Alright, so let me tell you about this weird observation phase I went through. It wasn’t like I set out to do some deep research or anything, not my style. It just sort of happened, like a lot of things do.
See, I hit a wall sometime back. Proper burnout, you know? My brain felt like it was full of cotton. The doc basically told me to just stop, do absolutely nothing for a bit. And for a while, that’s what I did. My main activity? Watching stuff. Hours and hours of it, just vegging out. And I stumbled into watching a bunch of Greta Lee’s films and shows. She’s got this presence, really pulls you in. So I just kept watching her work whenever it popped up on whatever service I was on.
And here’s the thing when you’re just zoning out, watching screen after screen. You start to notice the tiny stuff. The things that usually fly right by you when you’re busy. Little set details, specific costume choices, the way actors just hold themselves or move in a space. It’s like your brain, with nothing else to chew on, starts dissecting what’s in front of it, almost on autopilot.
So, during this extended binge-watch period, I started picking up on specifics in how characters were presented, or how certain scenes were shot. And with Greta Lee, in several of her roles, one of the details that kinda caught my eye was related to, well, how her characters were grounded – sometimes literally. I’m talking about footwear, or often, the absence of it in certain scenes. I know, I know, sounds like a strange thing to fixate on, right?
But it wasn’t really about the feet themselves, if you catch my drift. It was more about what that little detail communicated about the character or the moment. You see a character barefoot in their own apartment? That says something about comfort, being at ease, intimacy. Then you see that same character barefoot in a totally different, maybe more vulnerable situation? Gives off a completely different vibe. It often felt like one of those subtle directorial choices, or a styling decision, that added another layer to her character’s portrayal and the overall storytelling. Like, you’d see her in a scene, and that particular detail – the shoes, or no shoes – would just click with the emotion or the story beat they were going for. It’s all part of the whole visual narrative, really.
So, why did this even stick with me, out of all things? It’s a bit like that time I was stuck assembling this nightmare flat-pack wardrobe. Took me ages. I spent hours staring at confusing diagrams, fiddly little screws, bits of cheap laminate. After I finally wrestled that thing together, I couldn’t help but notice how all furniture was constructed, every joint and screw. Same kind of principle here, I figure. You spend enough time passively absorbing something, and these little patterns or specific creative choices start to jump out at you. It was an observation born out of sheer, mind-numbing repetition of watching things, almost like an unexpected side effect of my enforced downtime.
So yeah, that was my “practice,” if you can even call it that. Just this accidental noticing of how small details, like how a character’s physical connection to their environment is shown, can actually speak volumes in a performance or a film. Just something I picked up from the couch, staring at the screen. Makes you appreciate all the tiny, almost invisible layers that go into filmmaking a bit more, I guess.
