In this post I mash up a quote from Walter Murch with a commonly heard expression in edit suites "you have to kill your babies" to see what light they might shed on each other. 

In a special film made exclusively for screening at last year's Griffith University post production symposium, Walter Murch said: "Movies are much smarter than the people who make them".  What I took him to be describing is something that I have often experienced myself, and heard other filmmakers talking about as that moment when, if you can quiet your ego and 'listen', your movie will tell you what it wants to be.  This is a magic moment in the edit suite.  But it is not mystically magic, it is sensibly so.  It makes sense that a movie, which has had the contributing focus of so many forms of genius from artists in words, design, shooting, performing and directing can, at some point, when all of the egos are quiet, illuminate a pathway to synthesize all of these contributions into a whole and complete form.  The movie takes the intelligence of all of the combined contributors and synthesizes it into one intelligent being.  So of course they are smarter than any individual who makes them, they are the brains of all of them. 

So why do the movies always want the directors to "kill their babies"?  Well I have a theory, but first I'd better explain what is meant by "kill your babies". 

When the magic is not coming together in the edit suite, one thing an editor may have to do is to get a director to let go of the shot that he or she loves the most.  The one they blew way to much of the budget on.  The one they missed their grandfather's 80th birthday for.  The one they caught pneumonia standing in the rain perfecting.   These shots that the director is hanging on to, that are probably the most beautiful shots, are the ones that don't really fit into the evolving whole.  They block the synthesis, they just 'don't work'.  These shots are called the director's 'babies', and they have to be got rid of from the cut to bring the whole together.

But it is not enough to say that something just "doesn't work".  I want to know why.  So here is my hypothesis:

When directors articulate a vision, they are opening it to interpretation by others.   They are creating a space, by being brilliantly articulate about their intent, for others to be creative with their special skills in realising that intent.  They are allowing others in, and creating the potential for the movie to become very, very smart, by creating the boundaries for creative contributions.   And so the baby grows up with the genetic code of many, and becomes smarter than all of them.  Except for that one special shot.  The one special shot, the one the director loves the most and worked the hardest to get, is usually the one that he or she imagined right from the very beginning, the one that came to their minds before they opened up the idea to a collaborative process.  As such, it is too singularly owned by them.  It is their unadulterated vision.  But that word has a negative connotation.  Better to say it is their unsynthesized vision.  The fragment of their idea that didn't have enough input from everyone else to take on the collective DNA.  So it stays a baby, its doesn't mature and yield its singular nature to the whole.  And when the rest of the movie grows wise enough, smarter than the people who made it, it demands that the editor yield the ax, and the unsynthesised vision shots, the baby shots, or the 'diva' shots you might say - be dropped from the cut. 

This isn't really one question, it is three: what is rhythm made of in film editing?  How is it shaped? And most importantly, what is it for?  This 2 minute video contains the 26 word answer to all three questions, which is quicker than reading the first four chapters of Cutting Rhythms though maybe not quite as useful!

To paraphrase Woody Allen from the end of Annie Hall, an emotional exchange is like a shark – it has to keep moving forward or it dies.  For an editor this means: you can’t repeat an emotional moment without killing it (you can sustain it but that’s another blog post!)  This post is about cutting so that the emotion is always in motion. 

To keep emotion in motion you have to keep the characters moving toward their objectives.

Ask yourself:

1. What does this character want? These are their Objectives
2. and what will they do to get it? These are their Actions

Actors do actions to achieve objectives, but if the action doesn’t work they move on, they change tactics – this is called a “beat”  

Ask yourself:

1. Where are the beats?

An actor’s beat provides you with a cutting point.

Here’s an example:

In this two hander the woman wants to go, and the man wants her to stay. 

Objectives: Her objective is to get away, his objective is to keep her there. 

What will each of them do to get what they want?

His Actions: To ask, to cajole, to demand, to plead, to beg

Her Actions: To dodge, to tease, to dismiss, to resist, to reject

Tip: You can see all of this going on in the way they speak -  intonation, force, speed, and the movement of bodies – posture, gesture, movement energy.  Watch and listen to the way they move and you are watching and listening to the movement of emotion.

He asks.  Cut.  She dodges.  Cut back to him – what does he do when she dodges? He has a beat, he changes his action, asking didn’t work, so he tries cajoling, and so on. 

Your job as an editor is to keep the emotions MOVING.  If he asks, she dodges and he asks again (repeats), the scene dies.  He asks, she dodges, he cajoles – now the scene is in motion he is changing because her actions have an effect on him.  He makes another choice, she makes another choice, we cut the emotion moving between them escalating/diminishing, winning/losing, causing/effecting to keep the emotion in motion.

What do you do? 

1. Select the shots where they execute their actions most effectively,
2. pit these against the counter actions of the other characters,
3. cut back to the first character to find out what they do next to achieve their objective.  Beware:

Don’t cut back to them doing the same thing or the emotion stops in its tracks. 

Don’t cut back to them just feeling something, like feeling sad because their action didn’t work  (unless it is the end of the scene). 

1. Cut back to them doing something and the emotion stays in motion. 

More about cutting emotional rhythms in chapter 6 of Cutting Rhythms, Shaping the Film Edit

for editors....
If a story that should be interesting is shaping up to be a bit boring, it is helpful to understand one of the key drivers behind an audience’s interest: Dramatic Questions.

A dramatic question is a question that implies an action and has something at stake. 

What does this have to do with editing?

Usually it is the writer’s job to create these questions in a story, but sometimes an editor has to help them along.  The editor is responsible for shaping the audience experience of dramatic questions  - when they are raised and when they are resolved, how much emphasis is given to them. 

Here are three tips for shaping and sustaining dramatic questions:

1. Make Sure You Know What Your Dramatic Questions Are

Talk to the writer and/or director and agree on the dramatic questions.  Speak them out loud, even write them down and post them on your edit suite’s wall. 

A dramatic question almost always starts with the word : ‘will’.  Will someone do something, say something or get something.

For example: “Does Joe like Liz” is not a dramatic question.  “Will Joe hook up with Liz?” is a dramatic question because an action is implied (Joe hooking up with Liz, or not) and something is at stake: the relationship.  If you know what your dramatic questions are then you can choose shots and shape sequences that follow the characters as they pursue their goals, and heighten our tension – our hope and fear – about what is at stake.   If you don’t know what your dramatic questions are, it is easy to get distracted, and put in unnecessary stuff. 

2. Don’t Answer Dramatic Questions Without Raising New Ones

(Unless it is the end of the story.)  In order to keep us wondering what happens next we need to know what action is implied and what is at stake.  If Joe hooks up with Liz and they live happily ever after it had better be the end of the movie.   If Joe hooks up with Liz but is then offered a job overseas we have a new question: “Will Joe choose the job or the relationship?”  Action implied? Choosing. Stakes? Career and relationship. 

3. If Your Script Answers Questions Without Raising New Ones, Try Using Ellipsis.

If you have a scene in a bar where the question is “Will Joe hook up with Liz” and at the end of the scene they leave the bar in each other’s arms, we know the answer.  That’s fine, unless the next scene is one of them in bed together, and there is no new question. Try cutting off the end of the bar scene so we don’t know the answer.  That way, seeing them in bed is a revelation, not a repetition.   You may even be able to insert other scenes in between, keep us wondering about Joe and Liz while you raise a new question in another part of the story.  Then, when you answer your first question, you have a second one open and in play.  

See Chapter 8 of Cutting Rhythms, Shaping the Film Edit (Focal Press, 2009) for more ideas about shaping and sustaining story tension through the rhythm of events.