“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“And,” I continued, “I’m trying to understand how your directing style fits within the industry. You’re more hands-on than most. You control the lighting, the camera placement, and you’re in most of the scenes yourself. Do you think that’s what sets you apart and makes your work so successful?”
His posture eased a little, and his mouth twitched into an amused smile. “I think my work is so successful because I love what I do, and people can see that. I know exactly what I want.Most directors rely on a crew because they don’t have a clear picture in their head. I do. So it’s faster to move the lights myself than explain it three times.”
I wrote that down, but he wasn’t done.
“And beyond all that, I pay attention to things most male performers ignore,” he said. “They think about themselves and their ego. I pay attention to the women I’m working with. That alone changes the entire dynamic. Viewers see when actors are being authentic.”
I studied him for a while after noting what he said. I understood what he meant. It sounded bold, but it wasn’t arrogance. He knew his talent and his influence, and he still didn’t use it to diminish others.
I smiled gently, then asked, “Do you ever improvise? Or is everything locked into your plan?”
“Improvisation is fine,” he said, “as long as it doesn’t break the tone. If a moment feels natural, I let them run with it. But I’ll step in if it goes flat.”
I held my pen still for a second. “And how do you know when it’s flat?”
His eyes flashed with something sharp. “You feel it. We’re all just people, and energies can shift in the middle of a shoot.”
“I understand.” I flipped the page to the next question. “Right. Okay. Last one.”
“Go on.”
I tapped the end of my pen against the paper. “It’s about editing. How much do you do yourself, and how much do you hand off?”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I handle the first cut. Always. I go through every angle and build the structure myself the way I intended while writing the script. After that, my editor refines it. He cleans the transitions, balances sound and tightens anything that drags.”
I wrote that down. “So you’re involved in every stage, even after filming.”
His gaze held mine. “From start to finish.”
“All the work you do deserves a documentary on its own,” I said with a short laugh. “My professors would be fascinated with how much you do and how well you do it.”
A hint of amusement pulled at his mouth. “They’d think I’m a control freak.”
“You are,” I said, smiling. “But in a productive way.”
I closed my notebook and looked up at him again. “Thank you. This helped a lot. I didn’t expect to learn this much about the technical side, but it gave me a clearer look at how different directors work.”
“Good. You should see more than the surface if you want to become a great director. Most people never do.”
I opened my mouth to clarify that my goal wasn’t directing, that I wanted to write stories instead, but the chance slipped away. Footsteps echoed down the hallway, then Trey appeared first, his backpack hanging off one shoulder. Rocco trailed behind him, stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn.
Trey lifted a hand toward us. “Hey. We’re here.”
Rocco’s grin landed on me next. “We got company again?”
I returned a polite smile and nodded. “Hey.”
The shift in Callan was immediate. His voice sharpened as he looked at them. “You’re late.”
Trey grimaced and dropped his bag on the floor. “Sorry. I couldn’t find the batteries for the second mic.”
“I was sleeping,” Rocco said, shrugging like it was a perfectly acceptable excuse.
Callan’s jaw tightened. “I want this movie done next week. That only happens if everyone shows up when I say. Thegirls are late too. I’ll remind them not to do it again or they’re off the list.”
I leaned forward slightly, unable to stop my curiosity. “What list?”
