The Lesson that Took Years to Learn

I was asked in an interview again recently why I am still excited about directing film, as if I should be bored with it after doing it for so long. And I replied easily, because I am quoted on this a lot, “It’s still exciting because I still learn something every day. It’s that complex of a process.  Every day it’s something new.” And then later, I thought, “Okay, Missy, what exactly is it that I’m learning all the time? Spell it out!” And challenging myself to articulate what my profession continues to teach me has perplexed me since the question was put in front of me yet again.

         It’s not the practical skill sets, because after hundreds of hour-long single camera episodes, I feel confident that I’ve explored the required skill sets and polished them to the point where I can safely call on them when an obstacle or problem presents itself, whether that’s a recalcitrant actor or an intractable crane.

         It’s not the politics, because while navigating people and their perspectives in a subjective business is omnipresent, one learns to listen more, talk less, and make decisions without judgment against those who profess the opposite point of view.

         It’s not the dichotomy of self-esteem versus ego, because in order to be creative you have to have faith in your ideas, but humility is the other side of that coin. Experience teaches when to step forward and when to step back.

         So what is it? What do I keep learning, even after all these years, all these episodes? What could possibly be the lesson that keeps teaching?

         I discovered my answer through music. I most often listen to classical music, inspired by melody, by beauty, by the stories that the music tells.  It also gives me the perspective that because I am still inspired by something Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart wrote over two hundred and fifty years ago, his creativity lives on and diminishes the petty and insignificant daily problems that film production might present.

         While that is comforting, it is not really the essence of what I continue to learn in my directing profession. But composers – those brilliant creatives who tell their stories through music - have hit on the essential truth that is so stimulating to me: “Simplicity is the final achievement. After one has played a vast quantity of notes and more notes, it is simplicity that emerges as the crowning reward of art.” So said Frederic Chopin, a hundred years after Mozart.

         I have certainly played a vast quantity of notes in the decades I’ve been directing. I went through phases of trying too hard to impress, to get fancy with the camera just to call attention to my skills. But that was about me, not about the story. And I have tried to be complicated by just covering the bejesus out of a scene, thinking that at the very least, there would be a lot of editing choices. But that wasn’t being specific about story, and Charles Mingus, the brilliant jazz musician and composer who lived a century after Chopin, called attention to that lack of focus when he said, “Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.” And a current musical genius made it even more personal: “Simplicity makes me happy.” That’s from Alicia Keys.

         So that’s what I’m learning. Every day. How can I simplify? What story am I telling and how can I show it clearly but simply? Sometimes when I hit upon the exact right phrase that allows an actor to precisely express fully the intention of the scene, that’s simplicity. If I imagine a shot that beautifully expresses theme, emotion, and yes, STORY, without overselling or making the image more important than it should be, that’s simplicity. If I communicate exactly what I’m trying to achieve to the crew and can make them “see” it without lecturing, that’s simplicity.

         It’s difficult to be simple.  It takes years of experimenting with every other possibility of expressing creatively to understand the joy of simplicity, of getting it exactly right.  It’s an elusive choice, one that can seem just out of reach, like chasing a butterfly. But when you land it, when you achieve the perfection of simplicity, there is no better creative high. It’s partly the result of experience, and partly the result of inspiration – and of trusting that inspiration that seems to come out of nowhere but is rooted in trying imperfect options for years but noting when something works and being very aware when it doesn’t.

         I still occasionally make choices that don’t work – that are too obtuse, or too much “gilding the lily,” or are motivated by efficiency rather than perfection. But on most shooting days, there is that beautiful moment of simplicity that elevates the storytelling and I feel like I composed something beautiful. That moment, that feeling, will always keep me engaged in this wonderful profession called directing!