One of the reasons that I wrote the Wrand Film Glossary was to record many of the obscure film and entertainment industry terms that get passes down orally but are never recorded.
Art department and set construction lingo is usually not included in the typical film glossary, and “Double dap” is one of those odd terms that you will hear used by Prop Makers* but have probably never had it explained.
The term refers to how the hinges of a door on a stage set are to be installed. Normally the installation of hinges for a door involves creating mortises in the door stile and the jamb that match the thickness of the hinge leaves. That’s referred to as a “single dap” installation. (Note: this is specifically for doors in North America or the UK. Many Continental European doors are half-overlay and don’t use the type of leaf hinges that are standard here.)
Typical hinge installation – referred to as a Single Dap
A “double dap” installation involves creating a mortise in the door which is twice as deep as usual and not making a mortise in the jamb, as shown below.
Example of a Double Dapped hinge
The diagram below is a side-by-side plan view showing both types of installation.
So what’s the purpose of this? Well, this is something that is more typical on sets for a broadcast show than on sets for a feature film.
One advantage is speed. We tend to build sets at a pretty brisk pace, sometimes building an entire set over a weekend. For example, if you have a set with six doors, that means you need to install 18 hinges, which means routing 32 mortises. With a double dap installation you cut that number in half.
Another advantage is if you are redressing a set and need to change out the door of an opening for a different door. With a standard installation, you will need to patch and fill and re-rout three mortises. Instead you just need to fill some screw holes.
This is also the case if you need to change the swing direction of a door at the last moment. (Good luck prying off and repositioning that door stop.)
Double dapping has fallen out of favor lately. Production Designers don’t like the look of it for one thing. (Along with Phillips head screws on a period hinge!) They tend to stick out particularly when the hinges are a contrasting color from the jamb or if the wood is painted a light color and the hinges have a dark laquer/black finish. In some instances this condition can either visually hide the extra mortise depth or accentuate it.
Also, notice the round corners on the hinges in the photos. Round corner hinges are a 20th century invention to speed up production. Once machinery, i.e. routers, was being used for mortising, it became a lot faster to create hinges with leaves that didn’t require squaring off the mortise corners as was necessary for period, square hinges. Round corner hinges come in 1/4″ and 5/8″ radius corners, so be aware of what radius size they are if you’re choosing hinges for a door that has already been mortised.
Note: Prop Maker is a designation for a union stage carpenter in Los Angeles to differentiate them from a ‘civilian’ carpenter. They are trained it building theatrical scenery of all types and historical periods and specialize in creating scenery for film productions. They are more similar to cabinet makers than a typical carpenter and are skilled in construction techniques and methods that would baffle most people outside the entertainment industry.
You’ve probably never thought about how sound can affect your stage set. Beyond trying to not create an environment that would drive the sound recordist mad, you usually don’t think about odd acoustic anomalies that might pop up that you never intended to happen. Like echoes.
Computer Hall set – Gattaca – Columbia Pictures 1997
Yeah, echoes will bite you in the ass if you’re not careful.
On the main set for the 1997 film Gattaca, just such an anomaly occurred, and it was the cinematographer who ended up saving the day.
And what does the cinematographer have to do with sound problems? Keep reading.
The Computer Hall set was designed by Production Designer Jan Roelfs and was inspired by the real-life location that he and Director Andrew Niccol chose for the film. The actual building chosen for the exterior of the Gattaca Aerospace Corporation was the Marin County Civic Center in California, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. The art department flew to Marin and surveyed the interior details so that they could be matched for the set on stage, which was in a warehouse in Playa Vista.
The building they had leased made for an odd sound stage, but its size made it large enough to build the sets for the film in. There were the normal problems you deal with in a structure that was never designed to be a sound stage: support posts at regular intervals, a ceiling that is not nearly as high as those in an actual sound stage. On the plan below, you can see where the oval columns were designed to hide two of the building’s I-beam columns.
These are my drawings of the plan and elevations of the set with the areas of the sound problems circled.
(One note: on the title block, you’ll notice it reads “Eighth Day”. This was the original title of the film. In pre-production, the producers learned that there was a French movie of the same name that was going to be released, and a name change was required. The writer and director Andrew Niccol decided that he would create a new title using the four letters used to identify the nucleobases of DNA: GATC.)
Turns out, theater designers had known about the sound reflective effects of elliptical and parabolic ceilings for years, as most of the western world designed theaters in the mode of the typical Italian horseshoe layout plan.
A presentation at the 2017 International Congress On Sound was focused on this phenomenon.
In New York City’s Grand Central Station, there is a ‘whispering gallery’ or acoustic vortex. This is an architectural phenomenon created by a number of configurations, in this case, a vaulted ceiling in the subway entrance under the terminal. A person standing in one corner of the hall intersection can whisper into the corner and the sound travels over the curved surface of the ceiling and can be heard by a person standing in the opposite corner.
New York Grand Central Station
I discovered the echo one day when I was walking the set and stopped at the point in question. I saw a gnat and clapped my hands together to kill it. That’s when I heard the strange echo. Horrified, I clapped again and there was the same echo. I clapped a third time, just as Jan was walking through the set. He stopped and frowned. “Don’t do that!’, he said.
I think what was happening was that the area beneath the lower section of the ceiling of the set created a flutter echo, which was enhanced by the smooth ceiling surface. The two large skylights didn’t seem to affect this echo.
There was no carpeting or fabric to dampen the sound which would have eliminated this effect.
The solution came for the most part when the cinematographer, Slawomir Idziak, told us that he needed more practical lights in the set. This required creating dozens of new openings in the lower sections of the ceiling. These holes interrupted the acoustic waves and the echo disappeared. With the addition of the desks and the background actors, the sound reflection was minimal.
The photo below shows the original skylights in yellow, with the new lights circled in green.
The look of construction drawings for film and television has changed a lot over the years, particularly now that most drawings are done digitally with computers rather than by hand.
While many current drawing styles now incorporate photo-textures, shadows, and icons to add life to drawings beyond what is typical of architectural drawings, it’s hard for them to match the aesthetics of hand drawings.
CAD drawing from 3D model – photo textures applied
Having started as a pencil draftsman I guess I do have a bit of a personal bias, but the unique style of each person on a hand-drafted drawing was immediately recognizable to people who knew their work.
Before digital illustrations and renders of 3D models, hand-drafted drawings had to serve as a design sales tool as well as instructions for scenery construction.
Here are some shots of a set design by Erich Kettlehut in 1923 for the UFA film, Die Nibelungen, for the scene where Siegfried kills the dragon.
The drawing was displayed as part of an exhibition of artwork from the UFA silent film period of the 1920s and 30s at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art in 2014. The drawing is from the collection of La Cinématiquè Française in Paris, France.
Note that the drawing not only provides a pictorial description of what the dragon should look like, but calls out dimensions, construction materials, how the action prop is to be operated, surrounding scenery requirements, and specific technical details of mechanical movements.
Technical drawing of the Dragon by Art Director Erich Kettelhut – ink and pencil on vellumKettelhut called out the length of the neck as well as the tension springs, framework, control cables and hoses required for the creatures fiery breath. He calls out “only rubber!” for the mouth area.The size and depth of the recessed path required for the props operators.drawing describing how each part of the dragon was to be operated by stagehands.Note in red indicates that a telephone/communication system needs to be added to the prop for the crew.
The scene where Siegfried slays the dragon in Die Niebelungen from 1923
Here are a few more hand-drafted pencil drawings from more recent films:
Salem – drawing by William Ladd SkinnerGangs Of New York – drawing by Luca TranchinoShazam – drawing by Greg PapaliaHaunted Mansion – drawing by Barbara MesneyHaunted Mansion – full size detail of fireplace for the plasterersThor – drawing by Oli GoodierShazam – drawing by Stella VaccaroDisturbia – drawing by RD WilkinsHaunted Mansion – drawing by Hugo SantiagoBaby’s Day Out – window detail
“Every scene you will ever act begins in the middle. . . .” Michael Shurtleff
The casting director Michael Shurtleff wrote a book called “Audition”, which is a kind of roadmap for actors to use when preparing to try out for a part for a film or theatrical play. It lays out the basics of determining the psychological elements of a scene, even if the actor has only been given a single page from the script.
(An aside: if you really want to understand script breakdown, take an acting class. It will give you a new appreciation of actors too. Do that one better and go out for an audition, and then imagine doing that a dozen times a week for the rest of your career.)
One of the Guideposts in the book is titled, The Moment Before. Shurtleff explains that a scene always starts the middle of a situation. It’s the actors job to figure out what events came before, because a lot of times that information isn’t in the script. A general outline might be there but the small details are missing.
What just happened?
With films, a lot of the ‘personality’ of a set is the work of the Set Decorator. They give life to the structure of the scenery, and it’s a big reason why they share Oscar and Emmy awards with the Production Designer.
But you can only put so much lipstick and mascara on a goat, and if the sets ‘bones’ aren’t great, something big will be missing.
What does your set say about itself once the construction and paint crews are finished, before the set decoration crew even starts?
What happened in this room a week ago? A year ago? Twenty years ago? Was the house built before the development of modern plumbing? Do the mouldings indicate that it was built before electric power was available, and the “new” type of special moulding now hides the wires that snake along the baseboard and up corners of the room?
Once the set is dressed and filmed, are there elements that will stand out or tell a story about the “envelope” beyond the dressing?
When I look at empty houses I always look for the signs of past human lifetimes. Most buildings will survive 4 or more owners, or generations. They all have their scars from surviving their inhabitants; the bad remodels and additions that don’t match, bad repair jobs or damage that was never repaired.
I got to tour a historic house from the 1830’s that was built in the Greek Revival style and was shocked when I saw the front parlor room. The second owners wife was tired of the classical design and had the room renovated in the then-current 1890’s late Victorian “Eastlake” style. The contrast couldn’t have been more odd if they had redone the room in a Mid-Century Modern style.
The historical society who owned the house decided that the Victorian remodel of the room was part of the history of the building and voted to not return the room to its original configuration. It may have not been ‘true’ to the origins of the house but it defined the ‘human experience’ that the home had gone through. It was some of the ‘finger prints’ that its inhabitants had left behind.
This is a photo of a door in a friends families 900 year old Castello in Northern Italy. I wondered about the deep gouges in the upper panel and they told me that they were a remnant from several hundred years before during a hasty removal of a carved crest that hinted at support of a then out-of-favor monarch.
The details of a set don’t have to be that subtle. It could be a bricked up window, a stairway in an odd but obviously not original location. or maybe the wallpaper in a room is torn in one corner, revealing three other layers behind it, or there are scorch marks on the wooden kitchen floor in front of the stove where a red hot cast iron skillet was dropped.
The ‘character’ can certainly come from the paint and age that the scenics apply and sometimes there is even more you can add. One person told me about arriving on a stage set one day for a shoot in a period kitchen set to find the Production Designer Dean Tavolaris bending over the tile counter with a one pound can of Crisco shortening, rubbing handfuls of the stuff in the corners and between the sink and stove.
Actors will often create past stories of their characters for themselves to help them flesh out the role that will give them personal emotional substance to draw on for their portrayal. This is information just for themselves and a lot of times they don’t feel the need to share it with anyone else, but it gives their performance extra ‘bones’.
As a designer you can do the same with a set. You can create the environment’s past lives that may have nothing to do with the story in the script but it will give it a reality that will make it feel like it hasn’t just materialized suddenly out of thin air, which, as scenery, it pretty much has. We think of spacecraft as modern, sterile environments that don’t have much character. Star Wars changed all that with some spacecraft that were past their expiration date and bore the marks of abuse and mechanical failure. It made them more lifelike and less like machines.
Whether you share that ‘history’ with anyone else is entirely up to you, but if you can tie it into the story or at least make it an interesting part of the design, it can help you sell your ideas to a director who will most likely appreciate that you are bringing a depth to the film that they hadn’t thought about.
That work will come from really analyzing the script, and there isn’t always a lot of time to do that. But, you can learn shortcuts, and that’s a whole other blog article.
For starters, I suggest these: Audition, by Michael Shurtleff, and the chapter on script analysis in Directing Actors, the first book from my absolutely favorite directing teacher, Judith Weston.
In 1998, I was working for Production Designer Bill Malley on a television show called Seven Days. The premise of the show was that the government had designed a time machine that could go back in time exactly seven days from the present and decided they could use it to “undo” or “back-step” major global political disasters.
The fictional location of the Time Machine was in a site in the Nevada desert called “Never Never Land”, a play on Area 51.
The irony of the shooting location, which no one has ever mentioned, is that we were the first production to shoot on the site of what was once the top secret weapons testing site of Lockheed Skunkworks in Burbank, California. But this site, the former Rye Canyon Weapons Testing site, was far from Burbank. Situated out in Santa Clarita, it was just across the road from the Six Flags Magic Mountain Amusement Park.
Before the park was there, and before Santa Clarita began to expand, the area was a remote location nestled in the hills where the Lockheed employees could work in relative obscurity. The site was, according to the remaining employees, so heavily populated with deer that one was bagged each 4th of July for the company barbecue.
There were still remnants of the original facility, including a building with an anechoic chamber where sound tests were done. One day they wheeled an old refrigerator into the room and with the flick of a switch, emitted a sound wave that blew the enamel completely off the metal of the appliance.
Rye Canyon Facility – Google Maps
At the south end of the lot was a strange circular concrete pad that I would only later learn the purpose for.
The Art Department and production office were set up in a modern building to the north end of the facility. It was a “quiet building”, especially built for Lockheed. The only windows were on the exterior walls. The inner chamber was accessed through a single electronic keypad-locked door. There were no windows and the walls were so thick that electronic signals couldn’t penetrate them to eliminate the possibility of outside surveillance.
The “Quiet building” – 4 CC Commons License
The stage was just south of the production offices. It was huge warehouse structure with high perms that were perfect for a soundstage. At the west end was a lower platform with a strange understructure that I looked at for a long time, trying to figure out the purpose of.
Stage 9 – Rye Canyon Studios
One of the facilities guards finally told me its purpose. I was staring at the underside of the remnants of the simulator for the F-117 fighter plane, the first stealth fighter. He told me that this was where the selected test pilots were brought for their initial trial period.
If they passed the tests in the simulator, they were shipped out to Groom Lake (Area 51) to test fly the actual plane.
There was a large empty room to the west which once held a huge number of computer cabinets that were the ‘brains’ of the simulator.
Site of the simulator computer
It was then that I realized that our drawing boards were probably set up in the same area that the Lockheed engineers had been when they designed the first stealth fighters.
Bill told me that shooting a television show there was ironic for him. Years ago he had been suspected of revealing government secrets when he was designing a comedy for William Friedkin. Bill had designed a number of other features for Friedkin including The Exorcist for which he was nominated for an Oscar.
The picture,The Deal Of The Century, was a comedy starring Chevy Chase, about an arms dealer who steals a state-of-the-art fighter plane, the F-19X, from an international air show.
Someone with the government saw the production models of the mockup that they created for the film and told Bill they wanted to talk to him. An Air Force colonel showed up and began to grill him about the planes design. Where did he get the idea for it?
Bill explained that despite the famous cast of characters in the film, the budget largess didn’t extent to the film’s design. As is usual with large productions that feature a lot of well-known actors, the above-the-line talent eats up most of the budget. And what you are left with is the below-the-line limits of a medium budget film.
The colonel insinuated that Bill must have gotten the idea from somewhere, not believing that he had just made it up himself. Bill explained that the budget didn’t allow him do design a completely new kind of plane, so they had taken the basic design from the Russian plane used in the Clint Eastwood film Firefox, and just simplified it. Bill had told the crew to just make it boxier and use flat surfaces rather than the curved surfaces and dihedral of a typical jet.
Full size mockup of the F-19X – Warner Bros Studios
This would make it easier to create the full-size version that they would most likely have to create for some of the live scenes with actors, as they’d be able to use wood sheet goods rather than other materials to create curved wing surfaces.
The colonel eventually left, convince that what Bill was telling him was the truth.
Bill was baffled until about 1988, when the military introduced the F-177 stealth fighter. The similarities didn’t seem that close to him, but someone who saw his fake plane was concerned that someone had leaked the F-117 design.
Side by side comparison of the plan views of the fictional F19X (left) and the F-117 stealth fighter (right) – F19X model photo by Joseph C. Brown
Bill didn’t know that those flat surfaces and the twin tails were what had set off warning bells in some government officials mind. The F-117 had been in design since the 1970’s. In the 1960’s a Russian scientist released a paper stating that an objects radar signature was more a matter of its surface structure than its size.
The government started a program called Have Blue, which was a proof-of-concept program to develop a stealth fighter. They discovered that flat surfaces were key to fooling radar waves into producing a small signature. The cement platform at the south side of the property was a test area for measuring the radar signature of different models until a final design was reached that was tested with a full-size mock-up at Groom Lake.
The program would result in the development of the F-117 stealth fighter.
Did anyone know about the fighter program, or the location of the Rye Canyon test site outside of the employees? It seems hard to imagined that someone didn’t at least have an idea that something unusual was going on there. The entire area was patrolled by armed guards 24 hours a day. Even a kid would have known that something must be happening there that was important.
Several months before our company moved in, a fleet of trucks reportedly arrived in the middle of the night. Apparently they were there to recover the remaining files that were stored in the vaults at the main building.
During the production, I found a site where declassified government satellite photos were posted. Among them was a large file of Soviet satellite pictures that the government had recovered from who knows where.
I checked them on the chance I’d find something. And yes, there they were, Soviet satellite photos of the Rye Canyon site. They may not have known exactly what was going on there, but they were sure enough that something important was happening there to allocate satellite attention to the area.
I wrote about this glossary over a year ago thinking that It was nearly ready for issue. It wasn’t.
After struggling with finding a publisher for hard printed copies, I gave up and decided to just release it as a downloadable Ebook. There were just too many hoops to jump through and I wanted to see it get out there into the world where it was more useful that just being a file on my computer.
The upside is that it kept getting bigger. And by the time I was ready to put it up on the platform, not only had the main glossary expanded but the appendix had grown from a half-dozen pages to 40. There’s a lot crammed in this book that doesn’t exist anywhere else.
The terms in the glossary itself have tags which place them in 28 different categories. This edition is aimed toward being a resource for film designers but anyone interested in film can benefit from this book.
Most of the over 1800 terms are directly film related and cover everything from job descriptions, to equipment terms, to crew slang, to sound stage etiquette, to up-to-date technical terms and descriptions.And for designers, there are many architectural and sound stage terms that aren’t in any other film glossary. No matter how long you’ve been in the business, there are terms in this book that you haven’t heard before.
This is the first day of the International Production Design Week events that have been organized and curated by the Production Designers Collective, an international group of Production Designers whose mission is to be a hub for designers from around the world and to elevate the profession by bringing awareness and acknowledgment of the craft of art direction around the world to the public’s awareness.
The nine day series features nearly 200 seminars, exhibitions, meetups, tours, and lectures with acclaimed Production Designers from 27 countries. Some of the events are presented online for viewing from anywhere while others are held in specific sites for a live audience.
Here is the link to the schedule of events which is searchable by day, city, language, and event category.
The Must-Have Desktop Device of The Future? Coming in 2028 – The all-in-one 100 Petabyte AI generator, espresso machine, and desk lamp.
The topic of AI-generated content has suddenly dominated the news, or at least as far as the entertainment business is concerned. The subject is certainly a factor in the recent Writer’s Guild strike that is now in progress as it’s one of the sticking points that caused negotiations with the studios and the producers to break down, and not without unrealistic concerns on the Guild’s part.
The discussions around AI-generated content have been percolating in the background for some time but only recently has it seemed that people are taking it seriously. At first, it was just educators who were worried about students using ChatGTP to generate papers or do tests for them. But now several fake Drake songs and a photographer winning a photo contest with an AI-generated picture have suddenly focused the public’s attention on the possibilities.
Photo: AI image by Boris Eldagsen
If the studios can eliminate or minimize writer’s contributions to story and script development, how long will it be before they eliminate actual designers from the process? Are Art Departments seeing their extinction on the horizon?
Twenty years ago the Film industry, at least from the Art Department’s perspective, looked askance at computers. They weren’t to be trusted. The secret fear was that once they became ensconced in the design part of the industry, a lot of work would evaporate. Once something ( a location, a set, a detail drawing) was committed to digital information, jobs would begin to evaporate. The exact opposite happened.
The idea that digital information is permanent, for one thing, is now hysterical. For another, the idea that they would reduce the need for individuals is also funny. The possibilities for design exploded. Now you could do many versions of versions in less time, create renders of drawings and models, create visual displays that would have been unthinkable before. The average size of Art Departments on most medium to larger films has doubled, sometimes even tripled. You need people to generate all that work and now that process is the norm. On one feature not long ago there were over twenty Set Designers and a dozen Illustrators where there would have been a third of that number before.
As for the permanence of digital information, that happens only with excellent human oversight. On one feature we were instructed to copy all of our files to two different external hard drives for safety and to ensure the files would be available for the film sequel. We assumed that by doing so we were pretty much insuring that we wouldn’t be working on said sequel.
A year later I got a call asking if I was available to work on the sequel. It seems that one of the hard drives had gone missing. The other one was located but wouldn’t be of any use. The person responsible for keeping it safe had decided that they needed to back up their music library, and rather than spend $50 on a new hard drive, had erased what I estimated to be over $1,000,000 worth of design work. We were all hired back to redraw what we had drawn once before.
Had the drawings been done on vellum, they could have just pulled the sheets out of the file and made new prints. Which medium is more ‘permanent’?
A recent article at the Center For Data Innovation website outlines the issues that people are commenting about when dealing with AI. The author, Daniel Castro, argues that people are worrying about the wrong issues when discussing AI.
He argues that while AI systems should certainly not be exempt from complying with intellectual property (IP) laws, they should also not be held to a higher standard than humans are when it comes to ‘artistic influence’, as it were. he argues that AL will create more opportunities for artistic creation and that training AL software with copywritten images is no different than what humans do when they are influenced by artwork and music when creating new work.
Ed Sheeran recently won a lawsuit brought against him for supposedly copying a Grammy-winning song by Marvin Gaye. Sheeran defended himself by noting that the same chord structure and melody he used in his song was common to hundreds of other songs which were similar but yet different.
The case was watched very carefully by the music industry as well as artists everywhere, as it would have had a huge stifling effect on music creation as well as future artistic work if Sheeran had lost.
Current laws do not make it illegal to create generative AI work that is similar to another piece of art or image, but they do prevent the creation of a work that is identical or nearly identical to another work. Of course that description of what constitutes as a copy has the danger of veering into a very subjective territory.
In his article Castro makes the point that rather than limit the pool of information that AI has access to in creating generative artwork, it is incumbent on policymakers to strengthen and enforce IP laws, which would protect artists in other ways as well.
There may be a time when a producer or director decides to “pre-design’ a show using AI technology. Architects and Interior Designers are using it now to create basic designs and floor plans. But I think its usefulness is limited. Without a deep knowledge of stage work, period design, an understanding of the story, technical knowledge and an artistic eye, much less personal aesthetics, drawing ability, and color sense, with generative AI you will basically have an interesting collage /scrapbook instead of a fully thought-out design.
That’s a typical question I get from people when I tell them my job title. People assume many different things, based on what they’ve heard from others, or read in a magazine. And most of the time they have an incorrect idea about my job description.
It’s not their fault, really. Our industry does a lousy job of explaining job titles in the entertainment world. They just leave it up to people outside the business to figure it out for themselves. It doesn’t help that the same jobs sometimes have different titles depending on what part of the U.S. you’re in, much less what part of the world you’re talking about. Many people who now work in the entertainment industry had never heard of the Art Department or knew that film design was a career option until after they had finished college.
I received an email from Bruno Anselmo, a Set Designer in Brazil. He was curious to know how our job descriptions might differ even though we have the same job title. His background is both in theater and film and video so I’m sure he experiences the same confusion with people he meets who aren’t familiar with the film industry. (Bruno, tell me if I’m wrong here.)
The job title ‘Set Designer’ means different things here depending on the end-product. In the professional theater field, the Set Designer is the lead artist for the creation and implementation of the visuals for a stage production. In the film and television industry, this role as head of the visual aesthetics of a project is given the title ‘Production Designer’.
To make matters even more confusing, the title ‘Production Designer’ is a department head title, not an actual job description. All Production Designers in the professional film and television entertainment industry are Art Directors. The Production Designer title is given to the head of the Art Department, and this title must be approved by the Art Directors Guild for shows which are produced under the union contract.
Let’s look at a typical Art Department:
Some will argue Set Decoration is a separate department as the Set Decorator works in tandem with the Production Designer rather than as a sub-department. In some cases and projects this may be true, the Set Decorator is absolutely a major contributor and an influence on the look of a film. But still, this department is under the Art Department umbrella and the winner of an Academy Award for Art Direction goes to the Set Decorator as well as the Production Designer.
You’ll see that the Set Designer designation is in the table above in the ‘Design’ category. I usually tell people that a Set Designer in the film industry is a close approximation to an architect in an architectural firm. They are in charge of creating the working drawings that are used by the Construction Department to construct the stage sets and scenery that is used at a location.
Traditionally the Set Designer position was a starting point for Art Directors but this is not always the case. Some Art Directors come from set decoration or a scenic artist position.
Here’s a general list of what a set designer in the entertainment industry, i.e. film and television, is responsible for creating:
Surveying locations and creating accurate as-built drawings.
Construction drawings of stage sets; plans & elevations, scale detail drawings, FSD’s (full size details). These may be architectural or mechanical in nature.
Working drawings of any period of architecture as well as fantasy or futuristic/science fiction designs.
Working drawings of organic elements: topographic maps, terrain creation, volcanoes, mine shafts, caves or subterranean features, other planets.
Working drawings of vehicles: automobiles, aircraft, ships or marine craft of any period.
Working drawings for furniture and props.
Working drawings for special effects shots.
Director Plans, stage plans, and location layouts.
Dimensional study models of paper and wood as well as 3D digital models with photorealistic textures and other elements like furniture or vehicles.
Architectural Drawings. Images: HBO, NetflixFuturistic & Science Fiction. Images: Paramount PicturesPeriod & Fantasy subjects. Images: Walt Disney PicturesVehicles & Props. Images: Warner Bros., Touchstone PicturesLocation Builds. Images: Universal PicturesStage & Location Plans Images: HBO, Walt Disney Pictures
As you can see, probably the biggest difference between a set designer and an architect or an interior designer is that over the course of a career you’ll get to design and draw things that no one in either of the other two professions would if their career lasted 300 years. Instead of worrying about building code or structural concerns, your main focus is making sure the final result looks fantastic. The design is the main focus, not an afterthought.
So, what skills do you need as a set designer? Well, one of the big plusses for me and for most people that work in the industry is that you will never stop learning. You won’t be stuck drawing reflected ceiling plans the rest of your life. It will be a constant learning process.
If you want to design vehicles as well as architecture then you can. If you ONLY want to design vehicles, you can. Many people develop a specialty and primarily just do the type of design that they like best. It’s a never-ending smorgasbord of design possibilities. After having done over 80 films, there are still things I’d like to create that I haven’t yet done.
So, what are the primary skills you need? I’d start with this list:
The ability to draft – You have to know how to create proper working drawings and unlike fine art drawing, anyone can learn how to draft. It can be exacting because precision is important. But, as they say, it isn’t brain surgery. You can learn it.
Camera basics – We design scenery, not permanent buildings. We design for a camera. I tell people that basically, we create beautiful reflectors. A film is a record of light particles that have bounced off of people and scenery and passed through a glass lens. Making it look good is the main objective. Understanding lenses and how they work is a big part of successfully designing stage sets.
Architecture & proportion – You’ll never know everything, but knowing the basics of building history is a must. You’ll be drawing details of doors, windows, stairways, and furniture. You’ll specify hardware, mouldings, plaster details and finishes. There is very little that we order from a catalogue. Almost everything is custom made by studio craftspersons.
Set Construction – Understanding how sets are built and knowing correct nomenclature is a key part of being able to draw studio sets. A lot of our drawings are similar to architectural drawings but there are some big differences between them. The layout styles, nomenclature and notation have more in common with theatrical and 1920’s architectural drawings.
Also, you’ll need to understand basic physical special effects, how to create and lay out backings, both painted and photo backings, know how to create scale drawings from photographs and artwork, understand visual effects requirements, and do location surveying.
The list seems overwhelming but remember, you will learn a lot of these things on the job. You just need the basics and a good portfolio to get your foot in the door.
You’ll need to be proficient with computer software. There will probably be one program that you will do most of your work in and that will be a personal preference. Unlike architecture, there is not a standard program that we use, so you may work on a project with many people using a wide variety of programs.
Currently, in the U.S., the most-used software programs for set design are Vectorworks, Sketchup, Rhino, Blender, Modo, Autocad, Moment Of Inspiration, Z-brush, Solidworks, and a few others like Photoshop, V-Ray and Twin Motion for renders.
Don’t try to learn them all. Software diversity is great but it’s better to get really good a just one or two.
There are a lot of choices of film schools in the country, but if that is the route you choose you’ll have to check to be sure that they have a course in film design or a Production Design track. Many schools don’t.
If you are thinking about schools and looking for an alternative to a four year program, we offer specific classes in set design that focus on the basic skills you need to get started.
Our 10-Week Set Design Fundamentals series is available on-line and is self-paced so you can progress on your own schedule. It is now on sale for 40% off until May 30, 2023.
Forced perspective miniature during filming – Photo: Alan Derringer
The Challenge
My professor, Carl, looked at the scene list for my senior thesis film and furrowed his eyebrows. When I told him it was going to be an hour-long black & white film, set in the 1940’s in Eastern Europe, with dialogue in three different languages, he looked at me as if he wasn’t sure if I was being serious.
I assured him that I wasn’t kidding, and I knew that he was thinking it would probably be another overly-ambitious senior film that would never be finished.
He poked his finger at the page.
“So how do you plan on doing this scene?”, he said. “The fire-bombed city scene.”
Now this was the pre-computer, pre-digital, in-camera-effects-only period of filmmaking. Green-screen and blue-screen work was serious money. The only option other than in-camera effects was optical printing, and he knew I couldn’t afford that on a student film budget.
“A miniature”, I said. “A really big miniature”.
“Uh huh”, he said, with a look that told me he thought I didn’t have a clue as to what I was doing.
It took about three weeks to truck all the materials to the farm pond where I planned on filming the scene. When everything was finally at the site, we had accumulated over 200 discarded wood pallets, over 24 sheets of plywood of various types and random pieces of drywall and corrugated metal. Since all the materials were donated, I estimated that the final cost of the miniature was $150 based on the cost gas for the vehicles and fire accelerant, i.e. kerosine.
I’d staked out my camera position and estimated that I need a miniature that was about 130′ long to fill the frame from edge to edge when I was shooting with a medium length lens. I planned on a miniature scale of somewhere between 1:10 and 1:12.
My father and I would drag the plywood sheets close enough to the small house on the property to string an extension cord to jigsaw-out the +250 rough rectangle openings in the wood to simulate the windows of the buildings. Once they were staked in place, we stacked the hundreds of pallets behind the wall, just far enough away to keep the flames from setting the plywood on fire before I could finish filming.
When we were done stacking the pallets, we moved to the other side of the pond to look at the finished model.
It was really, really ugly.
There was no detail. No even a coat of paint on the raw wood. But I new that it would look good on film because I had three things going for me: a night shot, shallow depth of field, and black & white reversal film.
The Shoot
The night of the shoot I was nervous. Black & white reversal film is unforgiving. Instead of creating a negative, you’re creating a positive image. It’s like slide film for a cinema camera. Exposure-wise, you have about one f-stop of leeway as far as over or under exposure. You have about a 5 to 7 stop range from pure black to blown-out white. Beautiful contrast, no margin for error. Modern digital cameras, by comparison, will give you up to 15 stops of latitude. I had to re-shoot the opening sequence of the film twice because of a mislabeled ND filter that resulted in over-exposed footage.
This scene was a one-shot deal. There would be no reshoots. The five-person crew was in position.
I’d tried to do some test shots a few weeks before using a bonfire and my lighting plan, but the bonfire was not a good simulation for what would end up being 15-foot tall flames in the miniature.
I used the headlights of a car for the key light on the actress Liana. A fog machine, run by my cousin Greg, was positioned next to the car to give some depth to the background as well as to diffuse the illumination from the headlights. The Assistant Director, Jan, helped the actress into position in the water.
A pumper truck from the local fire department was positioned next to the pond. They showed up hoping to just see a good show, but were prepared for an interesting fire training exercise on the chance that the flames got out of hand.
Scale plan of miniature & camera position.
The Technical Info
If your eyes glaze over reading technical data, you can skip this section and go to the next. I’ll try to keep this paragraph brief, but there are people who like to know this info.
I shot the scene using a Bolex H-16, a 16mm film camera that is spring driven. You have to hand wind the drive mechanism with a crank. It has a three-lens turret with 16mm/f1.8, 25mm/f1.4, and 75mm/f1.9 lenses. The 16 had too wide of an angle of view, so I decided to use the 25mm for the wide shots and the 75mm for the close-ups.
The H-16 did not have an external magazine, meaning that I was confined to a 100 foot roll of film. There would be no time to reload once the fire was started. This would give me 2 1/2 minutes of shooting time. I figured that the prime “flame activity” once the fire was started would last from three to five minutes before the flames would have consumed the majority of the wood and the flames would start to lose their visual impact.
I planned to wait until the flames had reached a peak and then start shooting, getting the wide shots with the 25mm out of the way first, and then switching to the 75mm lens for the close-ups when the fire would still give me great reflections in the water but not have the intensity that it did in the wider shots.
The 25mm, focused at 16 feet away, and with an f-stop setting of about 2.8, would give me a depth of field of about 20 feet total. The Kodak Tri-X 7266 film stock had an ASA of 200, so I had to shoot almost at full aperture to have enough light on the actress. I spot metered several times from her face to the fire after it started before I was sure about my exposure. The f-stop spread convinced me that the front of the miniature would be solid black and out of focus, devoid of detail.
Plan of miniature shoot showing angle of view, focus distance, and depth of field range.
The Fire Is Lit
The pallets had been soaked with 5 gallons of kerosine a few hours earlier in the hope that the fire would spread evenly when lit but not explode the way I thought they would if we had used gasoline.
Only a few minutes after the fire is started, the flames are already subsiding in some areas.
When I gave the word to start the fire, it spread pretty quickly, but without a sudden burst of flame. Within a minute the flames were high above the top of the miniature and yelled for the soundman to start recording. I had rehearsed with Liana as to the sequence that we would follow and it went smoothly, without any stopping for head or tail slates.
The 100 foot roll ran through the camera quickly and when I heard the tail end run through the gate I knew I had better have gotten the scene. The flames were already far below the top of the facade.
Four weeks of work would translate into a minute of the finished film. The shooting schedule would continue for the next 8 months before we would be finished.
In Part 2, I’ll discuss what went right, what went wrong, and what I would do differently.
The Designer's Assistant 