Features

P-Cap, MoCap and All That Jazz Part 2

by Jim Tanenbaum, CAS

Set Procedure

The capture techs will have an earlier call so they can calibrate the volume. This involves placing a single reflective marker at specified positions so the computer can associate them with the images in the capture cameras. The marker is mounted on a rod, usually the same length as the side of the grid squares. First, the rod is used as a handle to position the marker on the floor at each intersection of every grid line. The system will beep or chirp when it has calibrated that point so the tech can move on to the next one. When the floor grid is calibrated, the other end of the rod is placed at each of the intersections, and held vertically with the reflector at a fixed distance directly above the spot, and the procedure repeated. During the calibration, the volume needs to be kept clear of other crew people.

Reflective objects are verboten in or even near the volume. Any Scotchlite strips on shoes or clothing need to be taped over, and if the anodizing is worn off of the clutch knobs on your fishpole, they will need to be covered with black paper tape. Some poles’ shiny tube sections are a problem too, and black cloth tubular shrouds can be purchased to slip over the entire fishpole. J.L. Fisher has black-anodized booms available to rent for use on capture shoots. If you have work lights on your cart, be sure their light bulbs are not directly visible to any of the capture cameras.

On most shoots, you will have only a single assistant, either to boom or to help with the wireless mikes. This means that the smaller and lighter your package is, the easier it will be to set up, move and wrap.

I make it a habit to run on batteries at all times. This avoids problems with hum from ground loops because you are tied into the studio’s gear through your audio sends, and also the possibility of having your power cord kicked out of the wall outlet. Being a belt-and-braces (suspenders) man, I also use isolation transformers in my audio-out circuits. (See my cable articles in the Spring, Summer and Fall 2012, and the Winter 2013 issues of the 695 Quarterly.)

The usual recording format is mix on Channel 1, boom (if used) iso’d on Channel 2, and wireless mikes (if used) iso’d on succeeding channels. You will send a line-level feed of your mix to the IT department, where it will be distributed to the reference cameras and imported into the editing software. Your isos may also be sent into the system during production.

Metadata may be conventional (Scene 37a, Take 6) or extremely esoteric and complex (195A_tk_00E_002_Z1_pc001_0A01_VC_ Av001_LE). Hopefully, you will be allowed to abbreviate long ones like this—I was able to get away with: Scene 195A_00E_002, and Take 2, but since the last digit of the “scene” number was also the take number, I had to manually advance it every take. Fortunately, the Deva allows me to make corrections retroactively, but it is still a nuisance so I’m very careful when I enter the data initially. Discuss metadata requirements with production as soon as possible.

Digital sound reports are very convenient, but you need to secure your tablet carefully; the cost of replacing a dropped Galaxy or iPad overcomes any amount of convenience.

Comtek monitors can be a problem because of system delays in the video display screens, which are often non-standard and even variable. Many directors will want to see and hear playback during the day. I have found that the simplest solution is to get a feed of your mix back from IT and send that to the Comtek transmitter. They should automatically have the correct delay for both direct and playback. Unfortunately, a number of new, smaller volumes have sprung up, and they sometimes do not have any means to compensate the audio for the video delay. Behringer makes an inexpensive variable-audio-delay unit called the “Shark,” and it is worthwhile to carry two of them along with an XLR switch so you can quickly feed your Comtek with the appropriate delay for direct and playback audio. Your direct mix will go into delay 1, and the mix return from playback will go into delay 2. The XLR switch will be used to select the output of either delay as required to feed your Comtek transmitter.

A problem with sending your mix and isos into the capture system in analog form is that the gain structure of their audio channels may be less than optimal, and more importantly, accidently be changed after you have adjusted it initially. If you can have any control over the infrastructure, try to get a digital audio (SMPTE/ EBU) audio path so you won’t have to worry about this, or hum/ buzz pickup.

It is vitally (and virtually) important to discuss digital audio parameters with the IT department. The most common TC frame rates are 23.98 and 29.97, but 24 and 30 are also encountered, and you must be sure to use the correct one. Although you can use 29.97 with a 23.98 system, and 30 with a 24 system—the rates can be converted without too much trouble—it is much more difficult (and expensive) to use 30 with a 23.98 system, or 29.97 with a 24 system. Usually, you will get a TC feed from the capture system. Ask specifically about the user bits—some systems have fixed random digits that remain unchanged from day to day. If you are working more than one day on the shoot (and remember that sometimes a one-day job runs over and requires a second day), it is important to put the date (or some other incremented number) into the user bits yourself to avoid duplicate TCs.

There are two “standards” in TC circuitry: BNC connectors at 75­ and 3-pin XLRs at approximately 110­. Unfortunately, these parameters are not universal, and to make matters worse, some facilities have built up their own infrastructure and have patch panels with connectors that are fed from equipment with the inappropriate impedance.

Unless long cable runs are involved, this impedance mismatch usually does not cause problems. (See the cable articles for using balun transformers.) The best you can do is to use mike cables with XLR TC sources and 75­ coax cables with BNC TC sources. If this does not match the TC input connector of your recorder, try a simple hard-wired adapter before going to a balun. If the recorder’s display shows a solid indication of the proper frame rate and there are no error flags, you are probably okay. If this is a long-term project, you should have time for a pre-production test, if not, cross your fingers. (Or invest $10,000 in a time-domain reflectometer to measure the jitter in the “eye pattern” and determine the stability of the TC signal at your end.)

When it comes to wireless-mic’ing the capture suits, there is good news and bad news. The good news is that you don’t have to hide the transmitter or mike. The bad news is:

1. There is a tremendous amount of Velcro used on capture suits, and it can make noise when the actor moves. Applying gaffer tape over the offending strip of Velcro will sometimes quiet it. For more obdurate cases, a two-inch-wide strip of adhesive-backed closedcell neoprene foam (aka shoe foam) may prove effective. As a last resort, one or more large safety pins fastened through both sides of the Velcro usually works.

2. Mounting the mike capsule requires some forethought. If no facial capture camera is in use, the top of the helmet opening can be used to mount a short strut to hold the mike in front of the forehead. I use a thin strip of slightly flexible plastic, 1–2 inches in length. If a face-cap camera is used, its mounting strut can be used to secure the mike, but in both cases, be sure to keep the mike positioned behind the vertical plane of the performer’s face to help protect against breath pops. Also, the exposed mike is susceptible to atmospheric wind, or air flow from rapid movement of the actor. I have found that a layer of 100% wool felt makes an excellent windscreen, especially when spaced away from the microphone element about 1/8 inch. (Incidentally, felt can be used to windscreen mikes under clothing as well.)

3. Because the mike is located so close to the actor’s mouth, it is exposed to very high SPLs. Many lavaliers overload acoustically at these levels, so turning down the transmitter’s audio gain doesn’t reduce the distortion. Both Countryman and Sanken make transmitter-powered models designed for higher SPLs, but not quite high enough. The problem is that the mikes require at least 5 volts of bias for these peak levels, and most wireless mike transmitters supply only 3.3 to 4 volts. An inelegant fix is to use one of these mikes with an external, in-line battery power supply, because their extra bulk doesn’t have to be concealed. The other side of this coin is that these high-SPL mikes are noisier at low dialog levels. Be prepared to quickly switch back to the low-SPL mikes between loud and quiet dialog scenes. Another possibility, if you have stereo transmitters (currently only available from Zaxcom), is to employ two different mikes, one for high levels and the other for low, and iso them both.

4. There may be other electronics mounted on the actor’s suit that can interfere with your wireless mikes. If a face-cam is in use, there will be a digital video recorder and timecode source. This may be an onboard TCXO, or a receiver for an external reference. Another possibility is a transmitter to send locally generated TC to the capture system. If real-time face monitoring is present, there will be a video transmitter, either in the WiFi band (2.4 GHz) or on a microwave (above 1 GHz) frequency. If active markers are functioning, they may receive and/or transmit an RF synchronizing signal. The RF from any of these transmitters can get into your wireless either through leakage in the transmitter case or through the lavalier’s capsule housing, cable or plug. Keeping your gear as far from any of these transmitters and their cables is the first line of defense.

5. If motion control apparatus is being used, there may be multiple RF links involved, all at different frequencies. As soon as possible, coordinate frequencies with the appropriate department(s).

6. The reference video cameras, if camcorder types, may have video monitor transmitters. Some of them still use the old analog Modulus units, and they present very serious interference problems.

7. Walkie-talkies usually operate well above or below your wireless frequencies, but at 5 watts they can cause trouble if close to the actor or your sound cart.

8. For general wireless mike problems, see my radio mike article in the Spring 2011 issue of the 695 Quarterly.

When it comes to booming a CGI–capture scene, there is good news and bad news. The good news is that you don’t have to worry about boom shadows. The bad news is:

1. You can’t block the view of the reference cameras. When 12 of them are in use simultaneously, it can be hard to keep track of all of them. But the mike and boom can be visible in the reference camera(s) as long as it isn’t between them and an actor’s face (or key part of the body).

2. There is no such thing as “perspective” in a captured scene, since it can be rendered from a POV at any distance. Every shot needs to be mic’ed as closely as possible. Distance is easily added in Post, especially now that we have DSP (Digital Signal Processing), but cannot be removed.

When it comes to booming a live-action capture scene, there is good news and bad news. The good news (if any) is dependent on various factors. The good/bad news is:

1. It depends on the particular project as to whether the mike and/ or boom can be in frame. For green/blue screen work, a green or blue cloth sleeve is available for the pole, and similarly colored foam windscreens for the mike. Also, appropriately colored paper tape can be used to cover the shockmount, or acoustically transparent colored cloth can shroud both mike and shockmount. Be sure the cloth is far enough from the mike that it does not rub when moved.

2. For non-screen work, the ordinary booming rules about shadows and reflections apply, except…

Now that HD video is the norm, there is no film “sprocket jitter” to make the matt lines stand out, and there is no “generation loss” from optical film processes. This, plus the much lower cost of video image processing compared to film, has made producers and directors less reluctant to use it. Offending objects can be removed from a shot relatively easily, and this can include mike booms. (Of course, this is no license for sloppy work.)

Another use of CGI solved a problem that has plagued filmmakers from the very beginning: reflections of lights, cameras and crew in shiny surfaces. Bubble faceplates on spacesuits were a particular problem. (We had to build a quarter-million-watt artificial sun for single-source lighting on the TV miniseries From the Earth to the Moon, in major part because of the astronauts’ mirrored visors.) For Avatar, most of the exopack masks were only open frames, with red fiduciary (computer-tracking) dots around the edge. CGI faceplates were added in Post, complete with the appropriate reflections of trees, sky, other characters, etc. Many of the windows in vehicles were CGI’d in the same manner. This provided a rare benefit to the sound department: the ability to shoot through a “closed” window or a facemask with a boom mike.

When it comes to setting levels and mixing the production (realtime) scratch mix for a capture scene, the usual live-action esthetic and dramatic considerations do not apply:

1. As just mentioned, there is no “visual perspective” as such for a given take, because it can be rendered from any POV. Wireless mikes sound “close,” and you will try to boom mike as closely as possible, too. With every channel iso’d, there is the freedom in Post to mix them in any proportion, but remember that your work is normally judged in dailies. (Although nowadays, that usually means the immediate playback of the take.)

2. For your production mix, however, you will have to make certain choices without knowing what perspective image it will be mated to. EXCEPTION: When a virtual camera is in use, if you can see or be told, what the composition is, by all means use that perspective, because it will most likely be seen (and heard) that way first, as in dailies.

3. The biggest problem (IMHO) concerns overlapping dialog when the characters are separated in the volume by a large distance. If you don’t have the virtual camera info mentioned above, try to imagine what the composition of the rendered shot(s) will be. Is a main character speaking with a secondary one? Then the main character will probably get the most screen time. Is one character reacting more emotionally than the other? Then they will probably get the close-up.

4. After you have determined (made your best guess) which character will be featured, mix them just noticeably hotter than the other one. The separation in levels should be just large enough that the lower level dialog doesn’t muddy the higher level dialog, but no more. Since both actors are close-mic’d, if they happen to feature the secondary one, the overlap will still work. EXCEPTION: If you know the purpose of the overlap, assign the higher level to the appropriate character’s dialog. This will call attention to the overlapping character, but that’s the reason for the overlap in the first place.

In addition to the usual noise problems on a live-action stage, the volume has some unique ones:

1. The area lighting is often supplied by ordinary fluorescent lamps, and many of them have older magnetic ballasts that emit 120 Hz hums and buzzes. Modern electronic (high-frequency) ballasts are usually quiet enough, and are available as direct replacements for the older magnetic ones.

2. There are usually a great number of computers on the stage, and their cooling fans are a significant source of noise. If the facility has been in existence for some time, this may already have been dealt with. If not, plywood baffles, covered with sound-absorbing material on the side that faces the computers, should quiet them sufficiently.

3. Some volumes’ floors are carpeted to eliminate footstep noise, but unfortunately, some are not. An adequate stock of foot foam should be on hand for this eventuality. Be sure to remove any dust or other loose material from the shoe soles before attaching the foam. I have found that repeatedly wiping the soles with the sticky side of gaffer tape, using a new length of tape each pass, does an outstanding job of preparing them. An expedient method when time is limited is to slip heavy wool socks over the shoes. You may have to cut holes in the socks for the foot markers. Unfortunately, the socks can slip around, and also have less traction on the floor than rubber soles. I keep a dozen 2’ x 5’ carpet rolls on my follow cart, and these can be laid down along the path taken by the actor(s) during the rehearsal. (Of course, they never deviate during the take.) Normally, the strips are taped in place, but when time is short, they can be attached with staple guns (unless the floor is concrete). IMPORTANT: Roll up the carpets with their upper surface out—this makes the strip curl downward when it is laid out, so the ends hug the floor and do not curve up to present a tripping hazard.

4. The floor-contour modules are another source of footstep sounds. Some of them are carpeted, but can still produce dull, hollow thumps from the impacts of running or jumping (which video games seem to have in abundance). The un-carpeted platforms are particularly loud. If at all possible, arrange to have them carpeted before shooting begins. Both types of modules benefit from having the underside of the top surface sprayed with sound-deadening material, such as automotive underbody coating. Using thicker (and unfortunately, heaver) plywood for the upper surface makes a big difference, too. During shooting, carpet strips can be utilized on the modules in the same manner as on the floor.

5. Front-projection video projectors have cooling fans that can be problematical. Ask if their use is absolutely necessary. Check in their menus to see if they have a “lownoise/ low-speed” option.

6. Props (and some set dressing) are usually not the real objects they represent. Rifles are plastic or wood pieces shaped like the guns they represent, or toys or air rifles.

A solid oak dining table may in fact be only a row of folding card tables of the same height and overall size. Be alert to any sounds they produce—an object set down on the card table (not on a line) may make an effect at the appropriate level, but the sound will not be appropriate to the nature of the CGI-heavy wood table. There are two schools of thought in dealing with this: 1, eliminate as much noise as possible by padding the table so the effects cutter will have a clean room tone to lay the correct effect into; and 2, leave the production effect in, as a guide to synchronization when laying in the new effect. I suggest discussing the matter with Post ahead of time, but my personal preference is number 2, because the presence of the padding will affect the manner (body motion) in which the actor sets down the object. Of course, if the inappropriate sound is on a line, either pad the table or object, or record some clean wild lines.

Capture Procedure

When a capture scene begins, the actors will start by spreading out and taking a “T-pose” near the edge of the volume. If you haven’t been given a specific “Roll sound,” this is the time to go into Record. An added precaution, be sure to set your recorder’s pre-roll to the maximum time. T-pose is a standing position with the legs slightly spread and the arms extended horizontally, which allows the capture techs to see that the system has properly recognized all the markers. The techs give the okay, the actors will take their proper positions in the set and then the director will call “Action.”

At the end of the shot, after the director calls “Cut,” the actors will again move out and take the T-pose. When the capture techs are satisfied, they will announce that the capture system is stopped, and then you can stop recording.

The primary difference between a capture shoot and any other type is that you won’t have much free time once the process starts. Unlike live-action, there is no setup time for camera and lighting. And there are no setups for alternate camera angles, or retakes for bad camera moves, flyaway hair, or any of the multitude of other delays sound is used to. Once the scene has been performed to the director’s satisfaction, the action will move to the next one, which again requires no re-lighting, new camera setups, wardrobe changes, or makeup and hair. If any set or prop changes are necessary, they can be accomplished in a few minutes. Plan your bathroom breaks accordingly.

This high-density work can generate many GB of audio, so be sure to have a large amount of pre-formatted media on hand. Depending on your particular recorder, you may have your on-set archive on an internal or external hard drive, or a CF or SD card. Most productions want audio turned in on a flash memory card. SD cards are much cheaper than CF cards (and all those tiny fragile pins in the CF card socket scare me). If you are using a Deva with only CF card slots, consider an external SD dock into the Deva’s FireWire port. Depending on the particular job, you may or may not be required to turn in the flash card(s) during the day or at wrap. The audio may be imported immediately and the card(s) returned to you, or they may be kept overnight or longer. Use only ‘name-brand” cards, as the wear-leveling algorithms on the cheap ones can cause premature failure, with the possible loss of all your data.

The director may have several options to monitor the scene during capture:

1. The live video from the reference cameras.

2. A crudely rendered live CGI frame, with a fixed POV chosen in advance.

3. Using a “virtual camera,” pioneered by Cameron on Avatar. This is a small, handheld flat-panel monitor equipped with reflective markers. The capture system knows its location and the direction it is pointed, and renders a live CGI frame from that POV and “lens size.” The director can treat it as a handheld camera, pointing it as though it was a real camera in the virtual world. Incidentally, the camera does not have to actually be pointed at the actors—the GCI world seen by the virtual camera can be rotated so that the camera can be aimed at an empty part of the stage to avoid distractions. Another feature of the virtual camera is a “proportionality control.” Set to 1:1, the camera acts like a handheld camera. At 10:1, raising the camera two feet creates a 20-foot crane shot. With a 100:1 ratio, it is possible to make aerial “flyover” shots, because the entire extent of the virtual world is available in the computer’s database.

When a virtual camera is in use on a multi-day shoot, the capture days may not be contiguous. After a certain amount of capture has been done, the main crew and cast may be put on hiatus while the director wanders around the empty capture stage with the scene data being played back repeatedly. The crudely rendered video will appear in the handheld monitor, from the POV of its current position. The director can then “shoot” coverage of the scene: master, close-ups, over-the-shoulders, stacked-profile tracking shots, etc. This procedure ensures that all the angles “work.” If not, the director has two options: re-capture the scene on another day; or fix the problem in the computer by dragging characters into the desired position and/or digitally rearranging the props, set or background.

If this is the case, you have two choices: wrap your gear at the end of each capture session, and load in and set up at the beginning of the next one; or leave your gear in place during your off day(s). The trade-off is between the extra work (and payroll time) of wrapping and setting up, and the danger of the theft of the gear, or your getting a last-minute call for another job on the idle day(s). If you elect to leave your equipment, see if you can get a “stand-by” rental payment. Even if this is only a token amount, it establishes a precedent, and you may be able to raise the rate on the next job.

Conclusion

In addition to on-the-job training, if you know another mixer who will let you visit a capture set, take advantage of the opportunity as soon as possible. I probably would have not survived the first day of my first capture job (Avatar) if it were not for Art Rochester, who kindly let me shadow him before he left the show. I also got many hours of coaching from William Kaplan, who mixed the show before Art, and let me use his regular Boom Op, Tommy Giordano, to help with the load-in and setup of my gear. Bill also sent his son Jessie to work with me on the set. If at all possible, hire a boom op who has capture experience. (Note to boom ops: list your capture experience in your 695 directory listing.)

I wish you an absence of bad luck, which is more important than good luck in this business.

Text and pictures © 2014 by James Tanenbaum, all rights reserved.
Avatar set photo ©2009 Twentieth Century Fox. All rights reserved.

Working With Jim Webb

by Andy Rovins, CAS

One day in 1981, while standing in line at a bank, I struck up a conversation with an older gentleman who said he was a retired Prop Master. When I replied that I was a Boom Operator, he said that his son, Chris McLaughlin, was a Boom Operator. “Really, Chris McLaughlin is revered among boom operators. He works with Jim Webb and gets equal billing with Jim as the sound team.” The next day, I got a call from Chris. “Who are you, and why are you saying nice things about me to my pop?” We chatted a bit about mikes and booms and stuff. “What do you like,” he asked? “A Schoeps is my favorite.” “We use an 815 on everything. We did All the Presidents’ Men with one 815 underneath and won an Oscar.” You had to be spot-on with an 815 or it would sound funky; if you could handle one all the time you were a real Boom Operator.

A few days later, Chris asked me if I wanted to work on pickups for One From the Heart. Their regular third, Jim Steube, was on vacation. I jumped at the opportunity. I got to work with this famous team, and I’d heard about this film, with Francis Coppola directing from the Silverfish (a custom airstream trailer stuffed with monitors and video gear), Vittorio Storaro’s lighting and Dean Tavoularis’ forced perspective Las Vegas sets. I also got to meet Jim, whom I’d heard so much about. Jim was congenial and different from most Mixers I knew. He didn’t want to be near the set, but was content to cable in and give his Boom Operators autonomy. We did scenes with Teri Garr and Raul Julia, and one with Nastassja Kinski sitting in a big martini glass singing “Little Boy Blue.” Nastassja was a real flirt. I think every guy on the set had a crush on her.

At one point, Francis came on set and tried to talk Joanie Blum, the Script Supervisor, into directing the scene, but she wanted no part of it. I offered to do it, but Francis declined. “Who are you?’ “I’m your new Sound Utilityman.” “Oh, yeah, I used to do that job.” He decided to direct it himself.

The last day, Chris felt ill so Jim told me I could boom. It was only a little announcement from Francis—they wanted to show the film to exhibitors, but the opticals weren’t done so it would have some slugs that he wanted to explain. Francis was late that day and we sat around. Finally, someone came up with an idea. Ron Garcia, DP for the pickups, looked kind of like Francis with his beard. So we sat Ron in a director’s chair holding a film can, while a prop guy dropped money into it from above, and Ron looked at the camera and said, “We will show no film before its time,” a goof on an Orson Welles wine commercial running at the time. I think Ron still has a print of it.

Jim brought me on some more projects after that. He would drive up in his white van, and we would pull out the Fisher boom—Jim was the only guy I knew who owned his own. He had his anodized black and changed out the platform wrench to a socket for faster action. When possible, Jim would mix from the van and we would run cable out. A cool thing about having our own Fisher was that we didn’t have to bargain for one; it was there if we needed it.

Jim got some interesting gigs in those days. He brought me on Get High on Yourself, an anti-drug special produced by Robert Evans as part of a plea bargain negotiated after an arrest for possession. It was a huge production with many bands and stars, including Ted Nugent, The Osmonds, Leif Garrett, Brooke Shields, Carol Burnett and Paul Newman. There were concerts and audience Q&As with lots of kids asking the celebrities questions. There was also a big production number with many stars and kids all singing the theme song in a style that would be mirrored by “We Are the World” a few years later. Jeff Fecteau and Chris Seidenglanz were the A2s and co-booms. There were many producers on that show; the event was kind of thrown together and disorganized but I think Jim thrived on being able to hold together challenges like that.

Jim liked my boom work so he asked me to come along for another unique show—recording a concert by pianist Mona Golabek in a women’s prison in Chino, California. It was an odd scene. The prison had been built as a luxury resort in the ’20s, so it was all marble and stone floors with high-vaulted ceilings.

The acoustics were somewhat echoey, so we put up furny pads when we could, mic’d the pianos with some Shure dynamics and set up an SM58 for Mona. We rolled the Fisher out of Jim’s white van for me (with the 815) to mike questions and reactions from the prisoners.

It was somewhat incongruous: we had a classical pianist in a stately, beautiful building playing Chopin and Liszt for an audience of very rough-looking women in prison fatigues, but they were an appreciative group and seemed to regard the experience as a treat. I think Jim still has a recording of that show.

Jim is not just a great Sound Mixer. He’s also one of the best raconteurs I’ve ever met. Just sit down with him if you get a chance. He tells me that one of his favorite stories comes from Get High on Yourself when I was working that long 815 on the Fisher boom to get unscripted audience responses. To be part of Jim’s stories is a real honor!

Blood, Guts, Gore … and Chiggers
Behind the Boom of THE WALKING DEAD

With Robert ‘Max’ Maxfield

Photos by Gene Page, courtesy of AMC TV, except where otherwise noted

Did you know that chiggers don’t really burrow under your skin?! Nope, actually they grab onto a hair follicle, and inject a digestive enzyme into your skin cells. The enzyme ruptures your cells so that they can drink the resulting fluid containing a protein they need to grow. Your skin hardens around the area, forming a nice big red volcano-like sore. That enzyme-filled volcano keeps you itching for a good three to four days. And you’re almost never bitten by just one!

I came by this intimate knowledge of chiggers in the early fall of 2011 when I was invited to go down to Atlanta for three weeks to boom a show I’d never heard of called The Walking Dead. It was in the middle of Season Two, and I was told that another guy would come in after me to finish the last five weeks of the schedule. It’s not a good sign when you take over in the middle of a season and it’s even less promising when they’ve already scheduled another person to come in after you. I couldn’t shake the thought that I was just another piece of raw meat for zombie lunch. And the prospect of working nights on a project with blood, guts and gore (I’ve never really taken to B-movie horror) was not attractive. I had memories of working with slimy creatures in the early ’90s series Freddy’s Nightmares and wasn’t eager to revisit the experience. So, after a short deliberation, I told the Sound Mixer, “Thank you for inviting me, but I’m going to have to pass.”

Well, seven days went by and I still hadn’t booked anything for the following week, so I thought, “Heck, three weeks with a bunch of rotting corpses in sunny Georgia couldn’t be too disgusting, and it’s not like I have to eat lunch with them.” Like any Boy Scout film worker during lean times, I called the Sound Mixer back and asked, “Still looking for a good Boom Operator?” He said, “Yes, come on down.” I shook off the disquiet that they were only three days from needing someone and hadn’t yet filled the position. “Oh well, they’re paying me housing and per diem, plus a box rental and rental car … I’m outta here!”

Three days later, I was driving my rental car down a pitch-black country road at six o’clock in the morning, just outside the tiny rural town of Senoia, Georgia. The stages are situated in an old chemical plant on a dead-end road, one hour south of Atlanta in a thickly forested area that only chiggers could love. It’s shrouded by trees, stagnant ponds, railroad tracks and all of the little creatures that make for a great horror flick. I fought off the feeling of this being my worst nightmare.

I arrived to some good news. They told me that I was the ninth Boom Operator on the show since its inception a year prior. “You mean that in only 13 filmed episodes, you have been through nine Boom Operators!” “Yep,” the Sound Mixer said. This was not sitting well with me. By the end of that same Season Two, they would reach the milestone of 11 Boom Operators! To this day, they call me “Number 9, Number 9, Number 9…” There have also been several Mixers over the seasons, starting with my friend and supporter, Bartek Swiatek, CAS, a Local 695 colleague who left Georgia to move to California, and coming to the present day with Michael Clark, CAS.

Oh, and it turns out, I did have to eat with those zombie things. Nothing like lunch with a gooey corpse sitting across the table from me, spoonfeeding itself through displaced dentures into its black-and-blue prosthetic face—yummy. But, it’s those little tufts of half-dead hair that really creep me out.

The day before my arrival, they had filmed the Season Two farm scene where Rick, Shane and the others, slaughtered the zombies that Herschel’s family had secretly kept in the barn. Our first setup had 12 cast members, spread 12 feet apart outside the barn, shuddering over the deaths of their kinfolk-turned-zombies. There were three cameras (a daily ritual) on three separate 30-foot lengths of dolly track that formed a large U around the actors. All of the cameras had long lenses. I was the solo Boom Operator, as the six remaining tracks on the Sound Devices 788t were allocated to the scripted speakers and the mix track. It was my first day with this Mixer, so I hoisted the boom, danced about the dollies and stretched with determination to prove that I could get some dialog; I wanted to stand out amongst the eight previous Boom Operators. My results seemed feeble, as I was only able to get a couple of lines. The Camera Operators and Dolly Grips were giving me funny looks like “What’s with the new guy? What number is he?” “Not the last,” said someone, “he’s walker bait … won’t last a week!” They all chuckled. What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Far in the back of the acting pack was Emily Kinney (playing Beth), who sobbed uncontrollably throughout the scene. She was not wired but she dominated each take with her emotional outcries. I mentioned that it would be best to pull a wire off someone that I could get on the boom and put that wire on her but there was no enthusiasm for taking the time to make the transition. As the third take commenced, a loud jet entered the shooting zone. I immediately called for a hold, but the 1st AD cut me off. “We don’t hold for planes … roll sound!” The remaining three weeks of my stay were grueling, sweaty and filled with my first set of fluid-sucking chiggers.

Later, I learned that, due to time constraints, upper management restricted freedom to make corrections. The production schedule was so relentless that, at one time, they had adopted a policy of using radio microphones exclusively. They didn’t ever want to see a boom over any actor and were determined to fix any sound problems in Post. The Sound Mixer went on to tell me stories about how they would wait for “Roll Sound,” get the sticks and then, at the last second, slip the boom in for some of the close-ups.

The history of booming this show aside, there was a lot of pressure on me to boom some scenes because of challenges with wind, wardrobe, props and the active nature of the staging. One night, I had to boom a scene that took place in a tent. Both of the characters, Rick Grimes (Andy Lincoln) and Lori Grimes (Sarah Wayne Callies), entered the tent while talking and then disrobed and continued with their dialog. It was impossible to wire them, so I had to figure out a way to boom them in the tent. Do you have any idea how much space is available in a tent after two cameras, two operators and two assistants have been employed? Add in four apple boxes and two 4-foot sliders, and it’s really cramped. The only thing going for me was that they had to raise the side flap to position the cameras. There was barely enough room for me to insert a 12-foot boom pole with a Schoeps MK41 capsule on a GVC. I had to start the shot crouched down, yet standing, so as to reach the tent’s entrance. Fortunately, I was able to aim the microphone straight through the fabric to bring them into the tent talking. I was just millimeters from the cloth ceiling, so I had to be extremely careful not to whisk the microphone on the cloth, while keeping it equidistant to their mouths. After they entered and began taking off their clothes, I had to back up and get down on both knees. At one point, Rick delivered a couple lines looking away from Lori. I couldn’t possibly get them both, so I put a plant microphone on a nearby table, and boomed Lori until Rick turned back. The plant did its job. It was four o’clock in the morning, the last scene of the night, and I was exhausted. It was truly my best booming feat during the entire three weeks. But, as the Camera Operator, Michael Satrazemis, said that first week, “It’s a tough show, but that’s what makes it great.”

Obstacles and frustrations aside, I figured I better work hard, have patience and keep a good attitude. The actors were fabulous and supported my efforts from the beginning. In fact, I remember the Sound Mixer telling me, when he was trying to entice me to do the show, that the actors were very warm and accommodating and kept him motivated to do good work. People like Andy Lincoln (as Rick Grimes), Norman Reedus (as Daryl), Scott Wilson (as Hershel), IronE Singleton (as T-Dog), Jeffrey DeMunn (as Dale), Lauren Cohan (as Maggie) and Steven Yeun (as Glenn) would come up to me and give me a good-morning hug. I hardly knew these folks, and they welcomed me like family. Jeffrey DeMunn said it first, and he said it the most, “WE are the Walking Dead” WE, the cast, crew and abovethe- line executives, ARE THE WALKING DEAD! It’s still true of the cast to this day. The Georgia heat, the remote locations, the grueling production schedule, the absence of zombie hygiene and chiggers, make this a very difficult show, but the spirit the actors bring to the project keeps the crew working together as a team.

Yet I still wasn’t convinced that I wanted to be a part of it when I was asked to join Season Three full time. I had doubts, so many, in fact, that I said, “NO.” I continued to say, “NO” for about four weeks. The thing that really turned me around was the fact that the Sound Mixer went to the wall to get me a rate I couldn’t refuse. Yep, it came down to money. But now, after two full seasons, I look back, and I look forward, and I confess, it isn’t the money that makes working on The Walking Dead worth it, it’s the family spirit. It’s the excitement of being part of one of the most amazing TV shows ever.

The setting of this TV series is unique in character, in that it takes place in a post-apocalyptic world. There is no electricity or running water, no trains, no planes, only a few cars and so far, no boat. We do have one obnoxious motorcycle, and usually we can get Norman (as Daryl) to turn it off before he speaks, but sometimes this is logistically impossible. A post-apocalyptic world is a quiet world. But, we shoot in rural Georgia. We have highways, lots of trains, farm implements, bustling towns and our studios are right in the approaching pathway of Atlanta Hartsfield International Airport. It’s not easy recording dead quiet takes in our modern world.

Locations are often deep in the woods, on rarely traveled dirt roads, abandoned railroad tracks and around brush-shrouded ponds. This means that we have to load our equipment onto flatbed trailers and get pulled by four-wheel-drive vehicles to our locations. When the going gets rough, we all pitch in to get it down. And when a deluge of rain comes in, we all take the hit on another sloppy mud fest to get ourselves out of the swamp bog.

Many of these locations lay along the unused rail tracks that serviced the now-abandoned enterprises in this part of rural Georgia. The Construction Department built several wooden carts to help move gear along the tracks. They’re very helpful when they work but they often break down and we’re forced to remove our carts and roll or drag them along the gravel rail-beds adjacent to the tracks. Zombie apocalypses don’t generally occur right next to the Walmart so we often need to haul the gear a considerable distance. That the carts are wobbly and tend to squeak doesn’t really bother us except when they are pressed into service as camera dollies. Then the noise of the cart layered with the sound of grips pushing it on the gravel rail-bed does make recording a clean track difficult.

Actors on The Walking Dead roll around, run, shout, yell, fight, whisper, snap their heads from one side to side, kneel, bend over and swing lots of props (guns, knives, katanas, crossbows, backpacks, hammers, crow bars, bottles, etc.), all in the same setup. And, they do it amongst trees, vines, creeks, tall grass, railroad tracks, rubble, fences, furniture and the like. This constant activity makes booming the show a unique experience; my legwork has never been more tested. The dizzying array of props needed to combat zombies forces us to be creative in radio microphone placement. We’ve rigged collars, hats, hair, the props themselves and everywhere else imaginable.

Anyone who has viewed the show is well aware of how location-driven the sets are. We work in the forest a lot. We work on gravel roads a lot. We work in fields a lot. We work with the elements a lot. But we also work a lot indoors. The difference is, 99.9% of our locations, wherever they may be, are filthy. They’re dusted, shredded, destroyed, trashed, wetted, burned and pillaged. Everything is dirty on The Walking Dead. The only good thing, as far as sound goes, is that the mills and plants that serve as our sets are typically vacant and out of business. Turning off noisy appliances is not so much an issue with us. But, the sheer volume of filth complicates placing microphones on the actors. In fact, the costumers go to great lengths to pat them down with blood, dust, dirt and oil. Blood and oil are the real test. And this show really uses blood—lots of blood—gallons of blood. In fact, there’s something like 10 types of blood: live blood, dead blood, real dead blood, drippy blood, gooey blood, thick blood, blue blood, black blood, it’s bloody unbelievable! As much as we all love Joe’s clear butyl, it doesn’t work on bloody and oily clothes. Perspiration doesn’t make such a good friend either. We end up having to sew most of the lavaliers into their clothes, especially during the warm months. This takes extra time. Fortunately, over the seasons we have conditioned the production staff to bring the actors to us extra early. Unfortunately, they have to be un-sewn whenever there is a technical issue with the lavalier, or when there is a wardrobe change. To avoid the need for re-sewing, we do tests, placing the microphone in the proposed position and having the actor go through anticipated body motions. Sometimes we’ll wire additional wardrobe in advance. We’ve wired as many as three shirts at one time. On this show pre-planning is imperative, because we almost never do rehearsals, and time is so precious. Then, at wrap, the actors must come to us after a grueling day of rolling and fighting their way through the zombie apocalypse to have their microphones extracted from their costumes.

The sun provides its own little challenge. Ordinarily, “fly swatters” (20 x 20 diffusion frames rigged onto an overhead condor) would soften the shadows on exterior shots but they aren’t used on The Walking Dead. The difficulty of getting that kind of gear a quarter mile down rail tracks to a shooting location precludes their use. Sometimes this forces us to use two booms to capture shadow-free dialog from a single player.

Much of The Walking Dead is shot in the summer. Georgia is sweltering hot with singing cicadas, croaking frogs and stinging sunburns on the back of your neck. Every time I wring out my shirt, I have occasion to remember the line from David Lynch’s Wild at Heart, with Laura Dern and Nicolas Cage, “You’re as hot as Georgia asphalt.” Summer is when the chiggers, ticks, mosquitos and spiders are most plentiful. Sometimes, before we even arrive on set, we drench our bare legs, arms, necks and midsections with a not-so-healthy dose of DEET. It stings a bit at first but really does the job. We don’t like it, but it beats scratching for days on end until your flesh comes off. Ahhh, the glamour of Hollywood.

The Directors and Directors of Photography make full use, as they should, of all the visual tools at their disposal. They use Steadicams, Go Pros, DSLRs, below-ground positions, hidden cameras, long custom- made sliders to go among vines and trees, high-angle crane shots and every device imaginable to achieve an expressive image. Typically, several of these elements will be combined for multiple views of the action. This adds to the challenge of getting good dialog tracks.

Episode 405, “Internment,” is illustrative. The Director, David Boyd, one of the former DPs on the show, believes in guerrilla-style filmmaking, using multiple cameras in obscure positions. The episode took place mostly in the prison cells, where Scott Wilson (Hershel) would tend to the near-death patients. These cells are really only about 10 feet by 10 feet with a bunk bed on one side. Director Boyd staged the scene with three actors, three cameras and two operators. Radios couldn’t be used because the actors had blood on their chests and air masks on their faces so my assignment was to squeeze into the cell with everyone else and get the dialog. My regular position in these scenes was either standing on the upper bunk or squeezed between an operator and the wall, only inches from the talent.

These same cells presented one of our biggest acoustic challenges. Although they were prison cells, and ought to sound like prison cells, they were really made of wood. We used furniture pads on the walls, and acoustic tiles in the corners when they wouldn’t be seen, but many times we couldn’t control things. Fortunately, the reverberant effects that Post Production added fixed the problem, and made for some very interesting character effects.

Despite these extraordinary elements, the soundtracks have been getting better and better. This is due to a solid proactive plan, teamwork, ample first-rate equipment and excellent execution. Production Sound Mixer Michael P. Clark, CAS leads us through the process by being very involved. Days in advance he will be analyzing scripts, talking with decision makers, preparing equipment and contemplating solutions. And his mixing skills are sharp, clean and logical. Dennis Sanborn, the Utility person, is assertively proactive in preparing equipment, securing locations and most importantly, wiring all of the actors. He is both skillful and resourceful. As arduous as recording sound is on The Walking Dead, these guys step up to the challenge of working on one of the most difficult shows in television with grace and determination.

I’ve never before been part of something so deep, difficult and complex as the process of making this show. More than any project I have ever worked, the shared sentiment that “We Are the Walking Dead” makes this one of the most remarkable career experiences that I have ever had. It has truly changed my life … and my career.

Recording Captain Phillips and Gravity

by Chris Munro, CAS

It sounds somewhat ungrateful to complain about being nominated for two films in the same year. Though I was honored to receive both BAFTA and Academy Awards for Gravity, a part of me was disappointed that Captain Phillips has not been equally recognized.

These are two very different films with different challenges for production sound. Gravity was completely different from anything I had done before, whereas Captain Phillips is a prime example of how drawing on previous experience enables us to be better at what we do. Having worked with Paul Greengrass on United 93, the film about the terrorist takeover of a passenger jet on 9/11, I knew that Paul likes to shoot in a documentary style, with no rehearsal and a lot of improvisation, and to cast non-actors in key roles. When I came to work with Paul again, on Captain Phillips, this experience was vital but we now had the added issues of shooting at sea on a container ship, a lifeboat and in the Somali skiffs.

Having worked on five James Bond films, I was no stranger to action sequences involving water, especially the boat-chase sequences on Quantum of Solace filmed in Panama. On Captain Phillips, I needed waterproof lavalier microphones that also sounded good out of the water so I chose to use Da-Cappo DA04s (now Que Audio performance series in the USA). These are very popular in theater because of their very small size but have great waterproof qualities due to the inlet size being smaller than a droplet of water. I mounted them upside down so that no water settled on the microphone. I had to develop a system for getting longer range reception for recording in the high-powered pirate skiffs. I used Audio 2040 mini-tx radios in aquapacs on the pirates. The receivers were built into secret compartments in the skiffs where audio was recorded and re-transmitted to the bigger boat that we were all on. We were regularly recording up to 16 tracks and feeding a mix to Video Assist, the Director and Camera Operators. I recently wrapped on Heart of the Sea, with Ron Howard where again I was able to use what I had learnt. Months before I started on the film I said to the boat builders, “I need you to build these secret compartments…”

On Captain Phillips, we were based in Malta on a container ship, which was our studio for much of the film. Each department had a base in one or more of the containers to store equipment and carry out any maintenance. We still needed to be highly portable as we would shoot inside the ship, perhaps in the engine room or cabins while heading out to sea and returning to port, and shoot on decks and the bridge when at sea. There were a lot of stairs, and some passageways were very narrow. Generally, we were shooting multi-camera without rehearsals and all with improvised dialog, sometimes with the scene playing out between several groups in different parts of the ship.

We were limited in the number of crew on the ship, but I was very fortunate to have a great crew with my usual UK Boom Operator, Steve Finn, and tech support from Jim McBride. Tim Fraser recorded 2nd Unit in Malta and in Morocco, and Pud Cussack looked after Boston and Virginia.

Oliver Tarney was Supervising Sound Editor. I had also worked with him on United 93 and the two Sherlock Holmes films with Guy Ritchie. One of the best things we were able to do was to get Oliver to spend a weekend with us on the ship recording sound FX. Not only did he get the FX that he needed, but he also got to experience the ship and to understand how it should sound at sea and its geography. He also got to experience being in the lifeboat—known by us as the vomit vessel—certainly not a pleasure craft!

Chris Burdon and Mark Taylor were Re-recording Mixers; I’ve worked with both on previous films.

Gravity was a completely different experience from anything I had previously worked on. When I first got the call and was told that there were only two actors in the film and that there is no sound in space, it sounded like the perfect job! Then when I met Alfonso Cuarón and he started to talk about his ideas for the film, I was hooked and immediately knew that this was going to be something special. Every few years there is a film that breaks the technological boundaries— this year it was Gravity. The first issue was that both the cameras and the actors could be on robotic arms. I had recently shot a small sequence with these and knew that, although the arms could move with not too much noise, the associated power supplies and controllers were very noisy. So the first job was to negotiate that these could be extended and built into blimps far away from the action.

We had a very comprehensive previz of the film that we worked to. The previz helped us keep the VFX elements, still being designed, in sync with lighting, camera moves and sound. I had originally thought that we might be able to lock everything to the same timecode but, for a number of reasons, timecode wasn’t always practical as the controller. Touch Designer was used to control the robots and as a visual platform, sending midi triggers for us to sync to.

Alfonso Cuarón originally had a plan for all of the radio conversations and OS dialog to be live, and we had planned to have different rooms in the studio for those to be performances. However, due to artist availability and other issues, this proved to be impractical so we prerecorded as much as we could. Most of the pre-records were guides that were re-recorded as ADR in Post Production.

Will Towers was our Pro Tools operator. He made loops of the lines that we could play from a keyboard. The idea was that each line was on a separate loop, and there were alternative performances available for the on-screen actor to react and interact with. We would use different performances and adjust the timing for each take to create spontaneity while still having to be sure that certain lines were occurring at the correct frame space allocated in the previz. All film is a collaboration, but on this film I was collaborating more with VFX and the actor than ever before. It was also necessary for us to work very closely with Editorial as the film took shape and timing parameters or dialog constantly changed.

Here was another opportunity to use the Da-Cappo microphones— this time because of the very small size. The microphones used were a mixture of a Da-Cappo capsule that Jim McBride, our tech support engineer, had fashioned to an arm connected to the inner helmet and a latex shield that we made for both visual accuracy and to reject noise from outside the helmet. A second Sanken COS-11 was sewn into the inner helmet as were earpieces for communication. We also had in-ear molds made for some scenes. Each different piece of headgear that Sandra Bullock wears in the film contained practical microphones and earpieces. Even the classic Russian headset that she uses at one point has a built-in transmitter and receiver. We achieved this by borrowing bare 2040 mini-transmitter boards from Audio Ltd. and building them in to headsets.

I used a Cedar DNS1500 during shooting to reduce some of the fan noise from the LED lighting rig and the robotic arms. This was only on one mix track. The iso tracks and another mix track were left unprocessed.

The communication system could rival NASA Mission Control at Houston. In addition to feeding scripted lines that the actors would respond to, we also played atmospheric sounds to Sandra to set the mood for each sequence. Additionally, we played loops of her breathing from the preceding or following shots so that she was able to get the correct breathing rhythm for the shot. Often the shot could start at one pace but finish with breathing at another pace so it was important that we were able to give the correct breathing rhythms throughout the shot.

The Director and the 1st AD needed to be able to communicate with the actors and DP, Camera and other departments without distracting the actors when giving technical cues. The costumes and helmets so completely isolated the actors that they needed an audio feed both to hear each other and also to hear their own voices. Allowing them to hear themselves, but at a reduced level to avoid distraction, required a second layer of IFB feed to each.

Sandra Bullock and George Clooney could often be in rigs for hours on end so, as well as providing a system for them to communicate with each other, I also ran a kind of mini-radio station to play music, YouTube clips or anything to keep them entertained between shots. Sandra Bullock has often said that she had never previously had such interaction with the Sound Department yet we were at opposite sides of a dark stage for weeks on end. It was during one particular break during shooting that I discovered that both Sandra and George knew all the words to “Rapper’s Delight” and could sing a pretty good version!

You could be forgiven for thinking that most of Gravity was created in Post Production but, in fact, much of the shooting was oddly conventional. We had six weeks of pre-shoot, 12 weeks of principle photography and two weeks of additional photography, all with sound. Some of the sequences were shot on actual sets and boomed! For every shot, the DP concentrated on the camera angle and how the actor was lit. The Director concentrated on getting the performance that he needed and the Sound Department concentrated on capturing that performance the same way that we all do on every movie.

Glossary of highlighted words

Previz Essentially an animated storyboard, a previz video shows a rough rendition of all the elements and special effects in a sequence so every department can see how it all fits together.

Touch Designer A software program that facilitates production of animated videos and graphic sequences.

A Tribute to Stefan Kudelski and the Nagra Recorder

by Scott D. Smith, CAS

Long considered the “gold standard” for location sound, the Nagra recorders established a level of technical superiority and reliability that to this day is unmatched by almost any other audio recorder (with the possible exception of the Stellavox recorders, designed by former Nagra engineer Georges Quellet).

With the death of Stefan Kudelski in January of this year, this would seem an appropriate time to look at the history of the Nagra recorders and the man responsible for their huge success.

The Early Years

It should probably come as no surprise that Stefan Kudelski would be destined for great works. Born in Warsaw, Poland on February 27 of 1929 to Tadeusz and Ewa Kudelski, it would become clear to those around him early on that he possessed a level of intelligence and ambition exhibited by few other young men his age. His father had studied architecture at Lvov Polytechnics, but later went into chemical engineering. His mother was an anthropologist. Despite this, his childhood years were far from idyllic. With the imminent Nazi attack on Poland in September of 1939, at the tender age of 10, Kudelski and his family fled Warsaw, first to Romania, then to Hungary, and finally to France. He resumed his high school education at the Collège Florimont in Geneva, and later studied electrical engineering at the Ecole Polytechnique in Lausanne, Switzerland.

Like most successful endeavors, Kudelski did not originally come to the idea to create a portable tape recorder directly. His initial interest was sparked by the terribly inefficient work he saw being done at a machine shop in Geneva, where each piece was turned by hand. Realizing that much of this repeatable work could be done by automation, he set about designing what would have been one of the first CNC machine tools. However, he lacked a method to record and store the data necessary to control the motors, and began to look at magnetic recording as an possible medium for data storage.

After dismantling an old recorder to study its design, Kudelski then set about designing a new recorder from scratch. This recorder would be destined to become the Nagra I. However, as the son of a poor refugee family, he was unable to interest anyone in his CNC machine tool project, so he turned his focus to designing a recorder suitable for broadcast use.

Working from his apartment in Prilly, he managed to scrap together enough money to design a prototype machine. It was an instant success, and he sold his first machine for the sum of 1,000 CHF. (While this only amounted to about $228 USD in 1952, it was still a significant amount of money for the young Kudelski). This initial sale was followed by orders from both Radio Lausanne and Radio Geneva.

In May of 1952, on the heels of interest from some well-respected European reporters, he receives an order for six Nagra 1’s from Radio Luxembourg, which convinced Kudelski that he is on the right path. It was at this time that Kudelski left the Ecole Polytechnique and pursued development of the Nagra full time. (Years later, he would receive an “honoris causa” degree from the Ecole Polytechnique, in recognition of his work in developing the Nagra recorder.)

By the end of 1953, Kudelski had established manufacturing operations at a house in Prilly (west of Lausanne), and employed a staff of 11. Toward the end of 1954, improvements were made to the machine (now called the Nagra II), with printed circuit boards being implemented for the audio electronics. The orders continue to roll in, virtually all from word-of-mouth, and by the end of 1956, the staff numbers 17. Despite this success, Kudelski recognizes that there are still improvements that need to be made, especially in the area of the drive mechanism. He continues development of the machine, but opts for a ground-up redesign, as opposed the incremental changes between the Nagra I and II. The result is the Nagra III, introduced in 1958.

The Nagra III Makes Its Debut

The design of the Nagra III marked a significant departure from the Nagra II. Gone was the spring-wound drive mechanism, replaced by an extremely sophisticated servo-drive DC motor. Also absent was the tube-based amplifier circuitry. In its place was a series of modules, each encased in metal, which contain the individual components of the machine. It also sported a peak reading meter (the “Modulometer”), which set it apart from most of the other recording equipment of the period, which still relied on VU meters. It was designed for rugged operation conditions, and could be powered from 12 standard “D” cell batteries.

Acceptance of the Nagra III was almost instantaneous. 240 machines were built in 1958, and in 1959, the Italian radio network RAI (Radio Audizioni Italiane) ordered 100 machines to cover the Olympic Games in Rome, paying cash in advance. With this rapid expansion, larger premises are acquired in Paudex (near Lausanne). Since the Nagra III relied heavily on custom machined parts, a significant investment in machine tooling, along with skilled machinists to run them, was required to keep pace with orders that were now coming in from networks around the world, including the BBC, ABC, CBS, NBC and others. By 1960, there were more than 50 employees working in Switzerland, and a network of worldwide sales agents was established to support the sale and service of the machines.

Nagra Enters the Film Business

The application of portable sound recording to the film industry was not lost on Kudelski or his agents. In 1959, French director Marcel Camus used a Nagra II to record part of the sound on the feature production of Black Orpheus, shot on location in Brazil. Sensing that this could be a burgeoning market, Kudelski quickly set about designing a version of the Nagra III that could utilize a pilot system for synchronous filming (referred to as the PILOTTON system).

This early version of this system was based on technology initially developed in 1952 by Telefunken and German Television, which consisted of a single center channel pilot track about .5 mm wide. However, it did not have HF bias applied to it, which caused the distortion to be rather high, and bled into the audio track. Realizing that a better solution was needed, Kudelski invented the Neopilot system to replace the PILOTTON system. This design consisted of two narrow tracks, recorded out of phase with each other, which resulted in the signal being cancelled out when reproduced by a full-track head. The addition of HF bias helped reduce distortion, which resulted in minimal interference to the program audio.

A companion synchronizer (the SLP) was developed at about the same time, which provided a method to resolve synchronous recordings on the Nagra III. The design of the DC servo motor system provided for an elegant approach to this task, making the AC motor drive systems of the day look archaic in comparison.

The first of the Nagra III’s equipped with the new Neopilot system were delivered in 1962, resulting in a huge increase in sales. Lead times for the Nagra III now grew to 6–8 months, requiring yet more space for production. Also, there were restrictions placed on business by the Swiss government in regards to how many workers could be hired, which hampered the growth of the company.

In 1964, additional office and production space is rented in Renens, with further premises acquired in 1965 in Malley. By the end of 1965, the decision was made to purchase a factory in Neuchâtel. Finally, a huge tract of land is purchased in Cheseaux-sur-Lausanne, which allowed for the construction of a dedicated factory.

Nagra IV Debuts

By 1967, the sale of the 10,000th Nagra III is celebrated, and in 1969, the company moves into their new facilities in Cheseaux-sur-Lausanne. 1969 also brought the introduction of the Nagra IV recorder, which marked yet another significant improvement in analog recording technology. While the basic transport design mimicked that of the Nagra III, the new machine now used much more reliable silicon transistors and sported two mike inputs. The pilot system was also improved, with the flux level on tape being standardized, regardless of the voltage present at the pilot input. The signal was also filtered which significantly reduced the amount of noise that could bleed through into the audio track. Approximately 2,510 of the new machines were built in 1969.

Not content to leave well enough alone, one year later, Kudelski introduces the Nagra 4.2L recorder. While the 4.2L offered a few improvements over the IV, they were not as significant as the changes seen between the model III and IV. If some industry observers were of the opinion that Kudelski had begun to slow down further development of analog recorders, they were significantly underestimating his ambitions…

If One Channel Is Good, Why Not Two?

Seeing further opportunities in the sale of machines to the broadcast and film markets, in 1971 Kudelski introduces a stereo version of the Nagra 4.2, called the IV-S. Built on the same platform as the 4.2, the machines offered many of the same features, but with two channels of recording in the same footprint as the mono recorder. It also marks the introduction of a new pilot system, called NagraSync FM, which records a FM modulated pilot signal at 13.5 kHz between the two audio tracks. This allows for synchronous recordings, without having to reduce the width of audio tracks, and neatly solves the problem faced by trying to use the older Neopilot system for twochannel recording. It also allows for a limited bandwidth commentary track to be recorded on the same channel, which aids in slating for production situations where a standard “clapper” slate can’t be used, without interfering with the program being recorded. While  stereo recorders were certainly nothing new at this point, all the commercially available machines were bulky AC–operated recorders, giving Kudelski yet another significant entry into the audio recorder market.

1971 also saw the introduction of the unique SNN recorder, a miniature recording using 1/8” wide tape, but in a reel-to-reel configuration as opposed to a cassette. Like its predecessors, it also had the ability to do synchronous recording. Although Kudelski had begun development work on the SNN about a decade earlier, he waited until 1971 to bring it to market. This year would also mark the introduction of equipment destined for applications outside of the traditional film and broadcast arena.

Diversification

Whether driven by the need to invent or recognizing that the market for portable audio recorders would eventually become saturated, it was about this time that Kudelski begins to design and manufacture equipment destined for applications outside of the traditional film broadcast market. While he had designed a recorder for military applications as early as 1967 (called “Crevette”), 1971 would mark a significant departure in the direction of the company.

Fresh off the heels of the Nagra SNN and IV-S recorders, in 1972 Kudelski introduced the Nagra IV-SJ, a two channel instrumentation recorder aimed at scientific and industrial markets. Recognizing the application of the SNN recorder for law enforcement use, Kudelski also introduced the SNS, which was a half-track version of the SNN recorder. Recognizing the need for a more economical ¼” mono recorder for broadcast, in 1974 Kudelski introduced the Nagra IS, originally designed to be a single-speed mono recorder aimed at reporters. With a footprint and weight that was almost half that of the 4-Series recorders, this machine gained rapid acceptance by broadcasters who were looking for a high-quality, economical recorder. Like other Nagra products, variations of the basic recorder were soon to appear, which could provide Neopilot sync for film use, as well as two-speed operation. Two year later, the Nagra E was introduced, which was a further simplification of the IS recorder.

Despite the simplification of these products, both maintained the unique trademark characteristics of Kudelski’s design approach, and would never be mistaken for some mass-market cassette recorder.

Just the FAX Ma’am

While Kudelski was known worldwide for his unique audio design talents, somewhat less well known was his keen interest as both a sailor and aviation buff. In fact, Kudelski established “Air Nagra” in the 1960s, which operated a few Cessna twin-engine planes, used primarily to transport businessmen in the local area. Ever aware of the opportunity to bring a new product to market, in 1977 Kudelski would introduce the “NAGRAFAX,” a unique portable weather facsimile machine aimed at the maritime market. While the military had a similar system in use, the NAGRAFAX was aimed at the commercial and private yacht market, and also saw use in airports, ski resorts and coast guard stations. This product would mark Kudelski’s first departure from recording equipment.

1977 saw the introduction of yet another instrumentation recorder, the Nagra TI, which offered four channels of recording (as opposed to the two channels of the Nagra IV-SJ). It also boasted a unique dualcapstan transport, which minimized disturbances in the tape path, a critical design component when the recorders were employed in military operations. This transport would become the basis for the Nagra TA recorder introduced in 1981. Essentially, a two-channel analog version of the TI recorder, the Nagra TA had the unique ability to chase timecode in forward and reverse, and was specifically aimed at the telecine post market.

While the T Audio recorder boasted the most sophisticated transport design of any of the Nagra analog audio recorders, its complex logic circuits caused many users to shy away from it, except for telecine applications, where it had no rival. Despite this, it is still highly prized among audiophiles for its stellar tape-handling features.

Nagra and Ampex—Strange Bedfellows

The year 1983 would see an unlikely alliance take place, with Nagra and Ampex embarking on a joint venture to introduce a portable 1” Type-C video recorder aimed at the broadcast market. While Sony already had a small 1” video recorder on the market, in predicable fashion, the design efforts of Kudelski raised the bar significantly. Employing a lightweight transport and surface mount devices, the new recorder (dubbed the VPR-5) brought a level of sophistication to the broadcast video recorder market that has never been seen since. While the VPR-5 enjoyed a brief period of popularity (with 100 machines ordered for use at the 1986 Mexico World Cup), the everchanging “format wars” brought a premature end to its use.

Nagra and the Cold War

In yet another somewhat unlikely alliance, soon after the introduction of the VPR-5, Nagra joined with the Honeywell Corporation with the intent to produce a highly specialized recorder designed expressly for military use. However, this venture, which utilized all of Nagra’s R&D operations, never brought a product to market. The project was quickly abandoned after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. The only remnant of the effort is a prototype recorder called the “RTU.” This would be the last project that Stefan Kudelski would be engaged with directly in an engineering capacity.

Despite this misstep, much was learned during the development of the RTU, and in 1992 Nagra introduced the Nagra D, a unique (and proprietary) four-channel digital recorder aimed at the film and music recording market. While the Nagra D gained some adherents, by this time Nagra had unfortunately begun to lose its dominance in film sound to DAT technology, which had begun to make inroads in the market while they were still distracted by the Honeywell venture. (In fact, Nagra never did produce a DAT recorder, moving directly from the Nagra D open-reel digital recorder to the introduction of the ARES-C tapeless digital recorder in 1995.)

Despite losing some market share in traditional film sound recording to new players, Kudelski continues to design and innovate. In 1997, they introduced a line of high-end audiophile components, starting with the PL-P vacuum tube preamplifier, and later incorporating the VPA mono-block tube power amplifier, as well as the MPA 250-watt MOSFET power amplifier.

Even further afield from the original focus of the company was establishment of a division devoted to pay-TV set-top boxes for CANAL+ in 1989. This would turn into a very successful growth operation for the company, and continues to be the main business of the firm.

Nagra Today

In 2002, Nagra introduced the Nagra V hard drive recorder, which was intended as the replacement for the Nagra 4 series analog recorders. However, despite the excellent design, by this time Nagra had some of its footing in the film recording market, overshadowed by the development of DAT recording in the 1980s, and the introduction of the Deva hard drive recorder in 1997. Nonetheless, Nagra still enjoys a significant share of the broadcast journalism market with products such as the ARES series solid-state recorders. Currently operated as a separate entity located in Romanel under the moniker of Audio Technology Switzerland, the firm continues to pursue the film recording market, with the introduction of the Nagra VI hard drive/CF card recorder in 2008. Stefan Kudelski’s son, André Kudelski, continues as CEO and Chairman of the firm.

Despite the changes in technology that have taken place in the intervening years since the introduction of the first Nagra recorder, every sound mixer “of a certain age” I’ve spoken with can still recall the first time they used a Nagra recorder. Likewise, the stylistic contributions made to the film business by Kudelski’s introduction of the Nagra are immeasurable. Films such as D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back would have simply been impossible to do without the aid of lightweight cameras and recorders. The entire French New Wave movement, led by directors such as Francois Truffaut and Jean Luc Godard would arguably not even have existed without the aid of the Nagra recorder and Éclair camera. Thank you Mr. Kudelski for your marvelous invention.

The author wishes to thank Omar Milano for generously sharing the transcript of an interview he conducted with Mr. Kudelski. I am also grateful for the opportunity to have accepted the Wings Award on behalf of Mr. Kudelski at the Polish Film Festival in America in 2008. It was an honor.

© 2013 Scott D. Smith, CAS

Editors: We will present other articles in coming issues to explore the accomplishments of Stefan Kudelski. We invite members to submit stories and anecdotes of their experiences with the man and his recorders. Please send your anecdotes to: nagra@local695.com

Recording Les Misérables – Part 2: Implementing the Plans

by Simon Hayes AMPS
Photos by Laurie Sparham/Universal Pictures

Beginning my assignment on Les Misérables, I had some enviable, even unprecedented, advantages. I had support from the producers at Working Title Pictures and the Director, Tom Hooper, to use every resource available to achieve live recording of all the vocals without any ADR. And I had a crew of seven skilled associates to help achieve this goal, all handpicked from the best technicians I know, all excellent choices for their ability to work together as a team. But it still remained to coordinate with other departments and develop a plan for how this goal might be accomplished.

Meeting Supervising Music Editor Gerard McCann was the next step and a defining moment in the planning stage. Right away we agreed to join forces and merge his four-man department with my seven-man team. Whatever demarcation had existed, we relegated to history and agreed that the teams would share all the tasks of the daily technical grind including rigging, cabling and loading gear.

Music Supervisor Becky Bentham was also part of this first meeting. She is a legend in the UK film industry. Both Gerard and I had worked with her before and had great respect for her abilities.

The three of us discussed the project in detail and worked out a plan of attack. We would have two live pianists on set at all times. Both were part of Cameron Mackintosh’s team and had years of experience with the orchestrations of Les Mis. One pianist would work with the shooting crew and the other would be available at all times for warm-ups and rehearsal. Whichever one was on set that day would work inside a soundproofed plywood box fitted with ventilated Perspex windows so that the mechanical sound of the Korg electric keyboard would be confined. The player would wear headphones with an IFB feed of the vocal mix in one ear. The pianist was also fitted with a radio mike for direct communication with the actors via their “earwig” feed.

The piano would then be routed both to Pro Tools Rig #1 and also to the sound cart for transmission to the actors’ earpieces. Says Gerard McCann: “We had our live piano performing and three Pro Tools systems, operated by Music Editors Rob Houston, John Warhurst and myself. Simon was able to route that live piano feed into earpieces worn by the actors who were then able to sing to live accompaniment. Our Pro Tools systems had three roles: one was dedicated to playback for tracks that required a fixed tempo, like chorus material. For the larger crowd songs, we would record a rehearsal of the ensemble cast on set on the day, and use that as a playback for shooting so that the crowd could follow along singing in the correct tempo, and this live singing recorded by Simon. This was to allow Tom maximum freedom to use as much of this sometimes rough, raw, but very real sounding live chorus as he chose, together with additional layers he might record later in post. A second machine was dedicated to recording the live vocal and piano mixes from Simon, and the third was used to turn around this recorded material almost instantly for playback.”

In working out the production sound methodology, I was keen to stick to a comfortable workflow; this wasn’t the time to be introducing new or untested equipment into the recording chain. I needed to be using equipment that was second nature to me so my attention might be on capturing performance rather than technical issues.

I chose to gang together two Zaxcom Devas, one the Deva 16 and the other a Deva 5. This would give us 26 tracks. I would give the picture editor two mix tracks to use on his Avid timeline: Mix-1 had the vocals and the mono piano; Mix-2 had the vocals only, without the piano. This gave the editor the facility to adjust the blend of voice and accompaniment as needed.

We linked the two recorders together so they would have identical timecode. The Deva 16 had the two mix tracks plus isolated mikes on tracks 3–16. Machine 2’s ten tracks were all assigned to ISOs.

The two linked machines gave us a total of 24 tracks. Since we might need to use radio links for the two mono booms and the stereo boom, we were limited to 20 radio mikes. I already had two fantastic Audio Developments’ mixers with eight channels each. They were modified to supply either analog or digital signal on all the outputs so we were well equipped for 16 tracks. We reasoned that we would not need all available tracks recording the solo performers, only when recording the chorus, so we could connect directly to the Devas and use the front panel faders on those occasions.

I also ran a safety copy of the mix tracks on a 24-bit Nagra V in case of a hard disk failure on the primary machines. That covered us in the event of an equipment failure on a magical “perfect take.”

Running 20 radio microphones without any inter-channel modulation or interference is not easy. Luckily, the UK was in the middle of switching the legal film industry channels from one band to another to make way for digital television, and we took full advantage of the temporary window available to us to use both channel 38 and channel 69. As Gerard worked out the need for five different Comtek feeds—that’s right, five mixes—our special good fortune became more apparent. Our plan called for Mix-1 to be piano and vocals while Mix-2 would be piano only for members of the music department who needed to concentrate on that element. (Quite a few members of the music team kept two receivers on their belts so they could swap between these two mixes as they wished.)

Mix-3 would be vocal only for use by dialog coaches working on accents. The pianists also used this mix while listening to a direct feed from the electric piano in the other ear.

Mix-4 was a special mix that Tom Hooper and Danny Cohen required for themselves and the camera crew. The music was such a large part of the tempo and timing that the camera crew needed to hear the piano and voices to motivate their action. We added a talkback mike—a Shure SM58 with a transmitter—to permit Tom to communicate with camera operators and grips even during the takes.

Mix-5 was the boom operators’ headphone feed, much the same as Mix-4 but with my voice alongside the singing and piano instead of Tom’s. I was, of course, using the onboard talkback mike on my mixer rather than a handheld SM58. This permitted me to talk to the three boom ops throughout takes about lens sizes, shadows, etc. With the 20 radio mikes, five wireless headphone feeds and Tom’s SM58 transmitter, we would be using up to 26 separate frequencies at any time. The responsibility for wrangling all these frequencies fell to 1st Assistant Sound Robin Johnson. Without his skill and experience, I doubt we would have been able to run that many channels.

All of this equipment would live on two sound carts that could be moved around on location. We were becoming technically ready. The next step was to consider the “in-the-ear” monitors for the actors.

We considered several in-ear monitors and made a decision early on to use a traditional induction loop system over the newer radio systems. To fit within the ear, all of these systems are limited to a very small driver that severely limits sound quality. None of the present designs sound very good. Since the units with a built-in radio receiver offered no audio advantage, we couldn’t justify their extra expense particularly considering the number of units we would need. We concentrated our efforts into finding the best induction loop amplifiers and in optimizing the performance of the traditional design.

We confronted two problems with the available earwigs: their small driver size severely limited bandwidth and they were not very loud. An orchestra with a broad mixture of bass and high frequencies would confuse the tiny driver and the output became muddled. We found the problem was less acute using the Korg electric keyboard as its output is simpler and tends toward the midrange. The pianists were a great help with this by adjusting their play accordingly. We also adjusted the EQ settings on the keyboard to suit the earwigs.

The loudness issue was not so easily resolved. These earpieces were originally designed to assist people with hearing difficulties, not to be used as a reference while singing “Who Am I?” or “I Dreamed a Dream” at the top of one’s voice. We contacted the manufacturer and they were very helpful and supplied us with louder units. We also had them come out and make ear casts of each principal actor to supply them with custom-fitted earpieces both left and right. This helped in several ways. The custom earwigs fit deeper in the ear canal and were less visible to camera. Also, a precise fit ensured that the earpiece was optimally positioned, and its tiny outlet hole unblocked, so it could deliver its maximum output. Having both left- and right-fitted earpieces also gave the option for using both if an actor were struggling to hear. This was really a last resort because it would interfere with the actors hearing their own vocals.

We decided early on not to feed vocals into the earwigs both because of the frequency response issues and also because we would forever be discussing individual preferences on the balance between vocals and piano. This would present an impossible situation because we could only provide one earwig mix on the induction loop. But there are always exceptions—on “I Dreamed a Dream” Anne came to me after the first take and asked to wear both earwigs with the piano as loud as possible and a tiny amount of her own vocal added. Since she was singing a solo, and we didn’t need to provide earwigs to others, we were able to accommodate her.

For a couple of monumentally challenging sequences, Tom staged two actors at locations hundreds of yards apart, harmonizing together in real time but shot with separate cameras. In those instances, we fed their vocals to their earwigs so they could keep pace with one another. This created much hilarity on set as Hugh and Russell realized they could communicate with each other and began comparing progress on the setup and which camera crew might be ready first. There were other exceptions to our no-vocals-in-the-earwigs rule but we generally tried to keep the playback practice as simple as possible.

With recorders, track assignments, piano accompaniment and earpiece distribution worked out, Gerard McCann and I had a good plan for recording the vocals. But we needed to meet with Orchestrator and Music Producer Anne Dudley and her team to confirm that our efforts would meet her needs. We met her and Music Supervisor Becky Bentham at the famous Abbey Road Studios in London. They told us that their engineers would like to hear the mikes we intended to use so we set up some test sessions. The Neumann U87 is the standard condenser microphone in a music studio. Its accuracy is unexcelled and its large diaphragm produces a smooth response to rapid transient changes. The music studio also offers acoustic excellence and the ability to place the microphone in optimum position. No location recording plan we might devise would ever be able to equal that performance. But the live recording offers the advantage of immediacy and an emotional link to the acting so the operative question was whether the fidelity of our system would meet listening expectations.

I chose the Schoeps Super CMITs for our boom operators. These new microphones use DSP noise-canceling technology to reject off-axis background sound. This capability is a great advantage but demands a high level of skill from the boom operator. When the Schoeps were used in testing it became clear that, if they were in an optimum position, the kind possible while shooting a close-up, they could compete on a level playing field with the music studio mikes.

We also tested the DPA lavaliers and Lectrosonics radio mikes. In my opinion, the DPA matches the Schoeps Super CMIT more closely than any lavalier I’ve heard. During the demo at Abbey Road, the engineers, despite initial skepticism, were suitably impressed. They felt they were getting approximately 60 percent of the quality of a Neumann U87 when I believe they were expecting much less. When you consider that the studio mike is placed on a stand in the best possible position while the DPA is rigged on the actor’s chest, that is an excellent result.

Paco Delgado, the Costume Designer, was extremely helpful and collaborative in this process. To hide the lavalier mikes, he and his team supplied us with the necessary cuts of fabric from each costume and also allowed us to make the holes needed to hide cables. He encouraged us to take the lavalier rigging to a level that enabled us to record absolutely clean singing with no clothing rustle. As we started shooting, it became clear that the process of mic’ing the cast was far more time-consuming than on a “normal” film not just because of the need to match fabrics but also because there were so many radio mikes used.

It’s always my aim to deliver as natural a dynamic range as possible so I was in full agreement with the engineers’ request that we not use any compression or limiters in the recording chain. To make the full 24-bit dynamic range available, this meant not only refraining from using or tripping limiters in the equipment but also not riding gain during the take. We used the Lectrosonics transmitters at a very low-gain setting to ensure that limiters would never be engaged. Historically, the higher gain setting needed with radio mikes to stay above artifacts meant that limiters were needed to prevent overloads with louder signals. The ability of the current generation of Lectrosonics’ gear to capture clean signal at lower settings, even with whispered delivery, was impressive and a key reason we were able to take on the project. By agreement between the Music Department and the Sound Department, we used no limiters or EQ anywhere while recording Les Misérables.

With everyone in agreement on the methodology, we turned our attention to the challenges of recording live singing on a movie set. We had to consider the scale of the Paris street scenes and how to manage them. Tom asked me if I would prefer to shoot the exteriors on a soundstage or on location. I knew that Tom wanted to shoot the scenes, some as long as 14 minutes, from start to finish without a cut. I didn’t see how this would be possible outdoors in a modern, aircraft-infested environment but the only stage large enough for the planned scenes, the 007 stage at Pinewood, is not really a soundstage and has poor acoustics. Just a few weeks into preproduction, Tom contacted me to tell me about a new stage being built in Pinewood—the Richard Attenborough Stage—that would be the biggest in the UK. (After our good fortune with the transitional availability of radio frequencies, we began to think someone upstairs was smiling on our project.)

Eve Stewart, the Production Designer, asked me about ways that set design could help with Tom’s vision of a live musical. I commented that for live sound we wanted reality. If they are in shot, the cobbles should be real cobbles, the oak door frames should be real oak, so that any sounds we picked up would be as authentic as possible. She took my suggestion and filled every inch of the 30,000-square-foot stage with sets built with the characteristics of permanent structures.

Our interest in solid oak and stone applied only to areas seen in the shots; outside what the cameras saw we tried to make the set and crew sonically disappear. Our efforts extended even to fitting rubber shoes on all the horses’ hooves.

For Eponine’s number, “A Little Fall of Rain,” we faced the additional challenge of recording the entire number in the rain. We worked with the Special Effects Department to get the best possible rain that would show on camera without drowning the mikes or making too much noise. We covered every part of the set not seen by the camera, every rooftop and every piece of floor, with rubberized horsehair to deaden the raindrops. We had an entire truckload of horsehair delivered to Pinewood. We also had a horsehair cover to provide quiet protection for the camera and asked the camera technicians to wear black “Bolton” cloth (Duvateen) ponchos over their Gore-Tex to soak up the sound of the water hitting. We even had a second boom operator shadow the primary boom with a horsehair roof on the end of his boom pole to shield the primary mike. That was the attention to detail that we exercised and it was possible because of an outstanding seven-man team. With a truck full of rubber-backed carpet, this team padded every dolly track and every walk-and-talk to keep the set as quiet as possible and recovered the carpets as soon as the shot was completed so they never held up the shooting. These efforts paid off not just by reducing noise from footfalls but they helped to deaden sound reflections throughout the set and augmented the many sound blankets we hung for that purpose.

Wind to flutter hair and costumes is a necessary element to create the illusion that players are outside and not on a set. Traditionally, large fans or wind machines provide this but they are quite noisy and compel ADR whenever they’re used. We coordinated with the FX Department to place the wind machines outside the stage and pipe-in the wind through flexible air-conditioning hose. The mikes didn’t pick up the sound of the electric motors at all, just the sound of moving air that mimicked the sound of actual wind. And, since its frequency fell outside of normal voices, it could be effectively removed in post.

After all the technical planning, we were ready to put our methodology to the test. The film had engaged the actors for an eightweek rehearsal period directly prior to shooting. Such a lengthy rehearsal period isn’t the norm but Les Mis was a complex project. I felt it important for the whole sound crew to be involved from the beginning but there was a move to exclude us. I can certainly understand the budget implications of adding a large sound crew for an extra eight weeks. And, the performers can be self-conscious as they develop their performances. Working with playback or with a piano accompaniment will mask errors in pitch or delivery but singing a cappella leaves every performance mercilessly exposed. I could understand the reluctance but I felt it important that everyone become committed to the live recording protocols from the beginning. I worried that, after eight weeks of rehearsal with the blanket of protection afforded by an amplified piano, the cast might balk at the introduction of the earwigs on the first day of shooting. If they felt they couldn’t work without the live piano, the whole plan of live recording would founder. We needed the collaboration between Cast and Sound to begin on the first day of rehearsals.

I also felt that the long rehearsal period was important to more than just the cast. I wanted to use earwigs and radio mikes on every rehearsal so that the Pianists, Roger Davison and Jennifer Whyte, could become comfortable with the process of working within a sound booth and following the pace of the singers from their own headphones. And, I wanted the practice time for the Sound Department so that we might become familiar with the songs, the staging, the head turns, the extremes in dynamics, and work out solutions to the challenges in advance. Sometimes a single performer would need two mikes, one on each side or one close to the mouth and one lower, to handle these variables.

Even more important than the technical issues was the opportunity to become acquainted with the cast and earn their trust that we would deliver quality recordings of their live performances. I pressed these points with the producers and with Tom and eventually we were invited to participate.

By the end of the rehearsal period, the cast was completely unfazed by using the earwigs and having direct communication with the pianists through their lavaliers. They would arrive at our sound carts upon entering the rehearsal stage to ask for their mikes and earwigs before proceeding to the set and enjoyed being able to communicate directly with the pianists without raising their voices to draw the pianists’ attention.

It was going well but we were developing a new process and everyone, Tom Hooper, the Producers, the Music Department and our own Sound Department, wanted a test to confirm that it would all work through editing and mixing to a final product. The “Red and Black” number performed by the students in the café was a good selection for our test. With multiple solo lines from the cast and an ensemble of about 20 students, it provided a taste of most of the circumstances we would encounter throughout the film. From the beginning, I had requested that rehearsals take place in the proper acoustic environment so that we might make test recordings and check the results later through studio monitors. Consequently, our rehearsal space was a proper soundstage at Pinewood that was suitable for a film test. Tom decided to shoot the test with a full camera crew and three 35mm cameras.

The test shoot proved challenging, exciting and interesting. Although Tom had discussed the visual style he had worked out with DP Danny Cohen, nothing quite prepared me for his singleminded enthusiasm for shooting every take all the way through from beginning to end. For the sake of performance and energy, Tom would shoot numbers in their entirety so I needed to be ready at all times. For me this meant multi-tracking and mixing 20 mikes on every take from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. It was mentally demanding; I had to find a zone and stay focused. My own mixing improved with the constant practice but that was a small benefit as we always intended to remix from the ISO tracks in post. More importantly, the boom operators thoroughly learned the intricacies of every move by both cameras and cast members and became adept at following the singers exactly. Since the long takes forced a camera reload for nearly every take, my crew had an opportunity to act on every little problem revealed by the previous take. Carpet placement could be optimized, a cast member standing on a squeaky floorboard could be shifted slightly and chorus or extras that were whispering when they should have been miming, could be advised. (Many members of the chorus ensemble came from a theater background where ad-libs would enhance the performance. It took awhile before they became comfortable with the understanding that film editing needed consistent, i.e. silent, backgrounds.)

Silencing the ad-libs and background action was a huge undertaking that continued throughout the movie and was a constant negotiation with Tom. He liked the way the ad-libs tended to increase energy in the performances and used them to motivate the soloists to project their singing to rise above the clutter. But I maintained that working this way would force ADR when the adlibs and chatter didn’t match in the cuts. Tom understood; while he encouraged active participation in the rehearsals, he recorded the takes with mimed background action.

We finished the test shoot and I was mentally and physically wiped out. It had been the most challenging day I had ever recorded and it dawned on me that we had 70 days of this in front of us, many without the comfort and acoustic security of a soundstage. Every single day would require immense focus and energy from all of us. We got word very quickly as the test was edited and orchestrated that the vocal recordings were a complete success. Everyone was incredibly euphoric that our workflow had been proved not just possible but hugely successful. There were lots of extremely happy producers after the test.

I’m glad I experienced the test before we started shooting because it gave me a chance to prepare myself for an incredibly demanding shoot. The first part of the shoot was a reduced unit in the French Alps shooting Valjean (Hugh Jackman) traveling on foot from the port to the Bishop’s chapel. We arrived and the 1st Assistant Director told me Tom had chosen a location on the highest mountain peak and it was impossible to access it in vehicles. He asked me to go ‘handheld’ because carrying the kit up the mountain would be impossible. I told him that I wasn’t prepared to compromise sound quality in any way and we set about carrying my 180-pound sound cart up the mountain. It took four men nearly an hour to make a 20-minute trip across the boulder-strewn pass. It was a Herculean effort but we arrived at the summit with all the equipment—the proper D/A converters, the big mixing panel, the high-gain antennas—we needed to do a first-class job. It was just this kind of single-minded purpose and resistance to compromise that got us great production tracks.

Quickly, we learned from Tom and the 1st AD exactly where Hugh would be walking and singing and we set about running a battery-powered induction loop under the rocks. With Tom and Hugh’s permission, we had prerecorded the piano track in rehearsals. If Hugh was comfortable setting a pace in rehearsal, we could run playback from a Mac laptop using Audacity rather than take a piano and Pro Tools up the mountain. Valjean was to walk across the summit covered by a single handheld camera. Arthur, my Key 1st Assistant Sound, asked if he could work with a radio boom to help with the uneven surface at the summit. I asked that he remain on a cable for every shot apart from a 360-degree pan so we might minimize radio electronics in the boom signal chain and maximize sound quality. We fitted Hugh with two radio mikes, one tight and one slightly wider. Tom asked us to shoot the rehearsal so I had no idea of the volume to expect. As Tom, Arthur and the camera crew tracked with Hugh and he began to sing, it became clear we were capturing something magical. I quickly listened to the ISO tracks and decided that Arthur’s boom with the Super CMIT was the best sounding track. Due to the tight headroom Tom was maintaining, it was in a perfect position 10 inches above Hugh’s head. I concentrated my attention on Arthur’s boom track in subsequent takes. There was no background noise apart from Hugh’s wooden clogs and his walking stick tapping the granite. They were not compromising the vocal performance and I decided not to bother Hugh about them so he might get on with his acting.

I should add that before shooting, I spoke with Tom, the DP and the camera crew and told them, “Guys, I know you aren’t going to like this and I know we are in freezing temperatures up a mountain but, if this is going to work, I need you all to take off your Gore-Tex trousers and, if you are tracking with the action, just wear your jeans. Otherwise, all I am going to record is the swooshing of Gore-Tex.” This was one of those moments where all the talking about the importance of sound quality and performance was truly put to the test and it was time to see if the crew really understood what that meant. One by one they duly removed their Gore-Tex trousers.

When we arrived home from France and started setting up to shoot in Pinewood Studios, I went to watch dailies at Editorial. I viewed on an Avid machine through near field studio monitors. It was just the raw mix track which in this case was the boom only. As I saw Valjean walk wearily across the mountain range and into a close-up, I could hear his breathlessness due to the altitude and see the fog from his breath on screen. As he started to sing with such fragility from the effect of the altitude, it sounded so real. I was completely spellbound and I knew in that moment that we were creating something special. Never before had I experienced such a connection while watching a musical. As we shot, it became clear to us that we needed to be flexible and use the best method available to record each scene. Scenes like the factory women singing “At the End of the Day” were staged with multiple solos and hard light that made swinging booms to each player difficult. Those scenes were best recorded on radio mikes with the booms playing a secondary role and the stereo boom serving to add dimension to the radio mikes used on the chorus. That was also the technique used for “Lovely Ladies” but for Hugh Jackman’s “Who Am I?” and Anne Hathaway’s “I Dreamed a Dream” and Eddie Redmayne’s “Empty Tables and Empty Chairs,” the boom was the primary recording device.

On “I Dreamed a Dream,” we were shooting with three cameras and, from the first take it became clear that Anne was going to clutch her chest during the emotive parts of the performance. Of course, that was right where the lavalier was placed. To ask her not to do this action, a part of her instinctive body language during the scene, would have been to stifle the truth and honesty in the performance. After the first take, I told Tom that we couldn’t rely on the radio mike any longer and had to get the boom closer. The “A” camera was shooting a close-up, “B” camera was shooting a wider close-up with the same top-line but “C” camera was shooting a classic wide with three feet of headroom. I reasoned that it was unlikely the wide shot would be used for long and the boom could be painted out if necessary, so I asked Tom if he would permit us to bring the boom into the wide shot. The VFX supervisor was present and instantly said, “The shot is static. If you just keep the boom out while the clapper board is going on before the performance starts, we will get a clear piece of the background needed to matte the boom out.” It was this kind of instant answer and collaborative teamwork that enabled Tom to make quick decisions and keep shooting.

The boom was also invaluable on all the sewer scenes where the radios would have become waterlogged. One of my favorite songs in the movie, “Empty Tables and Empty Chairs,” sounds beautiful on the boom and that was possible because all three cameras were shooting close-ups from different angles so the headroom was the same.

Recording singing differs from recording dialog in that the acoustics on singing need to be the same throughout. It would be wrong to have the wide shots sounding “wide” and the close-ups sounding “close” because when the orchestral music is added, the balance of music and vocal would change shot by shot. This would draw attention to the shifts in camera angle. Yet while recording dialog, it is generally accepted that an acoustic change matching shots of differing sizes actually helps a scene to sound real to the audience. For singing, whatever mikes are used must be in a close and uniform position throughout the song.

It is possible to use slightly different widths of mike placement as long as there isn’t a noticeable acoustic shift. We often used two radio mikes on an actor if their performance required extreme dynamic range and I would rig one lavalier close to the mouth to get a very closely mic’d performance on the whispers, but another lavalier five or six inches further away to pick up the louder pieces while sounding a little more open. Of course, the mikes were recorded on separate tracks so the dialog editor had a choice depending on what sounded better in the final context of the scene, once orchestration had been added.

Another break in filmmaking tradition was bringing a dialog editor, the extremely skilled Tim Hands, aboard just a few weeks into shooting. He was based at Pinewood while we were shooting and I was in constant contact with him daily explaining how we covered scenes, which tracks I thought were best and pointing out any issues I thought he needs to know. It was his job to clean and edit the vocals on Pro Tools. He was extremely subtle in his work and mindful of Tom’s admonition to not remove anything that would diminish the audience connection to the actor. He concentrated on removing background noises that had nothing to do with the on-screen performance. When a scene was starting to take shape in the Avid, the Picture Editing Department would give Tim the EDL and he would give them a bounce back of the edited audio from my ISO tracks. This meant that Tim was often working on a scene many times as the picture editor and Tom made changes but it also had the valuable ‘knock on’ effect of immersing Tim in the material so that he became completely familiar with all of it. When Alastair Sirkett joined him in the post-production process, this intimate familiarity helped him get the best from the recordings and the pair of them delivered an outstanding finished product.

After the film techniques clean up, the tracks pass to John Warhurst, the Music and Sound Editor. He went through them using music industry technique to make them sound their best going into the final mix. This process exemplifies the special collaborative workflow for this movie. Supervising Music Editor Gerard McCann pointed out at the beginning of our planning that the skills and objectives of a film dialog editor and those of a music vocal editor are very different. For instance, a music editor would be working out of his usual skill set if presented with generator noise or lighting hum while a dialog editor would not be at home adding reverb to enhance vocals. An oversimplification but because the vocals on Les Mis were essentially a crossover of both mediums, we needed to make sure they benefited fully from each methodology.

Although Re-recording Mixer Andy Nelson’s main contribution comes at the very end of the process, his involvement began at the conception. He has extensive experience in musicals including work on Evita and Phantom of the Opera. Tom Hooper was familiar with his work on Alan Parker’s The Commitments, a project that featured some live recording to a prerecorded backing track, so he sought out Andy when he was first considering live recording for Les Mis. Andy confirmed the success of the live recording on The Commitments and encouraged Tom to take on the larger challenge of Les Misérables.

Tom encouraged me to contact Andy Nelson when I was first hired. Gerard McCann and I had a long conference call with him to discuss workflow and methodology, check that he agreed with our plans and receive any advice he might offer. We kept in contact thereafter and he regularly listened to and commented on material as we worked.

Andy was particularly keen on not using EQ or compressors and limiters in the recording chain. He also asked that processing done by the dialog and music editors be “virtual” so that changes could be reversed and the material returned to a raw state at the touch of a button. He wanted to have complete control at the final mix where all the elements of score, sound effects, Foley and vocals could be evaluated together and judged as a whole.

For instance, he wanted us to avoid using plug-ins to clean up camera noise because they often have a slight effect on the vocal tone and he thought that the orchestration might effectively hide the camera noise.

Jonathan Allen, a Re-recording Mixer from Abbey Road Studios, was also generous with help and advice throughout the project. He worked on the orchestrations in Post but also joined me on days with big chorus ensembles and assisted both with advice and mike placement.

The whole project was a collaborative project from the outset. It set out to bring to the audience the in-the-moment emotions and the live singing of the cast. The success of that endeavor demonstrates what can be accomplished with everyone working together.

Cameron Mackintosh offered daily support and input for the project. He commented that “Music, if used correctly, should pull the heartstrings.” I believe that the filming of Les Misérables, as envisioned by Tom Hooper and with the support of Producers Eric Fellner, Tim Bevan, Debra Hayward and Sir Cameron Mackintosh, and each and every crew and cast member, really does “pull the heart strings.” It was a fantastic piece of work.