Meeting with Alfonso Cuarón about the series "Disclaimer", photographed by Emmanuel Lubezki, AMC, ASC, and Bruno Delbonnel, AFC, ASC

When asked about his decision to work with two cinematographers on this series, Alfonso Cuarón explained that the idea originally came from Chivo (Emmanuel Lubezki’s nickname): “During the writing phase, we talked about this possibility. I like to exchange ideas with him right from the start, and I immediately discussed the different narrative structures that would interweave and overlap in the series. As I mentioned wanting a unique visual language for each, he suggested working with a second cinematographer. We both admire Bruno Delbonnel’s work and greatly respect him as a person, so we quickly concluded that he was the ideal choice to share this project.”

Faithful to Emmanuel Lubezki on most of his projects, the Mexican filmmaker reflected on their unique relationship: “With Chivo, we have a kind of telepathic communication on set. He messes up my staging as much as I mess up his lighting! In the past, we’d even argue in front of the camera... but over the years, we’ve ended up working together like if we were an old married couple! And one thing we always agree on is that if one of us doesn’t like something, the other won’t like it either. It’s become a kind of unspoken rule, allowing us to focus on what really matters.
With Bruno, however, I had never worked with him before. His methodology is completely different. If Chivo can obsess over a single shot and focus on it for over a week, Bruno, on the other hand, prefers to find it on set, in the moment.”

Outlining the ground rules established during the series’ preparation, Alfonso Cuarón shared: “One of the things we agreed on was that each cinematographer wouldn’t interfere with the other’s work. They wouldn’t look at each other’s rushes and would try not to be influenced by them—even avoiding visiting each other’s sets. We divided the work this way: everything related to Kevin Kline’s character was filmed by Bruno, while Chivo handled Cate Blanchett’s character. The rest was allocated based on the dominant perspective of the scene. Each segment had its own visual language. Of course, we had to maintain some atmospheric continuity, as there are several moments in the series where we cut from Steven’s character to Catherine’s. Weather elements, for example, had to align from one scene to the next. This forced us to unify our methods somewhat and carefully identify the transition points between the two.
The incredible thing about having two cinematographers is observing them at work... you quickly notice that each uses very different means to achieve their results. Each has their little secrets and techniques—it’s fascinating!”

Delving into the on-set logistics, Cuarón explained: “From one film to the next, there’s always a new language to discover and explore. In fact, the only valid reason to make a film is to learn something from it and then use it on the next one. After every post-production phase, Chivo and I would spend time dissecting what we did, pinpointing all the mistakes we noticed—things we would vow never to do again. Or, conversely, ideas that inspired us, that we could delve into deeper in the next project. It’s a constant quest for light. If you look back at the 1990s, for instance, both my films and those shot by Chivo for other directors were very artificial. Then, as technology evolved, it brought new tools that allowed us to move away from that artificiality. Take Children of Men, for example. I vividly remember having to recreate the soft natural light of the sky in the studio using hundreds of tungsten sources, which were entirely unsuited to the situation. Today, tools like SkyPanels, which are easy to control, have completely changed the game. On "Disclaimer", all the interior sets were shot in studios—most notably Catherine’s house—and it quickly became an obsession for us to work on changes in density and colour within each scene or even shot. Thanks to programmable lighting, this is now feasible, and it wasn’t back then, even if we had wanted to. For this series, everything was orchestrated around light, from discoveries to the precise placement of windows, evolving in sync with the scene and, of course, the actors’ performances.”

When asked by an audience member about his screenwriting process, the director shared: “Since I write my own scripts, I’d say I write what I imagine myself staging. First, I visualise the light, locations, and sounds. Only then do I focus on the characters. So, I have a pretty clear idea of where I’m heading. Then, I force myself to think about how the scene will unfold on-screen. After all, a screenwriter’s job is to write for the shoot—not to write a novel!
That said, there are times when I’m unsure about the best approach to a scene. For me, I’ve realised that what works is when you connect ideas with their seeds. Every idea stems from a seed that begins to grow. David Lynch talks about this when he compares it to a fisherman waiting for a fish to bite. So, when I’m stuck, I try to reconnect with that original idea. After all, as a writer-director, who better than you to know where to find the answers? Of course, you can also consult your collaborators—cinematographers are fantastic for this. I see them as the sailors on a ship, helping the captain stay on course.”

Discussing some surprising framing choices, particularly the use of zooms in certain episodes and scenes, Cuarón elaborated: “For the narrative arc involving Robert (Sacha Baron Cohen) and his son Nicholas (Kodi Smit-McPhee), we agreed on a more handheld, zoom-heavy approach—a less controlled, more random aesthetic than the rest of the series. One of the references I mentioned during prep was Husbands and Wives, which Carlo Di Palma shot for Woody Allen. I remember mentioning it to Bruno during prep, and him pushing back a little, saying, ‘You know, Carlo Di Palma never used zooms’. Maybe it was just the mental association I’d made with that film.
Nevertheless, to heighten the randomness, I asked the camera operator to simply keep the face in frame at all times. That’s easy enough when shooting in wide angle, but I was manually triggering sharp zooms myself with a remote control. That’s how we achieved those scenes. I felt this contrasted well with Steven’s (Kevin Kline) storyline, where everything is calculated, slow, and relentless.”

Reflecting on the rather explicit sex scene in episode three, the filmmaker explained: “When tackling a scene like that with the actors, the key is knowing what perspective you’re taking. Lubitsch was brilliant at this, crafting a sex scene with just a simple kiss. I find overly coy, unrealistic scenes—hidden under sheets—artificial and false. You either fully commit or don’t do it at all, just like in life! And let’s not even mention filmmakers who pan on birds or a guitar…
For our scene in episode three, it was unique because it’s a kind of fantasy, not reality. I approached the act realistically but pushed the visual, camera, and music elements to their limits. It’s quite twisted when you think about it—a mother imagining and narrating her 20-year-old son’s intimate encounter with a stranger.”

On the broader topic of his relationship with the actors and the various impressive feats scattered throughout the series (including the protagonist’s long monologue in the final episode), Alfonso Cuarón shares: "You know, Cate Blanchett recently told me that this series needs to be watched twice. The first time, to try to fill in the blanks that are intentionally scattered throughout the plot... and a second time, to disregard the judgment... and that’s when you realize that it’s also the story of a woman who is constantly silenced. So, I would say that everything in the series is somehow designed to lead up to that famous scene.
A scene we prepared for months, and that we shot at the end of the production schedule. It was originally planned to be fragmented, exactly like in the final edit, since we sequentially revisit the past throughout the monologue. But it was Cate who insisted on maintaining the unity of the performance, almost like in theater. She narrated the past herself during the sections later intended for flashbacks. So, we did very long, single takes in master shots, with a lot of fluctuations... and it was invaluable. It helped us refine the structure of the flashbacks on the beach later. It opened my eyes to the need to stay with Catherine as long as possible rather than cutting to those flashbacks. From what I recall, it took us about a day to finalize the scene. The first takes were more like rehearsals... I remember something extremely intense, though I don’t recall exactly how many days we shot. It was an incredibly tough moment for her, so much so that at the end of the last take—the one we considered to be the best—she completely broke down on set with a fit of nervous laughter, getting up and dancing like crazy. We realized how much pressure had suddenly been released for her. It was a truly special moment."
Finally, reflecting on the future of cinema, Cuarón stated: “I don’t believe for a second that cinema is dying. Every decade, someone declares its demise, yet it persists. Looking back, at every major technological milestone—whether it was the arrival of sound or now the digital era—those who adapted and exploited these advances were the ones who went on to produce new masterpieces. Look at Hitchcock, whose career spanned silent films to his groundbreaking works in the ’60s. The only people who predicted the death of cinema are the ones who, in turn, faded into obscurity and were forgotten. Saying cinema is ending is also a way of not trusting the younger generation. I believe that the masterpieces created by the great filmmakers of the future will be completely unimaginable to people of my generation—just like when Godard reinvented cinema in the 1960s. Cinema is constantly reinventing itself, so I’m incredibly curious about the direction it will take in the future. The real concern, however, isn’t cinema’s survival but the preservation of its heritage, archiving and restauration. When we know that 85% of films made before 1923 have disappeared, this is a much greater concern to me than the so-called disappearance of cinema. And it’s not talked about enough. This issue is further complicated by the various format changes brought about by the widespread adoption of digital. So many important films will likely vanish if we fail to grasp the importance of archiving. This challenge is even more critical now that streaming platforms have entered the equation. I feel like these platforms couldn’t care less about archiving and heritage preservation. Their priority is having vast catalogues, with content available online, with users not even knowing how to find specific films. This preservation challenge is even more pressing now that we no longer store works physically. As structures are acquired, companies merge, or financial pressures mount, certain works risk falling by the wayside. Admittedly, "Disclaimer" is produced for Apple, and I have to acknowledge they gave me complete creative freedom. Platforms have become a reality, and denying their significance would be foolish. Perhaps we can find a complementary approach between theatrical releases and streaming platforms – similar to the past when people waited a certain amount of time for a film to come out on video. It might be wishful thinking, but regarding this series, I’d really love to have a film copy… a physical version, in a way."

(Report written by François Reumont for the AFC, and translated from French by Chloe Finch)