Responsibilities of a Film Director

Filmmakers are responsible for overseeing creative aspects of a film under the film producer. They often develop the vision for a film and carry the vision out, deciding how the film should look. They are responsible for turning the script into a sequence of shots. They also direct what tone it should have and what an audience should gain from the cinematic experience. Film directors are responsible for deciding camera angles, lens effects, lighting, and set design, and will often take part in hiring key crew members. They coordinate the actors' moves and also may be involved in the writing, financing, and editing of a film.

The director works closely with the cast and crew to shape the film. Some like to conduct rigorous rehearsals in preproduction while others do so before each scene. In either case this process is essential as it tells the director as well as other key members of the crew (Director of Photography, stunt choreographer, hair stylist, etc.), how the actors are going to play the scene, which enables them to make any necessary adjustments. Directors often use storyboards to illustrate sequences and concepts, and adirector's viewfinder to set up camera angles.

The director also plays a key role in post-production. He or she works with the editor to ensure that the emotions of the scene and the close ups, mid shots and wide or long shots appropriately reflect which character is driving the narrative. The director also advises on the (colour) grading of the final images, adding warmth or frigidity to the composition of the shots to reflect the emotional subtext of the character or environment. The director also participates in the sound mix and musical composition of the film.


Source: Wikipedia

Who is Film director

A film director is a person who directs the actors and crew in the making of a film.[1] They control a film's artistic and dramatic aspects, while guiding the technical crew andactors.

Source:Wikipeadia

Pranzo Di Ferragosto

A middle-aged man on his uppers, lives with and looks after his elderly mother, as unpaid bills pile up around him. As the traditional Italian holiday weekend of the 15 August approaches, the hapless hero is potentially offered, at least a partial, solution to his pecuniary problems. His landlord, one of his friends and even his doctor each persuade him to let them dump their elderly relatives on him, so that he can accommodate them and wait on them over the holiday period. Notwithstanding his reluctance to take on such nannying duties, the lure of relief from his financial straits is too much and so an assortment of ill-matched, elderly ladies descends on the tiny flat.

Written and directed by one of Italy's most celebrated screenwriters, Gianni di Gregorio (most recently contributing to the acclaimed Gomorrah), here making his feature debut, Mid-August Lunch is a miniature gem, by turns comic, embarrassing, engaging and emotionally affecting. This is a small but beautifully rendered drama of manners that captures the nuances of people's behaviour and shows a mis-fit group of individuals, coping (or not) with each others' idiosyncrasies. A completely unique film, Mid-August Lunch is a charming and convincing first feature from di Gregorio.

Small but utterly charming, Gianni di Gregorio's low-budget feature about an ageing Roman who suddenly finds himself looking after four ancient ladies over the mid-August dog days has enough heart to make up for its paper-thin story, and conceals a serious social message behind its delicate comic treatment of the burdens of old age, and the elderly as a burden. This won its 59-year-old director the Luigi De Laurentiis prize for Best First Film at Venice, where it caused a small commercial flurry.

Producedby Gomorrah director Matteo Garrone, this opened in Italy September 5 on limited release where it struck a chord with general audiences, notching up the weekend's highest screen average after Kung Fu Panda. There's something local about theemotionsit touches in a country that is increasingly unable to look after its old people within the family, but is haunted by the prospect of placing grandma in a home.

This is not, however, an exclusively Italian issue, boding well for its ability to cross over as a small arthouse hit thanks mainly to the memorable, semi-improvised performances by four non-professional actresses who make up the supporting cast. Sales have been good.

Gianni (played by the director himself) is an immediately recognisable Roman character; outside the house, he's a relaxed habitue of old-style Trastevere wine bars; inside, he's very much under the thumb of his tyrannical elderly mother (Valeria De Franciscis), a high-born lady fallen on hard times.

Aware that he is deep in debt and in arrears with his payments to the building co-op, its administrator offers to cook the books in Gianni's favour if he minds his own elderly mother over the mid-August 'Ferragosto' holiday (when even the few able-bodied Italians still left in the city head en masse for the beach). But the wily administrator turns up with an ancient aunt into the bargain; and when Gianni's angina starts playing up, the doctor friend who examines him makes things worse by throwing his own mother into the mix, so he can work a late shift at the hospital.

So a gaggle of old ladies (the average age of the four actresses is 88) is left in a small apartment with a reluctant but long-suffering and well-bred host. The women bicker, throw sulks and make friends, while Gianni attempts to monitor their pill intake and pacify them with food.

The film is dominated by the rich, worn hues of Rome in full summer. And the soundtrack - a faintly Balkan folk-jazz soundtrack of shrill trumpets and accordions - hits the right bittersweet notes.


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Camino


Camino. España. 2008. 143 minutos. Dirección: Javier Fesser. Con: Nerea Camacho, Carmen Elías, Mariano Venancio, Manuela Vellés.

Es tan peculiar el tercer largometraje de Javier Fesser, que no sólo otorga a sus anteriores El milagro de P. Tinto (1998) y La gran aventura de Mortadelo y Filemón (2003) valores retrospectivos. Además, su evidente irregularidad suma en vez de restar, al ser fruto de una ambición técnica y artística inusual en el panorama del cine español.

Porque Camino es más que la invectiva notoria contra una secta capaz de transformar los sufrimientos de una enferma terminal en sostén ideológico de sus delirios. Es más que el emotivo retrato de las ilusiones rotas de una adolescente y los juegos de poder en el seno de una familia. Es más que la película de terror enigmático que se atisba en algunos momentos (no por casualidad registrados en el seno de la ficción por una cámara); terror que deriva de la imposibilidad de concretar cauces expresivos para tanto dolor, tantos errores y tanto desamparo existencial.

Camino constituye sobre todo, y en este aspecto adquieren importancia primordial los efectos digitales y las escenas imaginarias que muchos han denostado, la evidencia de que entre tantos girasoles ciegos, cobardemente sumisos al registro físico y átono de imágenes, uno se ha atrevido a alzar la mirada para sonsacarle a lo real lecturas más significativas. Lástima que Fesser prefiera tener como modelo a Jean Pierre Jeunet antes que a David Fincher. Aunque, quién sabe si eso no podría cambiar.

SAN SEBASTIÁN.- Aunque Javier Fesser no considera haber cambiado su esencia cinematográfica, ha sorprendido el giro al melodrama de su película 'Camino', ambientada en el entorno del Opus Dei y que el Festival de Cine de San Sebastián ha proyectado en su Sección Oficial junto a la canadiense 'Maman est chez le coiffeur'.

Tras salir airoso de comedias como 'El milagro de P. Tinto' o 'La gran aventura de Mortadelo y Filemón', Javier Fesser aduce a la pasión que arrastra la historia de 'Camino' para adoptar un nuevo lenguaje en su cine, "que es el que requería" este cuento de amor y de muerte inspirado sólo en parte en la historia real de Alexia González-Barros, según ha explicado el director.

La hija menor de una familia integrante del Opus Dei falleció en 1985 a los 14 años de edad tras una dolorosa enfermedad y actualmente está en proceso de canonización.

Ella sirve de punto de partida para retratar a una niña de 11 años a la que se intenta inculcar el placer de la redención a través del dolor, en esta cinta que llega a las salas españolas el próximo 17 de octubre y que se ha hecho "desde el respeto y sin ambigüedades", ha defendido Fesser ante los medios.

En los sueños de Camino, rodados con la ambición visual de sus anteriores trabajos, se conectan elementos contradictorios; la presión que ejercen sobre ella los dogmas impuestos por su familia y los sentimientos incontrolables que nacen en su interior, al enamorarse de Jesús, aunque, para desgracia de su madre, no del hijo de Dios sino de un niño de su misma edad.
Así Fesser plantea a una especie de 'Alicia' que huye de su desgarrador destino a través de un espejo onírico y catártico, tutelada por una mujer cuya devoción parece mantener bajo control al más visceral de los sentimientos, el maternal.

El personaje de la madre, interpretado por Carmen Elías es el más definido del relato y a su vez el que aporta la universalidad buscada por Fesser, gracias al trabajo común con la actriz, que tuvo que trabajar "con el guión como enemigo, ya que sobre el papel, es fácil sentir rechazo por esa madre".


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The Visitor

The Visitor is a 2008 American drama film written and directed by Thomas McCarthy. The screenplay focuses on a lonely man in late middle age whose life changes when he is forced to face issues relating to identity, immigration, and cross-cultural communication in post-9/11 New York City.

Walter Vale is a widowed Connecticut College economics professor who lives a fairly solitary existence. He fills his hours by taking piano lessons with Karen in an effort to emulate his late wife, a classical concert pianist, and works on a new book, although his efforts at both are not producing encouraging results. When he is asked to present a paper at an academic conference at New York University, he hesitates to comply, given he is only the nominal co-author and never even read it. Charles, his department head, persists, and Walter is forced to attend.

When he arrives at the apartment he maintains in Manhattan, he is startled to discover a young unmarried couple living there, having rented it from a swindler who claimed it was his. They are Tarek, a Syrian djembe player, and Zainab, a Senegalese designer of ethnic jewelry, and both are illegal immigrants. Although they have no place to go, they hastily pack and leave, but Walter follows them and persuades them to return. Over the next few days, a friendship slowly develops. Tarek teaches Walter to play the drum, and the two men join a group of others at an impromptu drum circle in Central Park.

En route home, Tarek is mistakenly charged with subway turnstile jumping, arrested for failing to pay his fare, and taken to a detention center for illegal immigrants in Queens. In order to prevent Tarek's deportation from the United States, Walter hires an immigration lawyer. Feeling uncomfortable about remaining in the apartment with Walter, Zainab moves out to live with relatives in The Bronx.

Tarek's mother Mouna unexpectedly arrives from her home in Michigan when she is unable to contact her son. Also in the States illegally, she accepts Walter's offer to stay in the apartment, and the two develop a friendship. Walter confesses his life is unfullfilling; he dislikes the single course he has taught for twenty years, and the book he allegedly is writing is nowhere near completion. She reveals her journalist husband died following a lengthy politically-motivated imprisonment in Syria, and she is concerned about her son's future prospects if he is deported. The two begin to share a simple domestic existence, with Mouna preparing meals and Walter treating her to The Phantom of the Opera when she mentions her love for the original cast recording Tarek sent her as a gift.

Without warning, Tarek is summarily deported to Syria, and Mouna decides to follow him. Alone once again, Walter plays his drum on a subway platform, as Tarek once told him he himself would like to do some time.

I just love it when a well-admired character actor gets a shot at a big-time starring role. OK, so maybe the lead role in a low-key character study like McCarthy's The Visitor is not exactly "big time" (as far as Hollywood goes, anyway) -- but if you're familiar with the name and the works of Mr. Richard Jenkins, then you'll be thrilled with what the veteran actor has to offer here. (You might not know the name, but you should definitely remember Richard Jenkins from movies like Flirting with Disaster, The Kingdom, The Witches of Eastwick, and a bunch of Coen and Farrelly brothers films.)

Here Jenkins plays economics professor Walter Vale, a man who is also A) a widower, B) kinda bored / boring, and C) sort of just floating through life without much in the way or happiness or misery. That all changes when the prof is required to hit New York City for a week-long economics conference. (Sounds pretty dry so far, eh?) But when Professor Vale unlocks the door to his seldom-used NYC apartment -- he gets one big surprise.

Turns out that a young couple -- a Syrian guy and a Senegalese woman -- have been living in the apartment, completely unaware that they've been duped by someone called "Ivan." After a few tense moments, the young lovers apologize to Vale, pack up their stuff, and head out into the streets. But while Walter is a slightly morose and somewhat gruff man -- he's also clearly a decent man with a good heart. Rather than have the kids on the street, he invites them back to the apartment.

Thus begins a mellow, laid-back, and entirely satisfying little "people" movie, one that finds the beauty in the small gestures of genorisity: McCarthy finds a lot of beauty in the strangest friendships, and as The Visitor moves into more political areas (Tarek gets tossed into jail for no good reason), the director is careful to let the characters take precedence over the "issues." Obviously the film has a lot to say about the Arab experience in America today, but The Visitor is much more interested in its interpersonal relationships than it is in climbing a soapbox and preaching to the choir. (Icing on the cake: In addition to Jenkins' fantastic performance, newcomer Haaz Sleiman (as Tarek) is really quite excellent.)

The result is a movie with a message, sure, but it works even better as a touching look at a lonely man who finds some warmth, friendship and affection in the most unexpected of places: His own forgotten apartment.


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Partir

Suzanne a la quarantaine. Femme de médecin et mère de famille, elle habite dans le sud de la France, mais l'oisiveté bourgeoise de cette vie lui pèse. Elle décide de reprendre son travail de kinésithérapeute qu'elle avait abandonné pour élever ses enfants et convainc son mari de l'aider à installer un cabinet. A l'occasion des travaux, elle fait la rencontre d'Ivan, un ouvrier en charge du chantier qui a toujours vécu de petits boulots et qui a fait de la prison. Leur attraction mutuelle est immédiate et violente et Suzanne décide de tout quitter pour vivre cette passion dévorante.

Six mois auparavant, une éternité, Suzanne menait une vie prévisible, feutrée, bourgeoise. Deux enfants presque adultes, et un mari très enfantin, un médecin macho, style « ma » femme, « mes » gamins, « ma » maison, « mon » métier, « ma » virilité... Pour des travaux dans la villa, un ouvrier était venu, un Espagnol au nom russe, Ivan. Suzanne l'avait involontairement blessé, conduit en Espagne voir sa fille, puis revu sans raison. Avant, précisément, que la déraison ne l'emporte. Elle lui avait cédé comme si elle se délivrait. Et tout rejeté d'un bloc : les conventions, l'hypocrisie, ses enfants. Et ce mari, d'abord sanglotant, puis ...

L’amour et ses déclinaisons fondent la filmographie de Catherine Corsini. Parfois traité avec humour (La Nouvelle Eve), ou avec romance (Les Ambitieux), l’amour, dans Partir, fait souffrir. La réalisatrice choisit l’épure pour raconter ce (mélo)drame, chroniqué comme un fait divers à coups de cadres larges et fixes, mais activés par le mistral et la tramontane du Languedoc-Roussillon. Le film se voudrait charnel, mais le bannissement volontaire de toute psychologie finit par éteindre tout sentiment et exclure le spectateur de cette histoire d’amour…

… qui finira mal. Un coup de feu retenti en introduction et le film débute en flash-back. Il relate de sa naissance à sa fin tragique, la passion amoureuse de Suzanne (Kristin Scott Thomas) et Ivan (Sergi Lopez), deux étrangers pour qui partir c’est rester ensemble. Comme dans Noces rouges de Claude Chabrol, l’abus de pouvoir et le chantage sont les atouts du mari cocu (Yvan Attal), dont les plans machiavéliques font obstacles au bonheur épicurien des amants.

On le sait, on le sent : Partir est un film sur l’émancipation et c’est aussi un film de femmes (Catherine Corsini s’est accompagnée d’Agnès Godard à la photographie). Ce féminisme est incarné à l’écran par le personnage de Suzanne, quadragénaire entière, déterminée, honnête, et joyeuse (comme l’illustre cette séquence où une guêpe rentre dans son chemisier). Où est la faille ? Nulle part. Suzanne est si complète… qu’elle en est lisse. Pourtant elle est l’élément moteur du film puisqu’elle est présente dans toutes les scènes. C’est son itinéraire qui construit Partir, dans le sens où la narration décrit le processus logique de son émancipation. Ni plus, ni moins : le rythme est lent puisque embarrassé de détails pas forcément essentiels. Ainsi, c’est l’action et la représentation des émotions (et non leur incarnation) qui importent, au détriment de la saveur intérieure des prises de conscience des personnages. Catherine Corsini ne craint pas les scènes faites d’un seul plan privé d’action, auquel le spectateur devra dégager sans mal son sens premier et unique. Exemple : Suzanne et Samuel sont dans le lit conjugal, elle lit, tandis que lui pianote sur son portable. Conclusion : on ne fait pas l’amour chez les Vidal. Alors qu’il cherchait l’ardeur de la passion, le film souffre d’une froideur d’exécution.

Toutefois, reconnaissons à Partir ses petites perles. À l’écriture, ce sera au cours d’une situation périlleuse dans une station essence. En termes de mise en scène, ce sera lors de la scène fondamentale du premier baiser. Le parti pris est original, et cette fois l’intention atteint son but : ce cadre large laisse toute liberté à l’action, et comme l’amour donne des ailes, l’instant est simplement beau. Mais l’intérêt principal de Partir réside dans ce qu’inconsciemment il donne à voir et comprendre des rapports amoureux et du travail. Au-delà de l’histoire d’amour entre la bourgeoise et le prolo et de ses conséquences matérielles, le travail sonne le glas de l’amour physique. Dès lors que Suzanne et Ivan payent leur amour à la sueur de leur front en récoltant des melons, plus aucune scène charnelle ne vient rendre compte de leurs ébats. Impossible de faire l’amour en travaillant, et si le début de leur histoire se caractérisait par une alchimie sexuelle, le travail plane comme une menace. Sans fêlures, sans brèches, et si purs dans leur passion, l’amour ne saurait être mis en péril par la condition matérielle des amants ; c’est ainsi que tranche le film… le triomphe est bien mièvre.


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Doubt

Written and directed by John Patrick Shanley, Doubt, adapted for the screen, stars Oscar winners Philip Seymour Hoffman and Meryl Streep, and is supported by Oscar nominee, Amy Adams. Set in the early 1960’s at a Catholic elementary school in the Bronx, Father Flynn (Hoffman), a charismatic priest, is attempting to modernize the school’s Catholic customs – strictly enforced by the rigid Sister Aloysius (Streep). Struggling to fit in as the school’s first black student, Donald Miller, takes a particular liking to Father Flynn – a liking that is certainly reciprocated. Suspicious, and confident in her certainty regarding the true whereabouts of their relationship, Sister Aloysius embarks on a relentless mission to eliminate Fr. Flynn, and restore order in her community.

Unlike most films, Doubt lacks the conventional series of climatic turning points that peak a story. Fr. Flynn never gets caught in a graphic rape scene with Donald, leaving everyone heartbroken ad nauseas – However, the eerie, suspenseful tone of the score, and subtle shots of sneaky exchanges between the priest and boy alluding to inappropriate behavior keeps the film extremely engaging, and the viewers on the edge of their seats. The audience never actually witnesses a crime committed or a verbal confession from Fr. Flynn. This not only forces the audience to read between the lines, but keeps them from forming judgments about the characters until the film has ended.

Streep’s story line carries the film, and ultimately serves as the film’s final payoff. A woman dedicated to maintaining order and honoring tradition, is forced to challenge her religious vows in order to restore peace in her community. Could a woman so confident in her faith, admit to experiencing doubt? The film shows that regardless of how committed someone can be to a particular way of life - in order to truly stick to the books, you might have to bend the rules.

Doubt is entirely character driven, giving Hoffman and Streep yet another opportunity for critically acclaimed performances. Their scenes are fiercely committed, screaming Oscar nominations from start to finish. Doubt requires an audience to be in a very specific mood - which may stifle is appeal to a broad audience. But if you’re in the mood for some of the best acting of the year - spend the ten bucks.


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