Claire Mathon, AFC: holding on to a vision, and never quit looking

ZEISS: Were you a camera assistant?

CLAIRE MATHON, AFC: A little, when I left Louis-Lumière, not for very long I must admit [note: The ENS Louis-Lumière is a major public higher education provider dedicated to training for careers in cinema, photography and sound in France]. I learned a lot. Not so much what I had imagined, i.e. seeing cinematographers at work. It was more about understanding that there are places on a shoot. There are places where you make room, there are places where you intervene. I enjoyed discovering, as a first AC, that there was something about a proximity, a link that wasn't ultimately the same for everyone. It made a big impression on me. It's important to know that everyone has the same involvement, that there's a role to play, that there are withdrawals to be made, that there are things to say or not to say. I feel I've learned more about that than about technical things. Even if I find that in assisting, there's an immense pleasure in rigor, method and precision. It's all about being quick, understanding, being sharp, reacting. There's something very physical that I like, that's also in operating the camera. In the end, I think what impressed me the most was this kind of complex alchemy. The synergy that can emerge when you're with the right people, at the right time, all together, with a shared understanding of what you're doing together. It's always a challenge: whether or not you know the people you're going with, the film is always new anyway. That said, the technical aspect is always there. At school, we learn fundamentals, logic, ways of thinking and adapting. But these bases of technique and knowledge are constantly being reanimated. Learning is permanent.  

This means that every time you start looking, you're going to include in your tests...

There's always a moment in the choice of camera, lens, filter, color space, etc., when that lens has to meet a face, the face of the film. This adds to the equation the make-up, the quality of light, and so on.

Do you feel you're looking for something a little constant from one film to the next when you go to film a face? Are you looking for photogenic qualities, or not at all, depending on the film?

Each film is very different, but I have the impression that each film brings us back to the face in one place or another. It's probably digging up similar things, because when I look at my own work with a bit of hindsight, I recognize myself. I wouldn't say that I always do the same thing, but there are certain things that I like, that resemble me. I think it's fair to say that I have an undeniable taste for softness and a relationship with nature, things that seem to me to be inexhaustible. But then, in real life, on the contrary, I tend to look each time for what the film is asking, where the film is taking me. That's why I like to re-question, search and change all these tools. I love changing cameras, optics, formats... redistributing.

In the extremes, you mean?

Yes, I admit I like extremes. I like to suggest a way of looking that matches how the film looks at the world, on location, in a studio, or in the dark. I like this idea of a language, of creating a world, of entering into something and making each film very singular. That's what drives me, in all proportion to the finished film, of course! But I put all that into the project. I'm always trying to ensure that there's something very strong in the film. 

Like a kind of heart, a central idea.

Yes, that there's something very precise with such and such a look, such and such a palette, such and such distances. There's a kind of rightness to the film, a kind of obviousness, like a language, where there are words that couldn't be used and things that couldn't be said, because it's not the film. There's really this: a gamut that takes shape, there's a depth, there's a perspective, there's a way of looking, of moving around, of racking focus, etc. I'm very sensitive to, one: searching, understanding, seeing what the film is, and two: sticking to it. That doesn't mean doing the same thing all the time, but in any case, nailing down something in the film that imposes itself, or imposing it. But obviously, you have to find it.

That's what seems crazy. You have to find it before you make the film.

Me too, I admit. Or you have to find it by making the film. The film is about finding it, but do you find it every time? But you always have the feeling that you're getting closer to the film.

In this phase of language development, you have to try out camera-optical configurations. You can't spend three months trying things out. You have to sort things out in your head first. How do you maintain your technical knowledge?

I go to the cinema a lot. I keep trying to go and see films on the big screen and experience my own reception, my own vision. That seems essential to me. When I don't see films in widescreen, I can't talk about them. I haven't seen them. Even when it comes to our own images, there's no test without a large-scale projection. After that, there's a mixture of intuitions and a way of keeping up to date, but there are a lot of resources in France, Europe and the rest of the world. We're very up to date, and there's a lot of new stuff, research, and people experimenting at the same time. Knowing that, I think I like not always looking at other people's tests but doing my own. When I have a project, I feel like that I have to look for something, and that often I don't learn that much from looking at other people's experiments. As long as it doesn't meet a project, there are too many possibilities, too many fields. There's a look, there's a director and an operator behind a film, and even if we talk about it, we share, even if we collaborate, a colorist couldn't finish a film alone, even if a lot of things have been done, and we know each other, and so on. I have the impression that we're the only ones who can see exactly what we're looking for, and where the contrast is just right. And the more it goes on, the more difficult and fascinating I find it, and I try to teach that to students when I have the occasion. Beyond doing tests, doing lots of tests, not getting lost in the tests, the question is: what are we testing? These are real questions: how do we make sure that tests really bring us something, really enable us to see something? And that's not so simple, because at the end of the day, what are we looking at in an image? Have we tried too much or too little, so that in the end we discover nothing, and haven't explored anything?

Have you developed your own methodology?

I try to ask myself the accurate questions for the film. What are the real situations in the film, what are the shots? I'm getting better and better at projecting myself by telling myself that in the film there will be this type of movement, this type of shift in focus, this type of speed, this type of detail, this type of depth, this type of situation. You have to make a kind of bet, and that's where the experience of what you've already seen can be useful, to really take a good look at what you're trying out. It's not that simple to make the right tests and take them far enough. It's not so simple with post-production now either, because it takes time. You do a lot of tests, and you really need to have the time to grade them, to take a perspective and push each image. Today, I don't take everything I test to the end, but only what seems to make sense to me, telling myself that we really need to get as close as possible to this film.

For "Misericordia", for example, do you remember how you tackled this phase of the tests? Did you already know the camera?

It was the latest Raptor 8K, which I didn't know yet, but I know Red cameras well. I wanted to explore, but it was also a continuation of things I knew. It was a starting point, and also for the sensitivity, which supported very dark images, or full moon images. Then there was the question of optics. First, I wondered whether I shouldn't simply start with Zeiss Standard T2.1 or T1.3 lenses.

So, vintage ones.

Yes, perhaps precisely in this idea of gentleness. I say "simply", but perhaps I should say "obviously". One of my questions was: what would it be like today if I filmed this forest in 35mm, with everything I know? In the discussion with Aurélien Branthomme at the rental house, we were talking about depth, a kind of richness in the image, texture, the landscape, these leaves, shots in which there would be a lot of information, with the character in the forest, in the background, with color but without it being too strong. That's where the first idea of the Red camera came from. I needed that softness and precision at the same time. I wanted to make a contemporary image, a modern image, a precise image. Listening to me, he said, "You should try the Supremes – Zeiss, but more recent." I'd already tried them on children for Céline Sciamma’s Petite Maman, and I remembered that there was something a little hard about them, too precise. I had the impression that I was going to have to fight against this precision. But Aurélien encouraged me to try them again, and it was a no-brainer. Watching the tests, and even during the shoot. 

Did you already know you'd be going to such T stops?

No. That, too, is part of the tests, and it was a no-brainer. Of course, I tested them more open, but I thought it was too open. I'd started out with the idea that shooting at T5.6 was fine... And no, it just came to me. I only did a few very closed tests, and those were the only ones I showed. Suddenly we were seeing both the forest and the characters, and very large depths of field anyway. So, very quickly, the choice of these lenses was obvious. What's more, they were very beautiful very closed but could also be very open. So, they would also allow me to work with the camera’s sensitivity and take advantage of the full moon on certain night sequences. Surprisingly, I found them soft on the faces, at least at these apertures with the large sensor. I thought: "It's the right way, I'll be fine in Red, I don't need the Venice 2, and the Supremes have to be very closed, that's for sure". I understood that it was beautiful and that was the film. Then there was the first color grade of those tests: we did a first screening where I was very happy with a shot or two, but I'd left out other interesting things that really need time, such as contrast. There was also the question of day-for-night. It was the same thing: high T-stops but not too much so that it’s not too dark, immense gentleness without making it gray, how to get contrast, what kind of depth, what kind of restraint color, how to keep shadow areas in the night... By working on the optics, they allowed us to keep contrast and precision, with the strong sensation of being with the characters, in their space. That's what I was looking for, and these seemingly simple images are far from simple. Colors look very natural but a little sublimated, and a kind of softness. 

And the direction free lighting too, except when there's a ceiling light. Watching the film again, I had the sensation of rediscovering an image style of your own, and it also reminded me of comics, the sharpness of Ligne Claire, but without the black line.

Yes, it's precise, with a presence of background, of location. Which I find quite painterly. Painting is more than an influence; it makes you want to make images. The way the characters emerge but are also parts of their environment, parts of the setting is painterly. They're figures with their share of mystery, while at the same time looking very simple and obvious under a light bulb. There's the simplicity of the bulb, the simplicity of the forest, the moment of light in the forest.

The viewer sees familiar moments again, and it seems obvious.

Today, it's difficult to make these images, I think, because we've created tools that are quite perfect, quite strong, quite rich. We have a lot of color, a lot of definition, and that's, in a way, a strength. But at the same time, I think you have to hold on to a vision, give yourself a fairly precise framework and keep looking. You have to protect what you're looking at. Our relationship to depth is also very much transformed by the images we're fed... It's not that easy to keep looking. In duration, in the rhythm of shots, in the complexity of images... We've made images that can be eaten very quickly, that can be looked at very briefly, hence the need to break the depth of field. We only look at what's in focus... I think we've taken away quite a few dimensions from the image, from the time we take to look at it, to let it infuse us.

How do you maintain your position as an image-maker for the cinema, without getting carried away by trends?

There are people searching, experimenting, questioning the image. It's a good question, it's really infinite. We don't want it to be a question of resisting or not resisting. I'm counting on the people who will continue to make films that will sweep us off our feet.

Films with a language, in fact.

Yes, that's right, who want to use images, sound and editing to tell a story.

Do you get any feedback from the audience? Do you have access to the public?

I don't know if we have access to the general public... With Misericordia, it's nice because it makes people talk, it makes them react, it doesn't leave them indifferent. People generally see what we've done, see the image, see the humor. What's great is to hear that people have seen the film with others and are experiencing the pleasure of sharing the film together. I've heard that a lot. The laughter is infectious, there's a collective experience. There's something to be shared, which may be a little peculiar for some, a little upsetting, a little destabilizing, a little embarrassing, a whole lot of things. But in any case, it's a shared experience. It's a cinematic experience, and one that can be viewed in a larger format. After that, I'm wary of feedback that's a bit biased: only people who think it's beautiful will write about it, and not many people will tell me it's a failure (laughs!). But of course, it's nice to be seen by others and to know that what you've done has been seen. After that, whether you like it and whether it works is another story. 

Is it possible in a cinematographer's career to say to yourself: "Well, people aren't reacting the way I thought they would, I made a mistake, and I'm going to correct what I did for the next time"?

It's complicated, because you have to believe very, very strongly in what you're doing. You can't do what you do without believing in it. As we said at the outset, it's a gamble, which is always a bit mysterious, on which film and which encounters catch your eye, and how you interact with the film. Ideally, all this goes in the right direction and the film pleases. I don't know, though. But you're carried along by the films and the directors. There's no denying that. Besides, it's not a compliment when people say that the film isn't good, but that it's very beautiful.

The last thing you want to hear!

In any case, it's a pity. What I find complicated in this question of the audience is that sometimes films get a bit lost before they're made, because they have to meet a thousand expectations. You get the impression that you have to please all audiences and make sure everyone understands. I find that quite complicated, and as an operator, we're very protected from that, and we have to be. My feeling is that we're often rewarded for taking risks, for following something singular. Afterwards, it's easy to see that there are people who have taken risks and made films, even difficult "auteur" films, that sweep everyone off their feet and become successes. In any case, as operators, we're extremely lucky to be spared a little and to be carried along when a film works. 

Did you get a lot of offers for period films after Portrait of a Lady on Fire?

Yes, of course. Is it good to do it again? I confess, typically, the driving force that makes me want to do something else. To take steps to the side, to do things I haven't done before, to question myself elsewhere. Redoing is for people who need reassurance, isn't it? Having said that, we're bound to redo things, since we're dealing with what we are.

With Alain Guiraudie, there's a search that unfolds from one film to the next, a kinship.

Undeniably. There is a path, a collaboration. It's a huge question, which comes down to asking how we come to do Misericordia together. How do we make these nights, how do we think about nature? It's obviously inherited from having made Stranger by the Lake and Staying Vertical together, from having walked in nature together. Getting to know each other, seeing what we're looking at, what we're looking for. But those are just words, and almost too broad, when you say, "I want to film autumn". 

This means that every time you start looking, you're going to include in your tests...

There's always a moment in the choice of camera, lens, filter, color space, etc., when that lens has to meet a face, the face of the film. This adds to the equation the make-up, the quality of light, and so on.

Do you feel you're looking for something a little constant from one film to the next when you go to film a face? Are you looking for photogenic qualities, or not at all, depending on the film?

Each film is very different, but I have the impression that each film brings us back to the face in one place or another. It's probably digging up similar things, because when I look at my own work with a bit of hindsight, I recognize myself. I wouldn't say that I always do the same thing, but there are certain things that I like, that resemble me. I think it's fair to say that I have an undeniable taste for softness and a relationship with nature, things that seem to me to be inexhaustible. But then, in real life, on the contrary, I tend to look each time for what the film is asking, where the film is taking me. That's why I like to re-question, search and change all these tools. I love changing cameras, optics, formats... redistributing.

In the extremes, you mean?

Yes, I admit I like extremes. I like to suggest a way of looking that matches how the film looks at the world, on location, in a studio, or in the dark. I like this idea of a language, of creating a world, of entering into something and making each film very singular. That's what drives me, in all proportion to the finished film, of course! But I put all that into the project. I'm always trying to ensure that there's something very strong in the film.