Ben Seresin: The Way I See It

As befits someone who’s worked on many Hollywood actioners, from World War Z to Unstoppable, Ben Seresin likes a spot of adventuring: aged 12 he built a raft and set sail off the coast of his native New Zealand, at 18 he left home to find his way in film, and now the award-laden cinematographer ‘relaxes’ by flying an old Russian fighter jet. Also noted for his commercials work – with such greats as Fredrik Bond, Frank Budgen, Traktor et al – the daring DP tells Carol Cooper about ‘happy accidents’ and more... 

I have recently moved to LA from London. I was born in New Zealand a few years ago. We had a black and white TV with two channels, which probably says as much about New Zealand as my age.

My earliest memory is from when I was two years old. It’s of a poster that hung in my bedroom featuring the king of spades. It was for the play, Exit The King, playing at my father’s theatre company, Downstage. It terrified me. Playing cards forever lost its childhood appeal. [Harry Seresin was a Russian Jewish émigré who became a leading entrepreneur in Wellington’s restaurant and cultural scene; he was co-founder of the Downstage theatre, running its business side and setting up its restaurant.]

My dad was a bon viveur. His house parties were legendary, as was his libido. I lived with my mum mostly, but spent much time at my father’s house, which I now realise, was a New Zealand version of Hugh Hefner’s mansion. Fortunately, I wasn’t privy to all that was going on. It never stopped, except to allow for one of his spontaneous rages. He would explode at the slightest annoyance, and then immediately forget about it, moving onto the next joke with friends or a potential liaison. When I was 15, I smashed his car (15 was the legal age to acquire a driver’s licence). He barely commented. I asked him why he flew off the handle at the slightest issue, but didn’t seem to care about near-catastrophes, He asked me, “would you prefer it the other way round?” I said, “Yes, I would.”

My mother worked for my father at the Downstage theatre. They had a tempestuous relationship, though they never married, nor lived together. I remember a lot of ‘physical interaction’. However, there were many benefits to growing up in New Zealand in the 60s and 70s. There was a sense of complete freedom and a lack of rules that I have seldom seen in the developed world since; outside of Brazil that is. I think that’s why I love Brazil so much. 

When I was 12, I built a sailing raft and headed out to sea. Unfortunately it only sailed one way, regardless of the wind direction, and I had to be rescued by the ‘coast guard’, which was a couple of blokes in their clapped-out fishing boat. Nobody batted an eyelid, least of all my parents.

We moved round a lot during my childhood. My mother remarried when I was eight years old. It was not much fun after that. But my home life fuelled my desire to get away as soon as possible, so there was an upside to it. When I was a child, I wanted to be an actor when I grew up. I still do.

My father was also a ‘producer’ at one of the first production companies in New Zealand, Pacific Films. He had no qualifications for that role whatsoever, but it allowed an expansion of his social influence. I met Michael, my half brother when I was 16 [cinematographer Michael Seresin worked at Pacific Films then left his native New Zealand in 1966 to work as a freelance camera assistant in Europe]. I was totally in awe of this sophisticated ‘European’ and the movies he was doing. Bugsy Malone was the first of his that I saw. I was amazed at the film’s visuals, but the actors Jodie Foster and Scott Baio really captured my imagination. Their performances and the magic that Alan Parker had brought to the film fascinated me.

At school I was plagued by the need to conform. I’m not sure where it came from, but it’s created in me now an unfortunate lack of respect for authority, which doesn’t always serve me well.

I have had a nickname, but I won’t repeat it here. But I was very dark skinned as a child, and I acquired a derogatory racial slur as a nickname. More insight into 70s New Zealand and, in general, the human condition. It was shameful. The upside was that I was made the head of the school Maori club at 10, which made me immensely proud. I was unsure of whether to raise the issue of my racial background, and I was too afraid to anyway. I so wanted to be part of this special culture – a 10-year-old Rachel Dolezal for the 70s. By the time my parents found out, it was too late. I was running the club. A Russian Irish Jew masquerading as a native New Zealander. The ground was being laid for an acting career.

I wouldn’t say that I was specifically motivated to go into cinematography by any particular films or commercials that I had seen, but I did become fascinated with the process of making a film, as opposed to being in one. I was more interested in what the director was doing. That’s to say, I was interested in the work of those directors who had all the right equipment and the freedom to do what they wanted to do. I still am fascinated by these amazing people.

My interest in cinematography then developed partly because I felt it was a part of the process that was more ‘pure’, less affected by the many other issues the director has to deal with, creatively, logistically, and politically. And I also became more and more excited with the visual aspect of storytelling.

After leaving school, I worked briefly as a PA at a friend of my father’s commercial production company in Wellington called Interfilm. Soon afterwards I got the opportunity to go to Tahiti, to work on The Bounty, Roger Donaldson and Dino de Laurentiis’ version of Mutiny On The Bounty. I was immersed in this huge Hollywood production. We were shooting on the island of Moorea with its beautiful people, many of whom were sporting little more than grass skirts and broad welcoming smiles. I was hooked. 

My career goal when I started in the film industry was and will always be, to work on interesting and varied projects. It’s a wonderful dynamic industry, and is full of so many talented, interesting and intelligent people. The system, unfortunately, doesn’t always allow these people to drive and dominate the process. 

I moved from New Zealand to Australia to work in film when I was 18, then in my early 20s I moved from there to the UK. I do miss New Zealand, although I have become used to the dynamism of living in more energised and diverse parts of the world. The benefits of the purity and simplicity of a place like New Zealand can also be limiting in my view.

I wouldn’t really say I had any particular mentors when I was starting out in the industry; I have been helped along the way by many people, but feel that treading one’s own path is invaluable.

In terms of what I am like to work, with I’d say that unfortunately I have some of my father’s short fuse, and that doesn’t serve me well. I have worked hard to learn patience and be more appreciative of other people’s perspectives and ways of operating. It’s been a partial success.

I don’t really favour a particular visual style in my work. I try and adapt to each project. In fact, I think that maybe the single most important part of my process is to avoid bringing the same look to every film. A project will always call for a style, but its own style. Having said that, I have started to become way happier with simpler approaches. 

Though I have worked on highly technical action films I believe that technically demanding work is not the same as work that is dominated by technique. I think that some of the most demanding visual work has the appearance of simplicity. That’s the key in my view. 

One of the great appeals of our industry is the diversity of it. We all tend to get pigeonholed, and I’ve recently put a lot of effort into trying different things. One of the most rewarding projects in the last year has been working with Benjamin Millepied, the director of the Paris Opera Ballet, on some of his dance-based films. It was so much fun and so creatively rewarding.

I am currently trying to move toward more story-driven work. A good story will drive and inform the visual style. Telling stories, real stories, through films is what really excites me. I have been looking more for those projects recently and become less interested in event movies.

I like collaborating with directors who have a strong, well-formed sense of their films. Sometimes that involves a more evolved idea of the visuals, sometimes not. If the ideas are good, that’s all that counts for me.

In terms of how the challenges differ for a DP between commercials and feature films, as Ridley Scott once said, “a commercial is a sprint; a film a marathon”. I love the sense of continuity and evolution one gets on a film. There is usually enough preparation time and as you get involved early on in the day, you are part of the early decision-making process regarding locations, design etc. I love the long relationships that develop on films. You become a family, and very strong bonds are formed. Commercials, though, offer one a chance to experiment with a wide variety of techniques and styles, and often a chance to see the world.

I think the changing way in which people consume media has considerably affected the art of cinematography, and on many levels. Stylistically, things evolve, of course. But by the nature of the fact that we watch things with a shorter attention span, and often on smaller screens, there has been a tendency for images to become bolder and sometimes less refined. It certainly isn’t always the case, but in general, I think that the lack of refinement that can come from working in the digital format is an issue. It’s not the media itself to blame, but the process that is involved. 

The fact that many creative decisions are now made by committees is, let’s say, detrimental to the process. To any process in fact.

I prefer to work with my eyes not my head. I sense people can sometimes intellectualise the process too much – to talk their way through it. Film is a visual medium. The answers are in the conception, the execution. We need to look deeply at what we are doing, let the imagery, the dialogue, the music be the language.

I’m a fan of Terrence Malick’s directing as he embraces the evolutionary aspect of filmmaking and often waits for the magic to happen, i.e. the ‘happy accidents’ that can occur when filming doesn’t go according to plan. I’ve found that such ‘accidents’ can happen often and I think it’s great to build into the process a kind of design where we embrace the unknown to a degree. Then when things don’t go quite as expected, we are ready. I try and keep my eyes open for those moments, because they are the most interesting part of filming for me. On time-restricted commercials shoots it’s now near impossible to be instinctive and wait for the magic to happen. I’ve worked with a few who practiced it though. Frank Budgen is the master.

The best piece of advertising work I’ve ever seen is… most of Frank Budgen’s work.

There’s a huge list of directors, both in commercials and features, who I’ve not yet worked with but would like to. And that’s what I love – I still get that tremendous sense of excitement when the prospect of working with someone I admire comes up.

The best ad I’ve ever worked on is the NSPCC’s Cartoon [out of Saatchi & Saatchi, London], directed by Frank Budgen. 

One of the major changes that has affected the DP’s role in the ad industry in recent years is the obsession with approval – in every sense. Another is the loss of the capacity for the industry to support risk.

The best piece of advice I’ve ever been given is that when you go to work, do what you do. You’ve been hired to work in your way, to do your work. That’s why you are there instead of someone else. Never lose that.

I advise anyone with aspirations to work as a cinematographer to have a voice. Discover who you are as soon as possible, and be that person. Don’t waiver.

If I wasn’t a cinematographer and could be equally successful in another profession I’d be a child psychologist. Children’s behaviour fascinates. Maybe that’s why I like film sets.

Awards don’t really interest me. They play on our insecurities. Good work is all that matters.

The worst single day of my career was when I was very young and was working on The Bounty, and the second unit director, Geoff Dixon, whom I admired greatly, was operating the camera that I was manning as an assistant. We were shooting an extraordinary sunrise for the title sequence. The cameraman on our unit kept telling me to switch off the camera as the film wouldn’t be able to hold the exposure of the rising sun. I felt pressured and cut the camera with the sun half risen. I think Geoff cried. I will never forget that day, and the lesson I learnt.

As for the best day of my career, there have been many. Certainly one of the strangest was when I was working as an assistant, I found myself inadvertently working on a soft porn shoot for a few days, which was really quite extraordinary.

I regularly review the list of things about myself I would like to change. If only there was just one thing… I guess it would be good to overcome the self doubt that can creep into your psyche while working creatively. It immediately impacts your work and I fight it constantly.

It’s almost impossible to manage a balance between work and one’s social or family life. I’m married with four children ranging in age from 22 to four years old! Social life I’m not too concerned with, but there is no balance between family and work. You do one well, the other suffers. It’s a choice, and that’s what is so difficult to come to terms with, especially if you love both aspects of your life.

The last time I cried was very recently, when a close friend died. He was a great and kind man and he went too soon, leaving a young family.

I’m not sure if it’s my greatest weakness, but I do give up a lot to do this work, as most of us do. I remain unconvinced that sacrificing so much makes us better at our work. I think becoming more rounded and more diverse as individuals informs who we are, and therefore enables us to do more interesting individualistic work. I have occasionally taken fairly long periods of time off work, and my work always feels better, more creative afterwards, and I certainly enjoy it more. I can’t understand the idea of cramming in as much work into your time as possible. To what end? 

What’s the closest I’ve ever been to death? Today.

One of the worst single days of my personal life was when I discovered one of our dearly loved family pets in the freezer. We had a lamb, Archie, who was always tethered near the house. He was very tame. One day he disappeared, and the explanation from my mother was less than satisfactory. But I forgot about him in due course. Then one day I opened the chest freezer in the garage, to discover a new side of lamb inside. Nothing unusual in that except it had a deep indentation round its neck. We ate Archie for dinner that night.

I guess I must be an introvert as I like my own company. I tend to prefer watching a great movie, or reading to leading a busy social life.

I have trouble with small talk, it makes me uneasy. I feel I have a need for authentic exchanges with other people. If I’m unable to achieve that, I shut down.

My hobby is flying an old Russian MiG pilot -training aircraft, called a Yak. As Lindberg said, “Flying has adventure, beauty, freedom, and science”. I really feel that when I’m up there. And I get a tremendous sense of calm and living in the moment doing it. Sadly, I don’t think this sort of motorised hobby is sustainable and it’s being slowly phased out. I’m turning to gliding. 

My heroes are people who do selfless work.

The thing that most makes me angry is hearing the words, “that’s not like the storyboard.”

The single greatest human invention is the dishwasher. Every time I switch it on, I feel a profound sense of wellbeing wash over me (sorry). Every time.

The single worst human invention is the Corby trouser press. At one point a universally installed machine that did not achieve its purpose to any degree whatsoever. But boy, it looked great screwed to the wall of every single hotel room in Britain and beyond in the 80s and 90s.

If I was UK Prime Minister for a day, I’d more than likely do something to my political colleagues that would lead directly to life imprisonment. How the hell did we get here?  

My ambitions are many and varied. But I love the idea of being more involved in moviemaking that reignites the general public’s interest in cinema – real cinema.

How would I like to be remembered?  To be remembered at all is a good start.

At the end of the day, what really matters is love – in every sense.