Art of the Title

In the script stage, I tentatively planned on integrating Nightscape’s main titles into an early street race scene. When it came time to shoot that scene, however, we were unduly rushed. It entailed some complicated staging, made more time-sensitive by the short summer night (the sky grew noticeably lighter about 4am), so we couldn’t frame the opening shots to accommodate titles and ensure we had the right coverage for it. So much for my original idea. That left me with either moving all of the credits to the end of the picture à la Star Wars, or alternately, developing a standalone title sequence. After some deliberation, I opted for the latter.

My first-rate cinematographer, Patrick Neary, and I toyed with the notion of creating a title sequence ourselves. Our first thought was to capture scads of wrecking yard footage and then re-work it in post, combining errant car parts with organic elements. Then I arrived at the notion of creating a motion-graphic version of this idea. I imagined it as a classic Saul Bass sequence with a horrific twist. This notion called for someone with significant graphic software skills, so I opted to hire out the creation of the titles. Title design is its own unique art form and I wanted to make sure we started the film with something shockingly different to announce the film’s creepy aesthetics.

Using the oh-so-informative Web site, Art of the Title, I made a list of potential title designers and contacted my number one choice: Kurt Volk, a graphic designer for Robert Rodriguez’s Troublemaker Studios. He found the title concept intriguing and wanted to work on it, but ever-escalating demands on his time precluded his involvement. He was, however, kind enough to recommend Ian Albinson, none other than the founder of Art of the Title. Fortunately for me, Ian was available and interested. Shortly after he accepted the gig, he proposed going back to the original live-action title concept, showing a series of techno-mechanical images tied to the film’s bête noir, the phantom car.

Since then, Kurt’s worked up about eight iterations of the title sequence and is near to finishing after about three months of work off and on. He and his collaborators have done an amazing job. The 90-second sequence features hand-designed titles (created by Jon Contino) over strangely affecting images with recognizably automotive origins. He gave the sequence an exceptional dynamism by not only putting the titles in motion, but also making them transparent as they approach the viewer, providing glimpses of the next image in the sequence before its fully revealed. As noted previously, the capper was the music. My composer, John Askew, surprised me with a fantastic main title theme. (To be clear, I wasn’t surprised the score was fantastic, but that John created a score at all. I’d long planned to use a pre-existing song from an obscure mid-70s band for the sequence. But when securing the rights to the tune became problematic, John offered his own take.)

Now, all that remains is a few finishing special effects touches and the sequence will be complete and ready for output. Another element put to bed on the way to a final master…

Putting the Genie Back in the Bottle

For the past several weeks I’ve been spending one or two days at the newkrackle audiblefx recording studio, home of my sound designer, Jason Edwards (no relation). Jason and I have been coaching the cast through ADR sessions in order to improve the sound mix. That’s ADR as in Automated Dialogue Recording, or alternately, Additional Dialogue Recording, otherwise known as ‘dubbing.’ ADR is the preferred industry term, presumably because dubbing makes it sound as though the filmmaker was forced to record new dialogue to mask on-set mistakes.

While that does occur, the main purpose of ADR is to give the sound designer maximum flexibility in treating the various sound elements. In the usual course of production, bits of dialogue come across as distorted or unplayable. Sometimes it’s due to the noise accompanying an on-set action that can’t be pantomimed. Sometimes it’s because the actor moved in a way that resulted in an off-mic line delivery or generated an unwanted fabric swish. If you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you’ve gathered that there’s a fair amount of car mayhem in the film. As you might expect, there are several in-car conversations. Given that we couldn’t afford a process trailer for more than a couple of days, we recorded most of these conversations with the car in motion, engine running. This amounted to recording guide tracks for the inevitable ADR work, as the engine noise nearly drowned out the dialogue. (As an amusing aside, I was typically curled up in the back of the El Camino just out of camera range, clutching the sound recording equipment. I often had to keep as low a profile as possible, so I usually couldn’t see anything; I just listened for solid performances.)

Joshua St. James gives a scream during his Nightscape ADR session

It’s been nearly five months since the end of principal photography and none of my leads have ever done ADR before. It can be a serious challenge to any actor—even recognized veterans—because you not only have to recreate your performance, but do so in sync with what’s on-screen. That’s the epitome of the old saw about putting the genie back in the bottle. Luckily for us, our leads have done amazingly well. Emily Galash was the first to enter the ADR booth. She faced the daunting task of re-recording about 80% of her dialogue, mostly because of environmental issues like wind and unavoidable noises tied to on-screen action. She was typically fearless and knocked out her dialogue like a seasoned voice actor in short order. She compared her experience to playing Guitar Hero,  matching dialogue to action in a remembered rhythm. Joshua St. James and Jorge Madrid have been equally adept at ADR work, quickly getting back into character and in some cases, even improving on their original performances.

I’m indebted to Jason and his assistant, Lou, for their infallible attention to detail. They’ve done an exceptional job of identifying all of the necessary ADR elements, even going so far as to record single words because of slight distortion—discrepancies that would likely go unnoticed by the average filmgoer. For them, it’s a matter of professional pride. And that’s what makes for a winning film. It takes all of the little things done right to make for a satisfying whole.

The Kindest Cut

As the saying goes, you make your film three times: once when you write it, again when you shoot it and lastly, when you edit it. I wish it were only three times. We’ve done more than 20 edits of the film and while we’ve been in picture-lock since mid-November, we’ll invariably make tweaks here and there up until final mastering. No wonder many filmmakers say they never watch their completed projects. Every time I see a cut, I see not just what’s on the monitor, but any number of alternate renditions.

It’s a bit like seeing the timestream branch before your eyes without the benefit of living out any of the alternate paths. Getting to picture-lock took about two-and-a-half months of daily editing. My skillful editor, Ben Mead, known primarily for award-winning documentaries like Brutal Beauty: Tales of the Rose City Rollers, compiled the first assembly edit as we shot the film. He made great progress on it, despite welcoming his first child into the world during the shoot (not on set, mind). Subsequent versions underwent a number of changes, though all of them followed the same basic structure, closely mirroring that of the shooting script. This process involved selecting the most effective shots from more than 600 minutes of footage and reconfiguring them into seemingly endless patterns. (Btw, we used primarily one camera—the Red One—though we occasionally employed a relatively inexpensive crash-cam and for two days of intensive car stunts, actually had the luxury of a two-camera setup.) At about the two-month mark, though, Ben and I determined we needed a fresh perspective.

That’s when I asked a friend-of-a-friend, the uber-talented editor and director, Gary Lundgren (Calvin Marshall), to come up from southern Oregon for a week to apply his brand of filmic magic. Gary got his start in the industry as an editorial assistant and has been part of the editing team for a number of Hollywood productions, including Ernest Dickerson’s Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight (uncredited, for you IMDB checkers). Working frenetically over the course of a workweek, Gary and I whacked the then-110 minute edit down to a snappy 77 minutes. I can’t say this part was easy. Absolutely necessary, yes; easy, no. There were moments when I doubted my storytelling instincts. But the end result was well worth all the accompanying emotional turmoil. Sometimes the most drastic cut can be the kindest. Gary’s beady-eyed focus on narrative clarity and momentum established a surer, leaner baseline for the film.

From that point on, it was relatively easy for Ben and me to rework the film into its current svelte, but more emotionally-engaging, picture-locked form. The 77 minute version turned out to be a mite too fast and some of the edits required additional bits to flow properly. Ben restored a lot of the essential breathing room and I added a few diary-entry voice-overs to give the lone female lead a greater, more sympathetic voice than the pared-back version allowed. I also reconvened the crew for a day of soundless pickups designed to fill in a few fleeting, but nonetheless noticeable gaps, and to ease a couple of scene transitions. (For completists, we trialed a Red Epic camera, the camera used on the most recentUnderworld picture and the upcoming The Amazing Spider-Man, among other things.) The current cut is about 87 minutes without closing credits.

Now, we’re in the throes of sound design, music, special effects, color correction and all the other usual post-production activities. Every element is inextricably linked, which makes coordination a challenge. For instance, I originally intended to use a track from obscure 70s band, The Godz, over the main title sequence. When negotiations with the record company proved unduly trying, however, the composer, John Askew, offered up a score. And boy-howdy, I’m glad he did! It was a revelation that altered our initial plans about the use of score throughout the film and impacted a number of sound design elements. (We’re experimenting with tying score and sound effects together to a greater extent than typical studio fare à la David Lynch.) Fortunately for me, the post-production crew consists not only of seasoned veterans, but many of them have worked together over a number of projects, making the process relatively seamless.

We’re now looking at a March timeframe for final mastering—about seven months after the end of principal photography. Not bad considering the fitful nature of post. I’m trying not to rush it, but my anticipation is second only to the anticipation I felt during my wife’s pregnancies. It’s worse than any childhood Christmas for sure. I can’t hardly wait to show what we’ve got in store. Regardless of your feelings about the finished film, I guarantee you’ll find it uniquely compelling.