Alexandra Simpson’s No Sleep Till is an impressionistic look at a small beach town in South Florida awaiting a large Hurricane to pass through. Simpson’s interest lies not in classic disaster movie set pieces, but rather in sitting with these Floridians deep into the night as they wait out the storm.
The French-American Simpson spent sections of her childhood in Atlantic Beach, Florida, and this familiarity helped her rally the small community together to help her make her debut feature. Crew stayed at her father’s house, who himself relocated to his neighbor’s house. Shot over 23 days on a Sony a7S and FX10 utilizing Zeiss lenses borrowed from Happer’s Comet DP Jesse Sperling, No Sleep Till is a true feat of micro-budget filmmaking, not solely in its ability to capture a real sense of scope, with its wealth of lived-in locations and ensemble cast (the latter a trademark of Omnes films), but even more so in the beauty Simpson and Swiss cinematographer Sylvain Froidevaux render on screen with limited resources. From a neon-lit tourist trap motel that is presently scheduled for demolition to a souvenir shop that Simpson frequented as a kid, No Sleep Till captures impressions of a rapidly disappearing Southern Florida, pondering how this tenuous status impacts its inhabitants.
No Sleep Till premiered at the Venice Film Festival last fall, before making its U.S. premiere at the second annual Los Angeles Festival of Movies last week. I sat down with Simpson at Figaro Bistro in Los Angeles, before her film traveled to New York City for a bow in the New Directors/New Films program.
Caleb Hammond: While there is dialogue in the movie, there are also quiet moments in between the talking, which are image- and sound design-dependent. How did the script reflect these elements?
Alexandra Simpson: The writing started loosely. I had fragmented ideas of scenes based on locations I knew I wanted to film. It was all very much driven by the locations. I arrived to Atlantic Beach two months before we shot. This is when I scouted, casted, and created the shot list. This is when I fully finished the script, which is very close to the final film. Every detail you might think was filmed on the spot is written. It’s true that it relies on mood and imagery, but it also relies on the completion of a larger image. There’s no link necessarily between the characters other than the common thread of the storm. But at the same time, narratively, they lean onto each other to move along into the night. Balancing the narrative and the abstraction was finalized, maybe a week before we started shooting, which was a little scary.
CH: What was the breakdown of the locations you knew you wanted to shoot versus ones you discovered when location scouting?
AS: The swimming pool that opens the film, the skate park, my father’s house, and then a street where I bike all the time — those were the main locations I had in mind. When I arrived, I looked for places ready to be erased, either by mass modernization or environmental collapse. There is so much fragility, like with these wooden houses that remain in this part of Florida.
I had the souvenir shop in mind, because during my childhood, my cousin worked there. We would go anytime and pick out whatever we wanted. It’s small, cramped, and super pink, like a candy shop for kids. The locations were a mix of knowing people, discovering places that could show this fragility, and my childhood memories of locations that were my playground as a kid.
CH: Were you scouting by yourself?
AS: I started alone, and then I met Grace [Altmire], a local, who later became the script supervisor. I posted a message on Facebook asking for help in any capacity: “I’m this French filmmaker who’s partly grown up here. Please help out.” Grace reached out and took me to all the locations. She introduced me to the gas station, because that was the gas station of her childhood. It became a collage of different people from Atlantic Beach’s memories.
CH: I talked to Carson Lund about stealing shots while shooting in L.A. versus shooting in a small town in Massachusetts on Eephus where everyone’s excited to help out. Did you experience that?
AS: Absolutely. If we shot in Jacksonville, for example, which is a big city where there are productions, that would have been harder than this small town where 1.) nothing like this ever happens, 2.) they trust us, because we’re a small crew, and 3.) I know everyone. The more word got out, the more people were asking to help. Everybody wanted to be an extra in the film. We ran out of extra roles for people.
CH: You insert these iPhone interstitials of storm footage. Where did that idea originate to incorporate this lower-grade digital footage throughout?
AS: Early on, when I didn’t have a full idea of the script, I was just dreaming of characters. I thought a storm chaser could give us this almost biblical aspect of the storms, with how devoted he is to them. It’s almost religious the way he chases storms. I found Taylor Benton by typing in “storm chasers Florida,” and he’s the first dude who came up. I liked that he’s young and kind of inexperienced, which brought a vulnerability to him. Storm-chasing is a competitive and macho world, and he possesses this stoner vibe, with his long blond hair. He was perfect. I reached out, and we met up to go storm-chasing together. It ended up being like the film; he was so excited and we got nothing. But I got to understand his devotion. When I was building the film in the edit, I felt that it was lacking something, this larger-than-life stimulation that drives him. I asked him to share other storm-chasing footage he’d captured. There was something nostalgic about reminiscing of the chases that he had done, but also something removed that got me closer to this God-like image of a storm. I like that those images are different from this clean, pristine look that we have in the rest of the film.
CH: When those raccoons appear at the pool, was that planned or a happy accident?
AS: What’s funny is that I wrote the opening sequence in the swimming pool. And then you see a series of shots: somebody blow-drying their hair…
CH: …I love that tiny hair dryer, so old.
AS: …Super vintage. One of the shots was that two raccoons appear in the frame and go for the water. Everybody on the shoot, all my friends and my team, were like, “How in the world are we going to do this raccoon thing?” I was like, “Just forget about the raccoons. We’re not going to do the freaking raccoons.” But the production designer [Justine Fabre] started putting food out for potential raccoons. We were shooting outside one day and somebody called, “Guys, you’ve got to come here.” We came and set up the camera. The raccoons are there, and they perfectly come to the water in frame. When that type of little miracle happens on a film set, you think, “We are just blessed right now.”
CH: Your DP, Sylvain Froidevaux, and you met at film school. Where was this?
AS: It’s called Head [Haute École d’art et de Design Genève], which is a school of Fine Arts and Design in Geneva, Switzerland. It was very much an experimental approach to filmmaking. Sylvain is more on the documentary side, which I wanted for this film, because I knew we were going to be working with non-actors. And parts of the Americanness would speak to him that wouldn’t necessarily speak to me, because I’m a bit more used to it. It ended up being an interesting match of how to be present in what’s happening with our characters, and how to be demanding on the aesthetics with how beautiful we can make it and how sharp it can be.
CH: A DP with documentary experience might know how to not be so invasive, to make the non-professionals feel comfortable on screen.
AS: That’s true, and at the same time, it’s interesting, because the more professional and fiction-oriented we were, the more the non-professionals wanted to show up. As opposed to us adapting and wanting to be extra sensitive and vigilant of what we’re filming, they want to show up because they see that we’ve prepared this, we know what we’re doing, and we’re demanding.
CH: Visually, the film is so beautiful, with traditional landscape shots — there’s a magic hour shot that looks really nice — but also with the bodies in the way they’re framed; many of those are equally beautiful. How did you develop the visuals and character blocking with Froidevaux?
AS: We came up with film references that both talk to us. I watched the early Jarmusch films, and then I rewatched Claire Denis’ films. Denis was a big driving inspiration. I want to feel that a character is very close, even when we’re filming them from far away. Sylvain would know, “for that, you use this type of lens.” It was learning how to read an image. Denis’ Nénette and Boni was a huge reference, as was Lucrecia Martel’s The Headless Woman. Shooting in the nighttime was challenging because we had minimal equipment. “How are we going to shoot this gas station? Let’s film when there’s a full moon.” We get there, it’s a full moon, but it’s covered up by clouds. We had a great gaffer, who performed magic. He would climb trees and put a light wherever needed.
CH: The blocking of the bodies is almost more reminiscent of photography.
AS: In my reference deck, I had Alex Webb and William Eggleston. It’s really important when you have such little means to be extremely vigilant with the way you compose your image. You don’t want a flat image or something where the bodies are randomly arranged. It’s all about the bodies — bodies watching bodies, or bodies being watched. There’s something circular in the way we see the faces and the bodies come up. So we had to be homogeneous from the beginning, which was hard, because we were discovering our language as we started shooting. It was about being consistent with those references. I love that you mention photography, it’s always been a huge inspiration. It’s the same for the next film I’m going to make. Photography alongside literature.
CH: What was your sound design philosophy? We open with this radio broadcast, and there are often TVs on in the background, whether a football game or something else.
AS: The whole aesthetic of the film is based on a need for mundanity. There’s this threat that’s pending over people’s heads — at the same time, life continues. That’s everyday life for Floridians. It doesn’t matter if a football game is on or not, if music is playing in the background. There’s an apocalypse, maybe, but this is every day for us. There’s also an element of relief: we’re pausing right now and can just listen to the music. The motel scene where this guy smokes and listens to tunes — he’s just soaking in this pleasure, this moment, simply because he can right now. The rest is more nature-driven — my memories of the sounds in Florida: cicadas, frogs, wind, thunder. I told my sound recorder to get anything he can. He read the script and knew what I needed. And then we composed with anything that he captured on location.
CH: Florida is crazy. It rains like five days a week.
AS: I love that. And then after, it’s like nothing happened. It goes back to the dreamy, beautiful sun.
CH: I love the music at the hotel. What was your process in picking these songs? All the music cues are very memorable.
AS: I started off with Bruce Springsteen, which speaks to that mundanity. I asked myself: What sounds do I hear? What music? When I’m in Florida, it’s the radio, people in their golf carts. It’s modern country, Springsteen, soft rock and roll. Then it became about balancing a sedative state. I want this film to be relaxing in the midst of this apocalypse. There’s an optimism in this soft rock from the ’80s. I love Bruce Springsteen for this reason. That was a thread for the film: what do these people listen to? How can it be from within and not something that’s too imposed on a style? It tints the scenes, but in a way that’s from within. Obviously, we couldn’t keep Springsteen, so my great music supervisor, Taylor Rowley, gave me alternatives.
CH: What was the casting process like?
AS: It started with a Facebook post, which got a lot of attention from people, either aspiring actors or not. Grace and I set up open calls. That’s how we found the woman who gets fired and later swims in the motel pool. Then it was approaching people in the street: “Hey, are you interested to sit with me over coffee and talk about this idea of mine?” I saw June [Brynne Hofbauer], the young girl, at a diner. She had this timidness that I had when I was young — I saw myself in her. I met Xavier [Brown-Sanders] at a film bar in Jacksonville, where every Monday, anyone who’s doing productions in the area meets up. He wants to be a producer, and I asked him if he had any interest in being an actor. I had cast Jordan [Coley] as Will already. I was looking for a brother for him, and I tested Jordan and Will together, and their dynamic, with the tension and dominance, felt more like a friendship than brothers. So I made them friends in the script. I was adapting as I went along with who I found. It was a rock-and-roll way of auditioning and casting people.
CH: There’s a tactile quality present. For instance, there’s more than one handwritten note in the film.
AS: I was inspired by literature when I started writing, including Raymond Carver. I was also reading Miranda July’s short story collection No One Belongs Here More Than You. From that book, I was thinking about the romanticism present within these moments as well. If I want to talk about mundanity, I also want to talk about romanticism. At first, I imagined a whole sequence of different letters and the way people could leave them, thinking about how to get creative with it. It could be a note on the fridge or the door. We ended up having time to shoot only two letters. But it was about having a sense of romanticism that remains ghost-like. The whole film is ghost-like. One of the letters reads, “I’m grateful for you forever,” and you see a woman alone in the house. The most banal emotions are also the most intense ones. I wanted that in there, even in the midst of “the world might end tomorrow.”
CH: There’s a handwritten note when the skater leaves June the thumb drive, and then she plays the skate video off it. The music during the skate video is unlike anything else in the movie.
AS: At first, I had Aphex Twin, this ambient techno track. But Aphex Twin is obviously too expensive. Rowley sent me replacements, including this track. I love the ethereal quality to it and its place in the narrative. You’re deep into the night, and people have already left, and all of a sudden, you’re back to the day, and there’s this young juvenile boy, skating in the sun, against this floating soundscape. It’s a pause against the advancing night, the advancing chaos.
CH: I thought of Bergman, and his interest in the deep of night, and what happens when people talk to each other at this time. You have this with the two friends at the motel pool. In Bergman’s movies, there’s often a confession that happens during these moments.
AS: Chantal Akerman’s Toute une nuit is one of the first films I saw of hers when I was in film school, and I was blown away. I love the unusualness in people’s behaviors, not only in preparation of a storm, but also in the middle of the night, the unexpectedness within a human soul. That intrigues me so much. And you can go so far — there’s so much freedom. I asked a lot of people, “How do you prepare for a storm? What is it to wait for a storm in the night?” People would come up with the craziest stories. Whether they were true or not didn’t matter, but the fact that they would go there in their mind was a green flag. There are details in their behaviors, some spontaneity, that makes it tender and human, as opposed to being cynical about how it’s going to end. This woman told me: “Well, one time I thought I was going to die, so I put my finest heels on and a helmet on. I sipped on my wine glass, and I blasted music in my apartment.” I don’t know if that’s true or not, but the fact that she would tell herself that story is so beautiful to me.
CH: When telling a good story, the truth is the least important part.
AS: Absolutely. The enchantment is what matters.
CH: How many shooting days did you have?
AS: 23 days, with a few days of pauses just to refresh and understand what we’re doing. It was a luxury that we could even have pauses. We divided the shoot by character, with one week with the two friends, one week with June and also Margaret, the woman goes in the pool, and then five days with the storm chaser. Between each of those, we would stop and try to understand the language to remain consistent going forward. It was watching dailies, rereading scenes, going back to our references and making sure we wouldn’t be too redundant visually.
CH: With the compressed timeline of going to Florida, ramping everything up right before shooting is set to begin, was there a sense that this isn’t going to happen unless you say it’s happening? There’s this deadline and everything will fall into place because it has to.
AS: That’s extremely accurate. Tyler [Taormina], the other producer, will get you to make your film, whether you have money or not. He’s got this spirit of no BS. You have absolutely no excuse, whatever the budget. Having him mentor me into that dynamic was crucial to actually making the film. He says the first thing to do is set a date. We’re going to shoot this month, and there’s no other way. People either show up or they don’t, but you’ll make it work.
CH: When I interviewed Bruno Dumont for The Empire, I asked if he had trouble getting financing — it’s a lot more expensive than his other movies. He tells me they originally budgeted for $14 million. They were given seven, and so they made it for seven. He’s not going to not make the movie. He simply made the movie with the money he was given. More filmmakers need to have that straightforward mentality.
AS: It’s very humbling, especially with a first film. In France, you have to make great shorts to earn people’s validation, and then you make your first feature. So people put so much pressure into their first film. It’s very humbling to say, “We’ll make it work.” That includes sacrifices. It’s about figuring out how it can still be magical if it’s not as ambitious as we thought it would be. Freeing yourself from the pressure of “this needs to be perfect and pristine” is liberating.
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