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May 14, 2017

OMATG Weeks 5 & 6


OMATG_SLATE4.jpg

Two things have happened. The first is that:

There was a big sequence in this movie that was alway meant to be the kick-off to the whole story. It was the very first scene I wrote in the very first draft, and it remained through every single draft that followed over the ensuing four years. As the budget got tighter and script got slimmer, the idea of cutting it or replacing it with something more manageable was gently floated, but I held firm. I could trim it down, make it a little less complex, but without this sequence I didn't want to make the movie. So it stayed in.

And stayed in, and stayed in, even as the time we had to shoot it shrunk, even as the location became a patchwork of different stand-in locations, even as the VFX line grew on the budget to cover the things we couldn't actually shoot practically, even as we all squinted and convinced ourselves that it would still work. And then, about three weeks ago, in the middle of a late night safety meeting, reality hit. It became clear that for a number of unanticipated reasons, the sequence as planned was not executable. Everyone was doing their damnedest to make it a reality, but we were setting ourselves up for a whole bunch of different failures if we actually tried to pull it off. It would be a poor facsimile of what we wanted to make, and that's no way to begin a film. It was time to plant a big red flag in the sequence I'd staked the movie on.

Doing that two-thirds of the way through a shoot is a great way to cause a lot of scrambling and fretting and worrying, all of it justified, none of it really accomplishing anything. It's like an avalanche. Everyone is scrambling for footing. There are desperate attempts to hang on to some version of what was planned, but it's your job as a director to convince your friends and collaborators that it's best to just let go. It's also your job as a director to come up with the solution, a responsibility that comes part and parcel with its own paroxysmic uncertainties, most of which are best kept mostly to yourself (when you're making a movie, it's of utmost importance to be open about the fact that you don't have all the answers - except for the times when it's not). I didn't have the answer right out the gate. Or at the next gate, or the next. Still, once I declared the original plan untenable, I found myself at peace. I wasn't going to have to squint any more. Now I just needed something new that we could actually pull off with the means at hand. I spent about a week batting ideas around, some of which were okay, some of which might have tuned into something good, but none of which I could explain without a lot of probably's.

But the further I got from the initial big decision, the more those ideas calmed down and simplified themselves. And then, finally, one early morning, they resolved into the ideal solution: the entire sequence, distilled to a single shot. I committed to it instantly - it just felt right - and then sent a few text messages and drew some diagrams on the back of some old script pages to get everyone else on board. This happened on a Sunday. We'd have to shoot it the following Friday. Triggers were pulled, plans were put into motion, technical specifications were worked out, one big set was rejiggered, and around midnight on Friday, after eight takes, we nailed it. This shot has a completely different feeling and different energy than what was originally scripted, but it's still telling the same story. I also think it's better than what was scripted - or at least, more elegant, more cinematic and more me. After going out of my way to make this movie feel less like one of my movies, that little pocket of familiarity came at exactly the right time.

So anyway. The point is - be prepared to kill your darlings at every stage of the process, and be confident that you'll figure things out, because no one else knows what you're doing as much as you do, even when you feel like you don't. Which you will.

The second thing that happened is:

If you ever have the chance to run a race on the second-to-last weekend of an exhausting movie shoot, take it. We started the Flying Pig Half Marathon at sunrise, crossed the river to Kentucky, and then ran alongside a perfectly-timed train on the bridge back into Cincinnati. The conductor blew his or her whistle for encouragement as we turned out of downtown and ran uphill for over three miles, climbing over 800 feet to the highest point in the city before gently winding back down to the banks of the Ohio. Every step was a joy. I was worried I'd be too tired, or that my knee would give out, or that all the production troubles would muddy the experience - but no. I never stopped running, never stopped running faster, and couldn't stop smiling. I haven't been that happy for a long time, and it was the perfect note on which to begin the last full week of this shoot - a week that has now passed, along with its own sets of crises and joys, troubles and epiphanies, and all the other ups and downs that make making movies such an all-consuming experience. I can't wait to be through with them and I'll miss them terribly when they're gone.

Posted by David Lowery at May 14, 2017 1:56 AM