Without Limits was primarily photographed on location in Eugene, Oregon, 
     specifically at the University of Oregon’s Hayward Field, where Prefontaine ran some 
     of his most memorable races under the guidance of coach Bill Bowerman (Donald 
     Sutherland). Competitive off the track as well, Prefontaine struggled against the rigid 
     regulations of the Amateur Athletic Union, which he felt restricted runners from 
     performing on their own terms. 

     Equally familiar with challenging convention is the picture’s director of photography, 
     Conrad Hall, ASC, who previously worked with Towne on the 1988 neo-noir thriller 
     Tequila Sunrise (see AC Jan. ’89). The collaboration, which Hall described at the 
     time as "the best relationship I’ve ever had with a director," earned the esteemed 
     cinematographer the ASC Outstanding Achievement Award, as well as an Academy 
     Award nomination. Hall previously took home an Oscar for his work on Butch 
     Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and has been honored with five other Academy 
     nominations, for the films Saboteur: Code Name Morituri, The Professionals, In 
     Cold Blood, The Day of the Locust and Searching for Bobby Fischer. His other 
     feature credits include Harper, Cool Hand Luke, Fat City, Marathon Man, Black 
     Widow and the 1994 remake of Love Affair. He recently completed principal 
     photography for the courtroom drama A Civil Action. 

     Our interviewer for this story, Caleb Deschanel, ASC, is an outstanding 
     cinematographer in his own right and recently received ASC and Academy Award 
     recognition for his work on Fly Away Home (see AC June ’97). Deschanel has also 
     earned Oscar nominations for The Natural and The Right Stuff. His other feature 
     credits include The Black Stallion, Being There and this summer’s romantic drama 
     Hope Floats. He recently shot Message in a Bottle on location in Maine. 

     Hall and Deschanel’s conversation about Without Limits formerly titled Pre was 
     conducted at the ASC Clubhouse in Hollywood. Among other things, they discussed 
     the use of the Preston Cinema Systems’ Light Ranger, a unique auto-focus unit that 
     allowed Hall to capture some of the film’s striking race action (see sidebar). Joining 
     this portion of the discourse was the device’s inventor, Howard Preston. 

     David E. Williams 

     Caleb Deschanel: You’ve worked with Robert Towne before. How did your 
     working relationship with him evolve on this new film? 

     Conrad Hall: Robert and I became friends during the making of Marathon Man 
     [1976]. He’d been asked to do some additional writing on a scene unbeknownst to 
     [screenwriter] William Goldman and we struck up a friendship. The best way to 
     describe our working relationship is to say that Bob writes with words and I write with 
     pictures, so the two of us make a complimentary storytelling team for film. He has his 
     own ideas about visualization, but after rehearsing the actors, he lets me choose how to 
     visualize his words. I’ll then set out a plan of attack for a scene and we’ll go through it 
     together, adding and subtracting things until we have a final plan. That was the 
     relationship we created on Tequila Sunrise, and it was wonderful. Bob doesn’t look 
     though the camera very often, and on Tequila we didn’t even use video assist I was 
     against it and he wasn’t for it. 

     Did he just sit back with his binoculars and watch the scenes? 

     Hall: [Laughs] Yes, that’s right! Bob’s usually there right by the camera, watching for 
     what he wants to see from the actors. I assume that would usually be their faces. And 
     oftentimes he doesn’t quite have in mind what’s going on with the camera, because 
     when I occasionally do call him over to check a shot through the viewfinder to make 
     sure we’re on the right track, he’ll sometimes be in awe of what he sees. Whatever he 
     had imagined in his mind’s eye was often quite different from what we’d done because 
     he’s not really trained to translate words into a visual form. But he’s usually quite 
     happy and we have a great time working together. 

     That sounds like a great relationship. Directors aren’t always like that! 

     Hall: As we both know. Now, on Without Limits, Bob and I both wanted to 
     continue with the working process we’d developed on Tequila Sunrise, but I had 
     some problems with the script. I’d read an early version and I didn’t find myself 
     emotionally involved with the story. I generally look for stories involving ethical and 
     moral dilemmas traditional drama. But I didn’t see the drama in Steve Prefontaine’s 
     story. There were a lot of track meets and some story points about the different 
     philosophies Pre and his coach had about how to win a race, but that wasn’t enough 
     for me and I turned down several versions of the script. After the last one, I 
     recommended several other wonderful cinematographers for the job including yourself 
     who evidently read the script and also turned it down. 

     Hall: He did. Later, while I was in New York helping Piotr Sobocinski with some 
     additional photography on Marvin’s Room while he was busy shooting Ransom, a 
     new draft of the script [for Without Limits] arrived on a Sunday morning. I then got a 
     call from Bob, who asked me to read it one more time. Well, 20 pages from the end, I 
     stopped reading because I had to call and tell him that he had written exactly what I 
     needed for the story, and I wanted to be involved. 

     For me, Steve Prefontaine was an unlikable character. What’s remarkable 
     about the film is that while he comes off as being brash and unappealing, by 
     the end of the movie you’re in love with the guy. He ends up losing races 
     because of his principles, because of the way he wants to win, and because he 
     has to be true to himself and his abilities. 

     Hall: The idea of winning a race by laying back until the last lap and then pulling ahead 
     was absolutely contrary to his philosophical ideas about winning. He had to test himself 
     by always being out front. But he isn’t likable [as a character]. I wish I could articulate 
     what it was about Robert’s revised script that made me want to do this film, but it did 
     have all of the human elements I was looking for. 

     Well, I think the big thing for me was the relationship Prefontaine had with his 
     coach, Bill Bowerman. Both were strong people with strong opinions who 
     weren’t willing to give in to each other. Those are qualities that you find in 
     Greek myths, where you have characters who come in conflict for their very 
     different ideals and the story ends with no real resolution, but with a mutual 
     respect. 

     Now, after you’ve read a script and started talking with a director, when and 
     how do you start deciding on an overall visual style and determining how 
     you’re going to bring that to the movie? 

     Hall: I usually try to think of some aspect of the story which represents its ’soul,’ so to 
     speak something I can hang my hat on. Using my latest film [A Civil Action] as an 
     example, maybe it will be something about ’truth’ and how lawyers will get together to 
     divert people from knowing what it really is. How can I help represent that visually? I 
     also use references books, magazines, or even philosophical ideas that come to me. 
     For Without Limits, I watched some films about the Olympics and found one 
     absolutely stunning documentary, Tokyo Olympiad [a.k.a. Tokyo Orimpikku, 
     1965], which is about the 1964 Summer Games held in Japan. It was shot in 
     anamorphic widescreen, and while watching it, I knew then that my film would have to 
     equally use the big screen to be larger than life. 

     I’d like to talk about the various elements which were important in developing 
     the style for this film, and how you knitted them together. There’s lighting, 
     lens choices, camera movement these are all different elements that resulted 
     from decisions that you made. 

     Hall: I work somewhat organically and try not make decisions in advance. This begins 
     with facing the material of the day, which often changes. Then I want to see how the 
     actors are dealing with the material and what the location brings to the scene. But 
     because schedules change so often, I try not to pin things down so much. For example, 
     there’s a scene in which the coach [Bill Bowerman] is lecturing his team about haircuts. 
     This was originally to be shot in a certain building [on the University of Oregon 
     campus], but on the shooting day we couldn’t get access to the location. Suddenly 
     everything changed and we had to find someplace else to shoot. Well, they chose the 
     sunny side of the track stadium, which ran east and west, and that meant we had to 
     figure out how to get the scene done before the sun came around and smashed right in 
     there. But we couldn’t, and it became a survival situation where we were blacking out 
     large areas to keep our lighting consistent. It was a nightmare, but I can’t get too 
     philosophical about it because it would kill me! 

     I’m glad to hear you confess to the realities of filmmaking! [Both laugh.] So 
     many people are self-serving about these things and try to suggest that 
     everything was designed in advance and went according to plan. We all try to 
     have influence over the situation, but there are always the times when the sun 
     is setting and you’re running around like crazy just trying to get an exposure 
     to shoot. 

     Hall: Sometimes it still comes out wonderfully, and even if it doesn’t, the story can 
     occasionally carry you through the rough areas. 

     But you bring a lot of the history and experience to a show, and when you’re 
     good at something, even your worst [work] is going to be pretty good. 
     Nonetheless, the process of making a particular film all of those situations like 
     the one you describe add up to create a certain visual unity which makes this 
     film look different from Tequila Sunrise, Marathon Man, and all of your other 
     films. Each one has its distinct visual elements, which define what people think 
     of as ’Connie Hall’ photography. I’m sure a lot of that comes, as you’ve said, 
     at the spur of the moment, but it’s interesting to me to try to discover a 
     cameraman’s specific visual style within a body of work, and understand how 
     it’s being applied to those different stories. 

     Hall: Well, what I try to do is understand the material, and then understand how the 
     director sees it as well. On Without Limits, I was a bit confounded; I had a vision of 
     the script, but as we got into the process of making the film, we also had a lot of 
     advisors working with us Pre’s friends and coaches — who knew his story first hand. 

Reality raises its ugly head. 

     Hall: [Laughs] Yes it does! Here we are making a movie, translating a real story into 
     dramatic terms. We’re not thinking about where it actually took place. Did a 
     particular conversation between Pre and his coach happen 25 yards over there, or 
     here where the light is better? We had some struggles with that sort of thing, because 
     Robert was very devoted to the people who really knew Pre those who ran with him, 
     coached him, and were friends with him. Robert relied on them for veracity, because 
     he wanted to be true to Pre’s story. But being true to any story does not necessarily 
     mean filming it exactly the way it happened. You have to interpret it, using long or short 
     lenses, composition, backlight, frontlight, overexposure, darkness whatever it takes in 
     order to create the story. Robert and I had less-than-perfect relationship in this regard, 
     because he was trying to be very true to reality. I’ve generally found that reality should 
     not be involved in the creative process. You should know the reality, but then go 
     ahead and use whatever dramatic storytelling is necessary to best represent it. 

     This film is reality once removed; Prefontaine has been converted into a 
     character who’s more mythic than reality would allow. But let’s discuss some 
     other specifics. I remember a beautiful nighttime scene set in Pre’s trailer 
     where he and his girlfriend, Mary [Monica Potter], make love. There’s this 
     wonderful light coming in through a window above them. What inspired you to 
     light the sequence that way? 

     Hall: During the course of scouting locations for the film, we paid careful attention to 
     how places were lit naturally. In the case of these little trailers, I noticed how shafts of 
     light came in though the windows during the day, creating pools. I liked the effect and 
     re-created it for our lovemaking scene by establishing a strong source outside. After 
     the set was lit, someone said, ’Hey, that looks like daylight out there.’ I replied, ’No it 
     isn’t it’s just a strong toplight.’ Out of the context of the scene, it might not have 
     looked right to their eye. But the lovemaking in the scene was an influence on me. 
     Lovemaking looks more romantic when it’s darker thus adding a sense of mystery but 
     the pools gave these nice highlights to the actors’ skin. Again, this was inspired by 
     what was there. I don’t like to make elaborate plans. I should add that the production 
     design team can have a lot of influence on what I do, so I keep track of what they’re 
     doing. 

     Your lighting always feels real, but in many shots, there’s often light in a 
     particular place that draws the eye to the key element in the story. It’s as if 
     you’re using light to make the audience understand where to look in the frame. 

     Hall: Again, it’s like working on a canvas. I look through the ground glass and when 
     I’m putting things together, I’m filling in the important aspects of the story which have 
     to be told in that shot. Whether that means keeping the characters dark and lighting the 
     background, or whatever else, the story is telling me to hide or illuminate something. 

     I know this kind of stuff is hard to explain. I’ll play around with something until 
     I feel it’s right. If something’s wrong, I get this sick feeling in my stomach that 
     makes me upset. I wish we were on a stage and I could just have you re-create 
     some of these scenes layer by layer! 

     Hall: I did that once for a class at USC. There were about 50 people watching while 
     we worked with some actors and a director and I lit it. After I was done, somebody 
     said, ’Okay, turn off all these lights and tell me what that one does.’ We went through 
     each and every lamp. It was a pretty easy thing to explain, but that was after the fact. 
     I don’t think about any of these things while I’m lighting a scene; I have no idea what 
     I’m doing! I just try to feel it and illuminate this and hide that to add a gasp here and a 
     surprise there. It’s a visual language that allows the audience to feel and understand the 
     story. 

     It was almost exactly 50 years ago, in the spring of 1948, that I started studying 
     cinema at USC. In the years since then I’ve tried to pay attention to life, and learn to 
     tell stories with film language. Now, the language is 100 years old, but I don’t know if 
     I’ve paid enough attention to the craft of cinematography as it has evolved and is 
     evolving so rapidly. I don’t know how to pay attention to it. I’m so disinterested in 
     computers and mechanical things shooting bluescreens and greenscreens. You can do 
     some wonderful and magical things with that sort of technology to create stories, but 
     I’m personally not very interested. I remember how I learned to do things a long time 
     ago, and I’m going to hang onto that, which limits the kinds of stories I’m going to tell. 
     I suspect you have some of this feeling as well. 

     It’s always great to experience the drama in front of the camera while it’s 
     going on, rather than imagining how five [visual effects] elements are going to 
     be composited together to create something. But like anything else, I think 
     there is a tendency to overuse anything that’s new. 

     Hall: These new tools are handy I guess, but I’m still looking for those wonderful little 
     stories about human and ethical dilemmas they’re sometimes hard to find. 

Having watched you work a number of times, I know you have a tendency to 
     ignore certain technical aspects of the craft. I’ve heard you say, ’Oh, bring me 
     a light that’s about this big.’ [Both laugh.] Now, I know you’re talking about a 
     10K, but do you deliberately just want to free your mind of all of those details? 

     Hall: Should I know all the names of all the lights? There’s just so much new 
     equipment coming out all the time. In terms of lights, I basically work with big lights 
     and tiny lights. I simplify. I’m loathe to take walls out to shoot a scene. A production 
     designer I recently worked with said to me, ’Conrad, when you shoot, you have a 
     circle around your subject and you work within that circle. When Piotr Sobocinski 
     shoots, he peels the circle back, leaving just a wall here behind his subject. When 
     Emmanuel Lubezki [ASC, AMC] shoots, he does the same thing, but then he kicks a 
     hole in the wall to make space for a backlight.’ Well, I like the reality of shooting in a 
     room with set dimensions. I’m not used to tearing out a wall and pushing back 40 feet 
     so I can use long lenses. I’ve just never thought about working that way. I like to live in 
     this kind of formal reality, in the same way that a painter lives with a canvas of a certain 
     size. That sets up certain rules and suggests an approach without creating the 
     possibility of the viewer being somewhere he or she cannot be. 

     Do you think that adds to the filmic or dramatic reality you’re trying to 
     establish? 

     Hall: Not necessarily. It’s just a way of looking at things. You can work any way you 
     want to, but what counts are things like focusing on the material and understanding it 
     visually. How do you see this from a certain person’s point of view? Does everything 
     key off of how one person sitting there sees the action? Or is the camera a voyeur 
     does it provide a storyteller’s point of view? I think the point of view is extremely 
     important. 

     What that’s asking is, ’Where do you want to put the camera?’ 

     Hall: Exactly. When I go into a scene, I first try to understand what’s important for the 
     audience to see in order to appreciate the story. If you have several characters, you 
     have to determine how they will be composed. Will they be covered separately, or 
     together in the frame? I know there’s not just one way to attack a scene, so again, I 
     rely on my instincts to feel what’s right. 

     There are four or five important races in the film, with the Olympics events 
     maybe being the most obvious, but each has a different feeling so we don’t 
     have the sense that we’re watching the same thing over and over again. Some 
     are very intimate, with the camera right in there with the runners, while others 
     are more detached and shot with long lenses. Part of these feelings also come 
     from the way the scenes are handled dramatically and editorially. How did you 
     decide how to cover each race? Was it just a matter of covering things very 
     thoroughly and supplying enough material? 

     Hall: I believe there are eight races in the story, and Robert had some very definite 
     ideas about how to approach shooting some of them. One I remember distinctly was 
     the long race Pre had with [running rival] Frank Shorter [played by Jeremy Sisto]. 

     That scene was very interesting dramatically because Prefontaine and Shorter 
     had a gentleman’s agreement to exchange leads at every lap they would 
     change positions until the end and then race to win. The key moments were 
     those changes. 

     Hall: That’s right. It created a sense of suspense while also significantly portraying 
     Pre’s character, which gave Bob some very interesting ideas on how to shoot the 
     scene. In fact, I should mention that Bob carefully storyboarded almost the entire film. 
     We didn’t always follow the boards, but they were very useful in creating a distinct 
     look for each race. That was important, because we were basically shooting them all 
     simultaneously, usually on the same track location, while trying to make them look like 
     different places by suggesting different weather conditions, restaging the races, and 
     using different visual methods. 

     Bob’s storyboards for the Shorter race were wonderful. He first wanted to emphasize 
     the difference between the two men’s positions as they ran by using very long lenses, 
     with the runner in front in sharp focus. He’d then repeatedly cut back to the same point 
     on the track during each lap. That way, in each shot we’d watch the space between 
     them gradually diminishing as they overtook each other with the runner coming from 
     behind taking the focus with the lead. 

     Then, to hide the finish and maintain the suspense for the audience by not letting them 
     know who wins, the camera swept through other athletes in the middle if the field, 
     catching up with the two exhausted runners at the end of the track. We only see the 
     result of the race much later. That was all planned by Robert. The sequence also 
     included inserts of the runners warming up and toeing the starting line, as well as the 
     reactions of those watching the race much of which was done in slow motion. 

     Did you do a lot of tests with camera speeds to determine how you’d shoot 
     your slow-motion material? 

     Hall: No, it was more instinctive depending on whether we wanted moderately slow 
     or very slow. We were usually at about 96 frames per second. But there is tremendous 
     grace and beauty in slow motion as you watch the human body moving rapidly. 

     In depicting eight races, you had to find every ounce of detail possible to tell 
     the stories differently and illustrate how these athletes are testing the limits of 
     physical ability. There’s one race that Pre runs with an injured foot bandaged 
     and bloody and it’s so extraordinary because every time he takes a step we 
     can feel his pain. And this is even more important because, as you noted, we 
     generally know the outcome of these races. 

     Hall: Again, the slow-motion effect reveals expressions that would normally be 
     hidden. Now, I’d like to touch on the fact that I became sort of lost during the making 
     of this film because we were shooting all of these track meets at once. It was hard to 
     follow the cutting continuity of each in my mind’s eye. Further complicating matters 
     were the time constraints of the schedule, which required writers to rewrite, shorten 
     and condense scenes together. Because of that process, I also sometimes found it 
     difficult to follow the dramatic continuity of the film, other than during specific 
     sequences, like when Pre loses his race at the Munich Olympics. 

     Well, that part of the story alone makes the film quite different, because 
     unlike most sports films, it doesn’t lead up to Pre winning in the end. This is a 
     film about a someone who is difficult to like and loses the biggest race of his 
     life. But by the end we love him. 

     Hall: It’s that aspect that drew me to the story. At the end of the film there’s a 
     wonderful scene between Pre and Bowerman where they talk about the running and 
     the idea of winning, and what it all means. Their conversation suggests that someone 
     can change, and might perhaps want to change and become something else. It’s that 
     growth that makes you come to love Pre as a character. In the last scene of the film, 
     Bowerman gives a eulogy that makes it clear in the audience’s mind that Pre was a 
     young person struggling to do the best things for himself.