true to self
navigating through production constraints
by Diego Salazar
An exegesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts Screen: Directing
Australian Film Television & Radio School
2024
keywords
Authorship, Collaboration, Constraints, Feasibility, Vision
list of abbreviations
AFTRS – Australian Film, Television and Radio School
MAS – Master of Arts Screen: Directing
Solo – Solo un poco aquí
DP – Cinematographer
PD – Production Designer
statement of original authorship
The work contained in this exegesis is my own original work, or the original work of my group, except where original sources have been appropriately cited using the AFTRS Citation and Referencing Guidelines. This exegesis has not previously been submitted for assessment elsewhere.
acknowledgements
I acknowledge my privilege as a Mexican person studying for a Master of Arts in Screen: Directing at the Australian Film Television and Radio School. This research aims to represent my perspective rather than that of the entire Mexican community.
I would like to acknowledge that this research is not solely informed by authorship/auteur studies but also by insights gained through my own practice, particularly in understanding the role of the director in my craft. In the case of my artefact Solo un poco aquí, I undertook both roles of screenwriter and director. For the purposes of this exegesis, I will treat both processes as distinct from one another.
I would like to acknowledge and thank my tutors for this assessment, Tara Lomax and Rowena Potts, whose guidance has been invaluable in refining my ideas, concepts, and sources for this paper.
I would also like to acknowledge the Cast and crew for Solo un poco aquí, especially to the following people:
Producer - Bryan Huang
Producer - Sophia Carolyn Wallace
Cinematographer - Devamanikandan Kannaya Somu
Production & Costume Designer – Ella Drinkwater
Editor – Rhianna Miles
Composer – Daniel Duque
Sound Designer – Ivan Ordenes
This research is dedicated to my parents, who have always believed in my dream.
October 2024
introduction
Figure 1.0 BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
I have known I want to be a filmmaker since the age of nine, when I first watched The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003)—all the possibilities that unfolded on the silver screen.
In 2020, I felt I was heading in the right direction when I began my studies in the Master of Arts Screen (MAS) at the Australian Film Television and Radio School (AFTRS). However, a global pandemic forced me to return home to Mexico, where I spent three years reassessing my career, artistic identity, and life direction. Having previously distanced myself from filmmaking to work in marketing as a content creator, I realised I was creatively unfulfilled. At a crossroads, I had to make a choice: return to cinema or live with the regret of not following my passion. I took that second chance, and now, at thirty, I have realised that pursuing it is far easier said than done.
Figure 2.0 My creative identity
Cinema has always been a part of me. It was more than just a passion—it was something I shared with my father. Films transported us to different worlds, sparking my curiosity to tell stories of my own. Those moments deepened my love for the craft and made me a firm believer in cinema's power to connect people. This bond has always stayed with me and became a guiding force as I found my way back to filmmaking.
In the ever-changing landscape of filmmaking, it is difficult to maintain one’s creative vision amidst industry’s constraints, such as budget limitations, and studio expectations. At the same time, filmmakers must navigate a collaborative practice that serves as a unified expression of multiple artists' visions and ideas. In my own practice as a director, I see myself as the guiding force behind the scenes, aiming to imprint my personal vision onto each project while also balancing the fine line between maintaining artistic integrity and making necessary compromises.
This research exists within the realm of creative practice research and follows a practice-led approach. It involves critical reflection on development and production of the short film, Solo un poco aquí, my primary case study.
In a world where collaboration and compromise are at the heart of filmmaking, writer-directors often struggle with authorship and artistic integrity. Do I, as a filmmaker, have a distinct vision? If so, how does it manifest in my craft? Who holds the authorship of the project? And once that vision is clear, how can it be preserved across all stages of production, where practical constraints and collaboration can reshape the final product?
These questions form the basis of this research, which seeks to answer one central research question:
How can writer/directors preserve their artistic vision amidst the collaborative process and production constraints in filmmaking?
This question provides me with an opportunity to articulate how I see the world as a filmmaker, how I navigate it, and how I can translate those experiences through my craft as a director.
This exegesis aims to explore this struggle through the concept of auteurism, a theoretical framework that positions the director as the primary force in filmmaking – he is the true holder of the creative vision. Auteurism finds its roots in François Truffaut's seminal essay, A Certain Tendency of the French Cinema, published in Cahiers du Cinéma in 1954, where he rejected the ‘Tradition of Quality’ in favour of an auteur’s cinema, and championed directors like Renoir and Cocteau, whose work reflected a more personal, visionary approach.
Since then, multiple theorists have expanded upon the concept of Auteurism. André Bazin, for instance, delved into the politique des auteurs, asserting that the focus on the director can be limiting, as the work itself transcends the creator. He argued that Hollywood is the ideal platform for an auteur to express their vision as it has the excellence of tradition (Bazin, 1957, p. 3). Andrew Sarris, in a 1974 article, emphasised that Auteurism should not be seen as a blank check for directors, noting that its application depends on context: "In practice, after all, it depends on where one is writing, at what length, and for whom." (Sarris, 1974, p. 63)
This exegesis acknowledges the subjectivity inherent in all the different takes on auteurism and would rather focus on the artistic form and the creative process in filmmaking.
As a filmmaker, I use art not only as a medium of expression but also to process my own emotions and generate catharsis. This personal connection to my work is evident in Solo, where themes of loneliness, isolation, and self-reflection resonate deeply with my own emotional landscape. By channelling these emotions into my craft, I aim to create projects that speak to universal experiences while staying true to my creative voice.
Now, in the middle of post-production, I have come to realize that my vision for this film is ultimately connection—how it heals, transforms, and gives us meaning. This experience has been one of rediscovering my voice—perhaps one I thought was lost—and learning to trust and stand by it.
This exegesis contains the following chapters:
chapter one. authorship & vision
This chapter outlines the intricate intersection of authorship and vision—two fundamental concepts that shape the artistic path I aspire to follow. It discusses cinema as a form of emotional expression and the reasoning behind the narrative of my artefact Solo.
chapter two. collaboration & constraints
I discuss the three stages of filmmaking: pre-production, filming, and post-production. I reflect on various aspects of the filmmaking journey, especially the writing process. I will use AFTRS as a microcosm of the broader film landscape. Additionally, I will address all the production limitations we encountered, all of which played a crucial role in the outcome of the project.
This paper serves as a guide for my future self, reflecting on my vision and the creative process at this point in my career. I believe that through disruptive storytelling, bold artistic choices, and a profound understanding of teamwork—much like cooking together to create something beautiful—filmmakers can produce works of art that resonate deeply with their audiences. True to self encourages viewers to navigate and explore the intersection of authorship, collaboration, constraints, and, ultimately, the human condition within the realm of filmmaking.
chapter one. authorship & vision
regarding authorship
Figure 3.0 BTS Photograph by Diego Saram
During my research, I have been trying to realise how I define the authorship. Edward Buscombe, in his journal article Ideas of Authorship, states that the auteur moulds the material into an expression of his own personality. François Truffaut defines a true film auteur “as one who brings something genuinely personal to his subject instead of merely producing a tasteful, accurate but lifeless rendering of the original material" (Buscombe, 1973, p. 76).
From its inception, Cahiers du Cinéma advocated the idea of cinema as an art of personal expression, arguing that film should be recognised as an art form similar to painting or poetry, where the individual could be granted a freedom of expression (Buscombe, 1973, p. 75).
If someone were to ask me what art means to me, I would describe it as a form of expression that encompasses the mind, heart, and soul. It serves as a mean to explore and address questions about reality—my place in the world—offering a pathway for catharsis and emotional release. But then, the question lies in how to express these ideas.
Buscombe points that the auteur theory represents a significant departure from the concept of art cinema, which emphasizes individual creativity and vision. In contrast, the auteur theory suggests that any film, including Hollywood productions, consists of various overlapping and contradicting elements that are ultimately shaped into a coherent whole. According to Buscombe, auteur analysis seeks to disentangle this underlying structure, which is “associated with a single director, an individual, not because he has played the role of artist, expressing himself or his own vision in the film, but because it is through the force of his preoccupations that an unconscious, unintended meaning can be decoded in the film, usually to the surprise of the individual concerned…” (Buscombe, 1972, p. 82).
I would argue that creative vision is fundamentally what defines authorship. Having existed for over a century, cinema has arguably told every possible narrative. However, a unique perspective and approach in a narrative shape its interpretation and resonance, making it fresh. In Authorship and Film, Janet Staiger notes that authorship matters, "especially to those in non-dominant positions in which asserting even a partial agency may seem to be important for day-to-day survival or where locating moments of alternative practice takes away the naturalized privileges of normativity" (Gerstner & Staiger, 2003, p. 27).
Staiger discusses various approaches to authorship, organizing them into seven distinct perspectives in Chapter Two: Authorship Approaches. The first of these is authorship as origin, which essentially reflects the previously expressed ideas (Gerstner & Staiger, 2003, pp. 31-33). Another perspective is authorship as personality, which aligns to Truffaut’s assertion that the author has no control over meaning, yet he finds himself reflected in his own work (Gerstner & Staiger, 2003, pp. 33-40).
Additionally, there is authorship as a signature, where an author is identified through the consisting presence of their distinct style across multiple works. According to Staiger, “the message is an expression of the variable features produced unintentionally but traceable across a set of films because of the continuing and coherent presence of the person writing those texts” (Gerstner & Staiger, 2003, p. 43). Buscombe, like Staiger, attributes personality and signature as key criteria in the auteur theory, placing greater emphasis on these elements as characteristics of a director’s style (Buscombe, 1973, p.79).
Here, I provide a brief comparison of frames from previous projects with those from Solo, to echo Staiger’s view that an author is the repetition of statements (Sayad, 2013, p. 10). While this exegesis does not provide the space for a deeper exploration of these works, I acknowledge their significance.
Figure 4.0 (up) Frame from Volver[i] (2018) Figure 5.0 (down) Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
Figure 6.0 (up) Frame from Zero-Sum Game[ii] (2023) Figure 7.0 (down) Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
In essence, regardless of the context in which a film is produced—be it Hollywood, arthouse, or independent—the director is inevitably constrained by the conditions of their craft and culture. As Buscombe states, “a film is not a living creature, but a product brought into existence by the operation of a complex of forces upon a body of matter” (Buscombe, 1973, p. 83).
According to Cecilia Sayad in the book Performing Authorship, filmmakers explore authorial identity through their work, drawing on performance theory, which highlights the repetitive use of external models and the fluid nature of identity across various areas of life, including politics, gender, and writing (Sayad, 2013, p. xxiii). Sayad argues that the concept of performing authorship involves the need of self-fictionalisation—performance—primarily by putting on a mask or act. “In this context, the idea of performance suggests, firstly, the impulse to hide behind a fictional entity, even if only to expose oneself further.” (Sayad, 2013, p. 2)
Drawing of Wayne Booth’s idea of the implied author, which played a central role in the 1960’s revisionism of the author figure in literature, highlights the notion that the ideology of a work should not be assumed to reflect that of the creator. According to Booth, the implied author is always separate from the real man—regardless of how the audience defines him—who crafts a refined version of himself, a second self, as he produces his work to prevent confusion between his personal viewpoints and those expressed in his art (Sayad, 2013, p. 3). The implied author chooses, consciously or unconsciously, what is on the page; the readers perceive him as an idealised version himself. This is similar to the cinematic author envisioned by the politique des auteurs, whose expression is found in the mise en scene - the only difference being that they define style as an extension of the author themselves (Sayad, 2013, p. 4).
Regardless of whether authors succeed in subverting codes and conventions—breaking away from established structures—it is their engagement with these codes that defines them as authors. There is an endless battle between language on one hand, and the quest to reveal an inner essence of the self. Sayad expresses that, without a clear ending point, the authorial process is better understood as a journey. “To be sure, repetition and process go hand in hand.” (Sayad, 2013, p. 11)
Sayad concludes that we should conceptualise authorship by focusing on how it is performed rather than the authors themselves—or our perceptions of them. The idea of performing authorship shifts the focus from essence to process, suggesting that the author is neither a unified subject behind a discourse nor an empty space open to interpretations. Instead, the author is a real human being navigating the concept of identity, which they may seek to reveal or mask, and which will be constantly evolving (Sayad, 2013, p. 142).
Performing authorship refers to an individual's recognition and interaction with the idea of authors as origins, as entities that control texts and their meanings. Self-expression, intention, and authority are important, as they serve as key elements in how authors shape their identities. The process can be experimental, reflecting their exploration of these ideas, and the way they communicate them. “This is why performing authorship constitutes not just a mode of expression, but a way of looking.” (Sayad, 2013, p. 147)
regarding vision
Figure 8.0 BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
My AFTRS Capstone short film, Solo un poco Aquí, has been a transformative journey, both physically and mentally, as I took the roles of screenwriter and director. I had to navigate a range of challenges, from cultural differences and language barriers to the constraints of a school setting and a limited budget. Amidst all the changes, my greatest struggle was maintaining the core of the story through every iteration and preserving my creative voice despite these constraints. The ambitious nature of the film pushed me to refine my creative vision and adapt in ways I had not anticipated, making this journey more rewarding.
The synopsis for Solo is as follows:
In a world where every day could be your last, Theo, a young survivor, still grapples with the loss of his little brother. When Lucía, a determined Hispanic woman, insists on joining him for the solemn ritual of burning her friend’s body, Theo reluctantly steps out of his isolated routine. As they journey through the desolate Australian bush, they realize that forging human connections may be their last hope in the midst of desolation.
In 2020, I began my MAS at AFTRS, but the sudden onset of the Covid-19 pandemic drastically altered my plans, leading to my eventual return to Mexico. The weeks that followed were filled with uncertainty. What if I had stayed in Australia? What if I never had the chance to see my family again? How would that have felt?
I began to question whether my deep attachment and love for my family arise from my inherent nature or are shaped by my cultural background. I became increasingly curious about how family dynamics operate within Western cultures and how individuals express their emotions and connect with one another. As an overseas director, I realized I wanted to delve into the complexities of the human condition and explore how different cultures can learn from each other.
Death has always played a significant role in my life, its impact felt intimately and profoundly. I faced the loss of some of my grandparents during my teenage years, and the harsh reality being the only one present at my uncle’s passing in a Mexican public hospital, and the tragic deaths of my beloved pets—one drowning and the other succumbing to complications from gastric surgery. The sudden suicide of my best friend further deepened my experience of grief. Most recently, already living in Australia, I mourned the loss of my last living grandmother in solitude. The grieving process has been incredibly challenging; at times, it feels as though I am still processing the weight of these experiences, struggling to grasp the effects they have had on me. Despite my attempts to cope through various unsuccessful mechanisms, including tendencies toward self-sabotage, I have found refuge and a means of expression through art.
The idea for Solo came to me in a dream. Set in a post-apocalyptic landscape, the story serves as a metaphor for the uncertainty of the Covid-19 pandemic, a time when death was knocking at every door. In our present day, people often find themselves consumed by daily life—work responsibilities, bills to pay, and countless other obligations. It blurs what truly matters: the realization that life is finite. Yesterday brought the threat of Covid-19; tomorrow could be anything—a mysterious comet could bring death to us all.
At the heart of Solo lies the thematic question:
In the face of profound loss, can the power of genuine human connection serve as a catalyst for healing, allowing individuals to find a renewed purpose in their shared journey?
Throughout the film, the exploration of this question drives the narrative and informs the characters’ arcs, as it follows two disparate individuals fleeing their grief in their own unique ways. The aim of this project is to capture the precise moment when, through a genuine connection, both characters embark on their journey towards healing. Solo is a drama disguised as a post-apocalyptic piece, not concerned with unravelling the mysteries of death but rather explore how people navigate grief.
Profound grief is sometimes described as a disruption or loss of one's sense of self and could significantly affect how we experience our own identity. According to Matthew Ratcliffe and Eleanor A. Byrne in their research article Grief, self and narrative, one’s life structure becomes so deeply intertwined with a relationship to a specific person, so when that relationship is lost, it profoundly impacts the individual’s self-perception (Ratcliffe & Byrne, 2022, p. 322). But what if your life structure is also deeply intertwined with your place of origin?
Moving to Australia has led me to recontextualize my sense of self, particularly in relation to my own culture and upbringing. In many ways, I realized that I was going through a different kind of grieving process for the life I left behind. It was important for me to address the deep sense of loss experienced due to the isolation that comes from moving to a foreign land—especially in a culture that speaks a different language. This is why I deliberately chose to make Lucía a Mexican character, despite the relatively small Mexican population in Australia. As Sayad notes, “Essential to the idea of performing authorship, [..], is the filmmaker's body as an instrument for the assertion not only of a personal point of view, but also, and sometimes most importantly, of an authorial presence” (Sayad, 2013, p. 12). I aimed to assert my authorial presence by exploring this other aspect of grief—the sorrow of leaving behind a part of my identity.
In developing this concept, I began researching Mexican poetry that contemplates the nature of life and death. One poem that profoundly resonated with me is Yo lo pregunto, written by Nezahualcóyotl, an Aztec Tlatoani[iii] and Tlamatini[iv] from pre-Hispanic Mexico. What could be more poignant than expressing my personal grief through a poem from a long-lost culture—one that continues to evoke sorrow even five hundred years later? Reciting it at the midpoint of the short film, during the emotional high point of the journey, serves as a moment of vulnerability and connection between Lucía and Theo.
Figure 9.0 Yo lo Pregunto by Nezahualcóyotl/Pitch video for Solo
This choice is reflected in the film’s title, Solo un poco Aquí, which I deliberately kept in Spanish to honour my cultural roots and emphasize the deeply personal nature of the story.
In Solo, Theo and Lucía assume the roles of the protagonist and antagonist, respectively. My intention was to craft a narrative that allowed each character to express their own perspectives on the universal struggle of grief.
I aimed to infuse Theo's storyline with an Australian essence, as it is ultimately a story rooted in the Australian landscape. To ensure authenticity, I collaborated with individuals with Australian backgrounds, including my story consultant and producer, whose insights enriched the process of writing. This resonates with the ideas of Truffaut and Buscombe, who emphasize the importance of infusing personal experiences into one’s work. By integrating these deeply personal elements into the storyline, I aimed to create a more resonant exploration of grief and connection.
For Theo’s character, I aimed to integrate elements of the traditional societal expectations placed on men throughout history, reflecting on my own experiences as a man navigating these challenges. This includes themes of repressed emotions, the façade of toughness, and the pressure of being a provider, ultimately culminating in self-destructive tendencies as release mechanisms.
In contrast, Lucía’s characterization draws heavily from my cultural heritage and family roots. Her mindset—particularly her attitude towards death, her tendency to normalize or deflect challenging situations, and her overall aura of warmth—mirrors the values and perspectives I have internalized from my upbringing. Mexican culture has long been intertwined with the concept of death, tracing back to pre-Hispanic practices that viewed death as a natural part of life. This cultural relationship was further complicated by the loss of indigenous traditions through colonization, which altered how death was perceived and commemorated. In contemporary times, the normalization of violence in Mexico, particularly due to the ongoing conflict with drug cartels, has added another layer of complexity to this relationship.
This duality in the characters speaks to the concept of performing authorship. Sayad proposes that authorship is not merely an act of creation, but a performance shaped by our identities, experiences, and the cultural narratives we inhabit. Through Theo and Lucía, I am not only telling a story but also performing my authorship—navigating the complexities of masculinity through Theo while simultaneously expressing the influence of my cultural background and family roots through Lucía. In doing so, the characters become vessels for exploring the universal themes of grief and connection, making the narrative not just a personal reflection but also a broader commentary on the human condition.
Another significant aspect I wanted to explore in the narrative was the use of objects. Objects hold a unique power in storytelling, often serving as physical manifestations of memory and emotional resonance. In Chapter 10: Patterns for Objects, from the book Cinematic Storytelling, Thomas Robotham suggests that certain objects can hold intrinsic significance as symbols. “Objects with symbolic significance are a visible shorthand that reveals a character’s inner state, remembering an important affiliation or story force.” (Robotham, 2021, p. 154)
In Solo, objects serve as touchstones for the characters, linking them to their past and grief. By incorporating significant objects into the narrative, I aimed to create a layered experience that allows the audience to grasp the visual metaphors representing their emotional journeys. Through Solo, I aimed to explore how these objects act not as relics of the past, but as catalysts for catharsis, driving the characters to confront their grief.
Each character is tied to a unique memento that reflects their distinct coping mechanisms for their grief. The first significant object is an aged paper boat, once belonging to Josh, Theo’s younger brother, which Theo holds onto throughout most of the story. In the opening sequence post-comet[v], the camera frames Theo from a distance as he prepares for the day.
Before slipping on his boots to start his routine, we catch a subtle glimpse of him playing with an unidentified object, which he carefully tucks into his coat pocket. This small, intimate action hints at some emotional weight Theo carries, setting the tone for his overall journey.
Figure 10.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
Throughout the narrative, the object is clutched tightly in pivotal moments, whenever Theo feels distressed. Ultimately, the object’s revelation and its full significance unfold during the climactic campfire conversation, where Theo reveals his truth:
Figure 11.0 Excerpt from Shooting script for Solo un poco Aquí (p. 11)
The paper boat symbolises not only the loss of his brother but also the emotional anchor to his penance as a Death Collector[vi]. It serves as a constant reminder of what Theo has lost, leading him to believe he is unworthy of experiencing joy—merely awaiting death’s arrival at his doorstep.
Figure 12.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
This sense of duty manifests in his reluctance to end his own life, as he views it as a form of punishment for failing to properly look after his brother’s body after his passing. He develops a new fixation on taking care for the deceased, which serves as a means of emotional release. The paper boat, therefore, is not just a physical object but a symbol of Theo’s complex internal struggle—a reminder of his sorrow, a manifestation of his guilt, and an embodiment of his ongoing battle with grief and responsibility.
I wanted to provide Lucía's character with a tangible object that embodies her own perspective on grief. In scene 11, set in Lucía's house, as Theo begins to cover Terri’s face with some sheets, Lucía crawls next to the body and retrieves an object, putting it discreetly in her pocket. At this moment, the audience is left unaware of the object's identity, but they can hear a soft tinkling sound, hinting at what it is.
Figure 13.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
Later, in scene 17 by the creek, where both characters begin to uncover their masks and speak their truths, Lucía is seen holding the same necklace just as she stands up to pay respects to her deceased friend. However, it is not until the subsequent scene, at the pyre, when the audience finally sees the necklace in a close-up. Lucía clutches it tightly in front of the fire, symbolizing her connection to Terri.
Figure 14.0 Excerpt from Shooting script for Solo un poco Aquí (p. 10)
Terri's necklace embodies Lucía's core belief: You can carry those who depart for as long as you are around. By the time we reach the final conversation at the campfire, she chooses to wear the necklace herself. This action symbolizes her decision to embrace the enduring love that transcends death rather than succumbing to the pain it evokes, contrasting Theo’s reason to hold onto the paper boat.
Figure 13.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
In both instances, it was a deliberate choice to use these objects almost imperceptibly throughout the narrative. These mementos are woven into the characters’ emotional states, allowing the audience to engage with them subconsciously and draw their own connections between the objects and the characters’ emotional journeys.
For Solo, I aimed to use a variation of circular storytelling, bringing Theo back to the same place where the story begins: a waterhole. In Sean Redmond’s article, Death and Life at the Cinematic Beach, he sees the beach as a narrative device representing death—physically and metaphorically.
Figure 15.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
“Sand and water are felt to be hostile and murderous, and yet also offer characters the chance for purification and regeneration. […] death is actually represented or experienced as a (re)birth, a being reborn” (Redmond, 2013, p. 717). This concept resonated with my intention to conclude the story at the very spot where Theo lost his brother. The waterhole, which initially embodies grief and loss, transforms into a space for Theo’s rebirth, iniciating his journey toward a renewed purpose in life.
chapter two. collaboration & constraints
Figure 16.0 BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
In the filmmaking process, it is crucial to acknowledge that each phase results in fundamentally different films. The version that exists on the page, the one captured during production, and the one when the edit is locked are not simply stages of transformation—they are distinct iterations of the same story, each shaped by unique creative demands and constraints.
This chapter will explore these three phases—pre-production, production, and post-production—each representing a different film born from collaboration and production constraints. More importantly, I will share how I navigated through these challenges while striving to maintain my creative vision and sense of authorship.
Balancing collaboration with my artistic vision required constant negotiation, but each phase brought opportunities to shape the film in unexpected ways. By the conclusion of this chapter, it will become evident that the filmmaking process is one of constant adaptation, where the vision evolves, and yet, the essence of the story remains intact.
regarding pre-production
Figure 17.0 Frame from Artemis app/shot test
Everything starts with an idea, and the rest unfolds from there. I have always felt connected to arthouse drama—complex character studies that delve deeply into the human condition. The films and directors I admire have consistently informed my work, serving as sources of inspiration.
Figure 18.0 My creative influences
However, as I began my journey in the MAS program, I realized it presented a unique opportunity to explore other genres and experiment with different approaches to storytelling. I wanted to see if I could enhance the scale of the narrative—both visually and thematically—without losing the intimate, emotional essence at its heart.
As someone with no experience in producing, I initially had a poor understanding of the actual feasibility of the project, especially when it came to working within the school's parameters and navigating a different culture. I underestimated the complexities of the budget, and the practical constraints involved in bringing this vision to life. Naturally, the writing process was nothing short of a journey.
There were ten drafts before the final shooting script for Solo, with major changes across these drafts that reshaped the story, settings and characters. Some of the significant changes include:
Theo and Lucía's relationship
In earlier drafts, the relationship between Theo and Lucía was completely different. They knew each other before the comet, having been close friends who reconnected in the desolate world.
Figure 19.0 Excerpt from Solo un poco Aquí draft no. 2 (p. 16) (18.07.23)
Lucía’s backstory and her reasons for being stranded in Australia were deeply explored. While central in earlier drafts, it was ultimately cut to focus more on grief and healing through their newfound connection, leading to the next major change:
Supporting Characters
In earlier versions, there were other key characters in the story. These included the rest of the Death Enumerators[vii] and Terry, who was then the leader of the group. The biggest departure was the decision to remove Theo's mother from the story entirely, a choice that significantly altered the narrative focus and character dynamics.
Figure 20.0 Excerpt from Solo un poco Aquí draft no. 4 (p. 16) (06.10.23)
Prologue – the time before the comet
The comet was initially conceived as an asteroid that gets nuked, with the debris causing the sickness. Earlier drafts featured a prologue resembling an action film, showcasing the city's chaos during the event. One casualty was Josh, who died in a car accident before Theo could pick him up from school—an event that pushed Theo's self-isolation, driven more by guilt than grief. However, due to feasibility issues, we ultimately had to abandon this version.
Figure 21.0 Excerpt from Solo un poco Aquí draft no. 4 (p.2) (06.10.23)
This approach strayed from the heart of the story, becoming superficial. I streamlined the narrative into a more mysterious outcome that respected both the genre and the emotional core.
World-building + the reason they travel together
A significant change was that the Enumerators buried the deceased in the town centre next to a memorial, where their names were engraved on wooden boards. I initially envisioned the town as a dystopia surrounded by a wall to keep out trespassers, allowing new residents only based on the number of casualties—clearly inspired by Trump’s wall. Lucía was originally portrayed as a gypsy-like girl who moved from town to town, stealing for survival. She met Theo while he was checking one of the houses and invited him to her campsite at the waterhole.
Figure 22.0 Excerpt from Solo un poco Aquí draft no. 1 (p. 7) (03.07.23)
I struggled to find a compelling reason for Theo to accompany Lucía, given his desire for isolation. After months of rewrites, I returned to the original theme of grief and its significance to me. This led to the decision for the Collectors to take bodies outside of town, naturally justifying their journey together. Making Terry, the deceased, related to Lucía also enhanced the emotional depth of the story. From that point on, everything began to fall into place.
Most of these changes emerged from workshopping the script, not only with my story consultant and tutors but also with the invaluable input of my DP and PD. Their insights were instrumental in shaping the visual aspect of the narrative. However, throughout the process, I often found myself confused about where to take the story, as there were many active voices involved, each pushing the narrative in different directions—sometimes toward a full sci-fi approach. The key relationship that helped me stay grounded was that of my story consultant, who consistently reminded me of the reason I was telling this story.
Although the feedback could feel harsh, and there were moments when it seemed like I had hit a wall, I chose to remain open to suggestions and ideas. This openness ultimately inspired me to craft the script that came into production.
Solo is a drama film set in a post-apocalyptic world, where modern technology no longer exists, and the absence of electricity defines the landscape. This setting underscores the film's central themes of isolation and grief. From the outset, I knew I wanted to create a road movie set in the Australian landscape. This decision was not just about aesthetics—it stemmed from a deep personal connection I have to nature, something I wanted to channel through my work. For me, the landscape is more than a setting—it serves as a character in itself, reflecting the emotional and psychological journeys of the characters.
The narrative was designed to include two distinct worlds within the film: the commune, and the outside world. The commune symbolizes isolation, as in Theo’s emotional state—muted colours and a dusty, arid atmosphere. In contrast, the world outside represents rebirth and transformation.
From the outset, producing this story within a school setting, specifically under AFTRS guidelines, posed significant challenges given the project's ambitious scope. The institution mandates that all Capstone projects must be filmed within a 90km radius of the school and adhere to a budget of $22,000 AUD, covering all expenses—including cast and external crew payments, catering, transportation, accommodation, shooting permits, and more.
Recognizing these constraints, my producer, DP, PD, and I shifted our focus to scouting locations that could evoke the vastness and isolation central to the story while staying within the permitted radius. However, it felt nearly impossible to find a single location that could serve as multiple settings from the script. These key locations included the town, Lucía’s house, a waterhole, a walking bush track, a rusty old pipeline, a lookout point, and a transmission tower.
Fortunately, we discovered Heathcote Scout Camp, which was perfect for the town setting. The camp had a worn-down, almost abandoned feel, which fit perfectly with the atmosphere we wanted to create. The buildings were about to undergo renovations, but after discussions with the staff, they kindly decided to postpone until we had finished shooting. Later, they connected us with Camp Coutts in Waterfall—which covered the remaining locations we needed. Being relatively close to Heathcote made transportation logistics much easier. With these two locations secured, we had found our shooting locations.
In order to enhance the vision, finding the right collaborators is key. For me, it has always been about connection and relationships—building bridges. It is about bringing together people who share the same work ethic and passion, who are eager to create something collectively. I have always been against the notion that the crew works for the director. To me, it is about working with the director.[viii]
I was fortunate enough to work with some amazing creatives on this project, starting with my DP. Beyond being a fantastic artist, what drew us together to build such a strong collaborative relationship was our human connection. Even though we come from vastly different backgrounds—he comes from Singapore—we have found an emotional understanding that enriches our collaboration. This is something to cherish, as it can be difficult to find and even harder to build upon.
Since collaborating on Zero-Sum Game (2023), I knew that continuing my partnership with my DP was essential for this project. Nonetheless, he has such a unique and stylized approach that worked against everything I aimed for in this project—high contrasts, vibrant colours, enhanced lighting, and controlled environments.
Figure 23.0 Frames from Zero-Sum Game (2023)
However, he has always been a strong believer of the story and understood its vision from the start. Throughout the process, I learned that trust in your collaborators is vital. It enables each team member to bring their unique strengths to the table, enhancing the outcome of the product. By allowing him the creative freedom to interpret the story through his lens, I discovered new dimensions of the narrative that I had not initially considered. This collaboration is a great example of the power of shared vision and mutual respect.
Solo involved a shooting style that relied heavily on outdoor settings, natural light, and complex camera settings. To navigate these challenges—such as the use of water and fire, company moves, and weather conditions—we dedicated extensive time for pre-production, ensuring that every detail was meticulously planned.
Figure 24.0 (right) DP on location Figure 25.0 (left) Frame from Artemis app/shot test
In the months leading up to the shoot, we conducted weekly reconnaissance trips to study the natural light, sun movement, and weather conditions. This allowed us to design each shot with precision using the Artemis app.
Figure 26.0 Lens test at The Front (Equipment rental agency)
We carried out camera and lens tests to identify the best combinations for our aesthetic and integrated blocking rehearsals with the actors. This comprehensive approach meant no element was left to chance, enabling us to anticipate challenges before filming began. Our meticulous planning not only streamlined production but also fostered a cohesive team dynamic, crucial for adapting to the unpredictable nature of an outdoor shooting. Ultimately, this preparation allowed me to focus more on performances, confident in the solid foundation we had built.
Another key partnership in the project was with my PD. She brought immense value to the project, grounding the story and shaping the world in a tangible way. She collaborated with me to establish the rules and textures of this post-apocalyptic setting, translating the vision into something realistic and lived-in.
She drew inspiration from Andrew Wyeth’s paintings, bringing a textured, minimalist, rugged, and pastoral aesthetic to the town. In this world, with no electricity and fragmented societies, small communities and townships emerged, relying on trade, communication, and migration among local groups. With mass production gone, scavenging, repairing, and repurposing materials became the foundation of daily survival. Her approach not only enhanced the visual aspect but also added layers to the story, ensuring the world felt as authentic as the characters' journeys.
Figure 27.0 Her Room (1963) by Andrew Wyeth
The PD's most significant contribution to the story was designing the town not as a dystopia, but as a utopia—a place that contrasts with Theo's internal turmoil. This decision redefined the nuance of his isolation, emphasizing that it was Theo’s deliberate choice to withdraw, not the state of the world around him. We felt it was crucial for Theo, despite being a solitary figure who tends towards despair, to be set against a backdrop where the town itself served as a beacon of hope. This environment fosters a connection with nature and a commitment to preserving life.
Figure 28.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
Another significant challenge we faced was the communication with the production staff at the school. AFTRS, being a government-backed institution, ensures that every decision made during production is informed by strict legal guidelines, regulations, and institutional policies. This framework shapes every aspect of the process—from budget to logistics—to ensure compliance with industry standards. This meant that securing location permits, cast contracts, handling payments, and managing the budget all required the school’s approval, which often led to many delays.
The biggest challenge we faced was navigating the feasibility meetings with AFTRS staff, who were understandably concerned about the complexity of a production of this scale. Issues such as the weather conditions, gear transportation and security, as well as cast and crew insurance, all presented significant hurdles. The most difficult aspect was gaining approval for the use of fire and water. Two key scenes—scene 18, involving a burning pyre, and scene 20, where Theo submerges into a waterhole—required these elements, but the staff were apprehensive about the logistics and safety involved. It became a back-and-forth struggle, as we had to work hard to justify their inclusion.
I had to explain how crucial these scenes were to the story. Fire and water are symbolic parallels to the characters' journeys—fire representing death and water symbolizing life and rebirth. These elements were central to the emotional arc of the narrative. In the end, with the support of our tutors and after meticulously planning in advance, we finally received the green light to move forward with the project.
This process of adapting the story to fit logistical and financial constraints was a test of creativity, requiring us to maintain the heart of the film while navigating practical limitations. The collaborative efforts were instrumental in elevating this project. Finding the right people made all the difference. This collaborative effort was key to taking the project to the next level. It all became a balancing act between preserving my creative vision and working within the reality of the production framework.
regarding production
Figure 29.0 BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
The key to a smooth production on set lies in meticulous planning and preparation. It is essential to push yourself and the team toward a shared goal. By the time we arrived to set, we were well-prepared, having organized our schedule around a pre-designed shot list. Every head of department understood their roles, and the crew knew what to expect on the first day. However, no matter how well-prepared one might be, unforeseen events always happen.
On our very first day of shooting, we encountered a serious accident: our DP suffered a seizure and fell from a high platform, hitting his head on the ground. Fortunately, a nurse was on set, and the paramedics arrived quickly to transport him to the hospital. Thankfully, his injuries were not severe, but the incident led AFTRS staff to cancel production.
In the aftermath, we faced two months of uncertainty, which was incredibly stressful. This incident highlighted the malpractices of the institution, pushing the team to their limits and impacting our mental health. The anxiety from the accident took a significant toll, particularly on my producer, who ultimately stepped down from the project, leaving the co-producer to take the reins. This experience taught me the importance of prioritizing the well-being and mental health of my team.
Although it was challenging not to succumb to despair during those two months, this period allowed me to redefine my relationship with the project. I started to see the situation as a blessing in disguise, providing me with the chance to better prepare for the next round. Coincidentally, the weather forecast for our new shooting dates turned out to be favourable, and we secured a new location permit for Ferntree Reserve, where we would film the pipeline walking track, and the lookout point scenes.
The extra time also allowed for a special workshop with the cast, creating not only a deeper bond between us but also strengthening their connections with one another. I was able to refine my rehearsal plans while getting to know each actor better, creating an environment of trust and camaraderie. Rather than simply directing them on how to perform, I engaged them in discussions about the core of the story, the characters' flaws and intentions, their backstories, the subtext of the dialogue and emotions.
Figure 30.0 BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
By cultivating a supportive atmosphere, the cast members began to bond with each other, sharing their insights and experiences, which enriched their performances. This sense of unity not only enhanced the authenticity of their interactions on screen but also made the overall creative process more enjoyable and fulfilling. Ultimately, it was about creating a space for freedom and exploration, where each actor could bring their characters to life and truly own them.
Another key decision was to craft the narrative as a two-hander, where the connection between the characters unfolds primarily through conversation. The power of words to bring characters closer together has always resonated deeply with me. In my own experience, conversations have been a lifeline. By focusing the narrative on a meaningful exchange between two people, I wanted to explore the depth and vulnerability that come from open, honest dialogue. This approach allowed me to tap into a personal aspect of storytelling, emphasizing the transformative power of human connection, not only through the screen but also through the relationships built during the filmmaking process.
For the role of Theo, I always envisioned Angus McColl. Having worked with him on another AFTRS project, I immediately recognized something in his eyes that indicated he was right for the part—a concealed sadness that resonates deeply with the character.
Figure 31.0 Frame from Between me & you[ix] (2023)
Despite their contrasting personalities, his work ethic and dedication further convinced me he was the perfect choice. I wrote the first draft with him in mind, and when I pitched the project to him, I was thrilled to find he was equally drawn to it. This collaboration is one I hope to nurture in the future.
For Lucía, I initially envisioned an actress[x] I had worked with in Mexico. However, due to AFTRS parameters, it was never going to work. I aimed to remain as genuine as possible, recognizing the character's Mexican background while also embracing the rich diversity of talent available in Australia. My goal was to find an actress who could authentically embody Lucía's complexities, bridging cultural elements through emotional truth and personal connection rather than strictly sticking to geographical origins.
Figure 32.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
We collaborated with a casting agency that introduced us to Andrea Lucia, whose roots are in El Salvador but who grew up in Australia. A cup of tea and a heartfelt conversation confirmed she was the right fit for the role. In so many ways she resembles the character herself, but also reflected my own feelings of detachment from my culture. She made Lucía her own, infusing the character with genuine emotion.
For the role of Josh, we cast Romeo Ellard. Although his part is arguably small, it is crucial to the story, so I knew it was essential to foster a genuine brotherly bond between him and Angus. To achieve this, my rehearsal plans included taking them to an arcade, allowing them to spend quality time together and build their relationship. Angus really took Romeo under his wing, guiding him through the whole process as it was his first significant acting role. Ensuring that Romeo had a comfortable and enriching experience throughout the production was a top priority for me, both on set and in the overall experience.
Figure 33.0 (up) Angus and Romeo on the arcade Figure 34.0 (down) BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
When it was time to return to set, the cast and crew felt stronger than ever. We had worked tirelessly to reach this moment, bonding through the challenges we faced along the way. All I wanted was for everyone to experience a rewarding payoff—not just for their hard work, but also on a personal level. Naturally, I wanted everyone to enjoy their time on set, as for me, being on set is my greatest passion, and I hoped to share that joy with everyone involved in this project.
The shoot marked a beautiful culmination of everything we had built up to that point. It was a pleasant surprise to see that all the effort invested in pre-production brought fantastic results, contributing to a smooth experience on set. If there are words to describe my feelings during those moments, they are those I expressed in a letter to the entire crew after we wrapped:
Figure 35.0 Letter of appreciation for the crew
regarding post-production
Figure 36.0 Frame from Solo un poco Aquí (2024)
As I write this exegesis, we are currently midway through post-production. While picture lock has been achieved, composing and sound design are still in progress. Surprisingly, I would dare to say that the editing process has been the most challenging and exhausting aspect of the entire journey, yet it has also provided the most valuable lessons.
Editing has always been challenging, especially since I began my career as an editor before transitioning to writing and directing. Given my deep attachment to the project from its inception, there was some tension to be expected. However, I approached the collaboration with an open mindset, just as I had with the other disciplines. As I worked closely with my team from the outset, I aimed to ensure that everyone was working towards the same goal. Yet, two weeks into the editing process, I came to realise that this was not the case.
My editor was initially drawn to Solo because of its sci-fi background, which is a genre she connects with. However, her modern editing approach focuses on rapid cuts to maintain audience attention, contrasting with the slow-burn, meditative style we wanted. We intentionally streamlined our coverage to emphasize the acting, allowing the emotional beats to shine through breathing spaces.
At the beginning of the process, I allowed my editor to take control, trusting her expertise, but this ultimately compromised the vision. She decided to screen the tutors a different cut that was non-linear and focused more on world-building rather than the emotional connection between the characters—it bombed. It was a low point for me, as it seemed I had not met the expectations of my team or my original vision.
In an ideal situation, if a collaboration isn’t working, one can find someone who better aligns with their work ethic, collaborative style, and vision. However, in the context of the industry, especially in a school setting, constraints often make this challenging. The biggest lesson I learned through this experience is that when in doubt, it’s important to step away for a moment and reconnect with the reasons you started in the first place. Reignite your passion for the project, then focus on finding solutions. When this realization occurred, I made it clear that there was no time left for experimentation and that we needed to return to the original vision.
In the end, we were able to work through our differences, and things gradually began to fall into place. When the next screening took place, the film was much closer to the original vision. The biggest lesson I learned from this experience was how to truly lead—not just by applying my vision on screen, but also behind the scenes, by bringing people together. Now, with the picture lock complete, I am incredibly proud of what we have accomplished together. While there is still a long journey ahead with sound design and composing, I feel confident about its direction moving forward.
I intend to carry all the lessons and experiences from this journey into the next phases, ensuring that each stage benefits from the growth I have achieved so far. Most importantly, I will remind myself to embrace and enjoy the process, knowing that collaboration is an ongoing effort—one that continues to evolve as we approach the final stages of this film and beyond.
conclusion
Figure 37.0 BTS Photograph by Cristina Booth
Truffaut defined a true auteur as someone who brings something personal to the story (Buscombe, 1973, p. 76). This deeply resonates with my understanding of creative authorship, as I see art as a medium that unites the mind, heart, and soul. Art allows me to question my place in the world while offering me catharsis and emotional release. The process of filmmaking has given me the opportunity to connect with these questions, not only as an individual but also as part of a larger collaborative effort. While I am committed to maintain—and evolve—my creative vision, I have learned that the filmmaking process is equally shaped by those who work beside me. Finding the right collaborators, people who share my work ethic, passion, and dedication, is crucial to turning an idea into something beautiful.
In authorship/auteur studies, as discussed by Buscombe and further elaborated by Staiger, the director's personality and signature style become crucial criteria for determining authorship. This aligns with my belief that creative vision is what defines authorship. Throughout the development of Solo un poco aquí, I faced various challenges, from the constraints of a school setting to managing the complexities of the collaborative process. Despite all the pressures, this process forced me to redefine and strengthen my vision.
One of the most valuable lessons I learned during this process is the importance of trusting my collaborators. By embracing their creative insights, I was able to discover new dimensions that I had not originally conceived. They helped ground the vision and constantly reminded me why I was telling this story in the first place. This collaborative experience, based on mutual respect and shared vision, allowed me to explore the themes of my work—grief, loss, and human connection—not only on screen but also behind the scenes.
Sayad's idea that authorship is not just a form of expression but a way of looking captures how I approach directing (Sayad, 2013, p. 147). I view storytelling and filmmaking as essentially rooted in connections—between characters, between collaborators, and ultimately, between the film and its audience. That is why creating an environment of trust and camaraderie is essential for fostering these connections.
In conclusion, my experience as a filmmaker has been a journey of discovery—not only of my creative vision but also of the power of collaboration. Drawing from the idea of performing authorship, everything is rooted in the process—exploring the multiple aspects of my own identity and embracing change. Ultimately, if the foundation is strong, the body of work can only continue to evolve and improve. For me, authorship is not just about applying one's vision to the screen but about bringing people together. Through shared passion, trust, and dedication, I believe filmmakers can create works that truly resonate with their audiences.
Figure 38.0 Untitled (I Have Been to Hell and Back) (1996) by Louise Bourgeois
reference list
Bazin A. (1957) On the politique des auteurs. 'De la politique des auteurs’, Cahiers du Cinema 70, April 1957. Pages 248-259. https://www.newwavefilm.com/about/la-politique-des-auteurs-bazin.shtml
Brody, R. (2019, June 8). The Truffaut essays that clear up misguided notions of auteurism. The New Yorker. https:// www.newyorker.com/culture/the-front-row/the-truffaut-essays-that-clear-up-misguided-notions-of-auteurism
Buscombe E. (1973) Ideas of Authorship. Screen, Volume 14, Issue 3, Autumn 1973, Pages 75–85, https://doi.org/10.1093/screen/14.3.75
Gerstner, D. A., & Staiger, J. (Eds.). (2002). Authorship and film. Taylor & Francis Group. 3. 1st Edition, 2003, Pages 27-52 https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203698976
Ratcliffe M. & Byrne E. (2022) Grief, self and narrative, Philosophical Explorations, 25:3, 319-337, DOI: 10.1080/13869795.2022.2070241
Redmond, S. (2013). Death and life at the cinematic beach. Continuum, 27(5), 715–728. https://doi.org/ 10.1080/10304312.2013.824857
Sarris, A. (1974) Auteurism Is Alive and Well. Film Quarterly, Vol. 28, No. 1 (Autumn, 1974), pp. 60-63. DOI: https://doi.org/ 10.2307/1211444
Sayad, C. (2013). Performing Authorship: SELF-INSCRIPTION AND CORPOREALITY IN THE CINEMA. London: I. B. Tauris, 2013. Bloomsbury Publishing.
Truffaut F. (1954) A certain tendency of the French Cinema, from Cahiers du Cinéma 31, 1954. https://www.newwavefilm.com/about/a-certain-tendency-of-french-cinema-truffaut.shtml
appendix
[i] Volver (2018) is a short film written and directed by Diego Saram as part of his thesis project for his BA in Communications in Mexico. The synopsis is as follows: After an appalling revelation, Max walks through the city with Maria, discussing marriage, children, and infidelity. Lourdes, a deaf woman who raised Luis, prepares to return him to his biological mother. Meanwhile, Ricardo, a man entangled in an affair, fears losing his family.
[ii] Zero-Sum Game (2023) is a short film written by Valentin Domont and directed by Diego Saram as part of the MAS at AFTRS. The synopsis is as follows: Salma, single mother and emerging litigator, has been handed the biggest case of her career. But when she uncovers that she's being used as a pawn in her boss's corruption scheme, her world unravels. Now, on the verge of sealing the deal, Salma faces a gut-wrenching moral choice: expose the truth on her corrupt client in the name of justice and risk everything she has worked for, or stay silent, take the bribe and cross a line she can never come back from.
[iii] Aztec word for Emperor.
[iv] Aztec word for philosopher.
[v] Solo follows a linear narrative structure with two distinct timelines: one set before the arrival of a mysterious comet, and the other unfolding after the death of Josh.
[vi] Death collectors are individuals responsible for transporting the deceased outside of town for cremation, operating under the belief that the cause of death may represent a contagious risk to the community
[vii] Previously assigned names to the Death Collectors in earlier versions of the script for Solo un poco aquí.
[viii] Back when I was in high school, I had the chance to meet Guillermo Arriaga, the screenwriter of Amores Perros (2000) and Babel (2006). He told me the key to succeeding in this industry was to let go of the ego and learn to work well with others. That advice has stuck with me ever since, and it has become my golden rule.
[ix] Between Me & You (2023) was my first collaborative experience at AFTRS during my first year.
[x] Karla Coronado, actress from Volver (2018).