shadowcatchers - National Film and Sound Archive

THE
SHADOWCATCHERS
MARTHA ANSARA
A history of cinematography in Australia
HAND-CRANKED CAMERAS
Both cameramen and production companies owned
cameras but there were limited numbers of the better (more
expensive) models, and older cameras were kept in use for
years. It is not so extraordinary, in the Australian context,
that Tasman Higgins used his pre-World War I Pathé Parvo
on mute drama sequences at least until World War II or
that Al Burne modified his Pathé as a sound camera. Jack
Bruce was, to some degree, big-noting himself with his claim
that in 1922 he bought “the first Debrie in Australia”, the
Debrie being a camera with a much steadier movement. One
high speed Debrie purchased in the late 1920s was still in
Cinesound Studio’s inventory in 1963.
More typically, when Bill Trerise arrived at Australasian Films
around 1914, a wooden camera was being used — probably
a Pathé Parvo. Not many years later Trerise had an English
Prestwich and then a Williamson — a large, single-lens,
heavy, rectangular box. Wally Sully cranked what appears to
have been a modified Pathé studio camera with a 400-foot
magazine; again, an awkward camera but with the advantage of
a relatively steady film transport system and a larger film load.
The rival to the Pathé in terms of its widespread use
internationally was an expensive camera with a superior
design both in its mechanism and for ease of handling: the
C
American Bell & Howell Model 2709, launched in 1912. Lacey
Percival recalled Australasian Films’ importation of a Bell
& Howell sometime before 1918 as an important “first”. The
Rushcutters Bay Studio, Australia’s “only studio devoted
to the sole purpose of making motion pictures”, was not so
wonderfully well-equipped if, as it seems, there was only the
one Bell & Howell. However, this appears to have been the
only one available in Australia for some years.
In contrast, visiting Fox cameraman Len Roos is reported
as having arrived in Australia in 1924 personally equipped
with no fewer than five cameras including two Debries and
a “pancake” Akeley, a round camera with revolutionary
features for specialised cinematography. Either Roos or
visiting director Norman Dawn appears to have brought with
him a second Bell & Howell, but there is no information about
when other Bell & Howells were imported into Australia.
The Bell & Howell was the iconic American camera, the one
with the magazine that looks like Mickey Mouse ears. It is the
camera — cranked by D.W. Griffith’s cameraman Billy Bitzer,
cap backwards on his head in the shining sun — which is used
to represent the emergence of Hollywood cinema. It was a
virtually indestructible rack-over camera, all-metal, with a
precision, steady movement and a rotating turret that could
RANKING A CAMERA I was using a German Askania camera, hand cranked. We had to learn to turn at
the right speed. Sixteen frames in those days, silent speed. Sixteen frames and we had to keep it absolutely
smooth, you know. No jerking. When you were an assistant you had to practise as much as possible. And also
you had to be ambidextrous. You had not only to crank the camera but you had to pan with another handle, so you got
the beat up and you could sort of set your brain, click into speed, then you could dislodge — completely isolate yourself,
once you got the speed going, cause you’d get this innate dark and light effect if you weren’t cranking correctly. It’d
go light and dark, light and dark. The boys today really don’t know what we used to have to go through.
– Arthur Hansen, ACS
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take up to four different lenses. This allowed “making close-up
views without budging the camera from its position”, according
to the ads of the day. It had attachments which enabled
cameramen to achieve complex visual effects, particularly
superimpositions and other opticals. Aesthetically as well as
technically, the advent of the Bell & Howell facilitated the
shooting of more sophisticated pictures with a greater range
of stylistic possibilities. Indeed, the camera was so good that it
remained in use around the world into the sound era.
The cameras which, for the most part, were in general
use during the silent period were not easy to handle
in terms of viewing systems and the demands of handcranking, especially when mounted on geared tripod heads
with their separate handles for pan and tilt. While there
was no standard camera speed as such, most cameras
exposed eight frames per turn of the handle, which at two
turns per second was initially 16 frames per second. Over
time, cranking speeds increased gradually towards 20–21
frames per second. In any case, a skilled cameraman would
sometimes adjust his cranking speed to suit the action
he was photographing. Projection speeds could also be
variable — especially if the program was a long one and the
projectionist wanted to get away early!
Pearls and Savages, c.1921–1923
The inscription on the back of the photo reads,“Captain
Hurley taking cinema films from the summit of Mount Aird.
In [the] background lies the Delta of Kikori River.” Hurley
mounted several expeditions to Papua New Guinea
between 1920 and 1926, and made at least two versions
of the documentary Pearls and Savages. His camera is
a Prestwich Model 5. He used the same model on the
Shackleton Antarctic Expedition.
Courtesy Queensland State Library
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THE 1927 ROYAL COMMISSION
For the Term of His Natural Life was the last significant
silent film to provide employment for Australian cameramen.
From 1925 the spectre of sound had been hanging over film
production and it wasn’t a matter of if, but when it would be
introduced. In 1927 Warner Brothers released The Jazz Singer
in the US, and in Australia De Forest Phonofilms demonstrated
a sound film of the official opening of Parliament House in
Canberra, including speeches from the Duke of York and the
singing of the National Anthem led by Dame Nellie Melba.
As with the advent of any new technology, a great deal of
uncertainty surrounded both the production of synch sound
films and the wiring of cinemas for screening them. By 1929
production of feature films in Australia had ground to a halt —
and the Great Depression had begun.
The 1920s were also a time of increased public debate
concerning the social and economic aspects of the industry.
Film producers — would-be film producers — the distributors/
exhibitors and a range of community interest groups,
including women’s organisations seeking stricter censorship,
became embroiled in controversy and feelings ran high.
Since the arrival of Fox in Australia in 1915, the major US
studio distributors and Union Theatres–Australasian Films
had extended their activities and restrictive practices across
the exhibition sector. Any cinema wanting Hollywood films
had to submit to the block booking of American product in
advance, sight unseen, effectively shutting out both British and
Australian films. By the mid-1920s American films constituted
93 per cent of those imported into the country and the methods
of the American film distributors, according to Australian
filmmakers, accounted for the failure of their own features
to gain exhibition. Empire loyalists, opposed to American
cultural influences, backed Australian producers in calling for
government tariffs, taxes and quotas to protect British and
Australian films, a move vigorously opposed by the distributors.
The resulting conflict led to the Royal Commission on
the Moving Picture Industry in Australia (1927) which
heard testimony from 250 witnesses. These included
cameramen-producers Frank Hurley, Bert Segerberg (who
was by then making industrial documentaries), and Bert
Kirwan (who was making commercial and advertising films
in Queensland). Franklyn Barrett, who had moved into
exhibition, also testified, as did Jack Bruce, who styled
himself as a Hollywood-returned cameraman as well as the
supervisor of Commonwealth Film Laboratories.
In its recommendations the Royal Commission found
“that there is no American combine in existence in Australia
exercising a stranglehold over the motion picture industry”,
and rejected calls for an exhibition quota for Australian films
as potentially ruinous for exhibitors. Instead, it proposed an
Empire Quota system — but the legislation for this measure was
never passed. There is an underlying sense in the Commission’s
findings that under Australian conditions making feature films
to a suitable standard was too big an ask. The only support
offered for Australian producers was a film competition with
cash prizes, a competition that soon lapsed for lack of quality
entries. For the next forty years, relatively few Australian
feature dramas were produced and Australian cameramen
continued to work primarily in documentaries and news.
The Cheaters, 1930
Completed as a silent movie in early 1929, the film was
redone as a partial talkie because of distribution difficulties.
Jack Fletcher (cameraman) is handcranking his Bell &
Howell. Paulette McDonagh (writer/director/producer) is
seated to the right.
Courtesy National & Film Sound Archive
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A
MAGIC WORLD
K.G., Ken Hall, was
absolutely my god. If he’d have said to me,
“Lie down there and let me walk over you.”
I would have said, “Yes! Which side would you
like?” I really thought he was absolutely wonderful.
He had a wonderful manner. He didn’t ever talk
down to anybody. Even if you were the lowliest
of the low, he would listen. And I thought he was
just brilliant. I really did. And all of the others, I
thought they were all — so clever. Really. Because
it was sort of a magic world. We all worked for
absolute peanuts, but nobody ever tried to leave
or go anywhere else or do anything else because
you were all hooked by it. And this is the loyalty
he had from nearly everybody: you worked long
hours and never complained. It was great.
I was working there when they were making
Let George Do It with George Wallace. And I can
remember we didn’t have all the mod cons that
we do now. To go to the toilet, they built a little
tiny narrow passageway at the back of the studio
where you had to tiptoe — if they were shooting
sound — in going right up the other end of the
building to the toilet. So you always used to get a
peek in there and have a look at them. I was a bit
of a mad tap dancer in those days, and when they
were on break one time, George Wallace taught
me a variation of the time step.
You know, all the people who appeared in the
films were just like the staff. I remember when
Shirley Ann Richards left to go over to America,
she came around the lab and poked her nose in
everywhere and said a fond farewell, cuddles and
all. And at the end of each film, we used to have a
ball. All the stars and everybody used to go. It was
in the studio and it was just absolutely fantastic.
– Nita Gardiner, Cinesound assistant editor,
wife of Jack Gardiner ACS, mother of Calvin
Gardiner ACS and director Chris Gardiner,
grandmother of cinematographer
Tony Gardiner
It Isn’t Done, 1937
Thoroughbred, 1936
Cinesound. Ken Hall (director) seated, and cast members
Cecil Kellaway behind Hall with Shirley Ann Richards on
the other side of the camera. George Heath was the chief
cameraman.
Cinesound crew shot. Arthur Higgins (second camera) left
and George Heath (DOP) behind the camera to the right;
seated, front: Sid Whiteley (?), Ken Hall (director) holding
megaphone, Clive Cross (sound) (?).
Courtesy National Film & Sound Archive
Courtesy Mitchell Library, State Library of NSW
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A
GOOD CAMERA
Newman Sinclair was a very good camera for the war for the simple reason that
once you wound up your camera, your camera would run for 200 feet, whereas with an Eyemo, just at
the middle of something, suddenly the bloody thing has run out, and you have to stop and wind it again.
And also you could put your Newman Sinclair down and sit on it. I’m not kidding! You’re humping a camera,
and you can put the camera down — it’s a box about as big as that, you see. You could sit on the damn thing.
– Reg Edwards ACS
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World War II, 1943
New Guinea, between Buna and Sananand. Department
of Information cameramen Bill Carty and Cliff Bottomley,
official photographers during the final stages of the New
Guinea campaign.
World War II, 1943
Northern Australia. Department of Information
cinematographer Roy Driver.
Photograph H.D. Dick, courtesy Australian War Memorial
Courtesy Australian War Memorial
Alan Anderson, early 1940s
World War II, c.1943 (?)
Lieutenant F.S. (Syd) Wood with his 35mm Bell & Howell
Eyemo, a camera widely used by combat cameramen. It
was a non-reflex wind-up camera which took 100-foot
daylight loads, or just over one minute of film.
Alan Anderson with a partially dismantled Debrie Parvo
camera. Anderson was a member of the Department of
Information Cinematographic and Photographic Unit
headed by Capt. Frank Hurley, stationed in the Middle
East in World War II.
North Borneo. Hugh McInnes, film and stills cameraman,
Department of Information, attached to the Australian
Army as an official war photographer.
Courtesy National Film & Sound Archive
Courtesy National Film & Sound Archive
Courtesy Australian War Memorial
World War II, 1945
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DAMIEN PARER (1912–1944)
Damien Parer’s death in World War II carried him into the
realms of Australian legend, and he continues to be one of
Australia’s best-known cinematographers. At the time of
his death Parer was young and handsome and had already
achieved national fame through his on-screen appearance in
his Academy Award-winning Kokoda Front Line (1942). He was
committed to capturing images that tell a human story, and
created an emotionally engaged style of combat photography.
Both his footage and his death itself have contributed to an
Australian mythology which celebrates the suffering of men at
war and the cameraman as adventure hero.
A camera enthusiast from a young age, Parer was
apprenticed to a Melbourne still photographer before
moving into film as an assistant to Arthur Higgins on Charles
Chauvel’s Heritage (1935) at Frank Thring’s Efftee Studios.
There Parer befriended another camera assistant, John
Heyer, later to become a highly-regarded documentary
filmmaker. Middle-class, educated, and intellectually curious,
the two young cineastes read European film journals, the
writings of Eisenstein, Pudovkin and Grierson, and went to
see foreign films. Heyer recalls that Arthur Higgins, a kindly
man, was somewhat bemused by all this and steered them
towards The American Cinematographer with its more
practical applications.
After Heritage finished up, Parer worked once again in still
photography before rejoining Chauvel at the newly formed
National Studios in Sydney as assistant to Tas Higgins on
the independent feature Uncivilised (1936) and as camera
assistant/stills photographer on the two National coproductions, Flying Doctor (1936) and Rangle River (1936).
When feature production at National did not continue, Parer
returned to freelance stills photography, occasionally getting
a few small film jobs. He operated a spring-wound Eyemo
camera in the spectacular multi-camera horse charge scene
shot by Chauvel in 1938 to raise money for Forty Thousand
Horsemen (1940).
In 1939 Parer was working in Max Dupain’s photographic
studio when he was recruited to take the place of the recently
deceased Bert Ive in the Cinema Branch of the Department
of Commerce in Melbourne. On Australia’s entry into the war,
the Branch was transferred to the Department of Information
(DOI) and Parer was sent to Palestine as the DOI’s first
war cameraman. He was later joined by a unit headed by
56-year-old Captain Frank Hurley, and they followed the
Australians through Greece and the Middle East. It was not
a happy collaboration. Parer did not take kindly to Hurley’s
advice that he was taking unnecessary risks, nor to Hurley’s
propensity for re-creations and tripod shots. He also disliked
the idea that Hurley might be getting the credit for his own
handheld shooting in the midst of battle, an approach which
he thought essential to capturing the authenticity of war.
In early 1942, with the return of the unit to Australia, Parer
left for New Guinea, where he shot his most memorable
footage, influenced both by his Catholic humanism and his
film viewing. Kokoda Front Line’s handheld tracking shot of
exhausted and ragged soldiers, for example, was consciously
inspired by the fluid camera movement of Renoir’s La Grande
Illusion (1937, DOP: Christian Matras). Other shots, such
as those portraying the suffering of the wounded and the
compassion of mates, were infused with a similar artistic
sensibility and a great sense of composition.
By this time Parer’s determination to show Australia the
realities of war, and perhaps also his growing fame, were
leading to conflict with DOI officials, and he angrily, albeit
reluctantly, gave notice. Before leaving the DOI he filmed
footage used in Movietone’s Salamaua Front Line (1943) and
Cinesound’s Assault on Salamaua (1943), both prominently
featuring Parer’s name on the head titles.
In November 1943 Parer was in New Guinea, working
for Paramount. In June 1944 he married Marie Cotter in
Sydney, later the same day recording commentary for the
compilation documentary Sons of the Anzacs made by his
former Efftee mentor, Arthur Higgins. In July Parer covered
the American attack on Guam and then moved on to Peleliu.
It was there, filming alongside a tank in a Marine assault,
that he was killed by a burst of machine gun fire. By the
time his body was retrieved, marines had plundered his
corpse and souvenired his film. Two short rolls of film were
later recovered. It was a common belief among Australian
cameramen — characteristically — that the Americans left
Parer unprotected, whereas the Australian troops had looked
out for him as one of their own.
Damien Parer, 1930s
Bungan Beach, Sydney.
Photograph Max Dupain, courtesy National
Library of Australia and Jill White
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Damien Parer, 1943
Damien Parer, official military photographer and
cameraman, Department of Information Cinematographic
and Photographic Unit, with a Mitchell camera.
Courtesy Australian War Memorial
Damien Parer, 1943
Kanga Force Scout Tree Lookout, overlooking Salamaua
Harbour New Guinea. Damien Parer with New Guinean
assistant Cyril and Newman Sinclair camera.
Frame enlargement, courtesy John Hosking
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Channel 7 News, 1963
The Helping Hand, 1963
Barrack Street, Sydney. Eric Kenning with an Auricon camera
shooting a to-camera piece by an ATN journalist.
Dundas Migrant Hostel, Sydney. A film produced
by Visatone for the Department of Immigration on
the activities of the Good Neighbour Movement.
L–R: Mrs E. Rehkopf from Germany, her daughter Diana,
unknown, Ross Wood (cameraman).
New York. John Leake, filming a Qantas commercial.
Courtesy National Archives of Australia
Courtesy John Leake
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Photograph Robert McFarlane, courtesy Robert McFarlane
Flight 773, 1959
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Westinghouse TVC, 1957
Cinesound Studios, 1959
Mike Molloy operating NC Mitchell; Howard Rubie
is to his left.
Cinesound Studios. Agency: George Patterson.
L–R: Des Freeman (producer) talking with actress, Misha
Kaneef (director), Bob Wright (DOP) operating camera.
Photograph Ron Windon, courtesy Ron Windon
Photograph Ron Windon, courtesy Ron Windon
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A
WOMAN SHOOTS FILM
In 1957 I
returned to Brisbane and I shot this movie,
beautiful black and white. And I sent it
down to Supreme in Sydney for processing. And
I thought, “Well now, I’m not going to say it’s a
woman because I want them to treat this film
carefully.” So I just signed, “L.E. Fraser”. I had my
Kodak Special and I’d go right down to Stradbroke
Island. I’d be just by myself and shot this film —
a day on the beach. The sun rose and the birds
came and the sea washed over the shells. And it
was very, very beautiful. I used to get the reports
back and project it in my bedroom at home. And
then I said to Dad, “Well, Dad, I’m now going back
to England. I need to edit the film and I — need to
make movies.” And so Dad said, “Well, Lilias,” he
said, “Before you go, why don’t you go to Sydney
and have a look at the movie business down
there.” “That sounds sensible,” I thought, “I’ll go
down there and I’ll visit Supreme first.” So I went
down and I knocked on the door at Supreme and
Gwen (Oatley) and Merv Murphy came out. And
I said, “I’m Lilias Fraser.” “Yeah?” I said, “You’ve
been processing my film and I sign myself L.E.
Fraser.” “But we thought you were a man! Every
time your rushes came down, we used to say,
‘Quickly, here’s that man’s work from Brisbane;
let’s all come in and look at it. We must offer him
a job; it’s so beautiful.’” They used to all rush in
and look at L.E. Fraser’s rushes. And so they were
going to offer him a job. Of course, when I turned
up, they didn’t offer me a job. (laughs)
– Lilias Fraser, documentary director/producer
and mother of Jane Castle ACS
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G
OING FREELANCE
I stayed at
Eric Porters until about 1972. By this
stage, the big studios were starting to
slow down and everybody was starting to go
freelance. Even while I was at Porters, although
we had three crews going, they were still bringing
in outside crews, freelance. I mean, it was a trend
that was starting to happen. Artransa closed
down. Supreme Sound was on the verge of closing
down and Eric Porters was slowing up. Anyway,
in 1972–1973, I went totally freelance and have
been that way ever since. I’ve shot commercials,
the odd feature films and telefeatures and more
commercials, documentaries, whatever. Like all
of us, we do anything anyone’ll pay us for …
And that’s where I am today, 20 years later,
still freelancing and still shooting commercials.
– Phil Pike ACS
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A
GREAT MARRIAGE DESTROYER
If you were on a shoot, it’s got be the day’s
schedule and if it doesn’t finish at five
o’clock, well it was the same then as it is now, you
just keep going till it’s finished. Your social life can
and did frequently go out the window. I mean you
can never, ever say, “Yeah, I’ll be at the party on
Friday night.” Because if the job came up Friday
night, then at ten o’clock at night you might still be
working. It’s a great marriage destroyer, because
you go away a lot. At least I did. I quite enjoy
travelling anyway. But going away … And then
there’s always the thing that your wife’s cooked
the dinner and you’d ring up at six o’clock and say,
“I’m going to be another hour yet.” And then you’d
ring up at seven o’clock, “I’m going to be another
hour yet.” Not the best for your wife. But what do
you do? You’ve got to earn money, so that’s part
of the job — you do it.
– Phil Pike ACS
Chequerboard, c.1971
ABC Television, shooting a program on a nudist colony.
L–R: Fred Pickering (sound), Geoff Burton (cameraman),
unknown female nudist with baby, Paul Tait (camera
assistant), Russell Toose (director), unknown woman.
Reportedly, the ABC canned the episode as containing
“too much nudity” and it never went to air.
Photograph Kathy Atkinson, courtesy Geoff Burton
The Invisible Woman, 1979
L–R: Erika Addis (cinematographer), Sabina Wynn
(director).
Courtesy Erika Addis
Squeeze a Flower, 1970
John McLean (operator) with Arri; the DOP was
Brian West BSC.
Photograph Harry Britton, courtesy John McLean
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Newsfront, 1978
Set built for flood scenes in the Narrabeen Lakes, Sydney.
L–R: David Brostoff (focus puller), Vincent Monton (DOP),
Phillip Noyce (director), Errol Sullivan (first AD).
Photograph Mike Giddens, courtesy National Film
& Sound Archive
The Devil’s Playground, 1976
Old Melbourne Baths. Peter Sykes (focus puller),
Ian Baker (DOP) operating.
Photograph John Gollings, courtesy National Film
& Sound Archive
Storm Boy, 1976
The Coorong, South Australia. Making wind and rain.
The DOP was Geoff Burton.
Photograph David Kynoch, courtesy Geoff Burton
Mad Max, 1979
Terry Gibson (stuntie) driving, David Eggby (DOP).
Courtesy David Eggby
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Qantas TVC, 1994
John Bowring (DOP) operating.
Rainbow Mountain, Northern Territory. Foreground
L–R: David Gribble (DOP), James Cowley (NZ focus
puller), Dennis Thompson (NZ grip).
Courtesy John Bowring, Sue Greenshields
Courtesy David Gribble
Nine Network Shout Campaign, 1989
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Promo, late 1980s
Unknown TVC/promo
John Bowring (DOP) with light meter.
L–R: unknown talent, Bruce Dunlop (director),
John Bowring (DOP) operating.
Courtesy John Bowring, Sue Greenshields
Courtesy John Bowring, Sue Greenshields
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Antarctica, 1991
Chaos Glacier, Antarctica. Malcolm Ludgate
shooting IMAX underwater.
Photograph Paul Butler, courtesy Malcolm Ludgate
Kakadu Man, 1989
Film Australia, National Interest Program.
Kakadu National Park, Northern Territory.
John Hosking (cinematographer).
Courtesy Film Australia Library, National Film
& Sound Archive
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Bad Boy Bubby, 1993
Adelaide. L–R: Domenico Procacci (executive producer),
Ian Jones (DOP), Harry Glynatsis (focus puller).
Photograph Simon Cardwell, courtesy Vertigo Productions
Love and Other Catastrophes, 1996
Melbourne. Justin Brickle (DOP).
Photograph Peter Milne, courtesy Justin Brickle
Gino, 1994
Sydney. Ellery Ryan (DOP).
Photograph Corrie Ancone, courtesy Corrie Ancone
Bad Boy Bubby, 1993
Adelaide. L–R: unknown (with still camera), Ian Jones
(DOP), Harry Glynatsis (focus puller), Craig “Rags”
Philpott (camera assistant), Claire Benito (Mam),
Rolf de Heer (director).
Photograph Simon Cardwell, courtesy Ian Jones
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Withnail and I, 1987
London. Richard E. Grant (Withnail), Peter Hannan (DOP).
Courtesy Peter Hannan
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Stanley & Iris, 1989
Driving Miss Daisy, 1989
USA. L–R: Don McAlpine (DOP), Jane Fonda (Iris),
Robert De Niro (Stanley), Martin Ritt (director).
Atlanta, Georgia, USA. Jessica Tandy (Daisy Werthan),
Peter James (DOP).
Photograph Karen Epstein, courtesy Don McAlpine
Photograph Sam Emerson, courtesy Peter James
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Nature of Australia Episode 4, A Sunburnt Country, 1988
Lake Eyre. David Parer.
Photograph Elizabeth Parer-Cook, courtesy David Parer
The Great Outdoors, 2007
South Australia. Mandy Walker (DOP).
Channel 7, filming in the Arctic. Greg “Davo” Northam
(sound recordist) with a secure grip on the HD camera,
David Rose (cinematographer).
Photograph Matt Nettheim, courtesy Matt Nettheim
Photograph Trent Chapman, courtesy David Rose
Australian Rules, 2002
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Motorcar Ngutju — Bush Mechanics television series, 2002
Northern Territory. Film Australia. David Batty filming the
Bush Mechanics in their EJ Holden station wagon using
a DVSR PD100 mini-DV camera; front seat L–R: Steven
Jupurrula Morton, Simeon Jupurrula Ross; back seat
L–R: Junior Jupurrula Wilson, Randall Jupurrula Wilson.
Photograph Hugh Miller, courtesy Film Australia Library,
National Film & Sound Archive
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T
HE LOOK
The look that a cinematographer has when they’re in between
other moments on the set is really specific:
it’s something that another cinematographer
recognises, but very few other people realise
what it is. It’s a far away concentration — it’s
a picturing, so it’s a deep internal look. At the
same time they’re possibly looking at something
that’s right in front of their eyes. So it’s a very
far look and a very internal look at the same
time, imagining how the light will play, imagining
how the movement through the frame is going
to show up in light and shadow. Hoping that it’s
going to work!
– Erika Addis, cinematographer
Cold Turkey, 2003
Alice Springs. Alan Collins (DOP).
Photograph Mark Rogers, courtesy CAAMA Productions
Torn, 2006
Tim Smart (DOP).
Photograph Suzy Wood, courtesy David Redmond —
Instinct Entertainment
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The Tracker, 2002
Arkaroola, Gammon Ranges National Park, South
Australia. L–R: Shane Cooper (horse wrangler) holding
horse’s rump, Ian Jones (DOP), Jim Willoughby (horse
wrangler) holding horse’s head, Mike Smith (grip), Grant
Page (The Veteran), Bill Willoughby (head horse wrangler).
Photograph Matt Nettheim, courtesy Matt Nettheim
Look Both Ways, 2005
Adelaide. Mike Smith (key grip), Ray Argall (DOP),
Marco Arlotta (boom swinger).
Photograph Matt Nettheim, courtesy Matt Nettheim
Panadol Bullrider commercial, 2008
Michael Joy (DOP).
Courtesy Michael Joy
A
GOOD GRIP You know — you got to be very careful working with temperamental actors, making sure they hit
their marks and, as a camera operator, if you have a good grip behind you, that’s very important, working on a
dolly or a crane. One grip I was working with, he’d always float me in the right position over on a crane, if the actor
was walking in for an over the shoulder shot and missed his mark on the floor — an imperceptible little float across the
bloke’s shoulder. You’ve got to cheat a little bit at times. Start pulling actors up in the middle of their best performance
(laughing a bit) they’ve ever done and ask them to do another take, they can throw their handbag down, “I was on it! I hit
my bloody mark! You don’t know, you’re — “Yes sir, okay, three bags full.” Actors are a feeling people, trying to play an
emotional scene. You’re only trying to capture that scene. So you’ll work with these bloody temperamental people and try
and get the best out of them for the film. You can’t be dominating and saying mechanically, (stupid voice) “Well, I’ve got to
get it right.” You have a certain feeling for these people who are performing; it’s not a dogmatic bloody mechanical thing.
– Bill Grimmond ACS
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Somersault, 2004
Abbie Cornish (Heidi), Robert Humphreys (DOP).
Photograph Matt Nettheim, courtesy Robert Humphreys
Look Both Ways, 2005
Small Claims #2, 2005
Sydney. Telemovie. L–R: Peter Fitzgerald (standby props),
Paul Shakeshaft (first assistant camera), Claudia Karvan
(Jo Collins), Marc Spicer (steadicam operator) with a
16mm Arri SR3.
Adelaide. L–R: William McInnes (Nick) on bed, Marco
Arlotta (boom swinger), Leon Teague (Doctor), Ray Argall
(DOP), Jules Wurm (focus puller), Sarah Watt (director),
Chris Odgers (first AD), Toivo Lember (sound recordist),
unknown in cap.
Photograph Mark Rogers, courtesy Mark Rogers
Photograph Matt Nettheim, courtesy Matt Nettheim
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The Shadowcatchers
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