Most of my books have been optioned at least once for motion picture adaptation, and yet until now, there has never been an actual film made. Such is the nature of film financing; it's a world of laws far too complicated for scholars and professors to try to understand. So when Edward Zwick inquired about optioning Defiance (my account of the "Bielski partisan" group operating in Poland during the second world war) for the second time, I barely gave it a second thought.
It wasn't until a few weeks later, when I found myself on the telephone discussing my notes on Zwick's screenplay with my son Roland, who often served as a bridge between author and production in his role as the film's co-producer, that I began to appreciate the exceptional nature of this undertaking. In Ed Zwick, I had lucked into one of the most thoughtful and considerate film-makers around. Many of the notes offered by Roland on my behalf were incorporated into the final film, and those that were not were explained to me, often by Zwick himself, in terms a layman could understand.
The monumental task of translating a 400-plus page book, which covers nearly four years of history and hundreds of individuals, into a two-hour visual entertainment is something I'm still a bit in awe of. But my brief encounter with Zwick and his cast and crew has left me with a deeper appreciation for the painstakingly detailed work they all do.
Before my visit to Zwick's set, my son Roland sat me down for a talk. Wearing his producer's hat, he instructed me somewhat sternly. "A film set is a benevolent dictatorship," he said, "in which the director's vision is sacrosanct. Your invitation to visit the set is at Ed's sole discretion and it's important to remember you are there to quietly observe, not to participate." Well, I wasn't accustomed to being lectured to by my own son, but I think I got the message. To Roland's credit, he did tag on a caveat of my general tendency to be retiring and unobtrusive anyway. He grudgingly gave me some credit for not being the type to barrel into a situation with an agenda.
When I arrived on set, all my son's well-intentioned coaching was rendered moot by the unusually self-possessed director. At once I was taken over to meet Daniel Craig and encouraged by Zwick to answer as many of the actor's questions as I could. They covered a range of points I found remarkable for their depth and breadth. In his questions to me, Craig demonstrated a seriousness of purpose and a thorough approach to his own research that I had hardly anticipated. It was a pleasure filling in historical gaps for many of the cast members, all of whom I found to be intensely conscientious and detail-oriented. I did not meet Liev Schreiber during my brief visit, as he was away at the time, but just watching his performance of entire scenes conducted in Russian makes clear that he, too, shared the level of professionalism I observed in his colleagues.
I am often asked how I find the patience to dig into the details of history, but I felt compelled to wonder the same about the actors, who in their own way were digging at the core of their characters, bit by bit. I watched as Craig performed the smallest fragment of a scene with concentrated precision again and again, sometimes a dozen times. His consistency fascinated me almost as much as his stamina.
I was similarly touched when young Jamie Bell first appeared on set. He was playing Asael Bielski, the one brother who was killed in action in the final days of the war. I had formed an image of him constructed entirely from accounts of those I'd interviewed. There was a remarkable likeness, particularly in the way Bell carried himself, to the way I imagined Asael to have been in life. How such confluences occur remains a mystery to me.
Equally striking was the portrayal of Chaya Bielski, Asael's wife, by the young actress Mia Wasikowska - I could hardly believe she celebrated her 18th birthday during the shoot. Chaya Bielski was one of the people to whom I grew closest; over the years, each time I visited Israel to conduct more interviews with newly uncovered partisans, I reinterviewed Chaya and grew to admire and hold for her a special affection. The sensitivity of Mia's performance was especially meaningful to me.
One aspect of my book that I spent considerable energy researching was the detail of the partisans' life in the forest. Synthesising often seemingly contradictory accounts of such mundane activities as cooking, bathing and pest control occupied several years' worth of my schedule. So it would not have surprised me had I found the occasional detail askew on a movie set where schedules and budgets often wreak havoc on the truth.
During a company move to another location, Roland gave me a private tour of the largest of the forest camps constructed by the film's production designer, Dan Weil. I found the place in an eerily quiet state. All the evidence of life as it had been lived in the forest was before me but without a human being in sight. As I wandered from one ziemlanka (forest bivouac) to the next, it was as if pages of my book were greeting me. First I came upon the main kitchen, a dirt hut in which a fire pit had been rigged so that iron pots could hang above. Rows of potatoes hung along one wall in a neat row leading to the pot. Then I found the shoemakers' workshop where members of the Bielski otriad (partisan detachment) had repaired the shoes of their Russian counterparts.
In each structure, the level of detail was astonishing. I describe in the book how occasionally, following a German raid on a nearby village, the Bielskis might have foraged for scraps left in the wake of the army's destruction. A window frame, a scrap of metal, a plate, a pillow, some live chickens - whatever they could carry back to the forest - would be incorporated and put to use toward the group's survival. Weil's set reflected this in virtually every corner. It was obvious he had read my book, and thoroughly! Not something I'd have necessarily expected.
The same was true of the costume designer, Jenny Beavan. As hundreds of local extras filed past us on my second day on set, the details of what they wore seemed to speak to individual case histories. A girl in an ill-fitting man's blazer. An old man wearing three shirts to compensate for the lack of a coat. The world I had immersed myself in through countless interviews and archival expeditions had miraculously sprung to life before my eyes. Or so it seemed at the time.
Of course, miracles had nothing to do with it. The accomplishments of this film are fully human in origin and a direct result of hard work and dedication to authenticity. For this, I am eternally grateful. That the first film adaptation of one of my books is also a moving entertainment makes me feel even better.
• Defiance is released next Friday.
