Interview by Marcello Dapporto CCS
We speak with Davide Manca, CCS, about Davide Marengo’s Rosa elettrica, a crime-thriller series with a strong road-movie imprint, produced by Sky and released only a few days ago, on 8 May. First of all, I wanted to ask how – together with the director, or through your own personal reflections – you developed the visual concept of the series. What were the references you shared with Davide?
Davide Marengo and I have been working together for many years. This is the fifth series we have made together, and over time we have developed a strong creative shorthand and a shared sensibility. We exchange references for fun every day — we are, in every sense, a creative duo. The main reference for this series was Thelma & Louise, a film with a beautiful visual language. I hadn’t seen it in a long time — perhaps I had never even watched it all the way through — and revisiting it for this project I thought: If only we could make something like that. It became our starting point for the whole visual approach.
Since Rosa elettrica is a road-movie series that blends many different genres, we spent a great deal of time thinking about how the cinematography could track these shifting registers, which was no simple task. The visual identity was built more through costume and production design than through the camera work itself, which we tried to keep as unobtrusive as possible. The colours of the costumes and locations helped steer the tonal transitions, because with each episode both the action and the dramatic stakes intensified. The series opens almost as a comedy and, as it progresses, the game the characters are playing becomes increasingly dangerous.
Once we had watched all the episodes together and discussed with the colourist the approach we had already established in the grade, we felt it would be interesting to gradually increase the contrast ratios from one episode to the next, building towards the final one, where the opposition between light and shadow becomes stark and sharply defined. It was a choice driven by the evolution of the story itself, which grows more aggressive with each episode, while the relationship between the two protagonists takes on increasingly darker shades.
Interesting. So, in a sense, a creative work was carried out differently from the usual approach during the grading stage.
Yes, in the previous productions I have worked on I always tried to create very clean grades, without excessively altering the contrasts or chromatic tones in relation to the original image. Naturally, I would intervene on balancing, masking, and all the necessary technical work, but I liked preserving clean skin tones and a balanced contrast. In this case, however, we chose to push the colour work further because the story itself was leading us in that direction.
It is a road movie that begins in Emilia-Romagna, passes through Campania, arrives in Rome and finally reaches Trentino-Alto Adige. As the settings and landscapes constantly changed – especially in the finale, set entirely in Trentino – the colours changed significantly as well, and we decided to emphasise this transformation.
It is a complex undertaking: a huge variety of locations, urban environments, water, vegetation, different architectures, completely different lighting conditions. I imagine, then, that building a coherent colour palette was not simple, and perhaps I can also understand why part of that uniformity was sought in post-production.
The question of palette is a separate matter, because Davide and I have worked together on many productions where we operated with very rigid palettes. Partly to move away from that approach, and partly because we had simply grown tired of always thinking in those terms, we decided that on this series we would impose no constraints whatsoever on production design or costumes. No predetermined palette, no rigid colour charts: complete freedom. In my view, it was the right call. I do think that in Italy, in recent years, the concept of palette has been somewhat overused — though that is purely my personal view.
On this series, instead, we focused above all on camera movement, dynamism, the actors’ freedom to move within the space, and a constant sense of displacement. There were picture vehicles of every kind: convertibles, Chevrolets, microcars, vans, nine-seaters, tactical vehicles. And here I really must give credit to the production — because we usually only ever complain. The production manager, Lorenzo Battisti, came to us early on and said: “On this series we need to get the Russian Arm.” And I said: “Absolutely, Lorenzo — let’s do it.” We had an enormous amount of fun with it. My technical choice, meanwhile, was to shoot anamorphic, but using very compact 1.5x or 2x anamorphic lenses, so that we could fit them inside cars without running into problems of close focus or excessive bulk.
The action component is very prominent. How did you and Davide Marengo work together to find the right language and visual grammar? There is a remarkable variety of technical means on screen. Did you always shoot with a single camera, or did you use multiple cameras in certain scenes? Tell me about the technical choices regarding the camera in order to convey the dynamism and movement typical of the action movie.
With Davide Marengo I had already done three seasons of Il cacciatore, an action crime series set between the 1980s and 1990s, and there we had already had a great deal of fun with the action sequences. In this case, the same production company, Cross Productions, brought us back in to try to make a further leap in scale, this time for a Sky production. With Davide we almost always work with two cameras.
So you had two camera operators?
Always two operators. I am one of those cinematographers who does not stay behind the camera, and I think it is worth continuing to defend that approach — especially on a series as complex as this one. If you have to follow two or three operators simultaneously, you cannot also remain glued to the eyepiece yourself. You need to keep the broader picture in mind. I originally trained as a camera operator — my first films I shot operating myself — so I know that role extremely well. But these days I prefer to stay at the monitor and oversee the whole frame.
On this series we often went up to three or even four cameras. In practice, the additional cameras were mostly action cams mounted directly onto the vehicles in strategic positions: on the exhaust pipe, on the bonnet, on bicycles — essentially on every vehicle the actors used during a scene. The particular challenge was trying to preserve the anamorphic look even inside the cars, using extremely small lenses. Normally, at least on my productions, we almost always resort to spherical lenses inside vehicles because of cross-focus or light-loss issues. Here, instead, we went with compact anamorphics, which gave us the flexibility to reposition quickly within very tight and difficult spaces.
For the camera itself, we chose the Sony Venice — the Venice 1 — and between the high-ISO capabilities and the Rialto extension system, we were able to achieve some very extreme framings that conveyed a strong sense of speed and urgency. We had an enormous amount of fun, not least because we were shooting in places like Comacchio, which offered a tremendous amount visually.
In Comacchio the action intensifies.
In Comacchio we really tried to run like madmen. We had a DJI Ronin 2 racing from one side to the other together with the grips, moving from bridge to bridge. We also used very long telephoto lenses, working at considerable distances. Then again, like all cinematographers, I am never completely satisfied. You watch certain international productions and think: ‘Look at how that camera moves! That’s the level we should be reaching.’
The aspiration to do better always remains.
In this case, though, “better” was not primarily an aesthetic question. On other projects you are mainly chasing the beauty of the image or a certain visual coherence; here, the priority was action, speed, and immersion. We wanted the audience to feel as though they were inside a video game — because at its core this is a road-movie escape story: two people on the run from both organised crime and the police. The aim was to sustain that constant sense of movement.
For that reason, we used every tool available: handheld, stabilisers, cranes, drones. Perhaps even too many drones — but on this project, more than on others, they were genuinely necessary to tell the story of movement itself. Even so, we always tried to deploy them at the right times of day — dawn, sunset, or the blue hour — both to get the most out of them and to compensate for the limitations of the more modest drone sensors we were working with.
Often, also for production reasons, those drones are used for practical considerations: battery life, distance, signal strength…
Also because, quite simply, you can afford to use them far more often. An octocopter, for example, you might only be able to afford once or twice on a film. Here, instead, we were constantly moving from one region to another and almost always needed the drone, so we preferred a cheaper solution that could be used more continuously.
Has it ever happened, with Davide Marengo, that you had completely opposing visions about the way to tell a scene in terms of cinematic language? If so, how did you resolve those differences?
Not really, because we already had the major discussions years ago, during the first season of Il cacciatore. By now we are too close as friends and know each other far too well. If he notices even a slightly doubtful expression on my face, he immediately understands that perhaps the issue is not that a shot does not work, but that it risks costing us too much time. In the same way, when I notice a certain expression from him, I understand that a particular shot is fundamental for him, and then I become the one who speeds things up. With him, by now, it is almost a form of professional poetry.
Which scenes were the most demanding to shoot? And what was the most painful compromise you had to accept from a cinematographic point of view? How far did you push yourself outside your comfort zone compared to previous projects?
Rosa elettrica was a considerably more demanding shoot than usual, above all because, being a road movie, we committed to doing everything practically. I have never been particularly drawn to camera cars with green screen or virtual production — techniques that by now everyone has used. Every moving sequence was shot in real conditions. This made lighting management inside the daytime process vehicles especially complex.
The scene that gave me the most difficulty, but also the greatest satisfaction, was the one in which the two protagonists, at night, throw themselves off a cliff, end up in the water, and finally drag themselves ashore exhausted, one of them barely alive. To pull it off, we used underwater cameras, shot at the blue hour across several different sessions — both for the jump and for the initial underwater sequence — and then had to stitch it all together with the real night, the open sea, and the beach scene.
Did you split the scene across several days of shooting?
Across three days — not three full days, of course: each time we had roughly two usable hours, but on screen everything had to read as a single night. The hardest part was precisely matching the blue hour to the deep of night while maintaining continuity. And yet, once we reached the edit, the sequence struck me as one of the strongest in the whole series — cinematographically as well.
It was shot entirely handheld, including all the underwater work. A major challenge for the operators and focus pullers too, since we were working wide open to catch the very last light of the blue hour, out in open water, in freezing conditions. We were shooting in Gaeta, which in the series stands in for Naples: a headland from which the protagonists throw themselves while being chased and shot at by criminals. It really was one of the most demanding sequences in the entire series — but also one of the most rewarding to watch back in post.
A question connected to the relationship with Sky… On a film, the creative dialogue is often mainly with the director and the production, whereas on series for platforms or major companies there is also the editorial executive. In this case, did you receive creative input directly from Sky during the process?
Fortunately, I was coming off the major success of Hanno ucciso l’Uomo Ragno – La leggendaria storia degli 883 by Sydney Sibilia, Francesco Ebbasta and Alice Filippi, and also, together with Davide Marengo, from the positive reception of Un’estate fa, so there was a great deal of trust in me. I believe there had even been a specific request to involve me, and this gave me considerable freedom on set.
During the grading stage, however, on the first episode I had to reopen the image slightly and soften the contrast, because the initial result had been perceived as too extreme. On the one hand, they trusted the technical choices completely – cameras, lenses, moodboards, references – and they were very pleased with the work, but the first grade had unsettled them a little. Most likely, in the first episode I had pushed things too far.
From the very first episode it is clear that the two protagonists have completely opposite personalities, yet both of them undergo a strong psychological evolution from episode to episode. Did you follow this transformation also through the lighting or the composition of the frame?
Quite the opposite, in fact. We tried to remain as unobtrusive as possible, because the characters’ visual transformation was already very strong through costume, make-up, and hair. To reinforce it through the photography as well would have been redundant. Some films make that choice, but here there was no need for it. We preferred to step back and leave room for the remarkable work done by the art departments.
And it was an extremely complicated business, because of course we were not shooting in chronological order: day one and day eighty could easily end up back to back. So there were different wigs, contact lenses, costumes either pristine or distressed — a constant puzzle. The cinematography tried to stay as invisible as possible, even if certain elements inevitably surface — a flare, a particular effect — but we did not want to overplay things through the framing.
The one moment where we consciously did otherwise was in the final scene: a face-off between protagonist and antagonist. There, yes — in terms of staging and composition we built something more deliberate and explicit. But to say much more would be to spoil it.
How many weeks did you shoot for?
There were six 50-minute episodes and we shot for thirteen weeks.
A remarkable pace. On average, how many scenes were you able to shoot in a day?
A great many. More than anything else, what exhausted us were the constant transfers, because we were continually moving between cities and regions. We lost entire days simply relocating. On top of that, it was a very large crew, with trucks, vehicles and equipment. The real difficulty was logistical: constantly changing accommodation, endlessly repacking suitcases. Sometimes, even within the same city, we had to change hotels because there was not enough availability for the entire crew. In Ferrara, for example, we changed hotels two or three times.
And in terms of technical equipment? Not so much what you had available, but what you actually used on set: did you build very substantial setups?
Not really — time was too limited for that. There were a couple of more demanding situations, though, particularly one scene at the harbour during an early exchange between the characters. That sequence, shot at night, was genuinely difficult. We brought in two generators and a handful of substantial fixtures, though never extremely large sources: the biggest were M40s. Since we were shooting at 2500 ISO, we also leaned heavily on diegetic lighting. The real challenge was illuminating the sea and those vast open spaces.
Davide loves shooting extremely wide night exteriors. I kept telling him: “Why don’t we shoot these wides in daylight!” For the rest, we relied heavily on LED lighting, as everyone does nowadays — but I remain someone who genuinely likes to light a scene. I do not belong to the available-light school.
And in fact one can see the intervention of lighting, in the positive sense of the term.
I grew up with Giuseppe Rotunno telling me: ‘Key light, fill light and backlight.’ That is the training I come from. I struggle to imagine cinematography simply entrusted to whatever light happens to come through a window. The light has to be in the right place, it has to illuminate the actors’ eyes properly, it has to construct the image.
Earlier you were talking about anamorphic lenses. I imagined you had not gone for a very strong 2x squeeze factor, also considering the series’ final aspect ratio.
In the end we finished in a 2:1 aspect ratio. But yes, Davide and I are absolutely passionate about anamorphic lenses. We even shot one season of Il cacciatore anamorphically despite knowing it would eventually be released in 16:9, cropping the sides afterwards. We love the kind of out-of-focus rendering it creates, that texture within the image, the way it blends the background. By now, our way of framing is conceived directly with those formats in mind, so for us anamorphic was inevitable.
One scene that stands out in the early episodes is the nightclub sequence with the lasers.
Yes, that one was great fun. The real challenge was preventing the lasers from hitting the camera directly.
A cinematographer, on a long and highly articulated series with countless locations and very different tonal registers, perhaps finds himself carrying an even greater responsibility for visual coherence than on a feature film.
It is considerably harder. First of all because of sheer duration: six fifty-minute episodes amounts to nearly 300 minutes of storytelling. Whatever kind of series you are making, you end up with an enormous number of locations and scenes. It is physically and mentally gruelling. Thirteen or fourteen weeks on the same project is exhausting. You have to hold every detail in your head, because you may be shooting the continuation of a scene from day one sixty days later. How do you remember exactly what you had in mind, what lighting you had built, why you made that particular choice?
I keep a small notebook where I jot down a kind of key, scene by scene. I study the screenplay obsessively — it may sound obvious, but for me everything starts there. The conversation with the director about how to construct each scene is the core of the work. If you looked at my screenplay PDFs, you would find them covered in drawings, colours, and annotations. Looking back, trying to decipher them is almost funny.
For me, making a series is unquestionably harder than making a film. Even the energy shifts. The drive you feel in the first weeks is simply not the same as in the last ones, and at that point you have to make a conscious effort to keep bringing something to the images. Every scene demands your energy, your invention, your creativity — right through to the final day, because in the end it all flows together. That, to my mind, is what makes series so much harder.
There are films that run twelve or fourteen weeks too, of course, so the fatigue is real there as well — but the rhythm is often different. There is a world of difference between shooting five or six scenes a day and shooting just one.
Are there any collaborators you consider indispensable, people you bring with you on every project?
For years I had a camera operator called Gianluca Bombardone, who sadly passed away. It was an immense rupture, both for me and for the entire department. At a certain point I changed the crew completely. The only person who has remained with me since the beginning is key grip Massimo Diamanti. From 2022 onwards, a new group gradually formed: camera operator Nicola Daino, second operator Luigi Carillo, DIT Francesco Tauro, and gaffer Davide Scepi. By now, we almost always work together.
The before and after Gianluca have been completely different phases of my professional life. In a certain sense, that loss made me grow, because he had been my point of reference, my guiding light in the dark. Now, instead, I feel that I have to become that point of reference for the younger people working with me. As long as Gianluca was there, I still felt like a young cinematographer, still learning, still protected. Now I am the one who has to protect the people working with me. It is a different kind of responsibility.
To conclude, and returning to Rosa elettrica: what do you think are the series’ greatest strengths? And what do you hope viewers will perceive in your work?
To my mind, the series’ greatest strength lies in the work Davide Marengo did with the lead actors. His ability to move them through space, and through emotions that shift constantly from episode to episode, is remarkable. There are countless twists, yet he always manages to keep the narrative firmly on course. That is the series’ real strength — and it has little directly to do with my work. My job was to support Davide: to be his counterpart, his sounding board, the engine driving that journey.
From my side, what I hope comes through above all is a sense of visual coherence from beginning to end. If you place a frame from episode one next to one from episode six, you should feel that they belong to the same world. Even as the colour gradually shifts and evolves, I hope the project holds a recognisable identity. Whether we fully achieved that, I honestly cannot say — but it is certainly what I was aiming for. Exactly that.
Is there anything you would like to add, something I have not asked you about?
There is one thing I care about deeply: the team. This group grows with me every day, and I with them. I have made 34 films and 12 series, so even at 43 I have accumulated a great deal of experience — but today I feel very keenly the responsibility that comes with being head of department.
It matters to me that the people around me are recognised, because behind the cinematography there is always a team you have to trust completely. You may be talented, you may have a strong personality, you need to know how to hold your own with producers and directors, you need broad shoulders to carry a series — but if the people around you are wrong for the job, everything falls apart. It may sound obvious. But it is true.
Thanks Davide.
