Everything Mentionable is Manageable
Smooth Operator by Sam Ellison, SOC
At work on I KNOW THIS MUCH IS TRUE, photo by Atsushi “Jima” Nishijima
At the beginning of March 2020 I was in Calabria, the windblown tip of Italy’s boot, operating the camera on a scrappy, exciting new film by an ingenious director, Jonas Carpignano. I was living in a little house by a nearly-deserted beach, with my wife and two-month-old daughter along for the ride. By day I was shooting super 16mm with a cast of rambunctious teenage non-actors, and by night I was changing diapers and drinking grappa. It was an indie filmmaker’s dream. But now, at the end of the same month, I’m at home in self-imposed quarantine with a case of existential whiplash. Soon after our production shut down and we scrambled back to New York City, the whole world came to a screeching halt. Needless to say, this is a time unlike any other in living memory, and just like the rest of us I have no idea what’s coming next, or what the film industry will look like when these words appear in print. This pandemic has produced more than enough amateur philosophers, so I’ll spare you my personal views on the situation, but I can’t write anything about cinematography or camera operating today without recognizing that most of us have no idea when we will be able to go back to our jobs. With all this uncertainty in the air, I’ve been reflecting on recent projects and thinking about how to face the unexpected as a camera operator. Or, more simply, how to keep cool under pressure. How
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to adapt. How to confront a set of really difficult circumstances and respond by taking a deep breath, listening, paying attention. Trying to understand what your role should be in solving a particular problem. How to count the cooks in the kitchen before you put on your chef ’s hat. How each day, each scene, each shot demands thoughtfulness, and sometimes submission. In 2019, I operated the A camera for my friend Jody Lee Lipes on I Know This Much is True, an HBO limited series by director Derek Cianfrance, starring Mark Ruffalo in the roles of two twin brothers. It was one of the most difficult, grueling, unpredictable productions I have ever been a part of. We had a 114-day schedule for six 1-hour episodes, shooting 35mm with tons of motion control (due to the whole twins thing) and an entire episode set in the 1920s. But the most challenging aspect of the show stemmed from Derek’s disdain for anything that felt too controlled or preconceived. I love this about him, and I find his style inspiring and invigorating, but it made for very hard work. It felt like Derek wanted everyone—the actors and the crew—to be functioning at their breaking point, the bleeding edge between art and failure. He often wanted to be rolling the camera the very first time an actor set foot on a new set, with no instructions given and no clear idea what the physical action would be. We usually rolled out on every take without cutting (shooting 2-perf gave us 20
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