Rocketman

The last two of years have been rich for film audiences interested in the lives of rock legends. Rocketman was this year’s stylized biography about Elton John. Helmed by British actor/director Dexter Fletcher and starring Taron Egerton of the Kingsman film series, Rocketman tells John’s life through his songs. Astute film buffs also know that Fletcher was the uncredited, additional director who completed Bohemian Rhapsody through the end of principal photography and post, which will invite obvious comparisons between the two rock biopics.

Shepherding Rocketman through the cut was seasoned film editor, Chris Dickens. With experience cutting comedies, dramas, and musicals, it’s impossible to pin Dickens down to any particular film genre. I had recently interviewed him for Mary Queen of Scots, which was a good place to pick up this conversation about editing Rocketman.

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[OP] Our last conversation was about Mary Queen of Scots. I presume you were in the middle of cutting Rocketman at that time. Those are two very different films, so what brought you to edit Rocketman?

[CD] I made a quick shift onto Rocketman after Mary Queen of Scots. It was a fast production with eight or nine months filming and editing. The project had been in the cards a year before and I had met with Dexter to discuss doing the film. But, it didn’t happen, so I had forgotten about it until it got greenlit. I like musicals and have done one before – Les Miserables. This one was more ambitious creatively. Right from the beginning I liked the treatment of it. Rocketman was a classic kind of musical, but it was different in that the themes were adult and had a strong visual sense. Also the treatment using Elton John’s songs and illustrating his life with those was interesting.

[OP] The director had a connection with both Rocketman and Bohemian Rhapsody. Both films are about rock legends, so audiences may draw an obvious comparison. What’s your feeling about the contrast between these two films?

[CD] Obviously, there are a lot of similarities. Both films are essentially rock biopics about a musical figure. Both Freddie and Elton were gay. So that theme is similar, but that’s where it ends. Bohemian Rhapsody was aimed at a wider audience, i.e. less adult material – sex and drug-taking – things like that. And secondly, it’s about music, but it’s not a musical. It’s always grounded in reality. Characters don’t get up and sing to the camera. It’s about Freddie Mercury and Queen and their music. So the treatment of it is very different. Another fundamental difference is that Elton John is still alive and Freddie Mercury is not, so that was right at the film’s core. From the start you know that, so it has a different kind of power.

[OP] Whenever a film deals with popular music – especially when the rights-owners are still alive and active – the treatment and use of that music can be a sticking point. Were Elton John or Bernie Taupin actively involved in the production of Rocketman?

[CD] Yes, they were. Bernie less so – mainly Elton. He didn’t come in the edit room that much, but his husband, David Furnish, was a bit more involved. Elton is not someone who goes out in public that much, except to perform. He’s such a massive star. But, he did watch cuts of the film and had notes – not at every stage – but, David Furnish was the conduit between us and him. Naturally, Elton sanctioned all of the music tracks that were used. But the film was not made by them, i.e. we were making the film and they were giving us notes.

[OP] How were the tracks handled? Was the music remixed from the original studio masters with Taron lip-syncing to Elton’s voice – or was it different?

[CD] The music was radically changed in some cases from the original – the arrangements, the scoring. The music was completely re-recorded and sung by Taron, the actor playing Elton. We evolved the choices made at the beginning during the edit. So alongside of the picture edit was a music edit and a music mix going on constantly. In some cases Taron was singing on-set and we used that for about a quarter of the tracks. These were going in and out of scenes that had natural dialogue. Taron would start singing and we would play the track underneath. Then at that point perhaps, he would start lip-syncing, so it was a combination. On some tracks he was completely lip-syncing to what he had recorded before. This set the tempo for those scenes, but the arrangements evolved during the edit.

Even when he was lip-syncing, it was to his own voice. The whole idea was that the singing would not be Elton, except at the end where we have a track with both singing in the credits roll. So it’s a key thing that these were new recordings. Giles Martin, son of the legendary George Martin, was the music producer who took care of everything and put up with our constant changes. We had a team of two music editors who worked alongside us and a score as well, written by Matt Margeson, which we were rolling into the film in places. It was a real team process of building the film slowly.

[OP] Please expand on the structure of a film musical and what it takes to edit one.

[CD] The editing process was challenging, because of the complex structure. It was fundamentally a musical, with fifteen or sixteen tracks – meaning songs or music numbers – that were initially planned to be shot. Some of these were choreographed song-and-dance sequences. Combined with that was a sort of kitchen sink drama about Elton’s life, his childhood, his teenage years, and then into manhood. And then becoming a superstar. The script has the songs and then long sequences of more classic storytelling. What I found – slowly, as we were putting the film together, even during the shoot – was that we needed to unify those two things within the edit.

For instance, the first song number in the movie is “The Bitch is Back.” It’s a dance sequence with Elton as a boy walking down the street while people are singing and dancing around him. Then his adult self is chasing him around. It’s a very stylized sequence, which then went into about an eight minute sequence of storytelling about his childhood. We needed to give the film the same tone all the way through, i.e. that slightly fantastical feel of a musical. We screened it a few times for some of the core people and it became clear that we wanted to go with the fantastical elements of the film, not the more down-to-earth, realistic elements. Obviously, you could have made the choice to cut back on the music, but that seemed counter-intuitive. So we had to make some deep cuts in the sections between the musical pieces to get the story to flow and have that same kind of tone.

There was also a flashback structure. The film starts with Elton later on as an adult in rehab, after having fallen into drug and alcohol addiction. We framed the film with this device, so it was another element that we had to make work in the edit to get it to feel as an organic part of the story. We found that we didn’t have enough of these rehab sequences and had to shoot a few more of them during the edit to knit the film together in this way in order to remind you that he was telling this story – looking back on his past.

Cutting back sections between the musical numbers wasn’t our only solution to get the right tone. We had to work out how to get in and out of the musical sequences and that’s where the score comes in. I played with this quite a lot with the composer and Giles to have themes from Elton’s song coming throughout the film. For example, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” had some musical themes in it that we started using as the theme that went with his rehab. The theme of the film is that Elton lost any sense of where he came from as a person, because of his stardom and “Goodby Yellow Brick Road” – the song – is about that. It’s actually about going back to the farm and your roots. The song isn’t actually in the film until the very end when he performs it. So we found that using this musical theme as a motif throughout the film is very powerful and helped to combine the classical storytelling scenes with the musical scenes.

[OP] Was this process of figuring out the right balance something that happened at the beginning and then became a type of template for the rest of the film? Or was is a constant adjustment process throughout the cutting of Rocketman?

[CD] It was a constant thing trying to make the film work as a whole so people wouldn’t be confused about the tone. At one point we had far too much music and had to take some out. It became very minimal in some areas. In others, it led you more. It was about getting that balance right all the way through. I’m primarily a picture editor, but on this film you couldn’t just concentrate on the picture and then leave the music to the music editors and composer, because it was absolutely a fundamental part of the film. It was about music and so how you were using music was very key within the edit. Sometimes we had to cut longer songs down. Very few are at their original length. Some are half their recorded length.

[OP] This process sounds intriguing, since the scenes use a song as the underlying building block. Elton John’s songs tend to be pop songs – or at least they received a lot of radio airplay – so did those recorded lengths tend to drive the film?

[CD] No. At first I thought we’d have to be very faithful, but as we started cutting, the producers -and particularly Elton John’s side of it – didn’t care whether we cut things down or made them longer or added bits. They weren’t precious about it. In fact, they wanted us to be creative. The producers would say, “Don’t worry about cutting that down, Giles will deal with it.” Of course he would. Although sometimes he’d come back to me and say, “Look, this doesn’t quite work musically. You need to add a bit more time to this, or another couple of bars of music.” So we had a whole back-and-forth process like that.

For instance, in the track “Rocketman,” which is the film’s centerpiece, Elton tries to commit suicide. He’s at a party, gets drunk, and jumps into the swimming pool. While he’s underneath he starts seeing visions of himself as a child under there. He starts singing and gets fished out of the pool and then put on stage in a stadium. It’s a whole sequence that’s been planned to play like that. Of course, I couldn’t fit what they’d shot into the song – there wasn’t enough time. It was all good stuff, so I added a few bars. I’d give it to music and they’d say, “Oh, you can’t add that in that way.” So I’d go back and try different ways of doing it.

At the end, when he’s put back on stage at Dodger Stadium, he’s in a baseball uniform and then fires into the air like a rocket. They shot it in a studio without a big crowd and it looked okay. As soon as we started getting the visual effects, we thought, “Wow. This looks great.” So we doubled the length of that – added on, repeated the chorus, and all of that – because we thought people were going to love this. It looked and sounded great. But, when we then tested the film, it was way too long. It had just outstayed its welcome. We then had to cut it down again, although it was still longer than they’d originally planned it.

[OP] With a regular theatrical musical, the song are written to tell the story. Here, you are using existing songs that weren’t written with that story in mind. I presume you have to be careful that you don’t end up with just a bunch of music videos strung back-to-back.

[CD] Exactly. I don’t think we ever strayed into that. It was always about – does it make its point? These songs were written at all times in his career, but we didn’t use them in their original chronological order. “Honky Cat” was written later than when we used it. He’s just getting successful and at the end of “Honky Cat” they are buying Rolls Royces and clothes and football teams. At the end of that there was a great song-and-dance routine with them dancing on a record – Elton and John Reid, his manager and also a kind of boyfriend. That part went on for two minutes and we ended cutting it out. Partly because people and the producers who saw it thought it wasn’t the right style. It had a kind of 1920s or 1930s style with lots of dancers. It was a big number and took a long time to edit, but we took it out. I thought it was quite a nice sequence, but most people thought the film was better without it, because it wasn’t moving the story on.

[OP] Other than adjusting scenes and length, did friends-and-family and test audience screenings change your edit significantly?

We did three big screenings in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Kansas City, plus a number of smaller ones in England. The audiences were a mix of people who were Elton John fans, as well as those that weren’t. Essentially people liked the film right from the start, but the audiences weren’t getting some parts, like the flashback structure with the rehab scenes – particularly at the beginning. They didn’t really understand what he was singing about. 

That first song [“The Bitch Is Back”] caused a lot of difficulty, because it starts the film and says this is a musical. You have to handle that the right way. I think the initial problems were partly in how I had cut the sequence originally. I tried to show too much of the crowd around him and the dancers and I thought that was the way to go with it. Actually what it turned out was the way to go was the relationship between the two of them – Elton and Elton as the little boy – because that’s what the song was about. I then readjusted the edits, taking out a lot of the wide shots.

Also Taron had done some improvised dialogue to the little boy rather than just singing all the way through – dialogue lines like, “Stop doing that.” That was in the film a long time, but people didn’t like it and didn’t understand why he was angry with the boy. So we cut that out completely. Another issue was that right at the start, the little boy starts singing to Taron as Elton first, but audiences did not feel comfortable with it. We discussed it a lot and decided that the lead actor should be the one we hear singing first. We did a reshoot of that beginning portion of the scene. You have to let the audience into it more slowly than we had originally done. That’s a prime example of how editing decisions can lead to additional filming to really make it work.

[OP] You mentioned visual effects to complete the “Rocketman” scene. Were there a lot of effects used to make the film period-accurate or just for visual style?

[CD] Quite a lot, though not excessively, like a comic book movie. I imagine it was similar to Bohemian Rhapsody that had to shoot gigs and concerts and places were you couldn’t go now and film that. But our visual effects weren’t as fundamental in that I didn’t need them to cut with. The boy underwater was all created, of course. Taron in the pool was actually him underwater, because he had breathing apparatus. But the little boy couldn’t, so he was singing ‘dry for wet’ – shot in the studio and put into the scene later. There were different evolutions of that scene. In one version we took the boy out completely and just had Taron singing.

The end of the film as written was going to be a re-imagined version of Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing” music video, which is on the beach in Cannes, shot in the 80s. The idea was to go there and shoot it with a lot more dancers. By the time the film was being shot, the weather changed and we couldn’t shoot that sequence. That whole ending was shot later, partly in a studio. Because we couldn’t afford to go to Cannes and reshoot the whole thing, someone was able to get the original rushes from that music video, which had been shot on 16mm film, but edited on videotape. We had to get permission from the original director of that music video and he was very happy for us to do it. We had the 16mm film rescanned and also removed the grain. Instead of Elton, we put Taron into it.  In every shot with Elton, we replaced his head with Taron’s and that became the ending sequence of the film. As a visual effect, that took quite a leap of faith, but it did work in the end. That wasn’t the original plan, but I think it’s better.

[OP] In Bohemian Rhapsody there was a conscious consideration of matching the Live Aid concert angles and actions. Was there anything like that in Rocketman?

[CD] There was no point in trying to do that on Rocketman. It was always going to be stylized and different from reality. We staged Dodger Stadium the way it looked, but we didn’t try to match it. The original concert was late afternoon and ours is more towards night, which was visually better. The visual inspiration came from the stills taken by a famous rock photographer and they look a little more night. At one point we talked about having a concert at the end and we tried shooting something, but it just didn’t feel right. We were going to get compared to BoRhap anyway, so we didn’t want to even try and do something the same way.

[OP] Any final thoughts or advice on how to approach a film like Rocketman?

[CD] Every movie is different. Every single time you come to a story, you nearly have to start again. The director wants to do it a certain way and you have to adapt to that. With some of the dramas or comedies that I’ve cut, it’s a less immediate process. You don’t really know how the whole thing is coming together until you get a sense of it quite late. With this, they shot a few of the song sequences early and as soon as I saw that, I thought right away, “Oh, this is great.” You can build a quick three-minute sequence to show people and you get a feel for the whole film. You can get excited about it. On a drama or even worse, on a thriller, you’re guessing how it’s coming together and you’re using all of your skills to do that.

The director and the story are the differences and I try to adapt. Dexter wanted the film to be popular, but also distinctive. He wanted to see very quickly how it was coming together. As soon as he was done filming he wanted to go to the edit and see how it was coming along. In that scenario you try to get some things done more quickly. So I would try to get some sequences put together knowing that, and then come back to them later if you’ve rushed them.

Since it’s a musical you could string together the songs and get a feel, but that would be misleading. When you start off you can produce a sequence very quickly that looks good, because you’ve got the music that makes it feel almost finished and that it’s working. But that can lead you into a dead end if you’re not careful – if you are too precious about the music – the length of it and such. You still have to be hard about the storytelling element. Ultimately all of the decisions come from the story – how long the scene is, whether you start on a close-up or a wide – I always try to approach everything like that. If you keep that in your head, you’ll make the right decisions.

©2019 Oliver Peters

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Free Solo

Every now and then a documentary comes along that simply blows away the fictional super-hero feats of action films. Free Solo is a testament to the breathtaking challenges real life can offer. This documentary chronicles the first free solo climb (no ropes) by Alex Honnold of El Capitan’s 3,000-feet-high sheer rock face. This was the first and so far only successful free solo climb of the mountain.

Free Solo was produced by the filmmaking team of Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi and Jimmy Chin, who is renowned as both an action-adventure cinematographer/photographer and mountaineer. Free Solo was produced in partnership with National Geographic Documentary Films and has garnered numerous awards, including OSCAR and BAFTA awards for best documentary, as well as an ACE award for its editor Bob Eisenhardt, ACE. Free Solo enjoyed IMAX and regular theatrical distribution and can now be seen on the National Geographic Television streaming service.

Bob Eisenhardt is a well-known documentary film editor with over 60 films to his credit. Along with his ACE award for Free Solo, Eisenhardt is currently an editing nominee in this year’s EMMY Awards for his work in cutting the documentary. I recently had a chance to speak with Bob Eisenhardt and what follows is that conversation.

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[OP] You have a long history in the New York documentary film scene. Please tell me a bit about your background.

[BE] I’ve done a lot of different kinds of films. The majority is cinema vérité work, but some films use a lot of archival footage and some are interview-driven. I’ve worked on numerous films with the Maysles, Barbara Kopple, Matt Tyrnauer, a couple of Alex Gibney’s films – and I often did more than one film with people. I also teach in the documentary program at the New York Film Academy, which is interesting and challenging. It’s really critiquing their thesis projects and discussing some general editing principles. I went to architecture school. Architectural design is taught by critique, so I understand that way of teaching.

[OP] It’s interesting that you studied architecture. I know that a lot of editors come from a musical background or are amateur musicians and that influences their approach to cutting. How do you think architecture affects your editing style?

[BE] They say architecture is frozen music, so that’s how I was taught to design. I’m very much into structure – thinking about the structure of the film and solving problems. Architecture is basically problem solving and that’s what editing is, too. How do I best tell this story with these materials that I have or a little bit of other material that I can get? What is the essence of that and how do I go about it?

[OP] What led to you working on Free Solo?

[BE] This is the second film I’ve made with Chai and Jimmy. The first was Meru. So we had some experience together and it’s the second film about climbing. I did learn about the challenges of climbing the first time and was familiar with the process – what the climbing involved and how you use the ropes. 

Meru was very successful, so we immediately began discussing Free Solo. But the filming took about a year-and-a-half. That was partly due to accidents and injuries Alex had. It went into a second season and then a third season of climbing and you just have to follow along. That’s what documentaries are all about. You hitch your wagon to this person and you have to go where they take you. And so, it became a much longer project than initially thought. I began editing six months before Alex made the final climb. At that point they had been filming for about a year. So I came on in January and he made the climb in June – at which point I was well into the process of editing.

[OP] There’s a point in Free Solo, where Alex had started the ascent once and then stopped, because he wasn’t feeling good about it. Then it was unclear whether or not he would even attempt it again. Was that the six-month point when you joined the production?

[BE] Yes, that’s it. It’s very much the climbers’ philosophy that you have to feel it, or you don’t do it. That’s very true of free soloing. We wanted him to signal the action, “This is what I plan to do.” And he wouldn’t do it – ever – because that’s against the mentality of climbing. “If I feel it, I may do it. Otherwise, not.” It’s great for climbing, but not so good for film production.

[OP] Unlike any other film project, failure in this case would have meant Alex’s death. In that event you would have had a completely different film. That was touched on in the film, but what was the behind-the-scenes thinking about the possibility of such as catastrophe? Any Plan B?

[BE] In these vérité documentaries you never know what’s going to happen, but this is an extreme example. He was either going to do it and succeed, decide he wasn’t going to do it, or die trying, and that’s quite a range. So we didn’t know what film we were making when I started editing. We were going to go with the idea of him succeeding and then we’d reconsider if something else happened. That was our mentality, although in the back of our minds we knew this could be quite different.

When they started, it wasn’t with the intention of making this film. Jimmy knew Alex for 10 years. They were old friends and had done a lot of filming together. He thought Alex would be a great subject for a documentary. That’s what they proposed to Nat Geo – just a portrait of Alex – and Alex said, “If you are going to do that, then I’ve got to do something worthwhile. I’m going to try to free solo El Cap.” He told that to Chai while Jimmy wasn’t there. Chai is not a climber and she thought, “Great, that sounds like it will be a good film.” Jimmy completely freaked out when he found out, because he knew what it meant.

It’s an outrageous concept even to climbers. They actually backed off and had to reconsider whether this was something they wanted to get involved in. Do you really want to see your friend jeopardize his life for this? Would the filming add additional pressure on Alex? They had to deal with this even before they started shooting, which is why that was part of the film. I felt it was a very important idea to get across. Alex is taciturn, so you needed ways to understand him and what he was doing. The crew as a character really helped us do that. They were people Alex could interact with and the audience could identify with.

The other element that I felt was very important, was Sanni [McCandless, Alex Honnold’s girlfriend], who suddenly came onto the scene after the filming began. This felt like a very important way to get to know Alex. It also became another challenge for Alex – whether he would be able not only to climb this mountain, but whether he would be able to have a relationship with this woman. And aren’t those two diametrically opposed? Being able to open yourself up emotionally to someone, but also control your emotions enough to be able to hang by your fingertips 2,000 feet in the air on the side of a cliff.

[OP] Sanni definitely added a lot of humanity to him. Before the climb they discuss the possibility of his falling to his death and Alex’s point of view is that’s OK. “If I die, I die.” I’m not sure he really believed that deep inside. Or did he?

[BE] Alex is very purposeful and lives every day with intention. That’s what’s so intriguing. He knows any minute on the wall could be his last and he’s comfortable with that. He felt like he was going to succeed. He didn’t think he was going to fall. And if he didn’t feel that way he wasn’t going to do it. Seeing the whole thing through Sanni’s eyes allowed us as the audience to get closer to and identify with Alex. We call that moment the ‘Take me into consideration’ scene, which I felt was vitally important.

[OP] Did you have any audience screenings of the rough cuts? If so, how did that inform your editing choices?

[BE] We did do some screenings and it’s a tricky thing. Nat Geo was a great partner throughout. Most companies wouldn’t be able to deal with this going on for a year-and-a-half. It’s in Nat Geo’s DNA to fund exploration and make exploratory films. They were completely supportive, but they did decide they wanted to get into Sundance and we were a month from the deadline. We brought in three other editors (Keiko Deguchi, Jay Freund, and Brad Fuller) to jump in and try to make it. Even though we got an extension and we did a great job, we didn’t get in. The others left and I had another six months to work on the film and make it better. Because of all of this, the screenings were probably too early. The audience had trouble understanding Alex, understanding what he’s trying to do – so the first couple screenings were difficult.

We knew when we saw the initial climbing footage that the climb itself was going to be amazing. By the time we showed it to an audience, we were completely immune to any tension from the climb – I mean, we’d seen it 200 times. It was no longer as scary to us as it had been the first time we saw it. In editing you have to remember the initial reaction you had to the footage so that you can bring it to bear later on. It was a real struggle to make the rest of the story as strong as possible to keep you engaged, until we got to the climb. So we were pleasantly surprised to see that people were so involved and very tense during the climb. We had underestimated that.

We also figured that everyone would already know how this thing ends. It was well-publicized that he successfully climbed El Cap. The film had to be strong enough that people could forget they knew what happened. Although I’ve had people tell me they could not have watched the climb if they hadn’t known the outcome.

[OP] Did you end up emphasizing some aspects over others as a result of the screenings?

[BE] The main question to the audience is, “Do you understand what we are trying to say?” And then, “What do you think of him or her as a character?” That’s interesting information that you get from an audience. We really had to clarify what his goal was. He never says at the beginning, “I’m going to do this thing.” In fact, I couldn’t get him to say it after he did it. So it was difficult to set up his intention. And then it was also difficult to make clear what the steps were. Obviously we couldn’t cover the whole 3,000 feet of El Capitan, so they had to concentrate on certain areas.

We decided to cover five or six of the most critical pitches – sections of the climb – to concentrate on those and really cover them properly during the filming. These were challenging to explain and it took a lot of effort to make that clear. People ask, “How did you manage to cut the final climb – it was amazing.” Well, it worked because of the second act that explains what he is trying to do. We didn’t have to say anything in the third act. You just watch because you understand. 

When we started people didn’t understand what free soloing is. At first we were calling the film Solo. The nomenclature of climbing is confusing. Soloing is actually climbing with a rope, but only for protection. Then we’d have to explain what free soloing was as opposed to soloing. However, Hans Solo came along and stole our title, so it was much easier to call it Free Solo. Explaining the mentality of climbing, the history of climbing, the history of El Capitan, and then what exactly the steps were for him to accomplish what he was trying to do – all that took a long time to get right and a lot of that came out of good feedback from the audience.

Then, “Do you understand the character?” At one point we didn’t have enough of Sanni and then we had too much of Sanni. It became this love story and you forgot that he was going to climb. So the balancing was tricky.

[OP] Since you were editing before the final outcome and production was still in progress, did you have an opportunity to request more footage or that something in particular be filmed that you were missing in the edit?

[BE] That was the big advantage to starting the edit before the filming was done. I often end up coming into projects that are about 80-90% shot on average. So they have the ability to get pick-ups if people are alive or if the event can still be filmed in some way. This one was more ‘in progress.’ For instance, he practiced a specific move a lot for the most difficult pitch and I kept asking for more of that. We wanted to show how many times he practiced it in order to get the feel of it.

[OP] Let’s switch gears and talk about the technical side. Which edit system did you use to cut Free Solo?

[BE] We were using Avid Media Composer 8.8.5 with Nexis shared storage. Avid is my first choice for editing. I’ve done about four films on the old Final Cut – Meru being one of them – but, I much prefer Avid. I’ve often inherited projects that were started on something else, so you are stuck. On this one we knew going in that we would do it on Avid. Their ScriptSync feature is terrific. Any long discussions or sit-down interviews were transcribed. We could then word-search them, which was invaluable. My associate editor, Simona Ferrari, set up everything and was also there for the output.

[OP] Did you handle the finishing – color correction and sound post – in-house or go outside to another facility?

[BE] We up-rezzed in the office on [Blackmagic Design DaVinci] Resolve and then took that to Company 3 for finishing and color correction. Deborah Wallach did a great job sound editing and we mixed with Tommy Fleischman [Hugo, The Wolf of Wall Street, BlacKkKlansman]. They shot this on about every camera, aspect ratio, and frame rate imaginable. But if they’re hanging 2,000 feet in the air and didn’t happen to hit the right button for the frame rate – you really can’t complain too much! So there was an incredible wide range and Simona managed to handle all that in the finishing. There wasn’t a lot of archival footage, but there were photos for the backstory of the family.

The other big graphic element was the mountain itself. We needed to be able to trace his route up the mountain and that took forever. It wasn’t just to show his climb, but also to connect the pitches that we had concentrated on, since there wasn’t much coverage between them. Making this graphic became very complicated. We tried one house and they couldn’t do it. Finally, Big Star, who was doing the other graphics – photomontages and titles – took this on. It was the very last thing done and was dropped in during the color correction session.

For the longest time in the screenings, the audience was watching a drawing that I had shot off of the cutting room wall and traced in red. It was pretty lame. For the screenings, it was a shot of the mountain and then I would dissolve through to get the line moving. After a while we had some decent in and out shots, but nothing in-between, except this temporary graphic that I created. 

[OP] I caught Free Solo on the plane to Las Vegas for NAB and it had me on the edge of my seat. I know the film was also released in IMAX, so I can only image what that experience was like.

[BE] The film wasn’t made for IMAX – that opportunity came up later. It’s a different film on IMAX. Although there is incredible high-angle photography, it’s an intimate story. So it worked well on a moderately big screen. But in IMAX it becomes a spectacle, because you can really see all those details in the high-angle shots. I have cut an IMAX film before and you do pace them different, because of the ability to look around. However, there wasn’t a different version of Free Solo made for IMAX – we didn’t have the freedom to do that. Of course, the whole film is largely handheld, so we did stabilize a few shots. IMAX merely used their algorithm to bump it up to their format. I was shocked – it was beautiful.

[OP] Let’s talk a bit about your process as an editor. For instance, music. Different editors approach music differently. Do you cut with temp music or wait until the very end to introduce the score?

[BE] Marco Beltrami [Fantastic Four, Logan, Velvet Buzzsaw] was our composer, but I use temp music from very early on. I assemble a huge library of scratch music – from other films or from the potential composers’ past films. I use that until we get the right feel for the music and that’s what we show to the composer. It gives us something to talk about. It’s much easier to say, “We like what the music is doing here, but it’s the wrong instrumentation.” Or, “This is the right instrument, but the wrong tempo.” It’s a baseline.

[OP] How do you tackle the footage at the very beginning? Do you create selects or Kem rolls or some other approach?

[BE] I create a road map to know where I’m going. I go through all the dailies and pull the stuff that I think might be useful. Everything from the good-looking shots to a taste of something that I may never use, but I want to remember. Then I screen selects reels. I try to do that with the director. Sometimes we can schedule that and sometimes not. On Free Solo there was over 700 hours of footage, so it’s hard to get your arms around that. By the time you get through looking at the 700th hour you’ve forgotten the first one. That’s why the selecting process is so important to me. The selects amount to maybe a third of the dailies footage. After screening the selects, I can start to see the story and how to tell it. 

I make index cards for every scene and storyboard the whole thing. By that I mean arrange the cards on a wall. They are color-coded for places, years, or characters. It allows me to stand back and see the flow of the film, to think about the structure, and the points that I have to hit. I basically cut to that. Of course, if it doesn’t work, I re-arrange the index cards (laugh).

A few years ago, I did a film about the Dixie Chicks [Shut Up & Sing] at the time they got into trouble for comments they had made about President Bush. We inherited half of the footage and shot half. The Dixie Chicks went on to produce a concert and an album based upon their feelings about the whole experience. It was kind of present and past, so there were basically two different colors to the cards. It was not cut in chronological order, so you could see very quickly whether you were in the past or the present just by looking at the wall. There were four editors working on Shut Up & Sing and we could look at the wall, discuss, and decide if the story was working or not. If we moved this block of cards, what would be the consequences of telling the story in a different order?

[OP] Were Jimmy or Chai very hands-on as directors during the edit – in the room with you every day at the end?

[BE] Chai and Jimmy are co-directors and so Jimmy tended to be more in the field and Chai more in the edit room. Since we had worked together before, we had built a common language and a trust. I would propose ideas to Chai and try them and she would take a look. My feeling is that the director is very close to it and not able to see the dailies with fresh eyes. I have the fresh perspective. I like to take advantage of that and let them step back a little. By the end, I’m the one that’s too close to it and they have a little distance if they pace themselves properly.

[OP] To wrap it up, what advice would you have for young editors tackling a documentary project like this?

[BE] Well, don’t climb El Cap – you probably won’t make it (laugh)! I always preach this to my students: I encourage them to make an outline and work towards it. You can make index cards like I do, you can make a Word document, a spreadsheet; but try to figure out what your intentions are and how you are going to use the material. Otherwise, you are just going to get lost. You may be cutting things that are lovely, but then don’t fit into the overall structure. That’s my big encouragement.

Sometimes with vérité projects there’s a written synopsis, but for Free Solo there was nothing on paper at the beginning. They went in with one idea and came out with a different film. You have to figure out what the story is and that’s all part of the editing process. This goes back to the Maysles’ approach. Go out and capture what happened and then figure out the story. The meaning is found in the cutting room.

Images courtesy of National Geographic and Bob Eisenhardt.

©2019 Oliver Peters

Black Mirror: Bandersnatch

Bandersnatch was initially conceived as an interactive episode within the popular Black Mirror anthology series on Netflix. Instead, Netflix decided to release it as a standalone, spin-off film in December 2018. It’s the story of programmer Stefan Butler (Fionn Whitehead) as he adapts a choose-your-own-adventure novel into a video game. Set in 1984, the viewers get to make decisions for Butler’s actions, which then determine the next branch of the story shown to the viewer. They can go back though Bandersnatch and opt for different decisions, in order to experience other versions of the story.

Bandersnatch was written by show creator Charlie Brooker (Black Mirror, Cunk on Britain, Cunk on Shakespeare), directed by David Slade (American Gods, Hannibal, The Twilight Saga: Eclipse), and edited by Tony Kearns (The Lodgers, Cardboard Gangsters, Moon Dogs). I recently had a chance to interview Kearns about the experience of working on such a unique production.

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[OP] Please tell me a little about your editing background leading up to cutting Bandersnatch.

[TK] I started out almost 30 years ago editing music videos in London. I did that full-time for about 15 years working for record companies and directors. At the tail end of that a lot of the directors I was working with moved into doing commercials, so I started editing commercials more and more in Dublin and London. In Dublin I started working on long form, feature film projects and cut about 10 projects that were UK or European co-productions with the Irish Film Board.

In 2017 I got a call from Black Mirror to edit the Metalhead episode, which was directed by David Slade. He was someone I had worked with on music videos and commercials 15 years previously, before he had moved to the United States. That was a nice circularity. We were together working again, but on a completely different type of project – drama, on a really cool series, like Black Mirror. It went very well, so David and I were asked to get involved with Bandersnatch, which we jumped at, because it was such an amazing, different kind of project. It was unlike anything either of us – or anyone else, for that matter – has ever done to that level of complexity.

[OP] Other attempts at interactive storytelling – with the exception of the video game genre – have been a hit-or-miss. What were your initial thoughts when you read the script for the first time?

[TK] I really enjoyed the script. It was written like a conventional script, but with software called Twine, so you could click on it and go down different paths. Initially I was overwhelmed at the complexity of the story and the structure. It wasn’t that I was like a deer in the headlights, but it gave me a sense of scale of the project and [writer/show runner] Charlie Brooker’s ambition to take the interactive story to so many layers.

On my own time I broke down the script and created spreadsheets for each of the eight sections in the script and wrote descriptions of every possible permutation, just to give me a sense of what was involved and to get it in my head what was going on. There are so many different narrative paths – it was helpful to have that in my brain. When we started editing, that would also help me to keep a clear eye at any point.

[OP] How long of a schedule did you have to post Bandersnatch?

[TK] 17 weeks was the official edit time, which isn’t much longer than on a low-budget feature. When I mentioned that to people, they felt that was a really short amount of time; but, we did a couple of weekends, we were really efficient, and we knew what we were doing.

[OP] Were you under any running length constraints, in the same way that a TV show or a feature film editor often wrestles with on a conventional linear program?

[TK] Not at all. This is the difference – linear doesn’t exist. The length depends on the choices that are made. The only direction was for it not to be a sprawling 15-hour epic – that there would be some sort of ball park time. We weren’t constrained, just that each segment had to feel right – tight, but not rushed.

[OP] With that in mind, what sort of process did you do through to get it to feel right?

[TK] Part of each edit review was to make it as tight or as lean as it needed to be. Netflix developed their own software, called Branch Manager, which allowed people to review the cut interactively by selecting the choice points. My amazing assistant editor, John Weeks, is also a coder, so he acquired an extra job, which was to take the exports and do the coding in order to have everything work in Branch Manager. He’s a very robust person, but I think we almost broke him (laughs), because there were up to 100 Branch Manager versions by the end. The coding was hanging on by a thread. He was a bit like Scotty in Star Trek, “The engines can’t hold it anymore, Captain!”

By using Branch Manager, people could choose a path and view it and give notes. So I would take the notes, make the changes, and it would be re-exported. Some segments might have five cuts while others would be up to 13 or 14. Some scenes were very straightforward, but others were more difficult to repurpose.

Originally there were more segments in the script, but after the first viewings it was felt that there were too many in there. It was on the borderline of being off-putting for viewers. So we combined a few, but I made sure to keep track of that so it was in the system. There was a lot of reviewing, making notes, updating spreadsheets, and then making sure John had the right version for the next Branch Manager creation. It was quite an involved process.

[OP] How were you able to keep all of this straight? Did you use the common technique of scenes cards on the wall or something different?

[TK] If you looked at flowcharts your head would explode, because it would be like looking at the wiring diagram of an old-fashioned telephone exchange. There wouldn’t have been enough room on the wall. For us, it would just be on paper – notebooks and spreadsheets. It was more in our heads – our own sense of what was happening – that made it less confusing. If you had the whole thing as a picture, you just wouldn’t know where to look.

[OP] In a conventional production an editor always has to be mindful that when something is removed, it may have ramifications to the story later on. In this case, I would imagine that those revisions affected the story in either direction. How were you able to deal with that?

[TK] I have been asked about how did we know that each path would have a sense of a narrative arc. We couldn’t think of it as one, total narrative arc. That’s impossible. You’d have to be a genius to know that it’s all going to work. We felt the performances were great, the story was strong, but it doesn’t have a conventional flow. There are choice points, which act as a propellant into the next part of the film thus creating an unconventional experience to the straight story arc of conventional films or episodes. Although there wasn’t a traditional arc, it still had to feel like a well-told story. And that you would have empathy and a sense of engagement – that it wasn’t a gimmick.

[OP] How did the crew and actors mange to keep the story straight in their minds as scenes were filmed?

[TK] As with any production, the first few days are finding out what you’ve let yourself in for. This was a steep learning curve in that respect. Only three weeks of the seven-week shoot was in the same studio complex where I was working, so I wasn’t present. But there was a sense that they needed to make it easier for the actors and the crew. The script supervisor, Marilyn Kirby, was amazing. She was the oracle for the whole shoot. She kept the whole show on the road, even when it was quite complicated. The actors got into the swing of it quickly, because I had no issues with the rushes. They were fantastic.

[OP] What camera formats were used and what is your preparation process for this footage prior to editing?

[TK] It’s the most variety of camera formats I’ve ever worked on. ARRI Alexa 65 and RED, but also 1980s Ikegami TV cameras, Super 8mm, 35mm, 16mm, and VHS. Plus, all of the print stills were shot on black-and-white film. The data lab handled the huge job to keep this all organized and provide us with the rushes. So, when I got them, they were ready to go. The look was obviously different between the sources, but otherwise it was the same as a regular film. Each morning there was a set of ProRes Proxy rushes ready for us. John synced and organized them and handed them over. And then I started cutting. Considering all the prep the DIT and the data lab had to go through, I think I was in a privileged position!

[OP] What is your method when first starting to edit a scene?

[TK] I watch all of the rushes and can quickly see which take might be the bedrock framing for a scene – which is best for a given line. At that point I don’t just slap things together on a timeline. I try to get a first assembly to be as good as possible, because it just helps anyone who sees it. If you show a director or a show runner a sloppy cut, they’ll get anxious and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to give the wrong impression.

When I start a scene, I usually put the wide down end-to-end, so I know I have the whole scene. Then I’ll play it and see what I have in the different framings for each line – and then the next line and the next and so on. Finally, I go back and take out angles where I think I may be repeating a shot too much, extend others, and so on. It’s a built-it-up process in an effort to get to a semi-fine cut as quickly as possible.

[OP] Were you able to work with circle takes and director’s notes on Bandersnatch?

[TK] I did get circle takes, but no director’s notes. David and I have an intuitive understanding, which I hope to fulfill each time – that when I watch the footage he shoots, that I’ll get what he’s looking for in the scene. With circles takes, I have to find out very quickly whether the script supervisor is any good or not. Marilyn is brilliant so whenever she’s doing that, I know that take is the one. David is a very efficient director, so there weren’t a massive number of takes – usually two or three takes for each set-up. Everything was shot with two cameras, so I had plenty of coverage. I understand what David is looking for and he trusts me to get close to that.

[OP] With all of the various formats, what sort of shooting ratio did you encounter? Plus, you had mentioned two-camera scenes. What is your approach to that in your edit application?

[TK] I believe the various story paths totaled about four-and-a-half hours of finished material. There was a 3:1 shooting ratio, times two cameras – so maybe 6:1 or even 9:1. I never really got a final total of what was shot, but it wasn’t as big as you’d expect. 

When I have two-camera coverage I deal with it as two individual cameras. I can just type in the same timecode for the other matching angle. I just get more confused with what’s there when I use multi-cam. I prefer to think of it as that’s the clip from the clip. I hope I’m not displaying an anti-technology thing, but I’m used to it this way from doing music videos. I used to use group clips in Avid and found that I could think about each camera angle more clearly by dealing with them separately.

[OP] I understand that you edited Bandersnatch on Adobe Premiere Pro. Is that your preferred editing software?

[TK] I’ve used Premiere Pro on two feature films, which I cut in Dublin, and a number of shorts and TV commercials. If I am working where I can set up my own cutting room, then I’m working with Premiere. I use both Avid and Adobe, but I find I’m faster on Premiere Pro than on Media Composer. The tools are tuned to help me work faster.

The big thing on this job was that you can have multiple sequences open at the same time in Premiere. That was going to be the crunch thing for me. I didn’t know about Branch Manager when I specified Premiere Pro, so I figured that would be the way we work need to review the segments – simply click on a sequence tab and play it as a rudimentary way to review a story path. The company that supplied the gear wasn’t as familiar with Premiere [as they were with Avid], so there were some issues, but it was definitely the right choice.

[OP] Media Composer’s strength is in multi-editor workflows. How did you handle edit collaboration in Premiere Pro?

[TK] We used Adobe’s shared projects feature, which worked, but wasn’t as efficient as working with Avid in that version of Premiere. It also wasn’t ideal that we were working from Avid Nexis as the shared storage platform. In the last couple of months I’ve been in contact with the people at Adobe and I believe they are sorting out some of the issues we were having in order to make it more efficient. I’m keen for that to happen.

In the UK and London in particular, the big player is Avid and that’s what people know, so anything different, like Premiere Pro, is seen with a degree of suspicion. When someone like me comes in and requests something different, I guess I’m viewed as a bit of a pain in the ass. But, there shouldn’t just be one behemoth. If you had worked on the old Final Cut Pro, then Premiere Pro is a natural fit – only more advanced and supported by a company that didn’t want to make smart phones and tablets.

[OP] Since Adobe Creative Cloud offers a suite of compatible software tools, did you tap into After Effects or other tools for your edit?

[TK] That was another real advantage – the interaction with the graphics user interface and with After Effects. When we mocked up the first choice points, it was so easy to create, import, and adjust. That was a huge advantage. Our VFX editor was able to build temp VFX in After Effects and we could integrate that really easily. He wasn’t just using an edit system’s effects tool, but actual VFX software, which seamlessly integrated with Premiere. Although these weren’t final effects at full 4K resolution, he was able to do some very complex things, so that everyone could go, “Yes, that’s it.”

[OP] In closing, what take-away would you offer an editor interested in tackling an interactive story as compared to a conventional linear film?

[TK] I learned to love spreadsheets (laugh). I realized I had to be really, really organized. When I saw the script I knew I had to go through it with a fine-tooth comb and get a sense of it. I also realized you had to unlearn some things you knew about conventional episodic TV. You can’t think of some things in the same way. A practical thing for the team is that you have to have someone who knows coding, if you are using a similar tool to Branch Manager. It’s the only way you will be able to see it properly.

It’s a different kind of storytelling pressure that you have to deal with, mostly because you have to trust your instincts even more that it will work as a coherent story across all the narrative paths. You also have to be prepared to unlearn some of the normal methods you might use. One example is that you have to cut the opening of different segments differently to work with the last shot of the previous choice point, so you can’t just go for one option, you have to think more carefully what the options are. The thing is not to walk in thinking it’s going to be the same as any other production, because it ain’t.

For more on Bandersnatch, check out these links: postPerspective, an Art of the Guillotine interview with Tony Kearns, and a scene analysis at This Guy Edits.

Images courtesy of Netflix and Tony Kearns.

©2019 Oliver Peters

Good Omens

Fans of British television comedies have a new treat in Amazon Prime’s Good Omens. The six-part mini-series is a co-production of BBC Studios and Amazon Studios. It is the screen adaptation of the 1990 hit novel by the late Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, entitled Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. Just imagine if the Book of Revelation had been written by Edgar Wright or the Coen brothers. Toss in a bit of The Witches of Eastwick and I think you’ll get the picture.

The series stars Michael Sheen (Masters of Sex, The Good Fight) as Aziraphale (an angel) and David Tennant (Mary Queen of Scots, Doctor Who) as Crowley (a demon). Although on opposing sides, the two have developed a close friendship going back to the beginning of humanity. Now it’s time for the Antichrist to arrive and bring about Armageddon. Except that the two have grown fond of humans and their life on Earth, so Crowley and Aziraphale aren’t quite ready to see it all end. They form an unlikely alliance to thwart the End Times. Naturally this gets off to a bad start, when the Antichrist child is mixed up at birth and ends up misplaced with the wrong family. The series also stars an eclectic supporting cast, including Jon Hamm (Baby Driver, Mad Men), Michael McKean (Veep, Better Call Saul), and Frances McDormand (Hail, Caesar!, Fargo) as the voice of God.

Neil Gaiman (Lucifer, American Gods) was able to shepherd the production from novel to the screen by adapting the screenplay and serving as show runner. Douglas Mackinnon (Doctor Who, Sherlock) directed all six episodes. I recently had a chance to speak with Will Oswald (Doctor Who, Torchwood: Children of Earth, Sherlock) and Emma Oxley (Lair, Happy Valley), the two editors who brought the production over the finish line.

(Click any image to see an enlarged view.)

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[OP] Please tell me a bit about your editing backgrounds and how you landed this project.

[Will] I was the lead editor for Doctor Who for a while and got along well with the people. This led to Sherlock. Douglas had worked on both and gave me a call when this came up.

[Emma] I’ve been mainly editing thrillers and procedurals and was looking for a completely different script, and out of the blue I received a call from Douglas. I had worked with him as an assistant editor in 2007 on an adaptation of the Jekyll and Hyde story and I was fortunate that a couple of Douglas’s main editors were not available for Good Omens. When I read the script I thought this is a dream come true.

[OP] Had either of you read the book before?

[Will] I hadn’t, but when I got the gig, I immediately read the book. It was great, because this is a drama-comedy. How good a job is that? You are doing everything you like. It’s a bit tricky, but it’s a great atmosphere to work in.

[Emma] I was the same, but within a week I had read it. Then the scripts came through and they were pretty much word for word – you don’t expect that. But since it was six hours instead of feature length the book could remain intact.

[OP] I know that episodic series often divide up the editorial workload in many different ways. Who worked on which episode and how was that decided?

[Will] Douglas decided that I would do the first three episodes and Emma would edit the last three. The series happened to split very neatly in the middle. The first three episodes really set up the back story and the relationship between the characters and then the story shifts tone in the last three episodes.

[Emma] Normally in TV the editors would leapfrog each other. In this case, as Will said, the story split nicely into two, three-hour sections. It was a nice experience not to have to jump backwards and forwards.

[Will] The difficult thing for me in the first half is that the timeline is so complicated. In the first three episodes you have to develop the back story, which in this case goes back and forth through the centuries – literally back to the beginning of time. You also have to establish the characters’ relationship to each other. By the end of episode three, they really start falling apart, even though they do really like each other. It’s a bit like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Of course, Emma then had to resolve all the conflicts in her episodes. But it was nice to go rocking along from one episode to the next.

[OP] What was the post-production schedule like?

[Emma] Well, we didn’t really have a schedule. That’s why it worked! (laugh) Will and I were on it from the very start and once we decided to split up the edit as two blocks of three episodes, there were days when I wouldn’t get any rushes, so could focus on getting a cut done and vice versa with Will. When Douglas came in, we had six pretty good episodes that were cut according to the script. Douglas said he wanted to treat it like a six hour film, so we did a full pass on all six episodes before Neil came in and then finally the execs. They allowed us the creative freedom to do that.

[Will] When Douglas came back, we basically had a seven and a half hour movie, which we ran in a cinema on a big screen. Then we went through and made adjustments in order. It was the first time I’ve had both the show runner and the director in with me every day. Neil had promised Terry that he would make sure it happened. Terry passed away before the production, but he had told Neil – and I’m paraphrasing here – don’t mess it up! So this was a very personal project for him. That weighed heavily on me, because when I reread the book, I wanted to make sure ‘this’ was in and ‘that’ was in as I did my cut.

[OP] What sort of changes were made as you were refining the episodes?

[Will] There were a lot of structural changes in episodes one and two that differed a lot from the script. It was a matter of working out how best to tell the story. Episode one was initially 80 minutes long. There was quite a lot of work to get down to the hourlong final version. Episode three was much easier. 

[Emma] By the time it got to episode four, the pattern had been established, so we had to deal more with visual effects challenges in the second half. We had a number of large set pieces and a limited visual effects budget. So we had to be clever about using visual effects moments without losing the impact, but still maximizing the effects we did have. And at the same time keeping it as good as we could. For example, there’s a flying saucer scene, but the plate shot didn’t match the saucer shot and it was going to take a ton of work to match everything. So we combined it with a shot intended for another part of the scene. Instead of a full screen effects shot, it’s seen through a car window. Not only did it save a lot of money, but more importantly, it ended up being a better way for the ship to land and more in the realm of Good Omens storytelling. I love that shot.

[Will] Visual effects are just storytelling points. You want to be careful not to lose the plot. For example, the Hellhound changes into a puppy dog and that transformation was originally intended to be a big visual effect. But instead, we went with a more classic approach. Just a simple cut and the camera tilts down to reveal the smaller dog. It turned out to be a much better way of doing it and makes me laugh every time I see it.

[OP] I noticed a lot of music from Queen used throughout. Any special arrangement to secure that for the series?

[Will] Queen is in the book. Every time Crowley hears music, even if it’s Mozart, it turns into Queen. Fortunately Neil knows everybody!

[Emma] And it’s one of Douglas’ favorite bands of all time, so it was a treat for him to put as much Queen music in as possible. At one point we had it over many more moments.

[Will] Also working with David Arnold [series composer] was great. There’s a lot of his music as well and he really understands what we do in editing.

[OP] Since this is a large effort and a lot of complex work involved, did you have a large team of assistant editors on the job with you?

[Emma] This is the UK. We don’t have a huge team! (laugh)

[Will] We had one assistant, Cat Gregory, and then much later on, a couple more for visual effects.

[Emma] They were great. Cat, our first assistant, had an adjoining room to us and she was our ‘take barometer.’ If you put in an alt line and she didn’t laugh, you knew it wasn’t as good. But if there was a chuckle coming out of her room, it would more often stay.

[OP] How do you work with your assistants? For example, do you let assistants assemble selects, or cut in sound effects or music?

[Will] It was such a heavy schedule with a huge amount of material, so there was a lot of work just to get that in and organized. Just giving us an honest opinion was invaluable. But music and sound effects – you really have to do that yourself.

[Emma] Me, too. I cut my own music and assemble my own rushes.

[OP] Please tell me a bit about your editorial set-up and editing styles.

[Will] We were spread over two or four upstairs/downstairs rooms at the production company’s office in Soho. These were Avid Media Composer systems with shared storage. We didn’t have the ScriptSync option. We didn’t even have Sapphire plug-ins until late in the day, although that might have been nice with some of the bigger scenes with a lot of explosions. I don’t really have an editing style, I think it’s important not to have one as an editor. Style comes out of the content. I think the biggest challenge on this show was how do you get the English humor across to an American audience.

[Emma] I wouldn’t say I have an editing style either. I come in, read the notes, and then watch the rushes with that information in my head. There wasn’t a lot of wild variation in the takes and David’s and Michael’s performances were just dreamy. So the material kind of cut itself.

[Will] The most important thing is to familiarize yourself with the material and review the selected takes. Those are the ones the director wanted. That also gives you a fixed point to start from. The great thing about software these days is that you can have multiple versions.

[OP] I know some directors like to calibrate their actors’ performances, with each take getting more extreme in emotion. Others like to have each take be very different from the one before it. What was Mackinnon’s style on this show as a director?

[Emma] In the beginning you always want to figure out what they are thinking. With Douglas it’s easy to see from the material he gives you. He’s got it all planned. He really gets the performance down to a tee in the rehearsal.

[Will] Douglas doesn’t push for a wide range in the emotion from one take to the next. As Emma mentioned, Douglas works through that in rehearsal. Someone like David and Michael work that out, too, and they’re bouncing off each other. Douglas has a fantastic visual sense. You can look at the six episodes and go, “Wow, how did you get all of that in?” It’s a lot of material and he found a way to tell that story. There’s a very natural flow to the structure.

[OP] Since both Douglas Mackinnon and Will worked on Doctor Who, and David Tennant was one of the Doctors during the series, was there a conscious effort to stay away from anything that smacked of Doctor Who in Good Omens?

[Will] It never crossed my mind. I always try to do something different, but as I said, the style comes out of the material. It has jeopardy and humor like Doctor Who, but it’s really quite different. I did 32 episodes of Doctor Who and each of those was very different from the other. David Tennent is in it, of course, but he is not even remotely playing the Doctor. Crowley is a fantastic new character for him.

[OP] Are there any final thoughts you’d like to share about working on Good Omens?

[Will] It was a pleasure to work on a world-famous book and it is very funny. To do it justice was really all we were doing. I was going back every night and reading the book marking up things. Hopefully the fans like it. I know Neil does and I hope Terry is watching it.

[Emma] I’m just proud that the fans of the book are saying that it’s one of the best adaptations they’ve ever watched on the screen. That’s a success story and it gives me a warm feeling when I think about Good Omens. I’d go back and cut it again, which I rarely say about any other job.

©2019 Oliver Peters

Glass – Editing an Unconventional Trilogy

Writer/director M. Night Shyamalan has become synonymous with films about the supernatural that end with a twist. He first gained broad attention with The Sixth Sense and in the two decades since, has written, produced, and directed a range of large and small films. In recent years, he has taken a more independent route to filmmaking, working with lower budgets and keeping close control of production and post.

His latest endeavor, Glass, also becomes the third film in what is now an unconventional trilogy, starting first with Unbreakable, released 19 years ago. 2017’s Split was the second in this series. Glass combines the three principal characters from the previous two films – David Dunn/The Overseer (Bruce Willis), Elijah Price/Mr. Glass (Samuel L. Jackson), and Kevin Wendell Crumb (James McAvoy), who has 23 multiple personalities.

Shyamalan likes to stay close to his northeastern home base for production and post, which has afforded an interesting opportunity to young talent. One of those is Luke Ciarrocchi, who edited the final two installments of the trilogy, Split and Glass. This is only his third film in the editor’s chair. 2015’s The Visit was his first. Working with Shyamalan has provided him with a unique opportunity, but also a master class in filmmaking. I recently spoke with Luke Ciarrocchi about his experience editing Glass.

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[OP] You’ve had the enviable opportunity to start your editing career at a pretty high level. Please tell me a bit about the road to this point.

[LC] I live in a suburb of Philadelphia and studied film at Temple University. My first job after college was as a production assistant to the editing team on The Happening with editor Conrad Buff (The Huntsman: Winter’s War, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, The Last Airbender) and his first assistant Carole Kenneally. When the production ended, I got a job cutting local market commercials. It wasn’t glamorous stuff, but it is where I got my first experience working on Avid [Media Composer] and really started to develop my technical knowledge. I was doing that for about seven months when The Last Airbender came to town.

I was hired as an apprentice editor by the same editing crew that I had worked with on The Happening. It was on that film that I started to get onto Night’s radar. I was probably the first Philly local to break into his editing team. There’s a very solid and talented group of local production crew in Philly, but I think I was the first local to join the Editors Guild and work in post on one of his films. Before that, all of the editing crew would come from LA or New York. So that was a big ‘foot in the door’ moment, getting that opportunity from Conrad and Carole.  I learned a lot on Airbender. It was a big studio visual effects film, so it was a great experience to see that up close – just a really exciting time for me.

During development of After Earth, even before preproduction began, Night asked me to build a type of pre-vis animatic from the storyboards for all the action sequences. I would take these drawings into After Effects and cut them up into moveable pieces, animate them, then cut them together into a scene in Avid. I was putting in music and sound effects, subtitles for the dialogue, and really taking them to a pretty serious and informative level. I remember animating the pupils on one of the drawings at one point to convey fear (laughs). We did this for a few months. I would do a cut, Night would give me notes, maybe the storyboard artist would create a new shot, and I would do a recut. That was my first back-and-forth creative experience with him.

Once the film began to shoot, I joined the editing team as an assistant editor. At the end of post – during crunch time – I got the opportunity to jump in and cut some actual scenes with Night. It was surreal. I remember sitting in the editing room auditioning cuts for him and him giving notes and all the while I’m just repeating in my head, ‘Don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up.’ I feel like we had a very natural rapport though, besides the obvious nervousness that would come from a situation like that. We really worked well together from the start. We both had a strong desire to dig deep and really analyze things, to not leave anything on the table. But at the same time we also had the ability to laugh at things and break the seriousness when we needed to. We have a similar sense of humor that to this day I think helps us navigate the more stressful days in the editing room. Personality plays a big roll in the editing room. Maybe more so then experience. I may owe my career to my immature sense of humor. I’m not sure.     

After that, I assisted on some other films passing through Philly and just kept myself busy. Then I got a call from Night’s assistant to come by to talk about his next film, The Visit. I got there and he handed me a script and told me he wanted me to be the sole editor on it. Looking back it seems crazy, because he was self-financing the film. He had lot on the line and he could have gotten any editor, but he saw something. So that was the first of the three films I would cut for him. The odds have to be one-in-a-million for that to pan out the way that it did in the suburbs of Philly. Right place, right time, right people. It’s a lot of luck, but when you find yourself in that situation, you just have to keep telling yourself, ‘Don’t mess this up.’

[OP] These three films, including Glass, are being considered a trilogy, even though they span about two decades. How do they tie together, not just in story, but also style?

[LC] I think it’s fair to call Glass the final installment of a trilogy – but definitely an untraditional one. First Unbreakable, then 19 years later Split, and now Glass. They’re all in the same universe and hopefully it feels like a satisfying philosophical arc through the three. The tone of the films is ingrained in the scripts and footage. Glass is sort of a mash-up of what Unbreakable was and what Split was. Unbreakable was a drama that then revealed itself as a comic book origin story. Split was more of a thriller – even horror at times – that then revealed itself as part of this Unbreakable comic book universe. Glass is definitely a hybrid of tone and genre representing the first two films. 

[OP] Did you do research into Unbreakable to study its style?

[LC] I didn’t have to, because Unbreakable has been one of my favorite films since I was 18. It’s just a beautiful film. I loved that in the end it wasn’t just about David Dunn accepting who he was, but also Elijah finding his place in the world only by committing these terrible crimes to discover his opposite. He had to become a villain to find the hero. It’s such a cool idea and for me, very rewatchable. The end never gets old to me. So I knew that film very, very well. 

[OP] Please walk me through your schedule for post-production.

[LC] We started shooting in October of 2017 and shot for about two month. I was doing my assembly during that time and the first week of December. Then Night joined me and we started the director’s cut. The way that Night has set up these last three films is with a very light post crew. It’s just my first assistant, Kathryn Cates, and me set up at Night’s offices here in the suburbs of Philadelphia with two Avids. We had a schedule that we were aiming for, but the release date was over a year out, so there was wiggle room if it was needed. 

Night’s doing this in a very unconventional way. He’s self-financing, so we didn’t need to go into a phase of a studio cut. After his director’s cut, we would go into a screening phase – first just for close crew, then more of a friends-and-family situation. Eventually we get to a general audience screening. We’re working and addressing notes from these screenings, and there isn’t an unbearable amount of pressure to lock it up before we’re happy. 

[OP] I understand that your first cut was about 3 1/2 hours long. It must take a lot of trimming and tweaking to get down to the release length of 129 minutes. What sort of things did you do to cut down the running time from that initial cut?

[LC] One of our obstacles throughout post was that initial length. You’re trying to get to the length that the film wants to be without gutting it in the process. You don’t want to overcut as much as you don’t want to undercut. We had a similar situation on Split, which was a long assembly as well. The good news is that there’s a lot of great stuff to work with and choose from.

We approach it very delicately. After each screening we trimmed a little and carefully pulled things out, so each screening was incrementally shorter, but never dramatically so. Sometimes you will learn from a screenings that you pulled the wrong thing out and it needed to go back in. Ultimately no major storyline was cut out of Glass. It was really just finding where we are saying the same thing twice, but differently – diagnosing which one of those versions is the more impactful one – then cutting the others. And so, we just go like that. Pass after pass. Reel by reel.

An interesting thing I’ve found is that when you are repeating things, you will often feel that the second time is the offensive moment of that information and the one to remove, because you’ve heard it once before. But the truth is that the first telling of that information is more often what you want to get rid of. By taking away the first one, you are saving something for later. Once you remove something earlier, it becomes an elevated scene, because you are aren’t giving away so much up front. 

[OP] What is your approach to getting started when you are first confronted with the production footage? What is your editing workflow like?

[LC] I’m pretty much paper-based. I have all of the script supervisor’s notes. Night is very vocal on set about what he likes and doesn’t like, and Charlie Rowe, our script supervisor, is very good at catching those thoughts. On top of that, Night still does dailies each day – either at lunch or the end of the day. As a crew, we get together wherever we are and screen all of the previous day’s footage, including B-roll. I will sit next to Night with a sheet that has all of the takes and set-ups with descriptions and I’ll take notes both on Night’s reactions, as well as my own feelings towards the footage. 

With that information, I’ll start an assembly to construct the scene in a very rough fashion without getting caught up in the small details of every edit. It starts to bring the shape of the scene out for me. I can see where the peaks and valleys are. Once I have a clearer picture of the scene and its intention, I’ll go back through my detailed notes – there’s a great look for this, there’s a great reading for that – and I find where those can fit in and whether they serve the edit. You might have a great reaction to something, but the scene might not want that to be on-camera. So first I find the bones of the scene and then I dress it up. 

Night gets a lot range from the actors from the first take to the last take. It is sometimes so vast that if you built a film out of only the last takes, it would be a dramatically different movie than if you only used take one. With each take he just pushes the performances further. So he provides you with a lot of control over how animated the scene is going to be. In Glass, Elijah is an eccentric driven by a strong ideology, so in the first take you get the subdued, calculated villain version of him, but by the last take it’s the carnival barker version. The madman. 

[OP] Do you get a sense when screening the dailies of which way Night wants to go with a scene?

[LC] Yes, he’ll definitely indicate a leaning and we can boil it down to a couple of selects. I’ll initially cut a scene with the takes that spoke to him the most during the dailies and never cut anything out ahead of time. He’ll see the first cuts as they were scripted, storyboarded, and shot. I’ll also experiment with a different take or approach if it seems valid and have that in my back pocket. He’s pretty quick to acknowledge that he might have liked a raw take on set and in dailies, but it doesn’t work as well when cut together into a scene. So then we’ll address that. 

[OP] As an Avid editor, have you used Media Composer’s script integration features, like ScriptSync?

[LC] I just had my first experience with it on a Netflix show. I came on later in their post, so the show had already been set up for ScriptSync. It was very cool and helpful to be able to jump in and quickly compare the different takes for the reading of a line. It’s a great ‘late in the game’ tool. Maybe you have a great take, but just one word is bobbled and you’d like to find a replacement for just that word. Or the emotion of a key word isn’t exactly what you want. It could be a time-saver for a lot of that kind of polishing work.

[OP] What takeaways can you share from your experiences working with M. Night Shyamalan?

[LC] Night works in the room with you everyday. He doesn’t just check in once a week or something like that. It’s really nice to have that other person there. I feel like often times the best stuff comes from discussing it and talking it through. He loves to deconstruct things and figure out the ‘why’. Why does this work and this doesn’t? I enjoy that as well. After three films of doing that, you learn a lot. You’re not aware of it, but you’re building a toolkit. These tools and choices start to become second nature. 

On the Netflix show that I just did, there were times where I didn’t have anyone else in the room for long stretches and I started to hear those things that have become inherent in my process clearer. I started to take notice of what had become my second nature – what the last decade had produced. Editing is something you just have to do to learn. You can’t just read about it or study a great film. You have to do it, do it again, and struggle with it. You need to mess it up to get it right.

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This interview is going online after Glass has scored its third consecutive weekend in the number one box office slot. Split was also number one for three weeks in a row. That’s a pretty impressive feat and fitting for the final installment of a trilogy.

Be sure to also check out Steve Hullfish’s AOTC interview with Luke Ciarrocchi here.

©2019 Oliver Peters

Editing and Music Composition

Editing and Music Composition

A nip is in the air and snow is falling in some regions. All signs of Fall and Winter soon to come. The sights, smells, and sounds of the season will be all around us. Festive events. Holiday celebrations. Joy. But no other season is so associated with memorable music to put us in the mood. That makes this a perfect time to talk about how video and film editing has intrinsic similarities with musical composition.

Fellow editor Simon Ubsdell has a lot of thoughts on the subject – perfect for one of my rare guest blog posts. Simon is Creative Director of Tokyo Productions, a London-based post-production shop specializing in trailers. Simon is multi-talented with experience in music, audio post, editing, and software development.

Grab a cup of holiday cheer and sit back for this enlightening read.

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Simon Ubsdell – Editing and Music Composition

There is a quote attributed to several different musicians, including Elvis Costello, Miles Davis, and Thelonius Monk, which goes: “Talking about music is like dancing about architecture“. It sounds good and it seems superficially plausible, but I think it’s wrong on two levels. Firstly, a good choreographer would probably say that it’s perfectly possible to use dance to say something interesting about architecture and a good architect might well say that they could design a building that said something about dance. But I think it’s also unhelpful to imply that one art form can’t tell us useful things about another. We can learn invaluable lessons both from the similarities and the differences, particularly if we focus on process rather than the end result.

Instead, here’s Ingmar Bergman: “I would say that there is no art form that has so much in common with film as music. Both affect our emotions directly, not via the intellect. And film is mainly rhythm; it is inhalation and exhalation in continuous sequence.

Bergman is certainly not the only filmmaker to have made this observation and I think everyone can recognise the essential truth of it. However, what I want to consider here is not so much what film and music have in common as art forms, but rather whether the process of music composition can teach us anything useful about the process of film editing. As an editor who also composes music, I have found thinking about this to be useful in both directions.

In films you’ll often see a composer sitting down at a piano and laboriously writing a score one note after another. He bangs around until he finds one note and then he scribbles it into the manuscript; then he bangs around looking for the next one. Music composition is made to look like a sequential process where each individual note is decided upon (with some difficulty usually!) before moving on to the next. The reality is of course that music composition doesn’t work this way at all. So I’d like to look at some of the ways that one does actually go about writing a piece of music and how the same principles might apply to how we edit films. Because music is such a vast subject, I’m going to limit myself largely to the concepts of classical music composition, but the same overall ideas apply to whatever kind of music you might be writing in whatever genre.

What both music and film have in common is that they unfold over time: they are experienced sequentially. So the biggest question that both the composer and the editor need to address is how to organise the material across time, and to do that we need to think about structure.

Musical Structure

From the Baroque period onwards and even before, composers have drawn on a very specific set of musical structures around which to build their compositions. 

The Canon (as in Pachelbel’s famous example) is the repetition of the same theme over and over again with added ornamentation that becomes increasingly more elaborate. The Minuet and Trio is an A/B/A sandwich in which a theme is repeated (Minuet), but with a contrasting middle section (Trio). The Rondo is a repeated theme that alternates with multiple contrasting sections, in other words A/B/A/C/A/D, etc. The Theme and Variations sets out a basic theme and follows it with a series of elaborations in different keys, tempi, time signatures, and so on. 

Sonata Form, widely used for the opening movements of most symphonic works, is a much more sophisticated scheme, that starts by setting out two contrasting themes (the “1st and 2nd Subjects”) in two different keys (the “Exposition”), before moving into an extended section where those ideas undergo numerous changes and augmentations and key modulations (the “Development Section”), before returning to the original themes, both now in the home key of the piece (the “Recapitulation Section”), often leading to a final epilogue called the “Coda”. 

In all these cases the structure is built out of thematic and other contrasts, and contrast is a word I’m going to be coming back to repeatedly here, because it goes to the core of where music composition and editing come together.

Now the point of using musical structures of this kind is that the listener can form an idea of how the piece is unfolding even when hearing it for the first time. They provide a map that helps you orientate yourself within the music, so it doesn’t come across as just some kind of confused and arbitrary ramble across terrain that’s hard to read. Music that doesn’t come with signposts is not easy to listen to with concentration, precisely because you don’t know where you are. (Of course, the humble pop song illustrates this, too. We can all recognise where the verse ends and the chorus begins and the chorus repetitions give us clear anchor points that help us understand the structure. The difference with the kind of classical music I’m talking about is that a pop song doesn’t have to sustain itself for more than a few minutes, whereas some symphonies last well over an hour and that means structure becomes vastly more important.) 

What structure does is effectively twofold: on the one hand it gives us a sense of comprehensibility, predictability, even familiarity; and on the other hand it allows the composer to surprise us by diverging from what is expected. The second part obviously follows from the first. If we don’t know where we are, then we don’t know what to expect and everything is a constant surprise. And that means nothing is a surprise. We need familiarity and comprehensibility in order to be able to be surprised by the surprises when they come. Conversely, music that is wholly without surprises gets dull very quickly. Just as quickly as music that is all surprise, because again it offers us no anchor points. 

Editing Structure

So what comparisons can we draw with editing in terms of structure? Just as with our fictional movie “composer” sitting at the piano picking out one note after another, so you’ll find that many newcomers to editing believe that that’s how you put together a film. Starting at the beginning, you take your first shot and lay it down, and then you go looking for your next shot and you add that, and then the next one and the next one. Of course, you can build a film this way, but what you are likely to end up with is a shapeless ramble rather than something that’s going to hold the viewer’s attention. It will be the equivalent of a piece of music that has no structural markers and doesn’t give us the clues we need to understand where we are and where we are going. Without those cues the viewer quickly gets lost and we lose concentration. Not understanding the structure means we can’t fully engage with the film.

So how do we go about creating structure in our editing? Music has an inherently much more formal character, so in many ways the composer has an easier job, but I’d suggest that many of the same principles apply.

Light and Shade in Music

Music has so many easy to use options to help define structure. We have tempo – how fast or slow the music is at any one point. Rhythm – the manner in which accented notes are grouped with non-accented notes. Pitch – how high or low the musical sounds are. Dynamics – how loud or soft the music is, and how soft becomes loud and vice versa. Key – how far we have moved harmonically from the dominant key of the piece. Mode – whether we are experiencing the bright optimism of a major key or the sombre darkness of a minor key (yes, that’s a huge over-simplification!). Harmony – whether we are moving from the tension of dissonance to the resolution of consonance, or vice versa.

All of these options allow for contrasts – faster/slower, brighter/darker, etc. It’s out of those contrasts that we can build structure. For example, we can set out our theme in a bright, shiny major key with a sprightly rhythm and tempo, and then move into a slow minor key variation shrouded in mystery and suspense. It’s from those contrasts that we grasp the musical structure. And of course moving through those contrasts becomes a journey. We’re not fixed in one place, but instead we’re moving from light to dark, from peaceful to agitated, from tension to resolution, and so on. Music satisfies and nourishes and delights and surprises us, because it takes us on those journeys and because it is structured so that we experience change.

Light and Shade in Editing

So what are the editing equivalents? Let’s start with the easiest scenario and that’s where we are cutting with music. Because music has the properties we’ve discussed above, we can leverage those to give our films the same contrasts. We can change the pace and the mood simply by changing the pace and mood of the music we use. That’s easy and obvious, but very often overlooked. Far too many music-driven pieces are remorselessly monotonous, relying far too heavily for far too long on music of the same pace and mood. That very quickly dissipates the viewer’s engagement for the reasons we have talked about. Instead of feeling as though we are going on a journey of contrasts, we are stuck in one repetitive loop and it’s dull – and that means we stop caring and listening and watching. Instead of underscoring where the film is going, it effectively tells us that the film is going nowhere, except in circles.

(Editing Tip: So here’s a suggestion: if you’re cutting with pre-composed music, don’t let that music dictate the shape of your film. Instead cut the music so it works for you. Make sure you have changes of pace and intensity, changes of key and mode, that work to enhance the moments that are important for your film. Kill the music, or change it, or cut it so that it’s driving towards the moments that really matter. Master it and don’t let it master you. Far too often we see music that steamrolls through everything, obliterating meaning, flattening out the message – music that fails to point up what’s important and de-emphasise what is not. Be in control of your structure and don’t let anything dictate what you are doing, unless it’s the fundamental meaning you are trying to convey.

Footnote: Obviously what I’ve said here about music applies to the soundtrack generally. Sound is one of the strongest structural markers we have as editors. It builds tension and relaxation, it tells us where moments begin and end, it guides us through the shape of the film in a way that’s even more important than the pictures.)

And that brings me to a really important general point. Too many films feel like they are going in circles, because they haven’t given enough thought to when and how the narrative information is delivered. So many film-makers think it’s important to tell us everything as quickly as possible right up front.They’re desperate to make sure they’ve got their message across right here right now in its entirety. And then they simply end up recycling stuff we already know and that we care about less and less with each repetition. It’s a bit like a composer piling all his themes and all their variations into the first few bars (a total, unapproachable cacophony) and then being left with nothing new to say for the rest of the piece.

A far better approach is to break your narrative down into a series of key revelations and delay each one as long as you dare. Narrative revelations are your key structural points and you must cherish them and nurture them and give them all the love you can and they will repay you with enhanced audience engagement. Whatever you do, don’t throw them away unthinkingly and too soon. Every narrative revelation marks a way station on the viewer’s journey, and those way stations are every bit as crucial and valuable as their musical equivalents. They are the map of the journey. They are why we care. They are the hooks that make us re-engage.

Tension and Relaxation

This point about re-engagement is important too and its brings me back to music. Music that is non-stop tension is exhausting to listen to, just as music that is non-stop relaxation quickly becomes dull. As we’ve discussed, good music moves between tension and relaxation the whole time at both the small and the large scale, and that alternation creates and underpins structure. We feel the relaxation, because it has been preceded by tension and vice versa.

And the exact same principle applies to editing. We want the viewer to experience alternating tension and relaxation, moments of calm and moments of frenzied activity, moments where we are absorbing lots of information and moments where we have time to digest it. (Remember, Bergman talking about “inhalation and exhalation”.) Tension/relaxation applies at every level of editing, from the micro-level of the individual cuts to the macro level of whole scenes and whole sequences. 

As viewers we understand very well that a sudden burst of drama after a period of quiet is going to be all the more striking and effective. Conversely we know about the effect of getting our breath back in the calms that come after narrative storms. That’s at the level of sequences, but even within scenes, we know that they work best when the mood and pace are not constant, when they have corners and changes of pace, and their own moments of tension and relaxation. Again it’s those changes that keep us engaged. Constant tension and its opposite, constant relaxation, have the opposite effect. They quickly end up alienating us. The fact is we watch films, because we want to experience that varied journey – those changes between tension and relaxation.

Even at the level of the cut, this same principle applies. I was recently asked by a fellow editor to comment on a flashy piece of cutting that was relentlessly fast, with no shot even as long as half a second. Despite the fact that the piece was only a couple of minutes long, it felt monotonous very quickly – I’d say after barely 20 seconds. Whereas of course, if there had been even just a few well-judged changes of pace, each one of those would have hooked me back in and re-engaged my attention. It’s not about variety for variety’s sake, it’s about variety for structure’s sake.

The French have an expression: “reculer pour mieux sauter“, which roughly means taking a step back so you can jump further, and I think that’s a good analogy for this process. Slower shots in the context of a sequence of faster shots act like “springs”. When faster shots hit slower shots, it’s as if they apply tension to the spring, so that when the spring is released the next sequence of faster shots feels faster and more exciting. It’s the manipulation of that tension of alternating pace that creates exciting visceral cutting, not just relentlessly fast cutting in its own right.

Many great editors build tension by progressively increasing the pace of the cutting, with each shot getting incrementally shorter than the last. We may not be aware of that directly as viewers, but we definitely sense the “accelerated heartbeat” effect. The obvious point to make is that acceleration depends on having started slow, and deceleration depends on having increased the pace. Editing effects are built out of contrasts. It’s the contrasts that create the push/pull effect on the viewer and bring about engagement.

(Editing Tip: It’s not strictly relevant to this piece, but I wanted to say a few words on the subject of cutting to music. Many editors seem to think it’s good practice to cut on the downbeats of the music track and that’s about as far as they ever get. Let’s look at why this strategy is flawed. If our music track has a typical four beats to the bar, the four beats have the following strengths: the first, the downbeat, is the dominant beat; the third beat (often the beat where the snare hits) is the second strongest beat; then the fourth beat (the upbeat); and finally the second beat, the weakest of the four.

Cutting on the downbeat creates a pull of inertia, because of its weight. If you’re only ever cutting on that beat, then you’re actually creating a drag on the flow of your edit. If you cut on the downbeat and the third beat, you create a kind of stodgy marching rhythm that’s also lacking in fluid forward movement. Cutting on the upbeat, however, because it’s an “offbeat”, actually helps to propel you forward towards the downbeat. What you’re effectively doing is setting up a kind of cross-rhythm between our pictures and your music, and that has a really strong energy and flow. But again the trick is to employ variety and contrast. Imagine a drummer playing the exact same pattern in each bar: that would get monotonous very quickly, so what the drummer actually does is to throw in disruptions to the pattern that build the forward energy. He will, for example, de-emphasise the downbeat by exaggerating the snare, or he will even shift where the downbeat happens, and add accents that destabilise the four-square underlying structure. And all that adds to the energy and the sense of forward movement. And that’s the exact principle we should be aiming for when cutting to music.

There’s one other crucial, but often overlooked, aspect to this: making your cut happen on a beat is far less effective than making a specific moment in the action happen on a beat. That creates a much stronger sense of forward-directed energy and a much more satisfying effect of synchronisation overall. But that’s not to say you should only ever cut this way. Again variety is everything, but always with a view to what is going to work best to propel the sequence forward, rather than let it get dragged back. Unless, of course, dragging back on the forward motion is exactly what you want for a particular moment in your film, in which case, that’s the way to go.)

Building Blocks

You will remember that our fictional composer sits down at the piano and picks out his composition note by note. The implicit assumption there is that individual notes are the building blocks of a piece of music. But that’s not how composers work. The very smallest building block for a composer is the motif – a set of notes that exists as a tiny seed out of which much larger musical ideas are encouraged to grow. The operas of Wagner, despite notoriously being many hours long, are built entirely out of short motifs that grow through musical development to truly massive proportions. You might be tempted to think that a motif is the same thing as a riff, but riffs are merely repetitive patterns, whereas motifs contain within them the DNA for vast organic structures and the motifs themselves can typically grow other motifs.

Wagner is, of course, more of a exception than a rule and other composers work with building blocks on a larger scale than the simple motif. The smallest unit is typically something we call a phrase, which might be several bars long. And then again one would seldom think of a phrase in isolation, since it only really exists as part of larger thematic whole. If we look at this famous opening to Mozart’s 40th Symphony we can see that he starts with a two bar phrase that rises on the last note, that is answered by a phrase that descends back down from that note. The first phrase is then revisited along with its answering phrase – both shifted one step lower. 

But that resulting eight bars is only half of the complete theme, while the complete 1st Subject is 42 two bars long. So what is Mozart’s basic building block here? It most certainly isn’t a note, or even a phrase. In this case it’s something much more like a combination of a rhythm pattern (da-da-Da) and a note pattern (a falling interval of two adjacent notes). But built into that is a clear sense of how those patterns are able to evolve to create the theme. In other words, it’s complicated.

The fundamental point is that notes on their own are nothing; they are inert; they have no meaning. It’s only when they form sequences that they start to become music.

The reason I wanted to highlight this point is that I think it too gives us a useful insight into the editing process. The layperson tends to think of the single shot as being the basic building block, but just as single notes on their own are inert, so the single shot on its own (typically, unless it’s an elaborate developing shot) is lacking in meaning. It’s when we build shots into sequences that they start to take on life. It’s the dynamic, dialectical interplay of shots that creates shape and meaning and audience engagement. And that means it’s much more helpful to think of shot sequences as the basic building blocks. It’s as sequences that shots acquire the potential to create structure. Shots on their own do not have that quality. So it pays to have an editing strategy that is geared towards the creation and concatenation of “sequence modules”, rather than simply a sifting of individual shots. That’s a huge subject that I won’t go into in any more detail here, but which I’ve written about elsewhere.

Horizontal and Vertical Composition

Although the balance keeps shifting down the ages, music is both horizontal and vertical and exists in a tension between those aspects. Melody is horizontal – a string of notes that flows left to right across the page. Harmony is vertical – a set of notes that coexist in time. But these two concepts are not in complete opposition. Counterpoint is what happens when two or more melodies combine vertically to create harmony. The fugue is one of the most advanced expressions of that concept, but there are many others. It’s a truly fascinating, unresolved question that runs throughout the history of music, with harmony sometimes in the ascendant and sometimes melody.

Melody typically has its own structure, most frequently seen in terms of groups of four bars, or multiples of four bars. It tends to have shapes that we instinctively understand even when hearing it for the first time. Harmony, too, has a temporal structure, even though we more typically think of it as static and vertical. Vertical harmonies tend to suggest a horizontal direction of travel, again based on the notion of tension and relaxation, with dissonance resolving towards consonance. Harmonies typically point to where they are planning to go, although of course, just as with melody, the reason they appeal to us so much is that they can lead us to anticipate one thing and then deliver a surprise twist.

In editing we mostly consider only melody, in other words, how one shot flows into another. But there is also a vertical, harmonic component. It’s only occasionally that we layer our pictures to combine them vertically (see footnote). But we do it almost all the time with sound – layering sound components to add richness and complexity. I suppose one way of looking at this would be to think of pictures as the horizontal melody and the soundtrack as the vertical harmony, or counterpoint.

One obvious way in which we can approach this is to vary the vertical depth to increase and decrease tension. A sound texture that is uniformly dense quickly becomes tiresome. But if we think in terms of alternating moments where the sound is thickly layered and moments where it thins out, then we can again increase and decrease tension and relaxation.

(Footnote: One famous example of vertical picture layering comes in Apocalypse Now where Martin Sheen is reading Kurz’ letter while the boat drives upstream towards the waiting horror. Coppola layers up gliding images of the boat’s passage in dissolves that are so long they are more like superimpositions – conveying the sense of the hypnotic, awful, disorientating journey into the unknowable. But again contrast is the key here, because punctuating that vertical layering, Coppola interjects sharp cuts that hit us full in the face: suspended corpses, the burning helicopter in the branches of a tree. The key thing to notice is the counterpoint between the hard cuts and the flowing dissolves/superimpositions. The dissolves lull us into an eery fugue-like state, while the cuts repeatedly jolt us out of it to bring us face to face with the horror. The point is that they both work together to draw us inexorably towards the climax. The cuts work, because of the dissolves, and the dissolves work because of the cuts.)

Moments

The moments that we remember in both music and films are those points where something changes suddenly and dramatically. They are the magical effects that take your breath away. There is an incredibly famous cut in David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia that is a perfect case in point. Claude Rains (Mr. Dryden) and Peter O’Toole (Lawrence) have been having a lively discussion about whether Lawrence really understands how brutal and unforgiving the desert is going to be. O’Toole insists that “it’s going to be fun”. He holds up a lighted match, and we cut to a close-up as he blows it out. On the sound of him blowing, we cut to an almost unimaginably wide shot of the desert as the sun rises almost imperceptibly slowly in what feels like complete silence. The sudden contrast of the shot size, the sudden absence of sound, the abruptness of cutting on the audio of blowing out the match – all of these make this one of the most memorable moments in film history. And of course, it’s a big narrative moment too. It’s not just clever, it has meaning. 

Or take another famous moment, this time from music. Beethoven’s massive Choral Symphony, the Ninth, is best known for its famous final movement, the Ode to Joy, based on Schiller’s poem of the same name. The finale follows on from a slow movement of celestial tranquillity and beauty, but it doesn’t launch immediately into the music that everyone knows so well. Instead there is a sequence built on the most incredible dissonance, which Wagner referred to as “the terror fanfare”. Beethoven has the massed ranks of the orchestra blast out a phenomenally powerful fortissimo chord that stacks up all seven notes of the D minor harmonic scale. It’s as if we are hearing the foul demons of hatred and division being sent screeching back to the depths of hell. And as the echoes of that terrifying sound are still dying away, we suddenly hear the solo baritone, the first time in nearly an hour of music that we have heard a human voice: “O Freunde, nicht diese Töne“, “Friends, let us not hear these sounds”. And so begins that unforgettable ode to the brotherhood of all mankind.

The point about both the Lawrence of Arabia moment and the Beethoven moment is that in each case, they form giant pivots upon which the whole work turns. The Lawrence moment shows us one crazy Englishman pitting himself against the limitless desert. The Beethoven moment gives us one lone voice stilling the forces of darkness and calling out for something better, something to unite us all. These are not mere stylistic tricks, they are fundamental structural moments that demand our attention and engage us with what each work is really about.

I’m not suggesting that everything we cut is going to have moments on this kind of epic scale, but the principle is one we can always benefit from thinking about and building into our work. When we’re planning our edit, it pays to ask ourselves where we are going to make these big turning points and what we can do with all the means at our disposal to make them memorable and attention-engaging. Our best, most important stuff needs to be reserved for these pivotal moments and we need to do everything we can to do it justice. And the best way of doing that, as Beethoven and David Lean both show us, is to make everything stop.

When the Music Stops

Arguably the greatest composer ever has one of my favourite ever quotes about music: “The music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.” Mozart saw that the most magical and profound moments in music are when the music stops. The absence of music is what makes music. To me that is one of the most profound insights in art.

From an editing point of view, that works, too. We need to understand the importance of not cutting, of not having sound, of not filling every gap, of creating breaths and pauses and beats, of not rushing onto the next thing, of allowing moments to resonate into nothingness, of stepping away and letting a moment simply be.

The temptation in editing is always to fill every moment with something. It’s a temptation we need to resist wherever we can. Our films will be infinitely better for it. Because it’s in those moments that the magic happens.

Composing and Editing with Structure

I hope by now you’ll agree with me about the fundamental importance of structure in editing. So let’s come back to our original image of the composer hammering out his piece of music note by note, and our novice editor laying out his film shot by shot.

It should be obvious that a composer needs to pre-visualise the structure of the piece before starting to think about the individual notes. At every level of the structure he needs to have thought about where the structural changes might happen – both on a large and small scale. He needs to plan the work in outline: where the key changes are going to happen, where the tempo shifts from fast to slow or slow to fast, where the tension escalates and where it subsides, where the whole orchestra is playing as one and where we hear just one solitary solo line. 

It goes without saying that very few composers have ever plotted out an entire work in detail and then stuck rigidly to the plan. But that’s not the point. The plan is just a plan until a better one comes along. The joy of composition is that it throws up its own unexpected surprises, ideas that grow organically out of other ideas and mushroom into something bigger, better and more complex than the composer could envisage when starting out. But those ideas don’t just shoot off at random. They train themselves around the trelliswork of the original structure. 

As I’ve mentioned, classical composers have it easy, because they can build upon pre-conceived structures like Sonata Form and the rest.  As editors we don’t have access to the same wealth of ready-built conventions, but we do have a few. 

One of the structures that we very frequently call upon is the famous three-act structure. It works not only for narrative, but for pretty much any kind of film you can think of. The three-act structure does in fact have a lot in common with Sonata Form. Act One is the Exposition, where we set out the themes to be addressed. Act Two is the Development Section, where the themes start to get complicated and we unravel the problems and questions that they pose. And Act Three is the Recapitulation (and Coda), where we finally resolve the themes set out in Act One. Almost anything you cut at whatever length can benefit from being thought of in these structural terms: a) set out your theme or themes; b) develop your themes and explore their complexities; c) resolve your themes (or at least point to ways in which they might be resolved). And make sure your audience is aware of how those sections break down. As an editor who has spent a lot of my working life cutting movie trailers, I know that every experienced trailer editor deploys three-act structure pretty much all the time and works it very hard indeed.

 Of course, scripted drama comes into the cutting room with its own prebuilt structure, but the script is by no means necessarily the structural blueprint for the finished film. Thinking about how to structure what was actually shot (as against what was on the page) is still vitally important. The originally conceived architecture might well not actually function as it was planned, so we can’t simply rely on that to deliver a film that will engage as it should. The principles that we’ve discussed of large scale composition, of pace, of contrast, of rhythm, and so on are all going to be useful in building a structure that works for the finished film.

Other kinds of filmmaking rely heavily on structural planning in the cutting room and a huge amount of work can go into building the base architecture. And it really helps if we think of that structural planning as more than simply shifting inert blocks into a functional whole. If we take inspiration from the musical concepts described here, we can create films that breathe a far more dynamic structural rhythm, that become journeys through darkness and light, through tension and relaxation, between calm and storm, journeys that engage and inspire.

Conclusion

Obviously this is just an overview of what is in reality a huge subject, but what I want to stress is that it really pays to be open to thinking about the processes of editing from different perspectives. Music, as a time-based art form, has so many useful lessons to draw from, both in terms of large scale architecture and small scale rhythms, dynamics, colours, and more. And those lessons can help us to make much more precise, refined and considered decisions about editing practice, whatever we are cutting.

– Simon Ubsdell

For more of Simon’s thoughts on editing, check out his blog post Bricklayers and Sculptors.

© 2018 Simon Ubsdell, Oliver Peters

Rams

If you are a fan of the elegant, minimalist design of Apple products, then you have seen the influence of Dieter Rams. The renowned, German industrial designer, associated with functional and unobtrusive design, is known for the iconic consumer products he developed for Braun, as well as his Ten Principles for Good Design. Dieter Rams is the subject of Rams, a new documentary film by Gary Hustwit (Helvetica, Objectified, Urbanized).

This has been a labor of love for Hustwit and partially funded through a Kickstarter campaign. In a statement to the website Designboom, Huswit says, “This film is an opportunity to celebrate a designer whose work continues to impact us and preserve an important piece of design history. I’m also interested in exploring the role that manufactured objects play in our lives and, by extension, the relationship we have with the people who design them. We hope to dig deeper into Rams’ untold story – to try and understand a man of contradictions by design. I want the film to get past the legend of Dieter. I want it to get into his philosophy, process, inspirations, and even his regrets.” 

Hustwit has worked on the documentary for the past three years and premiered it in New York at the end of September. The film is currently on the road for a series of international premiere screenings until the end of the year. I recently had a conversation with Kayla Sklar, the young editor how had the opportunity to tackle this as her first feature film.

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[OP] Please give me a little background about how you got into editing and then became connected with this project.

[KS] I moved to New York in 2014 after college to pursue working in theater administration for non-profit, Off Broadway theater companies. But at 25, I had sort of a quarter-life crisis and realized that wasn’t what I wanted to do at all. I knew I had to make a career change. I had done some video editing in high school with [Apple] iMovie and in college with [Apple] Final Cut Pro 7 and had enjoyed that. So I enrolled at The Edit Center in Brooklyn. They have an immersive, six-week-long program where you learn the art of editing by working with actual footage from real projects. Indie filmmakers working in documentaries and narrative films, who don’t have a lot of money, can submit their film to The Edit Center. Two are chosen per semester. 12 to 16 students are given scenes and get to work with the director. They give us feedback and at the end, we present a finished rough cut. This process gives us a sense of how to edit.

I knew I could definitely teach myself [Adobe] Premiere Pro, and probably figure out Avid [Media Composer], but I wanted to know if I would even enjoy the process of working with a director. I took the course in 2016 thinking I would pursue narrative films, because it felt the most similar to the world I had come from. But I left the course with an interest in documentary editing. I liked the puzzle-solving aspect of it. It’s where my skillset best aligned.

Afterwards, I took a few assistant editing jobs and eventually started as an assistant editor with Film First, which is owned by Jessica Edwards and Gary Hustwit. That’s how I got connected with Gary. I was assisting on a number of his projects, including working with some of the Rams footage and doing a few rough assemblies for him. Then last year he asked me to be the editor of the film. So I started shifting my focus exclusively to Rams at the beginning of this year. Gary has been working on it since 2015 – shooting on and off for three years. It just premiered in late September, but we even shot some pick-ups in Germany as late as late August / early September.

[OP] So you were working solidly on the film for about nine months. At what point did you lock the cut?

[KS] (laugh) Even now we’re still tinkering. We get more feedback from the screenings and are learning what things are working and aren’t working. The story was locked four days before the New York premiere, but we’re making small changes to things.

[OP] Documentary editing can encompass a variety of structures – narrator-driven, a single subject, a collection of interviewees, etc. What approach did you take with Rams?

[KS] Most of the film is in Dieter Rams’ own words. Gary’s other films have a huge cast of characters. But Gary wanted to make this film different from that and more streamlined. His original concept was that it was going to be Dieter as the only interview footage and you might meet other characters in the verité. But Gary realized that wasn’t going to work, simply because Dieter is a very humble man and he wasn’t really talking about his impact on design. We knew that we needed to give the film a larger context. We needed to bring in other people to tell how influential he has been.

[OP] Obviously a documentary like this has no narrative script to follow. Understanding the interview subject’s answers is critical for the editor in order to build the story arc. I understand that much of the film is in a foreign language. So what was your workflow to edit the film?

[KS] Right. So, the vast majority of the film is in German and a little bit in Japanese, both with subtitles. Maybe 25% is in English, but we’re creating it primarily with an English-speaking audience in mind. I know pretty much no German, except words from Sound of Music and Cabaret. We had a great team of translators on this project, with German transcripts broken down by paragraph and translated into English. I had a two-column set-up with German on one side and English on the other. Before I joined the project, there was an assistant who input titles directly into Premiere – putting subtitles over the dailies with the legacy titler. That was the only way I would be able to even get a rough assembly or ‘radio edit’ of what we wanted.

When you edit an English-speaking documentary, you often splice together two parts of a longer sentence to form a complete and concise thought. But German grammar is really complicated. I don’t think I really grasped how much I was taking on when I first started tackling the project. So I would build a sentence that was pretty close from the transcripts. Thank God for Google Translate, because I would put in my constructed sentence and hope that it spit out something pretty close to what we were going for. And that’s how we did the first rough cut.

Then we had an incredible woman, Katharina Kruse-Ramey, come in. She is a native German speaker living here in New York. She came in for a full eight or nine hours and picked through the edit with a fine tooth comb. For instance, “You can’t use this verb tense with this noun.” That sort of thing. She was hugely helpful and this film wouldn’t have been able to happen without Katharina. We knew then that a German speaker could watch this film and it would make sense! We also had another native German speaker, Eugen Braeunig, who was our archival researcher. He was great for the last minute pick-ups that were shot, when we couldn’t go through the longer workflow.

[OP] I presume you received notes and comments back from Dieter Rams on the cut. What has his response been?

[KS] The film premiered at the Milano Design Film Festival a few weeks ago and Dieter came to that. It was his first time seeing the finished product. From what I’ve heard, he really liked it! As much as one can like seeing themselves on a large screen, I suppose. We had sent him a rough cut a few months ago and in true analytical fashion, the notes that we got back from him were just very specific technical details about dates and products and not about overall storytelling. He really was quite willing to give Gary complete control over the filmmaking process. There was a lot of trust between the two of them.

[OP] Did you cut the film to temp music from the beginning or add music later? I understand that the prolific electronic musician and composer, Brian Eno (The Lego Batman Movie, T2 Trainspotting, The Simpsons), created the soundtrack. What was that like?

[KS] The structure of this film has more breathing room than a lot of docs might have. We really thought about the fact that we needed to give viewers a break from reading subtitles. We didn’t want to go more than ten minutes of reading at a time. So we purposely built in moments for the audience to digest and reflect on all that information. And that’s where Brian’s music was hugely important for us.

We actually didn’t start really editing the film until we had gotten the music back from Brian. I’ve been told that he doesn’t ever score to picture. We sent him some raw footage and he came back with about 16 songs that were inspired by the footage. When you have that gorgeous Brian Eno music, you know that you’re going to have moments where you can just sit back and enjoy the sheer beauty of the moment. Once we had the music in, everything just clicked into place.

[OP] The editor is integral to creating the story structure of a documentary, more so than narrative films – almost as if they are another writer. Tell me a bit about the structure for Rams.

[KS] This film is really not structured the way you would probably structure a normal doc. As I said earlier, we very purposefully put reading breaks in, either through English scenes or with Eno’s music. We had no interest in telling this story linearly. We jump back and forth. One plot line is the chronology of Dieter’s career. Then there’s this other, perhaps more important story, which is Dieter today.  His thoughts on the current state of design and the world. He’s still very active in giving talks and lectures. There’s a company called Vitsoe that makes a lot of his products and he travels to London to give input on their designs. That was the second half of the story and those are interspersed.

[OP] I presume you went outside for finishing services – sound, color correction, and so on. But did the subtitles take on any extra complexity, since they were such an important visual element?

[KS] There are three components to the post. We did an audio mix at one post house; there was a color correction pass at another; and we also had an animation studio – Trollbäck – working with us. There is a section in the film that we knew had to be visually very different and had to convey information in a different way than we had done in any other part of the film. So we gave Trollbäck that five-minute-long sequence. And they also did our opening titles.

We had thought about a stylistic treatment to the subtitles. There were two fonts that Trollbäck had used in their animation. Our initial intent was to use that in our subtitles. We did use one of those treatments in our titles and product credits. For the subtitles, we spent days trying out different looks. Are we going to shadow it or are we using outlines? What point font? What’s the kerning on it? There was going to be so much reading that we knew we had to do the titles thoughtfully. At the end of the day, we knew Helvetica was going to be the easiest (laugh)! We had tried the outline, but some of the internal space in the letters, like an ‘o’ or an ‘e’, looked closed off. We ended up going with a drop shadow. Dieter’s home is almost completely white, so there’s a lot of white space in the film. We used shadows, which looked a little softer, but still quite readable. Those were all built in Premiere’s legacy title tool.

[OP] You are in New York, which is a big Avid Media Composer town. So what was the thought process in deciding to cut this film in Adobe Premiere Pro?

[KS] When I came on-board, the project was already in Premiere. At that point I had been using Avid quite a lot since leaving The Edit Center, which teaches their editing course in Avid. I had taught myself Premiere and I might have tried to transfer the project to Avid, but there was already so much done in terms of the dailies with the subtitles. The thought of going back and spending maybe 50 hours worth of manual subtitling that didn’t migrate over correctly just seemed like a total nightmare. And I was happy to use Premiere. Had I started the project from scratch, I might have used Avid, because it’s the tool that I felt fastest on. Premiere was perfectly fine for the film that we were doing. Plus, if there were days when Gary wanted to tinker around in the project and look at things, he’s much more familiar with Premiere than he is with Avid. He also knows the other Adobe tools, so it made more sense to continue with the same family of creative products that he already knew and used.

Maybe it’s this way with the tool you learn first, but I really like Avid and I feel that I’m faster with it than with Premiere. It’s just the way my brain likes to edit things. But I would be totally happy to edit in Premiere again, if that’s what worked best for a project and what the director wanted. It was great that we didn’t have to transcode our archival footage, because of how Premiere can handle media. Definitely that was helpful, because we had some mixed frame rates and resolutions.

[OP] A closing question. This is your first feature film and with such an influential subjective. What impact did it have on you?

[KS] Dieter has Ten Principles for Good Design. He built them to talk about product design and as a way for him to judge how a product ideally should be made. I had these principles taped to my wall by my desk. His products are very streamlined, elegant, and clean. The framework should be neutral enough that they can convey what the intention was without bells-and-whistles. He wasn’t interested in adding a feature that was unnecessary. I really wanted to evoke those principles with the editing. Had the film been cluttered with extraneous information, or was self-aggrandizing, I think when we revealed the principles to the audience, they would have thought, “Wait a minute, this film isn’t doing that!” We felt that the structure of the film had to serve his principles well, wherever appropriate.

His final principle is ‘Good Design is as Little Design as Possible.’ We joked that ‘Good Filmmaking is as Little Filmmaking as Possible.’ We wanted the audience to be able to draw their own conclusions about Dieter’s work and how that translates into their daily lives. A viewer could walk away knowing what we were trying to accomplish without someone having to tell them what we were trying to accomplish.

There were times when I really didn’t know if I could do it. Being 26 and editing a feature film was daunting. Looking at those principles kept me focused on what the meat of the film’s structure should be. That made me realize how lucky we are to have had a designer who really took the time to think about principles that can be applied to a million different subjects. At one of these screenings someone came up to us, who had become a UI designer for software, in part, because of Dieter. He told us, “I read Dieter’s principles in a book and I realized these can be applied to how people interact with software.” They can be applied to a million different things and we certainly applied it to the edit.

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Gary Hustwit will tour Rams internationally and in various US cities through December. After that time it will be available in digital form through Film First.

Click here to learn more about Dieter Rams’ Ten Principles for Good Design.

©2018 Oliver Peters