Jonathan Deman moved to Rome from the Netherlands at the age of 22 to pursue his passion for working in the film industry. On set, Jonathan is officially an assistant director: he coordinates, mediates, solves problems, all while trying to keep balance within the fragile and unpredictable world of a film set, made of people, rhythms, and tensions. His days are long, and he is often away from home and must deal with the emotional labour of keeping an entire crew aligned and focused. His job demands a rare mix of emotional intelligence, patience, and conflict mediation. He jokes that half of his work is “being a psychologist.”
Yet, it is behind this intense professional life that his photography is born. Jonathan is not a set photographer by title- his photographs are not simply “behind-the-scenes”; rather, they are small acts of reportage, intimate self-contained stories of what unfolds when no one is watching. His photography moves between two distinct modes: an almost invisible, observational style and more constructed scenes – small mise-en-scène created together with the actors.
André Bazin, one of the most influential theorists of cinema, wrote that each frame always contains beyond the film itself, something that escapes the director’s control. Photographing within this “space” helps preserve the visual soul of a film set. That seems to be what drives Jonathan’s photography- he is interested in the human atmosphere of a film set- the way light falls on an actress’s face, the quiet moments of joy between actors, the small private conversations. His photographs do not document the film being made, but the life that surrounds it.
For almost twenty years, Jonathan- half Scottish and half Dutch, but Roman by adoption – has made on-set photography his own personal way of seeing and interpreting the world of film. We caught up with him to talk about the evolution of filmmaking, the fading depth of contemporary narratives, the role of social media in shaping public image and the rare privilege of observing actors up close. Our conversation moves through technique, passion and vision- and explores what is means to photograph cinema without being swallowed by the set, while maintaining one’s own rhythm, space, and personal form of storytelling.
Every career has a starting point, often sparked by a passion. To begin, I’d like to know how your love for photography, especially on-set photography, first emerged.
My passion for images began early, when I was a child. I’ve always loved cinema and I would often go to the movies with my parents and visit exhibitions. Later I studied Art History in the Netherlands, and after graduating I moved to Rome to attend a film school. That’s where everything truly started, even though, in reality, my fascination with images, whether photographs, paintings, or films, had always been there. I’ve always enjoyed looking at a beautiful image, in any form.
As for photography, I think it all began when I was six or seven years old. I already had my own camera, and if you ask me about memories, I have boxes full of them: first film photographs, then digital. When I started working on film sets, I continued to nurture this passion. Working on films or TV series gives you access to places and situations you would never see otherwise – unusual environments, people dressed in extraordinary ways. These are moments that allow you to observe and photograph things that would otherwise remain invisible. That’s something that still fascinates me about my work.
The world of cinema and communication has changed radically with the rise of social media, where stars now have direct control over their own public image, something that was unimaginable in the past. In this context, does the role of the set photographer still matter?
A set photographer is usually responsible for shooting the scenes being filmed- images later used for promotion or for the film’s archives. But that’s not exactly what I do, because I’m not interested in simply photographing what happens in front of the camera. I prefer to capture what unfolds outside the frame, behind the scenes, or create something of my own. For example, when I worked on I leoni di Sicilia, whenever I had a free moment, I would take a few people from the set, place them in a setting, and shoot- building small, staged scenes.
That’s why I wouldn’t say I take traditional set photos. My approach is a bit different, more personal. It’s a kind of reportage within the film.
But to return to your question- yes, I do think the work of the set photographer is still very relevant today. It’s true that everyone now has a phone and everyone takes photos and videos, but quality, composition, the image itself… that’s something else entirely.
Most images I see around, to be honest, are poorly made or badly composed. Photographs taken by a professional photographer, instead, are still widely used for posters, advertising campaigns, magazines. A photographer’s eye really does make a difference.
You can see it yourself- simply open Instagram and you’re overwhelmed by a lot of visual noise. It’s easy to take a selfie or a quick snapshot, but if you want a more complete, crafted image, you still need someone who knows how to build it. When it comes to promotional shots, for example, the set photographer still plays an important role- it hasn’t disappeared. Of course, their presence on set is much more limited than it used to be, that’s true. Today, productions or even actors often take their own photos, and everything has become much more immediate. But in the end, the difference is always noticable.
I always try to give something of myself. I think that when you look at my photos, you can recognize a personal point of view. Even if there are several photographers on the same set, each one has their own style, their own vision.
I like creating constructed images, small mise-en-scène that may not be entirely real but which convey a certain visual beauty. At the same time, I also love reportage, both on set and off, when I can capture spontaneous, stolen moments. In short, both dimensions fascinate me- the more constructed one and the more instinctive one.
Your work takes place within a very specific environment, yet your images have an impact that goes beyond the film set. You often recreate scenes that reflect your personal sensibility rather than simply following the script. In a digital-dominated era, do you feel the absence of exhibitions or spaces where set and backstage photography can be celebrated as they deserve?
In my opinion, true backstage photography is mostly interesting for people who work in the industry , for the so-called insiders. I don’t think the general public cares that much about it.
But if we’re talking about the more constructed images, the little mise-en-scène like the ones I created for I leoni di Sicilia, then yes, I think those become far more appealing to a broader audience.
In those photos you can see the set, the faces, the costumes… all elements that can fascinate people even if they don’t know anything about the work that goes on behind a shoot. The more technical images, on the other hand – the ones showing the crew or moments of production – I think those are much less interesting to the public.
Leoni di Sicilia is a highly successful TV series. I’m curious to understand how one of your photographic projects takes shape on a set: do you start with a defined idea, or do the images emerge progressively as the work unfolds? And how is your photographic approach received within the crew?
To be honest, I don’t really ask for permission, I just start doing it! Let me give you an example with I Leoni di Sicilia– I was on set from the very beginning of pre-production, following all the rehearsals and documenting almost the entire process. At some point, I appraoched the proudction to propose my project, but since it was a co-production- and the two companies had disagreements over the rights – after six months of back-and-forth I eventually got tired of trying, and unfortunately nothing came of it. I was genuinely disappointed.
When I photograph on set, the official set photographer isn’t always thrilled that I’m working too, but overall I’m generally well received. Most of the people I photograph know my way of working, they know what kind of images I’m after, and as a result they’re happy for me to take them.
Of course, it depends a lot on the project. I Leoni di Sicilia was quite particular because it was a period piece, with a clearly defined visual world and strong aesthetic direction. Other productions, instead, are contemporary, and in those cases my ideas come more spontaneously – it depends on where we are, who I have in front of me, the atmosphere.
There are also projects that I think through in advance, but usually they’re not linked to a film set. For example, if I want to create a specific series of portraits, then yes. I prepare everything beforehand, choose the faces, the costumes, the locations. So it really varies from case to case.
Is there a photograph you took during the filming of I Leoni di Sicilia that you feel especially attached to? Tell us the story behind it- how does one of your images on set come to life, and how do you manage to transform a cinematic scene into something entirely your own?
One thing that fascinates me, in general, is photography that captures movement. I love seeing fabrics, hair, and all those small details that shift and flutter. It’s a recurring element in my work, just like the presence of natural element – an insect, a leaf – that lands on someone’s face or body and adds something alive, something spontaneous to the image.
For example, I remember some photos I took of Miriam Leone. She was very open to playing along, she enjoyed it, and that made everything feel more natural. One of my favorite images was taken on the beach: she wore only a slip dress, while around her people were sunbathing or reading. I loved the contrast between the ordinariness of the scene – the everyday life unfolding around us – and the presence of this elegant figure, as if she were suspended in another era.
In the past, a single photograph could define the identity of a film and become an iconic, instantly recognisable image. Today, with the overwhelming saturation of visual content, do you think a good set photograph can still have that kind of impact and can it still contribute to a film’s success?
Honestly, I don’t think so. A photograph or a poster can definitely spark curiosity and draw attention, but I don’t believe they can determine the success of a film on their own. A beautiful image can make an impression, of course, but if the film doesn’t work, it remains just that- a beautiful image.
You can have ninety minutes of a mediocre film and still create extraordinary photographs from it. But that doesn’t change the quality of the movie.
When I think of truly iconic images, my mind goes to examples from the past, not the present. I’m thinking, for instance, of The Breakfast Club — those were different times, when a single photo could genuinely shape a film’s visual identity, because there weren’t trailers everywhere or social media constantly bombarding you with content.
Today, with the sheer amount of imagery we consume every day, a photograph can still spark interest, but it rarely has the same power of synthesis and impact it once had.
You have an international background and have worked in several countries, yet you chose to settle in Italy. What drew you to this country, and in what ways has the Italian environment influenced your profession?
When I was living in the Netherlands, my best friend was from Treviso, so even as a teenager I often came to Italy with my parents. After university, where I studied art history, I knew I wanted to work in cinema and found myself choosing between London and Rome. In the end, I chose Rome, partly driven by a romantic idea of Italian cinema which, over time, I realised didn’t quite match reality!
But by then I was already here, and I have to say – I’ve always loved Italy. I genuinely feel at home. When I first moved, I came with two Dutch friends and an English friend – after a year they all went back, while I stayed. Rome, with all its flaws and charms, still feels right for me. Maybe I’m also lucky, because I’ve always lived in the city centre, and that makes a big difference.
After finishing film school, I started working as an intern on a major American production shooting in Rome, a truly formative experience. At first, I worked mostly on foreign productions, then after a conflict on one of those projects I shifted to Italian sets, and honestly, I don’t regret it at all.
Of course, after the initial years of enthusiasm, there were moments of doubt. I wondered whether it made sense to stay or if I should return to the Netherlands. But in the end, I feel good here. Even though I’m half Dutch and half Scottish, Italy has become my home. I enjoy living and working here, and I think this sense of belonging also comes through in my work.
And luckily, my job often takes me travelling, outside Rome and even outside Italy, so staying here never feels limiting. Every country has its difficulties, but Italy continues to give me a lot, both personally and professionally.
You said you’ve always been passionate about cinema, a passion that has been with you since childhood and that has now become your profession. In your opinion, what are the main differences between cinema in today’s world and the cinema of the past? I have to admit that I look at cinema with a bit of nostalgia- I feel that today’s films, and perhaps those of the future as well, struggle to evoke the same emotions they did when we were children. Do you agree?
Yes, I agree. I also grew up with the cinema of the 1980s, and I could list countless films that genuinely moved me. Unfortunately, that happens far less often today. I think this is because everything has become a bit diminished: the writing, the quality of productions, even the acting.
Speaking of Italian cinema specifically, the kinds of stories that made the country famous in the 1960s are now largely gone, the thrillers, the social dramas, the satire. Today that type of storytelling barely exists anymore. And even among actors, it’s increasingly rare to find the depth or charisma of someone like Volonté, or the presence and allure of a Claudia Cardinale. It feels as though everything has been simplified, flattened out.
I also believe this has to do with the disappearance of a true film industry in Italy, which used to exist. In countries like the UK, France, Spain or the United States, cinema still operates as a structured system with clearly defined roles. In Italy, instead, directors often want to do everything themselves – write, direct, sometimes even act. And the result suffers, because collaboration is missing.
Another issue, in my opinion, is the superficial way in which certain themes are approached. I often see directors or actors tackling complex subjects without really delving into them. And that lack of depth inevitably shows on screen.
In the last five years, is there a film or series you feel most connected to? One that, when you look back on it today, makes you genuinely proud to have been part of it? I imagine that I Leoni di Sicilia is among those projects.
Yes, of course, I enjoyed working on it. But, as always, there are some aspects that disappointed me. For example, I think certain Italian productions lack a sense of realism. Let me give you a simple example: if two characters spend an entire day shut inside a carriage, they should come out tired, dirty, worn out. Instead, in many Italian films they emerge looking perfect, well-groomed, untouched, as if nothing had happened. Everything is very “beautiful,” a bit too polished, I would say.
If you look instead at some British productions, like Taboo, you immediately see the difference: everything feels more realistic, more raw, more lived-in. In Italy, aesthetics still tends to win over realism.
Another thing I notice is that, in Italy, actors always have to be beautiful. You don’t see characters like the dwarf in Game of Thrones, or leads with disabilities, or actors with non-standard bodies. They exist, of course, but they’re rarely placed at the center of the narrative. They remain in the background, as secondary figures. And that’s a shame, because it hugely limits storytelling possibilities.
It’s a bit like what has happened to genre cinema, which used to be one of the great strengths of Italian filmmaking, think of the 1960, and which, unfortunately, has become increasingly rare today.
Looking at your images and listening to your stories, you remind me of the British photographer and writer Peter Hince, best known for having been Freddie Mercury’s personal assistant and one of Queen’s roadies for over a decade. During those years, he documented life behind the scenes, creating intimate and spontaneous photographs of Freddie and the band. Do you also see your backstage photography as a kind of privilege? In the sense that, while you’re immersed in the everyday chaos of the job, you still have the chance to pause for a moment, pick up your camera, and capture images that no one else would ever get to see?
Yes, absolutely. I consider myself lucky, because I often find myself in places where an ordinary person would never have access. And then there’s the privilege of being in direct contact with the actors, of catching those behind-the-scenes moments that usually remain invisible. It really is a privilege.
Beyond your work on film sets, are there other genres of photography that you’re passionate about and that in some way influence your style?
Yes, absolutely. I really enjoy reportage photography. For example, before this summer I spent two months in Palermo for a film shoot, and on weekends I would wander through the city centre, exploring its most unusual corners. I photographed a lot. I love Sicily, and Palermo in particular. I find it incredibly rich, full of interesting details and stories.I ended up creating an entire reportage there. I also really enjoy portrait photography and lately I’ve been working on a project about tattooed bodies. I actually have many ideas and projects I’d love to develop, and some of them I’ve already started.
Staying on the topic of visual inspiration and research, I wanted to ask what you think of a platform likeShotdeck. It’s a database of high-resolution film stills that can be searched using very specific criteria – light, composition, colour palette, and so on. Do you think a tool that is so analytical can be useful for a photographer’s work today?
Yes, I think so. I also often look for images online or on Pinterest to find inspiration and new ideas. Anything you see can be useful. It can help you discover something new or spark an idea you can experiment with in your own way. So yes, I definitely find it useful.
You work in an environment where directing is a central element. Many set photographers draw inspiration from specific directors for their use of light, composition, or storytelling. Are there filmmakers from the past who have particularly shaped the way you observe and interpret a scene?
Yes, one of my favourite directors is Peter Greenaway. I’ve seen all his films, his exhibitions, I’ve read his books. I absolutely love his work. Speaking of tattoos, at the end of the ’90s he made The Pillow Book with Ewan McGregor, which tells the love story between him and a Japanese woman. She would write a kind of diary on the bodies of her lovers, and the film is visually extraordinary.Greenaway has always fascinated me, also because he comes from painting, and you can see that in his cinema – his early films are like living paintings. Each shot is static, but inside it everything is happening. It’s a visual explosion, beautiful to watch.
Do you essentially keep your camera with you at all times during filming? I imagine that days on set are long and demanding. Do you carry your camera throughout the entire day? Your equipment must be relatively lightweight, I assume?
Yes, most of the time I do. Of course, there are moments when I also have to negotiate a little with the official set photographers. It does happens that they get annoyed, so I always need to understand who I’m dealing with and whether they’re someone I can collaborate with easily, or whether it’s better to keep a bit of distance. In any case, the set photographer isn’t on set every day, if, for example, the shoot lasts forty days, they’ll be there for maybe fifteen. On those days, I simply try to avoid getting in the way.
I shoot with a Fuji X-T30, which is light. It would otherwise be impossible to carry it around all the time. It’s my “workhorse” camera – I keep it in my backpack and pull it out whenever I need it, without overthinking. I have other cameras too, including film cameras, but I never bring them on set. They’re too bulky, and I’d have to carry lenses and extra bags. And often the moments worth capturing last only a second or two – with the camera around my neck I can shoot immediately, whereas if I had to unpack all the rest, the moment would already be gone.
I wanted to explore something with you – Fujifilm has invested heavily in the digital reinterpretation of its historic film stocks, recreating their distinctive looks directly in-camera. Do you belong to the group of photographers who enjoy using these film simulations and are happy with the finished JPEG straight out of the camera, or do you prefer a more meticulous post-production process, working on the files in detail after the shot?
No, I can’t stand overly retouched photos. I find them unnatural. Of course, there are moments when I’ll adjust something, maybe remove a small distraction, but always in a very subtle way, because I actually like imperfections. I’m not someone who uses heavy filters or strong post-production effects. I prefer the image to remain as authentic as possible.
How widespread is your profession today, and how do you see its future? Do you think that this role, and others similar to it, are expanding and finding new opportunities, or are you also feeling the impact of the crisis that has affected the film industry in recent years?
Yes, there is a crisis in Italy, objectively speaking. And in my view, it also has to do with the fact that politics still holds far too much power over cinema here, much more than elsewhere. In the Netherlands or other countries, for example, it doesn’t work like that. I find it absurd that when the left is in government, left-leaning directors work more, and when the right is in power, the same happens for right-leaning directors. It’s a dynamic that simply shouldn’t exist.
I partly understand the reasoning behind some of the budget cuts of recent years, though it does go against my own interest. Lately, so many films have received large amounts of funding without it being entirely clear why. A lot of money has been wasted in the industry, so I can see why there’s a desire to restore some order.
I don’t think the system can function this way. It’s absurd to keep funding films just for the sake of making them, without genuinely considering who is going to watch them. You can’t allocate 30 million to someone who has never directed a film or has never had any kind of audience response. There should be a middle ground, but here it often don’t exist, and the dynamics are really unusual.
As I mentioned earlier, unfortunately, meritocracy in Italy is still very limited. In cinema, as in many other fields, who you know matters more than what you’re capable of. When I moved here, I didn’t know a single person and had to build everything from scratch. But around me, I see many “sons of,” second-generation artists, or people who work simply because of their connections, even when they’re not particularly skilled.
In the Netherlands, for instance, if you’re recommended but you don’t deliver, they let you go after a while. Here, it’s different. And that affects the entire system.
That said, I don’t think cinema will ever disappear. Even with artificial intelligence now generating images or scenes, there will always be a need for real people who can manage, think through, and shape those contents. It’s similar to what happened during the transition from film to digital: things change, new roles emerge, but the craft doesn’t die – it evolves.
Have you ever thought about entering the world of cinema in the future with a different role, for example as a director?
Yes, I would really like that. In fact, two years ago I wrote a screenplay and showed it around, but the response was always more or less the same: “We’re not looking for a genre film, but for something lighter.”
I would truly love to work behind the camera, but I know it’s not easy – especially because, as I mentioned earlier, I don’t come from a family in the industry.
With photography I have the advantage of being able to control everything myself – the idea, the image, the whole process. Cinema is different: it requires many people, collaborations, and of course more financial resources.
And if I were to do it, I would want to create something of real quality, not something improvised or done just for the sake of it. I’m not a fan of cinéma vérité or work that feels too raw – I like when a film, like a photograph, is also aesthetically refined.
Sometimes I regret it, because even in the photographic projects I develop on my own, I reach a point where working alone is no longer enough. I would need someone to help me build the scene, the way Gregory Crewdson can rely on an actual crew.
But yes, ultimately, I would really like to tell my own story and direct a film of my own.
Silvia Donà