My job isn’t that important.
Film making is dependent on the people behind the camera. The hard working folks who wake up at 5am to get to set, and are the last to leave 12–14 hours later.
A good director loves people. Likes to talk to them, loves to listen. They need to be a leader, to inspire, to absorb the feedback, the talent that they are lucky to surround them-self with. Have an understanding of what every woman and man are doing on set, and respect them for it. A good director does the job because they love people and telling stories. It’s not about the power you have over people. It’s not because you have people waiting on you. It’s not because you finally get to call the shots.
I hear horror stories of directors yelling at crew. Listen to directors brag about having minions that wait on them. Exploding on set. Hiding their own insecurities and stress by abusing the teams that work for them.
You aren’t a leader. Your actions are talked about over beers, exhausted meals, at other events, to your peers.
Some how you are lucky enough to be listened to by a lot of people. Think about what you say to them. Consider how you treat them, because after you finish your film, when the lights come up and the awards collect dust on you office shelf, you still gotta go back and rely on people again.
When I was coming up in this business I made the mistake of flipping out on set once. I lost my cool and caused a scene. My emotions got my blood raging, and as the dust settled I looked around — I had poisoned my shoot. My tantrum, my disrespect effected all of those around me. For what? Were we performing open heart surgery? If we went later would someone die? Loose an arm, get a head cold? No.
My job isn’t that important.
It was a big lesson for me. Now every time I huddle with a team I consider it to be a privilege.
Dear directors and producers, don’t be an asshole — — and if you are — — for gods sake don’t brag about it!
I respect and love everyone who has ever joined me on a set.
God help anyone else who shits on them.
