The Art of Restraint

When we started thinking about this film, I knew I didn’t want to make a film about dentistry. Not really.

I’ve always been fascinated by what makes someone’s work theirs. Why can two people technically do the same thing, yet one person’s work has a feeling to it that you immediately recognise? With Marshall, I think so much of that comes down to restraint.

There is a quietness to his work. He doesn’t need to overdo something to prove that something has been done. And that became the thread I wanted to pull through the entire film.

That’s why Utah felt so important.

We filmed across these completely different landscapes — out on the Salt Flats, up through Park City — and I became really interested in the relationship between Marshall and the environment around him. The Salt Flats are enormous, but there is almost nothing there. And somehow that absence makes everything feel more powerful. You notice the horizon. You notice movement. You notice a person standing within it.

There was something in that which felt incredibly close to Marshall’s work.

For me, directing is often about finding those connections that aren’t necessarily obvious on paper. It’s not just getting beautiful shots. It’s asking why this person, why this place, why this frame — and what are we actually trying to make somebody feel?

So we deliberately gave this film room. We let shots linger. We looked for tiny gestures and moments rather than constantly trying to manufacture something bigger. I wanted you to feel the scale of Utah, but also the nuance of Marshall within it.

Because ultimately The Art of Restraint is about much more than dentistry. It’s about taste. It’s about knowing yourself and your craft well enough that you don’t have to show everything you can do.

Sometimes the most confident creative decision is actually deciding what to leave out.

And I think that’s what I came away from Utah thinking about most: the people with the strongest point of view rarely need to shout about it.