Cinematography

When it comes to storytelling, one of the most overlooked creative choices—aside from camera or lens—is how you move the camera. Do you shoot on sticks (tripod), use sliders, dollies, gimbals… or go handheld—or some mix of all of them?

Speaking of handheld, a few films really stand out for fully embracing that approach over static setups. Children of Men is a great example—the constant movement and subtle shakiness build incredible tension. Blue Valentine is another one. The first time I saw it, I didn’t dislike the story or the acting—it just made me uncomfortable. And that’s the power of handheld; it draws you in and unsettles you in the best way.

What about everyone else?

Is there a film that uses a natural, handheld style that really strikes a chord with you—and why?

On Atlas Falling, I still produced, wrote, edited, acted, and DP’d. That was normal for me.

Doing everything felt safer than trusting that the pieces would come together without me holding every rope.

But on The Shape of Kindness, everything changed.

This time we have a producer. A seasoned director. Department heads.

Real support.

And suddenly… I’m not the one steering the whole ship.

I’m the DP.

I’m the editor.

But I’m not the center of every decision anymore.

And as exciting as that is, it’s also been uncomfortable at times.

When you’ve spent years being the person who fixes the problems, answers the questions, and carries the weight, letting go feels a little like standing on the edge of a cliff and hoping the bridge really is there.

There were moments in pre-pro where the loss of constant control hit hard.

I questioned myself.

I worried about things that weren’t mine to manage.

I had to relearn what it means to contribute without leading every department.

But here’s what I’m learning:

When the responsibility is shared, the project grows in ways you could never make it grow alone.

Ideas sharpen.

Collaboration deepens.

You breathe again.

And you actually get to focus on the craft you love instead of drowning in the entire machine.

I’m still editing this film — but I’m editing a project shaped by a team, not one carried solely by me. And that difference has changed everything about how I work and how I lead.

Next week, I’ll dig into what it means to lead from within instead of from the top: how to support a director, trust department heads, and still bring your strongest artistic voice to the table.

Question for the Lounge:

If you’ve ever stepped back from a role you used to control, what surprised you most about the experience?

If you can make a film trailer for your unproduced script, AI is a way to do it for little cost with cinematic-level outputs.

But, not to say that it won't come with frustration to nail any given scene with consistent characters and getting the cut acceptable. It does take patience to hit each scene with the right cinematography.

We’re one week out from principal photography on The Shape of Kindness.

Today I meet with our director and producer to lock the shot list and shooting schedule.

Next Wednesday is camera prep.

Next Friday is the final tune-up.

It’s all becoming real.

And this week has brought something into sharp focus for me: the shift from “I used to carry everything” to “I am one part of something bigger.”

For most of my filmmaking life, I was the team.

Writer. Producer. DP. Editor. Sound. Color.

If it had to get done, it landed on me — not out of ego, but out of necessity.

It trained me to stay hyper-responsible, hyper-vigilant, and constantly braced for something to go wrong.

Now, working with a real producer, a seasoned director, and fully staffed departments, my role is singular:

DP.

Not project captain.

Not an all-hats problem solver.

Just DP.

And letting go of everything else has been uncomfortable.

Not because I don’t trust the people around me, but because my body still remembers years of doing it all alone.

My instincts still whisper: Don’t let go. Don’t loosen your grip. Don’t trust it will get done.

But here’s the lesson I’m finally learning — the moral of this week:

If you’ve spent years carrying everything yourself, collaboration will feel like losing control at first… but it’s actually gaining strength.

Because now the vision doesn’t rest on one tired set of shoulders.

It’s supported by many.

It’s shaped by people who bring what you can’t bring.

And it grows into something far better than the version you could build alone.

This week, during prep, that clicked for me.

The team isn’t taking anything from me.

They’re giving the film more than I ever could on my own.

For now, I’d love to hear from you:

When did you first realize that letting go wasn’t losing control — it was gaining a stronger film?

Several years ago, I had the pleasure of attending an advanced cinematography workshop with DP Shane Hurlbut, ASC. One of the workshops I took away the most from was a night lighting workshop wherer Shane used Streetlamp practicals he purchased at a hardware store to light the street. For about $800 he was able to light an entire city street scene with practicals and use lighting off the truck to light his actors. While I use low budget tricks like this a lot, and I love the challenge of doing so, I never considered a master of the craft like Shane might employ the same techniques on big-budget films.

What is your favorite practical lighting technique? Let me know in the comments.

Yup, I got the 'it's a wrap!' blues. Kind of like that feeling of free-fall after being shot from a cannon. Principal photography: done! The wrap-party is a fading hangover. The footage is hoovered away into a post-production lair, where the mysterious coven tasked with adding the magic that turns your work into a film or series doth dwell.

What now? How do you handle the silence, the emptiness, or the - even worse - what are they doing to my lovingly crafted work, feeling?

How do you let go?

If you’ve ever noticed that some mid-century lenses like certain Canons, Nikons, or Pentax models, have developed a warm yellow or amber tint over time, you’re not imagining it. It’s not dirt, haze, or coating degradation. It’s physics.

Matt Duclos breaks down the phenomenon beautifully in his new article on The Cine Lens:

“Thorium-Induced Yellowing in Mid-Century Lenses – Cause, Effect, and Solutions”

Read it here: https://thecinelens.com/2025/09/18/thorium-induced-yellowing-in-mid-cent...

Here’s the short version:

From the 1950s to the 1970s, manufacturers used thorium-doped glass to improve refractive index and chromatic correction. Over time, the radioactive decay of thorium creates microscopic defects in the glass called color centers (or F-centers). These defects absorb blue and UV light, which is why the glass takes on a deep yellow-brown tint and loses transmission.

Fortunately, this can be reversed through photo-bleaching, using ultraviolet light to excite and re-stabilize the trapped electrons, restoring the glass’s original clarity. The process is slow but safe, and when done correctly, can recover the lens’s true color balance and light transmission without damaging coatings or components.

Beyond being a fascinating bit of materials science, this explains why certain vintage lenses—especially those prized for their “warm” look, may actually be unintentionally color-shifting due to decades of atomic-level change.

Have you encountered or restored a yellowed vintage lens before? Did you leave the tint for its character, or try to bring it back to neutral? How do you feel about preserving vs. correcting the visual quirks of aging glass?

If you’re into format quirks, lens character, and on-set problem-solving, this behind-the-scenes look at Bugonia’s cinematography is a must-watch.

See the video here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8-Jz3MyBXw

Cinematographer Robbie Ryan walks through his long collaboration with Yorgos Lanthimos and the unique challenges of shooting the film on VistaVision. Using a Wilcam W1 and a Bowcam — cameras that run film horizontally through the gate — the team dealt with everything from jittery transport to mid-take jams, all while chasing the large-format look they wanted.

Ryan also breaks down:

• The prototype large-format lenses developed by Dan Sasaki, designed to echo vintage character while holding resolution wide open.

• Lanthimos’s signature visual language, especially his love of extremely low angles and precise camera-to-actor timing.

• The natural-light approach to the kidnapping sequence and the difficulty of shooting inside a G-Wagon full of reflections.

• How wider, observational framing amplified the comedy and chaos of the scene.

• The physical demands on Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons, whose exhaustion became part of the final performance.

It’s a great watch for anyone thinking about how format, optics, and movement shape tone.

Have you worked with VistaVision or other large-format film systems? What challenges, or advantages, did you run into?

Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw talks Sinners, Cinematography, IMAX, Ultra Panavision, Aspect Ratios, Visual Effects, Michael B. Jordan, Ryan Coogler, Favorite Films, and Making History as the the first female director of photography to shoot any movie on large format IMAX film.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFj1DZDdvAw)

Acclaimed cinematographer Seamus McGarvey ASC BSC takes us behind the lensing of Lynne Ramsay’s film Die My Love — a haunting, poetic exploration of love, isolation, and the mind’s unraveling. McGarvey discusses collaborating with Ramsay, shooting on Ektachrome, choosing PVintage lenses and Panaflex Millenium XLs, and crafting a visual language that reflects the film’s emotional turbulence.

From intimate handheld work to day-for-night experimentation, McGarvey shares how cinematography becomes a vessel for inner experience — reminding us that cinema, at its best, is pure visual poetry.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeT9z2ZqyBg)