23 April 2025

Friends for three days that spring

Romy Schneider photographed by Helga Kneidl, Paris, 1973. For original format and size, visit the Kai Middendorff Galerie

 

When I asked artist Marianna Gefen to create a portrait of Romy Schneider, she made this abstract painting in two versions, describing it as being “inspired by the mysterious aura, grace and charisma which surround Romy Schneider to this day. She is untamed beauty, determined but fragile, flawed yet real. With different layers, colors, abstract shapes and transparency I wanted to represent these aspects.”

It was cinema that introduced us to Romy and it was in Claude Sautet’s films that Romy came alive in. Her presence on screen was unequalled. Romy, who became the impersonation of “the perfect French seduction”, Romy whose “photogenic power and beauty represented at least for a decade the image of femininity on the big screen”, Romy who taught Sautet that “women were courageous, vivacious”, because before he met her, “he didn’t know how to direct actresses and female characters didn’t interest him so much, except as objects,” Graziella Sautet, his wife, recalled. Incandescent, implacable, imperious, childishly humorous, fiercely independent and free.

In May 1973, the renowned theatre photographer Helga Kneidl spent three full days with Romy Schneider in Paris. Three days in which the photographer shot six films of Romy, the only photographs she withheld when the Deutsche Theatermuseum in Munich acquired Kneidl’s theater photographs and portraits, including all her negatives. Mainly shot in black and white, these photographs are some of the best photographs ever taken of Romy Schneider, of her childish magic and mystical beauty. A timeless tribute, a rare intimacy. These images are about more than pure physical beauty, they go deep into the personality and true beauty of Romy, the ultimate beauty: organic, universal, genuine. Helga Kneidl was a photographer who not only shared the passion of a profession with Romy Schneider, the performing arts, but a photographer who cared, who was curious and aware of people and their surroundings. And when you spend enough time with someone you care about, you start to get a sense of their inner truth. A confiding connection between two souls was created, an intimate communion, and Kneidl was professional enough and lucky enough to be there and capture this inner life movement, this feeling of existence, and share this incredible visual narrative that will not age.
 
 

MORE STORIES

Timeless Yves Saint Laurent: Romy Schneider in “César et Rosalie”

Once upon a photograph, once upon a lifetime: Alain Delon by Jean-Marie Perier

The searing style of Jacques Deray’s “La piscine”

Posted by classiq in Photography | | Comments Off on Friends for three days that spring
15 April 2025

“Compositions and camera movement had to have a conceptual reason”: In conversation with cinematographer Adrian Teijido

Fernanda Torres in ”Ainda estou aqui”, 2024

 

I’m Still Here is director Walter Salles’ (Central Station, On the Road, The Motorcycle Diaries) first feature in 12 years. Set mostly during the time of Brazil’s military dictatorship, and based on Marcelo Rubens Paiva’s eponymous memoir, the movie tells the story of the author’s father, Rubens Paiva, an engineer and former congressman arrested in 1971, and the resultant impact of his forced disappearance on his wife, Eunice (Fernanda Torres in a smashing performance), and their five children. A story of resilience, resistance, strength, of never giving up. It’s one of the few films of last year that has stayed with me and I am still thinking about it, from the opening scenes bathed in light on the Rio de Janeiro beach that invite you into the heart of this happy family and then experiencing in such a visceral way how everything suddenly shifts after the dramatic events and the void left behind: in a mother, in a wife, in a family and in a nation.

Shot on film by cinematographer Adrian Teijido, Ainda estou aqui has a look that is driving the story, triggered by a faith in the power of cinema being so unique. It’s the scene that must be served. Visual storytelling that is authentic and immersive, injected with feeling and an attitude. In our interview, Adrian Teijido (Marighella, No One Left Behind, Narcos) and I talk about his own memories from growing up in Brazil in the 1970s, about the new approach to shooting on film for I’m Still Here and the art of collaboration, the influence of Danish painter Hammershøi and how the film was received in Brazil, and about pushing the boundaries of one’s own work even when serving someone else’s vision.

 

Fernanda Torres in ”I’m Still Here”, 2024

 

 

Adrian, first of all, congratulations on I’m Still Here! I’ve already seen it twice and it’s still on my mind. Was it your first collaboration with director Walter Salles?

Thank you. Yes, it was my first collaboration with Walter. I did some projects with Sergio Machado, Walter’s assistant in several projects. It was Sergio who recommended me to Walter.

 

The film is based on real life events and on the book by the same name written by Marcelo Rubens Paiva, who is a character in the film, about his family drama. How did you research this project?

When Walter invited me to do I’m Still Here, he gave me the book with the script.

I was a child at the beginning of the seventies, but I do remember the tense atmosphere in Brazil through my parents. We had several friends who disappeared or were murdered. I had the opportunity to shoot Marighella, a film directed by Wagner Moura, about a revolutionary in the 1960s. For this film, we did a lot of research that helped me a lot on I’m Still Here. But I’ve based myself a lot on Walter’s memories. He used to frequent the Paiva home, and he told me a lot about his feelings and how they were.

Walter gave me a book by Hammershøi, a Danish painter. Those images were vital references for how to shoot the house. As Walter says, it is a film about absences.

 
 
 

”We changed the camera attitude a lot.
The first part was happier, which meant more handheld shots
and more freedom, as we wanted to feel the joy of the family.
After Ruben’s disappearance, we became more static.”

 
 
 

In a documentary you want to capture everything. But in a feature film, and in this film in particular, you also capture the emotions of what is happening, and that emotion of loss is very palpable, and that is what is so special about this film. Did you reference any films at all, too, as research?

We had a very silent and concentrated set, which Walter required. That helped the actors a lot. Amanda Gabriel, the casting director, also did a fundamental job. We didn’t have any specific reference. Personally, I’m a great admirer of the work of Coppola, Scorsese, and Ken Loach regarding acting.

 

From that very first shot, of Fernanda Torres swimming in the ocean, you are pulled into the story, even more so when you are on the beach bathed in that light and then going into that beautiful house with its open spaces. Those scenes are among the most beautiful opening scenes I have seen in years. You feel you are not just watching a film that is about the past, but a very special film that finds a way to look into the past, to transport you there. How did you and the director agree on the look of the film and how did you emulate the Rio de Janeiro of the 1970s?

Besides the military dictatorship, Brazil during the seventies had an incredible cultural moment. It was where the Bossa Nova appeared, and Brazil experienced a special creative architecture moment with Oscar Niemeyer and Lucio Costa, who designed Brasilia. We decided to shoot I’m Still Here in film to have the grain texture. In the film’s first part, we used 500 ASA 5219 to fill the grain; after Rubens was taken, I pushed one stop to increase the grain and give the audience an uncomfortable feeling. For the third part, “2000”, I used 200 ASA to diminish the grain and to have a clearer image. So, we had three kinds of grain levels. I have already done several film projects, but it was the first time I used grain as conceptual texture. We changed the camera attitude a lot. The first part was happier, which meant more handheld shots and more freedom, as we wanted to feel the joy of the family. After Ruben’s disappearance, we became more static.

 

Fernanda Torres in ”I’m Still Here”, 2024

 

All these technical details, do you discuss them with the director? Or is Walter Salles the kind of director who is more likely to describe the reason behind a shot, why it has to be more static, or why he wants a close-up, for example?

Walter had very clear what he wanted. Compositions and camera movement had to have a conceptual reason. But yes, we did discuss at the same time how to approach determined movement or composition.

 

Were there more challenges working with film than with digital?

I wouldn’t say working with film is more complicated. But they are entirely different supports. Shooting on film requires a different approach and attention. We no longer have film labs in Brasil; we developed I’m Still Here in Hiventy Lab in Paris. It took 8 to 10 days to see dailies after we shot – this was a challenge.

 
 
 

”Shooting on film requires a different approach and attention.”

 
 
 

Did you work with storyboards?

I like storyboards for complex and technical sequences. But in I’m Still Here, Walter used very specific shot lists.

 

The house is a character in itself. Was it difficult to find it and did it present any challenges in shooting inside it? It comes across like such an alive place, harbouring such a loving, happy and open-minded family, like a symbol for hope and a better life and society on a larger scale.

It was very difficult to find the house we found in Urca Neighborhood. The visual effects department took it and installed it in Leblon, where the original house existed. Carlo Conti, the production designer, did great work in the house to reproduce the 1970s atmosphere in Rio. The house was very light friendly, with great architecture and nice windows.

 

And then everything suddenly shifts. The police comes and it shuts it down. Even without the words, you feel the heavy atmosphere because everything becomes dark. They close the doors and windows and there are remarks from family members on the door and gate never having been closed before. Did you shoot chronologically in the house?

Walter asked that the house be sunny until the agents appear and close the curtains. From that moment on, the film becomes darker. For me, those agents live in the dark.

We shot as chronologically as possible; this was very important for Walter and the cast.

 

”I’m Still Here”, 2024

 
 
 

“To be a Cinematographer, you need to “feed” culture
in general, art, books, cinema, etc.”

 
 
 

And when they take Eunice and her daughter to prison, everything becomes even darker. Lighting, composition, movement, stillness. When you think of your profession as director of photography, what is it that you have the most control over? Or maybe I should express this differently: What qualifies the most as a cinematographer’s thing and his camera language?

It is everything. Not only lighting. There’s a moment when you are thoroughly involved in the story we must tell.

To be a Cinematographer, you need to “feed” culture in general, art, books, cinema, etc. This will build you as a Cinematographer and will train you to face and interpret a script and transform it into images. A cinematographer is a Visual storyteller.

 

We often see the family making films in Super 8. Were family films common in the 70s in Brazil?

This family was middle- and high-class and had a good cultural background. But yes, Super 8 was popular for these families during the 1970s. For us, Super 8 was a form of evoking the memories.

 

Fernanda Torres is marvelous in her role, and everyone else is great in the film, but most of all, there is a vividness in the performances of the children. You simply want to be their friend. Capturing that kind of intimacy and naturalness on film, does it come with experience? Does it also have to do with the special cast in this film?

Fernanda’s work was excellent; we got emotional on set on several moments. The children’s performance resulted from a very good cast and the incredible work of Walter and Amanda Gabriel, the casting director. We were able to rehearse with the cast in the already-decorated house, which made a huge difference.

 

Fernanda Torres in ”I’m Still Here”, 2024

 
 

”Just with my presence or with a look,
we will create a relationship.
The actors must feel that I’m with them.”

 
 
 

From our talk so far, I can notice a great sense of collaboration with cast and crew, which of course easily comes through on screen. Is this something usual on a movie set? How do you approach collaboration?

No, it is not usual. You have to create this ambient. I like actors a lot. I know how important my relationships with them are, even if I don’t talk to them. Just with my presence or with a look, we will create a relationship. They must feel that I’m with them.

 

The film has been very well received internationally. How was it in Brazil?

I’m Still Here was seen by more than five million people, a huge achievement for Brazil. And has an essential message for this political moment.

 

Where did you watch the completed film for the first time? Was it with an audience? If so, how did that feel, what was the atmosphere like?

I watched the film for the first time in the editing room with Ulisses, the gaffer, and Chile, the first AC. My first time with the audience was at the Venice Film Festival. It was exciting, the film was applauded for 10 minutes. There, I understood the importance of the film.

 

I would also like to mention the fantastic soundtrack, because it’s not just a narrative element, but it evokes emotions and memories and a historical context for the Brazilian public, but at the same time it introduces audiences from the whole world to that, too.

Yes, Walter personally selected the songs. These songs have a special meaning for those who grew up between the 1970s through the 2000s.

 
 
 

”I wish people could be more open,
rescue their deep emotions, and, in this way, appreciate art in general.”

 
 
 

Cinema must, and will, survive. Why do movies still need cinemas? What does the cinema experience mean to you?

Cinema has the power to transport the audience to different situations and make people experience emotions. In this way, it inspires us to be better people.

 

You have also worked in television. And I am curious to know if there are any differences between feature film and television from a cinematographer’s point of view, or it is just a matter of how interested you are in a project and how good a script is?

In independent films like I’m Still Here, we have freedom and can be more authorial. In TV, we have producers who are very present with their opinions and fears. But this is part of the process.

 

Adrian, one last question that I ask all my guests: In this time and age, what do you wish people appreciated more?

I wish that people could be more open, rescue their deep emotions, and, in this way, appreciate art in general.

 

Thank you, Adrian, for this insightful look behind one of the best films of the past years.

 
 

Cinematographer Adrian Teijido

 

teijido.com.br | Instagram: @teijido

 
 

MORE STORIES

“I like to think with pencil in hand”:
In conversation with graphic designer F Ron Miller

“I’m still learning, which keeps it fresh”:
In conversation with film still photographer JoJo Whilden

“You only need to assemble, or even easier, distract”:
In conversation with collage artist Vesna Vrdoljak

Posted by classiq in Film, Interviews | | Comments Off on “Compositions and camera movement had to have a conceptual reason”: In conversation with cinematographer Adrian Teijido
3 April 2025

“I like to think with pencil in hand”: In conversation with graphic designer F Ron Miller

Theatrical poster by F Ron Miller for the Cinema Guild release of “Matt and Mara”, directed by Kazik Radwanski

 

 

Much of Jean-Luc Godard’s Vivre sa vie focuses on Anna Karina’s face and the sensitivity of her expressions. F Ron Miller’s cover art for The Criterion Collection edition of the film does that, too. He also knows how to make the most precise and effective distillation of one of Hitchcock’s favourite plots, for The 39 Steps – an innocent man, wrongfully accused of a crime, on the run from the authorities, with all sorts of things happening to him with bewildering rapidity. F Ron Miller even accomplishes the almost impossible task of capturing in an image the frenetic energy of Harold Lloyd’s rollercoaster ride of laughs and action that is the silent slapstick comedy Speedy – but he also seems to simply tell us “Look at his dare-devil stunt!” of the same Harold Lloyd in Safety Last. And he promptly makes us aware that we are direct participants, the public feeding on the carnival frenzy, in Billy Wilder’s bleak worldview in Ace in the Hole, the director’s most cynical noir.

So many different ways to celebrate movies. A good artists’s poster never lacks a poetic level. Nor does it lack setting up an expressive subtext of the film. Design is a problem-solving process and each film is different, and F Ron Miller’s poster designs reflect this wonderful variety of the films he has worked on. It engages viewers in not just the film, but in spirited games of visual thinking.

Graphic designer and art director F Ron Miller, a graduate of the California Institute of the Arts and London’s Royal College of Art, is probably the most prolific artist collaborator of The Criterion Collection, the company dedicated to the riches of film history and to restoring and publishing classic and contemporary films, with more than 70 covers in the collection, and numerous other film posters to his name, as well as the title sequences for many James Mangold films, from Walk the Line to Ford v Ferrari and, most recently, A Complete Unknown.

In our interview, Ron and I talk about his formative years at CalArts and his lifelong friendship with James Mangold, cultivating creativity on his own since childhood, the different approaches to title sequences, how the post-war movie posters of Eastern Europe and then Hans Hillmann paved the way for Criterion’s influential cover art, and how working in silence has made him a better designer.

 

Title sequence design by F Ron Miller for James Mangold’s “A Complete Unknown”

 

 

Ron, what is your earliest drawing memory?

Donald Duck! I was maybe five years old and it was the first time I ever drew from reference. I remember that it took a lot of focus to recreate what I was seeing. Summoning the eye-hand coordination was exhausting. I might have given up were it not for a voice inside that kept me going — it’s a voice that’s been with me for all things creative ever since. It was kind of profound actually.

 

Did your parents foster this creativity?

Not especially. It was something I cultivated on my own.

 
 
 

”I might have given up were it not for a voice inside
that kept me going — it’s a voice that’s been with me
for all things creative ever since.”

 
 
 

What sparked your interest in cinema and how did you get into film poster design? And were there any early influences in your work?

I’ve loved movies and comics since I was a kid. It goes back so far that I couldn’t say how or when it started. My dad was in advertising and that may have been the thing that tipped the scales of my interest towards graphic design. I remember in high school checking out a book from the library about George Lois and thinking, yep, this what I want to do.

I studied at CalArts, mentored there by the great Louis Danziger. I came to appreciate the art of poster making through that lens. I owe so much to him. Professionally, film posters wouldn’t come until much later after I began working with The Criterion Collection. Distributors and filmmakers that had seen the Criterion stuff began to reach out asking if I’d do something for them.

 

Cover artwork by F Ron Miller for the Criterion Collection editions of “Tess”, directed by Roman Polanski,
and “Arsenic and Old Lace”, directed by Frank Capra

 
 

When asked how he would describe an ideal design education, in an interview from the late 1990s with Steven Heller, Louis Danziger answered: “A great teacher or great designer and some great students hanging out. An environment where students find themselves discussing their work and the design world with each other. I believe ultimately that great education is self education especially in the arts.” I would like to use that quote as preamble to ask you: Do you find it important to have formal education in art?

Absolutely. At least, for me it was and for the very reasons Lou describes. I couldn’t say it any better. That was my four years at CalArts. It’s possible, though pretty unlikely, that everything I learned in that setting could have come to me eventually, but to have it all land at once during a formative time… it prepared me in a particular way. There’s still a lifetime to learn after that. You never stop learning. All of it goes atop of that strong foundation.

 
 
 

“I like to think with pencil in hand.”

 
 
 

What is the most valuable lesson that you learned at the school of graphic design?

The CalArts experience taught me the value of thinking conceptually. That the solution comes from the problem. The execution is in service to the idea being communicated.

 

And what is the most important skill that you have honed as you’ve evolved as an artist?

Listening perhaps. Clients, art directors, any of your collaborators are telling you their needs. An ability to listen and to serve from an understanding is fundamental to the outcome.

 

 
 
 

”That was my four years at CalArts. […]
To have it all land at once during a formative time…
it prepared me in a particular way.”

 
 
 

Cover, packaging and DVD menu design by F Ron Miller for the Criterion Collection edition of
“Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story by Martin Scorsese”

 
 

You have worked on the title sequences of a few James Mangold films. Can you tell me how you approached each project and how that experience was like?

I approach them all with great enthusiasm! Jim’s a long-time friend from the days at CalArts. I was designing posters and titles for his movies even then. With a life-long friend comes a shorthand and a trust that you don’t get with most client/designer relationships.

That said, I approach the material in the same manner as I would with anyone. I watch the movie and gather some first impressions. Then I’ll listen to what Jim has to say — find out what he needs and what he feels the movie needs. Then I go back to my studio and get out a pencil and paper. I like to think with pencil in hand. Getting ideas out on the page, even the bad ones, gives me something to react to. It’s a meditation of sorts. One idea inevitably leads to the next. Thumbnails are incredibly useful. I try to make as many as I can and not to stop when I think I’ve got it because sometimes something better can bubble up. There’s no such thing as the solution only a solution.

If the task is to compose a title or a name in a frame, then it becomes critical that my choices relate to the subject, time period or genre of the movie. Movies, like most any design project, are collaborations. I’m giving voice to the director’s vision. What you see on screen are the director’s choices in tandem with my contributions. No different than any other department on a movie.

 
 
 

“With a life-long friend comes a shorthand and a trust
that you don’t get with most client/designer relationships.”

 
 
 

It’s about crafting a world and when I think of James Mangold, I think of a consistent quality of making movies and of the painstakingly detailed and authentic recreations of past decades – in many of his films, it is the 1960s: Walk the Line, Ford v Ferrari, A Complete Unknown. Did you have to consider re-creating period typography when you designed the titles?

There was never a requirement that the type choices be era-appropriate, but when you’re presented with a project that’s as sensitive to those priorities as Jim’s, those considerations seem a given. Jim’s direction to me, while never explicitly: use these kinds of typefaces, was open and clear. I offered him choices based on my understanding of the movie and his notes — I suppose as an actor might offer performance choices. Jim chose from the first round of offerings. We were in synch.

 

The world created in those films is also a world meant to be seen on the big screen. It was a joy to watch A Complete Unknown at the cinema. What’s the best film you recently watched on the big screen?

Recently? Oh gosh, I have a hard time ranking things. In no particular order, A Real Pain, Conclave and A Complete Unknown are tops on my ‘recents’ list. All to be seen and especially in a movie theater.

 

Poster design by F Ron Miller for the Oscilloscope Laboratory release of “Lost in Paris”, a film by Abel & Gordon

 
 

And which would be one of your most memorable experiences from going to the movies?

No singular experiences come to mind. Although there was a time when I was in high school, living in Pittsburgh, I had a pack of movie-going friends. We’d see something every weekend. Hollywood, art-house, international films, we saw it all. The game changer for me was discovering the revival houses. Until then, I’d only seen older movies on television. Seeing them, many for the first time, on a big screen with an audience.. it was transformative.

 

It truly is. Do you believe in the future of cinemas?

I like to think they’ll continue to be around. So long as they’re showing something worth seeing, there will be an audience. There’s no better way to watch a movie.

 

Keyart by F Ron Miller for the Grasshopper Film release of Eshan Khoshbakht’s “Film Farsi”

 
 

What would you say is the primary function of the title sequence?

The primary function? Showing the name of the movie and crediting the filmmakers. After that, it becomes about setting a tone and doing something to orient the audience — putting them in a certain frame of mind and set them up for what’s to follow or, in the case of end titles, to serve as coda to what came before.

 

I probably should have phrased the question differently and refer to the style of approach. I was, on the one hand, thinking of your title design for the James Mangold films, for example, that combination of film narrative and graphics that is very subtle yet powerful, and then at the prologue-like, abstract images of the title sequence of films such as The Man with the Golden Arm or Bonjour Tristesse.

Yeah, those are two entirely different approaches. Each speaks to the narrative priorities of the filmmaker. One’s about jumping into the story straight away as credits run concurrently. That’s perhaps a more immersive strategy. The other’s about a transitional space of pictures, words and music that edifies the story about to unfold. It’s more partitioned and works something like an overture. We need both and all the other types in between.

 

Cover art by F Ron Miller for “Vivre sa vie”, by Jean-Luc Godard

 
 

Which would be some of your favourite title sequences in the history of cinema?

You mentioned Bonjour Tristesse, that’s exceptionally pretty. Anything by Saul Bass is hard to beat. Spartacus, and Nine Hours to Rama also stand out to me. Funny Face, designed by Richard Avedon, is a favorite and that begets Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, designed by Juan Gatti. I also like what’s going on in Jean-Luc Godard’s A Woman Is A Woman. Those are ones that come to mind off the top of my head.

 

What makes a good film poster?

Ideally, one with a concept. Something that communicates an idea and tells you something about the movie. Is it a funny movie? A love story? Is there a big idea? Communicate something. Give the viewer something to engage their interest. If you can manage that, then you’re one step closer to creating a memorable movie poster.

 
 
 

“Great art direction isn’t someone telling someone else
‘do this and do it this way’. It’s determining and
encouraging directions to go in search of the solution.”

 
 
 

You’ve had a long-term collaboration with Criterion Collection. Do you think film poster designers are prone to being more creative when they are working on a film that is restored or re-released and the public is already familiar with the film than on a new theatrical release that usually puts accent on the marketable value of the actors’ image and their names?

I don’t think re-releases are any more prone to creative opportunities than a new theatrical release. If you find a poster to be creative, that’s often the result of the client’s desire, thoughtful art direction and a talented designer. Supporting that poster at every step is the belief that that kind of work is both worthwhile and effective. Creative solutions are out there. The Criterion Collection doesn’t have a corner on that market. What makes Criterion especially worthy is the way they value and prioritize creative solutions. That’s a rare thing.

 

Or is translating a director’s vision even harder after others have done it before?

It can be limiting when certain ideas or ways of representing the movie are off the table because they’ve been done before. For sure, I’ve encountered this dilemma. You have to keep at it until a new idea presents itself. My work designing re-issues has been exclusively with Criterion. Typically, I’m working with notes from the art director (hello, Sarah Habibi and Eric Skillman!) who, in turn, are informed by Criterion’s view of the project. Criterion has a story that they want to tell about a movie. Having direction is extremely important. Great art direction isn’t someone telling someone else “do this and do it this way”. It’s determining and encouraging directions to go in search of the solution. Sometimes the solution is quite close to the thing you both imagined from the onset. Sometimes it’s something unexpected you discover along the way.

 

Cover artwork by F Ron Miller for the Criterion release of “Ingrid Bergman: In Her Own Words”, a film by Stig Björkman

 
 

The choice to use photographic imagery for a cover art, for example, does it always come from Criterion?

Usually. A note like that often comes from discussions that take place prior to my involvement. The door’s open for how I might treat that photo. It’s a rare day when the note is to use a specific photo in a specific way. Often there are multiple images to work with. There’s typically latitude in the process.

 

Ingrid Bergman: In Her Own Words. Where did you start and what was the design process like?

It starts with the movie. This one’s a documentary about the life of Ingrid Bergman. It’s told largely from her point of view and it quite extensively, uses filmed sequences shot by her. Bergman was gifted a 16mm film camera when she was young and used it frequently throughout her life. The concept of Ingrid Bergman as filmmaker is central to the movie and the story we wanted to tell. The Bergman estate provided several images of Ingrid with her camera. They were irresistible and informed all of my subsequent choices.

Essentially, I had two prevailing ideas I wanted to communicate through the artwork. One, conceptually: this was a story told from Ingrid’s point of view — including the things she saw through her camera. So I clipped the type to suggest the scope of her vision. And two, formally: Criterion, around that time, had released a boxed set of Ingrid Bergman movies directed by Roberto Rossellini which I’d also designed. I wanted them to pair well — to visually feel akin to one another. Maybe not as sister releases, though perhaps a close cousin.

 

Cover artworks by F Ron Miller for the Criterion editions of Harold Lloyd’s “The Kid Brother”

 
 
 

“That’s Harold Lloyd hanging from a clock-face over the streets
of Los Angeles! For real. No photo retouching, no cut and paste.
It’s iconic and I didn’t want the type to take away from that.”

 
 
 

Cover artwork by F Ron Miller for The Criterion editions of Harold Lloyd’s “Speedy” and “Safety Last”

 

Harold Lloyd’s The Kid Brother, Speedy and The Freshman, and Chaplin’s The Kid are particular favorites of mine. The title treatments you used for each cover is natural and immediate and in relation to the image used, so evocative for each story. What was the jumping off point of inspiration for each of these?

Thanks for the kind words. They’re favorites of mine too. A fun dimension with the Criterion projects is sometimes they like to have releases that take place over extended periods of time work as a set. Safety Last was done first without any considerations for future Harold Lloyd movie releases, but it sure set a tone and one that I enjoyed seeking to recapture with the subsequent two.

The jumping off point is of course the famous image of Lloyd dangling from the clock-face and, really, when it comes to Safety Last, there’s no greater image. So we had that. The thing about that shot is that it isn’t faked. What you see is what’s really happening. I mean, there’s some movie magic to heighten the effect, but at the end of the day that’s Harold Lloyd hanging from a clock-face over the streets of Los Angeles! For real. No photo retouching, no cut and paste. It’s iconic and I didn’t want the type to take away from that.

Plus, it’s such a famous shot that it doesn’t really need type, but it was getting type anyway. I didn’t want some of bifurcated reading experience where the title floated somehow above or below the image. That’s when I hit on making the type a part of the image and integrating it into the scene. I wanted the type to be fun and real to the image in a way that Harold was funny and real to his work. Above all, I wanted Harold Lloyd to be the first thing you saw.

The Chaplin cover was the first — and I think only Charlie Chaplin cover Criterion did involving a photograph. The rest were illustrations. I don’t recall the rationale, but that decision had been made before the project came to me. There was also an interest in doing with it what I’d done successfully with the Lloyd covers, only how could it be done a little differently? I deliberately didn’t treat the type as signage or use a period type style in situ and I think that sufficiently distances it from the Lloyd covers. The brush lettering plays like graffiti to me. Maybe the Little Tramp and the Kid just painted it there? That cop suggests they’re up to something.

 

Cover artwork by F Ron Miller for the Criterion editions of Charlie Chaplin’s “The Kid” and Bertrand Tavernier’s “‘Round Midnight”

 
 

It’s just a great cover. Another favourite poster art that does not involve a photograph of any actors is your theatrical poster for Matt & Mara, for Cinema Guild, another company that is doing a great job at enriching and preserving a film culture of which the promotional artworks are a huge part. What was it about this film that triggered you to draw?

Well, keep in mind that the drawing is the end result — not the departure point. With Matt and Mara, like any other movie, I design multiple options for poster directions. In the past, I’ve offered drawings as solutions, but this happened to be one of those fortunate occasions where that point of view clicked with the director as well as Cinema Guild.

​Matt and Mara’s a story about a friendship at a juncture in the relationship. I wanted to visualize that without giving anything away. Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Does it matter? The drama is that they’re tangled up in one another. At first, I made a series of designs using photos as intersecting portraits. They were intriguing, though maybe not tonally right for a movie which has a certain delicacy. There’s a moment in the story where one character leaves a little drawing in a book for another. That sparked me to reconsider my intersecting portrait conceit as a drawing instead. I was thrilled when Kazik Radwanski, the director, related to the drawing too. It was one design among many for him to consider. Had it not landed with him, it would have been a completely different poster.

 

You’ve worked on many art covers for movies that have music front and center, from ‘Round Midnight (loved this film, in no other film of his was Tavernier’s affinity for music and love for cinema probably more evident than here) to Rolling Thunder Revue to George Harrison Living in the Material World. Does music play an important role in your life?

Music, like drawing, has been with me as far back as I can remember. I’m fond of all types and over the years have burrowed obsessively into various genres and artist’s catalogs. Elvis Costello, Steely Dan, Django Reihhardt, Nino Rota, Bernard Herrmann, Thelonious Monk —I could easily and happily go on and on. I cut my teeth as a staff designer at A&M Records back in the day and soon after that freelanced as a designer around town for most of the record companies in Los Angeles. I learned a lot about myself and my craft doing that. I enjoy listening to music as much as I ever have, but, funnily enough, stopped listening to it when I work. These days I prefer to work in silence. It promotes a meditative process in me that I think has made me a better designer.

 

Unused poster by F Ron Miller for the documentary “Linda Ronstadt, The Sound of My Voice”, by Ron Epstein and
Jeffrey Friedman. Poster art for “A Hard Day’s Night”, directed by Richard Lester.

 
 
 

”These days I prefer to work in silence.
It promotes a meditative process in me
that I think has made me a better designer.”

 
 
 

Poster design by F Ron Miller for Martin Scorsese’s George Harrison: Living in the Material World”

 

The variety of styles and reinterpretations from each artist who has collaborated with The Criterion Collection, thus enriching the film landscape, is amazing. This kind of art work forever advances the language of cinema. Every time a Criterion cover is released I feel that it helps cut through the visual noise we all experience at the moment. It’s like a cultural movement. How do you feel being part of that?

It feels purposeful and it’s extremely gratifying. Everyone at Criterion cares about what they’re putting out and into the world. Creating in that mindset and knowing how the work is often received makes me a better designer. You do your best work for your best clients.

 
 
 

”You do your best work for your best clients.”

 
 
 

Do you remember the first film poster that made you want to go to the cinema and watch a film?

I grew up at a time when movie theaters advertised in newspapers. The first posters I remember seeing would have been there. I’d pour over that imagery week to week. The earliest I recall was probably The Exorcist. It confounded me because it was so enigmatic. What was going on in that house? What made me so fascinated? Was it the movie’s reputation as the scariest thing ever? I’ll never know, but it sure had me. I also remember the artwork for Earthquake. The type as crumbling city! Whoa. It was so monumental. The summer after that was Jaws and, from then on, I didn’t really need a poster to sell me on a movie. Posters became an object to celebrate a movie.

 

I wholeheartedly agree with that and I think it is a very honest definition of the movie poster. I also believe that a good poster will have a life past the release date, and will always linger as a reminder of the film it represents and as a memory of a film you enjoyed.

Oh, for sure. A movie poster serves as a kind of mnemonic. They can carry a charge of associations. Sometimes greater than the movie itself.

 


 

 

Cover art by F Ron Miller for The Criterion editions of Billy Wilder’s “Ace in the Hole”,
Gus Van Sant’s “Drugstore Cowboy” and “Bringing Up Baby”, directed by Howard Hawks

 
 

You grew up in a time when you saw film posters in newspapers. Now there is a lot of online advertising for films. How big a part do you think Criterion covers have played in showing us what design for film can be and in the evolution of online imagery for streaming?

Criterion’s influence is substantial and pervasive. Although the evolution I think you’re indicating has an important precedent: the post-war movie posters of Eastern Europe, most notably the Polish movie posters. That work is astonishing — and liberating. It was free from the constraints of distributors, so it interpreted the subjects as they saw fit. Talk about a wholly new way of looking at movie posters… and by extension, it asks the viewer to look at the movie differently too. It was a movement defined not by a style but an ethos. It set a tone and standard for what could be done with a movie poster.

Some time after that, you get designers like Hans Hillman in Germany approaching the material with a keen understanding of the movie and he ups the game even further. His influence and those of the Eastern Europeans eventually finds its way west, so by the time Criterion becomes Criterion there’s an appreciation and an understanding of its value. It’s kinda crazy that no one thought to do it sooner. Now it’s part of the culture.

Without Criterion covers, I don’t think you get Mondo Posters nor the sub-culture of fan-generated, so-called alternative movie posters. At least, not in the way we have all that today. The internet serves, I think, as an accelerant and feedback chamber. Now even the movie studios are getting in on the game and paying designers to make alt posters for their tent-pole releases. Mostly I think it’s because the online world is so splintered they’re looking for ways to exploit every niche they can. The beauty of the internet is that you don’t incur printing costs so creating five or ten different posters and putting them out in the world is a comparatively easy thing to do.

We’re at a place right now where there’s practically no such thing as an official key-art for a major release. They seem to “refresh” the image almost weekly. I think in principal that’s a great opportunity for a movie campaign, but, in practice, I don’t always see the through line. It comes off as kind of watered down to me. One element these days that appears to resist that is the title treatment. It seems to be the constant. So at least there’s that.

 

Title sequence design by F Ron Miller for James Mangold’s films “Logan”, “Walk the Line” and “Wolverine”

 
 
 

“The summer after that was Jaws and, from then on,
I didn’t really need a poster to sell me on a movie.
Posters became an object to celebrate a movie.”

 
 
 

What posters to you have on your wall?

I don’t keep movie posters on the walls. Though I have an ever-growing library on the subject. If I did, and if I could afford it, perhaps one of those incredible French grandes of the 1930s or 40s.

 

In this time and age, what do you wish people appreciated more?

I’m not sure, but I’ve always been baffled when people say they can’t watch black and white movies. What’s that about?

 

I’m right there with you. When someone once told me that, the first thing I thought of was that I was happy she wasn’t my friend. Can the public be educated in this regard, do you think?

Who knows. Nobody likes to be told to eat their spinach. I think they’re seriously missing out on something special though.

 

They certainly are. Thank you, Ron, for this wonderful conversation!

 

Cover artwork by F Ron Miller for The Criterion edition of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The 39 Steps”

 
 

fronmiller.com | Instagram: @fronmillerdesign

 
 

MORE STORIES

Production designer François Audouy takes us behind the scenes of Ford v Ferrari

The poetic power of illustration: Interview with William Grill

Lean on Pete: In conversation with production designer Ryan Warren Smith

Posted by classiq in Film, Interviews | | Comments Off on “I like to think with pencil in hand”: In conversation with graphic designer F Ron Miller
28 March 2025

March Newsletter: Adolescence, Barbarian Days, and Amerigo

 
 

Photos: Classiq Journal

 
 

“The particulars of new places grabbed me and held me,
the sweep of new coasts, cold, lovely dawns. The world
was incomprehensibly large, and there was still so much to see…
I liked surrendering to the onrush, the uncertainty, the serendipity
of the road. And I generally liked being a stranger,
an observer, often surprised.”

William Finnegan, Barbarian Days: A surfing life

 
 

 

Viewing

Adolescence, 2025
Philip Barantini

“Do you like me?” In the course of one week, I had heard from five different persons about the mini-series Adolescence. None of them is on social media. Hmmm… This is something that reaches far. So we made a one-month subscription to Netflix (we don’t watch Netflix) just to watch this mini-series. It marked me. It affects you on so many levels. The greatest battle of our time is one: not to lose the connection with our children. This film is tough to watch as a parent. It is so important and urgent this very day. Everything in the life of these teenagers is brought down to one simple yet crucial question: “Do you like me?” A desperate quest amplified by social media and cyber bullying. The sequence shots make you not want to blink. You are afraid you are missing out on something important. In the course of an hour, you are given a slice of life, you are taken into the lives of these characters, in real time. The third episode (there are four, each approaching the subject from a different angle) shook me to the core. The last five minutes of the last episode tore me apart. And I feel like mentioning here the entire crew and cast, but I will just limit myself to the principal cast, who are all remarkable: Stephen Graham, Owen Cooper, Erin Doherty, Faye Marsay, Ashley Walters, Christine Tremarco, Amélie Plese.

This film generates conversation. So let’s do that. We all have to look at this. Everyone plays a part in it: parents, the educational system, social media, society, community. It concerns us all.

 

Ainda estou aqui (I’m Still Here), 2024
Walter Salles

Director Walter Salles’ (Central Station, On the Road, The Motorcycle Diaries) first feature film in 12 years, I’m Still Here is set mostly during the time of Brazil’s military dictatorship (1964-1985). Based on Marcelo Rubens Paiva’s eponymous memoir, it tells the story of the author’s father, Rubens Paiva, a former congressman arrested in 1971, and the resultant impact of his forced disappearance on his wife, Eunice (the magnificent Fernanda Torres), and their five children. A story of resilience, resistance, strength, of never giving up. I have already seen it twice and I am still thinking about this film, from the opening scenes bathed in light on the Rio de Janeiro beach that invite you into the heart of this happy family and then seeing how everything suddenly shifts after the dramatic events. I am looking forward to going into many more details in an up-coming interview that it’s currently in the works.

 

The Sandlot, 1993

A small American town in the 1960s, summertime. A group of young boys are the sandlot team. All they want to do is play baseball, during the long hot days of summer, when everything seems to stand still, except for one thing that’s constantly on their mind: play baseball. But it’s not about big games, making into the school team and so on. They play ball because they love the game and because they just want to hang out together. It’s not about winning and losing. This is not a film about success, the manic preoccupation of parents today (I have tried to read only two parenting books and one of them I highly recommend you not to read, and that’s How to Raise Successful People, by Esther Wojcicki). It allows kids to just be kids and have a childhood, and create a world of their own, with their own rules and dreams and fears they find a way to face, and make memories that will carry you through life. In the course of a summertime afternoon, everything can change, and you can make friends for life. That’s the magic of childhood and the magic of summer.

 

Belle et Sébastien, 2013
Nicolas Vanier

“A true ode to nature, it’s the story of an encounter between a lonely child and a wild dog. The story of Sébastien who tames Belle. The tale of a little boy searching for his mother, an old man searching for his past, a resistance fighter searching for love, a young woman in search of adventure, and a German lieutenant seeking forgiveness.” It’s the most beautiful description of the film, courtesy of director Nicolas Vanier.

 

Flow, 2024
Gints Zilbalodis

A captivating adventure that shows us again that cinema is image, not words.

 

La règle du jeu (The Rules of the Game), 1939
Jean Renoir

There are films I regularly revisit, with Hitchcock’s and Renoir’s always on rotation. “I learned the rules of the game from The Rules of the Game,” is how Robert Altman referred to Gosford Park (2001), inspired by Jean Renoir’s La règle du jeu (1939). On the surface, Renoir’s film takes the superficial form of a country house farce resulted in an accidental death, a case of mistaken identity. It is a brilliantly constructed film, an intricate flux of movements and events, an extraordinary web of allusions, parodies and recurring motifs, where no scene is unnecessary, where every line of dialogue counts and has hidden meaning, and where the camera becomes one of the characters – it always looks like there are more scenes than one happening in one frame and the photography of The Rules of the Game is considered the precursor of the depth of field in cinematography.

It is the film in which Jean Renoir, the most humanist of directors, showed best his sense and taste of comedy that comes from his deep understanding of human nature and tragedy and his great ability of adapting his artistic sensibility to the realities of the contemporary world. La règle du jeu was made on the brink of the Second World War and it is the most advanced expression of prewar French realism, a portrayal of a corrupted, rarefied, ignorant, decadent society and of a morally defunct upper-class on the eve of the outbreak of world disaster. “When I made The Rules of the Game, I knew where I was going. I knew the evil that gnawed at my contemporaries. My instinct guided me, my awareness of the imminent danger led me to the situations and the dialogue. And my friends were like me. How worried we were! I think the film is a good one. But it is not difficult to work well when the compass of anxiety points in the true direction.”

 

 

Reading

I will always love the mountain more than the sea. It’s been part of my life more consistently from an early age, and a defining part of my childhood. There is a different kind of fascination I have with the ocean, it’s a fascination from afar. You could say I have a romantic view on it, fueled by my readings. I love to read about adventures at sea and lives inextricably connected to the ocean.

Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life, documenting author William Finnegan’s surfing life, won the Pulitzer Prize in 2016 – the author is a staff writer for The New Yorker and much of his writing career has been dedicated to conflict reporting in regions such as Mexico, Asia and the Balkans. It’s not a book about sports or about romantising the image of the surfer, it’s an exploration of a sport as a life’s passion, a story of life’s meandering ups and downs. It’s about chasing freedom, about a youthful thirst for adventure, about seeing the world by sinking deep in a place, near and far, about courage and feeling, about unpredictability and awareness, about fighting fear, revolt, reason, the waves. “Waves were the playing field. They were the goal. They were the object of your deepest desire and adoration. At the same time, they were your adversary, your nemesis, even your mortal enemy. The surf was your refuge, your happy hiding place, but it was also a hostile wilderness — a dynamic, indifferent world. At thirteen, I had mostly stopped believing in God, but that was a new development, and it had left a hole in my world, a feeling that I’d been abandoned. The ocean was like an uncaring God, endlessly dangerous, power beyond measure.” It’s about a whole culture and a way of life, psychedelic at times. But it’s also about the social context of the ‘60, ‘70s and ‘80s and a literary road movie that is timeless.

 

Listening

 

The soundtrack: Ainda estou aqui (I’m Still Here)
 

The podcast: Soundings, Jamie Brisick in conversation with William Finnegan. They talk about life, surfing, not being on social media (and all that “branding of the self”), being a traveller before the days of the Internet, leaving safely a conflict zone and grappling with the idea of leaving so many people behind who are not safe, favourite long-form nonfiction writers, and about the good life – the meaning of that can be different for each of us, but I very much like William’s, it resonates deeply.
 

The album: Patti Smith, Banga

 

 

Making

Philipp and Luisa are the creative minds and makers behind the clothing brand Phil and Lui. They started in 2014, but after becoming increasingly disconnected with the traditional retail system, they wanted to start over, not just with their brand, but with their life as well. In 2020, they took a leap of faith, challenge themselves to take an unconventional path and dive into their deepest dream, when they sold their apartment in Germany and their possessions and set out travelling, driven by wanderlust and a newly found freedom. They soon arrived on a Greek island which they have come to now call home – they sleep in a tent and live and work around their outdoor kitchen. They consider fashion identity, expression and origin all in one. “Clothing that touches, accompanies you. A souvenir of your own stories and adventures…”

 

Exploring

Patti Smith on tour this summer and autumn.

 

On an end note

In her revelatory book, This One Wild and Precious Life: Our path forward in a fractured world, Sarah Wilson writes about the crucial importance of deep reading and its biological impact on us humans, meaning that “when we learned to read 6,000 years ago, particular circuits were formed”, which “sparked vital processes, such as internalised knowledge (which I take to mean ‘knowingness’), fair reasoning, the ability to be empathetic and to have insight.”

“Worryingly, the same research shows that the kind of skim reading we do now is shutting down these crucial processes. As one of the researchers noted, our inability to deep read is seeing us fail to ‘grasp complexity, to understand another’s feelings, to perceive beauty, and to create thoughts of our own’. Studies show young people now struggle to be able to read university texts, as well as life-affecting contracts and information relating to their political responsibilities. In essence, skimming has made us sleepy, with all the now-familiar repercussions. As one researcher put it, ‘It incentivises a retreat to the most familiar silos of unchecked information, which require and receive no analysis, leaving us susceptible to false information and demagoguery.”

“Reading deep articles and nonfiction, as well as good literature, cultivates focus and reprograms our neurons. The stillness and time required for a long read (anything over 3,000 words) also allows our minds to formulate our moral position. This is like building a muscle.”

 

The regulars: The interviews, newsletters and podcasts I turn to every week and/or every month because they are that good. Ruthie’s Table 4 with Ruth Rogers. Fashion Neurosis, with Bella Freud. Craig Mod’s newsletters: Roden and Ridgeline. Soundtracking, with Edith Bowman. Alicia Kennedy’s newsletter. Racquet’s Rennae Stubbs tennis podcast. Gone to Timbuktu with Sophy Roberts. Wachstumsversuche, with Sarah Schill. Sirene Journal, Racquet, and Waves & Woods in print.

 

 

Posted by classiq in Books, Culture, Film, Newsletter | | Comments Off on March Newsletter: Adolescence, Barbarian Days, and Amerigo
19 March 2025

Lean On Pete: In conversation with production designer Ryan Warren Smith

Chloë Sevigny and Charlie Plummer in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green – © Lean on Pete LLC

 

I wish I watched Lean On Pete on the big screen. Andrew Haigh’s characters feel real, people you want to get to know in life, people who have a past they don’t have to tell you about every time you meet, people who you feel you understand just by the way they react or look instead of a long monologue. The big screen would bring you closer to them, heart and soul. On the big screen, they reach people differently, and people come together, sensing others’ thoughts, reactions and emotions. At the big screen, we would be looking upwards, into the horizon, with perspective. It would be our own subtle and sensible way of showing that we are by Charley’s side.

Charley (Charlie Plummer) and his single father Ray (Travis Fimmel) have just moved to Portland, Oregon. They live on the edge of poverty and life is about to only get harder for Charley. It’s at a race track where he meets Lean On Pete, a racing horse. He runs by the place one morning when he encounters Del, who starts to give him day jobs that earn Charley some money. He quickly forms a bond with the horse and as things begin to unravel, Charley finds in Pete what is missing from his life, someone to talk to and someone to take care of, things he is desperately in need of, as he is embarking on a journey through the Pacific Northwest to find his aunt. There is something elemental about Charley’s search for a family life. It’s Charlie who draws you in, to come closer and try to be near him when he has nobody else but Pete. This kind of rapport between character and viewer is only possible because the film stays true to the character and to what happens to him along his journey. It’s also true to all the other characters, like Pete’s irascible owner Del and the well versed jockey Bonnie: they belong to Steve Buscemi and Chloë Sevigny, you believe them because they are multi-dimensional characters and part of the story, just as they are part of Charlie’s life at one particular point, with good and bad.

There is hardship, but there is kindness, too, there is cruelty, but there is always a streak of hope, and this kind of hope, I think, particularly resides in 15-year-old Charley, and in Charlie Plummer, who, with his incredible expressiveness, dedication and instinctive acting, gives life to Charley on screen. Feeling is the ground on which people are led to think about things. It is the film’s unsentimental tenderness that gives you the freedom to make your own ideas. With Lean On Pete, based on Willy Vlautin’s novel by the same name, Andrew Haigh brings to cinema a world of an incredible humanist depth and an undeniable technical skill that translates into a wonderfully natural rhythm that drives the narrative, which resides in an innate talent for visual storytelling.

When you are watching a good film, a beautifully crafted story, you are not watching just an interesting character, it’s about the world you are suddenly transported into. The towns, the run-down racing track, the vastness of the land that echoes the protagonist’s inner desolation. A real-life set or location has a life of its own, which, linked with a specific character, takes on a different life, it changes and affects the flow of the story and evolves with the character and the entire mood of the film. It harbors the characters, it gives them the right space to live and develop in. I think it was Nicolas Roeg who said that production design brings together all the departments of film making, in searching for a truth in everything.

When I interviewed production designer Ryan Warren Smith (Wendy and Lucy, Meek’s Cutoff, The Motel Life, True Detective) last year for The Holdovers, we promised we would have a conversation on Lean On Pete as well, a film Ryan holds very close to his heart, as he does all Willy Vlautin’s (a good friend of his) books. We have finally had the chance to have that talk and to discuss everything from Ryan’s first meeting with director Andrew Haigh, two years prior the filming started, how he mapped out Charley’s emotional and physical journey through color coding, to a defining location in the film that no longer exists and one of the most emotional days on the set.

 

Charlie Plummer in Lean on Pete. Photo by Scott Patrick Green – © Lean on Pete LLC

 

Ryan, you started your collaboration with Alexander Payne after he watched Lean On Pete at Telluride. Can you tell us how your film with Andrew Haigh came about? Had you read Willy Vlautin’s novel before taking on this project?

Yes! Willy’s novel is one of my top 5 favorite books of all time. I love it so much. I had met Willy a few years prior when I was lucky to be PD on his first book that was adapted to film (The Motel Life) and he and I become fast friends. We both live in Oregon and would hang when we were both in town. He let me know that Lean on Pete had been optioned by Andrew to be made into a film. He also let me know Andrew was going to be coming through town, as he had decided to take Charley’s journey in the book, spend a few months taking the trip, and writing the script along the way. I thought this was such a brilliant idea. So when Andrew came through town Willy had us both over to dinner, and I was able to express my love of the book and interest in the film. We had a good time hanging, and was happy to meet Andrew and his boyfriend Andy. A couple of years went by and then Andrew and his producer, Tristan, hit me up saying the film was finally happening and asked if I wanted to interview. I made a visual lookbook and passed it along and then we had a great conversation. A week later they offered me the film and I’ve never been so excited. To be in charge of the visuals of a book you truly love, I was, and still am, so honored.

 
 

“I’m a big fan of his books, even a bigger fan of Willy as a person.
I’ve had to get better at separating the two [book and film]
when I’ve done as much as I can to stick up for them. In the end,
these are two separate pieces of art, with one heart.”

 
 

When we love a book, we make our own image of the characters, and although we really can’t compare a book with a film, sometimes we can’t resist the association with the book. And I was curious to know how you feel, as an insider and as part of shaping up this visual story, if there is anything from the story from the book that you keep in the back of your mind when you follow the script. Charlie Plummer is wonderful in the role and I wouldn’t imagine anyone else in that role. You have adapted three novels of Willy Vlautin’s for the big screen. Do you find it difficult to let go of a story and embrace a new version of it?

Oh, my God, so much. It’s so hard for me. I love these books so much and, over the years, Willy and I have become close friends. We go to breakfast every few months and spend a few hours talking. He tells me about what he’s writing, of these characters that I eventually come to love in his books. It’s a really magical and beautiful friendship. I’m a huge fan of his books, even a bigger fan of Willy as a person, so getting an early glimpse and to getting know and love Willy, it becomes really personal for me. It’s like I need to protect these characters, because they are my friends. A lot of the time, I feel like that’s part of why I’m there – to love them like he does, and I do because they are all Willy, they are all my friends. All that being said, I’ve had to get better at separating the two, when I’ve done as much as I can to stick up for them. In the end, these are two separate pieces of art, with one heart.

 

Charlie Plummer in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green

 

The background is a big part of the naturalism and authenticity of the film. So what was the starting point of your work as production designer?

As I mentioned before, Andrew had taken a road trip that Charley takes in the book when adapting the script. He also made a photo book of this journey and gave it to me when we first started. I’ll forever treasure it. Andrew, being English, had a real outsiders point of view of America, which I found so inspiring. So we just dove in, started scouting, driving the state looking for the real places in the book/script, but also places that we could cheat for Colorado, and all the places in between. Those early days are so simple on a film, very little people around, and all the time is ahead of you. I always start there, driving around with the director, seeing what we gravitate towards. All while having Charley and the book in our hearts.

 
 

”I always start there, driving around with the director,
seeing what we gravitate towards.”

 
 

I am glad you mentioned Andrew’s outsider point of view, which I myself find very important. When Charlie is stranded in the desert, for example, the landscape is impressive and beautiful, and I don’t know what the impact on American audiences is, but as a non-American myself I do notice that open space and vastness, but what I mostly like about it is that it serves the story, the focus remains on the character. And it is because we relate to it through Charley that makes it that much more beautiful and daunting. How much of a challenge was this de-romanticizing of the landscape?

Yes, that’s always a thing in these vast beautiful spaces, how to make them look more drab. We thought on this a lot. Figured out where we could build a broken down fence, add a faded dying car. Where we could add desperation in beauty. We also worked very hard to achieve this through colors. Where it should be bright, where it should be faded. It was also an important decision on what color to have Charlie in, while in the vast nature/beauty. We chose a nicely faded red t-shirt, as it wouldn’t get lost in the green or sage of the surroundings.

 

Film poster for “Lean on Pete”

 
 

“That’s always a thing in these vast beautiful spaces,
how to make them look more drab. We thought on this a lot.
Where we could add desperation in beauty.”

 
 

Charlie Plummer in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green

 

I love how one of the posters for the film picked up on that colour scheme against the vast landscape and that choice definitely makes a change in Charley’s journey. In our last interview, you told me that you always keep lookbooks and color schemes as reference for your set designs. In Lean On Pete, Charley is trying to cope with whatever comes along, managing to keep some kind of hope amidst all the hardships, and you actually feel that the slow pace of the film is telling us that the passing of time will guide him through it. What did you feel you had to focus on to reveal where Charlie is on his journey?

Yes, I always try to make a sort of lookbook which works as a map to what things should feel like in the film. It’s interesting looking back at this lookbook as what I created was very specific on where colors should be washed out and faded, where they should be bright and hopeful. In the lookbook, I mapped it out like this: when we are in Portland, at the beginning of the film, colors should feel brighter, hopeful. As things start to unravel, the colors begin to fade, and this continues as he makes his way away from Oregon, until he gets to Colorado, where the rules change to be more chaotic. Bright neon lights on faded paint. By the time he makes it to Aunt Margy’s home, the colors become warm, inviting.

 

Charlie Plummer in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green

 

The film opens and ends with Charley and his morning run in his neighborhood. The difference is, of course, that he is in a different place, both physically and emotionally, and that’s why I find that choice for an ending very powerful, yet, thankfully, not sentimental.

I agree. We shot that last shot on the last day of shooting, it was actually all we shot that day, the ending. It was really special, we had all been through so much, following Charley on his journey (both the actor and the character). I remember when we called cut, Charlie cried. It was really beautiful and moving. I also remember when my brother drove me back to our place that day, I broke down and cried too. It was a cry that felt like victory, like relief, like achieving another dream. All the continuous pushing of the project had stopped, eased. It was really special. Not all films end this way, everyone this connected and invested. I feel like that must come through in the work. I feel the audience has to feel this.

 

It did for me. And I understand how, for the ones involved in the making of a film such as yourself, a film takes up so much mental energy especially when you love a script so much and invest so much emotionally in not just the film, but the back stories, too, as is in this case Willy’s book and characters. When did you watch the film for the first time? Did you watch it with an audience?

I watched it at the Toronto Film Festival for the first and only time. My brother and I flew out there and met up with Andrew and got to see it premier with an audience. It was a very surreal and beautiful experience. This was the first full film that my brother got to make with me, he was the art director, which was a ton of fun for us to create together. It was a special summer making the film, and very cool to go see it together in Toronto.

 
 

“Not all films end this way, everyone this connected and invested.
I feel like that must come through in the work.
I feel the audience has to feel this.”

 
 

So filmmaking runs in the family. Who started first to work in film, you or your brother? Have you worked on many movies together?

Yes, we’ve both ended up working together for a long stretch. I started first making movies as a kid, and then later in life he got Art Department jobs in Los Angeles before me. When I first moved to Los Angeles to make a go at making movies, I lived in a tent in his backyard. He got his start in construction, building sets and then we both worked our way up to Production Design, him in commercials and me in films. He has since moved on from the business, and now lives happily in Australia. I miss collaborating with him so much. Lean On Pete was our only full film together, but we did countless commercials together. He also came and helped me for a few days here and there on Wendy and Lucy.

 

Charlie Plummer in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green – © Lean on Pete LLC

Left: Willy Vlautin and Ryan Warren Smith on Charley’s set. Photo courtesy of Ryan Warren Smith
Right: Charlie Plummer and Travis Fimmel in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green

 

Where was that ending scene filmed?

A really wonderful town in Eastern Oregon called Burns, Oregon. It’s a great little pocket in the middle of nowhere. It’s also where I worked on a film called Meek’s Cutoff with Kelly Reichardt.

 

That is one of my favourite Kelly Reichardt films. Again, just as with Lean on Pete, I was marked by that landscape, so vast, but the characters’ world is so confined that you come to inhabit their world, aware of every single sound and fact about their everyday life, about their moves, about their manners, about their clothes. I interviewed costume designer Vicki Farrell a few years back and she told me that the hands-on experience of making Meek’s Cutoff was very special.

Meek’s is still the hardest film I ever made. I was called in last minute to just handle props on the film. It was such a fun special experience. We all stayed at a hotel that was shaped like a horseshoe, and would have bonfires in the middle of the weekends. Everyone became so close and many wonderful friendships were formed. I was so happy to go back and shoot Lean on Pete here. I love that these two films somehow exist in the same world, just many years apart.

 

Charley’s most valuable possession is probably the photo of him and his aunt Margy, and then, his dad’s belt. Were there any other particular little things that you used to help define the image of the protagonist, aside from the colours he is wearing?

We were able to mess around with this through set dressing in Charley’s room. Things were still packed up from the move, but we showed a few details of his interests, his past life. Running and football trophies, a t-shirt from the high school he must have moved away from in Washington, all details from the book. It feels they keep little and move often. Then Charley has to leave so quickly that he only takes a few things, and that’s why he hangs on so tight to the belt and photo. It’s all he has left.

 

When Charley is reunited with his aunt, he tells her he wants to go to school and play football again. Having a home was what he was longing for the most, but I liked the feeling I had that football will help him a lot, too, in the future to find a sense of belonging.

Agreed, it gives the feeling that he will find friends again and have normalcy. That’s all we can hope for him.

 

On the set of “Lean on Pete”. Clockwise from top left: Jonny, the art director, measuring to cover signage / New signs covering the original / Andrew Haigh and Magnus Jønck on set / Andrew Haigh on set. Photos courtesy of Ryan Warren Smith

 

 

Does the horse racing track in the film exist in reality? Was there anything you had to build for the settings?

Yes, it did exist. That was a legendary horse track here in Portland, called Portland Meadows. It’s actually where Willy wrote the book. He would go and bet on horses and watch people and write. We fought very hard to shoot here. They didn’t want us to use their real name, so we built signs to cover theres, etc. So everything you see was the real place. The track side, the back area where they keep the horses, and the diner. It all existed and we were lucky to capture it. It’s since been torn down and Amazon built warehouses there. My heart breaks every time I drive by it.

 
 

“I’m so happy that we could shoot it in the real place that
it was written for, and also capture the special place that it was.
It’s so important to capture these places before they all disappear.”

 
 

That’s terrible. Do you think you would have recreated it if they had already torn it down at the time of filming, or would you have found another horse track location to work for the story?

I feel we would have found an alternative horse track to shoot at. I’m so happy that we could shoot it in the real place that it was written for, and also capture the special place that it was.

 

That’s one of the things we are grateful for films. Beyond their artistic and creative side, films, especially the ones shot on location, have a historical importance, and the only way some places that no longer exist in reality can still be visited. That’s another reason why I have great appreciation for production designers and also still photographers. It’s often the film stills that leave an iconic legacy and will stay with us beyond the end credits, and beyond the big screen.

Yes, I feel the same. It’s so important to capture these places before they all disappear. I am so happy we got to do this with Portland Meadows.

 

Clockwise from top left: Set decorator Jenelle Giordano in Del’s tackroom. Photo courtesy of Ryan Warren Smith
Charley in Del’s tackroom | Charlie Plummer, Chloë Sevigny and Steve Buscemi in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green

 

You live in Oregon, where the film largely takes place. Do you find it easier or more challenging to work with a familiar place?

I love it. I feel like Oregon is such a wonderful pocket in an insane country. I connect with so much here, the outdoors, the politics, it’s home. So I love when I get to shoot here as it’s a part of my heart at this point, and I want to show all its sides.

 

Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy is another film you made in Oregon. How was that experience like?

That was a wonderful experience. That was my first film as production designer, after trying for years. It was a small crew, of maybe 12 people, and we made the film out of my Volkswagen van. I made lifelong friends on that film, and it was a film that was seen, so it afforded me to keep making films, which I’m forever grateful for.

 

Lean on Pete, Wendy and Lucy, The Holdovers were all shot on location. Have you also shot on a sound stage? What is most challenging about that?

Yes, a ton. In the film Green Room, we built all the main interiors on stage. Same on True Detective. I am always afraid stage builds won’t feel as real, but through paint and set dressing, I’ve found it’s possible to build things that feel as real as a location. The main challenge is that it’s expensive to do so, but it’s the best way to go if you want to control every aspect of a set. But there is something to say about the character of shooting on location, it’s hard to fake the history that lies in walls. It’s hard to fake the lives that have lived there. I feel those things mean something to a set.

 

Chloë Sevigny in “Lean on Pete”. Photo by Scott Patrick Green – © Lean on Pete LLC

 

Chloë Sevigny and Steve Buscemi are two character actors we have come to associate with the independent American cinema and here they play important parts in Charley’s journey. How did you fit them in these particular surroundings?

I love both of them so much. Chloë and I go way back, and have worked together numerous times and have become friends. When I heard Buscemi was playing Del, I was so damn excited. He’s perfect. Both of them elevate anything they are in, and are such nice, kind people. They do an amazing job disappearing into any role they play, so we just worked on making their sets feel really real, and they just fit in from there.

 

Yes, they both immerse themselves in those characters and you, in turn, as a viewer, get lost in those characters. That’s a pretty dark, rugged world, the jockey and low-stakes horse racing world, a world one could easily lose oneself in. But Chloë’s character is pretty tough, she is capable of standing up to that world. Through her body language, through the way she walks and through her clothes she projects strength and hardwork. And she is kind to Charley, too.

Yes, I love how tough Chloë is in the film, I also love that her heart comes through in her kindness to Charley, that’s so needed in the film.

 
 

“There is something to say about the character of
shooting on location. It’s hard to fake the history
that lies in walls. It’s hard to fake the lives that have lived there.
I feel those things mean something to a set.”

 
 

Was it easy for the actors to work with the horses?

Yes, we had an amazing animal wrangling team. They worked with the actors and we also got to hang with real jockeys and their horses. That was great for all of us. For Pete’s death scene rehearsal, my brother and I built and buried a memory foam mattress in the ground so we could get the horse to lay still for long periods of time. It worked better than any of us imagined! The horse didn’t want to get up. [laughs]

 

You have also worked with Magnus Nordenhof Jønck, the cinematographer, a few times. How was your collaboration with him? I love how he used the light in the film. It is a very raw universe we get to see in the film, there is no artifice about it, and yet the way it was framed and filmed and the way the light falls throughout the film, it’s visually enticing.

I love Magnus so much. He’s to talented, kind and funny. He’s become one of my favorite friends and collaborators over the years. This was the first of three films that we’ve now done together, and I can’t wait to work with him again. What he did on Lean on Pete was incredible. I remember when we were shooting I couldn’t believe how little he needed to light. His setups were so simple and careful. When I started to see how he lit, I was so impressed. I remember looking at some of the scenes and feeling like they looked like paintings. He doesn’t overdo things or overlight, and, in doing so, things feel so natural and real. I’m forever grateful for how he shot our sets. He’s such an incredible artist.

 

Ryan, your next film is about Anthony Bourdain, starring Dominic Sessa, whom we loved so much in The Holdovers. What places will you take us to?

I’m so excited to work with Dom again. He’s such a talented actor and a good friend. Will be an honor to create him sets to work within. This film takes place in 1975 Provincetown, Massachusetts. It’s the summer Anthony Bourdain got his first job as a dishwasher in a restaurant, and found his calling. So we will be showing Cape Cod, and also New Jersey where Bourdain grew up. So excited!

 

I am looking forward to seeing the story set in the Cape Cod of those years, a place that has exerted its power over so many artists, writers and creatives in time. And New Jersey, too. And I hope that means another great conversation with you about making movies!

I hope so too, Ada! Thanks so much for your continued interest in my work. It truly means the world to me.

The feeling is mutual. Thank you, Ryan!

 

ryanwarrensmith.com

 
 

MORE STORIES

The Holdovers: In conversation with production designer Ryan Warren Smith

“This is truly who I am”: In conversation with artist Heather Chontos

La enfermedad del domingo: In conversation with costume designer Clara Bilbao

Posted by classiq in Film, Interviews | | Comments Off on Lean On Pete: In conversation with production designer Ryan Warren Smith