Myth #7 “I’ll go on with the film when I find the right producer.” Keep looking!
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be attending WestDoc in Los Angeles, CA, and teaching her workshops in Tucson, AZ, in September. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

Missed the last issue? print version

The myth in all its glory
Who wouldn’t want a producer or co-producer if working alone? Especially the right producer? The myth does not only concern the proverbial almighty producer; it can apply to anyone onto whom we project the magical powers that will lighten our load and finish the film. Sometimes it’s an editor. Or another editor. A distributor. Any distributor. A publicist, a funder, a…; the list goes on.

Storytelling can get lonely, both literally and figuratively. Longing for company is understandable and in many cases even advisable. Yet more cooks don’t necessarily make a better stew, especially when under the guise of needing a cook when we were just looking for a busboy! Producers are great, and good ones are invaluable; but waiting to go on with the film until finding one can put the documentary in eternal limbo.

Let the myth be deconstructed so filmmakers and producers can find each other and make a match in filmmaking heaven.

Possible origin of the myth
Since some Greek a few millennia ago begged a muse for inspiration, artists were hooked on external stimulation and on both divine and earthly intervention for the rest of history.

Today we might not negotiate with ethereal beings for some clarity on how to proceed with story and production, but we often have equal expectations of a producer or editor. If troubadours sang on lonely nights for the muse to come, filmmakers advertise online.

Some truth to it
Yes, having a superb, experienced, passionate crew is a terrific asset. The right producer can bring not just a rolodex but know-how and renewed enthusiasm to a stalling project. So does the smart, skilled editor when summoned for the right reasons at the right time. A crew above or below the line is never something to dismiss or underestimate.

What’s questionable are all the imagined benefits filmmakers hope to gain from the mere fact of hiring people, not to mention the incredible denial it takes to forget the responsibilities and necessary adjustments that working in a team entails.

The real deal
Working alone—that is, producing, directing, shooting and editing all alone—can be exhausting for some and liberating for others. Some dread the overload, others fear dependency. It’s all in the personality of the filmmaker.

For high-end professional projects, working alone is not possible, yet some filmmakers manage to create isolation through a very vertical organization of the team that keeps him or her at some distance from the rest of the crew.

If it’s the filmmaker’s choice to work in such isolation, no harm is done. But if one is working alone while wishing for a team, the days can be long—very long! The problem is that many think they want a team when they’re really just looking for a solution to a particular problem. Filmmakers often wish they had a producer when in reality they want someone to do a budget or run errands or keep a schedule. Producers can do that, but they can and should offer so much more.

Others delay working on the story until their dream team is put together: they hope that when the dream producer takes on the daily tasks, they will be free to think and come up with the film that waits unformed in their desire. To their surprise, working with a team also takes time, and plenty of energy.

Many relationships start on the wrong foot because of this gap between the filmmaker’s need and the true job description of those being hired.

What to do
The first step in not falling for the myth of producers as saviors rather than partners is to make an honest profile of your needs. What are the reasons that are stopping you from moving forward with your film? The list might be long, but it can provide great insight into what are the real issues at the moment. From these findings, develop a job description, and add your hopes and wishes. How do you imagine that person? What hours of work would you expect? How much involvement? What could that person bring to the documentary? Then read your description to yourself, and if you still feel it is accurate show it to your friends or colleagues. Is this a job anybody would want?

Sometimes the mere act of putting something in writing will bring you the awareness you need to make an informed decision. You might realize an intern is enough to free up some mental space or get more done. Other times a colleague may suggest a potential co-producer based on your description. Then starts the long, always interesting process of interviewing and getting to know each other—but not until you’ve made sure that you’re looking for a team player and not a white knight or lady.

To think further
In a world of online social networking, it would seem that finding somebody for anything is a question of just a few clicks. But those we seek are also seeking… sometimes something or someone else.

May filmmakers find their muse and their producers, asking themselves what they can offer instead of just what they can get.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth #7 “I’ll go on with the film when I find the right producer.” Keep looking!
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by James Carman
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

Myth #6 “No worries about light or sound, we fix it in post”. Or “All it matters is the story!” Which one is it?
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be teaching her story structure and trailer workshop in St. Paul, MN in July. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

Missed the last issue? print version

The myth in all its glory
Two opposing myths: the first one the self-assured cry of the virtuoso or technophile, the second one the sneer remark of the dilettante or technophobe. Surprisingly both utter the same opening statements but with a different ending. “Burn out images? Deafening background noise? Oh, details, details!” they may say in unison, while the first group responds to the challenge with a confident, “We’ll fix it in post”, the second group will retort with disdain, “All it matters is the story, anyway”.

Can it be really fixed in post? And if not caring to fix it or can’t be fixed, can a story be appreciated and understood through the technical mishaps? Stories may be king, but kings rule with their imposing presence.

The wave of post-production gadgets, which promise to fix it all, has reached such heights that many live under the illusion that mastering the tools for storytelling is a nuisance that can be dealt with later –much later. “We fix it in post” or not caring to fix it all because “All it matters is the story” are dangerous myths that reveals its truth when balancing the budget or having the audience walk out. Let these myths be unmasked so the story will come out loud and clear and without the extra charge.

Possible origin of the myth
The dilemma of content and form, the message and the technology that carries it, and the even more insidious sheer creativity vs. sheer craft, is not new. Each era has gone through its stage of alternatively glorifying one and the other in an unfounded mutually exclusive opposition. After all, the story shapes the medium as well as the delivery technology and the medium with its delivery technology shapes the story, more famously said in the words of McLuhan, The medium is the message.

Still from the moment the caveman (or maybe it was a cavewoman) grabbed a stone to draw on the walls of the cave the beast he or she wanted to hunt, some other cave dweller questioned everything from the genius or virtuosity of that first proto-artist to the meaning and quality of the drawing. And so on throughout history. It’s probably human nature to question and create dualities.

Today, the argument might be old but the amount of technology available and our fascination with it renews the discussion with fierce intensity.

Some truth to it
In documentaries, it used to be that the truthful depiction of reality superseded technological perfection. Those days might be over. Since in post many things can be fixed, from color to sound, from erasing undesirable logos to enhancing almost inaudible dialogue, viewers are more demanding than they used to –so are distributors and everybody else in the industry.

At the same time, there is a limit to what can be done in post and more importantly there is both a material and a creative cost to the storyteller.

The real deal
Underneath the many real and apparent benefits of taking care of things in post, there is the issue of whether ultimately a story is well served with the many layers of postproduction intervention.

In art there is a distance between the hand of the artist and the object of art. A painter may have just a brush between her hand and the canvas. A writer, has a mere keyboard between the ten fingers (or two indexes) and the white screen.

Documentarians have a huge distance between themselves and the film on the finished film on the screen, the process in itself may be as long as writing a novel, yet the amount of tools needed and people involved even when minimal most often outnumbers the needs of tools and people for other artistic expressions. This thick separation has been made thicker with the advent of gadgets and like all tools they can be used for good or sheer evil.

The consequences of this wide separation for the storyteller is that some filmmakers fear the vast distance ahead of them and dismiss it altogether, hurting the chances for the story to be as enthralling as it could be. Or such gap –we fix it later- becomes an excuse to relinquish control and ease creative anxiety.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending where each filmmaker stands, the story is of utter importance and the quality of the media used to tell it is not a far second concern but an equally important one.

What to do
While some filmmakers prefer to care about the character or interviewee leaving them in half-light and un-miked, others may adjust that corner light obsessively forgetting that an incredible moment is just passing by unrecorded. As often it’s the case, the solution is not in the extremes but in a healthy middle path.

In practical terms turning off the fan that creates background noise takes one minute and cost nothing. Dimming that same sound in post, if doable at all, can take several hours and the fee of the person doing such task. So why not make a checklist for image and sound with minimum requirements. Room tone, anybody?

As per helping the technophobes bridge the gap, why not a chat with some postproduction people to learn the basics of what can be done just in case? Preparation is key on both sides of the myths.

The ultimate task of the storyteller is to… well, tell a story. In documentaries, the events unfolds uncontrolled by the filmmakers, capturing them is their most important task. Doing it well is part of the job. Imagine Van Gogh not caring about the tone of yellow he’s is using? Would it be a Van Gogh even if they’re still sunflowers?

Postproduction magic is a safety net not the destination. And a safety net is a welcoming place for both geeks and technophobes.

To think further
In a calendar where there are as many holidays as release dates for software, may filmmakers choose to put the tools at the service of their story and may they upgrade their post toys as often as they question the stories they’re telling.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth #6: “No worries about light or sound, we fix it in post”. Or “All it matters is the story!” Which one is it?
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by James Carman
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

Myth #5 “Narration in a documentary is bad storytelling.” Says who?
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be teaching her story structure and trailer workshop in St. Paul, MN in July. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

Missed the last issue? print version

The myth in all its glory
Narration, a.k.a voiceover, is as vilified by the filmmakers of the vérité persuasion as it is glorified by their counterparts, the lovers of the investigative genre. For those in the middle, however, the question of whether to add as little as a single line of the spoken word often creates anguish comparable only to the one we had in school when we had to choose between two friends. The choice made us a traitor to the other side, no matter what the justification.

And that’s because voiceover is not just a matter of writing or recording lines of text; it can imply a whole ideology. Narration, however, is just one story element among many. Everything depends on its appropriate use, rather than on some imagined intrinsic value. And, as has happened with many myths, its proliferation gave the spoken word such a bad rap that its good got lost in the shuffle. Let the voice(over) of those who have not been heard speak up.

Possible origin of the myth
A long, long time ago, “God” used to record narration for documentaries…and “God” was a white male in his fifties. Shooting was limited, and information was very much needed; so “God,” with His thunderous voice, told us how to understand and interpret the story as it unfolded. In fact, narration was the story.

The next generation of filmmakers rebelled. Smaller cameras in hand, they made themselves invisible, becoming privy to gems of truth. The following generation not only used even smaller cameras, they also found cheaper stock. They shot so much that the story told itself, with no narration needed. And after all, who was the filmmaker, that silent witness, to tell the audience what to make of things? Cameras captured reality in an objective way—or at least so they said —and narration was neither objective nor real. Besides, true auteurs didn’t want to be confused with TV producers who continued to use voiceovers. And so the myth was born.

Some truth to it
The abuse of voiceover as a Band-Aid for defective story structure always deserves to be condemned, and that voice of God can be irritating and ideologically suspect; but narration is not intrinsically bad, whatever prejudices we might have against it. There is more to voiceover than meets the ear.

The reel deal
Narration today can be as creative and varied as the filmmaker behind it. Sometimes, when recorded by the filmmaker or by a character in the film, it can become intimate and endearing, as in many personal docs. Other times, when recorded by an actor, the audience can be lulled into the film as if it were a night-time story, as with the trance-inducing voice of Morgan Freeman in March of the Penguins.

Voiceover is the most malleable, flexible, and creative element a filmmaker can use in the otherwise outwardly regulated world of doc filmmaking. Why not put it to good use when it’s called for?

What to do
Before any decision is made, clear your mind of prejudices regarding narration. Forget what people (read: your judgmental colleagues) will say. People rarely condemn a film well done or a story well told—no matter what device gets used.

If thinking of narration brings images of opinionated writers, endless castings, and expensive recording studios to mind, put those thoughts aside, too. For each apparent obstacle, there is a creative solution. Think of the character in the film as a narrator, record in the down time of a studio, and remember that writing voiceover isn’t only for writers.

Consider fixing structure on its own before using narration as a fix-it-all. Then try to define the function the narration will have in the film. Will the voiceover complement what’s being seen, enhancing the scene? Will it contradict the imagery, making the audience think twice about what’s true? Will it stir curiosity by planting questions that will be answered by the following scenes, creating a chain of interconnected thoughts? Regardless of the combination, try to stay away from being too literal with the words and images—i.e., what we hear we see. Simply because documentaries are a form of audiovisual expression doesn’t mean that the visuals must follow the audio to a tee. Those two words (audio/visual) are next to each other because they’re supposed to work together, in harmony, not in lockstep.

To think further
In this democratized Internet world, “God” may not be recording voiceover any more, but the filmmaker remains a sort of deity in the making of a film, simply by choosing where to point the camera or to how to voice or not voice a story.

May filmmakers value their vision more than a single voice—or voiceover.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth #5 “Narration in a documentary is bad storytelling.” Says who?
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by James Carman
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

Myth #4: “If the structure doesn’t work, put yourself in the film.” And everything will magically work? Not quite.
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

Missed the last issue? print version

The myth in all its glory
When you’re desperate to solve some structural issues, your eager-to-help colleague blurts out, “How about YOU? Make it YOUR story!” You might cringe because you had mixed feelings about this approach. Or maybe you wanted to do this all along but felt shy or modest about it.

Granted that for scattered docs, whether due to entangled storylines or too broad a topic, a grounding element is always welcome. Yet there are many story devices that can be used to unify the structure of your film. Using YOU as a character or narrator is only one of them, and it’s not always the most suitable or efficient option from a story perspective.

The myth of you having to become the star of your film to save its structure is a much-touted magic solution that rarely lives up to its expectations.

Possible origin of the myth
The two most common ways a filmmaker can be in the film are: a) when it’s his story, the personal doc; b) when the filmmaker is the searcher/inquisitor, sometimes only as narrator but often on camera, interacting with characters, interviewees, etc. The filmmaker as searcher-after-truth is different in intention from the journalist or host in a documentary, who has no personal investment in the search except for doing a good job.

The personal documentary, where the camera turns inwards, reached its apex in the ’90s. In this American Belle Époque, with a relatively stable social climate and a generous economy, film non-profits and grants blossomed, and the artist could indulge in some self-reflection. Personal films existed before and still do, but they reached momentum at about that time.

Then history took a turn in three successive strikes: Bush, 9/11, Michael Moore. That is to say: the economy shrank—read, less federal funding for the arts; the social climate got troublesome; and a filmmaker succeeded (at the box office) in being personal-but-outwards, rather than -inwards.

So the filmmaker-in-film formula carries two strong decades of critical and financial validation. It’s no surprise then that when a story doesn’t work, everyone chants in a trance of unquestioned conviction, “Put yourself in the film!”

Some truth to it
There are great examples of filmmakers who embraced the personal doc. From Doug Block to Alan Berliner, they mastered the genre and we can’t imagine their films without their active presence. Can anybody picture 51 Birch Street by Doug Block as an investigative report done by somebody else? Or as a doc narrated by an actor? Certain films are meant to be personal or there is no film.

There are also great examples of filmmakers on a personal quest, diving with passion into pretty much any topic, from guns to burgers. These films are more likely than the others to have worked without the filmmakers in them, but their presence added that je ne sais quoi that makes their documentaries what they are.

However, just because it worked for them in those circumstances doesn’t mean it will work for everybody, or even for them the next time around.

The real deal
Both the personal doc and the filmmaker-in-the-doc are genres—not band-aids to apply when things don’t go as expected. As such, they present their own structural challenges. If being in the film can be a solution, or if it was always in the cards but didn’t materialize because of the filmmaker’s doubts, then much needs to be considered before taking that step.

What to do
Before considering being in the film at any stage of production, fix the structure separately from the option of adding yourself. Are all storyline arcs working like clockwork? Is there missing information? Is there repetition when there should be reinforcement? Then ask, does adding yourself enhance the film in a way that nothing else can?

After that and only after, it’s time to ask yourself, do you want to be in the film? If yes or no, why? Eagerness or reluctance speaks volumes. It might seem an obvious question, but few take the time to think about it thoroughly. And when they do, their reasons are plagued by the same misconceptions and prejudices held by those offering such advice.

No matter whether it started as a yes or was a no that became a yes, a filmmaker has to be judged for her role as character as any other character would. Can this person sustain the story? Is she engaging? What does she bring to the film?

If having the filmmaker in the film was always a no and remains a no after thoughtful consideration, there can be a compromise in having the filmmaker narrate instead of appearing in full body.

As usual, the decision has to be intrinsic to the storytelling and not an imposition from outside. For everyone who thinks that adding the filmmaker is a benefit that makes the doc more personable, there is someone in the industry rolling his eyes and approaching the film with reservations. When it comes to prejudices, there are plenty to go around in both camps.

And if fearing that not being in the film will make it less your work, remember the thoughts of French semiotician Roland Barthes, who believed all fiction is autobiographical and all autobiographies are fiction. The same can be applied, to some extent, to documentaries, as to any artistic work. When there is a person creating, her hand can be seen no matter the format. Now, does that hand need to be seen literally?

To think further
Maybe we need to expand our vocabulary to go beyond the personal doc description, like in-person doc, or point-of-view doc. And at all times we have to distinguish between the personal as a matter of genre or as a story device.

May all filmmakers be in their films; not always in the flesh, but always in spirit.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth #4: “If the structure doesn’t work, put yourself in the film.” And then everything will work magically? Not quite.
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by James Carman
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

Myth #3: “A good story will find its audience no matter what;” or, “Good marketing can make any story succeed.” Which one is it?
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be a panelist at HotDocs and then teaching her structure and trailer workshop in California, New Mexico and Texas in May. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

Missed the last issue? print version

The myth in all its glory
This is a twin myth, two sides of the same coin. On the one hand, there is the idea that a story can propel itself above and against the forces of the market. Sure, having a good story is essential, but it’s just one part of the equation. On the other is the popular belief that no matter what the story, a good marketing plan can and will bring glory. Again, marketing is necessary, but can it really sell an empty package? And if it can, for how long and at what expense?

The artistic types, i.e. generally directors and editors, are more likely to embrace the first myth. Producers and industry professionals are more likely to advocate the counter-myth, especially when there is no more room for changes in the story. At times, it comes to be adopted by a director who has given up on fixing the story, and often indicates creative burnout or financial pressure. Rarely, but not impossibly, this counter-myth is uttered with some jealousy when a film is getting undeserved success and attention: the film is horrible and is doing well, it must be the marketing!

Together, these myths lead to endless speculation at panels and workshops and to sleepless hours on directors’ pillows. Both ring equally true, yet they mask the real issue: what does it really take to succeed with a documentary?

Possible origin of the myth
The idea of a single person or element overcoming all odds and succeeding is the ultimate human fable: some might call it a hero’s journey. That hero can be a good story emerging triumphant against a pile of festival rejections, or a genius marketing strategy that brings in the money despite a lousy film. The difference between the two myths is who the hero will be, the story or the marketing.

In both cases, it is an abstraction that soothes us—if this one thing works, everything else will be fine. Such a handy solution for a complex, random universe! These myths are rooted in our intellectual construct of how we perceive the world at work. Of course, both the world and filmmaking are never about one single element but about the confluence of several factors. Namely…

Some truth to it
Good storytelling and good marketing are indeed very necessary parts of the communication process—that is, if we can consider art and storytelling communication. They can be placed in the same semiotic diagram, which, according to most authors, approximates to sender/message/receiver, i.e. filmmaker/film/audience. Together they form the communication experience or the Filmmaking experience, with a capital F to go beyond production and include the industry and audience around and behind it.

From this perspective, the myths are simply emphasizing one part over the other of this communication diagram, rather than working with all elements in unison.

The real deal
Good things happen to bad films (and filmmakers) and vice versa. There are plenty of questionable films that have enjoyed financial and critical success—more likely one or the other rather than both. There is also the occasional little gem of a story whose word has gotten out by serendipitous factors—to the astonishment of the filmmaker, who has never even printed a business card. However, why leave the important things in life and filmmaking to fate? And why invest in one single aspect of a film’s success when working harmoniously with all elements takes the same amount of effort and skill?

What to do
Good storytelling is achieved with a strong message and code (i.e. content, genre, overall film manufacturing). Betting on good marketing alone, because of creative burnout, is never a good idea—even when it works. The regrets or, worse, the impostor syndrome will eventually haunt the filmmaker.

Success happens with less stress when you, the filmmaker and team, can work with all the factors in filmmaking—including marketing—in unison and with equal ease. Using some approximate and very intuitive percentages, a good solid story contributes maybe 25 percent to a positive outcome. The filmmaker’s personality and tenacity—and talent if one believes in that—is another 25 percent. That’s good news: 50 percent is in the filmmaker’s hands.

Reaching out to audiences, understanding how to navigate the venues, and knowing how other films are playing the field comprise together maybe another 30 percent. That means there is another 20 percent left to those issues in the larger society that mark a trend, favoring certain topics over others, mainly due to mass media. All these factors may look like they’re impossible to control, but a savvy cruiser of the business knows how to work around them: the famous “spin.”

So, the best strategy is to think globally and with equanimity. A successful film is the result of a concerted effort among many people and compounding skills. Next time you wonder why that bad film got such a good rep, rather than advocate a debilitating myth, sigh first and then think that if it happened to them, you can make it happen for you too.

To think further
Maybe in our consumerist society we’re doomed to vouch for empty packaging with fancy ribbons. And while the rebels dissent, proclaiming that art elevates them above petty marketing, the cynics will laugh at both ideas equally hard.

May all filmmakers use their films for thoroughly healthy communication.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth #3: “A good story will find its audience no matter what;” or, “Good marketing can make any story succeed.” Which one is it?
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by Tania Retchisky
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

Myth #2: “If I keep shooting/editing, the story will come to me—eventually.” Practical?
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be teaching her trailer workshop in Ottawa, Canada in March 27. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

Missed the last issue? print version

The myth in all its glory
Shooting and editing are not myths at all but necessary and very creative steps in filmmaking. However, expecting the story to materialize as something external to the filmmaker, the result of following some formula or by sheer accumulation of hours—whether they’re hours of footage or hours in the cutting room—can pose creative danger, a schedule problem, and become a financial nightmare.

Some variations of the myth include, “The story is almost there” or “If we do this one thing the story will happen,” while secretly doubting whether or not you believe what you’re saying is true.

The signs of the myth at work manifest themselves in filmmakers who hope that if the shooting didn’t bring a story the editing might. Perhaps during post, title cards, or music—and if that doesn’t work, maybe… explain it directly to the audience the day of the premiere?? Others hang on for dear life to formulas and recipes, that if followed faithfully, they believe will render a story, some story, any story. Some embark on a myriad of multiple test screenings and compulsive feedback seeking. Or do the opposite, dismissing confused viewers as too shallow to get the depth of this elusive masterpiece.

All of the above are the chains that enslave documentarians to the misconception of how storytelling works and unfolds in their minds and in the world. Time to unmask the myth that drains brains and pockets.

Possible origin of the myth
There was a time not long ago when filmmakers shot film, actual celluloid. Oh, the benefits of having ten-minute rolls, slow flatbeds, long expensive lab processing, and limited budgets. Research, planning, pre-interviews, and the thinking that went into them were valued as much as, if not more than, the strips with sprockets that carried them. The search and unveiling of a story started at research, grew in thirty hours of footage, and blossomed in six to ten weeks of editing—exceptions abound of course.

And then, digital technology was born, the era of five dollar-tapes and the absolute freedom to act on impulse and intuition. Making a film meant buying a camera and just shooting it. And then shoot some more, and maybe some more. Goddard’s camera as a pen—a pen with endless ink—could only bring fuller deeper stories, and it did to some degree. Drowning in 150 hours of footage, filmmakers pondered where the story was, or if there was ever one at all. Could six months of editing uncover an apparently hidden narrative? Could hiring yet another editor solve the puzzle? Or maybe the executive producer knows?

As technology evolves, thinking about story shouldn’t become obsolete; likewise, applying methodologies and processes of story-making that worked 30 years ago in different circumstances can only exacerbate the problem.

Some truth to it
Documentaries are about real life stories. Right? Yes, sort of right. Reality is out there and filmmakers, with their selective eyes and minds, see a story in the complexity of events in front of them. Instead of suffocating this reality with a pre-fabricated formula, filmmakers should strive to reflect it by removing the dust from their mirrors. Their choices in shooting and editing subsequently create meaning. In part, the story will come to those who look for it hard enough, but it’s in the looking for it with an open inquisitive mind that the story materializes—the waiting being part of the looking, not an act in itself. Storytelling, after all, is an active verb.

The real deal
Some stories are out there in the world waiting to be captured and told, almost already scripted by an invisible hand. A character with a mission, an event with a deadline: the filmmakers just need to follow the thread and sooner or later a story will unfold in supposed proper order. Other times life is more slippery, a hint of a story might get them started and then… and then we have to understand how story works because reality is not our co-writer any more.

What to do
If a story fell through or fate hasn’t plotted one for you, no amount of obedient formula application, endless shooting, obsessive transcribing, neat logging, and intense editing will revert that… or if it does—at what creative and financial cost? When the search for a story takes you past the 50-hour mark, it’s wise to consider a session for just thinking and decision-making based on deep questioning away from books or people who chart single itineraries, and away from all things that have a plug and a cable. Then when it’s time to act on the thinking, instead of following old procedures, create one that matches your creative patterns and film type. Evaluate proactive approaches, taking advantage of the flexibility of the new technology rather than succumbing to its drawbacks.

Consecutive shooting/viewing/logging/editing by tape, character, event, or topic, whenever possible, can be more conducive to discovering a story than approaching the beast in single, long, and exhausting encounters. Another possibility is to prioritize the shooting and editing by emotional affinity, first dealing with those characters or situations that you care for the most. Or let memory be your editor. If you still remember it, it’s worth having a second look rather than waiting for that tape to be next in line.

These approaches, though sometimes eclectic in appearance, put the seeking after story at the forefront, making artificial recipes unnecessary while relegating methods to their proper place, where they can serve the filmmakers’ needs.

To think further
Maybe describing documentarians as hunters of real-life stories is counterproductive. Maybe they’re hunters of storylines rather than entire stories, patiently pulling one string out of a messy tangle.

In all cases, may filmmakers be active weavers of meaning with reality being their muse and ethics their counselor.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth 2: “If I keep shooting/editing, the story will come to me—eventually.” Practical?
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by Tania Retchisky
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

“If you don’t have a conflict you don’t have a film.” Really?
By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be teaching her trailer workshop in Austria and then Ottawa, Canada in March. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.

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The myth in all its glory
You might have heard the “conflict” predicament uttered with different levels of conviction by funders, investors, and distributors. Or, at times, repeated by some self-appointed dramatic conflict police officer—often a well-intended yet misguided filmmaker that searches for answers to his or her story structure conundrums in screenwriting textbooks, or worse, documentary books and articles that were based on screenwriting books!

If you haven’t heard it in those exact words, variations include demands about acts, characters, and climax. Responding to these demands might cause you to panic because you can’t articulate the conflict of your doc. Or you might gulp because you know all too well that it has no dramatic conflict—not yet, not ever.

No reason to fret, it’s just a half-true verdict that has remained unexamined for too long. Time to reconsider!

Possible origin of the myth
There is no hard data that demonstrates the precise moment at which the myth took on a life of its own. Some speculation and anecdotal evidence points to three concurrent events that together gave birth and validation to this myth:

First, it’s the United States of America we’re talking about. Hollywood reigns supreme. For better or worse, it sets the tendency of the predominant model for storytelling. Three acts, a conflict, a hero, a villain—you get the picture (and please excuse the simplification). Therefore schools, workshops, trade publications, and the like will further the Gospel of What Brings in the Money. But why would a documentary filmmaker care about fiction storytelling models? Well…

Some time around the creation of cable TV, the need to fill channels and hours of programming put some extra pressure on acquisition and development departments. The word conflict, or hook, or more recently just story, started to mean entertainment, i.e. something marketable, even for documentaries and factual programs. Everything else was considered boring or too highbrow or not sellable. And in a free market of supply and demand, the demand won. Filmmakers would do their best to fit their square film in the round peg of Hollywood storytelling.

At the same time, digital technology entered the scene. Suddenly filmmakers were shooting a little more than the customary 30 or 40 hours of 16mm. With an average of 100–150 hours of footage, filmmakers could afford to wait for that apparently valuable conflict to happen, if it ever did.

By chance or by choice, documentary storytelling started to be ruled by a new master.

Some truth to it
The 2009 Oscar® nominated The Garden by Scott Hamilton Kennedy, which I had the pleasure to doctor, is a fine example of a conflict driven story. Past Oscar winners were not so conflict driven. They fared well financially and critically nonetheless, whether it involved penguins, passion for guns, or Indian children. Let’s rewind a few decades to the masters of documentary making… Alas, no dramatic conflict anywhere to be seen; characters, yes; conflicting issues, yes; two opposing forces, ah-ha.

Conflict-driven stories do exist and do work. They are a minority.

The real deal
Nothing wrong with following a conflict-driven model when, and that’s a huge when, the story naturally has a conflict. The problem arises when you, dear filmmaker, feel you must have a conflict or force one into the film, or—gasp!—create one. Furthermore, when the shoot never ends in the hopes that some dramatic conflict will manifest itself, or the editing stalls because of a supposed lack of structure, then what was an inoffensive myth becomes a vicious force to reckon with.

What to do
If your story is not of the David and Goliath type, rest assured that 100 years of documentary filmmaking without dramatic conflict can’t possibly be wrong. There are many ways to tell a story and many story elements to consider. No conflict doesn’t mean boring essay. It means asking further questions about what will sustain the story. There are arcs to climb, suspense to build, and a tight balance among all story elements at play, all of them, not just the conflict, if there was one.

There are also identification and empathy, curiosity and interest. True you might need more knowledge of the craft to make a story work without a conflict, since a model which you aren’t being bombarded with by every media outlet may not come as second nature.

And you might want to consider the person you’re pitching to, he or she might also be struggling to bridge the gap between those same two worlds. Therefore when asked what’s the conflict of your film, smile with confidence and say, “Let me tell you all the issues at stake in my story.”

Ultimately some might want to be entertained, but we all want to be engaged and for that you don’t need a dramatic conflict.

To think further
Maybe the documentary form is too broad and it’s time to be more specific about genres to avoid confusion. Maybe it’s time to become less lax about terminology and case scenarios, backing up arguments with data instead of validating opinions with a salary, a title, or an award.

In all cases, may filmmakers make their films by choice rather than by default.

Story Strategies • Debunking the Myths of Storytelling
Myth 1: “If you don’t have a conflict you don’t have a film.” Really?
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by Tania Retchisky
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.

By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

(Reading time: 5:22 minutes – 766 words)

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be teaching her story structure workshop in San Juan, Puerto Rico, February 6th. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.
Missed the last issue? print version

Can sound shape a film? Does it affect structure? Sound issues rarely come up in conversation in a consultation unless it’s in the form of a disclaimer, such as “We haven’t mixed the film yet,” or “There is that wind noise but the sound designer said he can tone it down.”

I was pleasantly surprised when one person opened my eyes, or more precisely my ears, to how sound can shape a story. A couple of years ago I was at the New York premiere of Billy, The Kid, by Jennifer Venditti, with whom I collaborated. Sitting right behind me was the sound designer, Damian Volpe. We were chatting away when he pointed out that because only the main character, Billy, was “miked” and everybody else was picked up with a boom, Billy was the “sound” protagonist, which was very much in tune with the point of view of the film: the convoluted and isolated world of an outcast teenager with an undefined behavioral condition—or was it just being a teenager?

Since then I have always pondered how much sound can shape or focus a story or storyline. And the more I thought about it during consultations, the more I was convinced that the answer is: much more than we actually take advantage of.

Sound design is a very subtle and flexible tool in filmmaking. According to Wikipedia, “Sound design and editing are the manipulation of audio elements to achieve a desired effect.” Not surprisingly, the entry is tagged as incomplete and unbalanced. I say not surprisingly, because sound design is a neglected art. Few budget for it in spite of its importance.

That desired effect that a filmmaker should achieve is the creation of a coherent and consistent sound world. In My Perestroika, sound designers Barbara Park and Peter Levin, from Splash Studios, enhanced and unified newsreels and archival footage with library sounds, location recordings, and foley. The most purist vérité filmmakers would cringe, but, eventually, even they would have to weigh whether the gaps in sound make the “real world” the filmmaker is trying to capture more unreal.

Just as the Director of Photography/Cameraperson creates a consistent color palette during color correction in post, in order to keep the film’s visuals from jumping all over the place, the Sound Designer should create a smooth audio track, allowing the audience sink into the story without being distracted by technical inconsistencies—unless that’s the desired effect, to remind the audience that this is a mediated experience.

These days the eye is much more forgiving to visual inconsistencies than the ear is to sonic ones. Audiences don’t notice or are not bothered by a shaky camera or a burn-out shot as long as the audio keeps them engaged. On the other hand, most people can’t tell that it was the permanent audio jumps and the discontinuities in background noise, to name two common audio oversights, that took them out of the story. Instead, they might attempt to attribute their disengagement to something else, to a scene or character that was not interesting.

The same goes for me in a session. Is the apparent structural problem just a sound imperfection that will be resolved? Or am I relying too much on what the sound will do? Here are some sound questions with an ear to shaping the story: Who in the cast are you going to mike, and how? Everybody with portables? Expensive but doable. Just main characters? Boom everybody? This can be disruptive: your characters might be self-conscious with a massive dragonfly hovering over their heads. Do you have room-tone? How about getting background sound in a separate channel so it doesn’t sound like the character is talking in a fish tank?

Once in post, the most common issues to consider are the following: is everybody audible? Are there sounds of cars or jackhammers or wind that need to be taken out? If it is impossible to remove them, can they be “completed,” continued till the end of the shot, so as to not disrupt the background? Can you add other sounds to complement the scene? Maybe not, because you’re a vérité purist; or maybe you can have a lot of foreign sounds, because you’re an experimental documentarian. And then there are the narration and music questions to consider, which are a whole other discussion on their own.

All stories get enriched by good sound design and sound designers can work magic, but you have to give them the rabbit and the hat first.

Conclusion: In a story noise becomes sound when we give it meaning.

Sounding the Board Case Study: Musings about Sound
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by Tania Retchisky
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2010. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.)

By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

(Reading time: 5:10 minutes – 610 words)

Doctor coming to town: Fernanda Rossi will be teaching her trailer workshop in Toronto, Canada, January 16 and both her story structure workshop in San Juan, Puerto Rico, February 7th. All info at www.documentarydoctor.com.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.
Missed the last issue? print version

Kryssa Schemmerling, producer and director of Our Hawaii, a documentary about the veteran surfers of Rockaway, New York, had interviewees … a lot of them, as she put it. Or were they characters? Or a mix of both? Our Hawaii was becoming our problem because too many interesting people were crowding the screen, making them unidentifiable and consequently flattening the story.
 
In documentaries people become characters when they participate in a dramatic arc or are explored in a multilayered fashion; hosts, when they lead the narrative; interviewees, when they convey information in a consistent form; and vox populi (or “man on the street”), when they make a short, random, and often anonymous appearance to share their opinion. Other living and non-living forms can be characters too, from penguins to water, but I have yet to see them as interviewees.
 
Being the complex living forms that we are, and since our speech is highly developed, it’s hard to distinguish absolutely between characters and interviewees. Kryssa, her editor Eve, and I could have spent a lovely day debating whether the surfers were characters or interviewees, whether this film was a portrait or essay, and whether it could be made into a supposedly more marketable character-driven story, all the while flaunting imaginary cigars in the air and adjusting invisible glasses on our noses. I can’t afford to indulge in such debates during a session. The issue at hand was very clear: there was a group of people in the film whom we needed to relate to and we weren’t.
 
First, we needed to be able to identify them. I suggested analyzing their predominant speech patterns and content to restrict their appearances on camera to distinctive functions.
 
We started with surfer and real estate broker James, who tended to speak in generalities. This trait made him a good candidate to be a disguised host and thus lead or wrap up scenes. Using him anywhere else would throw the scene out of balance. He also shared anecdotes and personal stories, but these we had to forgo to avoid diluting his function.
 
John, who not coincidentally always talked right after James when together, loved specifics and would re-enact situations with his body language. He was perfect to expand on whatever topic James had already introduced to the scene.
 
Bobby was interviewed separately and was the philosopher of the group. He liked to go deeper into the reasons for their choices. His personal stories were detailed, poignant, and sometimes hilarious, but they threatened to become a documentary within the documentary. Once Kryssa and Eve agreed that Bobby’s function would be to deepen the scenes, they chose to keep all his insights and only a few of the more important personal stories. How to chose which ones? They would keep only those which informed us about the historical moment, such as avoiding the draft during the Vietnam War by faking psychosis, and would stay away from personal details unrelated to history or surfing.
 
And so we proceeded with each single person in the entire documentary throughout the day. Of course there was more to the film than surfers talking: amazing historical footage, some vérité scenes, and incredible poetic montages were all nicely woven together by the expert hands of editor Eve.
 
In the course of the session, by thinking about what Kryssa had and how it was functioning, instead of what it could have been in a parallel world of filmmaking, we could transform each surfer, along with his wife, from a talking head to a storyteller.

Conclusion: A head that talks is not a talking head: it is a speech waiting to be shaped into a story.

Interviwees with Character Case Study: Our Hawaii by Kryssa Schemmerling
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by Tania Retchisky
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2009. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.)

By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

(Reading time: By Story Consultant Fernanda Rossi, The Documentary Doctor

(Reading time: 5:15 minutes – 689 words)

Note to readers: This is a follow-up to the previous issue.

Click here to download a printable PDF of this issue.
Missed the last issue? print version

Lately, to the dismay of many, two statements have gained popularity and adherents. One asserts that the budget for the marketing and distribution of a documentary should be equal to the overall budget of the film. The other claims that it takes several years to complete the distribution cycle of a film. For the filmmaker that sees creativity only in the making of the film, the prospect of spending so much time in distribution and of having to raise so much money to get their film to their audience can be daunting. However, as Therese Shechter was thinking of a story outside the film in production in Part I, Nancy Schwartzman was doing the same in distributing her film The Line, about consent in intimate relations. Her creativity wasn’t limited to what would go into the film but extended to how the film will travel the circuit.

Today, an innovative approach to distribution and outreach is not a surprise but a must. During our consultation to work on her rough cut, Nancy was already very aware that her documentary would be just part of the story, the larger story of her activism and overall message: consenting to a sexual relationship is not necessarily agreeing to everything that can possibly happen between two people.

Her long-range vision had a positive impact on the session. In discussing the structural issues of her rough cut, she didn’t seem too attached to any details, even to any order of scenes: this was not for lack of a point of view, but because she was thoroughly aware of what mattered. Her focus was on creating the right vehicle to initiate a larger story, or stories–-those collected from the audience as they gained new awareness on this topic. Having had the experience of starting the Safe Street initiative, she knew how to use the web to create that interaction. And she knew how to maximize a dollar. Therefore the idea of raising money and spending time to continue the making of the film in real time and in real life was filled with promise.

One of the most interesting ideas she implemented was to play with the title of the film, The Line. After a screening she passed around stickers with the question: “Where is your line?” and then photograph those stickers for the collective group blog: whereisyourline.org and also made available through the Flickr photo album service. Thus the story inside her film continued actively with the audiences live and online.

That teacher of semiotics mentioned in Part I foresaw a world of interactive storytelling. Today I think he wasn’t just seeing the future but also recalling the past, a time when we used to sit around a fire collectively building the stories that would become mythology. We are sitting around the flicker (or Flickr) of our computers building a new mythology.

Conclusion: There are no more audiences, just storytellers pausing until it’s their turn to talk.

Story after the Story - Part II – Case Study: Case Study: The Line by Nancy Schwartzman
Article by Fernanda Rossi | edited by Marcia Scott | photo by Tania Retchisky
published by Documentary Educational Resources

Fernanda Rossi, 2006-2009. All rights reserved. This article can be reprinted in its entirety for educational purposes only, as long as no charges of any kind are made. Partial reproductions or modifications to the original format are strictly prohibited.)