Riff: One Scene, 42 Takes and 2 Hours in a Bathroom Stall

Scene 63. INT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.

Frances and Sophie inside a stall together.

FRANCES: I was lying. I don't love Patch.

SOPHIE: I do love him.

FRANCES: Since when? When did this happen?

SOPHIE: It's been happening.

FRANCES: That's [expletive] [expletive]. Sophie, COME ON!

SOPHIE: No, you're [expletive]. And you're making me feel really bad right now.

FRANCES: I want to love him if you love him, but you don't love him.

SOPHIE: I DO.

FRANCES: (tearing up) Sophie! I [expletive] held your head when you cried. I bought special milk for you. I know where you hide your pills. Do not treat me like a three-hour-brunch friend.

SOPHIE: I'm not talking to you while you're like this.

She turns away. Frances hits the wall close to Sophie's head. It's violent and kind of scary.

In the film "Frances Ha," Scene 63 is 28 seconds long. We did 42 takes in total, two hours of shooting in a bathroom with no breaks or pauses other than for direction and blocking. In 50 days of shooting, we averaged around 35 takes per scene. Most independent films shoot in 25 days with, at most, 10 takes per scene.

A take, in this case, refers to the entirety of the above printed text, acted from beginning to end. Meaning that Mickey Sumner, playing Sophie, and I, playing Frances, said those words and performed those actions 42 times in a row. The scene had to play "in one," a take in its entirety, with no edits. The take is the scene. Noah Baumbach, the director and my co-writer, was going to have to pick only one of those 42 takes for the final film.

To write this essay, I went back to the editing room and watched all 42 takes. I also read the script supervisor's notes, which include Noah's opinions of each performance. Using the footage, the notes and my memory of the day of shooting, I created the following take journal.

Take 1 (2:04 p.m.): The first one. Not great, but not bad. The first go-round always has an adrenaline to it that is thrilling and unwieldy. There is a pride in simply getting through it, saying everything pretty well correctly and not melting into the ground with embarrassment for all the acting that we are doing.

Take 2 (2:08 p.m.): Because the first take went fairly well, I immediately become cocky and start overplaying it. I'm acting too drunk. It's whiny and high-pitched, and for some reason I'm leaning over the sink in a way that makes me look like a hunchback.

Take 3 (2:13 p.m.): Now I swing too far in the other direction and pitch my voice a lot lower. It sounds fake, as if I'm trying to sound important. Frances' rhythms are more fleet and funny. I touch Mickey too much, it's too aggressive. She flinches, and she's right to, because what I'm doing is weird.

Take 4 (2:16 p.m.): I know I'm doing the scene badly, but I can't figure out how to do it well. Usually by Take 4 something has settled, but not this time. I do a weird line reading just to change it up. That surprises me midperformance, and then I mess up my next line — I say "three-hour-lunch friend" instead of "three-hour-brunch friend." I apologize immediately after Noah calls, "Cut!" Little words count.

Take 5 (2:20 p.m.): Still hunched over. Less angry, more sad. I'm probably just sad for myself, which is a terrible trap for an actor to fall into. I can tell that Noah is not thrilled with what we're getting. He hasn't said anything yet — no "Good take" or "Mark that one" to let me know that I'm on the right track.

Take 6 (2:22 p.m.): Slow. REALLY slow. I try to straighten up! Well done! The crazy-anger is all gone, which is good, but it doesn't have any energy. By the end of the scene, I'm back to hunching.

Take 7 (2:24 p.m.): For some reason I totally lose my lines. I trip over my tongue. I get very angry with myself and slam the wall next to Mickey's head too hard at the end of the scene. She lets out a gasp ­ — I'm frightening her.

Take 8 (2:27 p.m.): Because I am playing the scene angrier, Mickey is fighting back harder. A very strong "I DO" from her. I hit the wall quite violently. Mickey starts crying.

Take 9 (2:30 p.m.): I am upsetting Mickey too much — it's hard for her (or for anyone in that position) to come down from so much emotion and reset and do the scene again. Now she looks upset throughout the entire scene, not just at the end. Sophie is stronger than this, more justifiably angry with Frances than frightened by her. I'm not doing my job as a scene partner.

Take 10 (2:32 p.m.): We start, but then I immediately stop the scene. "Sorry, sorry for this," I say. I hate breaking a take. But I have a question. Writing a script does not necessarily mean you understand it as an actor. Noah and I talk about Frances' sincerity. Me: "When I say, 'Since when,' am I serious about that?" Noah: "Yes, but it's not like you really want to know." Me: "Right, right, let's go again."

Take 11 (2:36 p.m.): Calmer energy. Too calm. It's death for the scene. It's clearer though, less drunk. At the end, I get a "Want to run it again right away?" from Noah. Nothing else, just "Run it again." This angers me. I want praise. We do another one right away while the camera is rolling. It's better, less forced. He was right.

Take 12 (2:38 p.m.): Now I'm underacting deliberately. But it feels more specific. I'm building it from the inside out, trying to wait for it instead of flinging myself in one direction or another.

Take 13 (2:41 p.m.): I start and stop. It's a dud.

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