Interview by Marcello Montarsi
In her first cinematic project, director Lucia Calamaro, an internationally renowned playwright, explores the theme of human relationships – friendship, the father-daughter bond, professional relationships – setting the story within a research station in Antarctica. A liminal reality where everything is suspended and the frenzies of modern life survive only as memories, reverberations that return to trouble us and remind us of who we are. Hope and the possibility of self-improvement thus move along a fragile boundary between reality and imagination, while science becomes a tool through which to attempt an answer. To bring this project to the screen, the director chose Carlo Rinaldi, CCS, as Director of Photography.
Antartica It takes place within an enclosed space, almost as though it were a theatre: three different interior environments with small ‘satellites’ – one exterior and another divided between bedroom and office – while the central core is composed of the meeting room, a corridor and the laboratory. What were the first requests that director Lucia Calamaro made of you? Considering her theatrical background, was there already a vision for the staging and the lighting connected to the world of theatre.
You have identified a central point, namely the fact that the screenplay was very similar to one of Lucia’s theatrical texts. But the request the director made of me from the very beginning was not to make filmed theatre. It sounds like a contradiction, but her greatest fear was falling into the trap of thinking: I am a theatre director, I will do what I know how to do and simply film it with a camera. Lucia wanted instead to make a film, to discover the cinematic medium. She had never shot anything before: not even a short film, she had never been on a set. It was her very first experience with a camera, and she had a strong desire to engage with our language. Among the first references she showed me was The Bear, the series by Christopher Storer. She was very struck by that kind of storytelling: handheld camera, fast editing, a certain frenetic energy. On the one hand, I was reading a screenplay that could evoke a film by Paolo Sorrentino, with long passages of voice-over and strong emotional moments; on the other, I had the director telling me she wanted a moving camera, a certain form of realism. That was the initial impulse: finding a synthesis between those two directions.
There is some handheld camera work in the film, but very little. Quite soon we moved towards other kinds of cinematic movement: Steadicam or tracking shots. Then, through editorial choices – many of the scenes we shot did not make it into the final cut – the finished result partly returned to a more classical form. But that is Lucia’s strength. I hope I managed to contribute a more cinematic component, made up of camera movement and work with light, within a very restrictive context: a single environment and, in effect, a single light source. In Antarctica, during spring and summer, it is never night, so the entire film is essentially one continuous interior daytime scene. I don’t know if I’ve answered your question…
Absolutely, yes. So how did your idea of the film develop from a cinematographic point of view? How did you put it into practice? Was there a point at which there was a turning point?
Lucia brought me very strong suggestions. She had prepared a dossier containing references to contemporary art connected with ice, Paul Klee’s theories of colour, poetic texts on absolute whiteness: extremely rich materials. Alongside this there was the reference to The Bear. And then there was the documentation on the real Italian and international Antarctic bases, which, from a lighting point of view, turned out to be rather poor, with containers lit by fluorescent ceiling fixtures.
At that point, the work became one of finding a synthesis: remaining anchored to a certain realism, while at the same time embracing the artistic imagery of the dossier and blending it with the fairy-tale and slightly estranged dimension of the characters. Instead of fluorescent fixtures, together with the production designer we conceived vertical light bars marking the concrete walls. In place of traditional ceiling lamps, we built large soft banks which, in wide shots, appear almost like luminous ceilings. The idea was to balance a contemporary, brutalist design with something that could still feel plausible.
As for the overall look, white was central and the palette had to remain cold. In this sense The Bear left a legacy: that mixture of cool tones with small openings of warmth. From there, together with colourist Claudio Delbravo of Frame by Frame, with whom I often work, I developed the look through tests and experimentation until we found a synthesis.
To avoid an excessively monochromatic effect, we introduced a single colour: magenta, which is rarely used in cinema. It appears subtly in the skin tones and environments through the plant-growth lamps, which really exist and produce a pinkish light. This element became a recurring visual motif: it can be found in the small greenhouse beside the laboratory, in the corridor with the olive tree, and then gradually in the costumes and production design.
As for the other fundamental component of cinematic language – the camera – I found the idea of how to use it in this film at the moment when, inside the Bunker Soratte, the decision was made to build a raised wooden floor over the existing concrete one, which was uneven. Once we had a smooth floor, I pushed to lay a continuous linoleum surface, making the entire environment workable with free-moving dollies.
We had a Fischer 11: the camera was mounted on that Fischer and operated by Michel Franco together with key grip Flaviano Ricci. We managed to bring Lucia into a cinematic language made of dollies and camera movement. The camera moved almost on its own, following the characters, and whenever an opportunity arose for a push-in or a lateral tracking shot, there was hardly any need even to discuss it.
We have spoken about the interior, the enclosed stage, but there is also an exterior stage which, from inside, is perceived as deliberately overlit. A white reality that dominates, stripped of visual detail, reminding us of the difficulty of communication between the two worlds. The ‘real world’ only emerges in the exterior shots around the containers, where I imagine there was extensive work involving visual and special effects – from the snow to the vapour of the actors’ breath.
The exterior was the subject of extensive production debate. At first, the idea had been to shoot at high altitude, but in reality Antarctica is a flat expanse: even shooting in the mountains to obtain snow would still have required a large amount of visual effects. In a second phase, we carried out location scouting in ice rinks, thinking of using the frozen surface and constructing the surrounding environment with blue screen or grey screen, but this solution too proved extremely demanding from a production point of view. At one stage, the possibility of abandoning the exterior scenes altogether was even considered.
The turning point came during a visit to a National Research Council of Italy laboratory where, in the parking areas, we found containers and real elements, some of them actually coming from Antarctic missions. Lucia recognised the visual potential of those objects, and from there the solution emerged: a combination of production-built scenery – with additional containers and structures – and extensive use of practical effects. All the snow seen in the film was created on set, thanks to the work of Galliano SFX, which in Italy is a reference point for this kind of effect.
We used different materials – cellulose snow, foam snow – managing to cover fairly large surfaces. Naturally, we had spatial limitations, so we had to work on a reduced scale. The aim was to preserve a feeling of openness; Lucia spoke of it as a ‘breath of air’, the possibility for the characters to step outside their enclosed spaces, even if only for a moment.
And what can you say about the exterior as seen from the inside?
In her attempt to move away from theatre, Lucia also wanted to escape the studio-bound feel of a soundstage, so during pre-production we carried out extensive research into what might be visible beyond the windows of the Antarctic base, constantly running up against budgetary constraints. At first we thought we would use green screens; then, at a second stage, LED walls; and finally – which became our definitive choice – photographic backdrops.
We were inside the Bunker Soratte, literally within a mountain. The spaces were so restricted that there was almost no room to work with backdrops… certainly not everywhere, only in a few limited situations. So once again, the film found its own direction. Some windows remained completely white, others had photographic backdrops, but the opportunities to really make use of them were relatively few.
It seems to me that, in order to tell this story, you used anamorphic lenses… What was the process through which you defined the camera and the lenses?
That is an excellent point. First of all, I would like to thank REC, which supported me enormously, both with the camera and lenses and with the lighting equipment. The film required a very large number of fixtures, all integrated into the production design, so there was an extensive use of LEDs. It was not a particularly high-budget production, and when I prepared the equipment list – especially for the lighting – I feared it would be difficult to obtain everything; instead, they supported me completely.
As you noticed, the film looks as though it was shot anamorphically, but in fact it was not. We used Hawk Hybrid lenses. I carried out a series of tests, also because Lucia was very interested in the 2.39 aspect ratio, which in her mind represented a step towards a more cinematic language. During pre-production I proposed a test with the Hybrid Mini lenses, in Super 35 format, which had just arrived at REC. They are spherical lenses with an additional oval iris that gives the image a particular softness. Lucia fell in love with them immediately. I must admit the same happened to me: it had been a long time since I had felt such enthusiasm for a spherical lens. I had underestimated them, thinking they might represent a compromise, whereas in fact I found exactly what I needed.
They have extraordinary close-focus capabilities, which allowed me to work on details – miniatures, scientific elements – without resorting to macro lenses or dioptres. And they possess a density and a quality of out-of-focus rendering that is very difficult to achieve with other Super 35 spherical lenses.
Another aspect that struck Lucia very strongly was the reduced distortion compared to anamorphic lenses. It was interesting to see that anamorphics gave her a feeling of tension, almost anxiety, whereas these lenses felt softer, more reassuring. Since the film also contains a strong comedic component, she did not want to push the visual language towards an overly charged register. The choice came very naturally.
The lenses were slightly softened with a Glimmerglass filter at a minimal strength, around one-eighth. The camera body was a Sony Venice 2: working in Super 35 and cropping to the 2.39 format, it functioned perfectly. I often alternate between Sony and ARRI depending on the project’s needs; in this case, since the environment was completely controlled from a lighting perspective, I found the Sony sensor particularly suitable, because it delivers a very faithful image and allows for precise colour control.
What technologies did you use for the realisation of the project, particularly with regard to lighting? Starting also from the lighting plan you provided, I would ask you to talk about specific scenes: how you built them, which tools you used, and what approach you followed.
I can tell you about two of them, which are the main environments and follow the same overall approach. I’ll start with the common room, fairly empty, where Silvio Orlando and Barbara Ronchi are having breakfast. The basic setup is a very direct light coming from the windows, intended to convey the idea of a blinding white exterior. In that case, partly for reasons of space, outside there was an ARRI M18 without diffusion, in order to obtain those sharp rays striking the wall.
On the ceiling we built two soft banks, inside which there were light tiles – therefore a broader surface based on light mat technology – diffused through a fabric chosen together with the production designer. It was a fairly opaque material, also because the spaces were extremely limited: the ceiling height was similar to that of the rooms in our own homes, so we had to exploit every centimetre and work as though in a real environment, without any room for larger structures.
Is the ceiling real?
Yes, it is real: in fact it is the floor of the upper level, because the Bunker Soratte is structured across two floors. On the walls, as I mentioned, we installed vertical LED bars, designed together with production designer Massimiliano Nocente and set decorator Giovanna Cirianni. It was a collaborative process, because the set had to be conceived as an integrated whole.
The bars were built using commercial components: we selected the housing first and then the LED system itself, paying close attention to colour temperature and the possibility of dimming them in groups. In effect, what is visible within the scene is also what illuminates the actors’ faces: there was no additional hidden lighting. I intervened only minimally, for instance with negative fill to increase contrast or by selectively controlling the sources through the lighting console. In some cases I added a light element on a stand, such as a pair of Astera tubes or a small light mat, but without overloading the setup.
A large part of the film was shot with two cameras simultaneously: one operator followed the primary camera, while I operated the second myself. This further reduced the available space for adding floor-based lighting. The result, however, was great freedom for the director: she could move without constraints, with an extremely broad spatial coverage, often beyond 180 degrees and in some cases even reaching 360 degrees.
Have I understood correctly – the vertical bars are commercially available units?
Yes, they were commercial units… Together we searched for both the housing and the LED engine in lighting supply shops. The bars were set at 4000 Kelvin; they were not RGB inside, they were essentially fixed-output bars, though dimmable in groups. We organised them into groups, usually controlled in sets of two or three through dimmers.
So you have to consider the need to build an entire electrical system, and here great credit must go to my whole lighting crew – chief gaffer Giordano De Blasis and all the electricians, right through to the practical-light technicians – because everything you see was built entirely from scratch. We distributed power throughout practically the whole of the Bunker Soratte, then integrated the many practical lights and connected everything to the lighting console, except for a few fixtures that still had manual dimmers.
It’s a set made entirely of practicals, all within the frame…
Absolutely, and here we return once again to the influence of The Bear: extensive use of practicals, the possibility of shooting at 360 degrees, and many sources controlled through the lighting console.
To complete the picture I was describing, the other main environment is the laboratory. There too the lighting scheme is essentially the same: outside the windows there are two ARRI units, two M40s – therefore two 4000W sources – while above the actors there is a soft bank built in the same way as in the first environment, again with light tiles inside. The distinctive element is the luminous table, an idea developed by production designer Massimiliano Nocente and set decorator Giovanna Cirianni: transforming the workbench itself into a light-emitting surface.
It immediately became clear that it worked, because it added a further source that illuminated the actors’ faces directly. Once this entire system had been built, in reality we intervened very little.
I would like to move to the scene of the final monologue, which has an almost oneiric dimension. How did you construct it, and what were your motivations? And then a curiosity: behind Silvio Orlando, during the voting scene, one can see books by Mimmo Jodice, Grazia Varisco, Yayoi Kusama… I found myself wondering whether they had been chosen with a specific intention.
These details are very closely connected to Lucia’s work: the inclusion of references to literature, photography and architecture was an integral part of the preparation process. I do not have direct confirmation, but I am fairly certain that those books were deliberately chosen by Lucia. Throughout the film, books appear repeatedly, including references to philosophy: I am thinking of the scene in which one of the characters is reading Karl Marx’s Das Kapital, a copy full of bookmarks.
Silvio Orlando’s monologue is the most overtly theatrical moment in the film, entirely consistent with Lucia’s writing. We shot it twice: once in Silvio’s office and once in the common room. The original idea was to edit the two versions together, alternating them through key words in order to create a sense of disorientation for the spectator. Later, this solution was scaled back during editing. Both versions were long takes, around five minutes each. They were very intense moments: every time a take ended on set there was a strong emotional response from everyone present.
From a technical point of view, we filmed them using a free-moving dolly, almost without rehearsal, because it would have been difficult to ask for a conventional preparation on a scene like that. To construct the dreamlike atmosphere I worked through subtraction: I turned off almost all the lights, leaving active only the projector outside the main window – an ARRI M90 – along with a few practicals. I added a small backlight, an Astera Pixel Brick, hidden above the bookcase.
To this was added the use of a very particular filter, a unique piece manufactured in Germany, containing internal inclusions – elements resembling fibres or small coloured inserts – which, in the presence of strong light sources, generate slightly iridescent flares and reflections. It is a complex filter to use, because the effect is very pronounced, but in this case it helped create that more abstract quality within the image. For the rest, the result relied above all on the work of the actor and the camera: Silvio Orlando, Michel Franco, Flaviano Ricci – and, in some takes, Jacopo Petrignani operating the dolly.
One thing I would like to emphasise is that this is the only moment in which the subject is illuminated by a warm light.
Not only do we have slightly deeper blacks and the presence of a more metaphysical darkness, but at the end of the monologue Silvio Orlando moves behind the bookcase, which in that case had been emptied out in order to create even more disorientation. And behind the bookcase, the LED strip – which I generally kept in bluish tones – had been shifted towards orange, to create a strong contrast with the rest of the film. What emerges there is a final image, a close-up of Silvio Orlando illuminated by this warm strip through the glass of the bookcase.
It is an image with a certain density, a very particular haziness. That moment is almost the opposite of everything that precedes it: the white, the light, the light coming from outside, the cold tones… We created darkness, theatrical darkness, with two or three spotlights directed here and there, and the tones became warmer. Also because it is the only moment not in narrative continuity: the character is speaking about his mother, about his feelings of guilt.
A scenic transition.
Yes, inevitably.
Also because there is a change of set design, so it is not staged in continuity.
Exactly, they are two distinct moments.
Let us also talk about the colour grade: it almost seems like a single-light colour process, given the unity of the space and the lighting.
In reality, it was not a single-light colour grade, although the aim was to preserve the sensation of one. It was a rather particular process, because there were no continuity issues between interiors and exteriors or between different times of day. The approach was fairly classical: we concentrated mainly on tone and contrast, trying to gather the light, darken the backgrounds slightly and give the image more density. Compared to the dailies, we closed down and contrasted the material slightly.
Particular attention was paid to skin tones: we worked extensively to maintain a natural complexion, preventing the cool tones and magenta from interfering too heavily. Whenever necessary, we intervened selectively with shapes to bring the faces back towards a certain neutrality, also introducing subtle variations – for example pushing towards a paler tone when Orlando’s character becomes ill.
For the rest, the grading remained quite respectful of what had been built on set. There were more targeted interventions on certain LED sources, especially the coloured ones – the blue strip or the one behind the bookcase – but overall the final result preserves a strong coherence with the original lighting. In this sense, although it was not technically a single-light colour grade, it comes very close to that effect.
Let us come to a more personal question: what emotions did you experience while making Antartide?
It was one of the most difficult sets I have worked on in recent years. It may sound paradoxical, because we were always within the same environment, but it was extremely complex: the usual cinematic methods did not really work. Lucia had a way of working that was constructed day by day; there was no predefined structure to rely upon. On the contrary, she often relied heavily on her collaborators. There was also particular attention from the production side, because the project was considered something of a gamble. That inevitably brought with it a certain degree of responsibility.
I felt very deeply involved, more than usual – not only in my own role, but in the overall progress of the film itself. It was demanding work, emotionally as well. At the same time
there were also great rewards: watching the film gradually take shape, and working with actors of that calibre, was extremely stimulating.
Final question: how would Carlo Rinaldi define himself?
That is a difficult question, because it is difficult to speak about oneself. But there is one adjective I do have: passionate. The passion I feel for this work is still very strong. Right now I am on the other side of the world shooting a short film, and I am doing it because I genuinely enjoy it. I especially like working on first features, with emerging directors: it is stimulating territory, because you feel you can participate more directly, contribute something meaningful, help someone find their own path.
A second adjective might be ‘honest’. I mean this also in relation to the people who trained me, above all the master Giuseppe Rotunno, whom I consider one of the most ‘honest’ cinematographers, in the sense of pursuing only the light that is truly necessary. I always try to understand what a story genuinely requires and, following that approach, I often find myself in uncomfortable situations if that is what it takes to remain faithful to that necessity.
That is why I almost never repeat the same solutions: I do not use the same lenses, I do not build the same looks, I do not reproduce the same lighting schemes. I rely heavily on the text and on the director, and each time I try to question myself again, even moving towards territories that do not naturally belong to me.
Would you like to add anything before we conclude?
Just one final note about the pleasure of working with Lucia Calamaro. She has a very particular approach: during pre-production she invited me to attend the rehearsals with the actors, which followed methods completely different from those I am used to. They were not script rehearsals, but exercises based on movement, physical work and group-building. It was a new experience for me from that point of view as well, just as working with that cast was: actors who were very different from one another, yet all extraordinarily powerful. The same was true of the crew: from production design to costumes to sound, it was a group of professionals of the very highest level.
Thank you, Carlo.
