Paul K. Longmore Institute on Disability - Katie Murphy

An Interview with Superfest Judge and Audio Describer Katie Murphy

Visitor — Thu, 29 Sep 2016 17:35:22 +0000

Continuing our series of interviews with the folks who made Superfest 2016 possible , Grad Assistant Robyn Ollodort spoke with Katie Murphy, former Longmore Institute grad assistant and audio describer extraordinaire. Katie's audio description is used for the film Like If..., in which an unlikely heroine emerges and attempts to save the world. Like If... screens Saturday, October 22nd at 6pm. Buy your tickets to Superfest now at: superfestfilm.com/tickets/

Robyn Ollodort: As a part of the Superfest 2016 judging weekend, I got to see your fantastic audio description skills firsthand. Tell me about your process in audio describing.

Katie Murphy: For the judging weekend, I was doing live, on-the-spot description without having seen the films before. So, that’s very different from creating an audio description track for a film. With live audio description, particularly for media I have not seen before, the process begins and ends when the film does. When I am watching, I make note of important details being conveyed visually and then wait for a moment of quiet in the film to describe those details. This is tricky when I haven’t seen the film previously, because I have no idea when those quiet moments will come up or how long they’ll last. As Cathy and Bryan, the two judges I was describing for, can tell you, this means I occasionally begin description only to stop after a word or two because the quiet moment was only one or two seconds long. Live audio description like this is very much in the moment.

Creating an audio description track that will be added to a film in post-production is much more precise, but also more time consuming. I start by loading the film into InqScribe, my favorite transcription software, and then using the timestamp feature to record all the pauses in the film. Depending on the film, any pause longer than 3 seconds is fair game for inserting description. I record 2 second pauses as well in case I get desperate for space later on.

The next step is rewatching the film and filling in the pauses with description. I do this in InqScribe as well, because it allows me to use hot keys to pause and start the film without having to toggle between a Word file and a media player. When writing, I time myself to make sure that the description fits into the pause. If it doesn’t, I revise along the way.

Depending on the project, I might send the finished script to the director for approval before recording.

Then I record, using my laptop and a USB mic. I probably do at least three takes (if not more) of each segment of description, because I’m a perfectionist, and the description needs to fit into not just the pause, but also the tone of the film. I don’t do funny voices or accents or anything, but I do change the pitch and cadence of my speech to match the genre and scene. If the characters are at a funeral, I’m not going to use my perky phone voice.

Once the recording is finished, depending on the project, I either send the audio file to the filmmaker or mix it into the film file myself.

Then I take a nap.

RO: At the judging weekend, you were very transparent in linking having autism and being a good audio describer; why do you think that is, and what makes for strong audio description and a strong audio describer?

KM: Being autistic informs so much of who I am that it’s often hard to pick out how my autistic identity specifically impacts the areas in which I excel. If I am weirdly good at something right off the bat (like audio description) or completely helpless at a given task for no perceivable reason (like juggling), I tend to chalk it up to being autistic. For areas that I don’t excel, I’m typically compelled (either by myself or some authority) to explain exactly how being autistic negatively impacts my performance. For example, I suck at juggling because of poor coordination and motor planning--two autistic traits. It’s rare that I am asked to explain how being autistic makes me good at stuff, so thank you for asking.

In the case of audio description, a lot of things I already do help me be a good audio describer.

Creating strong audio description requires the describer to sort through a ton of audio and visual data to present the most relevant information. This is something people do in their everyday lives, but for many autistic people the process is much more deliberate. Since I have issues with sensory processing, my brain doesn’t automatically sort through external stimuli, so I have to consciously ignore irrelevant sensory information and focus on what’s important. Since I do this pretty much every moment of my waking life, I have years more of experience than your average allistic audio describer. Sorting through this much information requires a lot of mental and physical energy, so I’ve developed a good deal of stamina.

But I do give myself breaks to prevent sensory overload. One of the ways I do that is by listening to audiobooks when I’m out and about. I do not leave the house without my iPod, my big headphones, and an audiobook (usually sci-fi or non-fiction, because I’m a walking stereotype). As a consequence, I spend hundreds of hours a year listening to professional voice talent, absorbing cadences that work, cringing at poor production aspects. All that helps me when I’m recording. I know what makes something good.

RO: Audio description traverses the territory of objectivity and subjectivity, in that what and how you describe what you see carries with it an implicit assumption of what is important; how do you navigate choosing the 'important' things to describe?

KM: I try to balance what I believe the filmmaker is trying to communicate with what blind and low vision audience need to know to understand the film. And that changes with every project.

For example, I’ve done audio description for performance art pieces where the visual details convey the story or message in very intricate ways. So my description would include details that would not be so important in a narrative film. It might be really important for a performance art piece for everyone in the audience to know how many oranges are on the floor.

But for a narrative film, unless the oranges are an important plot point, I don’t have to go into as much detail about set dressings. Instead, I’d focus my energies on choosing language that best communicates the story and the characters. I get to imagine how I would describe the character or action if I was writing a novelization of the film.

Audio description is layers of subjectivity piled on top of each other. The description is the describer’s subjective understanding of the filmmaker’s subjective artistic message and the audience’s subjective desires.

RO: So you audio described the Superfest 2016 film Like If...; is there anything we can expect to hear in that audio description?

KM: Come Se… is an Italian film, so in addition to me on audio description, you will also hear Jennifer Sachs (of the San Francisco LightHouse for the Blind and Visually Impaired) dubbing the main character’s internal monologue. So you will have four straight minutes of three women speaking (one in Italian and two in English) in a science fiction film. Which is not something you hear every day in Hollywood.

RO: You worked previously at the Longmore Institute; how do you think your time there has influenced your perspective?

KM: Thanks to my time at Longmore I am very intentional about the language I use in audio description. By screening films at Superfest with open audio description (rather than handing out headsets upon request), Longmore argues that audio description is an access feature as well as a text in its own right. As a creative text, it’s not above criticism.

I think with audio description there is a real risk of perpetuating the paternalism disabled people experience by assuming that providing audio description of any quality is good enough. There’s a risk of film and television studios patting themselves on the back like, “Oh, aren’t we being so nice by providing audio description to the disabled,” and not really caring if the audio description is actually helpful or aesthetically pleasing. Working at Longmore showed me that people do notice if the description is good or bad. People do analyze the words that you’re saying. They do consider how you are editing the description into the film.

And that really encourages me to push myself and approach writing description with the same thoughtfulness and precision as I would a speech or blog post.

RO: Do you see a career for yourself in audio description?

KM: I would love to keep doing audio description as a freelancer. I really enjoy the opportunity to work closely with artists and community organizations to increase access and make something that sounds good.

If you are interested in hiring Katie to audio describe your film, she can be contacted at: catherinekatiemurphy@gmail.com

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accessibility

audio description

autism

disability

Katie Murphy

Superfest 2016

Superfest: International Disability Film Festival

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Oral Histories

Visitor — Tue, 17 Nov 2015 18:05:47 +0000

By: Catherine Kudlick

From the beginning, the plan for oral history videos, embedded in the exhibit, excited us, and sometimes carried us through when other parts of “Patient No More” seemed stalled. When we met people like Dennis Billups who had held his story for years wondering if anyone would care about what a black blind man - “504’s chief morale officer” - had contributed, it sunk in that we had not only pushed open a door but also helped to heal a wound. Soon everything rushed in. We laughed, we cried, we wondered in the most visceral way what it meant to write history and how many other stories might never be told. We felt a sense of urgency, not just because we had a deadline, but also because we knew that some of the occupiers were in fragile health.

Getting San Francisco State students in Journalism and History involved added another layer, especially when they made connections with the occupiers, many of them the same age in 1977 as the students interviewing them in 2014. Justin Steinberg, a history student with a vision impairment and a musician, was thrilled to interview performer Jeff Moyer on Skype.

The first challenge was finding as many people as we could. Some were easy: organizers Judy Heumann and Kitty Cone had extensive interviews in the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley. We also had high profile people like Congressman George Miller and Elaine Brown, leader of the Black Panther Party at the time.

Others required real detective work, following leads, deciding which rumors were outrageous vs which were true. We cheered when we found Ron Washington, a gay black man who we’d seen in lots of 504 photos but who seemed to have vanished. Apparently our postings on every discussion list we could think of, to people to spread the word among friends, outreach to local churches and various Independent Living Centers paid off. Once we'd even heard confident pronouncements that someone had died only to receive a call from that person the very next day.

We have an incomplete roster, a snapshot really. Not everyone we *did* find wanted to talk. Some said they had nothing to say, others claimed they’d already said it all. And even now we meet people who say they were there but we reached them too late to include.

We hoped to get at the nitty-gritty of daily life occupying a government building for 26 days. After initial claims of remembering nothing and having little to add, most interviewees relished the chance to talk on camera. We discovered how Bonnie Regina used an orange juice can to bathe and organizer Judy Heumann’s cherished moments of quiet in an unused elevator. The more than fifty hours of interviews reveal everything from mind-numbing boredom to profound personal transformation.

But we also wanted the 504 participants to engage today’s students, both those who would be interviewing them, and those who would watch/listen. We asked everyone what they wanted future disability rights activists to know, what work they felt still needed to be done.

Once the interviews were complete, we had students transcribe them, then curator Fran Osborn, Associate Director Emily Beitiks, Grad Assistants Renee Starowicz and Katie Murphy, and Director (Me) read through to code them, looking for the juiciest quotes and how they intersected with the emerging themes for the “Patient No More” exhibit stations. Emily then wove the best of the best together into stories that SFSU Journalism graduate Mike Cheng edited into videos.

Forty interviews and almost forty years later, we have a sense of an occupation where few could agree on who actually took part or how long they stayed. There’s something freeing, even nostalgic about this fluidity at a time with informal record- keeping and a certain innocence, at least as far as disability activism was concerned. It was a rare moment when politicians, activists, and even workers in the federal building (including guards!) seemed to have all the time in the world to work together to make the world a better place.

To watch the videos, check out the virtual exhibit at PatientNoMore.org

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Fighting Shame with History

Visitor — Tue, 02 Sep 2014 22:37:36 +0000

By: Katie Murphy

Getting ready to start a new semester is a bit different for me. Like everyone else, I have to buy my books and readjust to a less nocturnal schedule. But, as a disabled student, I have the added preparation of having to work through a lifetime of internalized ableism at the beginning of each semester. You see, at the start of each term, I have to meet with my professors and explain to them my accommodations. And no matter how awesome and with it my professors are, requesting accommodations makes me a wee bit anxious. Before I even walk into office hours, I have to go to battle with all the awful ideas about disability that I’ve been exposed to since birth.

I have to engage in a little mental boxing match with self-doubt: “Do I really even need those accommodations? I could get by without them, right? I did before.” And guilt: “I’m wasting my professor’s time. They’re going to hate me. I’m such an inconvenience.” And shame: “A good student and a stronger person wouldn’t need all this stuff. I guess I don’t deserve any praise I get from my family about going to grad school. I guess I’ll have to give my Uncle Jimmy back that sweet card he sent me when I graduated from Berkeley. Oh my god, where did I put that card? Where did I put that card?”

And I’m guessing a lot of other disabled students go through the same thing. (Minus the card from my Uncle Jimmy part.)

But we don’t have to. We really, really don’t have to.

And I think most of us know this. Intellectually, I know that accommodations are my right and I’m not getting some unfair advantage over everyone else. My accomplishments are my own, and I don’t need to torture myself by going without accommodations.

And yet...

Pure logic isn’t always the best tool for fighting feelings like self-doubt, guilt, or shame. Disabled people grow up learning to hate themselves, to hate their disability, because the world we live in hates disability for no logical reason. And sometimes the best way to fight that kind of illogic is with more illogic.

If I can’t completely get rid of that part of me that demands I feel bad for being a disabled student, I can at least trick it. “Hey ‘Part of Me That Demands I Feel Bad for Being a Disabled Student’! I don’t owe you any feel bads. Somebody else already felt bad on my behalf. My bill is paid. My debt is settled. You can stop leaving harassing voicemails.”

You see, in 1977, years before I was born, 150 disabled people occupied the old federal building in San Francisco to force the government to enact the first civil rights legislation for disabled people in US history. As I’ve learned going over interviews with some of the occupiers for the Longmore Institute's Patient No More exhibit, one of the major motivations for occupying the building was the right for people with disabilities to get an education. Some of the sit-in participants went to segregated schools—separate schools for disabled children. Some were lucky enough to go to one of the few universities that admitted disabled students. They all sat-in so I could go to school and have the accommodations I need.

Just think: For twenty-six days, around 150 disabled people lived in a single floor of an office building. Only a handful were aware that they would be occupying the building at all, let alone for a month, so most participants didn’t have any bedding or a change of clothes with them. Many participants required attendant care for eating, using the bathroom, or preventing pressure sores. All of that care had to be improvised inside the building with everyone helping wherever and whoever they could. Some protesters had medicines that needed refrigeration, so a makeshift fridge was created with a window air conditioner and a plastic sheet. When the phone lines were cut, they communicated with the outside world by signing to people picketing in front of the building. Their struggle was supported by the Black Panthers, who made the protesters (including Black Panther Bradly Lomax and his attendant Chuck Jackson) two hot meals a day. When a bomb threat was called in, they didn’t leave the building. The protesters were in such close quarters with such limited opportunities for personal hygiene that many of them got crabs.

Crabs.

On top of all that, the building was completely inaccessible. The protestors were fighting for the implementation of the Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973, which made it illegal for entities receiving federal funding to discriminate on the basis of disability. Under Section 504, the very building the protestors were occupying would have to be made accessible to disabled people. Yet they stayed in this inaccessible building for nearly a month to demonstrate the need for disability rights legislation, showing the nation the strength of the disability community and its allies.

If you, like me, ever find yourself feeling guilty or ashamed about being a disabled student, doubting whether you really need or deserve accommodations, I encourage you to think back to the 504 protests. If you ever feel society tugging at you to “get by” without accommodations, “toughen up,” “suck it up,” “stick it out,” because “the whole world doesn’t cater to you,” remember that you are part of a community that has spent enough time living in an inaccessible world. If you feel tempted to do an ableist society’s work by torturing yourself for being disabled, remember that over a hundred protestors (and an infestation of crabs) stayed in a building for nearly a month without the comforts of home or any accommodations or accessible structures. Remember that all the discomfort and indignities they faced as protestors were so that you wouldn’t have to go through the same thing. You’re relieved of any duty to feel guilty or ashamed about being a disabled student.

At the same time, you’re not completely off the hook. Remember that you have a legacy to uphold—a legacy that was forged in part at the 504 protests. Remember to honor the qualities that made the 504 sit-in so successful and such a life-changing experience for those involved: community pride, collaboration, and commitment to education.

Remember that the 504 sit-in did not occur so that one disabled person could scale the social ladder while the rest of the disability community remained on the bottom rung. The 504 sit-in was an effort by the disability community for the disability community. Remember that when you next come across fellow students who might be eligible for accommodations but are unfamiliar with the disability services offered by your school. Remember that you have knowledge worth sharing about disability services when a friend discloses that they are struggling due to a disability or medical condition. Remember to honor the confidentiality of anyone who confides in you.

Remember the invaluable work performed by the Black Panthers, the Grey Panthers, the Butterfly Brigade, and the International Association of Machinists. Remember that their support, supplies, and expertise enabled the sit-in to last. Disabled students gained the right to an education in part because of the different social justice groups that collaborated with the protestors. Remember that when students aren’t getting a fair shake at an education for reasons other than disability. Remember the power of collaboration when you come across women facing isolation in STEM fields, working class students going into debt to afford textbooks, trans students being referred to by the wrong pronouns, or students of color having their names mispronounced or mocked. Remember that as someone who has benefitted from different groups coming together to support disability rights you have the responsibility to pay it forward and support the right to an education for everyone.

If you can do all that without getting crabs? That means you’re one step ahead of the 504 protestors.

Katie Murphy is a graduate student in Women and Gender Studies at San Francisco State University and student assistant at the Longmore Institute. She also runs Space Crip, a blog about disability in sci-fi/fantasy.

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