Grayson Whitehurst on the Moment After the Moment

Grayson Whitehurst’s work invites you into a fever dream where humour (or disaster, or both) and existential chaos collide.

Raised by tragedy – his parents dropping out of the picture when he was still too young to understand what ‘forever’ meant – he learned early that life was mostly about surviving absurdity. And survive he did, turning that bizarre, cynical worldview into films where the characters try to navigate a world that’s far too strange for simple answers.

Don’t worry, though, his commercial work is a bit more grounded. Sharp, insightful, and often infused with a subtle humour that’s just enough to make you look twice, Grayson’s blend of creativity and craft has earned him numerous accolades: a Clio medal, and multiple screenings at Oscar-qualifying festivals, to name a few.

It’s proof that, despite the surreal madness living in his head, he’s got an eye for making things that people can connect with, without making them question their existence (for the most part).

LBB> What is your niche craft obsession?

Grayson> I’m obsessed with the moment after the moment – the quiet breath that follows the final line, when the scene is ‘done’ but the character isn’t. The technique is to let the camera roll there, in that strange little silence, because that’s often where something real slips through. A flicker of doubt. A suppressed laugh. A thought they weren’t supposed to have.

In comedy especially, those in-between beats carry the deepest kind of honesty. I’m obsessed with that space – those unscripted beats where something unexpectedly real, weird, or hilarious reveals itself.

LBB> Where/when/how did you first come across this thing?

Grayson> I found it by accident. Early in my career, with nerves in overdrive, I froze on ‘cut’. The take ran long – too long. And in that trailing silence, the actor, thinking the scene was done, delivered a tiny, tossed-off gesture that was better than anything we’d planned.

That’s when it hit me: the scene doesn’t end where the script does. It’s the imperfection – the thing that wasn’t supposed to happen – that often carries the most weight.

From that point on, I started to let go of the need to control every single detail. I learned that sometimes the magic is in the mess – the moments you don't mean to catch, but that reveal something raw, or something unexpected.

LBB> Was it an obsession straight away or something that has evolved over the years?

Grayson> It snuck up on me. At first it was accidental, then it became a habit, and now it’s something I intentionally incorporate into my process. I’ll brief other crew members on shots I plan to let breathe, but I won’t let the talent in on it in an effort to get something truly organic.

With time, I’ve realised that it’s not just a comedic tool – it’s a philosophy. Don’t rush the moment. Let the characters linger in it. Let the audience sit in it. That’s where the truth lives. That’s where the weird lives. That’s where I live now, creatively – in the pause after the punchline.

LBB> What are the most interesting debates or conversations you are having around this obsession?

Grayson> Mostly with editors. Some love me for it – they appreciate the nuance and the variety of emotional options – others find it excessive.

‘What’s with the silence at the end of every take?’ is definitely something I’ve heard more than once. But then they find that one look, that breath, that unscripted ‘wait, what?’, and it changes the rhythm of the entire scene.

We talk a lot about timing, trusting stillness and redefining what constitutes a punchline. Sometimes the laugh doesn’t come from the line. It comes from the reaction no one saw coming.

LBB> How widespread do you think this obsession is with your peers?

Grayson> I think a lot of directors do it intuitively. There’s a subtle understanding among those working in character-driven, observational comedy – it’s woven into the process. But it’s not just limited to those genres anymore. Even in more traditional formats, I’m seeing a quiet shift toward letting moments linger.

There’s a growing recognition that audiences are fluent in nuance and negative space. We underestimate their ability to sit with silence, and to read what’s not said. Sometimes, we don’t need to fill the void. The void itself holds the truth that viewers crave.

LBB> Can you share any examples of work where that obsession really came to the fore and elevated the final production? Can you tell us about it and share links if possible?

Grayson> I think a perfect example is the spot that I directed for Axe (‘Vanilla Trance’). There’s this golden moment right after Nahuel (our hero) snaps back to reality where he performs this eye-darting move, sort of communicating ‘Where am I?’ without saying a word.

We discussed this element in rehearsals beforehand, but on one of the takes that we let roll for a while, he started slipping a weird, pseudo-friendly smile in, as if to nonverbally say ‘Don’t worry, I’m just a regular guy’.

Conversely, we planned on Gwen (the cashier) offering a stone-faced stare, but she too started communicating more than expected with her eyes long after she thought we’d call cut (which is how we got the up-and-down scan that we used in the final cut).

Super subtle moments, but they elevated the scene from one-dimensional to three; what started as a simple exchange turned into something layered and hilarious.

LBB> For anyone just getting into your field, what advice would you share to help them get their head around this particular thing?

Grayson> Resist the instinct to fill every second with action, dialogue, or noise. On set, in the edit, even in your gut, don’t be afraid to sit in that uncomfortable pause

It’s easy to want to rush through, to get to the next thing, but some of the most powerful moments happen in the quiet aftermath – when the words are done and the camera’s still rolling. Let the performance continue after the final line. Trust that it doesn’t end there; it lingers, unravels, and sometimes, that’s where the real magic lives.

Those little, unspoken moments have the power to elevate everything, deepen the truth of the scene, and even transform a character.

So take your time.

Let things breathe.

The best moments often emerge when you forget about the camera and just let your actors – and the story – be.