wrong with that but one of the ways they did this was to require that critiques be gentle and encouraging so that members are not discouraged from continuing to write. For those who enjoy writing and just want to write for its own sake, this is fine. For those who want to become better writers, it’s not going to be very helpful.

Sometimes I find myself contentedly engrossed in a movie or TV show until somebody says something that I’m pretty sure was INTENDED to evoke a relevant emotion in the audience but instead winds up just sounding stupid and does nothing to develop the story or the character. There have also been times when I’ve seen an otherwise talented actor pretty much phone-in their performance at a key juncture in the plot. It’s times like these that shatter the precious suspension of disbelief I rely upon to enjoy the viewing experience and I wind up feeling annoyed, even angry, for reasons that are completely unrelated to the story.

For the lazy acting, one can blame the actor and the director. But when it comes to bad writing, I have to ask, “Who’s the idiot in charge who signed off on this draft? Who didn’t get pissed when they read it and have the human decency to cross out the offending line with a red pen and send it back to the writers’ room? Why do I have to be the one who gets pissed off by lousy spoken dialogue that could have been fixed when it was only lousy writing? What brain-dead, no-talent suit green-lit this project as is, let alone allowed the script to even get into the hands of the actor and ruin an otherwise okay story? Especially if I was intrigued enough by the concept to take the time to watch it?”

I’m not going to lie, I’ve written crap before. Dialogue so trite that the nicest critique I received was a hand written “REALLY?!?” in the margin. Prose so insipid it pissed off more than one reader that didn’t hesitate to call me out on it. As someone who takes their pursuit of writing seriously, I want to know about these reactions. If I write something so poorly that it angers a reader to the point that they want nothing more to do with the story that I’m trying to tell, it’s going to affect the audience in the same way and I really don’t want to risk that happening. Better that I piss off a handful of my friends in private with what Anne Lamott called a “shitty first draft” than a vast audience of strangers with something that wasn’t ready for public consumption all because the preliminary readers were too nice to tell me the truth about how offensively awful my writing was.

Writers and actors have a responsibility to emotionally affect their audience in a way that drives the story forward, not take them out of the experience of the narrative. If a reader or viewer comes away from the story feeling any intense emotions, it should never be because of how poorly it was written or performed.

All that being said, a kind critique may do no “harm” to an individual’s emotions–or their ego–but it probably isn’t very helpful to them if they’re at all serious about pursuing their interests professionally. Honest critique can feel “brutal” but to the person who endures it well—puts their ego in check, really listens to what is being said about their work and applies it immediately to their next draft or performance—the benefits can be invaluable.

(After going through a few drafts myself, I was going to ask a friend of mine to critique this before I posted it but he looked kinda busy.)