Lectured, Not Lived
Making Dust - Part Four
Post-Production on a Wildlife Documentary: Editing, Color, and Sound
Making Dust is a five-part production journal from Rushlight Agency's director and lead cinematographer Chris Fischer — a firsthand account of producing a feature-length wildlife documentary in the Kalahari Desert, from a solo scout during COVID to a premiere on National Geographic WiILD across the EMEA Market, achieved by a crew of three. This is Part Four: the post-production process, and what it took to turn 250 hours of footage into something worth licensing.
Where to start when starting feels daunting
Looking at 250 hours of content, and needing to whittle that down into a 60 minute project was both a daunting task, and a remarkably exciting prospect. There are, without a doubt, an infinite number of ways this project can come about. It's the challenge of all projects, how do we start? What does this story deserve, and here, I had to answer that.
Writing the Script for a Wildlife Documentary
Writing is something I have always enjoyed. This ability to put into words something that both connects, and illuminates, creates without distraction. And that is where this needed to start. A project that leads with visual identity, place, cinematics, but is supported by both a story, and vision that holds true throughout.
However, the struggle to write this story was real. Nothing felt like it was enough. So I would lean in and over explain. Give too much detail, talk over my subject. I wrote and wrote and wrote until I had what I thought was a perfect script. I doctored it, cut it down, built it back up again. I read it over and over.
After almost two months of being back in the states, I finally felt like I had something I could work with.
Building the Edit: From 250 Hours to a First Cut
So I set off to start the editing process.
I did a first draft of the voice over read through. I have done enough voice over work to feel comfortable with it, confident and I could project the emotion that I wanted throughout, and with a zero budget, I figured for now it was the right call.
I laid that over the timeline and got to work. Building that world took time, not more than I was expecting, it just took time. I would sit, toil, think for hours on end, sometimes with nothing actually getting done.
But slowly, and piece by piece I began to lay out moments, scenes, small stories. I would find sequences that worked together. And like a puzzle it started to take shape. The edges at first, defining the moments, the outlines, the pillars of what made this something. From there, the beauty, the rare moments, the intermittent moments that allow you to breathe, to take it in, to enjoy.
And before I knew it — well I did know it because it was almost 3 months — I had a working first draft, start to finish. I sat down, alone in my studio and tried to watch it as a stranger would. I hated it, not in a "oh this is terrible, I'm not any good" kind of way, but in a way that was almost impossible to describe. Something more akin to failure of honesty. In all the editing, all the work, all the writing, I had lost the thing along the way that made this my project from the beginning, grit, it had lost its taste of dust, the cinematography was there, and the story pulled through, but something was missing … it didn't feel lived in. Experiential. It felt told, lectured.
The Edit Principle That Changed Everything
So I pulled the script, and I read, and read, and read. I watched old NatGeo docs, and Planet Earth over and over again, and asked myself what I missed. Where did I go wrong? Then it hit, again … it felt lectured, not lived. This is where my whole editing ethos changed, forever. I did a word count on the script, 5200 words for a 60 minute piece, then I pulled word counts for all BBC Planet Earth projects, all of them. 1500 – 2700 words, half of mine. They allow cinematics to do the heavy lifting, if you can see it, or if you can feel it, you don't need words to explain it. And so I didn't. The script became lighter, moments lost their explanations and gained their emotion again. Piece by piece I pulled from what I had, and trusted what I do, cinematography.
When I was done, 1800 words.
The world had a chance to breathe again.
Color Grading and Sound Design: Building the World Back Up
Now came the color grading, putting the color and life back into the world, giving it that depth and tone I was looking for. This was where everything took shape again, the warmth of the sun in the morning, the heat of it during the afternoon. The cool feelings next to the river, and the white hot feeling of desolation deeper into the Kalahari. All that emotion that could be added back into the video through color was, not too much, subtle, but undeniable.
The final stage was to now build the world through sound. It is almost impossible to understand, but audio often plays a larger role in creating a convincing piece than most know, and now I had to rebuild that world sound by sound, bit by bit. Adding footfalls, layers of water droplets, layered splashing as zebras crash into the river. The sound of wind, cicada, distant thunder. Piece by piece the world was built up from nothing. And with a final tweak, some final change that I cannot even remember, the piece was complete, done, as far as I could take it.
It was time to hand it over to the world.
Every frame of this was written, directed, shot, edited, colored, mixed, and mastered by one person (or a second cameraman in the talented Alan Lacy of Reel Earth Films). That breadth of craft — across wildlife and conservation documentary, luxury travel and destination film, safari lodge and hospitality content, brand storytelling, and high-end commercial production — is what Rushlight Agency brings to every project. A premiere on National Geographic WiILD across the EMEA Market and an Emmy nomination are the credentials. The capability transfers. If you're developing something that demands this level of execution, we'd like to hear about it.
Continue reading: Part Five — what happened when we handed it to the world
