12 Rules of Directing
Ever wonder what a film director really does? Wonder no more.
Written by Ben Mattingly
Every great director has one thing in common: none of them listened to their instructor on their first day of film school. On my first day of film school my instructor looked out over the class and proclaimed, “If you can see yourself doing anything else, anything at all, do it.” Of course no one got up and left the room. Each of us was sure we were the exception to the rule. But it’s that very hubris, that crazy decision to go against the known odds, that has given us the great filmmakers of history.
Filmmaking is shrouded in mystery. The role of the director is often portrayed as a diva with a beret, a brooding artist struggling to fight “the suits”. I want to give you a glimpse into the principles, practices, and tricks that working directors rely on to do their work.
Here are the 12 Rules of Directing:
1. Have an answer for everything.
Your job as a director is to think through every Act, every scene, every story beat, and know the core utility of each component. Why is this detail in the story? If the answer is “I don’t know”, you eliminate that detail. This knowledge is the bedrock upon which you build your film. Some questions you will obviously need to know the answer to: why does this character make the choice to quit his job? Why does this scene take place on a dirt road and not a paved road? But sometimes the questions you must ask yourself as the director seem pretty out there. Let’s look at an example of the latter: your story features a mother-daughter relationship on screen and the pair are preparing for the grown daughter’s wedding. Do we need to think about what the birthday parties of the bride to be were like as a little girl? Yes, we do. The answer to this seemingly tangential detail we don’t plan to address on screen will affect how the character interacts with her mother when planning the her wedding, therefore it is necessary for you as a director — and no one else — to know this.
2. Every answer must serve the story.
Every question you are asked requires a decisive answer; “because I said so” isn’t sufficient. The idea of every idea serving the story is vital. Let’s examine an example: When your DP auditions an 18mm lens for your hero’s close up, you can approve it because you know the character is coming to terms with the shocking revelation of her father’s true identity and is seeing the world in a view distorted by this traumatic revelation. The lens choice is justified by the story. Since this concept of your choices serving the story is so important, let’s look at another more esoteric, yet no less applicable answer: You are asked by the wardrobe artist whether a character should be in a green shirt or a blue shirt. You answer green without skipping a beat. Why green? You know from your prep green is right because in this scene the character is preparing for her senior prom, which represents a transition between childhood and adulthood, and green is a transitionary color between the warm and cool colors. It may seem excessive, but it’s the work of a director. Everything on screen is the result of a deliberate choice — everything is there for a reason.
3. Keep the answers to yourself.
The department heads are invested in the story and have been prepping with you for a while by the time you roll camera. But the majority of the crew is focused on the day’s work, specifically their role in completing the scene at hand. The director holds the map and key to make the component work of the crew matter as a composite final product. But you only share what is necessary, the map stays in your pocket most of the time. In the previous example of the wardrobe artist and the choice of green you will likely just answer green and spare the explanation. But you know why its justified. If you are fortunate enough to work with Dustin Hoffman, you aren’t going to share your pages of prep with him. He won’t need much help; he’s Dustin Hoffman. But you have every answer he may ask standing by in case he does. Let’s take the following for example: On day 21, Mr. Hoffman walks over and says, “Ben, ya know, I just can’t seem to find the motivation behind my reaction to my wife’s question on page 43. It seems irrational given his established temperament. The guy seems pretty even keeled.” I answer, “You have never allowed yourself to love because you never were truly loved yourself. So you couldn’t know any other possible way to respond.” I’ll close with “does his reaction feel right now given that?” Regardless of his answer, in that moment, you did your job and earned your day rate.
4. As if.
Do you want to make a seasoned actor frustrated? Say a line in the way you hope they will say it and ask them to parrot it back to you. Actors are not puppets. They have a craft and intense preparation of their own, which means they get to know their character better than you ever will. However, there are times when an actor is trying her best but she is just not hitting the beat. In this case, place the actor in a scenario that can help her formulate an organic reaction. After all, actors are trained to be situational. Think of the basis of improv — actors are given a place and an objective and then create a scene from there. Take the following example: A sister asks her brother about his angry girlfriend that won’t talk to him. The sister knows her brother is in the wrong, and his stubbornness is risking his relationship. So the sister asks, “have you even tried calling her back?” If I want the emphasis on “tried” but the actress’ emphasis is elsewhere, I may give the following direction to her: “play it as if you’ve told your brother to just call her back dozens of times, but he never heeds your advice. This is a pattern with him.” You’ll likely hear the actor finds her own version of the line that organically puts the emphasis on “tried” given the direction. Situational direction makes for genuine, believable performances.
5. Avoid toys.
Anytime a camera move is mentioned in a script, BOOM UP, PUSH IN, ZOOM OUT (please don’t use zooms *praying hands emoji*), question how this toy helps to tell your story. More often than not, you don’t need it. The scene can be accomplished in other means that are better suited for the story. Cranes, dollies, pursuit cars, Steadi Cams — they are fun to use and look cool. And sometimes they are exactly what the story calls for. But you should aim to use as few toys as possible — it will only benefit you. If you use restraint, then when you do employ a toy to move the camera it will be impactful — the way every decision you make as a director should be. Don’t be the toy who cried wolf.
6. You only get one take of your first shot.
Hear me out. The director establishes the pace and tone on set. Like any other leader, your actions reverberate throughout the organization. Time on set costs a lot of money, and you want people to be ready to shoot when you call action — not ready to see the scene a few times, tweak things, then be really, really ready. So here’s the trick: choose a shot you can throw away as the first shot on your first day of production. Get one take and call out, “great, moving on.” Actors will ask for another try, and you’ll likely see the crew tighten up a bit. But assure everyone it was exactly what you needed and it’s a tight day, so one is all we get. Next time you call action everyone will be on their A game knowing this may actually be their only shot, and now you have a tight crew.
7. Take all blame, duck all credit.
When a film is not well received, it’s the director who takes the blame. Bad acting? The director’s fault. Confusing editing? The director’s fault. An ugly font used in the title card? You see the pattern here. As we have learned, the director ultimately makes or approves every decision that is made. This approval is either explicit in the form of an answer (our favorite thing), “yes, that color pink for the bicycle”, but more often than not the approval is implicit — just by being on set means the director approves of every crew member and any decision that individual makes. You own that choice, and you own the results of their actions. Stand up for your crew and they won’t forget it.
8. Casting is your most important responsibility.
This cannot be overstated. Take casting as seriously as a heart attack because you will have a literal heart attack if your actors can’t perform on set. Actors show you who they are quickly in an audition. You will get a vibe, just like we get a vibe when meeting a new person. I bet most of you can tell within moments if you like a person or not. You need to listen to this same instinct when casting. Do you feel the character in this actor? If the answer is yes, dig in with them as if you were working with them on set. If you don’t see a performance that is already 75% there, they’re never get there on the shoot day, no matter how good of a director you are, just like the greatest coach in the world couldn’t teach me how to run a five-minute mile — it just isn’t happening.
9. Never underestimate the importance of your Director of Photography.
Without a Director of Photography (DP) you’re making a stage play. Your DP is the single most important teammate you have as a director. Your job is to create the vision, the DP’s job is to bring that vision to life. I can’t tell you the make, model, or format of the camera my last project was shot on. I know it was HD, the camera was about that big, and it had some sharp lenses. But the DP knows all of this. She is an expert camera operator, she understands the most effective ways light can be manipulated, and she can compose breathtaking images without a second thought. A DP holds your very fate in her hands. It’s a relationship of incredible trust, and because of the importance of this relationship and the effect is has on the final product, directors often work with the same DP over and over: Darren Aronofsky and Matthew Libatique, the Coen Brothers and Roger Deakins, Steven Spielberg and Janusz Kaminski. If you choose a DP who creates a boring and unattractive image, guess whose fault that is?
10. The rule of 3.
This sub-header is lower case because it’s not the Rule of 3 we learned in English 101 used by storytellers throughout history. This is about the physical space you require to successfully shoot your scene. Whose decision is it about where you will shoot? That’s right. It’s yours. So be honest with yourself when choosing a location. This isn’t an air mattress in a dorm room. It can’t just fit. I once made the mistake of agreeing to shoot in a sound stage instead of in a real house. A week later I came back to see the completed set, and once it was furnished, we could barely get a dolly track through the hallway, much less an entire crew. I had literally pinned myself in, and it showed in the final product. So remember when location scouting that you’re looking at three parts of space: 1) the space required for the scene, aka what you will capture on camera, 2) the space for the equipment and immediate crew, 3) room for the support crew and video village. The rule of 3.
11. Forgive yourself sometimes.
A director rarely makes the same mistake twice. The stakes are just too high. Most people never get a chance to actually make a film, so if you have gotten to the point to be fortunate enough to make mistakes, don’t forget how lucky you are just to be there. Some of the filmmakers I respect the most report they loath watching their films because all they see is the mistakes they made. It’s magical to see your work on screen, but it will also make you sink into your chair like a child hoping not to be called on by his teacher. In fact, in film school, you may find the work you like the least is shown the most. Conservatories focus on how to avoid mistakes, and if you make some, you better believe they will be picked apart and used as a teaching moment. In moments like these, it is especially important to be kind to yourself and know you are not perfect and you always have a lot to learn. Honest criticism is the most valuable feedback you’ll ever get. Praise feels nice but has no utility.
12. Never, ever, ever give up.
As a development intern years ago, an executive assistant had two notes taped to his clunky PC monitor, “never, ever, ever give up” and “success is when preparation meets opportunity.” I have both on my desk today, the yellow paper faded from years in the California sun. I don’t change them out because the faded color reminds me of the energy I have put in to be here today and the energy others have given to support my passion. I can’t give up now. I’ve been doing this long enough that some of my mentors, collaborators, and industry friends are no longer with us. I can’t let them down. I need to carry on their knowledge, legacy, and passion. So on days I feel like the prospect of getting my next film made is impossible, or that I’m just not up for this crazy life I’ve chosen for myself, I look to those notes and continue to press on. Sometimes I wonder if that executive assistant ever gave up, or if he’s still part of the faded post-it note club. The few, the crazy, the creative.
About the Author
Benjamin Mattingly is a Film Director and Creative Producer at Box.com where he leads creative for the Customer Success department. His film credits include Dumping Ground, Short on Time, and Electric Heart. His next feature, A Gray Matter, explores the pressure students in Silicon Valley are put under to succeed at all costs. The project is currently in development.
Learn more about Ben at: creativehominid.com| IMDB
