We Need to Talk About Oscar

Alex Mechanik worked side by side with wife Samy Burch on short films before the two broke through with ‘May December,’ and his debut feature ‘This Is the One They’ll Remember Me By’ finds him directing alone, with Samy credited for the story. He recounts how they divided the early groundwork and why this was the project to steer himself. The role of Robin Beck was imagined for his friend O-Lan Jones, a character actress long overdue for a showcase, and he describes when she learned about it and how it changed the character.
Instead of a locked script, Alex wrote a skeletal outline that left the cast room to riff, a looseness inspired by his love of improvised television comedy, and he says just how bare that outline was on day one. Keith Carradine, Ray Wise, Aidy Bryant, and Charles Melton all play themselves, and he marks the boundary between poking fun at their public images and keeping them inside Robin’s reality. Cinematographer Lance Bangs lends the convention scenes the immediacy of nonfiction, and Alex explains how far that raw feel went before the film eased toward conventional storytelling, along with how grainy tape footage from Robin’s earlier career was shaped into her own recollections.
Umberto Smerilli’s sweeping orchestral music plays against that imagery, and Alex answers whether it mirrors the grandeur Robin imagines for her own life or gently teases the awkwardness around her. He also explains why the story follows someone who has already tasted fame instead of a newcomer fighting to be noticed. The closing tribute to Paul Bartel and Jackie Burch carries personal weight for a film so preoccupied with being remembered and loving the work.
(Photo credit: Lance Bangs)

Alex Huston Fischer and Eleanor Wilson adapt Ursula Wills-Jones’ fable ‘The Wicker Husband,’ a story that already lived as prose and as a London stage production, into the feature ‘Wicker,’ and they name what about it demanded the screen. As writing and directing partners, they compare how their dynamic shifts between the drafting table and a busy set, and how stepping up from their debut ‘Save Yourselves!’ to a larger crew changed the way they work together.
Ambition runs through both of their films, and with ‘Wicker’ it presses against the limits of what a single shooting day can hold. They describe where vision and logistics collide and which creative element they protect first when time runs short. Alexander Skarsgård plays the title figure inside a practical suit built by Weta Workshop, a costume that restricted his movement, and they explain how it altered their notes, blocking, and framing of his gaze while his performance stayed rooted in feeling.
Cinematographer Lol Crawley, a past guest on the show, shot ‘Wicker’ in the window between ‘The Brutalist’ and Damien Chazelle’s next picture, and the directors share what they believe drew him to their world, along with how his precise single camera instincts shaped their coverage of each scene. Looking across their work, from an original debut to an adaptation, they also speak to the pull of odd premises anchored in real human bonds, and the spark that tells them a story deserves their time.
(Photos: Courtesy of Black Bear)

Writer-director Isabella Ivos built ‘None the Wiser’ out of a painful toothache, and she lays out how ideas born from everyday moments like that one survive the journey from notes to script to finished film. Placing the short beside her earlier ‘Robotica,’ where a woman surrenders her humanity to survive, Isabella turns to why the dread of leaving a piece of yourself behind keeps drawing her in, here through a young woman at the edge of adulthood who is about to lose her sense of play.
The story drops from a sterile dentist’s chair into a sedated dream, and Isabella explains how that cold, clinical start shapes the look of everything that follows. With cinematographer Barton Cortright, a previous guest on the show, she built a visual language that avoids the usual dream sequence tricks and keeps the anesthesia state tied to the body. Isabelle Grill and Zoe Ziegler face each other as two versions of one person, and she tells us what made their meeting feel like real inner dialogue instead of theater.
At under seven minutes, the film plays closer to a tale than a conventional short, and Isabella talks about how that framing let her bend pacing in the edit in ways a waking world story would resist. Its polished, high concept imagery points toward a first feature, so we close with the forthcoming challenges of upholding a controlled aesthetic once far more voices crowd the set, and the very first job she expects to hand off to someone else.
(Photo credit: Marcus Maddox)

For ‘Powwow People,’ filmmaker Sky Hopinka and his collaborators built the very gathering they filmed, a powwow held over three days at Seattle’s Daybreak Star Indian Cultural Center. Sky recalls the first obstacle that made the project feel less like a shoot and more like hosting a community event. Coordinator Gina Bluebird-Stacona anchors the weekend, and he describes how watching her work up close shifted his understanding of what it takes to create a space where people feel safe.
Drumming and dancing hum constantly beneath the film, yet its attention settles on the generations sharing time along the edges. Sky and cinematographer Shaandiin Tome describe the discipline that kept the lens there instead of chasing the spectacle at the center. The central figures appear as voices over the footage rather than through sit down interviews, and Sky pinpoints when that approach took hold. With emcee Ruben Littlehead and Arena Director Quanah Matheson already steering the day, he also explains how control of the room’s rhythm got shared.
Jamie John, a nonbinary dancer taking part in the traditionally female Jingle Dance, brings tradition and change into the same frame, and Sky details how the two worked together so that their presence felt like pure celebration. The film then settles into a half hour unbroken take of a Northern Traditional dance special, and Sky pinpoints the moment he knew everything else could fall away. He also lays out the missteps he sees well meaning documentary crews make when entering Indigenous gatherings, missteps this film was built to avoid.

Creator Jesse McKeown built 'Below' around a premise easy to sum up in a sentence, a sea creature terrorizing a small town, and explains how he kept that pitch from overshadowing the family drama and economic unraveling he actually wanted to tell. Having spent years visiting Newfoundland and growing attached to it long before cameras rolled, he talks through the strange task of shooting the place he loves in a way meant to feel threatening and dread soaked on screen.
Jesse walks us through how he and his crew worked to avoid the flattened, gray-blue look often applied to coastal or remote settings, aiming instead for something textured and alive. He set the story during a Come Home Year, a real Newfoundland tradition that pulls former residents back into town, giving him a built-in way to stage friction between people who stuck around through hard times and those returning from elsewhere.
Jesse also reflects on premiering the opening episodes at TIFF on a massive cinema screen, even though the show was conceived for television, and how designing for home viewing shaped his choices around both open water sequences and tighter interior scenes. At its core, he frames the show's real threat as change itself, a community watching its industry and way of life slip away, and considers how his own years navigating a constantly shifting television business fed into how he wrote these characters reacting to losing theirs.
(Photo: Courtesy of Netflix)