La Maison de Fêtes · Creative Direction
Prepared for Jed Ortiz
We have prepared two creative directions for your suite.
Choose the one that feels like the film.
Three colours drawn from the words in your briefing. Not chosen — discovered. They were already there, waiting in the sentences about the Ritz curtain, the silver of the film stock, and the surface of a wall in a coastal diner.
Your chosen typeface. It carries the authority of a cinema marquee in its upright form and the intimacy of a handwritten programme note in its italic. Both directions use it. They use it differently.
Drawn from the printed programmes that accompanied early Criterion Collection releases — documents that treated cinema as literature. DM Serif Display upright, centered, at commanding scale. The title TIDEWATER breathes at the top of the page. Cream field, ink letterforms, the crimson used exactly once: on the film title. The silver grain is in the paper itself — never applied as decoration.
Every piece in the suite reads like an archive object — the kind you'd find preserved in a cinematheque library fifty years from now. The printed ticket-invitation is spare and precise. The programme is multi-page and academic. The signage at the Ritz is a single large letterform on cream. Nothing announces itself. Everything is exactly what it is.
Rooted in the printed matter of 1950s–70s coastal Texas — diner menus, salt-worn event programmes, the kind of thing printed in small runs for a community that showed up anyway. All three palette colours present and equal. The paper grain is a protagonist. DM Serif Display in italic, with varied weight hierarchy suggesting a handset type job from a small-town press.
The invitation feels found rather than designed — like something you'd discover in the Port Lavaca motel where you wrote the screenplay. Each named ticket reads like a personal dispatch. The back — aspect ratio, format, runtime, the final line — is laid out like a film can label. The physical world of the film bleeds into the object you hold in your hand.
When I read your briefing, I heard something specific: not importance — weight. The weight of a film that was shot in eighteen days on an island with no phone signal, by people who gave themselves to it entirely. Fifty-five guests who need to understand, before they arrive, that this is not a party. It is a moment of trust.
That detail stayed with me. Both directions begin there. Direction A takes you into the archive — the world that preserved films like this, the culture that took cinema seriously as literature. Direction B takes you into the physical world of the film itself — coastal, worn, immediate, the Port Lavaca motel made tangible. Both will carry the weight you asked for. They simply carry it differently.
Both directions are built from your briefing. They read it differently — one follows the archive, one follows the place. Either will be executed with equal commitment. Choose the one that feels like Tidewater.