After a month had passed since the beginning of principal photography, Harry Jackson was beginning to hit a stride with directing. He wouldn't say he was comfortable, but he was getting into a groove. It wasn't a eureka moment or big insight, but gradual building awareness of how to feel his way around a set.
He had seen enough movies to know that most directors would eventually find a style with which to work. He just didn't expect that finding his own would involve so much uncertainty.
The production was moving graciously and smoothly. It was by no measure a chaotic set. But directing, as Harry was figuring out, was not a job that he could prepare for wholly academically or on someone else's set over the years. It was really moment-to-moment decision-making—small technical decisions, instinctual decisions about performance, tone, movement.
Each moment compounded its value. And the difference between good and forgettable could only be an inch or a second.
One morning, just after six, they were shooting in a tight alleyway in Boston. Harry was standing with cinematographer Wally Pfister, looking over the setup for the next scene. The light was flat and the space was tight.
"I want the camera to feel like it doesn't belong," he said, squinting at the monitor. "Like it's watching something it shouldn't."
Wally nodded slowly. "So, not quite voyeuristic, but… uncomfortable?"
"Exactly. Like it's not welcome. Like it's intruding."
Wally thought for a moment. "We could underexpose a bit. Keep the shadows deep. Maybe add a subtle handheld movement. That would throw off the balance just enough."
Harry nodded in agreement. "Let's give it a shot."
This kind of back-and-forth had become their norm. Harry didn't always have the right words to express his vision, but Wally had a knack for capturing mood and tone.
They were beginning to build trust.
Still, not everything went off without a hitch.
That afternoon, they were shooting a pivotal scene—one where Daniel's character stumbles upon a hidden chamber beneath the town library.
It was a crucial moment in the narrative, and Harry wanted the camera to closely follow Daniel as he made his way down into the space, the lens just behind him. The plan was to use a stabilizer to track the actor down the narrow staircase, but the rig turned out to be too cumbersome.
They had tested it earlier, but the actual location was tighter than they had anticipated.
"Can we slim down the rig?" Harry asked one of the grips.
"Not without sacrificing stability," came the response. "You'll end up with bounce, especially on stairs."
He glanced over at Wally, who was already exploring other options.
"Handheld could work," Wally suggested. "We'd lose that smoothness, but it might add some tension."
Harry took a moment to consider. A smooth shot would look polished and professional, but a more shaky, dynamic movement might actually enhance the scene. He didn't have much time to mull it over.
"Let's go handheld," he decided. "But keep the movement subtle. Just enough to feel like we're right behind him, like the camera's unsure whether to keep following."
They filmed the scene three times. The second take had a slight hiccup—Daniel tripped on a step, almost unnoticeably—but he carried on. When they reviewed the playback, that was the one that really popped. It felt less rehearsed, more vibrant.
Harry nodded. "That's the one we'll use."
______
Later that evening, Harry found himself back at their makeshift production office, a repurposed storage room at the inn where most of the crew was staying. Storyboards, script pages, and shot lists were strewn across the table.
Gregory was going over notes for the upcoming week's schedule. Sparky, Harry's right-hand dog, was busy organizing the chaos. (Lisa was actually)
"You've been staring at that same frame breakdown for twenty minutes," Gregory remarked, still focused on his notes.
Harry blinked and leaned back in his chair. "I'm just trying to figure out if I'm making this next sequence too complicated."
Gregory glanced over at him. "Oh, you're definitely overthinking it."
Harry shrugged slightly. "I just want to avoid making it feel too generic."
"Listen, you're not crafting a studio thriller here. You've got actors who can convey a moment without needing fancy shots. Trust them."
"I do trust them," Harry replied. "It's just that I keep wondering how to capture a character's doubt, fear, or guilt without relying too much on music or exposition."
Gregory put his notes aside. "You're not going to crack that puzzle overnight."
"I know, but we only have two months left to shoot."
Gregory nodded and handed him a mug of lukewarm coffee. "Welcome to the world of directing."
Harry smirked, then glanced down at the floor where Sparky was gently snoring. There was still a lot to film: night exteriors, the climactic confrontation scene, and at least one major reshoot already on the horizon. But things weren't falling apart. In fact, they were gradually coming together into something more defined.
He hadn't quite discovered a style that felt entirely his own yet, but he was starting to make decisions with more confidence. He didn't flinch as much when plans went awry. He had learned when to trust his instincts, when to adapt, and when to simply let the moment unfold.