Trailer cutting was surprisingly useful in terms of figuring out how to hold an audience. After all, as Kubrick once said, figuring out what you want to say is easy; it's hiding it that's hard. Later on, I produced 8 docs on the blues for Martin Scorsese. I got to watch eight extraordinary fiction filmmakers at work, making personal documentary films, with cinematic style that embraced the messy contradictions of everyday life. Wim Wenders started his film about Blind Willie Johnson in outer space! I realized anything was possible.
The next thing I learned was that it pays to surround yourself with people far more talented than I. Great producers like Frank Marshall, Matt Tolmach, and Marc Shmuger. Cinematographers like Maryse Alberti, Lisa Rinzler and Dick Pearce. And extraordinary editors like Alison Ellwood, Sloane Klevin and Andy Grieve. Editors are the unsung heroes of the documentary. I gave up editing feature films because you couldn't save them in the cutting room. But that's what doc editors do every day.
I've learned a lot from other filmmakers. Really disparate ones -- like Luis Bunuel and Sergio Leone, the Maysles Brothers, Errol Morris, Barbara Kopple, Werner Herzog (who says narration doesn’t work?), the Jareckis, Rachel Grady and Heidi Ewing, Ari Folman -- who made an animated documentary -- Dror Moreh and James Marsh, who managed to make us all believe that we had watched Philippe Petite dancing between NY's twin towers when there was no footage of it all.
One of my favorites -- Marcel Ophuls -- taught me a lesson about the folly of objectivity: everyone should have a point of view. After all, as the saying goes, if you stand for nothing, you'll fall for anything. But Ophuls noted that his films should show how hard it is to have that point of view. Embrace contradictions. The physicist Richard Feynman said it in a different way: it's good to keep an open mind, but not so open that your brains fall out.
Along the way, I have learned a lot about interviewing people. It turns out a lot of them lie. I am drawn to stories about abuses of power. And no one lies with as much force and frequency than the powerful. Getting angry is pointless. Understanding how the lies are told and how they fool us is the best revenge. I'm interested in perps, because if you want to stop crimes you have to understand how criminals work. Yet I don't like the idea of picking out bad apples. Blaming bad apples is a Dick Cheney con. It keeps us from seeing what's rotten about the barrel.
As a guiding slogan, I like this formulation: comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.
This is not without risk.
I can recall getting a phone call from a friend -- and former assistant -- producing a film in Gaza. She called in a panic because her director, James Miller, had been shot and killed by an Israeli tank. She wanted help to get her director's body out of Gaza to a place where an independent autopsy could be done.
I often think about that phone call. I am in awe of my colleagues who place themselves at mortal risk to try to tell the truth.
I think that producing documentaries is like having faith in reckoning with a future you can't control. You have to believe that you will find a story in unpredictable events and the hundreds of hours of footage that are staring you in the face. Most recently, I set out, in 2008, to tell an inspirational tale about Lance Armstrong. That became "The Armstrong Lie." It went from "Breaking Away" to "Breaking Bad." To follow the twists and turns of that story, or "We Steal Secrets" or "Enron: the Smartest Guys in the Room," or "Taxi to the Dark Side," takes more than a bit of faith.
As my stepfather once said, "I love the recklessness of faith; first you jump and then you grow wings."
So here's to faith. And the keeping of it.