The Train

Director Oren Jacoby (Constantine’s Sword) quoted another documentarian: “Watch out if you think you see a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s probably just a train coming right at you.” We’ve discovered the truth of this statement in our own work. After two and a half weeks of filming we don’t know whether the scenes we film contribute to the story, or make it unfocused. One moment we’ll feel confident in the progress of our film. The next, we’ll feel confused and directionless.

Everyday, at least 5 times a day, one of us will ask the other: “Is this film going to be good?” Then we will watch a trailer of some new award winning documentary, or read a blog about some film-maker’s new found success, and instead of feeling inspired we become depressed, thinking that we will never attain such heights. Constantly worrying whether or not we are doing the right thing is something we have learned to live with. It’s the price we have to pay in order to be our own bosses. No one tells us who or what to film, what time we have to get up in the morning, or how much work we will do in a day. While that may sound amazing, it’s also unsettling.

But worry is not the path to success. While it’s important to question our decisions and to push ourselves each day, becoming crippled by anxiety only leads to stagnation. We have to remind ourselves that there are no wrong decisions here. With every new shoot we gain more experience and learn something new about film-making. Each time we sit down to talk to someone we gain another point of view. We have nothing to lose here, only everything to gain. After we leave this place, no matter how the final film turns out, we will have emerged as far superior filmmakers to our older selves. This is what fuels our fire.

After shooting about two hours of tape for Barberin’, we watched the raw footage. Anyone sitting in front of the TV watching the shaky camerawork, out-of-focus shots and bad audio would have left with the same impression: this is total crap. At least that is how we felt. We yelled at each other while we watched: “Why did you zoom so fast in the middle of Vincent’s sentence?” and “Why did you start asking another question before he finished the last one… your stupid voice is ruining the sound bite!” A month (and many frustrating hours of editing) later we had a 7 1/2 minute short that brought out smiles and laughter from nearly every person that watched it. Our crap had turned into gold.

Does this mean that you can shoot junk and then edit it into a great film? No. But it demonstrates both the power of editing and the complexity and intricacy of documentary film-making. Only after watching the raw footage over and over again did we discover the powerful, funny, and insightful moments of our film. And we were able to highlight those moments carefully in editing.

Right now we have 15 hours of footage from the kibbutz, seven times more than what we shot for Barberin’. How can we possibly know what we have really captured on film? We can recall the gist of the scenes from memory, but there will be hundreds of moments (by the end of filming when we will have anywhere from 50-75 hours of footage) that neither one of us saw at the time of shooting that will emerge in editing as key moments in our film. Through the shooting choices we make each day, the direction of our subconscious minds, and pure luck, these moments will coalesce to produce the story arc of the film. But until the final cut is made, we won’t know exactly what story will emerge, what themes will develop and how the film will end. That is the excitement of documentary film-making.

We are also beginning to recognize that there is no prescribed way to going about making a documentary. We can compare our work to others, even be inspired by the cinematography or style of other films. But our topic, our characters, our situation is inevitably different, and must be approached in a different way.

We often think about one of our favorite films Spellbound, which documents a few children who are practicing for the national spelling bee. The story arc is naturally built-in, because they all practice for the bee, compete, and either win or lose. The characters are connected in that they are all extremely devoted to the art of spelling. Other film have followed this genre: Wordplay and the new film JUMP! come to mind.

We can compare these films to ours because they document several ordinary human beings in un-ordinary situations. They are not “earth-shattering” tales of human beings living against the odds, in war torn countries or suffering debilitating diseases. Instead they are entertaining tales of humans living passionately. And these are also important tales, even if they don’t prompt audiences towards advocacy.

These successful films certainly influence us. But they do not serve as a blueprint for our own. Our characters are only connected through the unique place in which they live: the changing kibbutz. Other than that common connection, they differ greatly, and their lives take varying directions. How to create a story arc from our many characters’ lives is our biggest challenge, one that we take-on willingly.