Interview with Ray Lawrence

Talk to us about the very beginnings of this story.

After I finished “Bliss”, I was reading purely for pleasure and there was a story I thought would make a good film. I ran into Paul Kelly. We had common interests. We didn’t become fast friends then, just interested in similar things. I started to tell him about the story, and he introduced me to the writings of Raymond Carver. One of these stories was “So Much Water, So Close to Home”, which had at its heart the most fantastic moral dilemma. I thought maybe that would be better than the one I was planning. That was almost 20 years ago.

What was it about the story that made you stick with it?

I tried to do other things. It sort of came and went. It was the same with “Lantana”. There’s just one little thing in a story you like and sometimes you forget everything else. It’s just that one little piece, like a hook, it catches you. With So Much Water, So Close to Home, it was the difference of opinion that promoted very strong discussion between men and women.

There was a time when it wasn’t politically correct to talk about men and women being different. Whereas now, especially with this film...

They’re really the only dynamics there are. Politics, the sexes, even if they’re the same sex, it’s still somebody playing a male or female role. I don’t know who it was, but somebody said there are only three stories: man, woman and God—whichever God that may be. I’m fascinated by how people stay together, why they break up and when they choose to or not, why some people have kids. There doesn’t seem to be much else.

Can you talk about the first visits to the Jindabyne area, to the Snowy Mountains...

I used to go there all the time to fish, fly-fish, so I knew the area. That was part of the fascination with the story, the outdoors. I really wanted to do a film outside. So when Beatrix [Christian] and I decided we were going ahead I said, ‘Let’s do what Raymond Carver did. Let’s go where we want to set it and see what happens.’ There’s a story about the lake. It was starting with a germ, like a short story writer. We just walked around, saw a river and wrote about the river. Years later when we brought the key crew to the location they said, ‘It’s very similar to the script isn’t it?’ So, that was the script. We knew where we were going.

Tell us about the first week of filming down at Yarrangobilly, in the river...

The logistical problem of the film was that everything was at least 45 minutes away. So, 45 minutes there and 45 minutes back—it cuts down on your shooting time. When we started we were shooting in daylight- saving time so that was good, but we were still only working with a ten-hour day. Having daylight-saving just meant I didn’t have to get up so early. Our head grip [Dave Nichols] has done all sorts of big films and he said Yarrangobilly is probably the hardest location he’s ever worked in. You can drive to the area but then you’ve basically got to walk in and it’s quite dangerous. It took forever to get the stuff and the people in. And we had to get them out before dark, so we had to light the path. It was about two or three kilometres in on a winding track.

Shooting there was really beautiful, and the beauty of the place made the logistical problems facing us all seem a lot easier. It was slow walking in the water, a lot like fishing except I didn’t have a rod. We spent all day in the water. I think everyone really enjoyed it. It was the desire to embrace the landscape. The challenge for me was the beauty—there’s so much of it, and there are so many meanings in this landscape that I was always tense about whether I could capture it.

Can you talk about why you use natural light?

It radiates out of my desire and hope to get as natural a performance as possible. I think it’s easier to get good performances without lights. Lights introduce a style to the film, they impose. The cinematographer has a style. Things he likes, even if they’re subconscious, get imposed onto a film. On this film, except for the night sequences, where it’s pitch black, we haven’t used one film light. They’ve all been domestic bulbs or daylight. I turn more lights off than I turn on. I think the actors subconsciously react to it in a good way. So it’s not a style thing, it’s a practical choice that I’ve made to try and get rid of the paraphernalia that goes with making a film. I’m not the only one who does it, it’s just that I really do push it.

In the setting up, there was a lot of talk with the actors about how it was okay to stumble, okay to make a mistake, it was okay to just...

Be. It is. Ultimately, that’s what they’re trying to do, just be there. It’s like giving them permission to work towards a particular goal a particular way. In the main I’ve chosen actors that embrace that particular style.

Can you talk a little bit about the cast, and working with them?

I always seem to end up with ensemble casts. It’s difficult because, even though they’re all working basically the same way, they all have their needs. I don’t like seeing anybody’s work. I don’t like ‘hearing’ the words, I don’t want to know someone has written them. I want the words to sound like they’ve just fallen out of their mouths. I don’t want anybody to see my work either. I much prefer to be like wallpaper. And they wonder what I’m doing. That’s good. It takes away a lot of the pressure that I think is fake on a film. After a while the film starts to make itself. The notion of that happening, in the three times that I’ve done it, has never let me down.

You’ve also worked with a lot of the people around you for many years...

I go to the same restaurant, sit in the same chair and order the same meal. I find it very comforting not having to explain things. I think I work in an unusual way, or I’m told I do. When I find that I work with people that aren’t used to working my way, it’s just slower, because then I’ve got to get them up to speed and they don’t always like it. So, all the people that I work with, in the main, are ones that I’ve worked with for years.

What would you like the audience to take away after they’ve seen the film?

The root of all this is to confirm people’s lives. I don’t like the aspirational thing, I’ve said it before. It’s odd, having spent so much time in advertising. In the stuff that I do, I always try to take the aspirational dimension out of it, and put in some sort of confirmation. Aspirational is just a way of controlling people. It’s okay to be human. You look at some of the magazines, and some of the shows, and some of the products you see—not very average is it? It’s hard to feel sympathetic for somebody who gets out of a Porsche.

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