Orlando James asks, on Twitter: Do you know every frame of your film before you start or do you let it happen? 

No. Certainly not for documentaries. The essence is discovering the story as you go. In moving from documentary to drama, I’ve tried to keep an element of this; to make room for the unexpected – even though you’ve been on the recce, you’ve seen the design, you might roughly know where the actors are going to be. 

When I read a script, images come to mind and some of them I end up holding on to. In a scene in The Selfish Giant, one of the races on the motorway, there’s a shot that Clio Barnard and I discussed at our first meeting. I remember evoking American Graffiti – a long lens, at dawn, the light that lovely mix between daylight and tungsten – and she fell in love with the idea, too. Months down the line we actually did that shot. 

How do you notate your ideas as you go along?

During prep, when so many logistical and mechanical things are being discussed, it’s easy to lose sight of the story so it’s good to keep rereading to the script. I write down my thoughts about a scene physically on the script. Carrying the script around in paper form helps me make decisions and gives me a direct connection, via a pencil and the paper and the script, to the story. 

What are those thoughts you’re jotting down – are they ideas for moods or practical details about the type of lens you’ll use, say?

It’s more moods. Initially it’s about the nature of the light or how the camera should move. Exactly how the camera moves on the day can be discussed later but I might put down something like, “Handheld reactive camera”, for instance. Or, “Slow zoom in”. All this could change, though. 

I get these hard-backed folders to put the script in and I put pictures into the inside cover. I might stick in a postcard or photo I like. You open up the script and you remind yourself, oh yeah, I was thinking about that.

Can you remember any of your initial thoughts for The Selfish Giant?

I remember looking at a lot of photojournalism, and films like Kes were inspirational. The overriding thing about The Selfish Giant was that I wanted to be at the boys’ level, to see the world through their eyes. I wanted them to take us into the story, into buildings, through rooms, across the landscape. That idea became the template and everything came off that. 

I’d never used an easy rig before. It has a harness, like a steady cam, but it consists of a spine that runs up your back and curls up over your head. On the end is a high-tension cord from which you can suspend the camera. You can keep the camera comfortably at a level about 3ft, 4ft off the ground and walk with it. You could do that hand held but it would be back breaking after more than a minute. This device gives you freedom to roam but also keeps you at Arbor's [one of the boys in The Selfish Giant] height. When I knew I could get that, I thought, that’s going to be our main tool for shooting this.

Vintage Pie asks, on Twitter: What can directors do to make a cinematographer’s job easier? 

You need to build up a relationship whereby you can share ideas – reservations and doubts as much as the positive things – and keep that conversation going. Some directors are very technical and know as much about cameras and lenses as you do and others are more orientated towards the actors; sometimes you get a mixture of both. Either way, being communicative is important. 

With a project like Marley, you’re working with a lot of archive material. Does this influence your decisions as a cinematographer? 

Maybe subconsciously. You get some nice accidents where something you shoot on location happens to segue brilliantly into a piece of archive but that’s rare. A lot of the decisions about how we shot Marley were pragmatic. When we went to Jamaica and travelled around the island, we had a 35mm camera, plus a DSLR. When we were out on the streets interviewing people and catching images we used the smaller camera just to keep a low profile. 

Tell us a bit about the set up for Touching the Void – shooting in the Peruvian Andes must have presented different challenges. 

We took the 35mm camera to Peru, to capture panoramic shots of the Andes. Knowing it was a feature doc, we wanted it to look great on the big screen. Also it was more reliable. A 35mm film camera, apart from delivering fantastic images, is very simple and the chances of it breaking were slim, whereas too many variables could go wrong with a digital camera. When we shot with the actors later on in the Alps, we shot on 16mm.

What advice do you have for filmmakers working on a low budget?

People obsess over cameras and lenses. Get to know your script and work from there. Establish the mood and look you’re trying to achieve. Ask yourself, if the sound was to suddenly go, would someone watching this film know what was going on? How would the pictures tell the story?

Whether that picture is shot on 35mm camera or an iPhone isn’t irrelevant but when you’re trying to find your inner voice in terms of photography, composition, light and storytelling, it’s about doing that through whatever aspect ratio you’re dealing with. 

Are there any mistakes people make when starting out? 

If you get the chance to go into a cutting room and talk to an editor, grab that with both hands. I started out wanting to be an editor because I thought that was where films are really made – there’s a part of me that still does.  It’s always good to bear in mind how the film will be cut. 

A common fault is this idea that the camera must always be moving. Watch Stanley Kubrick’s films – they often tell the story in a classic way, with elegant compositions. You could point to other directors who have a very kinetic camera. There is no right or wrong – it’s about story.  Maybe one continuous tracking shot, lasting five minutes, is the best way to tell your story. Fine – go for it. But know why you’re doing it and what you’re trying to say.

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