Being a Director is Hard

Notes on directing

Lorna Simpson

I’m a little less than two weeks away from filming, and something I keep coming back to is plain and simple: being a director is hard. I knew this already, but not in the way I thought I would understand it. I used to say that being a producer is hard, and it absolutely is, but being a director is hard in ways I didn’t anticipate.

I’ve actually found myself wondering if, after I make this project, not just the proof of concept but the feature, I’ll want to direct again. I’ve seen and heard established directors talk about never wanting to do this again, only to be drawn back into the fray, and I now understand the sentiment.

I keep quietly asking myself if I’ll have the mental and physical stamina, and the emotional wherewithal, to repeat this in the future. Even though this is a proof of concept, we’re treating it like a feature, which means a large crew, an intense schedule, and higher liability.

What I’ve found to be difficult hasn’t been articulating vision or anything creative (maybe a few small things), but honestly, random moments I think about later in the day that, for some reason, grate on me. Some of this comes from my own unsettled mind, because I have a tendency to ruminate, but most of it is mundane, or tied to interactions with people outside of the industry.

What I’ve found is that the things I’ve always wanted, when they finally come into my life, never feel quite like I thought they would. And sometimes that can be disorienting when you’ve placed so much emphasis on them. It makes me think about the Seneca quote, “we suffer more often in imagination than in reality.” And I’m realizing the inverse is true too, that even the good things we imagine rarely arrive in the way we expect.

Rehearsals

Rehearsals were relatively smooth. There was one major issue outside of our control, which I can’t disclose, but we were able to work around it and move forward. There’s minimal dialogue in this project, mainly because I’m focusing more on tonality, but I still had all of these elaborate plans to have the actors talk through the context of the scene and dissect their characters. There was very little of that.

They were able to get to where they needed to be relatively quickly, and I kept thinking, “Great, is that all?” How did they get to that emotion so seamlessly? Did I miss something? Shouldn’t it have been more of a process?

Well-Meaning Questions

About 60% of my friends and acquaintances are not in the film industry, which means I’m frequently peppered with questions about what a proof of concept is, why I have to do it, and more recently, someone asked what network this was going to be on.

Slowly, over time, it has become somewhat daunting to have these conversations. I’ve found myself second-guessing everything as I explain what this is for. And as I’m explaining, it’s as if I can hear their silent thoughts about what an insane risk this is, and that I should stick to commercials.

This is more about me than them (if you’re reading this, I love you guys), but I’ve found that having to explain the business of directing can, at times, be exhausting.

Patience

There is so much waiting as a director. As a producer, I’m usually the one solving problems, relaying timeframes, setting expectations. Now I’m more on the periphery of those things.

My line producer asked if I wanted to be involved in certain conversations. Usually I would have said yes, but I’m trying to relinquish control more, so as an exercise, I said no.

What I’ve found is that I’ve had to retrain my brain not to focus on schedule and logistics, but on story. I know there are directors who have their hands in everything, but I trust that I can rely on my producing background as an internal compass to stay aware of constraints without needing to control them.

And I keep wondering if I actually have the patience to direct. The runway leading up to directing can be long.

Even something like finding the perfect location and then waiting months for the weather to change, it’s wonderful, but also difficult for me. I’ll think I’ve found it, and then it’s just… waiting. For the right light, the right season, the right conditions to finally arrive.

This is probably a personality thing, but sometimes the waiting doesn’t feel like forward movement.

Caring

And lastly, I’ve been wondering, do they care as much as I care? There are moments where I’ll be sitting with something for days, a shot, a feeling, a small shift in tone — and then I’ll bring it into a room and realize it lives differently for everyone else.

It’s a combination of both yes and no, and I’m having to be ok with that.