The Camera Effect
Often, when I watch a documentary, I wonder how people who claim to be so damaged, so depressed, sometimes so malicious, can seem so open, so sincere, and have so much perspective when telling their story. The hysteric is perfectly calm. The compulsive liar tells the whole truth. People described as having intellectual or emotional delays show extraordinary clarity and intelligence when they look inward.
It's not staging, or manipulation. It's the camera effect.
One day, in the middle of their daily routine, a filmmaker called them and took an interest in them. He asked them questions, wanted to know more about their lives. There seemed to be no price to this interest, no trap, nothing to give back. Trust was born. Then, on the day of the interview, a whole crew got moving: lights and gear were set up, furniture moved and, at the right moment, all that machinery went quiet to take in what they had to say. The filmmaker, the cinematographer, the sound engineer, the assistant: all these people were listening.
We're all trying to prove that we exist.
In many ways, the fear of not being seen is the mother of all fears. On a small scale – the irritation of being bumped by someone who isn't paying attention – or on a deeper level – the feeling of being ignored by your parents, by your friends, by the world in general.
During an interview, that fear goes quiet. The lights, the camera, the whole crew's attention are on you. There's time. You feel heard. The walls you put up to protect yourself, the reflexes you built to prove you're there, to get attention, all of it can be put on hold.
You reveal the wonderful person you would be at every moment if the world were paying attention.