Cinematography

https://www.forbes.com/sites/joshweiss/2025/08/10/cinematographer-larkin-seiple-was-ready-for-a-break---then-weapons-came-along/

The vid says it all. Falling light. In a rush. Wanted to get that perfect feet-as-a-dolly shot into a crypt. Was so impressed by my brilliance (and dazzled by the lights on the cam) I was watchin the monitor instead where I was putting my feet. So, I fell hard for a good shot - or one I thought would be. I planned to stabilize it in post. Well, let's just say, there's no post-prod software that'll stabilize this embarrassing fail.

Atlas Falling wasn’t the first project I led — but it was the first time I couldn’t do it alone.

I was still the writer, producer, editor, DP, and even acted in it. Old habits die hard. But unlike my earlier work, I wasn’t the only one in the trenches. This time, I had people depending on me — and I had to depend on them too.

That was new.

I was used to control equaling safety. If I did everything, I couldn’t be disappointed. But Atlas Falling forced me to let go in small ways — trusting others to light a scene, run sound, organize a call sheet, or set a prop without me hovering.

And to be honest, it was uncomfortable. I struggled when something wasn’t done “my way.” I caught myself stepping in, fixing, and micromanaging. But every time I let someone own their job, the film got better — not worse.

That film became award-winning not because I did everything, but because I finally didn’t.

It taught me something I wish I had learned sooner — leadership in filmmaking isn't about doing every job. It's about creating a space where other people can do theirs.

Next week, we move into The Shape of Kindness, where I took the next step — handing off producing and directing entirely and stepping into a single role: DP.

Question for the lounge:

If you started out doing everything yourself, what was the first thing you learned to let go of?

As an indie DP, I'm sure you have found yourself up against it when working to deliver on director and audience expectations who see expensive effects and massive set pieces as the benchmark for a successful film. But, what do you do when vision and budget don't jive?

I am always looking for ways to get big results with minimum expense. I love going back to the basics for inspiration, and one of my biggest influences for doing more with less is John Carpenter.

I love rewatching his work and figuring out not just how he scripted a film, but how he arranges specific scenes to get maximum impact without the benefit of big dollars.

Check out the Studio binder video link below for one of my favorites, and let's hear about some of the ways you have helped your director make the most out of their budget by delivering more for less.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ED42UnF8iI

Before I ever worked with a crew, I worked alone. I wore every hat — writer, producer, director, DP, editor, sound, color. It started when I was a kid watching Movie Magic, dreaming of being a special effects artist. By twelve, I was shooting short films with neighborhood kids. By my twenties, I was still chasing the same dream — just with more gear and higher stakes.

When you work alone, you learn a lot. You learn to think on your feet, to solve problems fast, to stay calm when everything breaks. But you also learn exhaustion. You start to believe control equals safety. Every small mistake feels like failure because you were the only one steering the ship.

Fly High: Story of the Disc Dog was my first feature. Seven years of shooting, editing, and producing nearly broke me. When it wrapped, I walked away. For three years, I didn’t touch a camera. I told myself I was done.

But filmmaking has a way of calling you back.

When I finally returned, I realized the cost of doing it all myself wasn’t just burnout — it was isolation. The work might have been solid, but it wasn’t sustainable. And if I ever wanted to grow beyond what one person could do, I’d have to learn something harder than lighting or lenses.

I’d have to learn to trust.

That’s where we’ll pick up next week — the moment I stopped being a one-person army and started learning to collaborate.

Question for the lounge:

When did you realize you couldn’t (or shouldn’t) do it all yourself anymore?

Lately, I've learned an astonishing amount about cinematography by watching Cunk on Earth – a comedy documentary with cinematography like Attenborough's Planet Earth and narration that feels like it just staggered in from a pub crawl.

In case you're not savvy to Cunk on Earth, it's a beautifully shot, mind-blowing comedy/documentary that mercilessly pokes holes in a lot of sacred cows. Apart from that, every frame looks like it cost a fortune — sweeping drone shots, lens flares worthy Hollywood blockbusters — and then Philomena Cunk opens her mouth and lays waste to the majesty. The incongruity of stunning cinematography and absurd, yet devastatingly rational, commentary leaves me spewing beer through my nose. And learning a lot about the emotional payload of cinematography.

The camera work is exquisite — golden-hour drone shots, elegant push-ins, perfectly composed interviews — all the hallmarks of flawless, factual filmmaking. It's beer spewing funny because the cinematography doesn’t wink at us; it draws us in, utterly; opens one up emotionally for a mind altering revelation, and then sucker punches you with a comment so absurd, yet honest, it might as well have been taken from the scripts of Monty Python.

What it does for me is see the cinematic cliches and tricks of this kind of filmmaking (you know, the kind of shooting and shots we all dream of getting) by juxtaposing it with an uproarious script. To make the joke work, you have to know the grammar of “serious” documentaries — the reverent lighting, the symmetrical framing, the sense of visual gravitas — without making it l ook obviously stolen from those heart wrenching documentaries we all know and love -- Attenborough, Brian Cox and friends -- and then let the script tear it all down, leaving one realising they'd just been emotionally played by the cinematography.

I’ve actually learned a lot from watching Cunk on Earth and similar faux-documentaries — especially how lighting and lens choice shape emotion, not just image. The camera believes every word, even when the script doesn’t. Mimicking sincerity convincingly turns out to be a masterclass in control. I've caught myself clambering through an archaeological site in the last couple of days trying to pull some of those Cunk on Earth tricks. Is that a good thing?

What fascinates me is how hard it is to fake sincerity that well. To parody a visual language, you have to understand it inside out — the lighting, the lensing, the emotional geometry of the frame, how far do you push it before it becomes caricature?

And the big Q: is learning a serious form of art from a parody of it, a good thing. What I'm saying is, I watched a lot of emotional, heart-ripping-out documentaries without even noticing the cinematography. But then, along comes Cunk on Earth and it starts to make sense.

What have you seen that switched on your cinematographer's senses?

Hope everyone’s doing great! What’s something you think screenwriters could do that would make our scripts better or your job easier?

Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw takes us through her process of shooting on IMAX and Ultra Panavision 65mm for Ryan Coogler's film, 'Sinners.' The first movie to be released combining these two formats, she breaks down shooting with the two different aspect ratios, and the way this impacts the viewing experience.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_qxGWC0d38)

Hey everyone,

November is almost here, which means Stage 32’s 11th Annual November Write Club kicks off next week. It’s one of the biggest community events of the year—a full month dedicated to creative momentum and accountability.

You don’t have to be a writer to join in. The challenge is about progress, not pages. As cinematographers, directors, producers, or editors, this is a perfect chance to set one focused goal and finish the year strong. That might mean updating your reel, prepping your next short, polishing a lookbook, or getting your submission package together for festivals.

The blog has a great breakdown on how to set realistic goals and stay consistent through the month:

https://www.stage32.com/blog/the-11th-annual-november-write-club-is-almo...

What’s one creative goal you want to tackle before the year wraps?

For years, I was a one-person production department. I wrote, produced, directed, shot, edited, mixed, and color-graded my own films because if I didn’t do it, it didn’t get done. Those projects were built on stubbornness, caffeine, and the quiet belief that I could figure out anything if I stayed up long enough.

But now, with The Shape of Kindness, I’ve stepped into something new. I’m the DP—nothing more, nothing less. We have a producer, a director, department heads, and a crew of incredibly talented people, each bringing their own artistry to the table. It’s been a shift in mindset, and honestly, it’s been humbling.

Letting go doesn’t mean losing control. It means redefining it. My role is still about storytelling, but now it’s through trust and collaboration instead of total ownership. I don’t have to carry every decision—I just have to carry the frame.

Letting go is also terrifying and uncomfortable at times. You get used to being the one who solves every problem and holds the vision together by force of will. Stepping back means trusting others to protect something you care deeply about—and that takes practice. But when you do, the creative space opens up. You start to see how much stronger a shared vision can be than a solitary one.

This new series, From One Vision to Shared Vision, is about exactly that—learning how to evolve from being a one-person creative force to working fluidly within a full team. Each post will dig into the mindset shifts, communication habits, and creative dynamics that make collaboration actually work.

For those of you who’ve made that leap (or are about to), what was the hardest part about handing off control?

Anybody shooting with drones? I'd love to hear of your experiences, good and bad. The advantages and the pitfalls. (and that word should be pit falls).

Do you hand launch and capture? Have you flown from a boat in motion, a vehicle, the back of a horse or in a canoe? If you have, how was the landing?

What about birds? How do you prevent pissed off pelicans or super territorial gulls from bringing down your drone. And what about footage, do you transmit back or hire divers or tree climbers to retrieve your data cards when said seagulls have made short work of you carefully planned shot?