Realm of Satan
In 2019, I began production on my debut feature Realm of Satan, only for the world to shut down as COVID-19 brought filming to a halt after just a few days. It wasn’t until 2022 that we were able to resume. Despite this catastrophic challenge, two people never wavered in their commitment and belief in me and the film: producer Caitlin Mae Burke and Austrian cinematographer Gerald Kerkletz. Because of them, we were able to resume filming in 2022, and I’m thrilled that Realm of Satan will have its NYC theatrical run next week at Nitehawk. Realm of Satan is not a conventional film and had an equally unconventional production model — a shoot that stretched to 65 days over seven months (with that three-year break in between). Most days, our crew consisted of just three people: myself, Gerald, and gaffer Francisco Acosta. There were a few days where we shot with only two (Gerald and I) and a few where we shot with a crew of 15 – 20. We rarely shot more than two shots per day. This allowed us a luxury most people can’t afford in filmmaking — time. Time to talk, time to look, time to listen, time to create.
In this long-stretch of time, Gerald was my closest creative collaborator, a rock and friend who embraced this unconventional process — never complaining, always searching and giving. Gerald is an uncompromising and fearless artist, unafraid to both challenge and be challenged in a way I think is really rare. Our life together became an intense and never-ending creative dialogue.On the eve of our theatrical premiere, the spotlight naturally falls on me as director, but this is unfair, so I wanted to highlight one of the most intense and meaningful collaborators I’ve had the pleasure to work with. Gerald and I had a conversation about his career, his life and Realm of Satan.
Cummings: So tell me about how you became a cinematographer. What was the journey?
Kerkletz: I grew up in Graz, Austria. As a kid, I was drawing a lot, so they put me in an art high school, and it naturally become clear that I wanted to be a filmmaker. The next step was to go to the Vienna Film Academy, because it was the only film school in Austria. The Vienna Film Academy considered itself an art school, unlike German film schools. German schools were much closer to the industry. In Austria I would say we didn’t have a real film industry.
I remember film school was mostly about discovering and experimenting. It was a safe workshop. I teach now from time to time and the main question from students is, “how to do it right?” As if there would be a recipe. I think often the focus is too much on getting it “right” instead of discovering.
Cummings: Handl Klaus’s March was your first film as DP. How did that happen? Were you already working as a gaffer when that happened?
March
Kerkletz: Vienna is a small community of filmmakers. I met Handl Klaus on the set of director Jessica Hausner’s and DP Martin Gschlacht’s film school thesis film Interview, where I was working as an electrician and Klaus was acting. I was still early in film school, and Jessica was graduating.
A few years later, Klaus connected with me and said that he had a script and he wants to direct. It was an ensemble piece, no main character, no traditional plot, only non-actors. It starts with the unexplained suicide of three boys, which stays unexplained. We observe fragmented, daily life sequences of people that are only linked by their grief and with us knowing about the suicide. Everyone said no one would finance the script, even in Austria, which was famous for “feel bad” movies.
I told Klaus that the others were right about financing and that it will be hard to make this movie in a traditional way, but I told him that we had to do it. And that’s how it started. With this tiny team with minimal gear, we shot this movie for more than two years in small portions. American independent cinema is the closest to me as a “European arthouse lover,” and when I go back, the situation how Porterfield made Putty Hill, I guess was quite similar to the way we made March.
Klaus is also a fantastic cook. He makes yeast dumplings, filled with plum jam called “buchtein” — it’s difficult to make. Klaus would bake buchtein before, during and after the shoots. Sometimes even during production meetings, and they became our system of currency. He convinced location owners, car rentals, hotels, people that didn’t want to act in the movie, not with money, but with buchtein!
A year later, this little movie that was never supposed to be happen won the main prize in Locarno.
Cummings: And I love it. It’s a great movie. Hard to find in the US but well worth seeking out!
Kerkletz: It was the beginning of a lot for me. I still talk with new directors based on March. Then we shot Klaus’s second film, Tomcat, which won the Teddy Award at Berlinale.
Cummings: After March you became a professional gaffer?
Kerkletz: At film school we all learned more from each other than from teachers. Half of film school was helping each other out in a classical way — new students helping the older ones.
With Interview I found this close collaboration with Martin Gschlacht. When he started to shoot films after graduating he asked me to be his gaffer while I was still a student. I learned a lot from Martin, and he influenced me also because the lines between roles on set were fluid, so we used to light together and think together. It was a close collaboration. [Gerald was the gaffer on Götz Spielmann‘s Revanche.]
The other thing I would like to mention is that I worked with Ulrich Seidl on Import/Export as a gaffer. I think it was the first time that Seidl actually worked with the classic idea of a gaffer, because he had two DPs on the film: Wolfgang Thaler and Ed Lachmann.
And so Wolfgang was setting up scenes with Ulrich and doing rehearsals, and me and Ed were preparing the next set. Ulrich also only works with real locations, but in reality a lot has been changed. It just has to be so well done that even Ulrich himself doesn’t notice. When we had sets with only practical lights, Ed would change all the bulbs — different colors, making color zones, with the light.
Ed taught me to see light in a particular and intuitive way, and also he got involved in decisions beyond a cinematographer’s typical role, taking responsibility over color, textures, reflections. He was deeply involved with the art department and costume design. Ed was my second film school — one of the most highly acclaimed American cinematographers. That was very, very special. This intimate time with Ed made an impact on me. Ed also is known for switching [back and forth] from extremely big Hollywood stuff, and in the next year, he’s doing European arthouse.
Cummings: Like you! You’ve done some really big films, like with Markus Schleinzer, for example. What makes you choose the films you do? And I know you also don’t work on so many films…
Kerkletz: I used to call myself “picky” but, actually, you told me it’s better to call myself “selective.” I like to focus on projects and people I believe in. I enjoy the development of the film just as much as the actual making of it. That’s the reason why I like to be involved as early as possible, because I want to be part of the process and be on the side of the director and not one step behind them. I come on board much earlier than most of my colleagues.
Cummings: And how many films is the most you’ve done in a year?
Kerkletz: I really would like it to be one film per year, then developing a little bit with others. In between is the time to reset and that means reading and watching and traveling and experimenting.
Cummings: You would never do five films a year for example? People do it.
Kerkletz: No.
Cummings: Four?
Kerkletz: No.
Cummings: Three?
Kerkletz: No! It’s just my rhythm. Robbie Mueller once said a beautiful sentence: “I prefer the silence between images.”
Cummings: What makes you decide to do a project?
Kerkletz: It’s really the director. It’s not the script. I don’t know why all the funding is totally focused on the script. I think for some films, for some directors, this kind of “holy script” concept doesn’t help the film.
I found this metaphor for traveling. With a director, I ask myself, is this a person I would like to travel with? Not literally, but when the sun is shining, or when it’s raining and when it’s cold, will we find beauty even when it’s difficult, without turning against each other and be able to fight for what we believe in? Is this a person I can grow with as an artist and as a human? I want to feel that working on the film or being with the director is “quality time.”
Cummings: Let’s just talk about how our film came together. Realm of Satan was your first film with a US filmmaker. I think it’s not common that at this smaller film scale for a US filmmaker to work with a fancy Austrian DP!
Soldier Jane
Kerkletz: We met at Sundance, quite a while ago (2013). I was there with the film Soldier Jane by Daniel Hoesl. And you edited the first feature from Eliza Hittman. Then these two films kept on traveling to festivals together, like Rotterdam.
Cummings: Yes, we traveled a lot and saw each other in lots of different places. We were a match made in festivals really.But we became just normal friends, you, Eliza, Daniel Hoesl and I. Those festivals were a big bonding experience.
Kerkletz: I mean, festivals are so important because when films travel, the filmmakers travel and traveling together is a good way to make friends.
So we kept in touch and, and when I was the second time in New York in 2019 with quite a big movie for me, Angelo by Markus Schleinzer. It was a tough shoot, with a big crew, a period piece, a lot of challenges. And, as much as I loved it, and I was happy with the result, it had been quite intense and I was longing for something smaller, with less pressure and it turned out that you asked me, if we can drive up north to Maine and film a goat giving birth…
Cummings: This became the first shot of Realm of Satan: a goat giving birth. I needed to present footage at a pitch seminar at Visions du Reel. I had no crew, nothing, just me and the producer Caitlin Mae Burke at that point. I secretly had wanted to work with you since Soldier Jane, but I always thought it wouldn’t be possible because you were too big of a DP and in another country. And then I saw Angelo! Wow! So I thought, “Well, I should just ask Gerald! Why not? The worst he can say is no. He’s in New York for a few weeks and what else does he have to do?” You were also staying at my apartment I think, so I had a bit of leverage.
Kerkletz: It’s quite funny because after shooting this big movie with Markus, I found myself with you, in a barn, sleeping on the floor, in the hay, next to a pregnant goat named Belle. And for four days and nights, we tried to convince her to give birth in front of our camera.
Cummings: Yes. You went from Lincoln Center to the barn — it’s a good metaphor! We drove to Maine, set up in the barn, and literally slept in her pen with her for the whole time, with one person awake watching her private parts, because no one knew when she’d give birth. I mean, we couldn’t leave. We had one shot to get it. There was no hotel room or bed or anything. A barn and a sleeping bag. Wasn’t it seven days?
Kerkletz: I don’t know, but it was a lot of days. It was special. You said you didn’t want it to look like documentary. You would love to imagine it as Belle giving birth on the theater stage. I really have to say, I think we we did it quite well! Usually I’m quite critical of my own work, but this may be the best shot I’ve ever done.
Cummings: Satan was smiling up at us that day! That was a sign we had to continue.But, it was very hard, and you were very tough. Not everyone gets this, but you got it. I didn’t need to justify it, and you never complained. Sometimes you have to sleep in a goat pen for a week to get one shot. With time and dedication, that’s how you make miracles.
…But then of course, COVID happened and we had to wait a long time to do more.
Angelo
Kerkletz: We understood each other quite quickly, or we both already knew beforehand we would be a match. That’s why we wanted to work with each other. But what I really thought was nice and this maybe was connected with all the time we had in between forced by COVID, we both like to talk about everything. We talked a lot.
Cummings: COVID was a blessing in that way. We had time to figure things out. It’s not the two weeks preparation that directors and DPs do on indie films in the US.
Kerkletz: We also had the feeling that we had time — we didn’t rush! So part of the process is talking about things over a long time, and the result was, which surprised me when we started shooting, we didn’t barely talk at all. I mean, it was almost always only you and me, and sometimes there was a third person on the crew, but, we developed a natural split in our responsibilities, and there was no need to discuss. So even with the things that were unplanned, we could see through each other’s eyes because we had so much connection.
Cummings: Often we had a three-person crew. I think what I appreciate, and I hope more people follow your example, is that you understood that this project could only be made by a crew of three people most of the time, but it’s also okay that you work on another film with the crew of 80, 100 people, like Angelo. But Realm of Satan can’t be made by 80 people.
Kerkletz: After us, I worked with Markus on a new film called Rose. It’s not out yet. It’s a period piece, with Sandra Huller in the main role. It’s totally different, but what I was looking for, together with Markus, it’s the same. I don’t know if it’s an expression you can say in English, but in German we have, “We are all just cooking with water in the end, right?”
Cummings: Okay. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The dish tastes like shit or it tastes pretty good. It doesn’t matter the size of the restaurant staff.
Kerkletz: We are looking for the same things! With us, it was usually just the two of us and a gaffer — we should mention Francesco Acosta because he was our best boy and gaffer — and it was really a gift that we found someone who could adapt so quickly to this little triangle. I mean, we had a normal car, us in the front, and Francisco in the back with all the equipment.
Cummings: And he was like 22, but just down for the adventure and on board with us creatively. We could say, “Meet us in New Orleans on a street corner” and he’d be there, ready to go.Sometimes we did have a bigger crew, a few days with much more preparation and like a crew of 20.
Kerkletz: I think for us, sometimes we had a huge amount of pre-production for one shot, and sometimes we had actually less than zero, in a way. But we were prepared in other ways.
Cummings: You mean when we showed up in a far-off town in central Sweden and had never met the person before and were there for one day? Or in England when we had like a five-star experience with one of the participants of the film at their amazing estate?
Kerkletz: I think for us “to see” was the secret because even if we tried to prepare, there were a couple of days where we didn’t know anything in advance. When we were arriving on set, sometimes we didn’t even have a set. Or we saw it the first time when we met the people. There was so much trust there, and it turned out that we always found something. This proved again that being involved as early as possible is not about having “a plan that you have to do.” Whatever happens, even if it’s not at all what you imagined, you can react and adapt.
Cummings: We knew the people we were shooting were going to be great and there would always be something fascinating and we would eventually get it. And a lot of times we found better things than we could have imagined!
Kerkletz: Yeah.
Cummings: Anything else we should say? What do you think?
Kerkletz: I mean, there are also that there’s just this one quote to end with, I want to quote you, one of my favorite quotes. You once said that for people like us “you have to do one movie to make money and then another one to lose it.”
Looking back now—working with Markus on Angelo, then with you on Realm of Satan, and then again with Markus on Rose, the film with Sandra Hüller we are finishing now—it reminds me how much I love mixing it up. It keeps me awake. I love small movies. Actually, I think I need restrictions—at least from time to time. It’s good for my soul. I still shoot things for nothing, and luckily, by now, people also call me regularly for bigger, well-paid work. Switching between the two lets me test myself and reminds me what really matters. I need both challenges. It’s about who is asking the question and not about how much money is behind something. And adapting and finding a way, which doesn’t mean “my way,” but, maybe “the way which is needed.” So, once more, it’s all about questions.
