Behind every film there are people with a name and a story.

LC was the cinematographer on the first commercial I ever directed. I was a beginner who showed up asking for a 30-second sequence shot, on location and with a child in the scene. If we got through that, we would get through much more, and that is exactly what happened.

From then on there were so many projects I lost count. The backlands of Brazil, more than once, for ActionAid. The Amazon, for Plan. Rio and São Paulo, countless times, for clients who would not fit in a list.

But there is one story we always tell.

Haiti, 2011, shortly after the earthquake. We were filming Jenicâ's story. We had agreed on a shot and LC was still building the camera when she placed herself in front of the lens on her own, spontaneous, perfect. I started speaking under my breath, almost whispering: roll, roll, roll. He looked at the monitor, hit REC and began moving the slider. It is one of the best composed shots of that trip. It still gives me chills.

What LC does that almost nobody does is create a natural atmosphere on any set. On the film Nadia, for UNHCR, I looked at the monitor and would have sworn there was not a single light in the room.

He pushes for the time to get the light right and still delivers early, with time left over to give attention to the other departments. When he is done he announces, laughing: "We are only waiting on make-up or sound." He is the storyteller of the crew, with enough road behind him for tales that run from funny to dramatic.

In his spare time, which is anything but spare, he is an inventor. Always building some contraption, optimising an equipment case, researching, studying, and one of the most self-taught people I know. It was that pursuit of perfection that led him to painting, and anyone who sees his light is not surprised to learn he loves Caravaggio. And yes, Claudinho loves shadows, but ask him for any light you want and when you look at the monitor it will be there.

LC is a true co-director. With him I learned that knowledge is passed on, not locked away in a chest.

Edna came into my working life out of a production need. We were days away from a shoot and had to change the make-up artist, I no longer remember why. I was going out of my mind and said: you decide. They decided on Edna, and she stayed.

The first job was in a studio, chroma key, with a well-known actress. Her finest work happens earlier, in the dressing room, but what surprised me was her attention on set.

Before I asked to roll, she would give the hair and the shine of the skin that last check. Whenever something came up and I turned round to ask, Edna was right behind me pointing at the monitor: "Already seen it, I am on my way to touch it up." I never had to say a word. We have worked together ever since, and that has never changed.

What I admire most in her work is her ability to take in the brief and adapt when she has to. She always has a solution.

Edna is Brazilian in her origin and in her skin tone, and that makes her a professional with a remarkable touch for doing make-up on any skin.

And then there was the day the actress said she would arrive ready.

Some public figures have their preferred make-up artists, and once there was a request for a specific name the production could not take on. The actress gave us notice: I will arrive ready. But think of the heat in Rio de Janeiro. Who did we take along? Edna, of course. Obviously we had to do the make-up again. On the jobs that followed, the person who asked for Edna was the actress herself.

Beyond the technical qualities, Edinha has a charm, a way of winning people over that I have yet to see matched. Jobs come and go, and her radar stays as sharp as ever.

And it does not end there: Edinha is excellent company for a bit of samba and a cold beer.