1. Keep it simple
2. Just talk and listen
3. Play off her energy
4. Communicate
5. Stay with each other
6. Let yourself hear what she’s saying
7. Watch her eyes
8. Just talk and listen
9. It’s okay to relax
10. Give the lines to each other
11. Let yourselves connect
12. It’s okay to engage and be affected by her
13. I like it when you come off each other
14. You can pay attention to each other
15. Don’t say the lines until you feel like saying them

This list is taken from Judith Weston’s Directing Actors (p86)

No. It’s none of these internal things if Sanford Meisner’s book, “On Acting” is anything to go by. It’s his theory that an actor’s focus should be on the other person or task at hand, rather than themselves. And I agree. An actor’s ego can spoil a performance.

Here are a few things you might like to do to improve your acting.

10 ways to a better performance

1. Get the lines down

They’re not important. You really need to commit them to memory so that they just fall out. You should be so used to your lines that there’s no memory of them. You’ve seen actors saying phrases like “I mean…” and “ummm…” or just plain freezing. The audience isn’t stupid. We know that this is a form of buying time. The actor is trying to remember a line. By doing this – you’re taking us out of the story. Get the lines down!

2. Forget the subtext

“Whhhhaaat?” I hear you say. Forget it. Your director will look after this in the form of actions. She is in control of story. Your job is to find character. And you do that by being in the moment – not by trying to second guess how this relates back to your character. Subtext is not your concern. Don’t tell anyone I said that. Reality is. I know this is controversial, but bear with me . . .

3. Examine a physical element of the other actor during a scene.

Eyes, clothes, hair. How do they carry themselves?

4. Choose one thing the other actor is doing and physically copy it.

Copy a different thing each time. See how the director likes it.

5. Listen carefully to the other actor.

Not only their lines. Always listen to the other actor. On and off camera.

6. Pick something about the other actor’s costume.

A necklace, a ring, a charm, tie or cufflink and admire or loathe it. Don’t indicate. Think the thoughts.

7. Repeat the other actor’s line in your head

On a significant line, really think about what the other actor said. Say it again in your head. Was it meant to hurt / praise / teach you? (your character) How do you feel now? Feeling comes before action. Repeat the line, then Feel the effect.

8. Ignore the camera.

Obviously. Don’t be too concerned with the frame. It’s always a close-up, Darling. Let the camera find you (it’s the Cinematographer and Director’s job to sort this stuff out). If the Director wants you to point your head a certain way, or hit a mark – find a character reason to get there. Discuss this with the director. Or invent your own reason. If it’s an ad you’re doing – direct yourself. The camera wants to see you thinking. We can feel your thoughts – there’s no need to project them.

9. Let yourself feel the environment

When you walk on, feel the air, the heat. Listen to environmental noises around you. The wind, birds, the hum of traffic. Smell the grass. Get into a place where even a loud noise might make you jump. Really tuck yourself in to the given circumstances that surround you. You might allow yourself to feel giddy during a scene.

10. This scene is his / hers

Even if the scene is actually your scene storywise, convince yourself that it really belongs to the other actor and really help them get it right.

All of the above will make you look good on screen. These “tricks” will take the emphasis of you and your “performance”. Acting in a scene should finsih with the feeling that you’ve been awoken from a dream. If you can remember all of these things, your ego will be so distracted that it won’t start chewing up the furniture during a take (ie. you won’t be accused of over-acting because, really, you weren’t acting in the first place).

When the camera is up your nose, all you have to do is think and it will be faithfully recorded to a hard drive. Not very romantic, I know – but we’re living in a technical age.

Let us know other things that aren’t on this list.
I’ll come back here to modify, delete bits or append this from time to time.

You don’t have the money for the London Philharmonic and you can’t afford the rights to Air’s Walkie Talkie – but you do have a small budget (or grant, or sponsor) and you’ve decided you want someone to score music specifically for your film.

There are several ways to go about this.

Approach a professional composer

Composers who do really good work are often good because they are very particular about their compositions. They may be used to working in isolation and, in effect, are already directing music in the same way as a director is directing a film – or a novel writer their book. It’s possible that a musician will frown upon the idea of sitting in the same room with Herr Direcktor whilst seeking audience with their muse.

So how do two brilliant and yet temperamental animals work together? Well – the director has two choices; Show them the finished film or don’t show the film.

The first choice can often result in the musician re-writing the director’s work in musical form. This might be okay if that’s what you want. But hearing the same story that is being told can sometimes come over as tautological. This doesn’t always happen. Some musicians understand that music has to assist or even ultimately take back seat to story – illuminating some aspect of character or even running counterpoint to your protagonist’s emotional journey.

What you don’t want is the tautological retelling of the emotional story in sound. It’s a horrible thing to watch.

The second method is to just sit with the composer and describe the scene in detail. There’s no pressure for the composer to perform and the environment is familiar. Scoring to nothing (essentially) can result in a more natural, less pointed and unencumbered piece of music.

I recently rocked up to a composer’s studio without a cut of the film (in fact – there was only a rough draft) and the composer was able to – freely – create a piece of music. I knew I wanted a 1 minute uninterrupted piece and several 10-15 second transitions. The composer enjoyed working this way and was able to score for a variety of moments in the film just by picking up on body language and brief verbal character sketches.

Admittedly, this was a series of short films and so the rigors of constructing a (non-derivative) melody for an entire feature film or TV series are quite different – but at least the filmmaker can get a taste of what is possible.

It’s also important to have some boundaries when you sit in with the composer (such as segment length, rough story shape) as the session can end up, basically, becoming a jam session which can go endlessly on into the night or day.

But, as life is short, that may not actually be such a bad thing.

This week we start editing the films and, while that is happening, I’m hoping to get the odd pick-up. We’ve already happily picked up a couple of shots which didn’t work out in the original shoot – but we may have to get more in editing. Luckily all our subjects are in the one location, so it’s pretty easy to run off and get a shot of someone while shooting someone else.

Being filmed for the entire day – with a camera right up your nose – is irksome to say the least and already patiences have been tried and tested. I have asked the producer if we can shoot two films over two consecutive days – with each subject being shot in two half days.

The closest experience I’ve had to working with the mentally disabled and disadvantaged was my experience teaching at Filmbites where I was working with children. They lasted about half a day, too. Eight hours is a long time for anyone put under the microscope.

It is curious to know that there is a law which governs filming minors. Kids under the age of twelve are limited to 4 working hours due to wavering attention spans, moods and tolerances. I’d say the same goes with the Lost Generation people…

I originally wrote a narrative screenplay – but actually sticking to it for the doco format – was tricky. We really had to go with other things that happened on the day (as one might expect). We managed to capture the essence of the screenplay, however, and some of the scenes are very moving and emotional.

Technical

I shot 1.5 hours of HD with a Sony HDV camera throughout one day. What a lovely, easy-to-use camera. We literally switched it on and started shooting. I had to ride the exposure and focus a little, but the automatic functions allowed me to, literally, interrupt what the camera was doing by touching a dial and going manual – something like cruise control on a car. I was worried about sound (we used a simple RODE directional mic. and camera sound) but it came out nicely and the images are lovely.

I am very humbled to think that the films we make for DADAA are copyright “the subject” (ie. the person we are filming) and I can’t wait to see what the various editors and musicians do with the finished film.

All in all – it made me realise that I really do love filmmaking. Sometimes you lose track of why you are doing such a difficult thing. And then it hits you. Like it did for me on Tuesday.

I’ve started writing something very strange. Yellow Lipstick, Yellow Hair is the title of a new screenplay I’m writing – by myself. Phil is to script edit it when I have a rough draft. Carmelo (the producer of Beware the Stingray) is keen to do a no-budget feature and has offered his HD equipment so I will be shooting the movie before the end of March and editing throughout the year (between websites).

In a futuristic world where more than 10 minutes of sunlight spells certain death, 3 strangers; an animist, a naturist and a paranoid neurotic spend their 4 week government-allocated holiday mooching around indoors.

There’s a little bit more to mooching around, but in the present draft – it’s mooching around. I’ll be podcasting a script session soon. So stay tuned.

1. The 9-12 year olds
2. The 15+ y.o. teenagers

The differences in behaviour between these two groups is vast. There is no professional approach to acting at all for the younger, immature kids. It’s completely a game. The director is merely a part of that.

Things not to rehearse with 10 year olds

When I say not rehearse, what I mean is – just roll the camera and go for a take. Rehearsing is never taken as seriously as a camera shot. On tape, with a tiny crew (ie. me on Saturdays) and with kids as my subject, I shoot all “rehearsals”. Young kids get bored and soon wander off to the toilet – or to Mum – or to get a drink.

Instead of rehearsing, just shoot whenever a child has to:

• hold hands, touch or hug another (unfamiliar) child
• do a fake fall or punch
• cry
• do anything that is going to require concentration

Things not to rehearse with teenagers

• Kissing
• Fighting
• Hugging or getting close in any way to an (unfamilar) teenager

<>Teenagers will only kiss each other if they like each other. It’s an uphil battle if they have to do a first kiss scene. Adults will grin and bear it. But, as I found out on Saturday, just saying stuff like “That didn’t look real. She’s in tears and needs you. You two weren’t close enough,” resulted In one of the most touching teenage performances I’ve ever seen.

Erica and Kelly (male) were laughing after the first take. Erica’s character was in tears because of the daily feeding ritual she had to go through (because she was living with cancer). Kelly came in and gave her a blokey pat on the back. We all knew the scene didn’t work. It was then simply a matter of gettnig them to solve the problem.

And I’m glad we didn’t rehearse it. I, as director, gave them permission (my job) to get as close to each other as possible. On the first take, Kelly was really nervous about going up to Erica and hugging her. And, because I was recording the rehearsal, that nervousness came right through the lens. The scene was perfect. Two teenagers huggin each other for the first time.

It was real because it was really happening. That’s why you don’t rehearse some things.

Things not to rehearse with adults

• Sex . . . basically.

Good adult performances are the ones that come from within. Directors needn’t know why or how or what the actors are chanelling. In fact, it’s none of our business what the actor is thinking of / emotionally remembering.

We need to respect actors and record sensitive rehearsals as often as possible. With new digi/tape technology, such an approach is becoming increasingly possible.

Rotterdam, Clermont-Ferrand and Mumbai now have a copy. Oberhausen, Germany is next. The plan is, before we release it here, for a local screening in Western Australia, we want to give it a bit of international pizazz.

But the chances of getting our short into an international festival are slim.

Making a short film is strange. There’s no demand for it. You don’t get paid (well, you get about $1 per hour). And sending it off to the festivals costs a lot of money. AUS$200 for entry fee and freight and another $400 for the Digi Betacam print – should your film be accepted. Some of the bigger, international festivals (like Cannes, Venice and Berlin) receive up to 1,500 short films from around the world and screen about 15. They will only screen your film on 35mm – which means that you (or the Australian Film Commission and your state giovernment) have to suddenly raise $15,000 for a 10 minute print!

It’s a crazy business and I’m not sure why I’m in it.

You end up spending your fee. My fee was originally going to be $1,500, but that was pared back to $500 when we calculated marketing costs. So there’s no income to speak of. I develop websites and teach for that.

In Australia, if you’re lucky, the State government will give you a budget. The WA government usually gets around 50 short film scripts each year – all vying for a stockpile of $120,000. That usually translates to two lots of $60,000. It costs about $10,000 per minute to make a short film. Our film is 11 minutes, so we had to make the money stretch. The Federal government sometimes steps in to finance the shortfall, but you can’t rely on that (they get hundreds of such requests per year). Money spent is seen as a kind of industry development and many short film crews are made up of non-paid, budding student filmmakers.

A Stone Throw cost $66,000 and was entirely funded by ScreenWest and the State Lotteries Commission. It’s my sixth funded short, but I’ve made about 25 all together. And I’ve been down this road before.

In 1991, I directed a film called Bunny. It cost $25,000 and did very well on the festival circuit. It even sold to Channel 10, Seven, and SBS here in Australia. In 2003, it even screened on a Spanish cooking show! That didn’t mean I got paid more. The copyright belongs to the Producer, not the director (unless your Producer asks if you want a share like Dale did). Mostly, copyright on a short film is worthless as they rarely return more than about $1,000.

They almost NEVER return their original budget.

In 1991 Bunny was sent to the Australian Film Commission‘s marketing department who called to ask me for publicity materials. Some big festivals were interested. So I scrabbled together a bio, photos etc. From 300 Australian shorts, Bunny was selected by both the Cannes and Oberhausen festival representatives. The reps took 3 Australian films back to each of the festival juries. Unfortunately, both juries passed on australian shorts that year.

So. While most of me is trying to drum up more web work and marking student assignments, another part of me is watching the phone. Hopefully, I’ll have some good news for my next post.

Until then, please leave a comment.