Don’t judge a book by its cover. All that glitters is not gold. The cowl does not make the monk.

We all grew up hearing these sayings and know what they mean. (Well, not that last one; I looked it up, but I like it.) Don’t judge someone by how they look, judge them by who they are.

The best camera operators are there - listening, offering thoughts, being part of the team - without being flashy or showy. They blend in to the crew in a way that still keeps them present but doesn’t draw attention to themselves.

A few years back, I was working on a show where we had a scene that took place on the top floor of a parking structure. It was the tallest structure in the area and the director picked it because you could see most of the city. I can’t recall why, but we had a little bit of a delay and, as we sat there, I noticed that we were in the flight path of a local airport and planes were flying past us, somewhat low, from left to right every two minutes or so. I sat and watched (you could see the lines of planes extending to the horizon) and realized that every other plane (there must have been two runways) would come through pretty much the exact space every five minutes.

This will be a little esoteric without a specific example, but hopefully the idea comes through. When you are doing a shot that requires a lot of physical movement–handheld, a huge pan on a head where you need to walk around the dolly or sticks, even a steadicam shot–walk through the motions and set yourself up so that you make the hardest part of the shot as easy at it can be.

There’s always a little ballet that happens with most shots and the best way to figure that out is, once you know the shot and without the actors but including any dolly booms or anything that might change your body position, imagine the shot and move through the physical motions that you will have to undertake. This will allow you to see what your body will need to do and to adjust how you are standing, holding the camera, etc. Then, once you think you have a good idea, run the shot.

An example. You are on sticks and a head and you need to do a shot where the camera pans from the 12 o'clock position all the way around to the 9 o'clock position (so 270 degrees or so) and then holds for a nice solid lockoff. One option is to simply walk around the sticks as you pan, but this is going to create all sorts of extra body movement that will translate to the shot itself (or at least that you will have to make sure doesn't translate). So, setting up your body in such a way that you can keep your feet planted is the best way to go. Assuming you have the physical attributes and length needed to pull this off, your best bet is to set your body in the final position and then pan back through the shot and see if you can accomplish it from there. This way, you are straining, and most likely very uncomfortable in your first position, but you will only be there for a second or two at the head of the shot. As the actor walks around the room, you will pan and the shot will only become physically easier as you go, ending in a very easy to maintain position at the end of the shot, where you will be holding a lockoff for 30 seconds.

A similar idea is with a handheld shot. Look at the part of the shot that will be the hardest–holding the camera static for 30 seconds, holding an extreme angle for a long time–and reverse-engineer the rest of the shot from there so you know you are the most comfortable for the toughest part of the shot, thereby setting yourself up for success.

Film sets can run the gamut as far as how crazed they are, but, in the end, especially as the sun is setting, they generally resemble some form of mildly controlled chaos. Everyone has a job to do, everyone’s job is important, many jobs are dependent on other people doing their job first, and, through it all, the clock is always ticking. It's ironic, because, in the end, everyone is trying to achieve the same goal but no one wants to be the one who gets short-changed when it comes to time, so everyone is hustling all the time, interspersed with periods of intense boredom. It's an odd world, that’s for sure.

From the moment I got into the camera department, there was this very clear sense, although never stated, that the sound department and the camera department were at odds with each other. I’ve never understood it, to be honest, and as the film industry evolves and younger members come in, thankfully, it seems to be fading. But there is still a weird animosity that many of us can sense.

I’ve been an A Cam/Steadicam operator for 32 years now, and I can honestly tell you that I’ve done three shots that I am actually proud of (one was a lockoff).

None of them is perfect.

As I’ve grown as an operator (have I?), I have begun to recognize that what you show in the frame is often less important than what you don't show. Sure, you need to visually tell the story, but at the same time, as you are creating shots, you have to remember that this is not only a visual medium, but an audio medium as well, and most importantly... 

YOU DON'T NEED TO SHOW EVERYTHING!

I was working on the movie St Vincent, directed by Ted Melfi, a great director, doing his first feature, which starred Bill Murray and Melissa McCarthy. Ted came to our DP, John Lindley, and I with an idea for the end of the movie. He wanted a shot that started in the dining room–where the characters were all eating–that pulled away from them, pulled back out the front door, went up in the air and ended on a shot of all of Brooklyn.

OK, in reality, sometimes you have to clean the windows. On a car, in a house, in an office setting–you name it. My point is simply, before you clean a window, make sure it needs to be cleaned.

When I was younger I wasn’t very interested in safety. After all, I was 20-something years old, a young up-and-coming (hopefully) Steadicam operator, and I was invincible. We were all that way at some point, right? So, we stepped a little closer to the edge or a few inches towards that fire gag in order to get ‘the shot’–that one moment of cinematic genius that was going to put us on the map and make our careers.

At the end of the show, it is often customary to give wrap gifts to the people you have worked with. This isn’t mandatory and a lot of people don't do it, but I’ve always found it’s a nice way to thank the people who made your job easier.

It's the first day of a new show with a director you haven’t worked with before. The first tip is to take it slow, as far as your involvement. Assuming they have a plan and aren’t floundering (in which way, step in and help), let them get up to speed and use this time to observe what they are like. Then, assuming the opportunity arises, try offering a suggestion on something small you think could improve the shot. I usually use something along the lines of, “I don't know if it’s ok to throw in a suggestion like this, but….”

The film biz is an industry that can eat you up and spit you out, or rather spit out what is a former shell of yourself. This isn’t the rule, but it’s important to remember it in order to protect yourself. If you don't have a good sense of yourself – where the lines you aren’t willing to cross are, who you are as a person – you will find yourself constantly pushing your boundaries and, sometimes, into areas that you will regret.

The first day on set with a new DP is always a test. You are testing them to see what they are like and how they like to work, and they are testing you as well. 

At the end of the first day, I always try and grab the DP after wrap, or call them on the way home, and ask two questions: How did we do and what can we do better for you?

If you are going to work in this biz, you are sadly going to work some really long hours. 10-12-hour days are the norm. 14 isn’t unheard of. 16? Yep, it will happen. Sadly, the longest day I ever worked was 23 hours. Thankfully, the business has started to push back, and standard days of 16 hours are becoming less and less common. Having said all of that, even a 10-hour day is long so here are some tips for getting through them.

As we make our way in our careers, we all want to get to that next level, the bigger movie, the more experienced crew, the bigger names, the top-rated shows. Most people’s careers take a slow upward momentum and continue to grow over time. For these kinds of careers, the shows get incrementally harder and more demanding, and most people can step up to the challenge pretty easily.

Over the years, it has become very clear to me that simply explaining the nuts and bolts of a shot to someone - a dolly grip or a 1st AC - is nowhere near as valuable as also explaining the concept behind what we are trying to achieve. By telling my dolly grip where A and B are, the camera will be in the right positions when I need them to be. However, by explaining the reason for the move, they will not only understand how the camera needs to move, but WHY it needs to move, and it will result in better storytelling.

Commercials are different. Sure, there are some skills that transfer over for your narrative (storytelling to a degree, landing frames, some framing ideas) but the weird thing about commercials is you generally have to be much more of a robot than you are in a dramatic piece.

I was hired on the television show ER in 1996 when I was 25, at the beginning of their 3rd season. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, it was, by numbers, the most popular show in the history of television. To give you an idea, at that time, a good rating for a show was somewhere near an 8 or 9 share, which means that 8 or 9 million people are watching at any given moment. ER maintained above a 40 share from the moment the pilot aired until about the fifth season or so when it dipped down into the high 39s. When I say most popular show in the history of television, I mean most popular show in the history of television.