We’ve all seen countless conventional social realism representations of those sidelined by society with their gritty, miserable aesthetics, populated by problematic characters, and whilst they are undeniably powerful, director Michael Jobling wanted to explore a different way of portraying such narratives in his pilgrimage or purgatory drama short The Walk. Written by Sophie Ellerby, who came across an article about a vital local bus route being abruptly cut, and collaborated with Jobling to dive into the psyche of an individual battling the logistical obstructions of a 24-mile round trip in order to sign on, coupled with the heavy psychological weight of grief and isolation. Featuring a singular performance from BAFTA-winning actor Adeel Akhtar, The Walk – which we highlighted as one of the stand out shorts of London Film Festival 2023 – is rife with melancholy and hard hitting truths but also proffers glimmers of hope and a sensory appreciation of the grounding beauty of nature. Joining us on Directors Notes today, we speak to Jobling about breaking from the expected stylistic norm for the telling of this story and leaning into a more surreal form, working closely with his DOP to create the film’s oppressive emotional closeness and revelling in the rich creative possibilities of the sound design process.
What did you see in the script and how did you imagine it translating to the screen?
First of all, I saw writer Sophie Ellerby’s empathy for the character of Amar and the difficult and painful predicament he had found himself in. Sophie is wonderfully economical with her writing, so there was no room for judgement or implications for how the character should be seen or perceived. His actions spoke louder than words, and it was clear that he didn’t have many material options to change his situation. For this reason, I knew that it was essentially going to have to be a journey into his mind and an exploration of his perception of the world around him.
Secondly, I saw the film as a creative challenge, as Amar is the only character we actually see in the film. How we used and combined performance, camera and sound design to tell Amar’s story was suddenly much more of a consideration than in any of my previous work, as I knew there wasn’t the option to hide behind any clever editing tricks or exposition, we were on our own and exposed, much like Amar. But I enjoyed that, as did the crew.
What made you want to avoid the typical social realism portrayal of such stories and lean into a more surreal/horror vibe?
I’ve always found it odd that there is a set of expectations of what a film is going to look, sound and feel like if it is about working-class stories. For a visual medium, I don’t know why we feel so constrained to tell a particular story in a particular way. From a more selfish point of view, I’m coming to this script with my own experiences, style and creative ambitions, so it would have felt odd or even difficult for me to have dropped all of that to click into the ‘social realism aesthetic’.
What I read in the script was a story about a man battling crippling isolation and anxiety, about two brothers, about nature and noise, and about grief. The plot elements of Tory Britain, the cuts in public services, and Amar’s physical predicament all serve as a backdrop for the real story that’s going on inside his head. From this, the utilisation of surrealism and horror techniques ultimately made the most sense to me.
The lingering and uncomfortably tight close-ups of Amar weren’t necessarily planned – they were acted upon.
Adeel Akhtar is a real talent who provides such an emotive and heart-wrenching performance captured in the film’s powerful close-ups. How did the two of you work on the role and keep the emotions and pathos flowing?
Adeel said something on set that I’ve carried with me since; “Films should softly change minds”. It’s a bit of an all-encompassing idea and speaks to both the story’s effect on an audience and the actual process of filmmaking and collaboration. The lingering and uncomfortably tight close-ups of Amar weren’t necessarily planned – they were acted upon, perhaps because they were inspired by what we’d happened to be talking about while driving to the location, or the temperature that day. With this flexibility, a conversation between a DOP and a 1st AD for example, suddenly becomes filled with opportunities to have minds softly changed by what the film needs and deserves. It means that the film is truly unique – not through mind-blowing techniques never seen before in cinema history, but by combining elements that we may have individually seen many times before, but never in this combination. In the case of The Walk, a working-class man of South Asian heritage, travels through the English countryside, speaking a mix of English and Punjabi while he avoids his brother’s calls and the grief of his father’s death.
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There’s a version of events where me, Adeel, Sophie, or Anna Griffin the producer could have said, I’m going to do my job the way I want to, or the way I think it should be done, and I’m not going to let anyone impact that or change my mind. But instead, we all, without necessarily saying it out loud, agreed that we were going to create something powerful and be open to having our minds changed. This only has the inevitable effect of Adeel being able to stay in the moment and connect with the ever-changing nature of Amar’s predicament, and in turn, what makes an audience engage and extend their empathy.
I can almost feel the stress in his every breath, how did you plan your shot construction and build this cloistered world?
I’m normally a very methodical and exacting director who shotlists everything and draws floorplans, but it just didn’t feel right for this project. I knew I wanted to enjoy working with the team as much as possible for this one, and I find that burrowing your head in an iPad with all your illegible notes can be an effective way of breaking down good collaboration and communication. Instead, me and DOP Jermaine Edwards worked together to combine references and analyse the script to produce a sort of visual language that we knew that we’d be able to fall back on, which was one of an oppressive closeness and movement during Amar’s heightened anxiety, and lingering serenity during moments of peace.
These barriers forced me, the crew, and Adeel for that matter, to adopt a discipline and a focus that I’d never really experienced before.
As your first foray into shooting on 35mm film, what challenges did it pose to you as a director and how did you find the experience?
I was pretty terrified! Cinematographer Jermaine pushed for it, as he had a lot of experience and he loves the quality it brings to a project, so I trusted him. I had a few teething problems, such as not being able to re-watch a take on the monitor, or going for as many takes as I wanted. But really, these barriers forced me, the crew, and Adeel for that matter, to adopt a discipline and a focus that I’d never really experienced before. Suddenly there was a massive emphasis on blocking, communication and precision which I can safely say improved my craft. It was practically a spiritual experience, and I’d shoot everything on film from now on if I could.
The diegetic sound of the forest and the surroundings contrasting with the constant buzzing of the phone set me on edge.
In the most heightened moments of the sound design, when Amar is at his most frantic and scared, we’re getting a glimpse of his perception of the world around him. Sound designer Gavin Poole from M1 and I wanted to create this sense that the environment around him could serve as both an antagonistic force and as his saviour. I think sound design might be my favourite part of directing, and that was only solidified when working with Gavin, who was such a creative force on this project. It’s the element of filmmaking where you’re least constrained by continuity, or by the comparatively restrictive nature of the visuals. For example, Gavin introduced the sound of wailing foxes at the height of the panic attack, just after Amar stumbles upon a decomposing fox in the undergrowth. It was an unplanned addition that really brought home the feeling of Amar’s grief and denial of death.
I was instead urged to simply linger on the close-up of Amar and make the audience sit in the discomfort of it.
Were there any discoveries in the edit and how did the post process shape the final film?
In many ways, it was a similar experience to any of the other shorts I’ve edited, in that it’s essentially the final rewrite of the script and a job of trimming off anything superfluous or leaning more towards style rather than substance. But this time was different, as I had the combined force of Sophie Ellerby, Anna Griffin, Hester Bloom and Ella Townsend providing me with incredible feedback throughout the editing process. They got me to really focus on what the story needed and ensure that the film was constantly moving forward. I remember offering up a draft of the phone call scene where I’d added in shots of the surrounding nature, and I was instead urged to simply linger on the close-up of Amar and make the audience sit in the discomfort of it, in the way that he was having to while talking to his brother. This was essentially the running theme throughout post-production, which was to keep it simple and not get in the way of the unfolding drama.
What is next for you as a director?
I’m currently in prep for another short film which I’ve decided to try and get off the ground without formal funding. I’m quite keen to reconnect with shoe-string filmmaking once more before attempting to secure larger budgets than we were granted on The Walk by BFI Network. Past that, I have lots of concepts for shorts cooking, and I’m writing a feature film with my brother Jack.
