The Eye is Quicker Read online

  1. Comes With The Fall

  2. Elf Shot Lame Witch

  3. How Is Hell Fact Me

  The third uses fifteen letters… [Figure 14.9]

  Figure 14.9

  …”T” is left

  Previous associations and unambiguous ‘feelings’ have led the audience to consider Hutch Rosemary’s oldest, dearest, father-like friend. His ‘deathbed’ request that Rosemary be given the book, and riddle message, are passed along to Rosemary at Hutch’s funeral. How can an audience believe that upon her arrival home from the cemetery, Rosemary undertakes but three tries to solve Hutch’s riddle? What kind of lousy, disloyal, and — given the Contextual circumstances — reckless friend is this?

  Her sad, yet sarcastic, “Now that really makes sense,” and “Poor Hutch,” [Figure 14.10] Rosemary’s words — spoken aloud — as she gathers the tiles, won’t ‘forgive’ her.

  Figure 14.10

  Rosemary calls it quits

  The director, and editor were certainly on alert to this ‘grave’ contradiction in earlier impressions, and the likely consequence of the audience’s weakening sympathy for Rosemary.

  Before we ‘discover’ the (re)editing solution, let me point out one of the possible ways to side-step the problem: Delete the gathering of the Scrabble tiles — the Rosemary’s about-to-quit beat — and cut from the three tries directly to Rosemary’s realization — I trust you already know this, and that I won’t ruin the film for you — that the anagram is not to be found in the name of the book, All Of Them Witches, but rather in the name of someone mentioned in the book. [Figure 14.11]

  Figure 14.11

  But! There is something to be said for keeping the Rosemary’s about to quit beat — and it was decidedly kept — because of its engagingly dramatic beat in audience anticipation.

  What is crucial is that in image — not in word — the audience accepts Rosemary’s willingness to stop her search. Therefore, How Is Hell Fact Me, with the left over “T” was, in the re-editing, placed third and last. Rosemary is not getting closer — or ‘warmer’ — she is getting ‘colder.’

  But! How Is Hell Fact Me was not always in the third position. Elf Shot Lame Witch was scripted, shot, and originally edited as the third positioned ‘solution.’ How — in Hell — can we tell?

  When Rosemary picks up the book, realizing the true ‘source’ of the anagram, and brings it to her, and the camera, [Figure 14.12] you can see, in the lower left corner of the screen:

  Figure 14.12

  The ‘second solution’ is still on the floor!

  I have used this scene in class — and here — to point out the simple yet astounding power of image. Showing that Rosemary is ‘unlikely’ to solve the anagram eliminates — at least it ‘softens’ — conflicts in the story’s previously presented, and persuasively developed, impressions of Rosemary’s character; and (especially) her relationship to Hutch.

  Ed Dmytryk, in his comments on Eisenstein’s use of montage in The Old and the New, concludes that “(a) demonstration is always more convincing than a verbal argument.”

  Following a discussion about this scene a student brought to my attention that Elf Shot Lame Witch ‘was still on the floor.’ I now had another example of brilliant re-editing for all to ‘see’: to store with my other ‘squirreled away’ finds.

  I drew a blank with Touch on my usually insightful train ride — I was alarmed by that. As I was about to fall asleep I understood what was ‘troubling’ me: The story had imperceptibly shifted. A hurried work schedule, and apprehension with the film’s running time, had led me to overly refine and delete. The visual descriptions were ‘suggesting’ a relationship, not between artist and model, but chiropractor and patient. I couldn’t wait to get back to the editing room to ‘make repairs.’

  I got to work at 8:00 a.m. and went through a reel of MOS (Mit Out Sound) Outtakes; and I found [Figure 14.13] what I needed:

  Figure 14.13

  The sculptor’s hands…

  … red with clay, rinsing in a small wooden water bucket. I positioned a selected portion of the shot at the beginning of a significant artist and model scene.

  A minor ‘touch’ in very last-second re-editing, re-embodied the intended impressions.

  FIFTEEN

  stones

  unturned

  “The hardest thing to learn… is how to

  correct what’s wrong without harming

  what’s good.”

  — Dede Allen

  Filmmakers who’ve attended film school are especially subject to overlook the larger view of context. This risk is most apparent when film school graduates take on a first feature, and most difficult to steer clear of when the director is also the screenwriter: The editing becomes an assembly of the precise (screenplay) pieces of the jigsaw. Perhaps it is that students become expert at making short films; and this easily lends itself to scene driven work.

  TIP & HINT: The charm and excitement — immediate gratification — of a beloved shot can often ‘win out’ over obligations to a scene. The dramatic appeal and fascination of a scene can easily dominate storytelling’s larger requirements. They are extremely difficult to resist.

  Young filmmakers are frequently caught somewhere between movie buff and artist. This is marked by indiscriminate imitation of work that has won their affection, or through uncompromising — even militant — defense of their favorite director. Such hard-nosed allegiance might be admirable, but it precludes legitimate discussion about film.

  There’s a notion about (American) democracy that confuses “Everyone’s entitled to an opinion” with the fact that some people’s opinions are simply more relevant to a topic. I know, and respect this, each time I seek assistance from a film lab, optical house, or sound studio — I should add my doctor, dentist, and mechanic.

  The retort, “That’s your opinion!” not only goes without saying, it goes without thinking, and is, in effect, meaningless.

  Most people go to the movies for an entertaining evening. Few people watch films with an interest in postproduction possibilities; and fewer inexorably take note of ‘misses’ — and ‘near-misses’ — occurring on screen.

  I am one of the fewer. It is central to my continuous learning, ever-better teaching, and added value in my editing assignments.

  I hope you’ve begun to ‘see’ more critically; and that I’ve helped to open a broader editing perspective. My observations are not about Right and Wrong, as much as a method of evaluation, workable choices, and improvement. So, if it will help me evade argument and wrath, I’ll submit a sincere, “The following is (only) my opinion.”

  Three Scenes from Fargo:

  Jerry Telephones His Father-ln-Law scene

  Jerry has arrived home to see that the ‘deed is done.’ The kidnappers have made off with his wife! Jerry, with grocery bags in each arm, stares into the bathroom. A cut shows a shower curtain rod lined with ‘empty’ rings. We hear Jerry’s (Off-Camera) Voice Over:

  Yeah, Wade, it’s Jerry.

  I don’t know what to do.

  It’s Jean…

  Jerry has ‘telephoned’ his father-in-law to report Jean’s kidnapping.

  The Voice Over plays across another cut: A Close-Up of the shower curtain on the living room floor; a tilt of the camera into a Medium Shot, shows the ‘snow-filled’ TV screen [Figure 15.1] and broken glass from the shattered storm window.

  Figure 15.1

  Jerry’s inflections feign anguish and panic

  A cut to the kitchen reveals Jerry [Figure 15.2] at the telephone…

  Figure 15.2

  … But not on the telephone

  Jerry is ‘rehearsing’ how to tell his father-in-law the ‘bad’ news.

  This scene — actually three scenes shared — confuses the service of dramatic irony: The ‘tension’ in the images, and the audience’s (possible) prying interest in Jerry’s ‘telephone presentation’ is of false value — rambling affect — because the audience al
ready knows that Jerry has ordered his wife’s kidnapping. Given the previous distribution of information, the scene — with a concern for context — properly begins at the phone.

  But! Can you imagine the cuts, and inflection variations, if the audience didn’t know of Jerry’s co-conspiratorial connection?

  Carl and Gaear Arrive in Minneapolis scene

  Carl explains the ‘latest studies’ concerning the risk of second-hand smoke, [Figure 15.3] before mentioning their imminent arrival into the city. Carl then proceeds with endless complaining about his partners ‘quiet ways’; he’s ‘not spoken’ during the entire ride.

  Figure 15.3

  The first time I screened Fargo it crossed my mind that an extra beat was needed between the Second-Hand Smoke Beat and the Here’s Minneapolis Beat, to take us to the You Haven’t Said a Word Beat, so that Carl’s extended rant about Gaear’s silence results from the ‘effects’ of the opening two beats.

  In the end, this scene could have been effectively deleted: The next time we see the kidnappers they are at Jerry’s house!

  TIP & HINT: Connecting the beats will help to ‘find’ the rhythms that provide emotional subtext and motivate dialogue.

  Consider as well — a gem of an unturned stone — that Carl was not bothered in the least by Gaear’s smoking in the Jerry Meets the Kidnappers scene. [Figure 15.4] His concern then was, “You’re late Jerry,” and that his ‘associate’ has “peed three times.”

  Figure 15.4

  Carl has no previous history of concern

  Prior to their arrival in Minneapolis, Gaear smoked on the ride to Brainerd in the Carl and Gaear Discuss Stopping for Pancakes scene. [Figure 15.5] In neither of the earlier ‘smoking scenes’ did Carl signal that smoke disturbed him: no swipe of the smoky air, no opening of his window…

  Figure 15.5

  … No ‘face’ of displeasure

  Such moments — and dialogue — occur when screenwriting and separate scenes are the ‘driving force’ of a film.

  Raymond Chandler noted that he would have suffered less anguish in his career as a Hollywood screenwriter if he had realized all along that “screenwriting isn’t even a second cousin to ‘real’ writing.”

  HINT: There are good reasons that, upon entering the theatre, moviegoers are not handed a feature screenplay. The house lights are not left ‘burning.’ Assembled ticket holders do not spend two hours reading.

  Carl ‘Battles’ the Airport Parking Lot Toll Man scene

  Carl has driven into the municipal parking lot at the airport. He is there to steal a license plate [Figure 15.6] for ‘his’ car.

  Figure 15.6

  Will Carl get away?

  Upon exiting he seeks to avoid paying the parking fee by claiming he’s decided not to park his car in the long-term lot “after all.” The attendant makes clear that the fee must be paid, [Figure 15.7] and the scene escalates into Carl’s harangue of insults.

  Figure 15.7

  What does this moment come out of?

  The filmmakers again give priority to screenwriting — they could not pass up, by way of re-editing, their ‘flair’ for dialogue — rather than to the character(s) and story’s plausibility; especially when you consider the context: Carl has kidnapped a woman; is driving a ‘stolen’ car; has killed two witnesses to the killing of a police officer; he has (just) stolen a license plate, and he ‘stops’ to battle a parking lot attendant to save four dollars.

  Scene driven work often comes about when filmmakers forget their means of presentation: Abigail Tries to Seduce John scene, from The Crucible.

  Imagine this scene as theatre: John and Abigail, alone on stage, in an abstract setting. Abigail’s dialogue, with its tone — if not tumult — of anger, might not compel the audience to question Abigail’s public spectacle, and sexual admissions. But, this is film.

  The foundation of the problem is set when John Proctor leaves the Interior of Reverend Parris’ house. John exits the frame in a Medium Shot; and another Medium Shot takes us to (Exterior) John nearing his horse. He looks back to see Abigail alongside a house. [Figure 15.8] This is not Reverend Parris’ house, it is another, some distance away — we might remember this from Abigail’s POV (Point Of View) shot from the second floor window of the Reverend’s house as John arrived in Salem Village — but the exit and entrance beats from the Interior to the Exterior scene capture a ‘feel’ of real-time.

  Figure 15.8

  This is critical to the audience’s ‘setting’ of the dialogue, and to reservations in presentation. The forceful theatrical performances disregard the ‘realistic’ Place and Time impressions that have brought us to the scene. John and Abigail are not alone on stage, but are ‘In the company’ of dozens of townsfolk in Salem.

  HINT & TIP: Exit and Entrance beats can get you into a whole lot of Tick and Tock Trouble!

  If the audience saw Abigail at the edge of the house, before John sees her, additional Time’ would have been gained to assist in the ‘separation’ from Reverend Parris’ house, and the proximity to the town fathers: a help of sorts.

  John does ‘look around’ at times, demonstrating a concern with the ‘delicacy’ of the encounter. When he breaks free of Abigail’s kiss, and her under-his-coat fondling, he makes his way back to the horse. Abigail pursues him, getting louder, and louder with verbal attack, which includes the ‘confession’ of an illicit affair. [Figure 15.9]

  Figure 15.9

  Can’t anyone in Salem see or hear?

  The Good Reverend could help: As discussed in the chapter on beats, Hale’s arriving carriage could integrate the Abigail Tries to Seduce John scene and the John Greets Reverend Hale scene, and serve to ‘soften’ the purely theatrical construct of Exit (Abigail) and Entrance (Hale) Beats. If Abigail’s Exit was a reaction to Reverend Hale’s arrival — “Uh-oh! Someone’s coming” —the beats would integrate; and a bit (beat) of ‘real-world’ experience could be returned to the scene: Abigail would ‘bear witness’ to the knowledge that sound does travel in Salem.

  TIP & HINT: Editors should not be pleased too quickly.

  SIXTEEN

  reactions

  speak louder

  than words

  “I touched wordless secrets that only the

  cinema can discover”

  — Ingmar Bergman

  When VHS tapes were first made available for screening on home VCRs, they were packaged to look like books. I suspect this was a marketing attempt to add prestige to an art form that sadly, first and foremost, is considered a smidgen of pop-culture. What other publicly presented art form is viewed while snacking on popcorn and Raisinettes, washed down with a bucket of cola-flavored ice?

  The effort to attach ‘distinction’ to movies has shackled the art to literature and theatre. This is demonstrated — in abundance — with Voice Over Narration reading abridged versions of real or imagined novels and plays to the movie audience. In truth, this attests to the inability of many directors (and editors) to ‘tell’ a story through the juxtaposition of images — something film can do miraculously well, and something no other ‘storytelling’ form enjoys.

  Words — especially in great number — cause discord between the senses. The eyes can so easily ‘understand’ vast quantities of references, and atmosphere. This might be the reason we shut our eyes to identify a taste, or a smell; we shut our eyes when we are touched, or kiss; and concerted listening persuades our eyes to close. Cinema should not try to be theatre or radio.

  Eisenstein’s August 1928 Statement —jointly signed by V.l. Pudovkin and G.V Alexandrov — describing the authors’ misgivings about the ‘new’ invention is remarkably prophetic. To use sound “for highly cultured dramas and other photographed performances of a theatrical sort… will destroy the culture of montage.… Only a contrapuntal use of sound in relation to the visual montage piece will afford a new potentiality.…”

  Film is a legitimate art form, but its potential is frequently diverted by the human voi
ce. Raymond Chandler insisted that the best scene he ever wrote consisted of three lines of dialogue, spoken by the same actress, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” He explained that this was not the initial writing.

  Screen the opening scenes from The Lover. I know of no film that equals its damaging use of Voice-Over Narration.

  In their effort to present a ‘prestigious novel,’ the filmmakers begin with ‘pretty’ Close-Ups of a pen to paper. An abridged and altered version of author Marguerite Duras’ opening pages begins: A Voice Over ‘reads’ to the audience. The voice is that of an elderly — hard-smoking — woman ‘telling’ us about her early adolescence. What we are watching is not (now) occurring… it has happened long ago. There is a price to pay for this, and it is exorbitant! Immediacy, urgency, and engaging enchantment are taken from the audience.

  A ‘literary form’ lures the filmmakers into a structure that is unnecessarily complicated — starting, and re-starting, the story several times. The damage done to beautifully elegant footage arises in the show and tell ‘staging,’ and its near-silly redundancies. [Figure 16.1]

  Figure 16.1

  “I am taking the ferry that crosses… Crossing a branch of the Mekong… The ferry crossing of the Mekong… I wear lamé shoes… I wear a man’s hat…”

  In contrast with no Voice Over, and with a (very) modest amount of dialogue — as in the Girl and Business Man Drive to Saigon in a Chauffeured Limousine scene [Figure 16.2] from The Lover— the storyshowing is superb, and we are under the spell of images.