The Eye is Quicker Page 16

  Figure 20.3

  Joyful Company Community Invitation

  TIP: Never rule out anything from the uncut dailies. Every moment between the slate and the camera’s stop holds promise.

  I once used a shadowy figure moving past the camera to make a cut work. The ‘figure’ was a member of the production crew exiting screen right after ‘clapping’ the slate to mark that synchronized sound take.

  I’m sure that you’ll be astounded by the (exaggerated) asymmetry in the rhythms of the Killer Looks Through the Restroom Stalls beat from Witness. [Figure 20.4] The search from stall to stall to stall, at first glance and note, ‘seems’ rhythmically consistent — as in balanced, symmetrical; (nearly) no one believes otherwise — but, with smart reflection, a ‘feel’ for context, emotional subtext, and most definitely in storyshowing inspiration, the editing choice brilliantly enhances the beat(s), and scene.

  Figure 20.4

  Asymmetry in the rhythms of sound and action

  HINT: Film rhythms are not metronome precise — and needn’t be. Asymmetry applies!

  TWENTY-ONE

  i have

  my

  doubts

  “I don’t think a finished film is ever

  anything that anybody envisions initially.”

  —Evon Lottmon

  When I was nine years old, and an enthusiastic ‘artist,’ a cousin — he was much older, and I thought of him as an uncle — who, as an avocation, enjoyed painting, took me on an afternoon excursion to Greenwich Village. I was enlivened by New York City’s celebrated neighborhood of artists and writers; and elated by my cousin’s purchase of oil paints, brushes, palette, linseed oil, turpentine, and a few pre-stretched canvases as a gift for me.

  My parents — my mother especially — kindly tolerated the overpowering odor of linseed oil and turpentine in our small New York City apartment. I remember the delectable ecstasy the first time I applied a creamy thick dab of oil color to my canvas. The color was yellow, and it coated the outside wall of a farmhouse I copied — first sketching in pencil — from an illustration I found in a magazine.

  I was so captivated by the work that I would get out of bed in the middle of the night — even during the school week — to sneak into the bathroom with my art supplies, so that I could continue my painting. The bathroom was the only room in our apartment to afford privacy: It had a door. I worked carefully toward my anticipated achievement.

  When the landscape was completed, I was left with a disappointing canvas. I had worked with a fastidious certainty — a consequence of creative innocence; and my painting — unlike the illustration I copied — was lifeless and flat. More accurate: It was flat, and therefore lifeless.

  There’s a phrase about a “surface not even begun to be scratched” that comes to mind whenever I recall my first oil painting. The expression implies the existence of something more than a surface.

  I bought a book about Rembrandt van Rijn, and made a stupendous discovery: Rembrandt didn’t fill in his drawn lines with final color! Instead, he created a broad and lively spontaneity of ‘washes’ in muted to bright hues. He crafted the canvas in its entirety. Rembrandt did not, from the outset, resort to a finicky rendering of one object, before moving on to the next. Unlike the way I had proceeded to paint my yellow house, solid in color, and void of texture, as if painting an interior wall, Rembrandt encouraged the energetic under-painting to show through — perhaps even provoking ‘missteps’ in his search for fullness in breadth and form.

  Francis Bacon wrote, “If a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts, but if he will be content to begin with doubts, he shall end in certainties.” Mr. Bacon is addressing a philosophy in the search for contentment. But! The ‘play’ between doubt and certainty is an imperative in the creative process.

  Orson Welles defined a director as “Someone who presides over accidents.” Sidney Lumet said, “All good work is the result of accidents.” Walter Murch poetically describes the creative process, for the film editor, “editing is not so much a putting together as it is a discovery of a path.”

  Scratch the surface of these comments, and you’ll make a stupendous discovery: Creativity can, and will, be bared by way of doubt — or ‘holding back’ certainty!

  TIP: The work process should allow — should even foster — the often-extraordinary discovery. Try to develop a knack for not working too cautiously, to letting things happen. The result can be serendipitous, giving you invaluable insights and a terrific new perspective.

  Murch writes about his efforts — with several co-editors — to ‘find’ the final form for Apocalypse Now. He calculated the total number of days of work, and the number of cuts in the finished film, and came up with 1.47 cuts per day, per editor. The answer might seem altogether non-productive, but only if the editors arrived to work knowing exactly what single cut (and then some) to make before heading back home. While Apocalypse Now is likely an exaggerated example of “a discovery of a path,” it does demonstrate the many cuts discarded before a ‘final arrangement’ is made!

  Early in the book, I suggested that the editor’s “definitive achievement” is not to be found in any single cut, but in the “unity of the entire film.” If, in the postproduction process, more than 90% of your initial cuts lead — in the end — to ‘somewhere else’, why proceed with a ‘finicky’ first cut?

  I am not advocating an altogether ‘hit and miss’ approach, as Welles, Lumet, and Murch are not speaking about work of slapdash drifting. There is a practical side to the methodology of the creative process. The editor’s (filmmaker’s) handling of the groundwork — under-painting— is orderly, and can be resourcefully productive.

  Digital technology — Final Cut Pro software — presents me a bond between my painting past to editing’s future. The program display features two screens: Viewer and Canvas. The Canvas ‘plays’ your ‘picture in progress.’

  This chapter is about the editor’s canvas! The path to discover sequences.

  In the thesis film, June, a nighttime scene, June Telephones Her Father, originally followed the daytime scene, June Arrives at Maria’s Flower Shop. You can probably guess from this writing that it was deleted. There was a (harmful exposition) redundancy in the two scenes — though they were not sequential: June ‘tells’ her father that she’s returned from London, and will be coming to see him.

  Some half-dozen scenes following the Telephone scene was the June Asleep on Her Father’s Boat scene. Deleting June’s father earlier ‘kept’ the audience from ‘seeing’ the father, and hearing June announce her return from London — we’ve already learned this in the Maria’s Flower Shop scene — and her plans. This new arrangement furthered the audience’s curiosity when June’s father ‘finds’ her asleep on his boat, [Figure 21.1] and the structure now ‘kept’ June and Maria together in the next three scenes.

  Figure 21.1

  Who Is This Guy?

  TIP: No matter how effective any, or all, scenes might be they don’t fully serve the needs of the complete film if you don’t find sequences. When an entire film — or a portion of a film — ‘feels’ sporadic, it is likely the result of an editing focus on scenes. This often leads to observably episodic, and poorly integrated, storytelling.

  The ‘right’ questions can get you to some bright discoveries in sequence structuring.

  Jerry Tries To Call Off the Kidnapping scene from Fargo: Jerry asks the mechanic in the auto dealership’s service department for help in ‘calling off’ the abduction of his wife. [Figure 21.2] The mechanic ‘plays’ ignorant of the plot, and any previous involvement. Jerry walks away.

  Figure 21.2

  Scene in an awkward position

  The next scene — sequentially — reveals Carl and Gaear entering Minneapolis. What if the audience witnessed the Carl and Gaear scene first? Structured in reverse, the audience would know the kidnappers have already arrived in Minneapolis [Figure 21.3]…

  Figure 21.3


  …and Jerry is trying to stop them

  It makes more sense that way. Why? We know from the ‘mechanic scene’ that Jerry can’t stop the kidnapping. To follow with a scene that ‘says’ the kidnappers haven’t been stopped, is superfluously non-dramatic. But reversed…?

  What if, at the end of the scene with the mechanic, Jerry didn’t walk away? What if the mechanic were not so definite in his denying help to Jerry? What if the audience believes that the mechanic is going to help? Or is unsure? What if the audience did not ‘see’ Carl and Gaear entering Minneapolis? What impact would that have at the outset of the Kidnappers Appear at Jerry’s House scene? [Figure 21.4]

  Figure 21.4

  HINT: Stronger by deletion

  Paul Hirsch explained that “sometimes the biggest contribution I’ve made [editing] a film is taking a scene out. Take that out and everything flows…”

  What if the kidnapping has already occurred before the Jerry Tries To Call Off the Kidnapping scene?

  I am not asking these questions to motivate an intellectual examination. ‘See’ if the questions — and your skill at visualization — might stir answers in emotion.

  Students — and inexperienced editors — fluctuate between being satisfied too quickly, and being discouraged too easily. Both are a result of an inclination to evade uncertainty. Doubt can be creatively gratifying!

  TIP: Full discovery won’t arrive with answers. Don’t be (so) certain before you do the cuts; do the adjusting; ‘see’ what your labors bring; and how the doing illuminates your “discovery of a path.”

  “Laziness” is the editor’s worst offense, said Dmytryk. He was not referring to snoozing.

  The Verdict: From the ‘discovery’ of a missing admitting nurse — Who’s Nurse Rooney Protecting scene — through the Galvin Telephones the Admitting Nurse scene, there is an eight-scene sequence [Figure 21.5] that is ‘driven’ by…

  Figure 21.5

  …Galvin’s ‘detective work’

  As each scene ‘plays out,’ the audience feels an increasing ‘need’ to inhale: An emotional balloon is incrementally inflated. The audience — and even Galvin — holds its breath when the nurse identifies herself in Galvin Telephones the Admitting Nurse scene. A two-scene sequence — Galvin at Logan Airport and Laura’s Going to New York [Figure 21.6] — ‘shows the way’ to the Galvin Confronts the Admitting Nurse scene.

  Figure 21.6

  Hold your breath or exhale

  A sequence might be identified by purely visual associations which can connect one scene to the next; by unbroken emotional expansion established by particular inflections, either emotional and/or narrative: the mood or tone of ordered scenes, and/or their distribution of information.

  If, in The Verdict, Galvin’s two visits to funeral parlors were structured consecutively — rather than (as exists in the finished work) separated by the Galvin and the Obituary Page scene [Figure 21.7] — the tone of the sequence would be strikingly altered: Near amusing pathos would replace the (far better) discomforting down-and-out pathos.

  Figure 21.7

  Tone Matters!

  The Philadelphia Train Station scenes in Witness make up three sequences — supported by tone and inflection — even though they exist continually, and in the same ‘Place.’ Sequence #1 [Figure 21.8] begins with a Master Shot of the Station Mezzanine scene, and runs through the High Angle Shot of the Samuel Explores the Station scene.

  Figure 21.8

  Sequence #2 [Figure 21.9] begins with the Mother and Samuel Sit in the Waiting Area scene — the last note of music from the preceding scene carries into the new (sequence) inflection; and in this case, time — and runs through the Samuel in the Restroom scene.

  Figure 21.9

  Sequence #3 begins — and might end — with the Mother and Samuel are Surrounded by the Police scene. Or, the sequence [Figure 21.10] might consist of two scenes…

  Figure 21.10

  …Second: John Book Arrives scene

  Certain delineations — fades; dissolves; postproduction sound effects and music; specific beats and actions — may well generate ‘disagreements’ in sequence identification. Don’t fret! It’s just one more doubt.

  A sequence might be ‘broken down’ into a mini-sequence; music spotting, sound effects, or dialogue, can precede — and introduce — an upcoming sequence.

  HINT & TIP: Music and other sounds ‘play’ a vital part in the ‘bringing together.’ They offer a simple, yet essential, approach to ‘hide’ the episodic — fragmented — nature of film scenes to sequences. And isn’t inconspicuous harmony what we’re ‘looking for’?

  No external record — as in a theatrical performance playbill — ‘specifies’ scenes, sequences, or acts. More often than not — in the end — editing doubts come to this:

  “And then, one fine day, when we somehow managed to devise one last, desperate rearrangement — there was the film.”

  — Andrey Tarkovsky

  TWENTY-TWO

  dear

  reader

  “Flim Editors are the finest people I know

  I don’t think I’ve ever met an editor

  I didn’t like. They’re the most wonderful,

  dedicated, hard-working people….”

  —Tina Hirsch

  During my semester-long sabbatical — completing work on this book — I continued to meet with my thesis students at SVA. On one of those days, I arrived early, and brought my bagel and cup of coffee into the foyer of the Digital Imaging Center. The Center is often available for twenty-four-hour student bookings; and can be counted on to be among the first facilities opened each morning. A student behind the counter greeted me, “Good morning,” and asked if I were a teacher. I said, “Yes. Though not in the Digital Imaging Center, but in Room 504, next door.” She inquired instantly, “Are you a Final Cut Pro teacher?” FCP is an Apple software program that allows for digital editing on a computer. Room 504 has become an impressive lab with well over a dozen FCP workstations. I hesitated — not because I didn’t know whether to declare, “Yes” or “No,” but because the student’s question pointed out a profound change in perceptions of teaching, and learning. My pause made her begin to suspect that I had sneaked in past security, to eat my breakfast sheltered from the cold morning. I replied, hardly a moment before the student was going to ask for ID, “Not too many years ago, Room 504 housed Steenbecks, and no one ever asked me if I was a Steenbeck teacher.” I didn’t ask if the student referred to her Graphic Design teacher as the Photoshop teacher.

  It did cross my mind several years ago, that one of the mainstay adages of work world crafts, “Learning the tools of the trade,” has — for the most part — been rearranged to “Learning the tool of the trades.”

  New technologies, and their trade-promoting vocabulary, induce — in me at least — some discomfort: I am ill at ease with digital editing’s designation as Non-Destructive. I know of no film editor who feels that his or her labors have ever been destructive. The reference’s conceit is as unbecoming as the phrases Computer Illiterate and Information Age.

  Such ‘self-praising’ phrases are bigheaded: They express a disregard — in their belittling — of earlier eras, and craftsmen. In this, they do nothing less than reject history, and the possibility that ‘yesteryear’ and ‘yesterpeople’ can contribute valuable instruction.

  In large part this reflects the marketing strategies of Madison Avenue: Ted Widmer, the director of the C. V. Starr Center for the study of the American Experience at Washington College, wrote, “youth means money in Ponce de León’s America.” The young and carefree are ‘with it’ and ‘where it’s at’; and by inference, elders — even our wisest — are ‘unfashionably elsewhere.’ There is irony here: The ‘young and carefree’ are (perpetually) ‘consuming’ their dear days on the road to ‘elsewhere’!

  Digital editing offers brilliantly lovely work methods and strategies. I’ve adapted my editing ‘habits’ to take full — and then some —
advantage of digital’s offerings. While a digital editing ‘machine’ is a tool, it does as all tools do, offer an ‘addendum’: Encounters with any work paraphernalia can’t help but encourage particular methods, and perhaps even results! This fact is worthy of an entire dissertation, but for now, I’ll only raise one question: Does digital editing ‘deter’ the editor from spending ‘creative time’ in uncertainty?

  Editors can now immediately ‘soften’ a cut with a dissolve; they can add an assortment of other optical effects, vast selections of sound effects, and music; and they can create near-instant titles — many dazzlingly sophisticated. All the finishing touches can be accomplished in remarkably short time. My concern — and a very large risk to the art of film editing, and moviemaking’s future — is that all the feasibly elaborate finishing touches can so easily disguise barely mediocre work.

  At a time when about 10%-20% of feature films were being cut on digital equipment, I was able to identify Avid or Lightworks — at the time, the two most widely-used digital tools — edited films. Whenever I suspected that this was so, I’d wait through the end credits, and sure enough, some acknowledgment would appear indicating a digital editing tool. To be fair, and honest, I’ll admit that I didn’t stay for the end credits of all films; and I am certain that some of the features I saw were edited digitally, but didn’t ‘raise my suspicions.’ And, of course, I am not saying that every mechanically edited film guaranteed a job well done.