Were you brought up in a particularly creative environment and where was that?
I wasn’t brought up in a particularly creative environment, so I leaned on tenacity and self learning to find my creative process. I always had a strong vision for ideas and I was a competitive dancer for a long time, so space and movement are instinctive – but executing my visions by being vulnerable with a team of creators takes time to get used to the feelings of discomfort that come with that – trusting the feeling of free-fall until the film’s complete.
I grew up in Oxfordshire, with extended family across America, South America, Africa and Asia, so lots of travel across cultures.
When you think back to the first spark for Songbirds, what’s the exact image, sound, or feeling that comes to mind?
A little boy laying in a summer meadow, holding the feeling of being displaced with nowhere to go. A moment in childhood, when a child’s world may look innocent, but their inner voice starts to grapple with their own meaning and identity in a bigger world.
Before we even talk about the filmmaking process – what was the heartbeat of this story for you?
The story is about how Zepplin and Willow, two young siblings, are shaped and contorted by their environments while growing up. We go on a journey with them to discover how their innocent instincts respond to the world forced on them with its traps and adventures. The heartbeat of this piece is to stir feelings of a remembered childhood, and to walk inwards toward our own memories too.
If someone had walked onto your set for five minutes, what’s the one thing you’d hope they’d notice about the way you work?
The goal is always to do my job well, which means prep, and more prep, so I can then support others by giving them space to create. If we can succeed in this, we can focus our energy on being present in the moment, with more freedom to find the poetry on set.
You’ve worn both the DP and director hats – how do those two perspectives feed each other when you’re telling a story?
I like to write using expressive light as a part of the storytelling. Two hats just widens my toolkit when making choices for narrating scripts, and composing frames and sequences with layers of meaning.
If you’ve had mentors, what’s something you picked up from them that you carried into your own directing process?
Nicolai Fuglsig and Chayse Irvin have been generous mentors, both hugely inspiring craftsmen – I have enormous gratitude for their help and guidance. I worked with Nicolai for many years, so we became pretty attuned, so I’m able to take cues from the way he thinks and makes decisions without him even being there. A few tips would be, push for your vision, don’t compromise, and be present on set. The more you can embody the camera, the better you can take on a perspective in the world you’re creating so it becomes an authentic telling.
Songbirds feels like it lives in this timeless, dreamlike space. Was black-and-white always the plan, or did that choice come out of exploring the story?
It was always imagined as a B&W piece. I did a deep dive into b&w photography and explored composing with luminosity. A lot of thought went into the film’s look and tone, and a part of this was a personal exercise to further understand composition and texture. It is intended to be timeless and dreamlike, Ivan’s Childhood was a reference, and B&W seemed like a beautiful way to compose this visual poem with light, set in Mississippi.
You’ve said you wanted to capture how a child experiences the world. How did that idea influence the way you framed or moved the camera?
Children are very instinctive, relying on their emotional responses to their surroundings, so every creative choice was made to capture and express the internal sensations motivated by the moment.
You paired the FX3 with vintage Kowa anamorphics – what made you choose that combination, and how did it shape the feel of the film?
I had tested a few lenses, so we knew this full frame camera and vintage glass would create an ethereal, dreamlike feel with beautiful flares and a lot of drop off. We had two FX3 cameras, one on a custom rig and one handheld, they’re very small, so it allowed us to move quickly and find unique frames.
I spent time developing the film’s design, so when it came to our shoot days, I’d set up each scene for us to capture in a natural way and from there, we were able to experiment with our light and compositions to find the poetry within the scenes.
I’m curious about those low-light scenes, like the flashlight in the kitchen. What draws you to working with such minimal light?
It’s a beautiful way to experiment with luminosity by working with the reflections and shadows. There’s something haunting and magical about seeing these children move through nighttime spaces, like we’re observing their inner subconscious.
What’s a recent creative risk – on Songbirds or elsewhere – that surprised you in how well it paid off?
Dedicating three months to prep and film in the Delta was a huge risk, and it was really hard work, but so much creativity and collaboration came from this process to make something timeless and unique. On future projects, I’ll always remember to keep pushing the boundaries, both creatively and my own. It’s been a very fulfilling process which includes all the blood, sweat and tears.
Your next project – without giving too much away – are there lessons from Songbirds you’re carrying forward, and things you’re eager to do differently?
I wrote two beautiful narrative shorts earlier this year, in the TV and film space, which I shoot this autumn and I also just completed a feature script with American writer BK Loren, an adaptation of her novel, Theft. I’ve also connected with some branded projects. I produced commercials in LA for several years, so I’m happy to bring my experience to the creative.
