Interview by Dario Di Mella CCS
Guido, congratulations: I found the film surprising, not only because of the awards it took home from the Venice Film Festival — Best Screenplay for Tommaso Landucci and Damiano Femfert, and Best Actor for Riccardo Scamarcio — and because it is among the 21 titles from which the film representing Italy at the Oscars will be selected, but also because I think it can serve as an example in terms of both production and writing. It is a simple, direct, pared-back film, with a clear vision in its direction, cinematography and performances.
But let’s start with your extensive experience as a camera operator. You’ve worked with many cinematographers, encountering a wide range of approaches and working methods. How did your transition to cinematography come about? How much of those experiences do you carry with you, and above all, how has your relationship with the director changed?
Yes, I’ve worked with many cinematographers, and I learnt something from each of them. When I started working as a camera operator — which was my dream at the time, and which I still consider one of the most rewarding jobs in the film industry — I was fascinated above all by the language of cinema: composition, grammar, point of view, where we place the viewer at each moment in the narrative.
When I was fortunate enough to make it my profession, I wasn’t particularly focused on the cinematographer’s work in shaping the light. I was more interested in occupying that space between lighting and directing. I somewhat regret not having learnt more from some of the masters I worked with, but at the time I never imagined I would become a cinematographer. I thought I would carry on working as a camera operator, and I was happy with that.
After many years, and having had the opportunity to work as an operator on major projects, I realised that on larger productions, particularly North American ones, the operator tends to have a much more executive role. In Italy, partly because prep periods are not always as long and you sometimes arrive on set without everything having been completely defined, a camera operator can make a major creative contribution as well. I loved that aspect of the job: I enjoyed suggesting ideas, and today, when I’m working as a cinematographer, I want operators alongside me who bring ideas to the table rather than simply carrying out instructions.
On major productions, by contrast, the director, production and cinematographer often arrive on set so thoroughly prepared that there is very little room left for the operator to contribute. At a certain point, that no longer interested or fulfilled me. So I began to think about making a change.
The transition happened almost by chance. Marco D’Amore was producing a screenplay written by a first-time director and asked me to shoot it. I had doubts and was intimidated by the idea. At the time I was working a great deal with Paolo Carnera, who encouraged me to give it a try, even if only to find out whether it was a path I genuinely wanted to pursue.
I started, and little by little my curiosity about light grew. I became fascinated by visual storytelling not only through framing, but also through lighting. At that point, I began drawing on everything I had absorbed through my many experiences with different cinematographers. It was an extraordinary wealth of knowledge.
Many of them had started out directly as cinematographers and had not had many opportunities to observe how others worked: each had developed a completely personal way of lighting and managing a set. Having experienced such different approaches taught me an enormous amount.
Let’s turn to the film. I’ve known you and Tommaso for many years, and I’m curious to know what it meant for the two of you to find yourselves working together on set again after such a long time. You came back from Venice with two awards and with a film that conveys maturity, a strong identity and great personality. How did you reconnect on a personal level? How much do you think you have both changed in the meantime? And what ideas did you start from in developing such a distinctive and precise visual language?
Tommaso and I have known each other for many years. I shot his first short film when he was nineteen: it was the film that earned him a place at the Centro Sperimentale. So first and foremost, there is a friendship that goes back a long way.
Professionally, however, this film was the first time we had worked together again. After that short in 2009, Tommaso followed his own path: he attended the Centro SperimentaleCentro Sperimentale, made other short films with different colleagues, and directed a wonderful documentary, Cavemanwhich I didn’t work on. In the meantime, we continued to see each other outside work as well. Over the Christmas holidays, he often comes to visit me with his wife and daughter, and we spend a few days together. He has become a true friend.
When someone you care about deeply finally makes their first feature film, you never quite know what to expect. You hope you’ll work well together, but you can’t be certain. So it was a wonderful surprise to discover that behind the person I already knew there was also a Director with a capital D. Tommaso Landucci He showed that he has a very strong vision of cinema. He guided the film with precision and gave everyone a very clear direction, as a director should. At the same time, he remained the person I knew: he knows how to express himself decisively and, when necessary, to be firm, but without ever being disrespectful. He doesn’t need to be aggressive.
That attitude was fundamental on such a small project, made by a very small team. Everyone embraced the project, followed Tommaso’s lead and gave 110 per cent. From the outset, he gave me, the production designer and the costume designer references, ideas and a very clear direction to work from.
Our work began even before the film entered its operational phase. The language was carefully considered and developed over a long period. Tommaso wanted to stay close to the characters, but not too close. He felt the need to enter their intimate world, but wanted to do so respectfully, without becoming intrusive or voyeuristic.
How did you go about achieving that?
I suggested using the format 4:3I thought we could maintain a certain distance from the characters by using slightly wider shots, while the 4:3 format would still restrict the field of view and exclude part of the surrounding environment. It seemed to me the right way to look at this story.
At first, Tommaso wasn’t entirely convinced: a format like that can raise concerns from a production and distribution point of view. The previous year, we had the opportunity to test it out. Tommaso was due to shoot a short film, Tutti i giorni di pioggiabased on a story that was similar in some respects, and he suggested that we make it in the way we would have liked to shoot the feature. We also involved Lungta Filmthe production company, and at that point I suggested a second, more radical idea: shooting on filmWe were looking for a slightly old-fashioned texture, a simple, natural, naturalistic feel, but one that was also warm and beautiful. Tommaso kept saying that he didn’t want an overly aestheticised or self-conscious visual language, but nor did he want a documentary-style image that might diminish the story. I thought film could give us exactly that. So we shot the short on in 4:3 and on film.testing the entire production pipeline and workflow in the process. Tutti i giorni di pioggia was very well received, particularly for its visual language. We became convinced that this was the right approach and carried it over into the feature.
The choice to shoot on film seems deeply embedded in the film’s identity. Within an independent production, how much did it affect the organisation of the shoot, the schedule, the preparation and your freedom to capture what was happening on set, particularly given the presence of such an unusual protagonist?
It had a huge impact, and that was precisely what worried the producers. A choice like that is only possible if the director believes in it strongly and is prepared to take responsibility for it.
First of all, it affected the budget. We found a way to make it work, however, by working with a smaller crew and, for example, fewer lights. We adopted an approach very close to documentary filmmaking. One of the first things I said to the producers was: if Tizza Covi can shoot on film with a two-person crew and make wonderful films, then we too can structure the project and allocate our resources in a way that makes it possible.
We worked with the producers and production manager Andrea Leone to put together a crew that was compatible with the cost of shooting on film. We had fifty minutes of footage available each day. That was a very real constraint.
And because we had very little lighting equipment, we had to work with the light rather than against it. Tommaso fully embraced this way of working. For certain scenes, we carefully chose the times of day when the sun would come through a particular window. We had to follow the natural light, which is not
always possible. Normally, the cinematographer shapes and controls the light; on this film that happened much less, and we used methods closer to documentary filmmaking.
To make that possible, we asked the production, who supported us completely, for a very thorough preparation period. I think that was the secret of the film. I figli della scimmia had five weeks of shooting and a full five weeks of preparation, which is a considerable amount of time for such a small project. We worked extensively with the actors and rehearsed the scenes involving larger groups, which allowed us to make a number of decisions in advance. We shot relatively few set-ups, sometimes very few indeed. Tommaso surprised me with his rigour. I had expected that, once we were on set, he might suddenly ask for a reverse shot as well. Sometimes I was the one who worried and said to him, ‘Tommy, this whole part of the scene exists only from this point of view. Are we sure we don’t want the other angle as well?’ Occasionally he agreed, but more often he would say, ‘No, I’m sure. I don’t need it. This is the point of view, it worked well, and we’ll keep it.’ The rigour you see in the film grew out of the rules and limitations we imposed on ourselves, which led us to make very precise choices. We shot relatively few set-ups, but within each one we were able to do more takes. That was important because we were working with a boy with particular needs.
Andrea, a young man with a disability, was extraordinary and also seems very aware of what he is doing. Can you tell us more about how you worked with him?
Andrea was an extraordinary actor. He doesn’t have full control over his body, and sometimes he wasn’t able to do what Tommaso asked of him. The most telling example was the scene in which he has difficulty breathing: he repeated it sixteen or seventeen times, like a real actor, because he couldn’t sustain the crisis for long enough. At a certain point, it really seemed as though he couldn’t manage it. His parents were always present on set and Tommaso, quite rightly, was ready to give up on that shot. He said to him, ‘Andrea, I understand that you can’t manage it. Let’s move to the reverse shot and do a close-up of your father, because I can see you’re struggling and I don’t want to push you too far.’ While we were shooting the reverse angle, Andrea must have processed those words and decided he wasn’t prepared to give up. He called Tommaso over and asked him to go back to his shot because he felt he could do it. Tommaso trusted him. We went back to Andrea, did one or two takes, and got the one that ended up in the final cut. So shooting on film didn’t prevent us from capturing details, improvisations and everything that a set can unexpectedly give you.
Speaking of light, in some respects the film reminded me of Dogme 95. You can sense the use of, and awareness of, both diegetic and natural light. I’m thinking, for example, of the scene when Dario’s nephew returns home: that dawn light is recreated beautifully. The night interiors are also very naturalistic, and you are hardly ever aware of the lighting. Perhaps one of the film’s greatest qualities is precisely the sense of truth it conveys to the viewer. Can you tell us how you approached the lighting and what equipment you used?
It’s very simple, because I really had only a handful of lights. I mainly used LEDs. I had a Godox 800, measuring roughly 1.20 by 1.20 metres, and a Godox 400, roughly 1.20 by 0.60 metres: those were the two key lights I used for practically the entire film. I also had a small LED panel, which I used for additional fill when the other two sources weren’t enough, a kit of Astera tubes and Astera bulbs, which allowed me to control all the practical lighting. I also had a 1200-watt lamp, which I occasionally used from outside to create a shaft of light, a backlight or some additional light through the windows when I needed something harder and less diffused. Almost the entire film, however, is lit with very soft light, and I only used that lamp in a few situations. I’m pleased that the dawn light felt natural to you, because it’s one of the few lighting situations I had to create entirely from scratch. The scene called for several shafts of light, but no light ever actually came through the windows: we shot in January, the sun passed behind the mountains, and there were trees in the way as well. For that scene I used three Jumbos and asked for a generator for the day. It’s the only lighting in the film that was really heavily constructed, but it still came from an idea of natural light rather than a purely aesthetic choice. It was very important to Tommaso that the dawn should feel believable.
For the rest of the film, the light is almost always soft. Thanks to the preparation period, I knew precisely where Tommaso wanted to position the camera. Together with production designer Antonella Di Martino, I placed the practical lights where I felt they would be most useful, so that I could work with them and extend the natural light. We changed a few things during the shoot, but the basic lighting plan was already
clear. On this film, I never worried about whether the light was on-axis, which is something I would normally be wary of. I allowed myself to let go of that concern. I tried to take particular care with the actors’ faces, keeping a source close to the camera that I could use to give them a little extra light. The Godox units are very broad sources: they wrap around the face without producing a point-source effect, and they work well even when positioned almost on-axis.
Their only limitation becomes apparent in very low-light conditions. They are powerful sources and, in daytime interiors, they can provide useful support even when there is sunlight outside; at night, however, they don’t allow you to work at extremely low levels. On the other hand, shooting on film meant that we couldn’t work with the tiny amounts of light I’m used to using with digital cameras. Paradoxically, there was always quite a lot of light on set, including from the practicals. I always shot on 250 stock during the day and 500 at night, without pushing, rating both at their nominal speed. Even when shooting on film, I tend to keep the signal healthy and slightly overexpose the negative. So the Godox units proved excellent allies: even at night, I could use them without having to run them at 0.5 per cent.
You’ve described the scene with Andrea, but I’d like to focus on your relationship with the actors from your perspective as a camera operator. You also operated the camera on this film, is that right? What did it mean to be physically inside the scene, alongside highly experienced professional actors and Andrea, who was, of course, making his first film? How did you perceive the way the other actors moved and worked around him?
Andrea was naturally central to the whole process. The rehearsals were essential in creating a shared atmosphere. It was the first time I had worked with Riccardo Scamarcio, so I have no real basis for comparison, but it seemed to me that he immediately shed any sense of being the experienced actor. From the very first day of rehearsals, he put himself entirely at the service of the film. It was a small project: there were only about thirty of us on set altogether, including the actors. We even stayed in the same flats; we didn’t have a hotel. The production had rented a number of apartments in Turin and we each had our own room, but we shared the communal spaces. That was the spirit of the film, and Riccardo, like the other actors, understood it and adapted to it. The spirit of this production reminded me of the atmosphere on the films I shot at the beginning of my career: for example, Saverio Costanzo’s Private or Alì ha gli occhi
azzurri by Claudio Giovannesi. Small films, made with a great deal of love. I’m pleased to know that this feeling has reached the audience, because you can’t take that for granted: sometimes you care deeply about a project, but that doesn’t necessarily translate to the screen. With these first screenings, however, the greatest joy has been realising that the feeling does come through. When I was operating the camera, there was particular attention to Andrea, who had to deal with all the difficulties related to his condition and could become tired. Sometimes I would try to give him directions as well and, in some scenes, there was very strong eye contact between us. I remember, for example, the scene in which his father puts him in the car in the rain, followed by a pan. I had the camera practically at Andrea’s feet and he was almost in my arms. In situations like that, you really are inside the scene, with the actor right there, extremely close to you. The trust we had built up was fundamental: I could talk to him and make myself understood. Sometimes his father helped me, but that wasn’t always possible; in that shot, for example, Andrea was inside the car and communicating with anyone outside was difficult. As a camera operator, you know that visual connection with an actor very well: a glance is enough to let them know that things are going well or, if necessary, you can put a hand on their leg and reassure them that everything is fine. Working with Riccardo was just as rewarding, because he became completely immersed in this atmosphere. On films like this, you develop a kind of human connection that is different from what you experience on more conventional productions. Seven or eight months have passed since the shoot, but what I remember is an adventure shared with friends, almost like a holiday with your old schoolmates. I have the feeling that we all made something together. That’s the best way I can describe the experience of being on that set.
Let’s finish with some technical information for cinematographers: what camera and lenses did you shoot with?
We shot on 16 mm with an ARRIFLEX 416 and ARVIC S16 lenses; for three shots I used an ARRI Zeiss 11–110 zoom. When you choose to shoot on film, particularly 16 mm, the range of options isn’t especially broad. With digital, you can choose the camera, the sensor, the resolution, large format or Super 35, and consider a huge variety of lenses, whether vintage or contemporary. With film, the possibilities are more limited. First of all, there is essentially only one negative stock, because Kodak is now the only option. In this case, we were able to use two emulsions — already a luxury for a film like this — both Kodak Vision3. There aren’t many cameras available either. We could have used an SR3, but the rental company enabled us to work with a more modern camera, above all one equipped with an HD video assist that gave us at least a certain degree of control. Directors are now accustomed to having complete control over the frame and seeing an almost final image on the monitor, to the point where they can discuss every detail. That isn’t possible with film, but at least this system allowed us to see clearly what we were framing. The choice of lenses wasn’t particularly wide either. The more expensive ones are often used for commercials, and it isn’t easy to get hold of them for a small film.
It wasn’t a difficult choice, however: we had already used and tested those lenses on Tutti i giorni di pioggia, and they offered a good range of focal lengths. They are very soft, perhaps even too soft. In the end, though, we made a virtue of necessity, and I think that softness actually helped us. The viewer notices softness mainly when there is something to compare it with. During tests, it is easy to see that one lens is softer or appears less sharp than another. Once the film begins, however, the viewer enters that world and accepts its degree of definition. Once you have chosen that level of sharpness, what matters is maintaining it consistently. I hope I managed to do that throughout the film. In the end, we fell in love with that softness of vision as well. I’d like to add something about shooting on film. This is the second film I’ve shot on this medium. Beyond the results and the technical and aesthetic considerations, what I love most about it is the working method. If the director truly believes in the choice — as Tommaso did in this case, and Andrea Di Stefano did on the previous film — shooting on film forces you, first of all, to be much better prepared, because there is less room for improvisation. It also forces you to trust other people. The director has to trust the cinematographer far more than with digital, because they cannot see the final result.
But I too, as a cinematographer, have to rely more on my own idea. I always use a light meter, whether I’m shooting on film or digitally: I don’t light through the camera. Even though I also work as a camera operator, I only bring the camera into the scene at the very last moment. First I measure the light and build the contrasts with the light meter. With digital, when I finally switch on the camera, I often notice something that doesn’t correspond exactly to what I had imagined and I start making adjustments, because I can already see the result on the monitor. That process could go on indefinitely: I would never stop fine-tuning things until the director grabs me by the ear and tells me he needs to shoot. With film, that doesn’t happen. I light the scene, then look at the monitor, but I know that what I’m seeing is not the final image. What I imagined remains my ideal image. I discover the result much later, sometimes with differences that surprise me negatively and require corrections, at other times positively. When I shoot on film, however, I’m able to remain more consistent with the original idea. The photographic rigour you identified in the film also comes from this. With digital, I would probably have adjusted some scenes and risked losing the original lighting concept. With film, I have to trust my measurements and wait to see the result. I think it worked very well on this film.
Grazie Guido.
TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS
Rental: D-Vision Movie People
Cinematographer and Camera Operator: Guido Michelotti
1st Assistant Camera: Giulio Innocenti
2nd Assistant Camera: Nicolò Ramella
Video Assist: Michele Cotugno
Gaffer: Vito Brunetti
Key Grip: Stefano Fois
Camera: ARRIFLEX 416
Aspect Ratio: 1.33:1
Lenses: ARVIC S16
Colourist: Alessandro Pelliccia
Laboratory: Augustus Color
