Meet Micro-Budget Filmmaking’s Most Exciting Cinematographer

Broadly speaking, micro-budget indie films don’t exactly have a reputation for high-quality cinematography, and if anything the smallest films are lauded in spite of how they look, not because of it. Independent productions rarely have the luxury of hiring an experienced DP, and with the advent of affordable, passably “high-end” digital cameras, amateur directors often assume they don’t need one, even though the results usually look, at best, like hyper-glossy TV commercials for cleaning products or Sunny D. The American independent cinema, in other words, is starved for technical competence—so much so that even nominally professional-looking features ought to be applauded for clearing the low bar—and even if we’re occasionally treated to an aesthetic powerhouse like “Computer Chess”, those rarities are decidedly the exception rather than the rule.

But if you have been paying attention to the New York indie scene of late, where some of the most exciting films have been emerging in what feels like a kind of post-mumblecore new wave, you may have noticed a recurring credit: Sean Price Williams, who has quickly proven himself to be one of most exciting cinematographers working today. Williams first came to prominence with his eye-catching work on the documentary “Beetle Queen Conquers Tokyo”, which artfully augmented its talking head interview footage with expressive panoramas of the Japanese skyline, and Ronnie Bronstein’s comedy “Frownland”, which distinguished itself from 2007’s mumblecore glut by being one of the few films of its kind to be shot on film. His work on Alex Ross Perry’s debut feature “Impolex”, which he also shot on 16mm, cemented his reputation in certain circles as uncommonly thoughtful and skilled.

Since then, Williams has kept incredibly busy, working at so brisk a pace that he has managed to complete nearly two dozen shorts and features since 2011 alone. And as the filmmakers with whom he regularly works begin to find acclaim and more mainstream opportunities, it seems likely that he will soon find a himself attached to bigger and more widely seen productions—like perhaps the new HBO series he just wrapped up with Perry, one of his most reliable collaborators. In any case, Williams is clearly a talent to watch, and as an introduction to his style we’ve put together a short list of some of his most essential work to date.

Five Great-Looking Films Shot by Sean Price Williams

“The Color Wheel” (dir. Alex Ross Perry, 2012)

Alex Ross Perry’s “The Color Wheel” is one of the most original and important American films of the last decade, and its grainy, high-contrast black-and-white cinematography is central to its appeal. Perry had intended to shoot the film in color and expressed an interest in shooting digitally, in order to better prepare the improvisations and comic riffs he’d planned between himself and co-star Carlen Altman.

It was Williams who insisted that the film be shot in 16mm and in monochrome—the two fought over creative choices often, according to interviews—and this proved a decision which fundamentally changed not just the look of the picture, but its overall character too. The climax of the film, a staggering ten-minute long take held largely in intimate close up, owes perhaps as much to Williams’ camerawork as it does to Perry’s conviction in the strength of the idea. Whether because they gel well or because they have the tenacity to fight, Williams and Perry are clearly ideal collaborators.

“Kuichisan” (dir. Maiko Endo, 2013)

Maiko Endo’s “Kuichisan” is, by design, a difficult film to classify, but despite its apparent impenetrability as a work of (non-)narrative fiction it is nevertheless exceptionally beautiful to behold. Working again in 16mm—though this time using a combination of color and black-and-white, equally striking—Williams traveled with Endo to the small town of Koza, in Okinawa, Japan, to soak in much of the local flavor.

What results brushes only briefly against fiction, as in the gradually crystallizing stories of a young American tourist, played by Eleonore Hendricks, and a mysterious child who resembles a miniature monk. But in general the film is a delight to simply absorb for its aesthetic flair: “Kuichisan” features some of Williams’ best work, and even without guidance through the narrative the experience is plainly mesmerizing.

“Lydia Hoffman Lydia Hoffman” (dir. Dustin Guy Defa, 2013)

Dustin Guy Defa has an unusual sensibility for a director of micro-budget films: though his style tends toward the kind of ascetic naturalism for which mumblecore is best known, his scripts (or improvisations, it isn’t always clear which it is) have a writerly quality that makes them feel a bit too determined. His last feature, “Bad Fever”, veered dangerously close to sitcom territory, mostly redeemed by a stellar turn by Kentucky Audler.

“Lydia Hoffman Lydia Hoffman”, his new short film—which played to much acclaim at the recent BAMcinemaFest in New York—doesn’t so much reconfigure Defa’s approach as it does find an aesthetic better-suited to it, which Williams is happy to provide: here Defa’s almost doc-like naturalism is exchanged for a more airily impressionistic take on the same, with Williams shooting the (typically) whimsical scenario as if it were a hazy daydream. The result, as you might expect, looks sublime, and this becomes the rare case of a film so elevated by its style that it transforms a good short into a genuinely great one.

“The Black Balloon” (dir. Benny and Josh Safdie, 2012)

The Safdie brothers, on the other hand, are in need of help from nobody, having long-since established a style and sensibility inextricable from their work. All Williams can do, lending his talents to this recent twenty-minute short, is deliver the best work possible, and he is glad to oblige—indeed, “The Black Balloon” might be the best summation of Williams’s short career to date.

He captures balloons floating through the sky with as much affection and nuance as the faces of the people the balloon finds wandering the streets, staying with several fleetingly as if passing through a number of self-contained films (“The Black Balloon” somehow seems to pass by more fully realized characters and snippets of completely lived-in stories across its 20-minute running time than most features can muster in 120.) What of the most intriguing things about this film is that it isn’t actually film at all: though it looks remarkably like 16mm, this was in fact shot digitally, and it’s a credit to Williams that he is capable of emulating the look of film so effectively.

“Somebody Up There Likes Me” (dir. Bob Byington, 2013)

Bob Byington’s “Somebody Up There Likes Me” is rather abrasive for a quirky indie comedy, but Williams lends the proceedings a lushness and vigor that greatly compensates for the dryness of the humor and the severity of the tone. These are the kinds of projects on which Williams will no doubt make his name, and even if they do not afford him the same opportunities for experimentation that Japanese fiction-doc hybrids and verite shorts do, it’s heartening to know that even his most routine engagements are made to shine.

Categories: Features

Tags: Calum Marsh, Kuichisan, Microbudget movies, Safdie, Sean price williams, Somebody Up There Likes Me, The color wheel

Reality Bites: The Fiction of Documentary Filmmaking’s New Golden Age

There’s been a recent revival of, if not documentary filmmaking, at least film writing about documentaries. Before leaving the A.V. Club, critic Scott Tobias made the (righteous) argument that documentaries have to be just as formally sharp as the most skilled narratives to merit serious discussion rather than getting rubber-stamped approval simply by offering up informative talking points. That premise differed markedly from two triumphal pieces on the allegedly rising commercial and critical status of the documentary. First, David Edelstein enthused that the form had become “incredibly sexy”; following his lead, Tom Shone said that “the recent renaissance of documentary film-making is a direct antibody response to the superhero steroids being pumped through multiplexes every weekend.”

You might remember a similar wave of trend pieces about ten years ago. Then, the success of seven titles — 2002's “Bowling For Columbine,” 2003's “Spellbound” and “Winged Migration,” 2004's “Super Size Me” and “Fahrenheit 9/11,” 2005's “March of the Penguins” and “Mad Hot Ballroom” — had entertainment writers cranking out pieces on how the documentary, after years of critical/commercial marginalization, was here to stay and take its rightful place alongside narrative films on the box-office charts. That optimism was a short-lived reiteration of equally gung-ho sentiments from the mid-’90s, when there was another much-noted (albeit lower-grossing) wave of documentaries, led by “Crumb,” “When We Were Kings” and the perpetually-revered “Hoop Dreams.”

The arguments made by Shone and Edelstein go back even further in time. Intentionally or not, both directly echo Pauline Kael, who concluded her 1969 essay “Trash, Art, And the Movies” by saying that “now, for example, I really want documentaries. [...] I am desperate to know something, desperate for facts, for information, for faces of non-actors and for knowledge of how people live—for revelations, not for the little bits of show-business detail worked up for us by show-business minds who got them from the same movies we’re tired of.” Kael’s “I” is Shone’s public, but the idea in both cases is effectively the same: reality (however tenuously defined) is craved when Hollywood’s fantasies seem increasingly threadbare and unrewarding. Likewise, when Edelstein says the word “documentary” “carries an implicit threat: ‘Time for class, children,’” he’s following Kael’s lead when she observed that as kids, “there are categories of films we don’t like — documentaries generally (they’re too much like education).”

I’d argue (politely!) that both Shone and Edelstein are wrong about the documentary’s rising status and what the public generally wants from them, and that the reasons they’re wrong are germane to why mainstream discussion about the “documentary” form is wrong and unhelpful. The term “documentary” is increasingly untenable, seeing as it’s come to have connotations untampered reality: “non-fiction film” is more to the mark, implying a basis in at least some degree of unconstructed/unmediated footage without firm quotas on the ratio of truth to fiction. That said, Edelstein’s article includes a plausible breakdown of the documentary into 17 different sub-genres. Some seem unquestionable (“Ken Burns [...] Photos, archival footage, talking heads”), others tenuous (“Arty/Collage”?), but it’s a reasonably thorough stab at current taxonomy, with room for hybrids and undefinable outliers.

Now let’s take a look at the movies dating back over the last decade that could (charitably) be called “non-fiction” which actually cracked the domestic top 100 for each year:

2012: “2016: Obama’s America” (#95 — one slot below “Monster’s Inc. 3D”)
2011: “Justin Bieber: Never Say Never” (#50)
2010: “Jackass 3-D” (#23); “Hubble 3D” (#82)
2009: “Michael Jackson’s This Is It” (#46); “Bruno” (#55); “Earth” (#88); “Under The Sea 3D” (#92)
2008: “Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus: Best of Both Worlds Concert Tour” (#48)
2007: “Sea Monsters: A Prehistoric Adventure (IMAX)” (#100)
2006: “Borat” (#16); “Jackass: Number Two” (#33);
2005: “March Of The Penguins” (#27)
2004: “Fahrenheit 9/11? (#17)
2003: none (!)
2002: “Space Station 3D (IMAX)” (#30); “The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course” (#92)

None of these have very much to do with “reality” in the sense of “look, learn and challenge your reality.” “Borat” and the “Jackass” films are borderline “documentaries” (they record basically unfaked realities provoked into existence, so I’m including them), while “Fahrenheit 9/11? and 2016: “Obama’s America” are political polemics with built-in, pre-ordained audiences. That leaves us with IMAX spectacles, cute animals/kids, political self-righteousness, and close-ups of celebrities and musicians on stage and “behind the scenes.” These movies are hardly representatives of tough, unvarnished reality, and their narrative approaches are likewise comfortingly familiar.

Box Office Mojo’s list of the highest-grossing documentaries since 1980 excludes IMAX, concert movies and reality TV shows (though it oddly includes “hybrids” like Bieber’s “Never Say Never”), an indication of the term’s connotational slipperiness. Examining the top 20, most entries are political preaching to the choir, concert movies that snuck in anyway (Bieber, “Katy Perry: Pieces Of Me” and “Madonna: Truth Or Dare”) or nature docs. Those aside, we’re left with “Super Size Me” (which managed to jump-start a public health trend rather than latching onto a built-in, food-worried audience) and “Hoop Dreams,” the only classical verite doc in the upper commercial bracket. Things get more interesting as you travel down the list, but the overall balance is clearly in favor of basic pleasures and low on “reality.”

One reason historical or issues docs might be excluded here as a popular genre (except, again, for those with a built-in political audience) is that didactic streak Kael and Edelstein cite, which prompts the recollection of stultifying classroom hours staring at indifferently paced assemblages of still photos and droning voice-overs. For many casual viewers, this’ll be their only association with the genre. Such films are overtly intended to inform, insisting their content precludes any jazziness in approach; their virtue is, precisely, their truth-value, and nothing else. It’s clear viewers don’t feel tugged towards these titles when they exit the classroom and acquire box office purchasing power.

That brings us back to Tobias’ piece. Sticking to movies that actually got American distribution, however token, I can list quite a few as beautifully made as they were commercially marginal: e.g. ”Only The Young,” a deceptively blissed-out look at Christian Cali skater teens and “Whores’ Glory,” a horrific/gorgeously shot triptych on prostitution around the world. Both were scantily reviewed, and both sound quite awful in synoptic form; visual surprises lurk in every shot, but not in outline. Neither critics nor the public are used to talking about documentaries as beautiful/hypnotic/etc., leaving such titles in an awkward lurch. It’s foolish optimism to think hyper-formalist documentaries (where is where really interesting things are occurring now) will have any more commercial success than their strictly fictional components any time soon; right now they don’t even get that. Positing that information and reality are the documentary’s biggest selling points isn’t an argument for the genre: it’s an evaluative checklist ignoring developments in the field, doing both the genre and box-office prognostication an equally big disservice.

Categories: Features

Tags: Documentaries, Jackass, Justin bieber, Op-ed, Searching for sugar man