During the latest edition of the Chefs Op’ en Lumière festival, Renato Berta delivered a passionate plea for a return to the fundamentals of cinema. The masterclass, moderated by N.T. Binh, offered a chance to rediscover the importance of craftsmanship.
Interview with Cassiana Sarrazin and Tom Durand, UCO members.
During the Masterclass, you said that technique was important but that one shouldn’t make too big a deal of it.
What is your relationship with technology? Are you sometimes drawn to technical challenges in certain films or scripts?
It’s rarely a technical challenge that draws me to a project. Of course, there are always technical questions to resolve, but technique in itself is not the most important thing. If it’s a classic script with a linear narrative, inherited from the novel, yes there are small technical problems to solve, but today with digital it’s not too complicated. We mustn’t forget that these technological tools are made for us, they’re here to serve us. The real question isn’t what camera to use, it’s what story to tell, how to tell it, what point of view to adopt.
What interests me in a project is the artistic proposal, the desire to explore new ground. When a director comes to me with a singular vision, something that doesn’t look like what’s already been done, that’s what excites me. It’s the human encounter that counts above all, the possibility of creating something together.
So how would you define your relationship with technology?
I have a pragmatic relationship with technology. I use it as a tool, nothing more. I don’t fetishize cameras or lenses. What matters is the result on screen. Whether I shoot on film or digital, what I’m looking for is an image that serves the story, that creates emotion.
That said, I have a certain nostalgia for film, for the discipline it imposed. With film, you had to be precise, think before shooting. Today with digital, there’s a tendency to shoot everything and sort it out later. That changes the relationship to the image, to time on set.
In your book, you often come back to the importance of empiricism, pragmatism, keeping things concrete.
How does that translate in your daily work on a film?
Pragmatism for me means staying close to reality, to the concrete conditions of shooting. I don’t like long theoretical discussions before a shoot. I prefer to arrive on set, see the light, feel the space, and work from there.
It’s something I learned very early on, notably with the Straub-Huillet. With them, it was extreme pragmatism: we would arrive at a location, look at the light, and shoot. No artifice, no additional lighting. Just the reality of the place and the moment.
This approach shaped me deeply. Even when I work on more conventional films, I always try to keep that connection to the real. Not to over-control everything, to leave room for accidents, for the unexpected. That’s often where the most beautiful images come from.
When you work with a director, has he already internalized the principle of reality, or do you have to guide him towards pragmatism?
It depends on the directors. Some are very concrete, they know exactly what they want and how to achieve it. Others are more in the realm of ideas, intentions, and it’s my job to bring them back to earth, to the concrete.
The relationship with a director is difficult to define, each one has his own universe. You have to try to understand each other, to find a common language. And then move towards pragmatism, step by step. If we start to get carried away, to fantasize about overly complex shots, I bring things back to the concrete. For instance, no need to go look at paintings in a museum to talk about lighting. The color of this chair right here can inspire us. You have to keep it simple. Cinema is about working with reality. If you get too carried away, it quickly becomes unmanageable.
I’ve had experiences with directors who ask me for technically impossible things. You still need a minimum of practice and technical knowledge. Otherwise, intentions are fine, but then you have to be able to realize them concretely.
Yesterday we went to see your film “Leopardi” and we found it magnificent, both aesthetically and narratively. Everything seemed very coherent and controlled in the direction. Why the choice of digital for this film? Was it a deliberate aesthetic choice?
Leopardi was shot digitally, yes. The choice was above all practical and economic. The production didn’t have the budget for film. But I tried to bring a certain quality to the image, a texture, something that recalls the painting of that era.
For the interiors, I worked a lot with natural light, with candles. I wanted something organic, alive. Not a perfectly controlled light, but something that breathes, that moves. That’s also part of the empirical approach: accepting what the location gives you and working with it.
What was interesting with Leopardi is that Martone is a director who knows exactly what he wants. He has a very precise visual culture, he knows painting, he knows light. So working with him is a dialogue, a real exchange. He doesn’t just say “I want it beautiful,” he tells you precisely what emotion he’s looking for, what reference he has in mind.
In your book, you say you sometimes feel like you’re filming documentaries when you make fiction. Can you elaborate on that?
Yes, that’s an important idea for me. Even in fiction, I try to keep a documentary approach. Not in the technical sense, but in the attitude: being attentive to reality, to what happens in the moment, not trying to control everything.
The best fiction films, for me, are those that manage to capture something real, something authentic. And for that, you need to leave room for the unexpected, for accidents. If everything is too planned, too controlled, you lose that spark of life.
Pasolini was very important in your career, you say he was both Marxist and Christian. How did he influence your vision of cinema and your political consciousness?
He was a man of culture, whom I had the chance to meet and get to know a little. It was a very, very important encounter. He was one of the great pillars of Italian culture. He said that you can’t get rid of 2000 years of Christianity, and he made these films where Christianity was present in an absolutely formidable dialectical way. The Gospel According to St. Matthew is incredible. And La Ricotta, a short film that is a masterpiece.
Pasolini influenced me enormously. Not just cinematically, but in the way of thinking about the world, about society. He had this ability to combine political analysis with poetic vision. That’s something I’ve always tried to carry in my work: not just making beautiful images, but images that mean something, that carry a point of view on the world.
On Leopardi, we were struck by the use of depth of field. You seem to play a lot with sharp and unsharp areas. Is that a conscious choice?
Absolutely. Depth of field is one of the most powerful tools we have as cinematographers. It’s not just a technical matter, it’s a narrative and aesthetic choice. Where you place focus tells the viewer where to look, what’s important.
With Leopardi, I used depth of field to create a sense of intimacy, to isolate the character in his world. Sometimes the background is blurred, sometimes it’s sharp — it depends on what the scene requires emotionally. It’s about guiding the viewer’s eye without being too obvious about it.
I see, I understand your approach better now. You have stated that many cinematographers today are losing their craftsmanship, their artisanal approach. Can you explain what you mean by that?
What I see today worries me a bit. With the democratization of technology, the tools have become more accessible, but at the same time there’s been a loss of rigor. When everything is easy, when you can shoot endlessly and fix everything in post-production, people make compromises, take the easy way out. There’s no longer that demand for well-done work, that aesthetic pursuit.
You can see it in writing too, more and more formatted, stereotyped scripts. For me, true cinema requires a craftsmanship approach, time, care brought to every step. It’s that long time that allows emotion and reflection. Unfortunately, this is being lost in favor of the purely commercial.
In your book, you talk a lot about your empirical approach, about “learning by doing,” about the importance of practice.
How can a young cinematographer acquire this “wisdom of the trade” as you call it, outside of academic training? What advice or recommendations could you give for learning the craft on the job?
That’s a very good question. Learning by doing is fundamental in this profession which is learned above all in the field.
My first advice would be to watch a lot of films, but above all to analyze them. Not just watch them for the story, but really look at the light, the framing, the camera movements. Understand why a cinematographer made this or that choice.
Then, practice. Shoot as much as possible, with whatever means you have. Today with digital, you can practice without it costing too much. But practice with intention, with a project in mind, not just to accumulate footage.
And above all, work with others. Cinema is a collective art. You learn enormously by observing other cinematographers work, by being an assistant, a gaffer. Every experience on a set is a lesson.
One last quick question if you don’t mind: do you value the importance of unions and professional organizations in your profession? What do you think of the role of the UCO?
I think it’s essential. A profession that doesn’t organize itself, that doesn’t reflect collectively on its practices and its future, is a profession that weakens itself. The UCO plays an important role in bringing cinematographers together, creating a space for exchange and mutual support.
In my time, we didn’t have this kind of structure. Everyone worked in their corner. Today, I find it wonderful that young cinematographers can meet, share their experiences, discuss their art. That’s what makes a profession alive and evolving.
And then there’s also the question of defending the profession’s interests, working conditions, recognition of the artistic contribution of the cinematographer. All that is important and requires collective organization.
