Paul Middleditch

Paul Middleditch, 40, is a New Zealand-born director based in Sydney. His award-winning work includes Big Ad and Slow Mo for Carlton Draught, Welcome Snoop for MTV and Bud Light’s Fridge. He talks to Diana Goodman about growing up as an arty bespectacled loner in a land full of manly men and nervous sheep

I would describe myself as… a small man with a lot of energy. When I look in the mirror, I’m still the kid I was when I was ten who picked up a camera and made home movies with my family.

I first fell in love with film when I saw a student competition in which Peter Jackson had made an amateur home movie. I thought to myself, wow, I could do that. I grew up in New Zealand – in Seatoun in Wellington. It’s now quite a fashionable suburb, but at that time there was a lot of state housing, a dairy and a Catholic school. That was about it. My first memory is of being on my uncle’s farm. My dad had to carry me around on his shoulders because I was so afraid of stepping in ‘moo gloo’.

When you grow up in New Zealand, you become very resourceful. I spent a huge amount
of time by the sea and out in the bush, making forts and playing soldiers. It was great for
sparking the imagination. That resourcefulness gives you an inherent problem-solving approach. Even Peter Jackson, when he was making Bad Taste, did a lot of improvising with low-tech solutions.

You can make a crane from a piece of 4 by 2 and some nails, and it does actually work. There’s something naïve and exciting about that, which I’ve tried to maintain. My dad was a building contractor and my mum was a teacher, but I think that secretly Dad was also a budding filmmaker.

He helped to construct props for the films I was making, and when it came to the war movies he did the explosions – theoretically because he was the ‘responsible adult’, but really because he just wanted to blow things up. At the end of my latest film, Separation City, there’s a scene set right by Steeple Rock in Seatoun.

I wanted to end the film in my favourite place, so it was quite nostalgic. But it can also be really windy there and a howling southerly came in. We had to put up massive buffers just to stop] the actors from being blown away.

As a young child, I had boundless excitement and enthusiasm, but as I got into my early teenage years the self-consciousness of adolescence came over me and that led to some serious self-esteem issues. I was a bit of loner because I wore glasses and I was into art and filmmaking, in a country where men are men and sheep are nervous.

I was lucky. My mum and dad were very supportive, very loving and gave me some good
principles to live by. I try to treat people the way I want to be treated myself. One bonus was that I was good at rugby because I was fast and quick. The only problem was that I had to take my glasses off to play and then I couldn’t see a fucking thing. All the guys would yell out and tell me which way to go.

I painted obsessively at school – sometimes for 24 hours on the trot – as a means of escape, but I don’t paint so much these days because I’m so busy and I now have two kids [Jude, 2, and Stella, 6, with his director wife Sonia Whiteman]. However, I do draw all my own storyboards, which I take pride in doing.

I won the national Spot-On competition [New Zealand student film competition] for four years in a row and at the age of 17 was offered music video work. I then left school to begin my professional career. At that time there was no film school and no educational structure, so I had to initiate everything myself. I was the last of the apprenticeship generation – where older filmmakers taught me what they knew.

The first advertisement to make an impression on me was the Maxell Israelites commercial from the 80s. I thought it was just genius and still do. I don’t have any regrets about not having gone to university, because I got into the industry at such a young age and learned such a lot. But I have always tried to keep myself intellectually stimulated through reading – especially military history.

It’s quite difficult to take yourself seriously in advertising and not want to kill yourself, because ultimately what we’re doing is selling something. In my second film, Cold Summer, there’s a dreadful guy who’s an advertising suit. When he’s asked what he does,
he says: “I sell shit to people who don’t need it.”

Having said that, ads which are funny make the most sense and I take my job extremely seriously. Doing comedy well and making it work is a serious business. I think that what makes my work distinctive is comic instinct and comic timing.

How to cast a commercial well, but also knowing that every script needs a different and unique approach. It’s also important not to be repetitive. I’ve shot 152 spots for the ASB Ira Goldstein campaign, which is finishing in September.

Am I sick of it? Fuck, yeah. But when we started, it was great. I use my family in ads all the time. My brother Matt has been in about 25 of them. In Big Ad he’s the little bald guy with glasses who gets crushed over the fence. My mum is 4ft 9in tall, so whenever we need a short woman, I say, I’ve got just the one. In Separation City, my dad gives the bride away. I said, just walk and smile and don’t fall over – and don’t look so fucking grumpy, this is your daughter’s wedding day.

Recently, my parents came over for a visit and I was working, so they went across the road to get a cup of coffee. An hour and a half later in walks a girl, who goes: “Are you Paul? I’m a model maker from England. I just met your mum and dad and they said, ‘Our son’s a filmmaker. Go and have a chat with him’.” They want to help everyone; it’s the New Zealand way. My worst experience in advertising was shooting a soap powder commercial that was the biggest load of shit and then being blamed as the director because the script was rubbish.

Why did I agree to do it? There’s always one where you try to convince yourself that it could be all right, then it ends up howling like a dog. In this case, the client was horrible, the agency were horrible and it was a fucking terrible script. They had delusions of grandeur but it was kind of Plan 9 from Outer Space. I can still recite the dialogue and the crew and I sometimes reenact scenes from it.

The best was shooting Big Ad in Queenstown with George Patts Y&R Melbourne and the joy of filming with 350 guys who all knew we were making something really special. I think Big Ad is a particularly Australian idea as it has an dry, self-effacing and ironic view of the advertising industry, but at the same time it’s glorifying a particular element of our culture that is the centre of most Australian men’s universe: beer.

I don’t have any qualms about working on beer campaigns as drinking beer is an ancient human pastime. But alcohol needs to be approached in a responsible and intelligent manner. There is a chalk line when it comes to abuse and it’s important not to cross it. It’s true that in this industry there is a colossal amount of excess. I didn’t drink until I was 26, but in my thirties I got into it a bit. Ultimately, though, you have to make sure your priorities are right in terms of your work and your family.

I’ve lived in Australia for 20 years because I like this country. It’s a very welcoming, warm, non-judgemental society. The only thing I slightly regret is the lingering racism. Of course it’s everywhere, but I grew up in New Zealand, which is pretty much a Polynesian culture, and my friends were Indian, Samoan, Pakeha – it wasn’t an issue. But here, you’ve got a country that found it awfully hard to say sorry to the Stolen Generations. In New Zealand, we had a treaty in 1840 – that’s quite a big difference.

The person I most admire is my wife, Sonia. She is the most generous and giving person that I know. One of the most difficult commercials I ever shot was a live-action, in-camera piece with two mice, for Tui [beer] in NZ. I was working with miniature lenses, real animals and having to achieve quite extraordinary things in camera.

It felt almost impossible but we did it and I think we were all quite amazed. When it comes to working with animals, dogs are the easiest to direct. Cats are the worst and all things in between are pretty bad. The funniest joke I’ve ever heard? The one about a man who went to a zoo. It only had one dog. It was a Shih Tzu. In terms of filmmakers, I’ve always loved Tarkovsky, Scorsese and Kieslowski – particularly Three Colours: Red.

I think awards are important but I feel there is a massive inconsistency year by year, particularly at Cannes. Some years there are commercials that are universally applauded and undeniably excellent, and then there are others when you are completely mystified as to how some of the work received top prizes. No doubt there is a certain amount of political lobbying going on, which seems a shame.

The prestige of the award seems more and more like a lottery. I do feel that there is a stigma attached to working in advertising. I believe the stigma is about being shallow, interested in money and manipulative. You’re perceived as being one step away from a car salesman. I’m also ashamed at the amounts of money involved. There is an enormous amount of waste – in particular to do with the entertainment side.

I would never work on campaigns for cigarettes, political parties I don’t believe in, or ads that involve the manipulation of children – especially anything that’s detrimental to their health. A McDonald’s campaign aimed at kids, for example. I don’t get involved in politics much.
I do believe that, as Lincoln said, we have to appeal to the better angels of our nature. There is
genuine good out there. We just have to find it. The greatest human invention is the atomic bomb – for all the wrong reasons.

It is the invention that can end human existence, so ‘great’ may not be the right word to use. Perhaps it’s the most significant. The worst star I have ever worked with was Ian Botham. The best was [German actor] Thomas Kretschmann, who was in Separation City. We’ve become great friends and he wants to play the lead in a film I’m planning called The Cowards, set in World War 2 Germany. It’s a comment on the whole lunacy of that period but is also about the beginnings of a modern Europe.

With audiences becoming so diverse, the most important thing is not to be too general. You have to know who you are appealing to because there are such specific relevant target markets. If you throw your net too wide, you’re just guessing. As a New Zealander, I’m proud of coming from a culture that is so distinctive, friendly and also really good at rugby. My interests are painting, filmmaking, military history, rugby and classical music.

I listen to a lot of 20th-century composers: Sibelius, Vaughan Williams, Stravinsky. My King Kong collection? Ha! I only have a few pieces: some posters and a prized, signed lobby card by Fay Wray from the first-ever screening in 1933. This is rather meagre compared to some more fortunate collectors. I judge a person on whether or not they are selfish. If you consider someone else’s happiness rather than your own, then that’s a great thing.

The worst thing someone could say to me would be, ‘You don’t care.’ My greatest weakness is the need for acceptance. I shouldn’t need to be loved, I should just love myself. My worst habit is not listening as well as I could. What makes me really angry is violence towards children. If two people love each other, marriage is merely a public display of that commitment.

You need it to make a successful relationship whether you’re married or not. My greatest regret is not having kids sooner. Becoming a father meant everything to me. It stops you being so self-orientated. You learn humility and generosity, and to give unconditionally. What children need most is good role models and the ability to be independent in themselves.

It’s important not to fall into a pattern of preconceptions and pressure about where they’re going in life. It’s about them as individuals. I’m not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of wasting the one life I’ve been given. If I could change the world, I would end war.

If I could relive my life, I would not change it. In the end, what really matters is finding true happiness, and understanding the difference between pleasure and happiness. One is momentary. The other is forever.