in the choice of film projects. He does not come into a film with a preconceived style; rather he and the director work out the visual look of the film together, often months in advance of shooting.
The auteur theory, the notion that the director should be considered responsible for everything in a film, is now in decline; filmmaking has come to be viewed as a cooperative and collaborative effort by a team of artists, technicians and craftspeople. The cinematographer is thus being recognized along with writers, producers and performers as a major participant in the filmmaking process, not only artistically and technically, but also in terms of salary, credit and even public recognition. It’s in this spirit that we present this volume of interviews. We propose to illustrate, in the contemporary cinematographer’s own words, exactly what it is he does, why he does it and what effects it has on the filmmaking process. As a by-product, we hope to help give recognition to the art of cinematography and to some of the individuals who have sought to extend its artistic parameters, providing the filmgoer with a much richer visual experience.
This is not a “how to” book, although many technical details are discussed in the course of these conversations; there are a number of cinematography manuals and handbooks already available. This is a “why” book. In our interviews we were above all concerned with what an individual cinematographer’s perspective is and the reasons he has adopted it. We were concerned with a specific personal point of view, a way of looking at things. In fact, we were interested in fifteen different ways of looking at things: each cinematographer’s mise-en scène, if you will. Although they use the same equipment and go about the process in approximately the same way, they come up with fifteen different results—sometimes strikingly different, sometimes subtly different.
In preparing this book, we interviewed many more cinematographers than we were able to include here. We feel, however, that the book covers a comprehensive range of backgrounds, perspectives and styles.
The artistic achievements of the cameramen we talked with are, individually and collectively, extremely impressive. During our conversations, we also came to appreciate their original and innovative ways of approaching their work, and we were often intrigued by their complex personalities. We are grateful to them all for generously making their time available to us, and through the book that follows readers have the opportunity to sit in on what amounts to a professional course in the basics and the nuances of the cinematographer’s art.
1
Nestor Almendros
“I start from realism. My way of lighting and seeing is realistic. I don’t use imagination, I use research. Basically, I show things as they are, with no distortion.”
Nestor Almendros visibly flinches whenever anyone asks how he likes being a Hollywood cameraman now. He has to point out that he’s never shot a film in Hollywood. Days of Heaven was shot in Canada, Going South in Mexico, Kramer vs. Kramer and Still of the Night in New York City and The Blue Lagoon in Fiji. But that’s not really surprising since, in his twenty-year career as a director of photography, he has shot film in almost all corners of the world. And while he has never shot a film in Hollywood, he is one of the leading cinematographers in the American film industry: of the five major American films he’s done, three have been nominated for the Oscar in cinematography. And, in 1978, he won for his exquisite naturalistic photography on Days of Heaven.
Almendros’s cinematic roots are unusually deep. Born in Spain and raised in Cuba, he wholeheartedly embraced the cinema as a student; he and his friends were always making short 8mm and 16mm films. They realized, however, that they had to leave Cuba in order to broaden their knowledge of filmmaking. Almendros came to New York City where he studied at City College and met experimental filmmakers Hans Richter, Maya Deren and the Mekas brothers. He returned to Cuba after the fall of the Batista dictatorship and was hired to make propaganda documentaries, which he quickly became bored with, although he considers it was a good training ground for him and it had an influence on his style. But France beckoned: the New Wave was at high tide. In Paris he fell almost by accident into a job shooting for Eric Rohmer. The result of that initial collaboration is that he photographed six of Rohmer’s “Moral Tales.” François Truffaut has used him for eight films while he has worked with Barbet Schroeder on six major films plus assorted documentaries. Even if Almendros had never begun to shoot “American” films, his world reputation would have been assured. An urbane and witty conversationalist, he is a cosmopolitan man of the world and even an author of a book on cinematography. Inundated with job offers after his Oscar win, Almendros would prefer a more leisurely work pace of shooting only two features a year. But now with the demands of both French and American filmmakers for his services, that may not be possible. As in a classic demand-supply relationship, the supply is limited because the quality that Almendros puts on the screen is often hard to come by.
We read an article that you wrote for Film Culture when you were a young cameraman; you were impressed with the neorealist cinematography of G. R. Aldo. We wonder how that’s affected your work?
Enormously. I really owe a lot to Aldo. I think he really was an exceptional case. Aldo was even before Raoul Coutard in using indirect lighting, using soft lighting. And I think that’s because he came to motion pictures from still photography. He came to the cinema not through the usual way of the period, which was to be a loader, an assistant, a focus puller, a camera operator, and after all that, many years later becoming a director of photography. He came straight from still and theatrical photography and only because Visconti imposed on him. That’s why his lighting was so unconventional for the period. He had not come down the same path.
But he really was a source of inspiration. Other films of the period like Open City and Shoeshine made by other cinematographers had an interesting look not because the director of photography wanted it that way; it was due to lack of money. They looked interesting in spite of them. I’m sure that if they had given those cinematographers more money and technical support they would have done something very professional and slick. But Aldo knew he was doing something different. Visually, La Terra Trema is a very modern movie and Umberto D is too, as well as Senso. Aldo photographed them.
It would seem that the cameraman who shot Open City was a cameraman that had been working in a studio situation and then suddenly he had to make do with what he had. Whereas with Aldo, it was different; he knew what he wanted. How does that affect you today? Do you have any basic philosophies about filmmaking?
I always hear Americans say “philosophy” it’s such a big word.
I meant where you start from or your point of departure.
I start from realism. My way of lighting and seeing is realistic; I don’t use imagination. I use research. I go to a location and see where the light falls normally and I just try to catch it as it is or reinforce it if it is insufficient; that’s on a natural set. On an artificial set, I suppose that there is a sun outside the house and then I see how the light would come through the windows and I reconstruct it. The source of the light should always be justified. And when it’s night, my light simply comes from the lampshades or any natural source light that you see in the frame. That is my method. I haven’t invented that, of course. They used to do that before my time, but they used to use hard lights with fresnel lenses. Hard lights only exist in the theatrical world; if you were filming a play or a nightclub, it would be justified. But in normal situations, very seldom do people have spotlights in their houses. When there should be sunlight, then there’s nothing better yet to imitate real sunlight than arc lights, which unfortunately, in many small productions, you cannot afford. I used arc lights outside the prison in Goin’ South to imitate the sunlight falling inside through the windows.
How did you first meet Eric Rohmer and start working on his films?
