Interview curated by Maura Morales Bergmann CCS
Thank you, Ed, for agreeing to this meeting.
Thank you and the entire Chiaroscuro Collective for requesting this meeting. It’s so funny that I’m here in Italy. In Monteverdi, Tuscany. I’m here with a director. Our producer gave us a place to stay in his small village. Anyway, it’s great that we’re in the same time zone.
In the same country, yes.
Are you Chilean?
I’m half Chilean, yes. Let me introduce myself… My father is Chilean, and my mother is Italian. My father came to Italy very early, even before the dictatorship.
Did you grow up in Italy or Chile?
I grew up in Italy. Then, with my family, we went to Chile after 1992, but I came back to study in Italy with Giuseppe Rotunno at the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia.
Fantastic.
Yes, I’m one of his students. After a few years of working in Italy and travelling to Chile to visit my family, I decided to explore what Chile was really like and started working there too. The people you worked with on El Conde are the same team I work with in Chile: Jonathan Maldonado, Yiyo Stambuk, and Sergio Armstrong.
Have you worked with the gaffer, Rodrigo Ramirez?
I’ve never worked with him, but I know him.
And how did you meet Pablo Larraín? Where? How?
I met Larraín in Rome, when he was presenting Neruda. I was introduced to him as a Chilean in Rome; we met and became friends. He was also the producer of a film I made with Fabula in Chile for Netflix, called Ardiente Paciencia. Just before you shot El Conde.
How many female cinematographers are there in Italy?
There are many more now. When I started, there were about three of us, twenty years ago. Now we’re twenty, twenty-five, I think. In our collective, we’re about ten, I believe. We’re growing. I feel like I helped open doors for other women in this country. Now that I teach, I see many more women in film schools. It wasn’t easy twenty years ago. Have you ever worked with a woman cinematographer?
Yes, absolutely.
Let’s talk about Pablo Larraín… How did you meet him? What’s your relationship like with a director who likes to operate the camera and knows cinematography very well?
I ran into Pablo in a number of festivals in Telluride and at the New York Film Festival I’ve seen his early films Tony Manero, Post Mortem, No, Neruda, The Club. I was always impressed by him as a director because he didn’t just tell stories about the political and social context his family and country were tied to, but he also found a unique visual language, a unique visual grammar for each project. Every film had a different aesthetic, a different style. And that struck me because not all directors conceptually visualized their stories. It was clear that Pablo not only shot in service of his story but that the way he visualised it influenced the story itself. As he did, for example, in No, using a low-resolution digital camera as in a news program. We became friends, and he told me, “One day, I’ll take you to Chile. I’d like to take you to Chile.” He knew my work. But I didn’t think it would ever happen. That was about twenty years ago. Once, he came to New York and shot with a friend, Darius Khondji, whom I respect and who’s work I like. For Lisey’s Story. So I thought: “Wow, he came all the way to New York. I live in New York, and we didn’t work together, so I’ll never go to Chile.” Then we did a commercial together for a French company, Hermès, and we got along well. I experienced how visually strong he was. It was a two-camera production, so we were both behind a camera. Later, he suggested I go to Chile to shoot El Conde, a dark comedy about Pinochet as a vampire. I’d never shot anything like it, so I enthusiastically embraced the opportunity to go to Chile for this film.
I’d already shot in Colombia years earlier, El día que me quieras, about Carlos Gardel — it was a stage play. I was completely open to any kind of experience and so used his crew and worked with the equipment that was available. I was ready to adapt. We made El Conde, and I didn’t think anyone outside the Spanish-speaking market would see it. Then the film started gaining traction, and everything turned out well. ARRI produced a monochromatic Mini LF camera specifically for the production. I had just rehoused something I call the Ultra Baltar lenses from the original Baltar lenses used by Orson Welles for black-and-white films, from Citizen Kane to The Magnificent Ambersons. They were made in 1939. I adapted them to full frame to cover the full frame of the LF. These aren’t the Super Baltars but the original Baltars. They’re simple, six-element lenses with low-reflective coatings. I had also been working for years on an exposure mapping system called the EL Zone system (Exposure Latitude System), which follows Ansel Adams’ concept. Adams used 18% grey to interpret exposure. I always felt a bit left out in the digital world, coming from analogue. I always tried to understand exposure from my analogue perspective. In collaboration with a DIT who later worked for Panasonic, we discovered how to map where the 18% grey was on the Panasonic sensor. Once we figured that out for the Panasonic sensor, I knew it could be done with any other sensor. The problem always was using that the standard of IRE (International Radio Engineer), which was a false way of interpreting the exposure. Our meter’s stops on our lenses and how we communicate with each other on the set… We don’t speak in IRE which is different with each camera manufacturer, but we communicate in analog interpretations of stops. The use of IRE from 1895 was based on sound, not light, and was linear rather than logarithmic. So, interpreting exposure was always different between ARRI, Sony, and Red. Once we figured that out for the Panasonic sensor, I knew it could be done with any other sensor. The problem always was using the standard of IRE, was a false way of interpreting the exposure. The use of IRE from 1895 was based on sound waves, not light, and was linear rather than logarithmic. So, interpreting exposure would always be different even between ARRI, Sony, and Red. Once you understand where 18% grey is, exposure becomes consistent. Small companies like Small HD embraced the system, and then Atomos, Sigma and a number of post houses did too, and now even Sony with the Venice 2 and later in the year with the Burano and the smaller camera. ARRI is the most resistant, but the system is now widely being adopted. With this system, the camera becomes your light meter plus being able to store your exposure information in the frame grabs for future reference and matching. So, for El Conde, I had three things: the ARRI monochromatic camera, the Ultra Baltar lenses, and the EL Zone system. I felt like Ansel Adams, able to map exposure precisely and maintain detail in the highlights and shadows. Even with people who don’t use light meters, the system creates a precise record of exposure that you can revisit even years later.
I’d really like to try it because that has always been my issue. I love using the light meter even in digital, but it doesn’t work. I only use it to measure contrast.
Exactly, but now it will work entirely. You can use a Small HD monitor programmed with EL Zone or in the Venice 2, and later they are going to installed into the Burano and Sony Fx6 and FX9 through their monitors. But you only need a Small HD or Atomos monitor, and the system is already integrated. So, that’s how I ended up working with Pablo and in Chile. I speak very little Spanish, so I was in my own world. Pablo, as you said, loves operating the camera. He operated a lot in El Conde and almost entirely in Maria. Many cinematographers get upset when the director wants to operate the camera, but the operator is the first audience. Actors often look at the operator to see if there was a connection with their performance. It makes sense, then, for a director to be on the camera if they’re capable. I once made a film where I directed and operated the camera, and it was complex. I had to simplify the camera work to focus on the performance. But Pablo is unique because he always keeps the camera moving and directs at the same time. These are two different sensitivities, you know, operating the camera and directing. I always joke with him, saying, “When you arrive on set, you’re always ready — you’re the director, but not the operator yet.”
Do you give him suggestions?
Yes, of course, I do, and he responds, “Yes, I know.” Then he does what he wants. We’re also different. He likes centring the frame, while I prefer framing to frame the subject in relation with the architecture of the space. I don’t like always centring everything. It’s a matter for the image in the space.
I remember that before shooting with Pablo as a producer, I asked him, “Why don’t you give me some advice?” I didn’t know the director, and he told me, “Shoot all the close-ups centred and with a wide angle.” That was his advice.
Yes, Pablo and I work with wide lenses, 21 mm or 24 mm. And I think it worked for both films, but especially for Maria. I always say that the images of Maria are not just “representations.” In the work, there’s no “representation” but an amplified, mannerist, and expressionist reality. I wanted to give the audience the feeling of being inside an opera. The lenses and movements for me were a moving proscenium, a moving theatre stage, and I wanted the audience to feel like they were watching an opera. So, for me, Maria is an opera about Maria Callas, not just a biographical film about her. Pablo constructed this opera through images and sets that are not entirely naturalistic but heighten reality.
But you shot on film, right?
Yes, we were lucky because in Budapest, there’s the National Film Archive, which has a lab. Many of their films, from Béla Tarr’s to others, were shot in black and white and color. They want to continue preserving this possibility. We shot on Super 8mm, which represents the personal material or the closest relationships of Maria. Then there’s the part where she imagines a documentary crew filming her in the 1970s, which was shot on 16 mm with my old Aaton LTR. And her memory of the past was shot on 35 mm in black and white, and colour represents the 1960s and 70s. Even here, I used my Ultra Baltar lenses because I didn’t want too sharp a contrast.
Did you use filters?
No, because filters affect the entire image. I prefer playing with colour temperature, gels and exposure, or haze because they give the image depth by textures, not covering it entirely. Filters are too uniform. I don’t use filters for diffusion.
Once Pablo told me about the commercial you shot with him. He said you used apertures of T/8 or T/11.
Yes, he gets very excited about it.
While we, with the advent of digital, always try to open the aperture as much as possible to get a shallower depth of field, you…
I come from 16 mm documentaries, so I tend to prefer deeper focus. There were shots where Pablo asked me: «Can we open to t2.0 or 2.8?”. And so we did, using ND filters. But in general, I like having depth of field, especially with longer lenses. I like the environment to be part of the image. I find it a bit artificial when I see images with extremely shallow depth of field. It’s not how we see with our eyes. I try to create images that reflect our visual reality, how we see things.
That’s an interesting perspective. I think we were all scared of the high definition of digital. That’s why we tried to open the aperture, to make everything softer.
I prefer achieving that effect through older lenses, using wide open aperture where everything is out of focus, to give a feeling of grain in the image, feels like a digital convention to me.
I understand. I’ve noticed that newer generations, like my students, are returning to using closed apertures, like t/8 or t/11. Maybe it’s because mobile phones already give that shallow depth of field.
Well, things change… I usually go up to t/8, maybe, not t/11, but it depends.
I remember that evening, Pablo was impressed that you were using a closed aperture at t/11.
Yes, it’s funny how he gets excited about those details.
With Rotunno, I learned that the ideal aperture was t/4. With him, we always used t/4. It was measured in foot-candles, and they had to be 32 or 40, which corresponded to t/4 at ISO 800.
He used t/4 for interiors?
Yes, always t/4, unless he was using a zoom with Fellini. In that case, he went to t/5.6.
Really? t/5.6?
Yes, it was incredible how he managed the light.
Did he ever push the film?
Yes, I think he did, absolutely. I had a lot of discussions with him when I shot my graduation film in 2003. The DI (Digital Intermediate) was just arriving in Italy, and I wanted to shoot in black and white and colour on 35 mm film. He told me, “Why don’t you shoot in colour and then print in black and white?” I replied, “No, I want to shoot in black and white because I don’t trust the result I’ll get in print.” In the end, I won because black and white is black and white.
You’re right, I like to push the film also, because I feel that 35mm is too clean. There’s a difference between shooting directly in black and white and doing a conversion. The contrast is different, as is the grain structure. Black and white hasn’t been updated like colour, so you’re shooting at ISO 200 or 250. It’s a different aesthetic compared to colour at ISO 500 or pushed to 1000. Even in post-production, it was initially hard to make black and white look like black and white. Now it’s easier, but there’s still a difference, especially in the grain and contrast, which affects how you perceive the film. Also, you can’t use coloured filters as in traditional black and white, where contrast was adjusted with yellow, orange, or red filters. Even trying to replicate it in post doesn’t give the same result. In particular, the separation between the skin and the contrast of the background takes a lot of work, whereas with filters, everything harmonises better.
Do you enjoy working in post-production, in colour grading?
Yes, it’s essential. It’s part of our job. I don’t consider a film finished until I’ve completed the colour grading.
Have you noticed differences between shooting on film and digitally with Pablo?
Not just with Pablo. Colours don’t render the same way digitally as they do on film. No one can convince me otherwise. Some gels I use on film don’t behave the same way digitally. Also, there’s something I call “cross-contamination.” For example, if you’re shooting at 3200K and the windows have natural light at 5600K, with film, you get a blend of the warm and cool light, like when you mixing blue and yellow to get green in oil painting. Digitally, the two lights remain separate. It’s like the difference between watercolour and oil painting. Film has more depth, with its three RGB layers reacting differently to light. In digital, everything is on one plane. This impacts visual perception.
Yes, you’re right. My aunt is a painter, so I come from an artistic background, and I understand. I made my first documentary as a director about her and tried to explain what colours mean to her.
I think of colour as a psychological element. Studies on colour have been conducted since 1810, starting with Johann Wolfgang Goethe in his book Theory of Colours, and up to Josef Albers in the 1960s, with his Interaction of Colour. They analysed how colours psychologically affect the viewer. Why do fast-food chains use red and orange to incourage our appetite, while hospitals use blue and green that are more restfull and calming colors? When I work on a colour palette for a film, I always think about how it will influence the audience.
How do you prepare for a film? You read the script, and then what’s your method?
Yes, I read the script a number of times and think about images even from my art and photographic books to see if there’s any visual expressions that inspires me about what’s unique in the narrative. I have hundreds of books. When I started, I thought about painters and tried to recreate their visual ideas in my documentaries and narrative films. Even now, I still think of painters or photographers. For example, for Carol, we were inspired by Saul Leiter, who used fragments and layers of reality, creating images that were more abstract than representative. I thought it was perfect for portraying women who were not fully seen, psychologically speaking. Through framing, we wanted to convey this fragmented perception to the audience. I like delving into the psychological aspect of the characters with the directors and trying to communicate it through the use of images.
Beautiful.
It doesn’t always work, but in that film, it was effective.
You said you come from documentaries?
Yes, I started with the Maysles brothers, pioneers of cinéma vérité in the 1970s. When I got out of film school, I made a documentary about a therapeutic community, Odyssey House in New York. I lived in the community, and they thought I should stay. Then I started working with the Maysles brothers. They made iconic documentaries like Gimme Shelter and Grey Gardens. With them, I worked as a cameraman, sound technician, and editor. This documentary background taught me that all films are documents of the moment they’re shot because the light, performance, and camera movement are never identical.
Absolutely. In documentaries, you have to capture everything in one moment. There’s no second chance.
Exactly, you have to anticipate mentally what’s going to happen and then let it unfold.
What was it like working with a Chilean crew? Chile is the “end of the world,” right?
All crews speak the same language, regardless of the actual language. I’ve worked in Arabic, French, and Italian. We always find a way to understand each other. The Chilean crew was fantastic: curious and eager to learn how I do things, but I was just as curious to understand how they work. The first assistant, Jonathan Maldonado, was wonderful.
Jonathan came to Italy to work with me ten years ago!
Oh, fantastic. That’s great.
And Sergio Armstrong? I heard he worked as the cinematographer for a few days because you were indisposed.
Yes, I broke my hip in Patagonia and Sergio replaced me. He is a wonderful cinematographer; I knew his works through Pablo. When we had to pre-light some sets in the TV studios in Santiago, I stayed with Rodrigo Ramirez, and he did some exteriors for me.
Chilean crews have incredible passion.
Yes, despite great difficulties. Once, I asked for a 20-foot space for the lights outside the windows in the studio. When I arrived, there were only 6 feet. I had to adapt and find a creative way to make it work. Sometimes limitations lead to better solutions.
Yes, creative solutions are born from constraints.
Exactly. That’s how it was for El Conde: necessity forced us to think outside the box. When you have all the tools at your disposal, it becomes too easy. But when you have to improvise, you create something unique.
Thank you, Ed. Enjoy Tuscany.
I will, even though it’s cold and always foggy. It feels like I’m in an Antonioni film.
Because you’re in northern Tuscany. It’s colder there.
Yes, I’m in Monteverdi.
Next to great wine.
The best.
