Story Frame 34 – A Character Without a Script in the Wrong Movie

Lights Out in Istanbul

A few weeks later, we were back in the air again. This time we were flying to Istanbul to capture more footage for American Byzantine. Specifically, we were going to film the interior of Hagia Sophia Grand Mosque. Its name alone tells you the story of its multi-faceted life as a religious structure.

Built under the direction of Emperor Justinian in the mid-530s AD as the Christian cathedral for the Byzantine Empire, this massive structure has alternated over the centuries between being the fifth largest church in the world and a Muslim mosque, depending upon who was ruling at the time. Hagia Sophia, Greek for “Church of Holy Wisdom,” is one of the best surviving examples of Byzantine architecture and a key influence in the architecture of the Basilica in Washington, DC.

Martin and I had been there previously to scout the location, a quick couple of days to assess what was needed in order to film the interior and exterior of this extraordinary building. To determine what would be, in Martin’s vernacular, ‘the money shots’ – the dramatic beauty shots that would stand out in the film and tell the story of its architecture.

On our flight there, I got into conversation with a lovely Turkish woman sitting across the aisle from me. Her name was Bingul – Turkish for ‘a thousand roses,’ she told me.

By the time we arrived at Atatürk Airport, A Thousand Roses and her husband had invited us to their home for dinner, a harbinger of other warm and generous encounters yet to come in Istanbul. It’s a lovely thing to be invited inside someone’s home when traveling – especially someone whose parents had given her such a poetic name – and I very much wanted to do this. But Martin politely declined, for reasons he didn’t elaborate upon.

During our first visit to Istanbul, we’d visited Kapaliçarşi, the large indoor covered market – a maze of 61 ‘streets’ with more than 4000 shops under domed ceilings painted in bright Turkish patterns. Once upon a time, this was the hub of the Mediterranean trade, unrivaled in the world in terms of abundance, variety and the quality of its offerings.

It was lively, buzzing and confusing, with vendors offering price negotiations over cups of aromatic tea, especially for those interested in Turkish carpets. Tempted as I was by them, I chose instead a simple colorful, hand-painted bowl that was in my limited price range.

Moments after I left the shop, however, the bowl fell through the flimsy bag it had been wrapped in, shattering as it hit the hard stone floor. As I stared at the pieces, heartbroken and dismayed, wondering what to do, a man from another stall immediately rushed over. He picked up the pieces and brought them back to the vendor from whom I’d purchased it and indignantly demanded a replacement for me – which I got, thanks to his help. Whether it was theater for the tourists, or a real live knight in Turkish leather, I don’t know. Either way, I appreciated it.

I wasn’t the only person shopping that afternoon. On our way back to our hotel, I watched from the window of our car as a man walked down the street with a small refrigerator he’d just purchased mounted upon his back, presumably on his way his home.

After we’d finished our initial scout of Hagia Sofia, Martin and I lingered in the nearby Basilica Cistern, a subterranean collection of pools located fifty-two scary stone steps below street level. Built during Emperor Justinian’s reign to provide storage for water from the mountains for the city’s inhabitants, the cisterns are an architectural wonderland filled with hundreds of marble columns, each thirty feet high and holding up the cross-shaped vaults and arches of its roof.

Atmospherically lit, the pools glowed in soft turquoise lights with ruby and gold lighting overhead. Ethereal flute music played by a small group of musicians enhanced the otherworldly atmosphere. I would love to have shot some footage there, but there was really no logical way to fit it into our story.

Istanbul was a magical and entrancing place to spend time. It's good we took in what we did during those days, for when we came back for the actual shoot, it was all work and things went quite wrong.

To begin with, somewhere between Paris and Istanbul, Air France lost our luggage. That’s an inconvenience for any traveler, but for a film crew, it’s a costly and serious problem. The gear is expensive and the crew gets paid a day rate on location, whether or not they are able to work. Air France promised to have it to us the following day, the day before we were to start filming.

Fortunately, having heard about Hülya Biren, an experienced Turkish fixer, from our cinematographer, Dennis Boni, we’d made arrangements in advance to hire Hülya to help facilitate arrangements and technical issues on location. A ‘fixer’ is someone with local knowledge and contacts who understands the film business and is skilled at solving problems, especially in foreign countries when you don’t speak the language, and don’t know local crews or supply houses where gear can be sourced. They can be critically important on international shoots, providing a deeper cultural understanding. And, depending on who your fixer is, they can also be a lot of fun.

We were staying at the Armada Old City, located in the shadow of Hagia Sophia where Feriha Ishtar, our wonderful contact at the Turkish Embassy in Washington, DC had made the arrangements for our pro bono accommodations. While checking in, I noticed on the hotel stationary their slogan was “Where Istanbul Lovers Meet.” It’s too bad Martin and I were not in love, for the hotel had an astonishing rooftop restaurant that offered breathtaking, magical views of the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia.

I reached out to Hülya soon after we got to our hotel and explained our lack of gear and luggage issue to her. She immediately offered an empathetic and novel solution: Why don’t you come to a party instead?

She was hosting a celebration that evening at a small nightclub in town in honor of her father, Işik Biren, retired Vice Admiral of the Turkish Navy. It was his birthday and there would be interesting people for us to meet, she promised. I told her we’d been traveling for the past 18 hours and none of us had a change of clothing.

“It is not a problem,” she said laughing pleasantly. “We understand and we don’t mind. Please come anyway!”

That evening, the four of us – me, Martin, Dennis and his assistant cameraman –showed up at a very chic, expensive nightclub with its all-white decor wearing our grungy, transatlantic, already-seen-three-countries travel clothes for Hulya's party. The champagne was flowing, the music was sexy, and the general vibe was contemporary and quite dazzling. Apart from us, everyone was dressed in what looked like the height of fashion.

From time to time, Hülya appeared at my side, quietly pointing out a famous pop singer or television personality or dignitary. Having no idea who any of them were, I felt like a character without a script in the wrong movie and no one on hand to fix my wardrobe or makeup. Not that I’d ever actually had that experience; I just wished I had on nicer clothes as well as proper make up and clean hair because this was a very cool and unusual party. Despite our appearance, no one made us feel unwelcome or inappropriate. I was able to take care of that all by myself.

Hülya also introduced me to Emine, one of her close friends and the daughter of Turkey’s Minister of Culture. Emine explained to me that Turkish culture is not just one homogeneous entity – that Turks are a mixture of, in her words, “many different blood, earth, religions and traditions.” Her words only added to Istanbul’s intrigue and appeal.

I could have partied all night. But having a shoot (we hoped) the next day, we reluctantly tore ourselves away Cinderella-style, long before the party was over, and made our way back to our hotel rooms.

When we first scouted Hagia Sophia, Martin thought, due to its immensity, it would be most effective to film it using a Steadicam, a heavy stabilized camera the operator actually wears using a special body vest. Designed with a unique bearing system that rotates freely and smoothly, permitting sideways and up and down shots seamlessly, the Steadicam’s basic function is to isolate the movements of the camera from the person operating it, which it does very effectively. But it’s so heavy that when not in use, it hangs on its own special rack.

Martin told me I’d seen Steadicam footage and likely not even realized it. He mentioned a film that had come out the previous year, Shakespeare in Love, starring Gwyneth Paltrow with Joseph Fiennes as a young Will Shakespeare and a dastardly Colin Firth as Lord Wessex.

Martin loved the way the film’s dance scene had been shot and thought we could get a similar effect inside the cavernous Hagia Sophia. Before coming to Istanbul, we’d watched the film together so I could visualize what he was talking about. Martin pointed out how the camera moved around the young couple, enclosing them in a 360-degree continuous shot, like an embrace. One of Martin’s most appealing characteristics was teaching me what he knew about the art of documentary filmmaking.

That’s why Martin had hired Dennis Boni. A veteran of hundreds of film projects, he was a specialist in Steadicam cinematography. Plus, Dennis was fun to be with on location. In no time, he’d learned how to say the numbers to his room in Turkish, as well as necessary words like beer, peanuts, and toilet – and was teaching them to us.

The following morning, our gear cases and luggage were waiting for us in the hotel lobby, much to our relief. We stashed our things in our rooms, then headed over to Hagia Sophia so Dennis, his assistant, and Martin could see and discuss angles and setups. We were scheduled to shoot all day the following day.

Monday morning, we arrived early. We had to film our entire shoot that day if we didn’t want tourists in our footage. It was the only day the Hagia Sophia Grand Mosque was closed to the public and we had special permission to be there. If we didn’t shoot that day, we’d have to wait another week to get that opportunity. And, of course, we’d have to go through the tedious permissions process and paperwork all over again.

While Martin organized the setting up of crew, lighting and gear, our Turkish interpreter gave me a quick tour of the upper areas and the significant Byzantine mosaics still visible amongst the large Muslim symbols that had been added to the walls during its transformation to a mosque. When I commented that I noticed some of the mosaics were incomplete, he remarked with an air of resigned sadness, “Yes, many of the little tiles have jumped off the walls” – as if discussing hundreds of tiny suicides.

I shot some location stills and was back downstairs as filming began. All went well for the first hour or so. Martin was in the middle of doing a stand up in front of one of the key mosaics, however, when the huge lights on the scaffolding we’d rented went out. Suddenly, everything went dark.

While the crew stumbled around in the blackness double-checking the lighting equipment and electrical sources, our interpreter materialized from the gloom to inform us there was a power failure in our grid of the city. And it wasn’t just in Hagia Sophia, the outage was affecting nearly a quarter of Istanbul.

A panicky call to Hülya quickly set things in motion, including a scrambled frenzy to find a generator somewhere close by that was large enough to power the tall portable stagelights needed to light the cavernous interior adequately. Martin paced impatiently, worrying about costs, overtime, and getting the rest of the footage we needed.

The generator arrived an hour and a half later, and filming resumed. Dennis asked me to pull focus for him while he was shooting B-roll and his assistant was preoccupied with other tasks. I was rarely asked to handle gear and for good reason. Nervously, I put my fingers on the rim of the camera lens and turned it gently as Dennis counted down slowly, patiently coaching me. We did this three times before his a/c returned and Dennis dismissed me with a good-natured laugh.

Even though I failed to do it smoothly enough for Dennis to use, this teaching moment stayed with me. As someone who is all too often going in too many directions, thoughts and ideas at once, I’ve since used the term “pull focus” as an internal mantra or self-correction, trying to notice when I’m scattered and need to gently focus the lens of my mind on the task at hand.

Due to schedules, availability and practical logistics, Martin and I had had to anticipate what details to be sure we got before interviewing our main expert on Byzantium, John Julius Norwich. Along with Dennis’s input, we had to figure out where and what to film inside and outside of Hagia Sophia, and what footage we might use as underlying B-Roll to help visualize what we anticipated Norwich might say in his interview.

To pull this off, you have to have a pretty good idea of your script and edit plan. But sometimes you just have to hold your breath until you get to the edit suite and see how it all weaves together, and if the resulting film tapestry makes sense – or not.

Before organizing the Istanbul shoot, I’d bought a copy of Norwich’s book, A Short History of Byzantium, and had perused it carefully to get an idea.

The following day we spent getting ‘establishing shots’ – exterior footage that would visually explain Hagia Sophia’s location and setting. Istanbul is uniquely situated at the intersection of two continents and is divided by the Bosphorus Strait.

Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque are both located in European Istanbul. Wanting a distance shot over the beautiful river, we trekked across a bridge and up a long hill on the Asian side of Istanbul for a view of it across the water. There we found a park with playground equipment. We set our tripod and camera up and it wasn’t long before we attracted a small group of friendly young boys in soccer jerseys interested in the gear and in having their photographs taken posing with it and the film crew.

While camera was rolling, the call to prayer started. Slightly staggered from minarets all over the city, the wailing sounds amplified as they crossed the river. We paused filming to take it all in, this religion that comes at you from the air.

I’d been sleeping at night with the shutters of my hotel room’s windows thrown open so I would be awakened by the morning’s first call to prayer. Even though I was not kneeling down or stopping to pray, I listened in stillness each time I heard it, unable to express or articulate exactly how or why it moved me so.

Ravenna wore its religion on its walls, a delight for the eyes. But here in Istanbul, it was carried through the air; you breathed the sound of it in with each breath. I loved the sensual experience of both locations, as these moments filled hidden crevices inside of me I’d not realized were empty.

With help from Hülya’s friend, Emine – along with a small contribution to its upkeep and maintenance – we’d received permission to film from the top of a minaret on the Blue Mosque. In both respects, this was indeed a ‘money shot.’

Martin, Dennis and I climbed up narrow, circular stone steps, twisting around and around until we emerged into daylight at the top of one of the minarets. There was only a tiny space to maneuver, but it offered a fantastic view of the rose walls of the many-windowed dome of Hagia Sophia as seen through the beautiful public gardens laid out between the two religious structures.

There was only enough space for two of us at a time and we had to be quick about it. We were only permitted to be up there as long as we got back down before the next call to prayer went out. I think we had perhaps twenty minutes to get the shots.

As cinematographer, Dennis had to be there. And so Martin and I took turns squeezing in and out of the tiny space. Martin went first to discuss shots with Dennis. After he left, Dennis motioned for me to come out.

“Let’s take photos of each other up here!” he said, smiling.

I took one of him and then he took one of me that I call my “Christiane Amanpour photo,” after one of my idols. I’m dressed in black with a multi-pocketed, khaki Banana Republic vest, looking (I hoped) professional and journalistic while reporting from some exotic location in the world.

That evening, our last in Istanbul, the two guys dispersed to check out the city on their own. Martin and I decided to have dinner at the hotel.

Before eating, we were treated to drinks by the hotel’s proprietor, Kasim Zoto. He invited us to watch dancers perform the Turkish tango – something I wasn’t aware existed but was an exotic delight to watch.

Afterwards, we sat down at a table under the stars on the roof terrace. Our dinner of Turkish delights included Peynirli Muska Boregi, spinach and cheese filled pastry triangles accompanied by a bottle of Kavaklidere Çankaya, a white wine crafted from Anatolian vineyards. With its views of both Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, both dramatically lit up against the night sky on the hill above us, it was one of the most surreal and magical restaurant experiences I’ve ever had.

Kasim appeared periodically to check on us. Seeing I was a little under-dressed for the cool Turkish night air, he reached into a large copper kettle near our table and brought out two warm, soft ivory-colored blankets, draping one over my shoulders and one across my lap. He was a handsome man and to be honest, I almost purred under his attention.

Such a waste, I thought, watching him walk away, to not be in the company of someone with whom I was in love. Ahh well, at least I was here. This moment, this location, this view – everything had been such a surprise.

Had it not been for that impulsive twenty dollar donation and that brief entanglement with Sophia Loren’s bedsheets, I thought for the 1000th time – the stranger’s shoes, taking a friend’s advice to speak with someone who’d been blown up by a package bomb, which in turn led to this whole film adventure – any of those turns not taken, those instincts gone unheeded, and I wouldn’t be here gazing at the stars from a rooftop in Istanbul.

It was all so unlikely.

[photo credit: Me atop a Blue Mosque minaret by cinematographer, Dennis Boni]

Kristin Fellows is a published writer, world traveler, and a well-seasoned documentary film consultant. When not writing, Kristin can often be found listening to someone’s story or behind the lens of one of her cameras.

More about Kristin @ kristinfellowswriter.com