Film Editing: Emotion, Performance and Story 9781474256261, 9781501379109, 9781474254908

Citation preview

Introduction Film editing is just one part of the long process of formulating, acquiring and presenting the images and sounds that make a film. Essentially the editor makes decisions about the arrangement of the visual and aural material that they receive in the cutting room. They do not do this for their own satisfaction but to stimulate the participation of the cinema and television viewer. Three interrelated areas – Emotion, Performance and Story – affect this decision-making. By making small minute changes to a verbal interaction or creating a large structural intervention the editor can influence the tone and balance of a scene or guide the emotional attachment the viewer has for a character. Through the sensitive study of the material the editor can tease out the subtext and suggest a greater depth to a character or guide the viewer in an alternative evaluation of a situation. This privilege might appear to place the editor in a powerful position; however, the construction of the film story is not solely theirs as they rely on the participation of the viewer. The discussion that follows is to test that participation and to suggest some of the possibilities open to the editor. What happened when you viewed the grid of pictures on the front cover? Did you look from left to right or top to bottom? Did you ask why a dark gloomy detail of

carved writing has been placed next to an image of a bright room with a billowing curtain, and what do they have to do with the man in the hat? Did you assume that there might be a story behind these three images? When a viewer looks at an image they try to make sense of it and when it is placed next to another image they try to make sense of the relationship between them. The three disparate images from the front cover have been viewed from left to right. Beneath each is written the viewer’s interpretation. Can a logic or cohesion be imposed on these thoughts? Can they form a story? Are you already trying to make them meaningful? Here is just one possible story that could arise from these thoughts. ‘Twenty years ago, James, an archaeologist, discovered an inscription carved into a rock. It contained a cipher that revealed the location of an untouched tomb of a Moroccan King. His instinct had been to divulge this information to a museum but he didn’t, because a group of people in a small room in Tangier persuaded him not

1

2

3

A worn rock wall with hand carved names, (Colin, Doreen, Paul?), and a date, is it 1911 or 1971? Shafts of sunlight suggest a hidden, damp space, perhaps a cave.

It is a light airy room. The closed billowing curtain alludes to a hot sun outside. The exterior white walls suggest North Africa. Has the room been recently vacated? Could the three people whose names are carved on the wall have occupied this room?

The man on the train wears a hat and coat, implying a colder climate. The light outside is grey and northerly. Is he consciously ignoring the man behind him? Does he know something about the room with the billowing curtain and the three people?

vi

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 6

8/13/21 9:57 AM

to. Today as he travels from an Amsterdam suburb into the city he is conscious of a man staring at him. James is reminded that the secret he still hides continues to make him vulnerable. Is it time to break the contract he made and pass on his knowledge before it is too late?’ Are you intrigued or do you think it is all a bit farfetched? Although this outline concentrates on plot it does anticipate an emotional involvement with the characters. Will James break his contract and if he does what will happen to him? Do you care? Is he good or bad? What does his stance and facial performance tell you about his internal psyche? The viewer’s evaluation of the performance portrayed (albeit static) infers an emotional trajectory for James that might invite us to

speculate on the outcome. Whatever you feel this could easily form the beginning of a cinematic thriller. For each of the single images a meaning has been formed, but as the viewer progresses from one image to the next their initial interpretation is reshaped by the incoming image. Here the ‘editor’ in their arrangement of the images has stimulated the viewer to re-examine and assimilate their first thoughts to evolve a deeper layer of meaning. Differences and similarities highlighted by the positioning prompt the viewer to make connections. After this discussion, the original grid of images on the front cover now seem to be placed intentionally, but of course they could also be ‘read’ diagonally or vertically (4-6).

4

7

5

8

6

9

Introduction vii

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 7

8/13/21 9:57 AM

The three images in the left-hand column on the previous page are positioned vertically in a more film-like succession of shots (4–6). How does the meaning attached to the carved names change when two different images are placed after it? An editor could also rearrange these three images to guide the viewer in a different way, as in the right-hand column (7–9). This exercise was devised for the purpose of the book, but forming stories and making meaning is something that comes easily and almost instinctively to us all. Viewing a static progression of images, though, is very different to viewing a film. Here the static frames can be viewed without a time limitation, reviewed backwards and forwards, allowing the viewer to see details, to linger and re-evaluate the information. In the organisation of the film material the film editor restricts the length of time a clip is on screen, the order in which the images and sounds proceed and selects the exact piece of footage to present to the viewer. Each limitation influences how the viewer constructs the story, how and when they feel certain emotions and whether they sympathise or not with the characters. As Jean Luc Godard points out it is editing that has the potential to change over time how we feel: ‘if direction is a look, montage (editing) is a heart-beat. To foresee is the characteristics of both: but what one seeks to foresee in space, the other seeks in time.’1 Film Editing: Emotion, Performance and Story is an investigation into how film editing contributes to moving pictures. The three aspects, Emotion, Performance and Story, and how they relate to the editing process will be key to this study. Through the study of film examples, both historical and contemporary, the book will explore the creative possibilities available to an editor and how these choices can guide a viewer’s participation. Editing is a tool, an exciting tool that is learnt through both practice and study. This book, by the detailed analysis of examples from feature films and shorter length films, intends to provide editors and other filmmakers with a context on which to build their practice. However, alongside the textual case studies these films need to be viewed and listened to attentively. The book is an exploration that takes a discursive approach acknowledging that there is no correct answer or right or wrong way but many alternatives. It is not a ‘how to do it’ manual but an investigation that asks questions and presents possibilities. Questions such

as ‘how’ and ‘why’ will open discussions related to our ­psychological and cognitive behaviour. Interrogative questions such as, ‘if I make this change does it affect the viewer’s sympathy for one character over another?’ will query why certain picture and sound configurations can affect us emotionally. In practice the answers to these questions will require a self-reflective process as well as an evaluation of the feedback of others. The focus of the book is on the process of editing, the how and why do it, in the recognition that it is a dialogue between the editor and the viewer. Editing is of course not just the domain of editors but of many others in the collaborative filmmaking process; this book not only comes from the viewpoint of an editor but also from that of a film and television collaborator. At the heart of this book is an enthusiasm for opening up, for exploration and for debate. Interspersed with the chapters on the fundamental tools of editing – Montage, Continuity, Sound and Performance – are three chapters that develop and extend these areas. These are separate but also linked studies that seek to explore the use and functioning of three defined editing strategies that can be used to manipulate the emotional experience of the viewer. The narrational approaches discussed in each study are of particular use to the editor as a means to persuade the viewer of an emotional connection to the characters and their circumstances within the fictional world. Each strategy of persuasion is a method of communication that is used to elicit a response in the viewer. Chapter 1: Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion will look at two key areas, story and emotion, in order to provide a context for the chapters that follow. It will investigate how the viewer makes meaning and forms stories from the pieces of visual and aural information presented to them. It will look at a constructive approach to narrative and how the viewer participates in this construction guided by the editor. Experiencing emotion is one of the primary motivations for a film viewer; this will be explored in order to discover how the choices an editor makes can affect how the viewer feels. Chapter 2: Montage will look at the experimentation of early films alongside more contemporary examples, discussing how juxtaposition and montage can influence the mood and tone of a film and the associations the viewer forms.

viii Introduction

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 8

8/13/21 9:57 AM

Chapter 3: Study 1: Parallel Tracks will look at how moving between two different stories or lines of action can create tension and intense emotional feelings by giving and withholding information. Chapter 4: The illusion of a believable world where the viewer is not reminded of the filmmaking process is key to Hollywood cinema. This chapter, Continuous Time and Space, will look at the guidelines that evolved as the Continuity System, how this system influences editing decisions and why this approach still holds in contemporary films. It will also look at examples of films and filmmakers that have put forward alternative approaches to this form. Chapter 5: Study 2: Subjective Eyes explores how witnessing the perceptual or mental point of view of a character can create empathetic or sympathetic emotions for that character.

Chapter 6: In cinema sound coexists with the picture. This chapter, The Expressive Potential of the AudioVisual Dynamic, explores the relationship between the visual and aural and the many creative possibilities the editor and sound editor have to present information, guide emotions and create convincing environments. Chapter 7: Study 3: Fascinating Rhythms investigates how a film viewer not only has a cerebral response to watching and listening to films but also a physical relationship with them. It is an involvement where the rhythmic patterns generated by sound and image can produce a physical empathy and emotive reaction. Chapter 8 explores Constructing a Performance and how the editor can ‘work with’ the actors screen performance, creatively participating in how it is perceived.

Introduction ix

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 9

8/13/21 9:57 AM

1 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 10

Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion Why do we desire to invent and to tell stories? And what makes us engage with a fictional tale? Why do we feel for some characters and loathe others? How can the editor by the way they present the visual and aural information determine a viewer’s emotions? This chapter and the book as a whole will endeavour to put forward ways that editors, filmmakers and others have tried to answer these questions. Key to editing is the understanding of how emotion and performance can influence how the viewer forms the story. The discussion that follows on story construction and emotional connection in relation to editing is intended to provide context for the chapters that follow.

8/13/21 9:57 AM

Structure and the viewer The story that has evolved from the arrangement of still images on the front cover offers a way of making sense of the visual information presented. At first glance the images are disparate, unrelated in their content; their lighting and composition does not match; they are rather chaotic and disordered. The viewer in their construction of a story has striven to find coherence by forming relationships in the visual information. They have referenced their own specific first-hand experience of the world as well as a more general cultural knowledge. The images on the cover have been placed in a specific configuration in order to cue the viewer to construct a story. However, this arrangement is rather more open-ended and the task more challenging than that required of the viewer of most fiction films. The exercise demonstrates that the viewer has actively engaged in the formation of the narrative rather than being just a passive receiver of information. So, what does the viewer do when constructing a film narrative? And, how can an editor exploit the viewer’s mental activity? When perceiving something that is random there is an impulse in the viewer to impose order. Yorke notes, that as ‘human beings we order the world dialectically’, and with each new stimulus we explore, absorb and question the information.1 Thus, by integrating our previous knowledge with the new we build and shape our comprehension of what we encounter. Brannigan suggests that the process of constructing narratives is a possible ‘strategy for making our world and our desires intelligible’.2 This ‘finding order’ not only helps us make sense of the external world but also our inner one with our cognitive and perceptual activity organising the information into a pattern that represents and explains experience, a narrative. A film can be considered from two viewpoints, that of the storyteller and that of the viewer. The storyteller or the makers of the film present audio and visual material to the viewer in such a way that the style and arrangement of the material cues the viewer to construct a story. The form of the material presented is usually known as the plot. Considering how a viewer processes the information in a plot so as to construct a story can influence editorial decisions. Most audiences approach the viewing of a narrative film with the goal to comprehend a meaningful story. They do this with

the knowledge that a narrative film generally shapes the spatial and temporal material in a cause and effect chain of events with a beginning, middle and end. They also understand that the film will have a character, or object or situation or multiples of these that go through some sort of change or transformation. It is the structure and style system of the film that presents cues, patterns and gaps in information to guide the viewer in making assumptions about how the story will unfold, about a character’s background and traits and about what is happening beyond the edge of the frame.3 The viewer actively tries to make connections and identify what might have caused a particular event or speculate on actions that might cause something to happen in the future. From the picture and sound cues inferences are made. Such as, if A looks away whilst watching B celebrate an achievement the viewer could infer that A is jealous of B. The viewer might also hypothesise that A could express his resentment later and cause harm to B. This hypothesis is not conclusive and the inference may need to be revised later. However, it does show that the viewer, in framing a hypothesis about A and B’s relationship, anticipates a future action. To help test the probability of a hypothesis or its relevance to the narrative the viewer uses schemata. Branigan describes a schema as ‘an arrangement of knowledge already possessed by a perceiver that is used to predict and test new sensory data’.4 A schema is a mental pattern or structure that organises information gained from direct and indirect experience. It is the schema’s template that is used to assess new sensory data, testing and refining the incoming information in order to create ‘meaning’. From the previous example the viewer might have applied a schema of ‘jealous reactions’ to create the hypothesis of A’s reaction to B. However, framing and fixing a perceptual hypothesis is risky as factors constantly change and expectations are revised, requiring new hypotheses to be formed. As in real life viewers apply schemata to assess film information; they make hypotheses and draw assumptions to form the story. Bordwell suggests that the viewer uses a schema for recognising narrative patterns common to Western culture and that it follows a basic format.5 This comprises of: the introduction of a setting

Structure and the viewer  1

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 1

8/13/21 9:57 AM

or a character, the explanation of a state of affairs, a complicating action, subsequent events, an outcome and an ending. If story information is incomplete or contains gaps the viewer will try to make connections in the information presented to match the categories of the schema and guess the outcome. If the film does not match the narrative schema template the viewer will adjust their expectations. Though not in sole control of how the material is presented the editor does have through the selection and order of elements the choice to present information directly or to imply it. By the process of selection, the editor can create gaps that withhold information; these may be temporal, spatial or causal gaps. Sometimes if a viewer is cued that certain information is missing they can act upon it but at other points a gap in information can come as a surprise. By delaying key information in the plot the editor can activate the viewer’s curiosity, prompting them to speculate and form hypotheses about what is missing and how this might affect future circumstances in the story. If key information is spread across a film it can create feelings of anticipation and suspense but this slow reveal will also lessen the ability of the viewer to make strong and sure hypotheses. However, if information is established early on in the narrative the viewer is encouraged to make secure assumptions that they have a tendency to stick to. The editor can use this inclination of the viewer to trust first impressions by later revealing new information that contradicts the viewer’s initial assumptions. So, it is by the organisation of the information that the viewer’s desire to find narrative coherence in the material is rewarded, revised or thwarted.

between information, assume spatial and linear jumps and accept unlikely situations. The client may also want the tone and delivery of the content to affect the mood of the viewer and for the commercial to fit a particular zeitgeist.

1. Short narratives Jonathan Glazer’s commercial for Stella Artois beer demonstrates some of the requisites of a commercial that incorporates a story to sell a product. In 90 seconds the commercial, ‘Last Orders’ (1999), conveys the tale of a man on his deathbed who asks his son to grant his three final wishes. The first request is to bring him a flower that grows high in a tree; the second honey from the local bees and the third a glass of Stella Artois beer. Although this is essentially a linear structure there are temporal and spatial gaps that the viewer ‘fills in’ to form the story. The active involvement in constructing the story engages the viewer emotionally with the characters and the events that play out. Relying on a précis-like approach allows the editor to convey the key contextual elements economically, thereby leaving screen time for the ‘message’ to be assimilated. Featuring a rural family in an isolated French region may not be the most obvious way to sell a beer. However, the cultural reference to the popular films Manon des Sources (1986) and Jean de Florette (1986) works as a shorthand in selling an ideal of France.

The length and format of a film will determine how the flow and structure of the information is presented. Each format type requires the viewer to use a different mental activity. A commercial with a limited screen time of between 20 to 90 seconds has to do many things. Primarily it needs to convey the ‘message’ of the client’s brief, usually to sell a product or communication of some sort. If the form of the commercial also draws the viewer in via a narrative that entertains and engages it will almost certainly remain in the viewer’s mind for longer. This requires the choice and content of the frame to be precise and the length of time that the image and sound are on the screen to be finely gauged in order for the viewer to ‘get the message’ within the time constraint. A commercial will often require the viewer to quickly make associations

2  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 2

8/13/21 9:57 AM

‘Last Orders’, Lowe London for Stella Artois. (1999 Dir. Glazer) (Key screen shots from each section in sequential order) Setting up the locale and the characters

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

The wide shot of an isolated rural farm building sets up the location and the economic status of the characters (1.1). The sound of crows cawing with a close shot of a single bird alighting on an open window bridges the interior and exterior spaces and sets a gloomy tone (1.2). As an old man lies in bed appearing to watch the bird, the voice of his son, speaking in French (no subtitles) interrupts his thoughts, asking for his last wish (1.3). In a wide shot the family respectfully wait at his bedside. The viewer assumes that the old man is dying as they have applied a schema derived from prior knowledge cued by the action and the mise-en-scène (1.4).

Wish One – the flower Setting up the situation and subsequent events.

2.1

2.2

2.3

2.4

He asks for his first wish (2.1). A temporally condensed two-shot scene shows the son gathering the flower (2.2–2.3). This informs the viewer of the challenges presented by the task. A trill in the music follows with a quick fade to black and back up to the old man with the flower (2.4). This format is repeated for the second wish with the action presenting the son as slightly inept with his attempt to please provoking humour and sympathy in the viewer.

Short Narratives  3

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 3

8/13/21 9:57 AM

Wish Two – the honey The alternation between the two parallel stories, one being played out in the dark interior the other in the sun provokes an ironic smile in the viewer who has happily assumed that these two events are taking place simultaneously over a period of time.

3.1

3.2

3.3

3.4

The viewer also assumes, based on their knowledge of the first two requests that the third will follow the same format but they anticipate that this task will involve greater difficulty.

Wish Three – the beer It is only after 30 seconds that the product (beer) is mentioned leaving another minute to communicate why the beer is special (4.1). The third request prompts an alarmed reaction from the family as it involves expense (4.2). This is communicated by a superimposed shot of coins over the family emptying their pockets (4.3). 4.1

4.3

4.2

4.4

A dissolve to the son carrying the beer from the bar clearly signifies that time has passed (4.4). By selecting key moments on the son’s journey the editor promotes feelings of tension and anticipation. The viewer easily accommodates the temporal jumps that are cued by fades by mentally filling in the gaps. It is a ridiculous idea to carry a full glass of beer over a long journey but via the accumulation of visual and aural information as well as through the actor’s performance the viewer may conclude that these scenes are probable. The editor’s selection highlights the fragility of the task as at every jolt the son spills another drop from the glass, his reactions indicating how he feels. This third task is conveyed in small scenes that comprise of a wide and close shot. The framing of the son facing forward allows the viewer to witness his facial reactions creating sympathy with his struggle.

4  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 4

8/13/21 9:57 AM

The Complicating Action

5.1

5.2

5.3

5.4

The moment the son drinks the beer the viewer anticipates the reaction of his father on his return and starts to form possible hypotheses (5.4). He needs to find an excuse but what? The viewer is intrigued but the gap in their knowledge is too great and any hypothesis they make would be fairly insecure. Every cut to the empty glass reinforces the son’s problem and increases the viewer’s concern for him.

The Resolution – end

6.1

6.2

6.3

6.4

At the house he encounters the priest rushing to administer the last rites to his father. As the son watches the priest takes off his hat and coat his expression infers that he has thought of a solution. He then gives the empty glass to the priest to hold as he hangs up his hat and coat (6.1). The priest, unaware of the significance of the empty glass, enters the room holding it, the family turn and the old man lifts his head in expectation (6.2). The son enters behind the priest and raises his hand miming to his father that the priest has drunk the beer (6.3). The ‘gag’ is finally played out in one shot with the familiar hand gesture adding a touch of comedy to an otherwise sombre occasion. In the final shot the father’s expression indicates his disappointment (6.4), but the tag line reinforces the idea of just how special the beer is – ‘reassuringly expensive’. The structure of this story is familiar; it is conveyed mainly through action rather than speech with the lack of subtitles serving to emphasise the universality of the beer’s name when spoken by the father. ‘Last Orders’ is an example of a straightforward narrative with a beginning, middle and end, a complicating situation and characters that change over time. The plot structure has encouraged the viewer to ‘fill in’ the information that has been left out, thereby stimulating empathy for the characters and their situation as well as promoting the advertising message. Shortcuts and temporal jumps

Short Narratives  5

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 5

8/13/21 9:57 AM

applied by the editing compress the causal chain of events into 90 seconds testing the viewer’s ability to make quick associations that are relevant to the story. The cognitive and perceptual activity required makes them an effective participator in the construction of the story. This activity has led to a brief emotional attachment to the son eliciting sympathy for him and the challenges he encounters, slight disappointment when he drinks the beer, anticipation that he will find a solution and a warm satisfied smile with the resolution.

2. Long and more complex narratives ‘Last Orders’ deliberately guides the viewer’s story construction, leaving very little room for variation of interpretation. Films that take place over a longer screen time have the opportunity to use a more open-ended and less direct approach in guiding the viewer. This might take the form of using less obvious cues, not conforming to chronological time, leaving out spatial information, presenting a cause without an obvious effect or presenting the effect without explanation of the cause. The editor needs to be aware that a more complex, ambiguous narrative that does not adhere to expected temporal or causal progression may require the viewer to use a more skilful mental processing. As Bordwell notes, the cognitive attention needed by the viewer to re-form story events into a chronological order might mean they miss out on current essential action.6 Likewise Brannigan notes that a ‘disruption’ of the viewer’s expectations or the input of ‘unexpected information’ will involve readjusting the schema.7 Viewers are however, adept and skilled at unravelling complex structures that can also intrigue and draw them into a film as they work to make links. It is not uncommon for fictional film narratives to withhold information in order to create tension and mystery but this approach has been taken further in a group of films where the choice and juxtaposition of information deliberately disorientates and misleads the viewer. These narratives often present the existence of parallel worlds, Morocco - Mountains

USA/Mexico

pose questions about the mind, memory and consciousness, and introduce imagined characters. They do this by playing games with the delivery of information, thereby posing a ‘puzzle’ for the audience to unravel. Elsaessar talks of how ‘Puzzle Films’ intrigue by hiding or completely withholding information, reverse linear progression, present unclear relationships between subjectivity and objectivity and pose improbable situations.8 Babel (2006) does just this by presenting its information in a complex structure. The analysis of Babel’s structure that follows is an attempt to present and define the interlocking story strands and how the positioning of each strand and its content influences the next. The editors of Babel, by cutting between multiple timelines that co-exist, pose a difficult task for the viewer. The film’s structure presents temporal complications that make causal relationships sometimes seem illogical and improbable, provoking several questions. Does the associational challenge of continuously revising and reinventing to establish a cohesive narrative intrigue the viewer or not? If film narratives rely on a viewer’s desire to make links, form hypotheses and make assumptions, how do these processes function with a complex narrative? If the task of untangling is too complex does the viewer stop watching? Is the viewer too busy trying to work out the structure to become immersed in the film story? How do fragmented plot lines affect emotional engagement with characters?

Babel (2006. Dir. Iñárritu. Eds. Crise and Mirrione) (Below the screen shots show the four story strands, with colours to define location and strand). The structure of Babel consists of four story strands, each with its own set of characters that operate in one of four locations: Morocco – Atlas Mountains, Morocco – village, USA/Mexico and Japan (below). Each strand is fragmented into sections or groups of scenes that are intercut with the sections of other strands. The structure and linearity of each section supplies enough

Morocco - Village

Japan

6  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 6

8/13/21 9:57 AM

information to encourage audience immersion in each story for a brief time before they are jolted to the next. This structural approach relies on our desire to find coherence between the strands and to be enticed by the possibility of clarification at the end.

1. Morocco - Rifle

The four initial sections of Babel in their film order Colours identify location and strand. Numbers identify sections and correspond to postion in film and to the charts on the following pages. The film opens in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco (section 1) with Hassan selling a rifle to Abdullah in order for his two sons, Yussef and Ahmed, to kill the jackals that prey on their goats. Whilst testing the professed accuracy and 3 km range of the gun Yussef hits a tourist bus (1). This section then jumps to a new strand in the USA with a series of scenes with two children and their Mexican nanny, Amelia (section 2). She receives a phone call that infers the children’s mother is ill and recovering in hospital (2). When the young son speaks to his father, he hears sobs and is alarmed. The following day Amelia receives another call from the father telling her she must extend her childcare and not go to her son’s wedding. However, she instead decides to take the children to the wedding in Mexico.

2. USA - Phone call

3. Morocco - Bus

This strand jumps to the Moroccan mountains where the strained relationship of Susan and Richard contrasts with happy tourists riding camels. Later when Susan is asleep on the tour bus she suddenly slumps forward, the window is shattered and a stain of blood seeps onto her white blouse (3). There is panic on the bus. The next jump is to a volleyball game in Japan where deaf girls contest a score in sign language (4). Cheiko is sent off. After the game her father Yasujiro drops her at a bar where she provocatively flirts with boys.

4. Japan - Volleyball

Long and more complex narratives  7

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 7

8/13/21 9:57 AM

On the previous page is a brief summary of the action in the four initial sections as they play out in film time. Each change of strand is a shock shifting the viewer globally, culturally as well as linguistically, through Arabic, Spanish, Japanese, sign language and subtitles. The viewer’s reaction is to try and make links between the strands. Each section is long enough for the viewer to begin to engage with the plot and the characters within it but then a cut shifts them elsewhere with the need to sift and sort new information. As the information from each strand accumulates the viewer’s attention shifts, moving backwards and forwards, constructing, as Branigan suggests, ‘hierarchical patterns’ in order to represent a story.9 If the information in sections 1 and 3 is aligned it could be possible to assume that the firing of the bullet in the mountains bears some correlation to Susan’s injury on the bus. However, in section 3 we don’t witness who has shot Susan and the temporal disparity between the two strands make the connection seem improbable. If the editor had followed a more conventional structural pattern and placed the bus scene directly after the shooting the viewer would have felt on safer ground in making the assumption that this was part of a cause and effect chain.

13. Morocco – Hassan, photo and police

Cutting out of the tense frenetic events on the bus to a volleyball game has an almost numbing effect on the viewer as the building of their emotional concern is suddenly suspended. As they learn about Cheiko they then ask what does this girl and her father have to do with the previous story strands. The connection is only hinted at 22 minutes later when Cheiko is flicking through TV channels and the subtitles on a Japanese news report reads: ‘Moroccan officials are investigating suspects in the shooting of an American tourist’. This information is delivered for the benefit of the viewer, as Cheiko fails to register how it may be connected to the questions the two detectives who were asking earlier about her father. It is just over one hour into the film that the viewer discovers the connection when the police interrogate Hassan outside his home in the Atlas Mountains, and he shows a photo of himself and Yasujiro (13). ‘A Japanese hunter gave it (the rifle) to me’ he protests. The connection is confirmed later when the young detective looks at the same photo in Yasujiro and Cheiko’s home (16). The jump from the two boys in the Atlas Mountains in section 1 to the two children playing with their Mexican nanny in a prosperous house in the USA in section 2 disorientates, requiring the viewer to re-evaluate their initial assumptions. It is unlikely that when the viewer watches section 3 that they will connect Susan’s husband Richard with the boy speaking on the phone in section 2 asking his father ‘Dad are you OK?’

16. Japan – Detective looks at photo

8  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 8

8/13/21 9:57 AM

This first phone conversation (2) is only fully resolved at the end of the film when Richard is seen making the same call to Amelia from the hospital where Susan is being treated (23). As he breaks down and sobs the viewer then understands why his son has asked the question earlier.

2. USA - Phone call 1

This structure presents a problem of linearity to the viewer as they unravel the events of the film and try to place them in event order. They are practised in deciphering films with parallel plot lines and tend to assume, due to the linearity of screen time that different story strands either run simultaneously or successively but in Babel this is an unreliable assumption to make with events seemingly unending and unsecured in time. By the end of the film the viewer is able to make links between the different strands inferring a cause and effect chain that seems to have rippled through the lives of characters and across cultural and geographical boundaries. However, it is hard to completely unravel the exact chronological relationship of these events using the clues presented.

23. Morocco – Phone call 1

The Sections of Babel in film chronological order Below is a timeline in film order of the 24 sections in Babel with the colours designating the four different locations and the start time for each section. The alternation between strands is a repeated pattern until the last four sections.





1

2

3

4

5

6

00:00

Amelia & his son receive call 1 from Richard. Call 2 - Amelia ‘don’t go to wedding’. She takes the children. 08:29

13:55

18:51

26:40

29:40

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

01:26:27

01:30:41

01:38:46

01:40:44

01:48:40

01:52:39

Hassan sells rifle to Abdullhah, Yussef shoots at bus

Hassan shows police photo of himself, Yasujiro and rifle. Police shoot Ahmed. Yussef shoots policeman 01:12:21

Night. Amelia & children leave party. Santiago drunk, panics at the border, drives into desert leaves Amelia & children 01:17:03

Tourists on holiday Susan is shot on bus

Cheiko Plays volleyball. Her father, Yasujiro drives her to meet friends in bar.

They wait, the ambulance isn’t coming, Richard calls embassy. ‘It’s a political problem.’ Tourists leave in bus.

Young detective sees the photo in Cheiko’s apartme nt. She tries to seduce him

Abdullah tells his family about the ‘killing’ of American tourist

Amelia and children cross the border to Mexico. Santiago wrings neck of chicken

Police shoot Ahmed again. Abdullah sobs whilst Yussef smashes the rifle, then surrenders.

7

Richard tries to get help. Susan is taken to tour guides village. Her wound is sewn up. 34:17

Morning. Amelia, children asleep in the desert. She leaves the children to find help. A border patrol arrests her.

8

9

10

11

12

42:40

48:00

53:39

58:48

01:02:30

21

22

23

01:54:39

01:57:16

01:57:45

Cheiko tries to kiss the dentist. Two policemen ask for Yasujiro. News reports shooting.

A wooden stretcher carries Susan. Radio news broadcast.

Young detective comforts Cheiko. She writes a note for him to read later. He leaves.

Boys hide the gun. Police accuse Hassan. Boys confess to Abdullah

Amelia accused of working illegally and deported from USA Her son picks her up

Wedding celebration. Dancing into night. Amelia kisses an old friend.

Police carry Ahmed dead? Yussef remember s playing with Ahmed pretending to fly.

Arabic news reports shooting. Richard tries to stop tourists leaving

Helicopter takes Susan to hospital. Richard phones Amelia – call 1

Cheiko and friend go to club. Asks for young detective to visit her

24

The detective meets Yasujiro. In bar he opens Cheiko’s note. News report. Yasujiro hugs daughter. 02:03:31

Long and more complex narratives  9

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 9

8/13/21 9:57 AM

This diagram is an attempt to disentangle the actual temporal chronology of the events in Babel The following timeline tries to situate the four initial sections explored earlier, in the actual chronological order of events. This is to demonstrate how their temporal position has been reordered in the film structure. (In the diagram the sections without colour represent information inferred verbally but not visually).



1. Hassan sells rifle to Abdullah Yussef shoots at bus

Yasijiro gives rifle to Hassan in Morocco



3. Tourists on holiday Susan is shot on bus

5. Abdullah tells his family about the ‘killing’ 7. Go to village. Her wound is sewn up

11. Arabic News report, Richard tries to stop tourists leaving 4. Cheiko plays volleyball, meets friends

9. Boys hide gun. Police accuse Hassan. Boys confess to Abdullah 15. Wait for help, no ambulance, embassy call, political problem Tourists leave in bus 8. Cheiko meets detectives. News report

12. Cheiko goes to club. Later asks for detective to come to her home



This timeline is an approximation of a temporal order based on clues within the film, using the phone calls and news broadcasts as anchor points. The actual time is difficult to establish as these events occur across international time zones, where it might be dawn in Mexico and evening in Japan. As in more traditional film structures, here there are also gaps in information and a compression of time within each strand with the editor placing emphasis on specific moments. The order of events as presented in the film not only hides and withholds key pieces of information, it also creates associations and juxtapositions that infer other layers of meaning. These themes seem to critique the use of Western power and privilege, encouraging a reflection on the problems of miscommunication and the paranoia and mistrust that is provoked by them.

2. 6. 10. 14. Amelia & his Amelia & Celebrate Leave son receive children wedding party, call 1 from cross the Dancing panic Richard. Call border to into night. at 2 – ‘don’t go Mexico. border, to wedding’. left in She takes desert the children. 13. 17. 22. Police carry Hassan shows Police shoot Ahmed – dead? photo. Police Ahmed again. Yussef remembers corner Abdullah & Abdullah sobs playing with Ahmed sons, shoot whilst Yussef pretending to fly. Ahmed. Yussef smashes the shoots policeman rifle, then surrenders. 19. Susan 23. Richard phones on Helicopter Amelia from hospital – call 2 stretcher to hospital, Radio Richard call news 1 to Amelia & son 16. Cheiko tries to seduce young detective. He sees photo of Yasujiro, Hassan, rifle

20. Detective comforts Cheiko. She writes a note for him

18. Asleep in desert, Amelia goes for help, arrested by patrol

21. Amelia deported from USA for working illegally

24. Detective meets Yasujiro. Opens note in bar. News reports Susan now in USA. Yasujiro hugs Cheiko

The presentation also inspires the potential for a generosity between people that the politics of physical and psychological borders rarely let happen. How does the viewer feel at the end of the film, are they satisfied that the fragmented storylines have been resolved? Are they spurred to consider ideas of chance and fate, asking themselves what would have happened if Yussef had not practised with the rifle? Has the scrambling of events been manageable and stimulating for the audience or distracting? In Babel the flow of cause and effect is disrupted recalling Munsterberg’s experience in 1916. ‘A movement is started, but before the cause brings its results another scene has taken its place. What this new scene brings may be an effect for which we saw no causes. But not

10  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 10

8/13/21 9:57 AM

only the processes are interrupted. The intertwining of the scenes (. . .) is itself such a contrast to causality’.10 The editor by the temporal reordering of events in Babel asks the viewer in their quest for coherence to continually re-draft their hypotheses and re-edit their assumptions. Branigan suggests that in this overwriting process traces of previous drafts are retained and that the viewer can hold alternative hypotheses that can co-exist at the same moment, presenting a number of possible interpretations.11 The complexity of Babel does just this with the viewer continuing to re-draft possibilities even after they have finished viewing the film. Having the space to imagine ‘what if?’ is critical to the viewer’s participation and engagement but if the task of disentangling and making coherent the fragments is too great the film risks holding the viewer at a distance, distracting them from emotionally engaging with the characters. Each viewer’s emotional experience when viewing Babel is almost certainly unique, with some being able to retain attachment to the different sets of characters and their difficulties and others being more intrigued by the task of deciphering the puzzle. The conclusions they may arrive at in terms of the power of wealth and the repercussions this has on the poorer societies may elicit immediate sympathy for those characters in the film but this may later evolve into a general compassion for those who lead similar lives. Perhaps the viewer is initially anxious for Richard and Susan but this may become tempered by a fairly secure assumption that they will be rescued and she will survive. The miscommunication that results in events becoming out of control and the disruption it creates may cause tension and frustration for the viewer. The editor by entwining the separate narratives provokes emotional reactions, some that viewers may find satisfying and others they may not.

3. Emotion, the audience and the editor Viewers frequently reflect on how they felt whilst viewing a film. Experiencing an emotional reaction either during a film or later is acknowledged as a key motive for watching films. The discussion so far has considered how a viewer uses perceptual and cognitive processes in constructing the story and how the editor guides this. An understanding of how these are entwined with our emotional processes is equally important in making editorial judgments. Films are able to elicit a wide range of emotions from interest and anticipation to suspense, surprise, fear or sympathy, yet they are still just a two-dimensional representations of a fictional world. This provokes several questions: do we experience cinematic emotions differently to those in real life and what makes us feel so strongly? Are these feelings elicited solely by our participation in story construction, and how much is this emotional connection influenced by an actors performance? How can the editor contribute to eliciting emotion in the viewer? As discussed earlier, the participation and involvement of the viewer is essential for their engagement with the film. This includes a desire to experience emotions that may range from pleasurable to painful. The position of the viewer as an observer provides a safe place from which to participate, allowing them to turn away from frightening situations or to confront the fearful, it permits them to access desires that they may have suppressed or aspirations that they are not yet conscious of. The film via its system of illusions can also make the viewer feel as though they are immersed within the fictional world; this is known as the diegetic effect. These illusions encourage the viewer to perceive the world as ‘real’, and as Frijda notes, the more the viewer is convinced by this ‘apparent reality’ the more intense their emotional response to stimuli from it will be.12 In turn a strong emotional connection can also reinforce the diegetic effect. Some of the strongest emotions are those evoked through feelings of emotional identification with characters, empathising with them or feeling sympathy for them as though they are real people in the real world.

Emotion, the audience and the editor  11

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 11

8/13/21 9:57 AM

What is an emotion? Emotions are subjective experiences but it is generally assumed that their purpose in real life is functional. Emotions are communicative and can assert control over our cognitive processes helping us to make quick judgments about our interactions with others and the world in which we live. They occur in response to the concerns an individual has about a situation or event. When appraising the event or stimulus the individual looks for meaning in order to determine how relevant it is to them. Determining its importance and whether it affects or could affect their world either positively or negatively generates a concern. The type and strength of emotion indicates the relevance of the concern to the situation. This can either prompt an action, a readiness for action or the decision not to take action. This action tendency can either change or preserve a relationship. Laine categorises emotional appraisals into two types; the first, primary affective, is where we respond with an almost instinctive ‘gut’ reaction to a situation.13 The second, reflective evaluative, is often an evaluation of the initial affective appraisal where the reflective activity contextualises and makes relevant the primary response. Given this knowledge, how can the editor promote emotions in the viewer that can function to help them make the judgments needed for narrative construction?

How do our emotional processes function when viewing a film? Our emotional responses when viewing a film seem to be very similar to real life where we appraise situations, form concerns for people and favour certain outcomes. We can feel satisfaction or pleasure if our expectations are gratified or feel insecure and frustrated if the emotional rewards are delayed even though we are responding to a fictional world. However, because the viewer is an invisible witness to the fictional event they cannot act on a concern as they would in a real-world situation, instead their response is ‘virtual’. In Sabotage (1936) this position prompts feelings of intense frustration and anxiety for Stevie (Tester) as he delivers the film cans of ‘Bartholomew the Strangler’. The viewer knows that the film cans hide a ticking bomb and feels a strong desire to warn Stevie of the danger (1). The reaction to a fictional film event is no less intense than it would be in a real situation, and can be more so because of the viewer’s restricted position, which can stimulate intense interest and the need to know more. The editor, through the choices they make, can manipulate these responses, creating suspense and character sympathy or even empathy. Viewers can respond directly to the event itself or indirectly via their appreciation of a character’s reactions and the relevance the event has for them. If the viewer’s understanding of a situation is the same as the character’s they will feel empathy. If the viewer’s knowledge is more extensive than a character’s, perhaps revealing a threat to the character, they will feel sympathy for them. The emotion felt by the viewer may then conflict with that of the character. These emotional reactions, although very similar, place the viewer in different emotional positions.

12  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 12

8/13/21 9:57 AM

Sabotage (1936 Dir. Hitchcock, Ed. Frend) Selected screen shots 1

2

3

4

5

6

In Sabotage the viewer experiences emotions of sympathetic fear and anxiety for Stevie in response to their knowledge of the bomb and his vulnerability, but not empathy as he is enjoying the distractions of his journey with only slight worries that he may be late. The tension the viewer experiences is heightened by the uncertainty of the situation. They speculate over whether the bomb will blow up or whether Stevie will deliver it on time. Hitchcock plays with the viewer’s hopes, fears and frustration, showing Stevie distracted from his task by street sellers (1), processions and a bus passenger’s small dog (3). The entire journey takes over ten minutes of film time with the editor continually reminding the viewer that ‘real’ time is ticking away with images of clocks, close ups of the package and slow traffic (4–6). Throughout the sequence the viewer knows more than Stevie; but although they are anxious this is tempered by a complacent assumption that children featured in films are not usually blown up. However, Hitchcock knows more than the viewer and when the bus, boy and passengers are blown up they respond to the event with shock and surprise. Later on reflection they feel sad at the loss of lives, anger at the callous cruelty and deflation from the lack of a satisfactory release from the tension. Hitchcock in an interview reflected on the audience reaction, ‘I allowed the bomb to go off, which I should never have done because they (the audience) needed the relief from the suspense’; but was he right?14 Is it perhaps this audacious move that intrigues us most about Sabotage? The degree of empathy or identification with a character is significant for a viewer’s engagement with a film. Sharing a character’s hopes and fears about the situation increases empathy for that character which in turn influences the meaning the situation has for the viewer. In some cases the empathy the viewer experiences can be so intense that they feel as though they are almost physically undergoing the same experience as the character.

7

How do our emotional processes function when viewing a film?  13

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 13

8/13/21 11:18 AM

Vicarious emotion In a scene from The English Patient (1996) the editor manipulates the sound and picture to involve the viewer in such a way. The scene discussed is a flashback; it is framed as Carravagio (Dafoe) relates a past traumatic event to Almásy (Fiennes). He suspects Almásy of selling maps to the Germans and as result was responsible for his own capture and torture. It is 1942 during World War Two. In Tobruk, Libya, the Germans have invaded and are rounding up the people who are left stranded, amongst them is Caravaggio, a Canadian spying for the Allies. In this scene his interrogation by Major Müller (Prochnow) escalates to torture. When Caravaggio shows his weakness, Müller threatens to cut his fingers off unless he divulges a name for each one. The viewer like the German subordinates in the room does not at first believe this will happen assuming Caravaggio will eventually reveal the information. The tension intensifies when Caravaggio starts to believe that Müller will actually carry out his threat. He begs him ‘don’t cut me’, but the turning point in the scene comes when Caravaggio verbally repeats this fear.

The English Patient (1996. Dir. Mingella. Ed. Murch.) Selected screen shots from scene. Initially the editor’s choice of shot size and angle reflects the power relationship between the two characters with the viewer sympathising with Caravaggio in his predicament (1–2). Later motivated by the change of events the closer unstable camera movement and acute angles mimic Caravaggio’s anxiety, encouraging the viewer to physically and emotionally empathise with him (5–8). It is not only the acting and choice of shot but also the sound that guides the viewer’s emotional experience. In the early part of the scene the busy sounds from within the room rest on the more muffled sounds that seep in from the world outside. This sound is diegetic, reinforcing the viewer’s belief in the era and the action; it doesn’t however draw attention to itself. The moment Müller talks of trading a finger for every name Caravaggio divulges the tension increases, but it is only when he repeats the three words ‘don’t cut me’ that the threat becomes actual (3). At the turning point the editor purposely pulls out all extraneous sounds to emphasise the moment of decision. For the viewer this moment almost feels like an intake of breath that is held for several seconds before it is shattered by the noise that bursts back in anticipating the traumatic action to follow. At this point the editor includes small pieces of information conveyed in shots that jar through their obtuse framing and frenetic internal movements. Caravaggio’s breathy, high-pitched protests and panic evokes anxiety in the viewer, but this emotion is also heightened with the layering of musical tones that meld to create a visceral feeling of immersion. During these few seconds the viewer completely identifies with the trauma that Caravaggio is going through, possibly experiencing his emotion and stress as though it were their own. This immersion can induce a type of physical empathy in the viewer where they experience an increased heart rate or involuntary hand movements. The viewer’s involvement with Caravaggio’s torture is of course vicarious, as they remain physically unhurt. The editor cues the fear the viewer senses by leaving gaps in the narrative information. By ‘filling in’ the action that is left out they are encouraged to empathise with the pain and fear they imagine Caravaggio is experiencing. The shots are short in length supplying only hints

14  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 14

8/13/21 9:58 AM

1

7

2

8

3

9

4

5

6

of what is happening with the actual cut of the thumb lasting a brief 10 frames (9). The tiny amount of dripping blood is on screen for only a second. This flashback concludes as Caravaggio’s narration returns relating the end of the story to Almásy. The viewer may now feel a sense of release as they move to a more objective position. Throughout this scene it is the structure and delivery of the visual and aural information that has built the tension the viewer feels. The camera, the sound, the editing and the acting have provoked these emotions; but they were not elicited by explicitly showing the action on screen but by what cannot be seen. The editor has relied on the viewer’s imagination and their ability to connect empathetically to the character. In real life our affective and evaluative emotional processes are not separate but part of a continual process where one adjusts the other; this process of modification also happens when we watch films. As a film unfolds there seems to be an exchange between the viewer’s world and the film world, where the film’s emotional

Vicarious emotion  15

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 15

8/13/21 9:58 AM

system engages with the viewer’s emotional system. Laine suggests that films have an emotional core and that when the viewer responds to the emotion embodied in the film they do so as though the emotional sensation they experience is their own.15 However, the viewer does not necessarily share the emotions that the characters and the film embody. The viewer’s emotional response is usually stimulated by a film’s structure of meaning and their understanding of the significance of a situation to a character. This is framed by the viewer’s own morals, goals, and motivations requiring them to have a level of self-understanding in order to interact with the film. The editor also needs a measure of life experience when guiding the viewer.

Joy, frustration, sadness Films are often categorised as belonging to a certain genre but they can also be defined by the emotional experience that the viewer might expect: funny, frightening, thrilling, and nostalgic. Both categories, genre and emotion, are often linked. La La Land (2016) could be described as a ‘feel good’ movie where the audience experiences moments of humour, love, hope and despair. Empire magazine described it as ‘Audacious, retro, funny and heartfelt, La La Land . . . will slap a mile-wide smile across the most miserable of faces’.16 The film is very much about emotion with the viewer becoming a willing participant on a sensational journey. They experience the hopes and dreams of Mia (Stone) and Seb (Gosling), the joy of their love, the frustrations of their careers and sadness when they give up love for success. So, how does the film elicit these feelings in the viewer? It is very much a Hollywood story with Mia a barista in a film studio café who has ambitions to be an actress but her auditions don’t bring success. Seb aspires to own a jazz club but is frustrated by the piano clichés he has to play in a restaurant. Through chance they meet and fall in love, sharing their dreams of a better life. To pay the bills Seb compromises his music and signs up to a pop band. Mia writes a play, Seb misses the opening night and the play is a flop. Despairing Mia leaves LA for her parents’ home. A casting agent, one of the few people at Mia’s play, calls and Seb takes the message to Mia persuading her to audition. Five years later Mia is a famous actress with a husband and child. By chance, one evening Mia and her husband visit SEB’s Jazz Club. Across the room Seb and Mia’s eyes meet, he plays ‘their tune’ evoking fantasies of what their life could have been like together. Without words they part again to lead their own lives each now successful in their own way; two people who have sacrificed their love for ambition.

The film is partly a musical harking back to the eras of Gene Kelly and Jacques Demy and partly a romantic drama with a touch of comedy. It elicits emotion through its stylistic cues as well as via its narrative. The viewer is aware of the film as an artefact through it’s defined camera movement, lighting changes, inventive staging, sumptuous design and evocative music. However, although these stylistic choices have the potential to draw the viewer out of the fictional world they are convincingly integrated into the narrative. It is the genuine quality of Mia and Seb’s struggle for success (albeit within the film world) that elicits sympathetic feelings whilst the fantasy of the dream-like sequences promotes those of joy and uplift. Even though this is a familiar story the viewer is drawn in, empathising and sympathising with the compromises and sacrifices the characters make. As their relationship develops different cutting patterns are used to heighten the emotional significance of specific scenes. This varies from scenes with very few cuts to those with fragmented quick cuts, to more stylistic montages. The editor in the juxtaposition of the scenes, that each have a different emotional quality, guides the viewer though the trajectory of Mia and Seb’s relationship.

16  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 16

8/13/21 9:58 AM

La La Land (2016. Dir. Chazelle. Ed. Cross) When Mia and Seb start to fall in love near the Observatory the scene is played predominantly in a single, wide shot (1). As they dance and sing together the choice of frame size allows the viewer to appreciate the rhythm of their movement and the playfulness and humour of their physical interaction. The unbroken shot allows the viewer to observe how their emotions change from mutual irritation to the possibility of romance. The viewer may experience very positive feelings. These will have been evoked by the tone of the music and the verbal repartee of the song, with the physical movements of the dance and the camera creating an uplifting energising affect. The viewer is left at the end of the scene hopeful, anticipating that Mia and Seb will get together. Here the use of an extended single wide shot is emotionally appropriate; but if this technique had been used throughout the film the impact that this scene has on the viewer would have been diluted. Its use may also not have suited the emotional state of the characters and the trajectory of events. Later when their relationship starts to change Seb takes a job with a band and Mia goes to their concert. In this scene the editing and visual style is fragmented with short shots that cut quickly from close ups to big wides reflecting the emotional stress and discomfort that Mia feels at the event (2–5). The visceral nature of the editing and camerawork creates an immersive effect for the viewer. Their viewpoint shifts as they sometimes experience the event with Seb as he watches Mia swamped by the concert goers (4) and sometimes with Mia as she is jostled by the frenetic crowd. The empathetic feelings the viewer has for Mia may conflict with their appreciation of Seb’s musical success.

1

2

3

4

5

Joy, frustration, sadness  17

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 17

8/13/21 9:58 AM

At several points in the film the editor uses a montage of quick scenes not only to condense time but also to convey the emotional curve of Mia and Seb’s relationship. This technique is used in a scene where Mia and Seb sing ‘City of Stars’ together at the piano. Connected physically in the same shot their performance reaffirms their love and commitment. However, this positive feeling is interrupted by a dissolve to a montage of scenes that shows them isolated from each other (7, 8). It isn’t until the editor dissolves back to the couple singing and laughing that the inference really resonates with the viewer. The momentary security they had initially felt for the couple’s relationship is replaced by a concern for their future. At this point the viewer’s feelings and those of the characters seem to have diverged. Perhaps the scene where the viewer empathises most with the characters is when Seb, who has been on tour, surprises Mia with a dinner. The austere, simple frame of a single close up and an over the shoulder mid-shot on each character allows the viewer to concentrate on the facial emotions of each character as well as their verbal conflict (9, 10). Any hope the viewer has for a revival of their relationship is soon frustrated. The conversation deteriorates when Seb defensively justifies his decision to join the band and play the music he dislikes and Mia reminds him he is not following his dream. At the peak of their argument the record finishes playing, the lack of music reinforcing a difficult silence. At this point the editor is not afraid to give the viewer time to appreciate the characters’ facial reactions. Whilst studying these responses the viewer is likely to draw on their own experience, modifying the depth of empathy they have for each character. The editing of the scene does not allow the viewer to empathise with one character over the other but encourages feelings for both of them. When the tears well up in Mia’s eyes the viewer may also physically empathise with her, becoming teary themselves (10). They may also feel for Seb in his silent frustration (9) but still hold out hope for a positive outcome. This scene is very much about what is left unsaid, either inferred by the actor’s interpretation or by the silences imposed by the edit. It is this subtext that entices the viewer to become involved emotionally.

6

7

8

9

10

18  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 18

8/13/21 9:58 AM

Five years later at SEB’s Jazz Club

11

If La La Land falls into the ‘feel good’ category a happy ending might be the expected outcome to the story. On screen text indicates that it is ‘Five years later’, Mia is as a successful actress but her marriage (not to Seb), a child and an expensive home come as a jolt to the viewer. What has happened to the two people who danced and sang? The final scenes conclude as a sort of epilogue. By chance one evening Mia and her husband go into a jazz club (11). When the Mia sees the logo she designed a few years ago she realises that Seb has also achieved his dream (12, 13). For the viewer this momentarily generates hope and expectation.

12

13

14

Mia and her husband take their seats near the stage (14). Seb notices Mia, and as they exchange looks there is an extended pause before he announces the next song. The long silence heightens the emotional impact for both the characters and the viewer. The connected eyelines accentuate the ‘private’ moment for Seb and Mia (15, 16). Seb stumbles overs his introduction and sits down to play the piano but again pauses to think; this action is also prolonged (17.1). He then starts to play their tune and as the camera moves in the lighting changes to isolate Seb (17.2). The reverse shot of Mia is treated in a similar way to separate her from her husband and the club (18). The choice to use a stylistic transition into the dream sequence has of course been made prior to the edit. It is in keeping with the visual stylisation of the film making the move into the subjective acceptable to the viewer. The montage of clips that follows transports the viewer into a fantasy world of ‘what if’s’.

15

16

Joy, frustration, sadness  19

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 19

8/13/21 9:58 AM

17.1

17.2

18

19

20

What if he had kissed her instead of brushing past the first time they met (19), what if they had gone to Paris (20), what if her play had been successful, what if they had stayed together and had a family (21), what if they had come to the club together tonight (22). It is joyful, colourful and poignant propelled by camera movement, dance and music and edited to evoke a nostalgic, perhaps ironic celebration. The dream concludes as the last notes of the tune come to rest returning to Mia and her husband in the same seats that Mia and Seb had occupied in the dream (23). As the film returns to real life both Mia and Seb are deep in thought. At this moment the viewer also reflects on what could have been, empathising with the characters and their unfulfilled dreams. They also anticipate the next move and ask ‘what will Mia and Seb do next’? The last emotional moment comes from a simple intercutting of close ups as Mia leaves and pauses to look back at Seb across the large crowded room, he looks up and their eyes connect (24–25). This brief interaction that has been constructed from eight reaction shots communicates much more than could have been established verbally. The timing of the cuts and the subtle performances invite the viewer to imagine what the two are thinking. Do they wish that life had been different? Are they happy with the decisions they made? Was it necessary for the arguments to spur them on to achieve their dreams? Ultimately the viewer feels for them, as in their chosen paths they have sacrificed love for ambition. How does the viewer feel when the moment is over, when Mia turns to leave and Seb starts to play the piano? Perhaps sad and a little flattened, perhaps there is an element of warmth and uplift left by the dance and music or perhaps more complicated emotions and questions arise. Asking, do we have to make sacrifices in the pursuit of creative ambition? Is it possible to have it all? The whole end scene has very little dialogue and the emotions experienced by the viewer are informed not only by the dream montage but also by their prior experience of all the events that have led up to this meeting. Each section has evoked an emotional tone and cued the viewer to empathise with the character’s struggle to fulfil their desires. The editor, by giving the viewer space to imagine, has encouraged their participation in forming the story.

21

20  Chapter 1  Moving Pictures: The Structuring of Story and Emotion

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 20

8/13/21 9:58 AM

It is our ability to imagine what it is like to be someone else and to let the emotions of others become our emotions is a large part of what makes us human. Our capacity to react to and with the emotions of fictional screen characters as though they are real makes film viewing powerful. 22

23

This chapter has touched on ideas of how the viewer contributes to story construction and emotional participation. It has also used film examples to discuss the involvement of the editor and the actor in guiding the viewer. By looking at complete film examples a more overall analysis has been applied with certain details focused on. The intention is for those ideas and examples to be used as a starting point for further exploration. The following chapters will use specific scenes to enable a more detailed discussion of editing.

24

25

Joy, frustration, sadness  21

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 21

8/13/21 9:58 AM

2 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 22

Montage ‘To me, pure cinema is pieces of film assembled. Any individual piece is nothing. But a combination of them creates an idea.’ (Alfred Hitchcock)1

The combining of pieces of film that Hitchcock is referring to is known as montage. The editor by placing one image or sound next to another seems to consciously motivate the film viewer to create new meaning. It is an active process where the viewer applies the information they receive in the first shot to that in the second and forge a connection that generates a different meaning from that of each individual shot. This concept was explored briefly in the Introduction where a story was derived from the sequential processing of the three pictures on the front cover. Montage is considered one of the basic tools of film narration and lies at the heart of editing. This chapter will firstly explore montage as part of film editing and as a constituent of film language from a historical perspective and secondly as an investigation into how the montage experiments and discussions of early filmmakers have been further developed and employed to elicit a number of responses from us, the viewer.

8/13/21 9:58 AM

In contemporary fiction films montage is often identified as a device to précis information such as situating a location or an era or helping set up a back-story or condensing time. It generally relies on an accumulation or build-up of information with the viewer often guided by a voice, either that of a narrator or of a character. It is rare for it to be purely a juxtaposition of disparate material. 20th Century Women (2016) makes use of montage to hint at each character’s background as well as inform the viewer of the key moments and significant cultural events of 1979. The film is both funny and poignant and features single parent Dorothea (Benning), who is bringing up her only child Jamie (Zumann) in a bohemian and liberal home. Jamie is on the cusp of becoming an adult. To guide him at this point in his life he is encouraged by his mother to form relationships with two young women, Julie (Fanning) and Abbie (Gerwig). The film follows the characters in their struggles and development. The opening of any film is not surprisingly ‘all important’; it sets the tone and mood, the time and place and it needs to be focused. In order to engage it needs to position the viewer quickly and precisely.

Inside a supermarket a women (Dorothea) and a young boy (Jamie) run towards the window to look at the burning car (4). A mid-shot of both allows the viewer

20th Century Women (2016 Dir. Mills, Ed. Jones)

2

(Screen shots are consecutive.) This is an example of a type of montage that starts with a dramatic event that precipitates a verbal reflection and commentary on the past. In this instance the verbal narration comes from two different points of view. The montage technique is mainly illustrative of the dialogue but the choice and positioning of the clips and still images with the voice seem to infer irony and a perhaps a self-referential comment on the use of montage. It succinctly sets the tone of the film that will follow and starts to inform the viewer of the mother-son relationship. This pre-title sequence opens with a shot looking down on a green sea rippled with waves. The text informs the viewer that it is Santa Barbara, 1979 (1). It cuts to a moving aerial wide shot of a leafy city suburb that is unlikely to have been shot in 1979 but is made convincing by the selective framing and through its juxtaposition with the previous text (2). The viewer is already expecting to ‘land’ somewhere below in this town. The cut to a closer top shot of a burning car (3) is surprising but the jolt is further heightened by the lack of sound effects under the dominant, fairly insistent but also ethereal, space-like music. Once on ground level the film enters a present continuous time and space for several shots.

1

3

4

Montage 23   23

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 23

8/13/21 9:58 AM

to assume that the car belongs to them (5). Over their point of view of the burning car a woman’s voice states ‘That was my husband’s Ford Galaxy’ (6). Through the positioning of the voice the viewer immediately assumes that it belongs to the woman in the previous shot. The event triggers the start of a memory for Dorothea and the montage sequence. She states, ‘We drove Jamie home from the hospital in that car’ (6). 5

6

7

Over the shot of a baby in an incubator the hands of an older woman touch the child. The viewer assumes that this is in the past and Dorothea’s visual memory of Jamie as a baby (7). A boy’s voice (Jamie) takes up her memory. Does the viewer connect the voice with the boy standing next to the older woman in the supermarket or just to the baby? (5, 7) As the camera gradually moves in he says ‘My mum was 40 when she had me, everyone told her she was too old to be a mother.’ Over the same shot Dorothea continues; ‘I put my finger through the little window and he squeezed my finger and I told him . . .’ (7) Over a black and white clip of a couple dancing her sentence continues ‘life is very big . . . .’ The clothing and dance movement seems to situate Dorothea’s memory in an earlier era, but is it her era? (8) However, the sudden jump to archive footage could also be seen as an ironic or playful comment on her remark. She finishes her sentence ‘. . . and unknown,’ with a cut to a big wide shot of stars in a galaxy. Again this could be seen as a playful comment on the grandness of her statement or a reference back to the car.

8

9

24 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 24

8/13/21 9:58 AM

Jamie takes up the memory ‘And she told me that there was animals . . . .’ This is placed against what appears to be one of Eadweard Muybridge’s animal locomotion studies of an elephant (c1887). The image is only out of context in the sense that it is not cohesive in time either with the era being talked of (c1964) or with Dorothea’s early life. Does the disjuncture suggest a quirky upbringing for Jamie? Or does he have a mother with an eclectic knowledge? 10

11

12

Each of the following clips is very short and cut to the rhythm of the speech. Jamie’s verbal list continues: ‘and sky’ . . . ‘and cities’ . . . . Why this sky, why is it golden? Has a bomb been blasted? Where is this city? Does it matter? When was the photograph taken? If it is New York is this city important to what happens next? Dorothea continues: ‘Music . . .’ over a still of Louis Armstrong (13); ‘movies. . .’ over a still taken from Casablanca (1942) at the moment Rick and Ilsa say goodbye and give up their love (14). Dorothea’s voice continues over the baby in the incubator: ‘he’d (Jamie) fall in love, have his own children, have passions, have meaning, have his mum and dad (15). Clips 8–14 if viewed without the voiceover are fairly unrelated. Some are black and white, some colour, some moving and some still and some relate to the same era and others not. Apart from them all coming from a past time frame to the film the viewer would be trying quite hard to form potential connections. However, once the voices are laid next to the images the viewer may immediately accept the images as the literal representation of the verbal meaning. The intonation of each voice implies a tone and a position from each person that may provoke in the viewer questions about why these particular images have been chosen and whether there is more to it than an illustration of the text.

13

14

Montage 25   25

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 25

8/13/21 9:58 AM

15

16

The next shot of Jamie on the phone seems to imply that things have moved forward from the previous montage (16). From the content of Jamie’s voiceover it is soon apparent that it is a continuation of the montage and his memory. Jamie: ‘and then they got divorced. My father moved back East and left the car with us. He calls on birthdays and Christmas. Last time I felt close to him was on my birthday . . . .’ There is a cut to a younger Jamie putting on the sunglasses (17); ‘. . . in 1974. He bought me mirrored sunglasses.‘ The viewer has experienced two very abbreviated and personal accounts of Jamie’s early years, from both his and his mother’s perspective. The rather unconnected images demonstrate just how selective memory can be but also highlight how differently Dorothea and Jamie have perceived the things he has experienced in childhood. This introduction forms the premise of the film as Dorothea who is self aware, strong and spirited acknowledges her age and how her experience is so different to Jamie’s by recruiting two younger women to help in his development. This film takes place in an era that is still hopeful and optimistic but on the cusp of change. How does the montage encourage the viewer to feel – do they experience positive emotions, enjoy the slight romantic naivety, are they confident that what will follow will ‘feel good’ or not?

17

26 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 26

8/13/21 9:58 AM

1. One plus one equals? The editor and the shot The editor by the selection, placement and timing of each shot and by its alignment with the verbal and aural information guides the viewer to make meaning, ask questions and elicit emotions. To do this the editor needs to ask questions: where does one piece of media start and at what point does it join to the next, and how does the viewer respond to the two pieces of information that are being juxtaposed? How do they feel and what do they understand at the point of transition? The ‘cut’ is the most frequently used transition between two pieces of media but why is this acceptable? The word ‘cut’ by definition means to make an opening, a slash, wound or perhaps a snip or a trim, all words that imply a sense of violence or division rather than cohesion. If an editor is to follow the generally accepted form that a film should hide its process of making in order for the viewer to concentrate on the unfolding story a question arises about the practice of making a cut. In film terminology a cut is the juncture from one piece of visual or aural information to another. This produces a dislocation for the viewer that can be an extreme leap from one location to another or a more subtle alignment from one angle to another of a continued piece of action. So why does the editor choose to cut rather than keep one extended shot? Why do we accept a jump or dislocation in the narrative and how can the juxtaposition of two elements divided by a cut progress a story?

As explored earlier when the viewer perceives visual and aural material there is an impulse to try to find meaning, but this interpretation often goes beyond the face value of the event that is being presented. To evolve a plausible story of the event the viewer applies schemata built from prior experience, but as new information is input they review and change their assumptions. In the commercial Points of View the viewer is encouraged by the verbal narration to reflect on and review their ideas rapidly over a short period of time. In each of the three shots the same man is seen running; if viewed singularly each shot will stimulate a particular meaning but viewed sequentially they form a narrative. The three shots are not disparate – they are joined by the physical movement of the man and connected by a shared environment. It is in the way each viewer brings their own individual ‘point of view’ that demonstrates their participation in constructing a film story. Here, in a similar style to the analysis of the images on the front cover, a possible interpretation has been put forward.

The screen shots from Points of View (1986), a 30 second commercial for The Guardian newspaper, show that the editor has chosen three fairly wide shots that allow the viewer to take in the man running and the environment surrounding him. To drive home the advertising message each shot pauses for a few frames and fades briefly to black at the point where there would normally be a cut. This transition adds emphasis to the verbal narration as it urges the viewer to consider what they are doing cognitively, but is the verbal guidance really necessary?

One plus one equals? The editor and the shot   27

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 27

8/13/21 9:58 AM

Points of View. Commercial for the Guardian newspaper (1986 Dir. Weiland) Below is an imagined interpretation that evolves over the three shots.

1. Narration ‘an event from one point of view gives one impression . . .’ 1.1

Interpretation In a run down area of a city a young man, possibly untrustworthy, runs determinedly away from some other men in a car who may be ‘trouble’. A woman watches; she is accustomed this behaviour.

1.2

2. Narration ‘. . . seen from another point of view it gives quite a different impression’

Interpretation Present-day, 1986, in a deprived, c19th-century built urban environment – one of those inner city environments that Mrs Thatcher (British Prime minister at the time) sought to clean up. The building work suggests the neighbourhood is being ‘done up’. A young man aggressively attempts to attack a wealthier older man. The older man is his landlord and has just raised the young man’s rent. The woman does not stop the young man, as she sympathises with his situation. The men in the car have also been cheated and have coerced the young man into recovering their money.

2.1

2.2

28 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 28

8/13/21 9:58 AM

3. Narration ‘. . . but it’s only when you get the whole picture you can fully understand what is going on’.

Interpretation Forced to live in a rundown neighbourhood that is now being demolished, a young man sees his uncle; he is in danger as an insecure crane load wobbles overhead. Just in time he runs and pulls him to safety. Not recognising his nephew the man assumes he is being robbed and raises his briefcase to protect himself. From the second floor of a newly renovated building the owner witnesses his bravery and decides to reward the young man. The viewer’s interpretation above continually evolves but it is the final tag line in its attempt to promote the newspaper’s integrity that highlights how our desire to make events coherent can sometimes lead to false assumptions. The commercial demonstrates how the viewer uses schema derived from the real world to categorise a character ‘type’. It also shows how our tendency to uphold first impressions strongly influences our expectations and feelings towards a character. Here the third shot overturns initial assumptions, eliciting a new set of emotions towards the young man. This scenario lasts only 30 seconds, but it shows that if enough information is held back in the first two shots the viewer can initially be misled in their interpretation, with the denouement revealing as much about the viewer as the character. The commercial uses a stylistic transition between shots rather than using a cut. This allows for a moment’s pause and assimilation; however, it still requires the editor to gauge the exact moment to leave one shot and enter the next.

3.1

3.2

One plus one equals? The editor and the shot   29

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 29

8/13/21 9:58 AM

2. Cinema before and after the cut At the beginning of cinema films were shot and projected as one continuous piece of film. As in Le Jardinier (1895) these were usually from one perspective, fairly front on and wide enough for the audience to see all the action but none of the detail.

Le Jardinier (Dirs. Lumiére 1895) In early films the lack of ‘cuts’ was not so much a conscious choice but more a product of the mechanics of the making and the showing of film at that time. This produced an effect similar to a theatrical performance with the viewer restricted to one ‘view’, often a wide shot where characters moved in and out of frame. For viewers the novelty of looking at one continuous moving image soon diminished and early film exhibitors, impresarios and film producers began to search for new ways of attracting and exciting audiences both in terms of content and form. The action in this scene takes place in a single static wide shot. The moment the second person enters the frame and steps towards the hosepipe the viewer already knows what is going to happen. There is of course humour in anticipating what will happen to a character or in being a knowing witness but could a closer shot of the man’s foot on the hosepipe or the surprise on the face of the gardener have heightened the humour? Or could a shot of the second man watching the gardener before he steps on the hosepipe have added tension?

1.1

1.2

1.3

30 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 30

8/13/21 9:58 AM

The Kiss in the Tunnel (1899 Dir. Smith) Filmmakers discovered that by isolating and showing selected elements the viewer could be drawn into the drama that was unfolding. These could be a particular moment in a longer scenario; perhaps a snatched kiss in a train tunnel (1) or a selected detail from a scenario covered in a wide shot such as the expression on a face, the hand covering a gun in a pocket or a cat cradled. This film is an early example of film editing. By interrupting the flow of a continuous shot with selective details the editor has discovered they can engage the viewer far more in the story than if it was played out in a single wide shot.

1

How could this disruption be used to further manipulate the viewer’s emotional experience? How can the editor influence the viewer’s actions and opinions?

2

3

Cinema before and after the cut   31

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 31

8/13/21 9:58 AM

3. Cinema as montage: acknowledging disruption in early Soviet cinema In the context of editing it is important to look at the early Soviet filmmakers and their films. They were not the first to experiment with what editing can achieve in film storytelling, but they took their investigations further, developing a theoretical approach that they then went on to document. The young revolutionary filmmakers in the new Soviet state sought an alternative form of film construction. Striving to combine artistic innovation with social purpose they looked for a method of performance that did not perpetuate the theatricality of Russian films. Lev Kuleshov, Soviet filmmaker and theoretician, noticed that American films of the time such as Teddy at the Throttle (1917 Dir, Badger), provoked a very engaged audience response. He remarked on this in his essay ‘Amercanitis’: ‘the public especially “feels” American films’.2 Early Russian cinema had a distinctly different style to American films where psychological moments, often tragic, were signified by long pauses and gestures. Captured in a single shot they attempted to engage the audience in the ‘film story’ solely through the acting. Kuleshov observed that in American films the emotional emphasis was not reliant on an actor’s facial expression but was achieved by ‘the method of their (the shots) connection and their alternation’.3 By cutting together a series of close shots or narrative details they encouraged the viewer to interpret an implied space and time. This changed the quality of the events on screen making them dynamic, emotionally engaging and very much film drama. After the Russian Civil war Kuleshov joined the state film school as a teacher. It was here that he and the other filmmakers started to investigate new ways of acting that were less gestural and more cinematic in their method of expressing emotion. Many of his contemporaries were exploring and conducting experiments but Kuleshov in his quest wrote and discussed what he found. He talked of how he was able to depict a woman that in actuality did not exist but through shooting ‘the lips of one, the legs of another, the back of a third and the eyes of a fourth’ he was able to create a totally new person on screen through editing.4 He also notes how when watching a contemporary film a portrait of Tsar Nicholas II is seen hanging on the wall of a priest’s house. The revolutionary Red Army occupies the village and the priest, who is frightened, turns the picture over to reveal the face of Lenin on the reverse side. The audience and Kuleshov find this scene extremely comic and perceive that Lenin is smiling in the portrait. Later under further investigation Kuleshov

identifies that the familiar picture actually shows Lenin with a serious face. He concludes that it is the contextual placement of the portrait shot within the sequence that makes Lenin appear to smile; ‘In other words the work of the actor was changed by montage’.5 Through his analysis of the viewer’s response Kuleshov has identified how psychological behaviour is activated when one image cuts to the next and how this and the contextual circumstances can affect the viewer’s appreciation of a character’s emotions. In trying to find a connection between two pieces of disparate information the viewer has to accommodate a cut, an abrupt break when the continuous flow of one piece of visual information is replaced by the next. How does the viewer deal with this and what cognitive processes do they use in response to a cut? The viewer perceives all cuts as an interruption. They demand both psychological and physiological responses but some require more attention than others, particularly those that are perceived as discontinuous. As Smith remarks, the greater the visual discontinuity, the higher the level of cognitive activity needed to process the information.6 A stimulus that causes a sudden sensory change, drawing attention or provoking a question, such as ‘what is it?’ triggers a set of cognitive reactions to process the information. This is known as the OR , the Orienting Response. According to Smith ‘an OR immobilises the body whilst increasing the senses’ ability to acquire information’.7 This is in order to increase attention and channel cognitive resources to process the information. Every cut has the potential to trigger an OR, and if the level of discontinuity is sufficient the concentration of cognitive resources will improve comprehension of the information. This intellectual activity will then stimulate engagement with the unfolding story. However, if the stimuli are too challenging (extreme discontinuities) a cognitive overload will occur, resulting in the deterioration of decoding story information and a lack of engagement. A viewer’s attention is of course not only captured by the formal aspects of editing but also by the content of the material as Kuleshov’s example demonstrates. The viewer’s desire to make sense of visual and aural change can be manipulated by the editor to affect how they emotionally relate to the material. The combination of emotional and cognitive activity can stimulate the viewer to make connections, arriving, as in the above example, with an answer to the perceptual question ‘how does he feel?’ This implies an emotion in the character and a performance from the actor.

32 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 32

8/13/21 9:58 AM

Developing a thesis from experimentation Kuleshov’s experiment was simple and seemed convincing, but although some actors may have found it a little intimidating the ideas were exciting and of great potential value to editors and directors. For Vsevolod Pudovkin, Kuleshov’s contemporary, the results of the ‘montage’ experiments confirmed the importance and power of film editing in the construction of film narrative. Stating that ‘Film-art begins from the moment the director begins to combine and join together the various pieces of film’, he went on to identify this film art as ‘montage or constructive editing ’.8 Pudovkin was interested not only in telling a continuous story but also in the tonal and emotional meaning of that story. In his book Film Technique he describes his dilemma when editing a scene in Mother (1929). The Mother (Baranovskaya) visits her son (Batalov) in prison and passes him a note revealing that he will soon be freed. Pudovkin considers the challenge of conveying the son’s joy, deciding that if it were shown facially it would be ‘flat and void of effect’. He chose instead to intercut a close up of the son’s nervous hands and a slight smile with shots of ‘a brook, swollen with the rapid flow of spring, of the play of sunlight broken on the water, birds splashing in the village pond and finally a laughing child ’.9 With these choices he intended the viewer ‘not to be affected by the psychological performance of the actor, but by plastic synthesis through editing’.10 When looking at the film the shot description above is not entirely accurate but it does convey Pudovkin’s desire to construct a series of images that would guide the viewer in realising the emotional meaning of the scene. This section of the film takes place after the mother has passed a letter to her son and he returns to his cell. The two juxtaposed locations that follow feel natural and believable, inferring themes of freedom and the rebirth of spring. Several wider shots inside the cell show the son furtively trying to look at something unnoticed by the guards.

Developing a thesis from experimentation   33

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 33

8/13/21 9:58 AM

Mother (1929 Dir. Pudovkin)

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

(Screen shots are consecutive) It is a letter (1). The close up is held long enough for the viewer to read the details of a plan for his release the following day. No longer needed, the letter is crumpled and dropped. The very big close up of the son’s eyes that follows, with the text title ‘tomorrow’ positions the viewer to understand his thoughts and anticipation of freedom (2). The size and angle of the shot of the son confronting the camera gives an intense feeling of anxiety but does the hint of a smile also suggest hope? The direct confrontation forces the viewer to imagine the son’s thoughts, but it also seems to place a feeling of responsibility onto them. A further title card on black states ‘Tomorrow’, reinforcing feelings of suspense and anticipation. In a wider shot the viewer witnesses the son in the context of his prison cell gripping the seat in expectation of ‘tomorrow’ (3). The swirling, flowing water (4) that follows clearly signifies the son’s hopes of freedom and his emotional state. Juxtaposed with his hand gripping the bench (5) the viewer can sense his barely held back emotion as he waits. The cut to his chest moving with deep breaths reinforces his anticipation that the moment of freedom is near (6). The shots of the laughing child and water that follow seem to indicate the son’s less controlled inner emotions, building in joyful optimism (7–11). Having seen the child in a previous ‘spring’ sequence the viewer assumes that this is the son’s child and the shots anticipate a reunion. Another extreme close up of the son (12) seems convey an intensification of inner turmoil. Is it the same shot as earlier? And if so does it seem more joyful? A further close up of swirling water predicts the movement in the next shot as the son leaps to his feet, no longer able to contain his inner joy. In this sequence from Mother Pudovkin has tried to influence the viewer’s emotions by inferring thematic connections between images. In the context of the whole story the viewer may empathise with the son, as a common man who embodies the cause of the oppressed people. The viewer may experience hope that the promise of release will be kept and share the son’s joy but also feel anxious that something may go wrong.

34 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 34

8/13/21 9:58 AM

Theory and practice: Eisenstein It may seem a little obvious to point out that cinema is not theatre, but it is important to consider the differences in their power to affect an audience. When Bazin remarked ‘The human is all-important in the theatre’ he was identifying that it is the physicality of live events that play out in real time with actual people that is key to why we find it so engaging. He went to point out that cinema is different, ‘the drama on the screen can exist without actors. A banging door, a leaf in the wind, waves beating on the shore can heighten dramatic effect’.11 Thus, indicating that storytelling in cinema need not rely solely on the ability of the actors but has the opportunity to use other means of affect. In his analysis of cinema Eisenstein wrote, ‘in cinema we are not dealing with an event, but the image of an event. If shot from one viewpoint, the result will be the depiction of that event and not a perception of the event capable of making the viewer experience it sympathetically’.12 Similar to Pudovkin, he is also pointing out that the reliance on the mere recording of an event with a static camera is not necessarily enough to hold the viewer’s emotional engagement. So how can the editor help to make up for the lack of ‘live’ that is absent from a recording or ‘depiction’ of an event? How can they expose the viewer not only to the literal meaning of an event but also to the essence of it? Eisenstein in his practice of montage and in his discussion of the concept stated that meaning in cinema is not inherent in any filmed object. It is created by the collision of two elements through juxtaposition, and it is through this process that the meaning of the whole is defined.13 Eisenstein criticises Pudovkin’s principle of montage as the ‘linking’ of a series of shots, as in a chain or an arrangement of ‘bricks’ that illustrate an idea or emotional tone.14 Montage for Eisenstein was about the juxtaposition of difference where two shots with disparate content when placed next to each other stimulated at the point of impact or collision a thought process.15 He wanted the viewer to make connections that would initiate ideas and to elicit emotions that might promote change. Eisenstein called this process of editing Intellectual Montage in recognition of the brain’s ability to make sense both emotionally and intellectually of an arrangement of unrelated fragments. In his discussion of film form Eisenstein talks of the need for filmmakers to take a dialectical approach to the organisation of their material. Key to this is the need for the viewer in processing two contradictory opposites to

constantly evolve their comprehension of the ‘conflicts’. This dynamic process stirs up opposing ideas from which intellectual concepts are forged. He points out that the dynamic effect of montage not only arises from a temporal shot-to-shot counterpoint but also spatially within the shot. He identified different categories of conflict within the shot that could serve as conflicts between colliding shots, as montage. These he listed as graphic conflict, conflict of planes, conflict of volumes, spatial conflict, light conflict and tempo conflict and further examples.16 Before delving a little deeper into the impact of montage on the viewer’s participation in visual and aural storytelling it is important to note that Eisenstein wanted to create expressive dialectical works that he hoped would precipitate a political and social change in the human condition. He was not creating ‘art for art’s sake’; he wanted his films through the force of visual ‘collision’ to arouse an emotional reaction that might inspire viewers to transform their own social situation. Many of his films are retellings of the historical events of his time; a scene from The Strike (1925) is analysed below. In the final scene from The Strike, Eisenstein has not only created through montage dynamic psychological and emotional relationships but also rhythmic tensions via ‘cinematographic’ conflicts within the frame. The white arrows on the screen grabs that follow indicate the directional flow of the action within each shot. This is to highlight the dynamic and rhythmic juxtaposition across the scene. The film takes place in pre–Soviet Russia where workers revolt against the injustice and humiliation of the factory owners and the Tsarist regime. Even though it promotes the possibilities of collective organisation, here in the final scene the unity of the strike is supressed with the workers being driven into a field by the army and slaughtered. This scene cuts between shots of the strikers being crushed with the butchering of a bull in an abattoir. The two unrelated events each exist in a different time and space, but Eisenstein has created a chain of psychological association eliciting in the viewer a sympathetic empathy for the workers in the scene. Not only does the subject of ‘butchering’ and its associative link to the human carnage trigger emotion but the spatial dynamics within and between the shots also serve to intensify the affect. The counterflow of the movements and compositional design generates visual juxtapositions at the cut point, placing a further demand on the viewer’s cognitive resources.

Theory and practice: Eisenstein   35

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 35

8/13/21 9:58 AM

The Strike (1925 Dir. Eisenstein)

1

2

3

4

5

6

Screen shots 1-16 and 17-22 are consecutive The scene opens with a hand gripping a knife that sweeps from top right to bottom left almost cutting the frame in half (1). The viewer might ask who or what is this powerful knife cutting into? Is it the hundreds of people who tumble down a hill moving top left to bottom right in the next shot? (2). The shot conflict might generate a question. Why are they rushing towards the knife? Panic stricken, the teaming people run, crossing the frame back and forth in counter flow (4–5). The conflict of movement is dynamic both graphically and rhythmically. The same knife comes down again, sharp and hard (6), with the action appearing to continue in the next shot as the knife plunges into the bull’s skull (7). But, this isn’t a continuous flow; Eisenstein has purposefully repeated the first part of the action, thereby emphasising the content of the shot. In a large wide shot the huge bull falls heavily to the ground (8). Is it over for the people, as it seems to be for the bull? Multitudes of hands are held up silhouetted against the sky, the light and dark conflicting (9). Vulnerable and unarmed they seem to be pleading to stay alive. The bull (the people) is not dead yet. The butcher walks (marches) deliberately forward holding a rope (10). Is this to tie up the multitudes? (11)

7

8

9

10

11

12

Armed guards advance down the hill (12). The butcher’s knife again slices into the bull’s throat (13). Eisenstein is repeating the moment of death, violently reinforcing the connection.

36 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 36

8/13/21 9:58 AM

As the guards fire and the workers flee, the flow from shot to shot is now in the same direction, creating a sense of speed and urgency (12, 14). The armed guards fire (14), the butcher finishes the cut and the blood flows out (15). But the bull is still alive; it wants to live, so the knife goes in again (16). As the guards and workers come together in the same shots (17, 18) Eisenstein cuts to three shots of the bull dying (19–21). The final shot shows its blood gushing out. Juxtaposed with the dead staring animal is a wide shot of the mass of workers, also static, dead, their bodies piled on top of each other, hitting home the message (22). The feet of the guards move on to quell a further uprising; a panning shot confirms that the workers are dead, and in a big close up, the eyes of a man frown at the viewer. It is Strongin, whose suicide precipitated the revolutionary strike.

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

Title cards convey the final thoughts. ‘And like bloody unforgettable scars on the body of the proletariat lay the wounds of Lena, Talka, Zlatoust, Yaroslavl, Tsaritsyn and Kostroma’ A flash cut to the same face now open and not frowning cautions the viewer – ‘Remember’, ‘Proletarians’ (Title cards). (Note: these final shots are not shown here) The strong emotion that the viewer feels is the result of Eisenstein placing two dramatic and shocking events one after the other. The collision of these intense actions of carnage and the thematic comparisons made produce an effect that is both dramatic and ‘epic’.17 The tension the viewer may feel is enhanced by the energy generated at the cut either by the conflict of movement and rhythms from shot to shot or by the graphic conflict within each shot. Eisenstein was very aware that if he employed symbolism too literally a stylistic mannerism could make the film lifeless and it would lose its emotional essence. In this scene tension has been created by holding back information; the possibility of a massacre has been inferred but not revealed until the last few shots that show the ‘butchered’ strikers. By determining a length of shot that gives the viewer just time to assimilate the content but not long enough for the association to feel mannered he has managed to apply a metaphor that feels uncontrived.

Theory and practice: Eisenstein   37

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 37

8/13/21 9:59 AM

4. Developing intellectual montage In his film October (1928), Eisenstein attempts more of a commentary on the Bolshevik revolution and its significance than a dramatisation of the actual story as he had done in his films The Strike and Battleship Potemkin (1925). An excerpt from a scene at the Winter Palace tests his concept of ‘intellectual dynamisation’ by making an ironic comment on the ambitious character of Alexander Kerensky and his rise to power. Here as Eisenstein points out, counterpoint produces a comic effect that leads the viewer to make an intellectual assessment of Kerensky’s character as he climbs the palace stairs; that he may be ‘unequal to his swiftly increasing duties’.18 As Eisenstein notes intertitles stating the ascending ranks of ‘Dictator’, ‘Generalissimo’ (Supreme Commander); ‘ Minister of the Navy – and the Army, etc. are intercut with Kerensky ascending the same flight of stairs each time (1-10).

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Screen shots are selected from sequence.

38 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 38

8/13/21 9:59 AM

October: (Ten Days that Shook the World) (1928. Dir. Eisenstein) Selected screen shots. The use of visual metaphor continues, satirising Kerensky as he ascends the stairs. Reaching the imposing doors he waits to enter, his back is turned to the Tsar’s footmen (1). Hidden from view they grin, joke and share comments (2, 4, 7). The viewer infers through the juxtaposition of their faces with closeups of Kerensky’s immaculate booted feet and gloved hands that their comments refer to his self-importance (2–7). The grinning faces of the footmen confirm the viewer’s assessment of Kerensky’s character made earlier. The closeups are not from the perspective of the footmen; it is only through their placement that the viewer assumes they are the topic of the conversation.

1

2

3

4

5

6

A metallic mechanical peacock moves its head and wings, performing a proud dance as Kerensky waits to enter the room. The short shots of the peacock flourishing its feathers are intercut with the close ups of boots and gloves, the use of juxtaposition pushing the point further (9–14). The intercutting increases in pace, the fluttering dance reduced to more abstract close and short shots until the doors open.

7

8

Before Kerensky moves through the doors their opening action is repeated three times, mimicking the opening of the bird’s wings and dramatising his entrance. Eisenstein pokes further fun at Kerensky’s pretension to grandeur by cutting between the rear of the bird and the opening of the door.

9

10

By the choice and arrangement of the images and intertitles the viewer has made an intellectual assessment of Kerensky’s character. It is almost as if the pictures represent words that might describe his character, but this is achieved without their verbal expression; the viewer has inferred a performance and made assumptions about Kerensky’s character.

11

12

13

14

A closeup of Karensky (8) and a fellow officer move the effect of the montage in another direction. The size of the shot and his stance seems to infer that what comes next might be a reflection of his thoughts. However instead it is a piece of metaphorical mockery at Kerensky’s expense.

Developing intellectual montage   39

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 39

8/13/21 9:59 AM

British filmmaker Anthony Asquith made A Cottage on Dartmoor in 1929. The son of the liberal prime minster, he had the means and the opportunity to view Eisenstein’s films, some of which were banned at that time in Britain. The film uses montage to convey a character’s inner state, demonstrating just how influential Soviet filmmakers were to developments in film form at this time. The following analysis will draw parallels between the editing of A Cottage on Dartmoor and Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin (1925) and October (1928). A Cottage on Dartmoor was made at the cusp of the ‘talkies’ and although ‘silent’ the setting of the film story shows a fascination with speech in the gossiping environment of a barbershop where Joe (Henning) and Sally (Baring) work as barber and manicurist. Joe is in love with Sally, but Harry (Schlettow), one of the customers, charms her and they become engaged. Joe is jealous and eventually attacks Harry with a cut-throat razor. The three excerpts show a developing editing pattern in their use of montage. This builds from images that simply represent the meaning of spoken words, to how the content of the images and the editing rhythm infer the tonal quality of speech, to a more subjective use where the juxtaposition implies a psychological state. The first example, ‘A flower in her buttonhole’, deals with the challenge of no sound in a world dominated by ‘talk’.

40 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 40

8/13/21 9:59 AM

A Cottage on Dartmoor (1929 Dir. Asquith) A flower in her buttonhole Selected screen shots Joe has spent an evening at the boarding house where Sally stays, and desiring to seal what he thinks is a mutual feeling between them he decides to take her a bouquet of flowers the following morning. The note in the flowers, ‘wear one for me and give me hope’ falls to the ground. Sally, unaware of the giver, assumes they are from Harry and pins a flower in her buttonhole.

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

Several juxtapositions between Joe’s client to a cackling hen remind the viewer of the peacock in October, but here they are a metaphor for the tone of the customer’s voice and Joe’s repressed irritation at his persistent chatter (25–28). At this point the montage starts to function on a psychological level, the disparate images indicating to the viewer Joe’s internal thoughts.

23

24

Harry asks Sally to the cinema, something she agrees to without hesitation. Joe follows them; unnoticed, he witnesses their evening together. Each indication of Harry and Sally’s growing love provokes in Joe a flashback of his few moments with her: an imagined kiss, and also a fantasised killing.

25

26

27

28

At work Joe notices the flower and mistakes this for her reciprocal feelings (15–16). He chats happily with the customers. The intercutting of newsreel clips represents the content of Joe’s small talk (17–20). When Sally enters instead of looking at Joe she smiles and walks towards Harry in the chair next to Joe, who notes their interaction (21–22). As the days go by – signalled by pages torn from a calendar and multiple manicures it is clear that Harry cannot stay away. Again, Joe notices it all. Further newsreel montage represents the incessant chatter of Joe’s garrulous client. Joe ignores his client, distracted by Harry showing Sally the picture of his new purchase, a farm on Dartmoor. This incurs feelings of jealousy and frustration in Joe (23–24). The increased speed of the action in the newsreel clips and their short shot length parallels the speed of his client’s one-way conversation.

Developing intellectual montage   41

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 41

8/13/21 9:59 AM

Graphic conflict The previous scene dissolves to next morning in the barbershop where Joe is sharpening his razor on a leather strap and overhears his female colleagues gossiping about Harry and Sally’s relationship (1–2). The graphic positioning of the leather strap and the flash of the razor that Joe sharpens accentuates the two women’s bickering gossip but it also creates a visual tension that resonates with the suppressed feelings that Joe is hiding.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Joe sharpens the razor Selected screen shots As Sally enters, she overhears them say, ‘he’ll never marry her’ (shown as an intertitle) and proves them wrong by displaying her new engagement ring (3–4). As they continue their banter the editor cuts between two alternate shots, each from the opposite angle (5, 6). Both include Joe’s hand sharpening the razor in the foreground and the women in the background. There are 15 shots in this alignment. As the two women on either side of Joe argue more intensely, they lean in towards the camera and the motion of his hand becomes harsher. The shot length decreases from 12 seconds to 1 and 2 seconds inferring the heatedness of the women’s interaction. Each movement seems to be an expression of Joe’s thoughts. His face is hidden from view but his frustration and pent-up anger is conveyed through his action and the divided frame. The flash of the razor’s blade hints at the possibility of vengeance. The scene reaches a climax when he cuts through the leather and storms off. The cross that is generated at the cut by the juxtaposition of the diagonals fractures the frame, making the viewer feel perceptually uncomfortable (7, 8). The graphic conflict creates a visual tension in order to convey a dramatic tension. This, combined with the increasingly fast alternation of images, gives a rhythmic dynamism to the scene that elicits in the viewer a mounting feeling of fear for Joe and a question. Will he actually carry out his fantasy? The framing of the two women through the strap also seems to comment on and convey a tonal meaning to their vicious speech. As Smith notes, the ‘“violence” and power of the social embodied in gossip, vividly realised by the physically threatening image of the razor’ is placed centrally in the scene.19 For the entire scene the viewer never sees Joe’s face; there is only his back and the action of his hand counterpointed in the frame with the gossip of the women. It is this alternation that infers his emotion. The

scene presents several layers of possible meaning simultaneously. The viewer’s response is informed by their prior knowledge of Joe’s love and jealousy, but the movement of the open razor is also implicitly frightening. Although Joe’s performance indicates his inner confusion it is the graphic conflict of the bisected screen, reminiscent of the planes and lines in Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin (1925), that promotes an intellectual engagement.

42 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 42

8/13/21 9:59 AM

In Battleship Potemkin Eisenstein treats the story of the actual mutiny of the battleship’s crew and the slaughter of civilians on the Odessa steps selectively, choosing to pursue an artistic truth rather than a factual one. Eisenstein notes ‘Potemkin looks like a chronicle (or newsreel) of an event, but it functions as a drama’.20 It is by accentuating the expressive potential of the event that he aims to provoke a dialectical response in the viewer. The film drama is in five acts, portraying the 1905 mutiny by the crew of the Russian Navy’s battleship Potemkin in the rebellion against their Tsarist naval officers.

Battleship Potemkin (1925 Dir. Eisenstein) The Odessa Steps sequence The sequence is conveyed by the rhythmic structure of the montage juxtaposing shots that demand an intellectual participation that results in emotive empathy. It is a conflict between the unstructured chaos of the people (11) and the precise organised movements of the Militia (12), where rhythm carries it all ‘organically’ onwards.

11

12

On viewing the sequence it feels as though it is a generalisation of the slaughter on the steps. It is constructed to convey an impression of the devastation of the unarmed people against the powerful machine of the Tsar. However, within the whole sequence there are several moments where the emphasis is placed specifically on personal drama encouraging a brief empathy with an individual, but once these events are over the sequence moves relentlessly forward, building on its core message.

Graphic conflict  43

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 43

8/13/21 9:59 AM

Death of the boy and his mother Screen shots 13-25 are consecutive, 26-28 are selected. Eisenstein’s focus on specific individuals is a way of saying: here is what happened to two people but this is also what happened to many. In this section Eisenstein employs at least four out of his five principle conflicts; most of them are easily defined in the screen shots. Not only is this sequence continuous action but it also uses a cause-and-effect structure with subjective details. The cut from the soldiers shooting (13) with a crash of cymbal’s in the music to the boy falling leaves the viewer in no doubt that he has been shot by them (14). The viewer’s anxiety for the child is heightened by the graphic conflict in the shot composition as his body lies across the steps. The conflict between the light and dark of the steps accentuates their hard texture and the overall perspective of each shot. It also makes a visual counterpoint with the downward movement of the people running.

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

His mother keeps running (15). The viewer’s concern is likely to increase as they witness the boy’s injury in closeup (16). His cry is inaudible but the viewer hears a ‘silent’ cry. Is it this inner cry that makes his mother turn? (17) The structure changes to the mother’s point of view as she turns towards the camera (18). As the boy’s body goes limp, she screams (19, 20).

44 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 44

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Through big closeups the viewer then witnesses the mother reacting to the unstoppable movement of people as they trample her son’s body in an attempt to evade the bullets (21–25).

21

23

22

24

Turning, she picks up the boy and climbs the steps to meet the soldiers, pleading for them not to shoot. The angle and spatial composition heightens the tension and emphasises her vulnerability (26). However, her plea to end the violence is pointless. The descending movement of the militia is unstoppable. Throughout this excerpt Eisenstein uses graphic montage to intensify the action. This is not only by the collision of the vertical and horizontal graphic elements between shots but also within them. The choice of showing the mother’s moment of death in a high angle wide shot with conflicting planes seems to intensify her powerless position (28). Rhythm plays a purposeful and unrelenting role in this sequence. Not only is it created by the visual patterning within and between shots encouraging the viewer to make spatial associations but also in the tempo of the action.

25

26

27

28

Eisenstein considered the impact of shot length, putting forward the idea that the shorter the length, regardless of the shot content, the more tense the scene. In his theory of metric montage he proscribed an ‘absolute’ length with a formula that corresponded to a measure of music.21 He noted that the clarity brought by the laws of the formula united the ‘pulsing’ of the film with the ‘pulsing’ of the viewer. Pudovkin was in agreement, mentioning that ‘Quick short pieces rouse excitement, while long pieces have a soothing effect’.22 However, Eisenstein later admitted that the rhythmic pounding of the soldier’s feet descending the Odessa Steps had violated ‘all metrical demands’. When determining the shot length for this particular scene he gave the content within the frame equal priority. The length of each shot is generally short, varying from 6 frames (20) to 17 and 22 frames (24, 25) with longer, 1 second 12 when we see the mother’s viewpoint of the boys running (23).

Graphic conflict  45

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 45

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Rhythmic montage Later in the scene the rhythm imposed by the soldier’s feet transfers to a new rhythm as a dying mother starts the downward motion of her child in a pram. Eisenstein notes ‘The carriage (pram) functions as a directly progressing accelerator of the advancing feet’.23 The progress of the pram is extended by many cuts that break the action, increasing the viewer’s anxiety for the child. The pram finally tips forward and Eisenstein cuts to a Tsarist Cossack who in 2 or probably 3 shots appears to slice with his sword three times towards the camera.

Baby in the pram 1–5 The last shots of the scene. The cut from pram to Cossack is shocking and seems to imply that he is killing the baby (1, 2). The second and third shot jump in closer but the action of the third swipe is an illusion created by the cut to the next shot (4). This is of a woman screaming, the glass of her pince-nez glasses fractured, her eye bloody (5). Is her gasping reaction to the killing of the baby or has the Cossack’s sword cut her as she defends the baby?

1

2

3

4

5

6

By placing each shot after the other the viewer assumes that the three elements are connected in time and space. This sequence is very short with most of the 5 shots under a second in length. Here is an estimate of shot lengths in frames: 1 = 15 2= 10 3 = 14 4 = 19 5 = over 30 to include fade out The steps sequence concludes with a swift fade to black. The crew of the battleship fire in retaliation on the city opera house where Tsarist officials are meeting. Having to face the rest of the Tsarist fleet there is a tense time before the sailors eventually show their solidarity with the rebels. At the end of the film Eisenstein strikingly inserts two shots of a flag hand tinted red onto the black and white film (6). The red flag is clearly a symbol of the revolution but the conflict of the isolated colour within the homogeneity of the black and white image is used to dramatic effect.

Asquith also uses a red frame, very short shot lengths, close framing and disparate images in one of the last climatic scenes in A Cottage on Dartmoor. Finally, Joe’s hidden unreciprocated love and jealously is exposed. A dynamic juxtaposition of non-diegetic images is used to express the emotion that Joe fails to control. An emotion that seems to govern his reasoning leads him to threaten Harry with the razor he is shaving him with.

46 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 46

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Joe Attacks Harry Screen shots 10–18 are consecutive. Each image lasts for only a few frames but the emotional impact that results from their accumulation suggests the breaking point that Joe has reached. This reaction is triggered when Joe sees Sally and Harry affectionately touching hands (9).

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

An optical iris effect is placed over the image and a point of view structure indicates to the viewer that Joe is dwelling on what he has just seen (8–10). The montage lasts about two seconds and starts with a breaking steel cable (11) followed by a series of violent gun explosions that seem to indicate Joe’s state of mind. This is then confirmed by an intertitle, ‘Don’t move or I’ll cut your throat!’ (11–18). The alternating angles, bright white flashes and dark smoking barrels of the guns build to a fast crescendo as if the idea of killing Harry has erupted finally in Joe’s mind. The guns and wire cable have nothing to do with the events being played out but by juxtaposition they are inextricably connected. The red flash of 8 frames is a bold moment that makes the viewer feel that Joe has actually killed Harry. Unlike the red flag in Potemkin that was used as a celebration, the red here signifies a more negative emotion. Is it a red mental explosion as Joe finally breaks or does it signal his moment of decision? The following shot reinstates Joe fixed in the same position with his blade hovering over Harry’s throat (17). This montage is an illustration of Joe’s internal state, an expression of his emotion. The impact felt by the viewer is framed by their knowledge of Joe’s character, the imagined killing in the cinema sequence and his reaction to the women gossiping.

Rhythmic montage  47

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 47

8/13/21 10:00 AM

5. One plus one multiplied This section looks beyond the early pioneers and theorists; it travels with montage as a key cinematic technique, a technique that varies in its degree of application and complexity. Montage is considered at the heart of all filmmaking and cinematic storytelling, but why have few used it in quite the same way as Eisenstein’s intellectual montage? Perhaps the answer can be found with the advent of synchronised sound, where filmmakers grew to rely on dialogue or sound effects to progress the narrative. Versions of montage are more likely to be found that lean towards Pudovkin’s thematic linking, where shot juxtaposition draws less attention to itself and methods of viewer engagement are less disruptive. Still a very powerful editing tool, montage is rarely used for the entirety of a feature length film and when used it is commonly situated alongside continuity editing. Eisenstein and Asquith were exploring ways to immerse the viewer in both the external and internal perspective of a character. This section will look into how montage can help enhance the viewer’s visceral experience of a film as well as their appreciation of a character’s inner cerebral process. Soviet cinema has been praised and their lessons applied by filmmakers worldwide. The following examples from Hollywood and mainstream cinema will analyse how the theories and techniques of the Soviet filmmakers have been applied to evoke emotion and engage the viewer.

empathetic ‘closeness’ to the character. Thereby the viewer is almost ‘living’ the event with the character rather than just experiencing it at an intellectual level. It is suggested that physical empathy and emotional empathy feed into each other progressively.25 If a screen character or event attracts the immediate sensory attention of the viewer (perception), the viewer then experiences it with the character (emotional) and finally that experience is then evaluated more objectively (cognitive). So, in their experience of fictional events the viewer moves in and out of immersion. The editor can encourage this physical and psychological immersion by stimulating the empathetic feelings a viewer has in a character’s situation. It is no coincidence that Alfred Hitchcock felt it was crucial to ‘draw the audience right inside the situation instead of leaving them to watch it from the outside, from a distance’.26 In the shower scene in Pyscho (1960 Dir. Hitchcock) and in the final boxing scene in Raging Bull (1980 Dir. Scorsese) montage serves to immerse the viewer. Even though both scenes provoke intense reactions the emotions triggered are slightly different. Both scenes could have been filmed in one shot but the action has been broken into detailed fragments where the editing creates feelings of anxiety and violence.

The visceral and the immediate Montage techniques can be used to directly take the viewer into a film, to sit them down in a discernible world that is visceral and immediate. Careful direction and editing can highly stimulate, pushing and extending the degree and level of a viewer’s orientating and cognitive responsiveness as they work to interpret the material. If an editor can concentrate a viewer’s attention on certain details they are likely to be immersed enough to feel what the character is feeling, possibly experiencing, as Laine notes, a ‘gut’ reaction or affective appraisal.24 As discussed earlier the viewer’s response may possibly involve a physical reaction. Their muscles might react in ‘a reaching out’ or ‘ducking away from’, or they may experience an increase in heart rate or a slight sweat. The physical identification that the viewer has with a screen character’s physicality can reduce the ‘distance’ between the viewer and the fictional events. The viewer, by recognising in a character’s movement a similar experience in their own bodies, may feel an

48 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 48

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Psycho (1960. Dir. Hitchcock, Ed.Tomasini) Selected screen shots from the sequence In Psycho, even before the Mother enters the frame the audience can ‘sense’ that this scene is not going to be purely about a woman taking a shower. The cut to the unsettling point of view of the showerhead (1) places an unusual emphasis on a mundane object, but it also pre-empts the extreme closeness of the shots to follow. By allowing the viewer to witness the approaching figure through the shower curtain before Marion (Leigh) arouses anxiety and worry for her (2). As the shot develops the viewer’s fear for Marion is well founded as the curtain is dragged open to the first screeches of the music and the knife is raised (2.1). Her reaction is shown in three shot sizes, jumping to a big close up of her mouth (3). The pitch of the strident violins is timed to merge with her screams making the viewer feel as though they are screaming with her. In the subsequent shots time is sped up and slowed down. Acute angles alternate, framing the same space and action, colliding, as Skerry points out, to make space and time elastic but still continuous.27 There are graphic juxtapositions, between light and dark, between the defined edge of the knife and the obtuse angle of the water (4–6). Framing that offers Marion’s point of view actually seems to threaten the viewer as the knife slashes towards the camera (7). The music’s high-pitched staccato strings (Herman) coincide with the rhythmic thrusts of the knife intensifying the impact of the action and involving the viewer with Marion’s distress. How do we feel whilst the scene takes place? Terrified? Anxious? Energised? Are our hearts beating faster? How do we feel when it is over? Exhausted, fearful, alert, sad, confused? The scene is surprising and shocking partly because the viewer has been caught out as they expect the plot to resolve Marion’s dilemma over the money she has stolen, and partly because the ‘star’ of the film and main protagonist has just been killed. However, these are not the only reasons the scene generates feelings of instability and edginess. With many splintered fragments on screen for a fraction of a second the viewer struggles to cope with the visual and aural information. They might also reel from what feels like the extreme violence of the stabbing movements with an immediate muscular reflex. Hitchcock was satisfied with the scenes effect on the audience stating that it was ‘pure film’, achieved

solely by the use of the camera, the sound and the editing; ‘the whole thing is purely an illusion. No knife ever touched any woman’s body in that scene’.28 The viewer as they imagine the knife entering Marion’s body fills in the physical gaps, screaming with her as if it has entered their own body. Their emotional empathy seems to be entirely physical with the narrative giving little reason to care for her or to identify with her inner state.

1

2.1

2.2

3

4

5

6

7

One plus one multiplied  49

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 49

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Raging Bull is a film full of visual and aural juxtapositions with the final boxing scene an example of a tense, dynamic montage sequence that combines collision and fluidity both in the use of the camera and the editing. For the viewer the physical devastation that Jake la Motta (De Niro) receives at the hands of Sugar Ray Robinson (Barnes) elicits both immediate affective emotion and a more evaluative response. It is the final boxing match in the film and unlike Marion in Psycho the viewer knows much more about La Motta’s character and career trajectory, making it easier for them to empathise with him. La Motta has risen to become a boxing champion but his self-destructive jealousy and rage take over, eventually destroying his family and his career. This scene is set solely within the boxing ring where time is flexible but also continuous with actions that are sometimes slowed and sometimes jagged. The rhythmic editing involves the viewer in the disorientation and incomprehension that La Motta feels. Many of the shots are almost abstract with close extreme movement that goes in and out of focus (7, 8). Visual conflicts in the movement, framing, camera angle and lighting contribute to the tension the viewer feels. However, the cuts are carefully crafted using motion, body wipes and flashes of white to both disrupt and unite the fragments (5).

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Raging Bull (1980 Dir. Scorsese, Ed. Schoonmaker) Selected screen shots from sequence It is Round 13 of the Middleweight Championship. Robinson strikes out, severely damaging La Motta, but as he pulls back tired La Motta taunts him. The viewer witnesses Robinson from La Motta’s perspective. The fluid camera move changes frame rate mid-shot and the low and distorted sound emphasises the subjectivity and tension of the moment (1). The reverse shot of La Motta mimics the slow speed of the previous shot with the sound of his breathing distinct over a low roar (2). As Robinson advances to punch, the frame rate returns to full speed and the sound is real and layered. The visual and aural technique that has been employed conveys La Motta’s state of mind. A montage of 35 jarring images follows, lasting about 26 seconds that definitely ‘break the fundamental rules of continuity editing’.29 Jump cuts, mid action cuts, extreme close-ups and the white flashes of photographer’s flashguns heighten the viewer’s fear and anxiety

for La Motta. Slow motion, violent movement and pointof-view shots immerse the viewer, physically they empathise with La Motta, almost taking the punches with him. The length of the shot and the rate of punches within them dictate the pace, as fists swing towards the camera (the viewer), blood spurts and water splatters.

50 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 50

8/13/21 11:18 AM

The images and sound not only increase the viewer’s heart rate but also their impulse to ‘duck’, evoking tension and anxiety for La Motta. The editor, by selecting dynamic sections of the footage that may not adhere to the 180-degree rule, increases the disorientation that the viewer experiences via La Motta. The soundtrack (sound ed. Warner) is expressive, further enhancing this feeling. A drum boosts the thuds of the punches and the moans of the boxers are replaced by those of wild animals. The bass-like tones are defined by the clicks of flashbulbs. By cutting three times to Vicky, La Motta’s wife, the viewer is cued to evaluate the situation and its effect on the future for La Motta and his family (12). Her reaction to his downfall merged with the jeering crowds elicits in the viewer sympathy for them both. The motivation for this emotion is not solely in response to this scene but inferred by the narrative of the whole film. Both the scenes from Psycho and Raging Bull are violent, with an editing style that draws the viewer in as a participator. The montages are edited to evoke personal affective emotions of fear and anxiety as well as empathetic emotions of worry, anxiety and sadness for the characters. The concise accumulation of detail tells the viewer when and where they are, the state and progress of the event and gives a directed sense to how they should be feeling. By decreasing shot length and by the selection of dynamic movements and angles a visceral, heightened and energised response is generated.

6. In the mind: The expressive and the tonal The examples that follow and conclude this chapter push montage techniques and our responses to them to increasing levels or limits of comprehension. In each excerpt the directed construction of detail requires an intellectual process of the viewer to make sense of the ‘colliding’ aural and visual information. A visceral experience is presented that expresses through the accumulation of elements a tone or psychological state. Each excerpt requires the viewer to be attentive, particularly Hot Fuzz (2007), where the high-energy intensification of montage techniques limits the time available to assimilate the information. In the 1920s, Soviet filmmakers had been stimulated by the Russian revolution to look for a new film language for a new society. Similarly, cinema in Western Europe and North America in the late 1960s to early 1970s was also anticipating change: structurally, institutionally, financially, intellectually and formally. The following two examples from the work of director Nicolas Roeg reflect much of this fluidity and change.

In the mind: The expressive and the tonal  51

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 51

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Montage as performance: Structural juxtaposition Performance (1970) is a powerful film set in the 1960s that counterpoints the vice and violence of the London gang world with the decadence, sexual experimentation and drug taking of a Bohemian London. It is also, more accurately about the transformation of two very different characters with opposing psychological states that eventually merge. The idea evolved as Roeg notes, ‘for a film about a gangster in London’s underworld, and the relation of that specific kind of violence to the violence in human nature’.30 However, what really interested Roeg and Cammell was the emotional and psychological transformation of the characters. ‘This film is about madness. Madness and sanity. A film about Fantasy and reality, and sensuality. A film about death, and life. This is a film about Vice and versa’. From the voiceover for the film’s trailer. Chas Devlin (Fox) is a gangster, a ‘performer’ who uses brutal extortion to persuade the ‘clients’ to pay. He successfully works for Harry Flowers (Shannon) until he oversteps the mark by killing a fellow gang member. As Flowers’ team search for him he hides in ex-rock star Turner’s (Jagger) home, which he shares with Pherber (Pallenberg) and Lucy (Breton). Chas’s aggressive, sadistic power fascinates Turner. As Chas is drawn into the psychedelic sensual world of Turner and Pherber they begin to break down his conservative repressed personality.

This is a film split in two where in the first half the viewer learns about Chas and his life in the gangster world of protection rackets and rough justice and in the second half, his encounter with the dream-like, fantastic world of Turner. In the opening sequence a Rolls Royce conveying the lawyer Anthony Morton to the court where Chas’s gang are being brought to justice is intercut with Chas having sex with Dana. There are over fifty cuts between the sex scene and the car that are initially juxtaposed against the energetic rock track ‘Gone Dead Train’ by Jack Nitzsche, but this quickly fades to silence and slowly a more ominous synthesized beat gathers in volume and intensity. The juxtaposition implies that the two scenes are happening in parallel but this presents a puzzle for the viewer, who strives to solve the relationship between them. The intercutting between the opening scenes becomes more and more fractured with the fluid camera and short shot length (2 frames at times) hardly allowing the viewer to take in what they are seeing, leaving little more than an impression of moving bodies imposed on the green blur of passing hedgerows. After the opening the viewer witnesses Chas and Dana get up in the morning. It is here that Chas’ character and behaviour is defined visually and audibly. He is macho, confident, vain, and meticulous in appearance and he doesn’t care for Dana. She leaves his flat. As the Rolls Royce from the opening stops outside the London law courts Chas drives through the streets with his gang. The viewer might assume that these two scenes are taking place simultaneously.

The editing in Performance creates a complex series of connections that are, as Macabe notes, sometimes mystifying, especially on first viewing, but do serve to create an underlying atmosphere and emotional effect.31 The montage-like structure of the film is challenging; we never seem to catch up, our brains have to work very hard and as Lanza says ‘its splintered montage forces us into our own time warp: the more rapid the juxtapositions, the more likely our minds lag behind as we try to establish context.32 Unlike Eisenstein’s films the montage is not in the shot composition or graphical layout but structural with conflicts between the visual and aural content.

52 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 52

8/13/21 10:00 AM

The Timeline demonstrates picture and sound juxtaposition in “Performance”. Chas and taxi depot

Lawyer and court

Flowers and Chas in office

Greasy and Chas in film club

Shot number 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

1 0

1 1

1 2

1 3

1 4

1 5

1 6

1 7

1 8

1 9

2 0

2 1

2 2

5 4

5 5

5 6

5 7

5 8

5 9

6 0

2 3

2 4

2 5

2 6

2 7

2 8

2 9

3 0

3 1

3 2

3 3

3 4

3 5

3 6

3 7

3 8

3 9

7 1

7 2

7 3

7 4

7 5

7 6

Picture

Dialogue

Shot number 4 0

4 1

4 2

4 3

4 4

4 5

4 6

4 7

4 8

4 9

5 0

5 1

5 2

5 3

6 1

6 2

6 3

6 4

6 5

6 6

6 7

6 8

6 9

7 0

Picture

Dialogue

What does the table show? The timeline above is a visual explanation to help analyse the complex structural montage of the four scenes that follow the opening. Colours code each separate scene. Below each shot number a scene colour identifies the picture and dialogue that belongs to the shot. What is doesn’t do is list the intense music and sound effects juxtaposed with the shots. The numbers given to the screen shots used in the analysis that follows the timeline diagram correlate with the shot numbers used in the diagram above. The timeline for this excerpt starts about 5 minutes into the film with the ‘Chas and Taxi Depot’ scene (1) and ends in the scene of ‘Greasy and Chas in the film club’ (76). It runs for 3 minutes 24 seconds. The 4 strands of action are montaged both in terms of image and dialogue. The sound and picture is not always in sync and

if they are this synchronisation might be ‘interrupted’. Shots 1–39 of ‘Chas and Taxi Depot’ are essentially temporally sequential; however, the sound over these shots is not continuous with what is happening visually. The picture for the ‘Lawyer and Court’ sequence is at several points and for a sustained time (shots 42–51), united or in sync with the soundtrack. There is though on the whole a dislocation between image and picture where the ‘Chas and Taxi Depot’ image track is disrupted by images from the ‘Lawyer and Court’ and the latter’s soundtrack is displaced by the sound from ‘Chas and the Taxi Depot’. Two sequences, two image tracks, two soundtracks play across 51 shots with multiple permutations – and this is perhaps the easiest section of the film! Watch the sequence, study the table and then read on looking at the screen grabs at the same time.

Montage as performance: Structural juxtaposition  53

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 53

8/13/21 10:00 AM

Performance (1970. Dirs. Cammell and Roeg, Eds. various) Screen shots are consecutive. The numbers and colour bars next to each screen shot in both analyses correspond to those in the preceding timeline. Below is an analysis of the first excerpt.

Scene Colour Key Lawyer and court

Chas and taxi depot

1

Flowers and Chas in office

Greasy and Chas in film club

When Chas and the gang arrive at the mini cab depot, Wilson, one of Chas’s assistants, asks Rose the driver to put his tie on. This then cuts to a close up of Chas in the back of the car; he doesn’t seem to hear them, and a non-diegetic ‘echoey’ pulsing whine on the soundtrack indicates that his mind is elsewhere (1). Merging with the garage sound this carries on as Wilson looks over his shoulder to Chas (2). A brief 1-second shot of the lawyer (3) makes it appear as though they are looking at each other. At the junction between the shots the eye movements provide a way to link the characters rather than disassociate them, a thematic linking that seems to be a comment on their similarities as rogues.

2

3

Chas sinks down into the car seat smiling slightly and the viewer hears the lawyer start his case, ‘Gentlemen of the jury’. It feels as though Chas can hear it too (4). 4 Gentlemen of the Jury (Lawyer)

The two scenes continue. The lawyer in court using verbal argument to manipulate the justice system to the advantage of his upper-class clients juxtaposed with the

5 I would solemnly suggest to you that what . . .

54 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 54

8/13/21 10:00 AM

6 . . . are really on trial here today are all the ethics of a community . . ..

rough justice and manipulation of Harry Flowers’ gang. Led by Chas as the ‘performer’ they extort and terrify the ‘clientele’. Counterpointing the dialogue from the court with the action in the taxi depot draws powerful parallels both visually and aurally (5-11).

7 Our national economy . . .

8 . . . even our national survival devolves upon the consolidation by merger of the smaller and weaker economic units . . . 9 . . . with the larger and lustier pillars of our commercial context.

From shot 40 onwards the ‘Lawyer and Court’ scene dominants the sequence with ‘Chas and Taxi Depot’ less so, but both continue to interrupt and infringe the image and soundtrack of the other scenes. Where is the viewer, how do they connect the picture and the sound together? It is difficult, are the clues too few or too many? The viewer is definitely working hard. Of course, it isn’t just the images and dialogue that ‘perform’, as throughout the sequence there is a dislocated highpitched squeaky synthesized soundtrack that increases in pulse and volume, pinpointing certain actions, stridently warning the viewer to take notice. The sound is uncomfortable, hard to get used to and intensifies the edginess of the montage.

10 What did I tell you, what did I tell you. Look at this pigsty (Chas)

11 Correspondence not answered.

Montage as performance: Structural juxtaposition  55

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 55

8/13/21 10:01 AM

Later in the Sequence Later in the sequence a further scene is brought into the montage with gang boss, Harry Flowers debriefing Chas in his office (57). The cut to this scene is prompted by the lawyer identifying Flowers in the defence of his client as ‘A guilty man, gentleman’. His words are

juxtaposed with a newspaper picture of Flowers and then a cut to him in his office welcoming Chas. As Flowers asks Chas about the ‘clientele’ their dialogue is intercut with the taxi depot and the court, anticipating the ‘coming together’ of the threads.

57

58 That man I submit, (Lawyer)

. . . and what about the lawyer geezer? Did you see him? (Flowers)

59

60 should be standing. . .

61

. . . where my unfortunate client . . . . 

62 I can rely on that aay (Flowers)

..now stands.

63

64 . . . nutcase like all lighteners but I can rely on him. (Flowers)

It’ll be straightened out in the morning (Chas) He’s a . . . (Flowers)

65

66 I know my . . . (Flowers)

Business is business (Lawyer)

56 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 56

8/13/21 10:01 AM

67

68 and progress is progress . . .

Door slams

69

70 we must protect the inalienable right of the smaller . . .

. . . in the fluid state of business ethics pertaining today . . .

71

72 . . . businessman to be conjoined in commercial union.

73

74

The exit from the court scene is achieved by an in-shot lighting transition where the ‘jury’ (70) become the men watching a film. The same men now have the flickering blue light of a film projector on their faces (71). A dissolve to a closer shot of these men is then further dissolved to a closer shot of two of them drinking and watching the film (73). A cut to Chas with the same images flickering over his face indicates that he is in the projection booth. The court has transformed into a ‘seedy’ club where some of the ‘jury’ are watching pornography. Chas is trying to close the club down as morally wrong; a further juxtaposition that could make the viewer reconsider their former feelings.

scenes and placed one after the other this sequence of events would not have so much impact. Instead the viewer is led in three and a half minutes of complex storytelling to make their own judgements and conclusions about the characters and the worlds in which they operate. The emphasis here has been on how editing can make the viewer question and change their understanding of a character and the environment in which they operate. It should be noted that in this film it wasn’t just the editing that constructed the performances. Macabe explains that it was also the close relationships between the actors and the directors and their use of improvisation that contributes to its ‘edginess’. In an interview Jagger notes that through this practice the performances no longer represented the script but presented the real relationships they had as actors with each other, thereby breaking the boundaries between representation and reality.33

Throughout this excerpt Chas’s performance and his character have been formed though editing; he is a man who is in control of himself, and of others. However, this and the genre of the film will change when Turner challenges Chas’s control forcing him to recognise his sado-masochistic side. Edited separately as individual

Montage as performance: Structural juxtaposition  57

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 57

8/13/21 10:01 AM

Roeg continued to explore in his future films ways of going beyond the text through interpretations that give hints and suggestions in order to engage the viewer emotionally. Many films require the internal psyche of characters to be conveyed. This might be their psychological state of mind in response to an event or a more dreamlike desire or fantasy. An actor can, of course successfully imply an emotion through facial expression and action, but as the Soviet theorists pointed out, the possibility of an unconvincing performance is quite high. Internal processes can be extremely complicated and the use of montage can provide a chance for the editor to convey, often in compressed time, a complex expression of ideas and feelings. In Don’t Look Now (1973), a psychological thriller adapted from a short story by Daphne Du Maurier, Roeg uses montage to reveal the internal workings of the characters. The story focuses on a couple, Laura and John Baxter (Christie and Sutherland) who, after the death of their daughter Christine, go to Venice for his work. They encounter two sisters, one of them, Heather (Mason), has psychic powers and claims to be able to contact their daughter. Throughout the film Roeg uses a flexible and distorted time frame as well as juxtaposition within and between shots that compels the viewer to pursue a connection between pieces that may or may not exist.34 Unlike Eisenstein he makes connections that are not definite, they are uncertain, with the fragmentary nature of the montage often drawing attention to theme rather than plot.35 However, the conflicts are graphic, visually and tonally with some very short shot lengths. As Roeg explains, he is interested in coincidence and the psychological state of a character where not all is what it seems: ‘What I am trying to do is to express an emotion. I am concerned with breaking barriers, challenging assumptions and moving the possibilities on a bit’.36 By planting visual symbols within the mise en scène, the colour red, reflections in water, images of death and religion, Roeg provides cues that infer harm will come to John, a harm he is unaware of. As Laine points out, the viewer has to juggle a sense of hope that this won’t happen with a sense of hopelessness from their lack of control over his outcome.37 The viewer’s frustration at being an ineffectual silent witness in John’s progress towards his end creates an acute sense of suspense and tension. There are several montage sequences within the film but it is the final scene that creates an extreme emotional reaction.

Don’t Look Now (1973 Dir. Roeg, Ed. Clifford) John denies his need to make contact with his dead daughter, Christine. This leads him to be tricked into believing that he sees her. A small figure wearing a red coat similar to the one Christine was wearing when she drowned fleetingly entices him to follow her through the fog and darkness of the alleyways and canals of Venice. The viewer, already aware from the film’s carefully laid clues that the figure in red is not his daughter or even the ghost of her, fear for John. She leads him high

up into a church tower. When he approaches her John’s tone is sympathetic, cajoling, ‘I won’t hurt you, come on’. As she turns the viewer witnesses in John’s reaction the horror of his realisation.

1

2 wait! (John)

3

4

58 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 58

8/13/21 10:01 AM

Selected screen shots from a two-minute montage that contains about 70 shots. 3–9 and 10–12 are consecutive the rest selected. Cutting to a close shot of a photographic slide with an image of the red figure repeated from the opening montage sequence confirms to both John and the viewer that the earlier shot had been a premonition of this encounter (1). John then implores ‘wait!’ (2), and the small figure looking at him shakes her head (3). This movement seems to be echoed by the Bishop turning in his sleep (4), and in turn appears to awaken in Heather a sense of foreboding who screams ‘No!’ (5). The dwarf pulls the knife from her pocket, its blade glinting (6). A cut to a shot from the opening sequence of Johnny, the Baxter’s son, as he runs towards the house to tell his parents his sister is drowning reminds the viewer of the events that have led to this moment (7). A flashback to John as he embraces the grotesque gargoyle in the church reminds the viewer of his previous near-death fall (8). Church bells resonate deeply as the red figure hacks at John’s neck (9). Roeg stretches time, extending John’s final moments by intercutting Laura reacting to her daughter’s death, screaming (10); John’s scream (11) echos the groans that he made when he lifted his dead daughter from the pond (12). The red of her coat as he lifts her from the water is a visual reminder of why he has followed the red figure to his own death.

5 No! (Heather)

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

John’s death throes (13) are intercut with his fall in the church, a close shot of his daughter (14), Laura smiling (15), and further images of death and of water. The sequence ends with a barely controlled revolving view of the church ceiling that cuts to a dramatically static close up of Heather’s blind (or not so blind) eyes (16). This image dissolves to the pond in which Christine drowned (17). The cuts to John witnessing his own funeral cortege (18, 19) as seen earlier in the film seem to either infer his acknowledgement of his vision or serves to remind

Montage as performance: Structural juxtaposition  59

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 59

8/13/21 10:01 AM

the viewer of the premonition. As his blood drips down the wall of the church the red mark on the slide bubbles, covering the whole image. In his last moments it feels as though his life since his daughter’s death has flashed before him. It seems that his death has been inevitable and out of his control. Throughout the sequence Roeg implies connections via the montage. He does this by drawing attention to visual similarities, the repetition of action, sound and colour and through parallel framings that stress the premonitions and warnings issued to John during his life within the film. Through the accumulation and juxtaposition of visual and aural information Roeg evokes a tone of mystery, the supernatural, and of events being inexorable that leaves the viewer feeling tense and anxious. The story is cyclical; chronological time has lost its importance and the viewer has seen past, present and future. The film is not presented as a series of events that neatly tie together but a juxtaposition of emotions where, as Roeg says ‘life is jagged, full of cross references that aren’t just coincidence.’38

7. Intensified montage: a legacy of Eisenstein It is often noted that many contemporary films, especially those that are intended to be viewed on multiple platforms, lack narrative coherence and are stylistically fragmented. This fragmentation is often part of a flashy and self-aware style that produces a fast-paced concentrated quality with accentuated emphasis. Bordwell notes that this is not a rejection of traditional techniques but an intensification of them where ‘even ordinary scenes are heightened to compel attention and sharpen emotional resonance.’39 A form of montage contributes to this ‘style’ that reflects the intense approach of Eisenstein in Strike and Potemkin, where short shot lengths are used to précis the information needed to establish a character or situation as well as accentuate mood and emotional tone. The opening scene of Hot Fuzz (2007) uses temporal ellipses to reduce the timeline of protagonist, Sergeant Nicholas Angel’s (Pegg) police career from several years to 1 minute and 44 seconds. Hot Fuzz, billed as an action movie, is also a cop show, but above all it is a comedy. London’s most successful police constable has been ‘promoted’ to keep law and order in a sleepy country village, a village that turns out not to be quite so quiet after all. The opening sequence is an intense dynamic montage that sets the tone of the film. To do this it employs over 100 shots, most with very short shot lengths, sometimes as little as two frames, that energetically characterise Angel through glimpses of his past police career. Not only does the information at each cut build on the previous, but through the dry factual voiceover the viewer also learns of Angel’s achievements. Sound plays a large part as an energising effect with the diegetic sounds heightened and amplified, and acoustic ‘whooshes’ that help make the cut transitions fluid. The dynamic texture of the sequence is not entirely due to rapid cutting, it is also accentuated through the choice of fractured frames, flashes of white, whip pans, fast camera moves and movements within the fame, multiple layer compositions and big close ups. The flattened perspective of a long lens allows foreground objects to provide wipes that hide cuts with the montage in some areas being almost an accelerated continual flow.

60 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 60

8/13/21 10:01 AM

Hot Fuzz (2007. Dir. Wright, Ed. Dickens) 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

Selected screen shots The sequence is framed by Angel’s progress along the corridors of police headquarters to receive his promotion with flashbacks to key moments in his police career. A particularly dynamic ten-second section starts 36 seconds in with a whip pan from Angel’s face (1) to merge with a similar pan over Angel training (2). Over shot 3 the voiceover starts to describe Angel’s achievements ‘Displayed great aptitude in field exercises’, this completes over a nine-frame freeze of Angel’s face (6). This particular frame gives the viewer an indication of Angel’s personality as he grits his teeth in a somewhat macho and determined way that could be translated as ‘over acting’ or just comic. This selection and emphasis has been determined by the editor, not by the actor, and left on screen only just long enough for the audience to register. The sequence progresses from training to riot work with the voiceover continuing (11), ‘. . . notably urban pacification and riot control’ to finish on a close shot of Angel where instead of using a freeze for punctuation the shot is held slightly longer (20). The less frenetic camera and close frame give the viewer a chance to register Angel’s face and make judgements about his character. The short shot duration also leads us to consider its impact on the craft of acting and how a new approach might be required when editing a performance.

Intensified montage: A legacy of Eisenstein  61

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 61

8/13/21 10:02 AM

Angel progresses towards the Inspector’s office Starting 1 min. 29 seconds into the sequence Screen shots are consecutive. As Angel continues his advance through the police building towards his meeting with the Inspector, each of the cuts are achieved either by a wipe (35–40) or a whip pan and a wipe (24–27). The wipes give the illusion of a continuous fluid progression with the juncture hidden under the dark blurred shape of another character (21, 25) or office wall (26) that allows small jumps in time, position and angle to be less noticeable. Although it is impossible to read the certificates on the wall, the repetition reinforces the quantity, and the word ‘commendation’ on the final shot is the most discernible (24). The camera, by mimicking the speed and direction of Angel’s movement, adds to the sense of urgency and energy. An impressionistic series of close-up shots of handcuffs being put on follows (28–34). These are fractured and comprised of composite shots; the cut is disguised mostly with white flash frames (32). They defy spatial coherence but convey an illustrative impression of Angel’s ‘many arrests’ as he has ‘achieved the highest arrest record for any officer in the Met’. Angel’s walk through the office is ‘energised’ by the rapid cuts and intensified by the jumps in frame size, concentrating the viewer’s attention on Angel and his purposeful and focused stride towards the Inspector’s office. The frame size jumps are lessened by the body wipes (35–40). When viewing Angel’s progress in the profile shots the technique appears to speed up his action. However, when viewing his walk from behind the cuts seems to slow the movement down as he reaches the door. Both sections have intensified and focused the viewer on what will happen next.

21

22a

22b

23a

23b

24a

24b

25

26a

26b

27

28

29

30

31a

31b

32

33

62 Chapter 2 Montage

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 62

8/13/21 10:02 AM

34

35

36

37a

37b

38a

38b

39a

39b

40

montage is intense, assaulting the viewer with a huge accumulation of sound and images that they need to comprehend quickly. This intensified montage, though demanding, only lasts for a short time before the film returns to a more accepted pace. This may have been a lengthy way to say that one plus one equals 3 or even 5 or . . . but what this chapter does say is that film has evolved in terms of storytelling, a very unique language that is directed and governed by editing. The complexity of juxtaposing one image with another image or one sound to another sound, or image to sound, sound to image . . . endlessly creates and makes meaning for emotive responses. The last three excerpts are exceptional in their demands on the audience, although far from alone they do indicate that not only has the filmmaking process developed but so too has the viewer and their ability to deal with montage. As participators in story construction the viewer has been positioned through editing to use their imagination, ‘filling in the gaps’, thereby emotionally engaging with the characters and situations. As Jean Luc Godard remarks, ‘if direction is a look, montage is a heart-beat.’40

In this opening sequence the increased rate of cutting and kinetic activity within and between shots compels the viewer to watch. With the time to make sense of information severely reduced the sequence demands high levels of concentration but it is this need to attend that focuses the viewer on the action. The fast pace is clearly designed to engage the viewer, but does the onslaught of information, both visual and aural, produce a cognitive overload, making it necessary for the viewer to be selective over the information that they process? By fragmenting and compressing time to such an extent has the editor traded the pauses needed for the viewer to imagine and assimilate the story for a more stylistic means of expression? In this sequence the voiceover and the duplication of shot-to-shot content reinforces the message, creating an overt narrative. Hot Fuzz is implicitly a comedy, the opening sequence setting the tone as it energetically builds to a punch line. The

Intensified montage: A legacy of Eisenstein  63

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 63

8/13/21 10:02 AM

3 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 64

Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

8/13/21 10:02 AM

Three studies The process of editing can be considered a form of persuasion in that through the selection and arrangement of visual and aural elements the editor seeks to influence the viewer’s sympathy and alignment to the circumstances of a particular character or set of characters. Persuasion is often associated with how we use language in our attempt to verbally communicate to a listener why they should agree with our idea or argument. Aristotle in his Art of Rhetoric believes that the speaker or rhetorician should ‘Let rhetoric be the power to observe the persuasiveness of which any particular matter admits’.1 It is through the invention of the argument and it’s shaping that the speaker can appeal to the listener’s emotions. However, it is not just the content but also its articulation that persuades the listener of the argument put forward and of the speaker’s credibility. Aristotle was wary of the ethical problems that can arise from artifice and how these could also affect the listener’s trust in a speaker. Similarly the editor also looks for moments in the shot material that when organised in a particular way can influence the viewer emotionally and convince them of believable circumstances. The film viewer, although aware that a film is artifice, can quickly identify if the form of manipulation is unconvincing so likewise the methods of persuasion need to be credible. Aristotle put forward that there are three ‘proofs’ that a rhetorician draws on to persuade: the character of the speaker, the disposition of the listener and the content and form of the argument. An editor uses very similar ‘proofs’ to convince the viewer. The content and the form of the film story need to be plausible to the viewer. This is devised by the choice and way of production, the camera, design, acting etc. that is presented in the rushes or recorded visual and aural material and further shaped by the editor. By the strategic formation of the material or in the presentation of the ‘argument’ the editor strives to promote an emotional response in the viewer that encourages their involvement in the story and its characters. For the ‘argument’ to be plausible the stylistic articulation of it needs to be both believable within the film world and be relatable to the viewer’s own experience of life. The technique or strategy of persuasion employed needs to also appeal to the viewer’s imagination.

Aristotle categorised rhetorical persuasion into two forms, exemplary and enthymematic. Interestingly he noted that neither is less persuasive than the other, but the use of enthymeme is more powerful. Although these terms are not directly related to film, a parallel can be drawn with the techniques of persuasion used by the editor. If a verbal argument is presented backed up by an example it can be very convincing. The listener is required to assess and align the examples supplied as typical evidence of what has been proposed. Similarly in a film if a character verbally relates a past action or circumstance and the editor cuts to visual imagery of that action this is likely to confirm to the viewer through the use of a flashback that the event actually took place. This may illustrate what has been expressed verbally or it might illustrate a character’s internal thought process. In Casablanca (1942) after Ilsa (Bergman) has visited ‘Rick’s Café Americain’, Rick (Bogart) is reminded of his love for her. He mutters to himself ‘Of all the gin joints, of all the towns in all the world she walks into mine’. Resentfully he urges Sam (Wilson) the piano player to play their tune ‘As time goes by’.

Casablanca (1942 Dir. Curtiz, Ed. Marks)

1

2

The piano music motivates a camera track into Rick’s face and the viewer is left in no doubt that he is remembering their time together. A dissolve to the past and the couple together in Paris confirms or persuades the viewer of their time together.

Three studies  65

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 65

8/13/21 10:02 AM

An enthymeme is a rhetorical syllogism. A syllogism is a form of logical argument where two or more premises that are assumed to be true are put forward, and through logical reasoning the listener infers a conclusion. A film viewer is often asked to make similar deductions. The opening scene from Strangers on a Train (1951), analysed later, demonstrates this. By intercutting two pairs of feet differentiated by shoe colour but alike in action the viewer assumes them to be heading in the same direction. An enthymeme is an incomplete syllogism where one premise is omitted. The saying ‘where there is smoke there is fire’ can be considered an enthymeme with the implied premise – that fire causes smoke – inferred by the listener. An editor will often involve the film viewer in a similar type of informal reasoning. To ‘fill in’ the missing premise the viewer draws on their knowledge of the film world as well their experience of the real world, often making quick assumptions that are probable rather than definite. An editor can use a viewer’s tendency to jump to conclusions to help elicit an emotional response in them.

The Birds (1963 Dir. Hitchcock, Ed. Tomasini) Screen shots are selected In The Birds (1963) the overall premise is clear: in the quiet town of Bodega Bay the behaviour of birds has changed, they are now viciously attacking people. Melanie (Hedren) is concerned for the safety of Mitch’s young sister who is at school. Lighting a cigarette, she waits outside for the class to finish. She is unaware of the crows gathering on the climbing frame outside the school building. At this point in the film the viewer knows of previous attacks on humans by birds. They come to the scene with the premise ‘where there are birds there is danger’. Initially Melanie and the climbing frame are tied together in a wide shot (3) confirming the spatial geography. A single crow alights but Melanie does not look back. Although alerted to the possibility of danger the viewer could not assume from this shot that she will be attacked. Hitchcock then separates in single shots the crows from Melanie, intercutting their increasing numbers with progressively closer shots of her face (4, 5). The choice of frame size and selection of the action persuades the viewer of the probability that she will be attacked. For the viewer their inability to ‘warn’ Melanie causes frustration and anxiety, persuading them to be emotionally part of the scene. The moment Melanie’s attention is caught by a crow flying,

the viewer considers the possibility that she will understand the danger she is in (6, 7). As another crow lands on the frame it is revealed to Melanie and to the viewer the increasing probability of the film’s premise (8).

3

4

5

6

7

8

Aristotle notes that the ‘persuasiveness of a rhetorical enthymeme rests on probability rather than complete logical cogency’.2 Similarly, the film viewer, as they speculate on the probable outcome, becomes involved in their own persuasion. It is this activity that provokes emotions towards characters and their circumstances that increases the editor’s options for persuading the viewer of a particular position or perspective. The three studies that are interspersed with the chapters on the fundamental tools of editing analyse stylistic choices that the editor can use to persuade the viewer to speculate on possibilities and engage emotionally with story and characters.

66  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 66

8/13/21 11:19 AM

Study One – Parallel Tracks In a narrative, or sequence of events that are related, each individual event connects in some way to the others in the sequence, with the implied connection usually resulting in the viewer forming a story. The sequential ordering of these events creates the ongoing movement of the story, with the audience anticipating and expecting to see events unfold at a particular rate. Creating a dramatic effect frequently relies on these events to be connected by a ‘cause and effect’ chain, where a problem or challenge arises and is solved or a change occurs. This study looks at a form of editing persuasion where the editor presents two lines of action or two stories in parallel with the intention of influencing how the viewer feels towards one character or set of characters over another. This is sometimes referred to as parallel editing and sometimes as cross cutting; but although similar, there are some specific differences. The word parallel implies that two or more elements are next to each other, running side by side. They may correspond in some way to each other but they never meet. Parallel editing is the alternation of two of more scenes that are happening in different locations and usually simultaneously. This intercutting tends to draw attention to something, make a point or comment, or draw a parallel between two elements. However, when two or more story strands are interwoven in a film they eventually come together, converging at a certain point to bring a narrative resolution. Cross cutting generally refers to the alternation between two actions that happen at the same time and in the same location. A film may incorporate both cross cutting and parallel editing with both forms often stimulating feelings of curiosity and suspense. The examples analysed in this study incorporate a strategy of editing persuasion that can be likened to both the form of a syllogism where the viewer from two or more definite premises infers a logical conclusion, and to an enthymeme where the viewer makes probable assumptions from implication. In making inferences the viewer is actively involved in the persuasion.

1. In pursuit In early chase films the pursued was often in the same shot as the pursuer, making it difficult to reduce time and create tension. By cutting between the chaser and the chased the editor is able to place emphasis, generate

excitement and persuade the viewer to feel sympathy for one of the characters. If a coherent sequence of causality is established between the two characters a temporal continuity is assumed. Cutting between two or more different stories or elements of a larger story possibly taking place in a nearby location or perhaps miles away breaks the continuity of space in one to allow the viewer to see the other event unfold elsewhere. Whilst the viewer is watching or listening to one event they may question what has happened in the other event; has it just paused or is it continuing off screen? It is by returning to the two events in succession that an illusion of simultaneous time is created. However, the point at which the editor cuts in and out of each alternate line of action is critical for the viewer to suspend disbelief. The editor, by cutting between two events, places the viewer in a position of privilege and omniscience as they witness the action from more than one character’s point of view. By manipulating this information the editor can encourage the viewer to sympathise with, fear for or give preference to one character over another. This active involvement can sometimes reach the point where the viewer feels as though they are participants in the action. The position of ‘knowing all’ can also cause a sensation of frustration and fear, as the viewer is powerless to intercede. The editor can use this emotional tendency to construct a cycle of tension and release, raising levels of excitement and interest. The opening and pre-title sequence from Skyfall (2012) is over twelve minutes of action-packed chase. The following analysis looks at a small section of this chase. The viewer comes to the film with expectations based on the genre, their knowledge of previous Bond films and preconceived ideas of the role of a special agent. There are four key characters in this sequence, agent James Bond 007 (Craig), fellow agent Eve Moneypenny (Harris), M, head of Mi6 (Dench) and mercenary, Patrice (Rapace). The sequence not only intercuts between two main locations, Istanbul and Mi6 HQ in London, but also between Moneypenny’s jeep and Bond and Patrice’s motorcycle chase that continues onto a train roof. Not only are the visual elements juxtaposed with each other but also with a vocal layer. The linearity of the chase between the agents and Patrice is intercut with a third strand, M and Mi6 HQ, who communicate verbally with the agents. The

In pursuit  67

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 67

8/13/21 10:02 AM

viewer has access to information that HQ can only see on a computer tracking map. This generates the possibility of another layer of tension, as they are able to witness the chase from all sides. Within the first minute of Skyfall the viewer discovers that Bond is pursuing a stolen hard drive that contains information vital to national security. It is at an Istanbul house that he discovers the hard drive has been stolen and the chase begins. Bond and Moneypenny in a jeep pursue Patrice’s car through the busy streets. After crashing both vehicles Bond takes up the pursuit of Patrice. Both chaser and chased are on motorbikes whilst Mi6 HQ guides Moneypenny as she trails them in the jeep. The following section lasts just under 30 seconds and has 19 shots.

Tanner which way? (MP)

1 Keep going I can direct you from here. (T)

2 You both know what’s at stake here? We . . .. (M)

Skyfall (2012 Dir. Mendes, Ed. Baird) Screen shots are consecutive Moneypenny drives through crowds whilst asking Tanner for directions (1). Instead of hearing the reply through her headset there is a direct cut to HQ establishing both locations (2). A closeup reveals a computer screen monitoring Bond’s progress; the shot tilts up to reveal M speaking to Bond (3). The cut-in on the same axis to a mid-shot emphasises the importance of her dialogue (4). M’s dialogue ‘you both know . . .’ infers that both Bond and Moneypenny are listening (3). This not only unites the characters across space but also implies continuous time. The viewer now knows that the three pieces of action are simultaneous. Bonds response confirms this (5). In a low angle wide shot the viewer witnesses both pursuer (6.2) and pursued (6.1) together in the same shot as they ride into the souk, uniting them geographically and temporally. The sound of the engine revving, tyres screeching accompanied by the music track heightens the urgency and excitement. The cut to a fairly frontal mid-shot of Bond allows the viewer just enough time (2 seconds) to witness his facial reaction, to orientate and perhaps to empathise with Bond (7). It is short enough for the viewer not to question where the camera has been placed. As Bond

3 . . . cannot afford to loose that list.’ (M)

4 Yes ma’am. (B)

5

6.1

6.2

7

68  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 68

8/13/21 10:02 AM

8.1

goes into shadow there is a cut to a similar angle shot of Patrice riding towards us (8.1). Again as he is momentarily in darkness this eases the transition but gives little time for the viewer to register his face. Initially, for a few frames Patrice obscures Bond riding behind him eliminating the feeling of a jump cut and confirming the illusion of temporal continuity. Both the chaser and the chased again share the same shot re-establishing their spatial relationship. The next cut is eased by the roar of the engines, a difference in shot size and a wipe, as the fluid camera movement blurs Bond’s motorcycle wheel (8.2).

8.2

9

10

11

12

In the wide shot that follows it is difficult to identify the rider as we see him from behind (9). He is fairly distant but by the progression of shots and the viewer’s knowledge of the rider’s spatial relationship they could assume that this is Patrice. The reverse angle to the previous shot confirms that it is Patrice as we see him dodge between a car and van (10). Has there been a temporal ellipsis between shots 8 and 9? The apparent shift in location makes this appear possible but the seamless cut using a wipe infers the continuity of time. The direction of action in shots 6 to 10 has usually been right to left, again helping to suggest a continuous relationship in time and space. Patrice swerves and stalls his bike; a brief glance back at Bond (11) motivates the cut to an over shoulder of his POV of Bond (12). The short pause in the action changes the rhythm, making the viewer assume that Bond is catching up. A very short shot follows, looking down at Patrice as he starts to ride up the steps (13). Then at a cut back round to the same angle as 11, which under scrutiny seems to show Patrice attempting the same steps again (14). The reason this cut is acceptable is that the viewer may need several frames to adjust to the movement making any repeat action go unnoticed and the cut feel continuous. In the following shot (15) Bond appears to be in an almost similar place to where he was in shot 12.

13

14

In pursuit  69

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 69

8/13/21 10:02 AM

It feels as though he is being held back and that time is extended. The length of the shot is significant as it allows the viewer to gauge the relative spatial relationship of each character. A blurred tilt down helps the cut from Bond to Bond (15, 16); the shot’s dynamic energy adding to the sense of urgency. The length of shot 16 (1 second, 9 frames) as Bond rides up the steps appears to give Patrice time to re-emerge at the top, presenting the illusion of continuous time (17). Bond follows close behind, the slight shift in camera angle and the flow of movement helping the cut (18).

15

16

The cut to a low angle showing the rooftops hints that the next stage of the chase will be more daring. Each rider passes through the frame one after the other in silhouette as if entering the next scene and reminding the viewer that they are not far apart. 17

Twelve minutes may seem a long time to watch a chase where two people pursue a man because he has something that they want. This could easily have been told in two minutes. Why are we engaged? Why do we find it exciting?

18

19.1

19.2

Shot lengths in second and frames show the decrease of length over shots 13-15. 11 = 2 sec 2 frames 12 = 1 sec 13 = 10 frames 14 = 11 frames

15 = 16 frames 16 = 1 sec 9 frames 17 = 2 sec 18 = 1 sec 18 frames

At the start of the chase the narrative structure has been set up and the viewer expects to see Bond eventually retrieve the hard drive. This expectation contributes to the tension that they feel as he gets closer or becomes more distant to Patrice. The visual design of the shots is dynamic with changing camera angles, frame sizes, movements and blurs across the frame implying speed. The revving engines and pulsing musical beat punctuate the action and anticipate the physical challenges encountered. Small amounts of verbal information add to the urgency and keep the viewer focused. By cross cutting between the characters the editor manipulates their spatial distance, with choice of shot length and the type of action within it constructing an unpredictable pace and an exciting sequence. Although shot lengths are mostly over a second, at the point when Patrice stalls the bike the editor has increased the tension by reducing the length of shots 13, 14, and 15 to under a second. Mostly it is the action that dictates the shot length, sometimes giving space for the viewer to adjust to a location and sometimes a quick glimpse of a face infers a more personal element.

70  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 70

8/13/21 10:02 AM

As the motorbikes come out of the souk onto the rooftops the viewer can see both the riders together in the frame (19). The extreme wide shots that follow give an overview of the space and the extent of danger involved (20, 22). Their purpose may be two fold, to conceal the use of stunt men but also to display the stunt.

20

The close shot of Bond, only 17 frames, re-engages the viewer with his character (21) and verifies that he is actually in the wider shots. The cut to HQ also confirms that Bond’s progress is being monitored and that both lines of action are taking place in parallel (23). 21

22

23

Where are they now? (M) They appear to be on the rooftops of the grand bazaar. (T)

By using single shots of each character the editor has been able to briefly hide information from the viewer. When Patrice stalls the bike the viewer doesn’t have the visual information to assess accurately where Bond is located but they automatically assume his relative position. This quick ‘filling in’ of missing information moves the action forward. There are several types of shot in this sequence; a medium close shot with sync dialogue (1, 2, 4, 5), wide shots where both characters are in frame or both pass through the same shot confirming their spatial relationship and wide shots of single characters. These allow screen time to be adjusted and emphasis to be placed on one character over another. The closer shots, primarily of Bond, allow the viewer to identify with him and the challenge he faces. Rarely is Patrice’s face glimpsed in this sequence though he does occupy a significant number of shots often in succession (9, 10, 11).

It is a further minute and a half before Moneypenny is seen again. Presumably she has been also tracking Bond with the help of HQ. Even though she has not been visible on screen the viewer has retained the information conveyed by her interaction with Tanner earlier (1, 2) and believes that she has been part of the chase. In this section from the much longer chase the editor in order to increase excitement and tension has relied on the viewer’s capacity to ‘fill in’ events that are not shown and in their ability to build an off-screen diegetic environment.

2. Curiosity The pre-title sequence from Skyfall is simple and straightforward in its narration and its expectations of the viewer, though these are uncharacteristically thwarted at its end. The use of parallel action can demand more of the viewer, creating mystery and intrigue as the opening scene of Strangers on a Train (1951) shows. Here the viewer when assembling the two pieces of parallel information becomes curious about the individuals shown as they catch a train. Hitchcock denies the viewer information, implying there is more to this story than the images and sounds depict. This opening scene lasting 2 minutes 15 seconds is simply and succinctly told with an almost balletic feel for rhythm. In Skyfall the viewer knows that the events unfold simultaneously as they see the pursuer and the pursued in the same shot and hear overlapping sounds, but here the two separate events are presented successively.

Curiosity 71

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 71

8/13/21 10:02 AM

Strangers on a Train (1951 Dir. Hitchcock, Ed. Zieglar) The screen shots are consecutive The opening title and credits for Strangers on a Train are laid over a wide shot of the station entrance. This shot develops to become part of the first character’s story. In the wide shot a taxi enters swinging round right to left, it draws to a stop, the passenger door forming a closeup shot(1.1, 1.2). A porter opens the door, takes out the luggage and then a man with white brogues steps out; it is Bruno Anthony (Walker). The viewer can only see his feet and lower leg; he pays, turns, walks right to left and almost leaves the frame (1.3, 1.4). The viewer already knows a lot about this man by his taste in clothes, his suitcase and the way he walks. Hitchcock, though, denies the viewer his face, making them curious. In shot 2 a similar taxi draws up; this time, although the sequence replicates the action of the first it has been abbreviated, beginning with a close shot of the door opening (2.1). Tennis racquets and black brogues clearly identify the character as he emerges. The shot size and actions are similar but the camera is positioned at the opposite angle (2.3). Guy Haines (Grainger) walks instead left to right. Visual opposites set up each individual in the tonality and style of their clothing and by the inverse screen direction, making it easy for the viewer to differentiate between them. However, it is the intercutting of their similar actions that establishes in the viewer’s mind a potential link between them. The continuity of each line of action is broken by the cut to the other character but the repetition of the action implies that both characters are progressing towards the same destination albeit one ahead of the other, and that these movements are taking place over the same period of time. The speed of the walk increases in shot 3 and is then echoed in 4, 5 and 6. Instead of being disorientated by the opposing screen direction the viewer anticipates that the two pairs of feet will eventually converge.

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

2.1

2.2

2.3

72  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 72

8/13/21 10:03 AM

The length of the action in each shot is carefully timed. In shot 3 and 4 the feet take about 7 steps, in 5 they take 4 steps and in shot 6 they take 3, thereby making the shot length shorter in 5 and 6 to two seconds. This increases the feeling of haste and the nearing of a resolution to the mystery. The editor has set up an internal rhythm within the scene by carefully choreographing the point at which he cuts in and out of the motion of the feet. By cutting between two different people a match action cut is in effect unnecessary but by matching the leftright motion of one pair of feet with the other pair an unstoppable rhythm has been created that seems to propel the characters forward. The camera moves round behind the characters and the viewer then witnesses both sets of feet go through the station barrier (7). As black brogues walks through, a dissolve to the train tracks from a moving train infers time has passed and implies both characters are on the train (8). Each train track parallel to the other never converges, only intersects briefly with other parallel tracks. What is Hitchcock playfully hinting at? A similar dissolve out of the tracks conveys a jump to slightly later in the journey. White brogues (Bruno) strides right to left down the train corridor and sits down (9). This shot is mimicked as the black brogues (Guy) walks left to right. He also sits down at what appears to be a similar table (10). In the next shot it is revealed that the two pairs of feet are now opposite each other, together in the single shot (11). As black brogues adjusts his foot position he nudges white brogues, motivating a cut to a wide shot revealing Guy seated directly opposite Bruno. They then introduce themselves.

3

10

4

11

5

6

7

In this opening section Hitchcock has purely used visual storytelling to engage and intrigue the viewer. He has also shown two strangers meeting on a train in a visually satisfying way by using screen direction and carefully chosen action to create pace and rhythm. Throughout the sequence the viewer is curious and asks questions. Who are the occupants of the shoes, why are they important and what is going to happen next? Although this is not quite a chase, the entwining of two individual lines of action that eventually come together produces in the viewer a sense of enquiry and anticipation that is partially satisfied when the two characters eventually speak.

8

9

Curiosity 73

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 73

8/13/21 10:03 AM

3. Thematic associations Griffith found in his early films such as Enoch Arden (1911) that he could create emotion and increase the viewer’s engagement by intercutting two parallel stories.3 In this particular film he used the cut to interrupt the continuous flow of action in one story and transport the viewer to the continuous flow of action in another. Whilst watching one event, for example the neighbour courting Enoch’s wife the viewer could imagine another, Enoch far away striving to escape from the desert island. The film not only presents two differing physical settings it also attempts to convey each character’s mental state with juxtaposed gestures that are mirrored in both locations. So as not to lose the viewer the plots of early films were carefully controlled with the intercutting of each line of action being causally related. Griffith in an earlier film, A Corner in Wheat (1909), started to explore the intercutting of several separate story lines. In doing so he suggests a cause-and-effect relationship between the strands but does not establish a clear temporal relationship. In the film Griffith integrates an aesthetic structure with social commentary, presenting with clarity a simple narrative. The comments being made must have been of interest to many at the time as Gunning remarks, with, ‘. . . the rising cost of living, the inability of the masses to meet the increase (in bread prices) and the part played by the speculator in bringing about this condition.’4

A Corner in Wheat (1909 Dir. Griffith, Ed. Smith)

Although connected thematically, the characters in one storyline never interact with those in another and neither are the storylines linked over a defined continuous time. The viewer might assume that the film takes place over a year as it initially establishes a field ploughed by a horse with the farmer and his elderly father sowing wheat and concludes with the same farmer sowing wheat without his father or the horse. The placement of these two scenes encourages the viewer to make an assumption and infer meaning that creates sympathy for the characters and their circumstances. In this case the poorer the people and the more difficult their situation becomes the more sympathy is elicited in the viewer. For Eisenstein, Griffith’s use of ‘parallelism’ was inspiring as he notes how the placing of two elements side by side ‘multiplied the emotional effect’. Eisenstein wanted to take this further as he claimed that Griffith’s practice ‘at all times remains on a level of representation and objectivity and nowhere does he try through juxtaposition of shots to shape import and image.’ 5 However, later in his writing he admitted that Griffith had attempted to use to editing to convey metaphor in his film Intolerance (1916).

1

2

3

4

5

6

Selected screen shots In this nearly 14-minute short film Griffith cuts between three contrasting character spaces. The farmers on the brink of starvation sowing the wheat (1, 6), the bakers who have had to increase the price of bread to cope with the rising price of wheat due to the inflated market (3, 5), and the capitalists enjoying the fruits of their exploitation (2, 4). This structure gives Griffith the opportunity to construct a poignant story with an underlying social comment. Placing a shot of the celebrating ‘Wheat King’ and the wealthy brokers next to a shot of the poor unable to afford the price of bread next to a shot of the underpaid starving farmers bluntly exposes the viewer to the effects of selfish economic greed (4-6).

74  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 74

8/13/21 10:03 AM

4. Multiple strands In his film Intolerance (1916), Griffith interweaves four story strands that span four eras in a complex exploration of the use of ‘parallelism’. For the film that runs 3 hours 30 minutes, he had an ambitious scheme where he wanted to manipulate the stories, as ‘four currents looked at from a hilltop. At first the four currents will flow apart, slowly and quietly. But as they flow, they grow nearer and near together, and faster and faster, until in the end, in the last act, they mingle in one mighty river of expressed emotion’.6 By doing this, Griffith intended the viewer to make an emotional connection between the juxtaposed stories. The theme of intolerance is common to all strands, with the aim being to elicit compassion not only for individuals but also for the whole civilisations that are presented. The opening title card leaves the viewer with little doubt as to the purpose of the film; ‘Each story shows how hatred and intolerance, through all the ages, have battled against love and charity’. ‘Therefore you will find our play turning from one of the four stories to another, as the common theme unfolds in each’.

Intolerance (1916 Dir. Griffith, Eds. Griffith, J. Smith, R. Smith)

1 Paris 1572

2 Present day c 1914

The four story strands Paris 1572 tells the story of religious intolerance between the Catholics and the Protestants where on St. Bartholomew’s Day groups of wealthy Huguenots were assassinated by Catholic mobs. The Present Day strand follows the story of the Dear One and The Boy and the gulf between those who ‘have’ and those who ‘have not’; the conflicts between ruthless capitalists and striking workers and the differences between the efforts of the ‘moral uplift society’ to ‘improve’ people and the spirit of youth.

3 Jerusalem c 27 AD

In 27 AD Jerusalem intolerance leads to conflict between the Hebrew people concluding with Jesus’ crucifixion. In Babylon 539 BC the empire falls when two religious strands clash – those that believe in the god Bel-Marduk and those that believe in Istar. Not only are these stories intercut with each other but within each story certain elements also run in parallel. For example, in the Present Day story The Boy wrongly convicted of murder is led to the gallows whilst The

4 Babylon 539 BC

Multiple strands  75

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 75

8/13/21 10:03 AM

Dear One strives to reach him with a letter of vindication. The two elements intercut to produce a sense of tension and concern in the viewer that is eventually satisfied when the two lines of action converge with The Dear One arriving in time to prevent The Boy’s hanging. Deleuze recognises Griffith’s intention that the convergent actions in Intolerance are not just ‘the chariot race in the Babylonian episode and the race between the car and the train in the modern episode – but the two races themselves converge through the centuries in an accelerated montage which superimposes Babylon on America’.7 He defines the alternation of the two actions that eventually come together as convergent montage. However, it is the increasing speed of interchange that is used between the two lines of action as they converge that caught his attention. He defined the rhythmic and tension-building possibilities that rapid cutting presents as ‘accelerated montage’.8 But does the intercutting in Intolerance actually work? Eisenstein felt that Griffith’s proclamation that his film was ‘a drama of comparisons’ was correct but he also felt that the associations that could be made did not go beyond this to become ‘a unified, powerful, generalized image’.9 Even today when viewers are adept at untangling multiple story lines the intermingling of the four very disparate stories may be too complex to synthesise. This perhaps hinders the viewer in grasping the theme of intolerance.

5. Hold your breath Hitchcock mentions that when cutting between several story strands, in order to orientate and not confuse the viewer it is necessary to use more exposition than that needed in a linear structure. When several chases are interwoven the disadvantage is that the viewer has less time to study a character closely and analyse their psychological motivations. As Hitchcock suggests, a balance needs to be found between the excitement of the chase and the viewer’s emotional identification with the characters taking part in it. He stresses that in an ideal structure the ‘tempo and complexity of the chase will be an accurate reflection of the intensity of the relations between characters’.10 Although the chase in Skyfall is exciting with the movement within the frame creating an ongoing flow, there is little psychological development in the characters until the final scene when Bond’s mission fails and his action is rendered worthless. The following sequence from the latter part of Strangers on a Train (1951) is also exciting, exploiting the possibilities of movement to create tension and suspense. However, it also uses the intercutting of parallel story lines to create anxiety and sympathy for specific characters.

The two story strands are cut in parallel and as the events progress the viewer experiences different types of emotion. As analysed earlier our attention has so far in the film been with Guy Haines (Granger), who by chance meets Bruno Anthony (Walker) on a train. It is here that Bruno suggests they ‘swap murders’, and interprets Guy’s lack of response as agreement. Bruno completes his side of the bargain and goes on to demonstrate a psychopathic determination in his attempt to get Guy to do his. Guy plays a championship tennis match whilst Bruno makes his way towards the fairground where a few days earlier he had murdered Guy’s wife. To deliberately incriminate Guy in the murder he intends to leave Guy’s cigarette lighter at the murder scene. Guy is aware of his intention so he must, as Hitchcock states ‘play as hard and as fast as he can in order to win the match, get off court, and overtake the villain. The villain in the meantime, confident that his victim is tied to the tennis court, is taking his time and being very methodical’.11 Although the initial section of this episode is not exactly a chase it becomes one in the minds of the viewer as they inwardly urge Guy to win the match as fast as possible. The game is very much played between the viewer and Guy as his tennis opponent is not known. The moment the match is over it then becomes a fullblown chase between Guy, the police and Bruno. How is the tension the viewer experiences achieved in the edit, and do they always empathise with Guy? This is a pre-chase chase that lasts about nine and half minutes. There are two defined character spaces, the tennis court and its environs and the journey to the fairground. The viewer experiences the tennis as though they are a spectator at the match but with a bias towards Guy. They have access to the match commentary and to the reactions of Anne, Guy’s girlfriend and her sister Barbara. These scenes are intercut with Bruno travelling to the fairground murder location; first in a taxi, on a train and then walking from the station. The match commentator’s remarks and the umpire’s announcements of the score guide the viewer and also create tension. Guy is up against two things: his tennis opponent and time. The questions in the viewer’s mind are, will he stop Bruno, and what happens if he doesn’t? In the course of these events both Bruno and Guy encounter obstacles as they strive towards their goals, providing moments of tension and release as they navigate and overcome them. Time is an important factor in both story strands; it is both implied and literal but not always continuous and is often flexible. Guy looks twice towards the tennis court clock in a section that last three and a half minutes of screen time. On the second occasion the clock has advanced

76  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 76

8/13/21 10:03 AM

an hour, compressing real time. Towards the end of the tennis match the commentator declares ‘the set score is now two to one with Guy Haines leading and it’s 10 all in the fourth set. This match from a quick victory for Haines has turned into a dog fight.’ This sets the urgent tone of the following excerpts. 1

2

3

4

5

6

7

10

11

12 Just one point between Haines and the match. (Commentator)

Strangers on a Train (1951) Screen shots numbered according to position in sequence Bruno has left the train and the lighter he has been carrying is accidentally knocked from his hand down a drain. From being calm and confident Bruno now conveys a disturbed aggressive side. He quickly returns to a calculated methodical calm as he reaches down into the drain through the grate and touches the lighter, but he knocks it further down (1–5). The series of five shots are continuous, each showing necessary detail for the viewer to engage with the action. Strangely at this point we almost feel sympathy for Bruno when he reaches for the lighter. Perhaps this is because he is striving so hard or perhaps because we glimpse a brief look of despair (5). This scene is juxtaposed with the continuing ‘dog fight’ on court and Guy’s equivalent, though more expressively energetic, determination (6, 7, 10). The shots of Guy and his opponent are fairly close up and show vigorous resolute play. Rarely does the viewer see a player waiting to return a shot making this a précis of the action on court. Reaction shots of Anne and of the umpire illustrate the tension as it is felt on court (11, 12). Anne’s look also echoes the tension the viewer feels for Guy, reminding them that they know more than her. Anne is worried by time running out, but the viewer is worried because they know how close Bruno is to the fairground. The glee in the commentator’s voice seems to seal the ending of the match, but is it? (17) The camera whips back and forth following the players almost as an interpretation of Anne’s or of the match spectators’ POV. As the ball hits the net and the umpire calls ‘Deuce’ (21) the editor cuts to Bruno persistently striving to retrieve the lighter (22). This juxtaposition of scenes quite clearly suggests that the obstacles that both Guy and Bruno are encountering mean that there is still all to ‘play for’.

17 Deuce. (Umpire)

21

Hold your breath  77

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 77

8/13/21 10:03 AM

From the start of the film the lighter has been used to imply meaning, both as a symbol of guilt and of innocence, but it is here where its significance is pushed to the forefront. The two shots inserted into the match of Bruno as he reaches further towards the lighter remind the viewer of why Guy is battling so hard to win (22, 23). 22

24

23

25 Advantage Mr Haines. (Umpire)

There are a greater number of shots of the tennis match with many of Guy in close up, making it easy for the viewer to see the tension in his face and empathise with his situation (34). The short shots of the match, many under a second, contain fast movements and blurs that create a sense of urgency and haste. The cutting almost literally throws the viewer back and forth, mimicking the dynamic action of the players and the viewpoint of the spectators. In contrast the big closeup of Bruno’s fingers reaching towards the lighter lasts 8 seconds and 7 frames, making the viewer hold their breath, giving them time to weigh up Guy’s chance of stopping him (36). The variation in shot length between the two story strands also creates tension. Whilst watching one storyline the viewer holds the progress of the other in their minds, influencing their feelings towards what is taking place.

31

32

Hitchcock has elongated time in Bruno’s story strand by returning several times to his fingers as they stretch nearer and nearer to the lighter. In contrast he has condensed time in the tennis match, often cutting into the later part of a game and the score.

33 Deuce. (Umpire)

Although the viewer sees and hears selective excerpts from the two strands it is inferred by the intercutting that they happen simultaneously. As the game reaches its climax more fragmented and abstract images of the match are intercut again with Bruno’s slow progress. At the moment his fingers clasp the lighter Guy wins the match and the physical chase begins.

34

35

36

78  Chapter 3  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 1 Parallel Tracks

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 78

8/13/21 10:03 AM

Sympathy for Guy or for Bruno? In this excerpt from Strangers on a Train the viewer experiences a number of different emotions, some anticipated and others unexpected. Like Guy and Anne, the viewer knows that Bruno is attempting to plant the lighter he has ‘acquired’ from Guy on the train journey in order to implicate Guy in his wife’s murder, a murder committed by Bruno. The plan is for Guy to stop him by completing the match early. There is a tense race against time that frames both of the two story strands but there is also the more objective excitement that any spectator would feel in response to a tennis match. Although here the shot selection, commentary and reactions of the crowd push the bias towards one player, Guy, who they hope will win. However, there is also another layer to the plot in that he isn’t just competing against an opponent, he is also competing against time, and the stakes are not just about winning a cup but his freedom. With this knowledge the viewer observes Anne and Guy’s facial reactions as he strives to win, sharing in their anxiety and heightening their empathy towards him. In addition to their concern with Guy’s situation the viewer’s anxiety increases as they compare his progress on the court to Bruno’s journey to plant the lighter. As an ‘invisible witness’ to all events, the viewer has more knowledge than any one character but is unable to change anything, leading to feelings of frustration and apprehension.

Tan notes, for an audience to have an empathetic emotion towards a character they need to understand fully the situation that the character is in.12 The editor, by structuring the parallel story strands, gives the viewer a far greater understanding of a situation than any single character has of it. Their knowledge of Bruno’s progress to the fairground generates fear and tension whilst they watch Guy. The viewer cannot help Guy win the match or stop Bruno but their privileged knowledge of both means their emotions can be more extreme or very different from those experienced by the characters. The feelings of admiration and then sympathy the viewer may experience for Bruno as he reaches for the lighter conflict with the empathy and anxiety they feel for Guy and Anne. Although the viewer knows that Bruno is the villain his mixture of charm and malice tell them that there may be more behind his behaviour. They may guess that he has a psychological condition and it these thoughts that might complicate their feelings towards him. Hitchcock has demonstrated that through the juxtaposition of several story strands he can manipulate how a viewer feels, creating sympathy for one character and perhaps surprisingly, a little compassion for another. He has used intercutting to bring a ‘psychological study’ to the visual excitement of a chase.

Hold your breath  79

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 79

8/13/21 10:03 AM

4 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 80

Continuous Time and Space What is continuity? ‘Unbroken, consistent, continuous, coherent, connected, a flow over time, movement, a linear order of events’ – just a few of the words that arise when continuity is discussed. Why are films perceived as being continuous, even though they are on the whole full of cuts? A cut creates a break in the flow of continuous movement in both the outgoing and the incoming shot. If at the point of impact, at the juncture in the visual and aural information there is a perceptual discontinuity, a question could be posed: why cut when the most obvious solution is not to do so? Andre Bazin praised Orson Welles’ direction of the The Magnificent Ambersons (1942): ‘his refusal to break up the action, to analyse the dramatic field in time, a positive action, the results of which are far superior to anything that can be achieved by the classical ‘cut’.1 This is slightly misleading, as he is not advocating the complete exclusion of editing but complimenting Welles on his use of framing and depth of field to achieve a ‘natural’ flow. Bazin goes on to discuss how the use of analytical editing ‘by its very nature rules out ambiguity of expression’, as it directs the viewer, leaving little room for a difference in interpretation.2 He suggests that the use of a deep focus composition allows the viewer to have a relationship with the image that is similar to reality and in this respect encourages a more active participation than analysing an event into many shots.

8/13/21 10:03 AM

Bazin’s ideas were explored practically in the 1960s and 70s by Antonioni, one of several filmmakers who looked for an alternative method of film narration. In the penultimate scene of The Passenger (1975), he uses a developing shot lasting for nearly seven minutes where the camera explores a deep wide space. He guides the viewer’s attention across the frame by the action that takes place within it. The big depth of field and wide framing allows the viewer to select specific elements to focus their attention on, thereby participating in a form of inner editing. Locke (Nicholson) a journalist working on a documentary in Chad, is trying to find rebel fighters to interview. At his hotel he learns that a businessman (Robertson) he has befriended has died. Tired of his current life, Locke decides to swap identities. He then discovers that Robertson has been gun running for the rebels. Locke, unable to deliver the guns that he has received the payment for, flees, pursued by the rebels and his wife. A young female student (Schnieder) who has become Locke’s lover helps him evade his pursuers. Against his advice she turns up at the Gloria Hotel in Andalusia but he persuades to her leave. She wanders outside into the dusty square.

The Passenger (1975 Dir. Antonioni, Eds. Arcalli/ Antonioni) Selected screen shots from one continuous shot

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

1.5

1.6

The camera track starts in the hotel room as Locke lies on his bed, alive (1.1). The rebels in pursuit of Robertson arrive and the camera slowly tracks through the bars of the window (1.2), out into the square where the young woman is walking (1.3). Among the varied sounds is a gunshot and the rebels leave. The camera swings round to a police car as it draws up and then back around the open space, following the young woman (1.4). As another group of people arrive and enter the same building (1.5), it then tracks across the front of the hotel to look through the bars (reverse side) into the same hotel room. Here the police, the young woman and the reporter’s wife who arrived in the car find him now dead (1.6).

Continuous Time and Space  81

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 81

8/13/21 10:03 AM

Antonioni has in one shot achieved by careful choreography a sequence that is continuous in time and space, a self-contained intriguing story that feels as though it is unfolding naturally. Here the camera performs the role of an invisible observer, but unlike a stationary viewer from inside the hotel room this observer is mobile, omnipresent, advancing to the window and through the bars and then turning to observe other views. In selecting these six still images the scene has been inadvertently ‘analysed’ or broken down into parts. The six ‘shots’ could almost, without the camera moves, have been edited coherently together. The stills have been selected to give a progression of information, in effect condensing time and space, reducing the real time that Antononi has created to ‘cinema’ time. Movement has been created in Antonioni’s single shot by the characters, by the camera, by the duration of the shot and by the perceptual activity of the viewer when they select areas of the frame to concentrate on. The single shot represents the whole scene. If the six stills had each been a static single shot, movement and therefore time would have been created by the duration of each shot, by the action within them and by the mental activity of the viewer at the cut. Ideas and connections would be made at the moment of change; the sum of the six shots represents the whole scene. Although the cut causes a definite break in time and can create a perceived temporal ellipsis, it can also create the illusion of continuous space and time.3

Classical Hollywood editing6 or the Institutional Mode of Representation (IMR)7 or continuity editing as it will be referred to here is a system of film narration. It is a system that has developed and evolved where the editing process supported by the cinematography and the mise en scène contributes to tell a coherent seamless story. It is where a narrative continuity exists within a spatial and temporal continuity. The goal is for the tools of narration to be hidden to allow the viewer to concentrate their attention on the story. To overcome the perceptual disruption of the cut a set of rules or guidelines has been developed to manipulate the viewer’s attention in order for the juncture to be as smooth as possible. What exactly is continuity editing and is it necessary? What happens when the edit is discontinuous and how does this make the viewer feel? Why is a ‘smooth’ cut considered so important and how can an editor achieve a smooth cut? Mackendrick advises that to ‘make a cut seem smooth is to make the jump of the mind’s eye, (the) one that the audience wants to make’.8 Smith agrees, noting that to supply the answer to a viewer’s perceptual enquiry can help achieve a smooth cut.9 This chapter will try to answer the questions posed here by exploring this technique and others.

Bazin suggests that by breaking (cutting) a film into constituent parts the editor controls the attention of the viewer through selection and emphasis. However, he considers that this guidance does not provide adequate room for the viewer to participate. How can an editor by using cuts engage the audience? Pudovkin advises that a cut should be motivated by the psychological perception of the viewer, with an edited sequence timed ‘to correspond to the natural transference of attention of an imaginary observer’. 4 He is indicating that cuts should mimic the attention shifts and developing interpretation of the viewer who is witnessing events as they unfold. Even though this idea has many flaws, with a mobile camera producing the effect of an omnipresent witness, impossible camera angles and focal distances identifying the narrator’s presence, it does provide a rationale for continuity editing.5 The intention of this editing style is to draw the viewer into the fictional world that the characters experience without the ‘telling’ of the story taking the viewer out the diegesis. It is a style that has to be achieved ‘smoothly’.

82  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 82

8/13/21 10:03 AM

1. The illusion In a scene from Gone with the Wind (1939), Scarlett (Leigh) declares her love to Ashley (Howard), but he declines her, saying that instead he is going to marry Melanie (de Havilland). Walking out of the room he appears to leave her alone. In this example of continuity editing spatial and temporal continuity are achieved through camera placement, the mise en scène, relative shot size and continuity of action across the cut. Why does it work?

1.1

1.2

2.1

2.2

2.3

2.4

3

4 ‘whistles’ (Rhett)

5 ‘gasps’ (Scarlett)

6 Has the war started? (Rhett)

Gone with the Wind (1939. Dir. Flemming. Ed. Kern) Screen shots are consecutive The first part of the scene where Ashley and Scarlett interact takes place in an area of the room that looks towards screen left (1.1). It could possibly have been shot independently of the second half with Scarlett and Rhett (Gable), towards screen right (3). The join between the two halves is where Scarlett turns at the door, from the wide shot (1.2) to the close up (2.1). Here the action is matched across the cut, appearing to make space and time continuous. Scarlett, believing that she is alone in the room shows her anger at Ashley’s rejection (2.2) by picking up a vase (2.3, 2.4) and throwing it at the wall. When Scarlett turns the viewer witnesses her face and her emotional reaction seems obvious. The fast tilt down to her hand reaching for the vase seems to interpret her anger, the camera move translating her impetuous nature. There is a cut on action from the closeup of her hand leaving the frame (2.4) to the wide shot (3) where she throws the vase. This appears to be continuous; or is it? What has happened spatially? In the closeup (2) Scarlett clearly has her back to the door that Ashley left by and is behind the small table but in the wide shot she seems to have moved around the table to be able to throw the vase (as shown in the plan). In this shot the viewer can observe a new area of the room with the only part previously seen being the windows (3). Their attention is on the new space and the dramatic action, and with the throwing movement appearing to be continuous the viewer ignores the change of Scarlett’s position and the slight ellipsis of time.

The illusion  83

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 83

8/13/21 10:03 AM

Plan of the set showing shots 2 and 3 This plan is based on viewing the scene, not on floor plans from the designer or cinematographer. It is an attempt to make sense of the space.

The following shots are matched in size and eyelines, conveying a unified space with the dialogue played on the character speaking (5–7). The wider composition allows Rhett to walk round the settee to meet Scarlett, establishing the room space and the proximity of the characters (8). The shots that follow are over the shoulder closeups with matched eyelines (9). The angle to the camera allows the viewer to see the character’s facial expressions. It would perhaps have been interesting to see a cut where the dialogue had been played wholly or even partially on reaction shots. This is a scene where the spatial and temporal continuity makes the narrative extremely coherent.

Even though technically there may be a lapse in temporal and spatial continuity the illusion of continuity has been fulfilled by the momentum of Scarlett’s physical action across the cut. The task of assimilating the extreme difference in shot size from close up to big wide shot also distracts the viewer. Their attention is with her performance and their desire to see the result of her action. Shot 4 is essentially Scarlet’s view of where the vase has smashed into the wall. Rhett emerges from behind the sofa, whistling. The viewer is convinced by the editing that he has been there the whole time, even though Gable would probably have not been behind the sofa in the wide shot for safety reasons (3).

7

8.1

Sir you should have made your presence known. (Scarlett)

In the middle of that beautiful love scene that wouldn’t have been very tactful, would it . . .

8.2

9

. . . but don’t worry your secret is safe with me. (Rhett) Sir, you are no gentleman. (Scarlett) And you miss are no lady. (Rhett) Oh! (Scarlett) Don’t think that I hold that against you. (Rhett) First you take a low common advantage of me, then you insult me. (Scarlett)

84  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 84

8/13/21 10:03 AM

2. How did the continuity system evolve? By exploring the early history and development of the continuity system it is possible to situate and make relevant the editing techniques used today. From the autumn of 1896 it was possible to physically join strips of film together. However at this early period the single shot scenes if joined had roughly a second of black spacing inserted on either side. The filmmakers considered this to be a solution to the visual disruption they felt would occur if they cut directly from shot to shot.10 George Méliès, in his ‘trick’ films, used cutting to achieve the tricks and went to great lengths to make the cuts invisible, for if he didn’t the trick would be revealed. Méliès’ tricks were initially realised by stopping the camera, replacing or substituting something within the frame for something else, multiplying an element or changing its scale and then starting the camera again. This technique might appear as an ‘in-camera’ edit; but as Gunning notes, recent examination of the prints of Méliès’ films ‘reveal that in every case, this stop-motion technique was in fact revised through splicing’.11 In The Vanishing Lady (1896) a magician demonstrates a trick showing the disappearance and reappearance of his female stage accomplice. It seems that instead of recording on camera the stage trick of using a trapdoor in the floor Méliès has substituted this for stop motion.

The Vanishing Lady (1896. Dir. Méliès) Selected screen shots This short film lasts about 1 minute 17 seconds and during that time Melies performs three tricks. His accomplice disappears, a skeleton ‘miraculously’ appears and his accomplice reappears, having swapped places with the skeleton. There are at least three places where Melies has stopped the camera or ‘cut’ the filming. After covering the woman with a sheet (1, 1.2) he then stops the camera and the woman is removed. He then matches his hand position, resumes filming and pulls away the sheet to reveal an empty chair (2). He then assumes the position of a conjurer, cuts the camera, places the skeleton on the chair and resumes his position. Played as one piece of film the skeleton magically appears (3). This procedure is then repeated to reveal his accomplice sitting in the chair (4). In all three tricks the positioning of the magician is critical to a convincing ‘trick’, with the stop motion probably later being refined by editing to help the transition and achieve the illusion of one continuous shot.

1

1.2

2.1

2.2

3

4

How did the continuity system evolve?  85

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 85

8/13/21 10:04 AM

When filming ‘actualities’ or recordings of live events it was difficult know what was going to happen next; this led to either recording everything or to making selections by turning the camera on and off. Gunning reflects that Cecil Hepworth, in an advertisement in the Showman, February 1901, announced: ‘Kindly note there is no ‘padding’ to these pictures. We only publish 500 ft, though over 2000 ft of film are exposed, for the least interesting portions have been removed’. 12 This clearly demonstrates that it was possible not to show everything that was filmed and that filmmakers were already editing in order to keep the audience interested.Unlike fictional films the shots in actuality films such as The Launch of Old Albion (1898) were joined together for screenings without black spacing. Often the direction and flow of on-screen movement is used to disguise the cut and help the viewer follow the proceedings, thereby creating the illusion of continuous time.

The Launch of Old Albion (1898 Dir. Paul)

rather than to convince the viewer of a continuous flow. Of course, these excerpts may actually have either been all that remains of the film or the only footage that Paul could get at the time or they may be from different occasions.14 What was the next step? How could early filmmakers overcome the disruption of the cut, control narrative order, present a convincing action in continuous time and space and deliver a ‘smooth’ perceptual experience to the audience? It is clear that early filmmakers understood they could construct the illusion of continuous time through joining different shots together. They were also aware of the necessity of making sure the viewer knew where they were in each shot and what was important within it. One of the difficulties of early cinema for today’s viewer is actually focusing on and understanding what is important within the frame, with the organisation of the mise-en-scene elements seeming sometimes contradictory and the space confusing.

In this short film of the launch the battleship Old Albion on the Thames at Bow Creek, Paul is clearly filming from onboard a large motor launch. He passes the hull of a ship moving right to left (5) and then cuts to a woman who is observing the proceedings on his own boat (6.1). Although his boat is now moving left to right the two shots seem to flow. This is probably because she is fairly close to the camera and obscures the background movement behind her. The shot continues, showing crowds on the riverbank and in rowing boats that have come to see the launch. The next cut is to a shot from behind the heads of the crowd but still from onboard a boat (7). They appear to observe the battleship, possibly as it is being launched. The bumpy movement here helps to disguise the cut. Christie notes in his commentary, the launch of Old Albion became a catastrophe where thirty-eight people died when a jetty was swept away by the wave produced by the battleship as it hit the water.13 The three shots that follow show men in rowing boats beside a jetty looking agitated and scanning the water, perhaps looking for survivors (8, 9). Their similar angle and size make the cuts obvious, though the content and the camera and crowd movement help to unite the pieces. It feels as though these pieces have been selected solely because they are the most interesting pieces of the traumatic event and the conclusion of a ‘news’ story

5

6.1

6.2

7

8

9

86  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 86

8/13/21 10:04 AM

3. The chase One of the first film genres to emerge and one that is perhaps at the heart of cinema is the chase film. All chase films have to get one thing right: if the person chased runs in one direction his or her chasers have to do the same, if not the chasing will not work. Chases generally take place across several locations where a character moves through different spaces. How then is the continuity of action conveyed over time and space through editing? In Rescued by Rover (1905), Hepworth presents a series of vignettes of a dog as he overcomes a set of obstacles to reach a goal. Rover is in search of his owner’s stolen child and follows a trail to the kidnappers, running through different locations. The linearity of his action over a series of cuts establishes a comprehensible geography, with the series of images coherently and economically guiding the viewer.15 The editor, by allowing Rover to exit the last frame of one shot and then re-enter the first frame of the next shot, has achieved a smooth cut juncture. Perceptually Rover has not disappeared but has reappeared in the next shot with the spatial geography being defined by the edge of the frame. Generally the line of action is consistent, implying a progression through space.

Rescued by Rover (1905 Dir. Hepworth) Screen shots 1–6 are consecutive The viewer believes that the window that Rover jumps from, top right of frame, and where he leaves frame bottom left (1) is probably a house at the end of the street in shot 2. In this shot he enters frame top right and again leaves bottom left. His progress along the street appears to continue around the corner of the same street (3). Although it might not be easy to convince the viewer that there is a river at the end of this street the next cut to the river infers that it is nearby (4). By Rover’s exit position in shot 4 (fairly central at the lower frame edge) the viewer could assume that the houses in shot 5 are near to this side of the riverbank. Likewise, because Rover goes through the door of a house the viewer assumes the attic where he finds the baby to be at the top of the same house (6). It takes Rover six shots and about 55 seconds to enter the house and find the baby. His return journey to his master with the reverse action and same number of shots takes about 12 seconds less time. Perhaps the

1

2

3

4

5

6

The chase  87

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 87

8/13/21 10:04 AM

intention here is to indicate Rover’s hurry to get back to his master and to heighten the viewer’s desire for him to do this as fast as possible.

Rover is postioned in the screen shots below just before and just after the cut

On Rover’s third journey, returning with his master to rescue the child, the location in shot 3 is left out. Perhaps Hepworth is acknowledging that the viewer already knows the route but he might also be promoting a sense of urgency. After the baby has been rescued Hepworth ignores the journey along the street back home with the child, staying on the shot of the drunken kidnapper. Perhaps this is to accommodate enough time for the rescuers to return home or perhaps to allow the viewer to empathise, or not, with the woman. After this shot he then cuts directly back to the house and the arrival of father, baby and Rover. This shot departs from the single spatial continuity of Rover’s journey but seems to imply a temporal continuity. However, time has been condensed to 20 seconds, swiftly supplying the ending that the viewer has been waiting for. This film confidently uses a limited number of camera set ups and convincing editing to economically tell a fairly complex story. The continuity editing of early chase films disguises the disruption of the cut by presenting a continuous action. As a character leaves the frame at the end of one shot and enters in the next the viewer uses the spatial information in adjoining shots to create a larger geographic whole. Gunning points out that this synthesis of space through onscreen movement is dependent on a narrative structure where expectations are created in the viewer and fairly quickly fulfilled.16 Here it is the viewer’s desire and hope for a positive outcome to the story that keeps them engaged emotionally with Rover’s progress. Throughout the film shots are presented that encourage the viewer to ask questions: how will Rover get across the river? Can he enter the house? Will his master understand him? At each change of shot there is an answer and a new question is posed, with the narrative continuity helping to make the visual discontinuity of the cut ‘smooth’. How exactly does the movement within the frame help to reduce the amount of attention the viewer gives to the cuts? The visual stimulus is Rover, with his movement attracting the viewer’s attention, as they follow his progress from frame right to frame left. As they follow him they filter out or reduce the attention they give to other elements in the frame.

7

8

At the moment of the cut the viewer’s eyes are at the edge of the frame left (7) concentrating on Rover but to preserve directional continuity they expect to see him come from frame right in the next shot (8). He does, coming from behind the fence the flow of action convinces the viewer. In each of the cuts in this film Rover leaves the frame and re-enters an empty frame. Does this fulfil continuity, temporally and spatially? In the real world when a person or object disappears from view or is obscured by something else we continue to perceive that they or it are still there, but hidden. On screen if a character is moving at a constant speed and on a direct path we continue to perceive them when an object conceals their progress and can predict when they will reappear. Known as ‘existence constancy’ this ‘filling in’ of information is reliant on the viewer perceiving the constant motion of an object on a defined path prior to it being obscured in order to fulfil spatiotemporal continuity.17 But what is happening when an object or character clears the film frame? The edge of frame is not real, just a border between the fiction world and the real. So rationally the viewer would not expect the character to re-emerge, as when their eyes leave the frame with the character there is no space for the character to reappear in. For ‘existence constancy’ to occur the viewer needs to expect the motion of a character exiting the frame in the first shot to continue from the opposite side of the frame in the next shot, re-entering from behind the frame edge. Smith notes that when a character exits the frame the visual stimulus has concluded so the viewer’s attention shifts and they expect a cut. They do not expect the character to re-enter at the same position in the frame and so move their eyes towards the opposite side. If the outgoing shot is timed to cut as the viewer’s eye meets the edge of the frame and the character has completely exited, the saccadic

88  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 88

8/13/21 10:04 AM

eye movement (rapid eye movements in a deliberate scanning process) to the opposite side will make the viewer ‘blind’ to the visual disruption of the cut.18 Given this information, an editor needs to consider the position of the character on entry in the next shot – completely out of frame, partially in or completely in? If the frame is left empty for too long will the viewer’s attention diminish and the illusion of continuity not be fulfilled? Or if the character is on screen before the viewer’s eyes have settled at the opposite side will they find it difficult to focus on the character? As a result of his eye tracking experiments, Smith indicates that complete entry of a character or object gave the ‘smoothest’ cut as it produced the ‘shortest attention withdrawal’.19 This could imply that the eyes are also being ‘pulled’ across the frame by the new focus of attention. However, if the object of attention in the incoming shot is hidden behind the edge of the frame this could not happen, with the gaze shift likely to have been motivated by the exit of the object in the previous shot. Some editors believe that letting a character half exit and half enter achieves the ‘smoothest’ continuity of action. If this method is chosen the action needs to be timed with the rhythm of the actor’s movement in order to retain the viewer’s attention over the discontinuity of the cut. Either way the difference in these

options will be frames rather than seconds and an editor should judge and test each individual cut separately, as well as in relation to the whole scene. Allowing a character or object to leave frame is a technique often used by editors to change scene and sometimes time. This results in a spatiotemporal discontinuity but it does allow the editor to move the narrative forward or backward, whereas a match action cut creates the illusion of spatial and temporal continuity.

4. The magic of many rooms Chaplin in Dough and Dynamite (1914) used the technique of directional continuity to present a space that is never connected in a single shot but constructed in the imagination of the viewer. The space that Chaplin confidently creates here is not only on a single horizontal plane but also constructed over a vertical axis. Chaplin as a character moves between two levels of the building assisted by the mise en scène device of a trap door, from the café (2) to the bakery below (4). A door also connects the Café (2) and the Kitchen (3) on the ground floor, making spaces 1-4 continous; these though are never explored in the action as whole spaces in one shot but are only united by editing.

Dough and Dynamite (1914 Dir. Chaplin, C. Ed. Chaplin, S) A ‘visual’ plan of the interior café and bakery space

The magic of many rooms  89

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 89

8/13/21 10:04 AM

The plot of Dough and Dynamite is more complex than the earlier chase films, with Chaplin playing a waiter who is forced by his bad-tempered employer to make the bread when the other bakers go on strike. The strikers put a stick of dynamite in a loaf that Chaplin unsuspectingly places in the oven. The camera position is mainly frontal, wide and static and the viewer is very clearly led by the performance through the constructed space. The comedy is defined by Chaplin’s performance and by the timing of movement across the cuts. As in the early chase films it is the continuity of action across a cut that makes the geography of the café and bakery believable. Arrows indicate the direction of movement across the shots.

The space of the bakery in the basement is seen solely broken into individual shots (1–2). The visual diagram on the previous page unites the space. In this cut Chaplin comically connects the two areas of the bakery when he takes the loaf out of the oven. The continuous backward action of the baker’s paddle jutting out of shot 1.2 and into shot 2.1 unites the space, presenting a continuous action and constructing a continuous space. Rarely does Chaplin manage to accurately match the action across the cut but it is the energy of the physical ‘gag’ that makes the cut convincing. On close scrutiny, in the cut between shots 3 and 4 he seems to slip twice as he goes through the door between the café and kitchen, once in each shot; however, the end result is still convincing. In the preceding visual diagram an orange vertical line indicates the position of the door between the café and kitchen.

1.1

1.2

2.1

2.2

3.1

3.2

4.1

4.2

Burch notes that the early chase films were simple clear stories with a structure that ‘provided a model for narrative causality and linearity’ and that these dramas had initially appealed to the working classes.20 However, in 1908 there was a marked change, prompted by financial concerns and a desire by the two dominant American (New York) production companies, Edison and Biograph, to gain a middle class ‘respectability’. Story-based films, often with literary themes, started to be made in order to promote a higher moral tone of optimism and aspiration. These more complex screen narratives required new modes of shooting and editing that changed the viewer’s experience. As Gunning notes, the viewer was now no longer a detached observer; they were becoming an active participant, emotionally involved in the fortunes of the screen characters and their fictional world.21

90  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 90

8/13/21 10:04 AM

5. Wide shots and cut ins A wide static shot is clearly suitable for the large comedic style of Chaplin’s performance. Where less overt narrative clues were needed to inform the viewer of essential plot points such as a hidden gun or stolen purse, a wide tableau gave little guidance beyond an establishing shot, resulting in essential story elements being missed.22 Porter, in his three-shot film for the Edison Company, The Gay Shoe Clerk (1903), cuts in to a closer shot to reveal to the viewer what has fascinated the clerk.

1

The Gay Shoe Clerk (1903 Dir. Porter) In a wide profile shot, a chaperone reads her paper whilst a young woman tries on a pair of high-heeled shoes (3). In a closer shot from the same angle the clerk’s hand ties the shoelace. As he does this the woman slowly pulls up her long dress to reveal her ankle. The movements of clerk’s hand become nervous, making it difficult for him to finish tying the lace (2). The return to the wider shot shows the clerk make his move. As he kisses the young woman her chaperone notices and she beats him with her umbrella.

2

This short film has addressed an obsession that many of this time had with women’s ankles, a part of the body that was hidden from view. The drama has revealed the forbidden to the viewer and the consequences of an impulsive reaction to it in a fairly good-humoured way. The space is synthesised through the continuity of action with the cuts more or less matched on this action. The jump into the closeup focuses the viewer on the action, with the performance revealing the intentions and the feelings of the two people. The closeup, though, is not from the viewpoint of the clerk; it is there for the benefit of the viewer as they ‘secretly’ observe the drama. Here the decision to break a continuous action into three pieces seems to suggest the start of the continuity editing system. At this time many other filmmakers were exploring the possibilities of directing the viewer through the editing of closeups and cutaways into wider shots in a way that would also achieve a continuous flow.

3

Wide shots and cut ins  91

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 91

8/13/21 10:04 AM

The use of a ‘cut in’ to draw attention to essential plot and emotional details is a technique that continued to be used in Hollywood films. In this scene from Written on the Wind (1956), a cut in is used to reveal a character’s thoughts without interrupting the flow of continuous time and space or drawing attention to the editing. The fluid camera movement allows the audience to discover the grand space with the characters as they walk through the hotel suite. Pauses in the movement of the tracking shots provide moments of stillness that help the cuts. Kyle (Stack) is the son of a Texas oil tycoon; Mitch (Hudson) is his childhood friend and Lucy (Bacall) the company secretary. Both men fall in love with Lucy but she eventually marries Kyle without knowing of Mitch’s feelings. Near to the start of the film the three are returning from a business trip in a private plane. In this scene Kyle’s seemingly last-minute decision to divert the plane to Miami Beach pleases and also puzzles Lucy. Mitch is annoyed as Kyle flaunts his wealth to Lucy in the hotel room.

4.1

4.2

4.3

5

6

7.1

7.2

8.1

8.2

9.1

9.2

10

Written on the Wind (1956 Dir. Sirk, Ed. Schoengarth) Hotel room scene The screen shots are consecutive As Lucy, Kyle and Mitch walk along the corridor to their hotel rooms the camera tracks back. They pause outside a door and the hotel manager announces, ‘this is Miss Moore’s suite’ (4.1). Lucy walks through the door, exits frame (4.2) and Kyle asks the manager ‘are we right across the hall?’ ‘Yes Sir’. He walks into Lucy’s suite followed by Mitch (4.3). The action is picked up in a cut to a wide from inside the room (5). Mitch’s walk is matched across the cut but our eyes are on Lucy in the centre of the frame. This shot develops and moves with her as she looks at the rest of the suite and the items that have been specially bought and arranged for her. Kyle walks into a mid-shot asking ‘How do you like it?’ he looks towards her (6) and we expect to see her reaction. Lucy raises her head and their eyes connect (7.1). He says ‘What’s not to like, huh?’ then walks into her shot. ‘Come on I’ll show you around’, they walk into the bedroom (7.2). In shot 8.1 the viewer is already in the bedroom as Lucy and Kyle walk in. Lucy’s walk is matched as a continuous movement across shots 7 to 8. Although both shot sizes

are similar the change of angle is significant enough to make the cut acceptable. Kyle opens a draw full of glistening clutch bags and Lucy reaches to pick up a gold one (8.2). As she touches the bag a cut in to a close shot from a slightly higher angle makes it almost from Lucy’s view point (9.1). The pause in camera motion and the cut punctuate the scene, implying that at this moment Lucy has understood the underlying motive behind Kyle’s extravagance. This has successfully conveyed an emotional meaning without

92  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 92

8/13/21 10:04 AM

showing her face. The action of throwing the bag down and closing the draw infers her growing doubt about the situation. The return to the wide shot is again matched on action (10) with Kyle asking, ‘Anything missing?’ This shot continues from the same position as 8 and develops as Lucy is shown further demonstrations of his wealth. In this scene Sirk has used techniques explored in early cinema and honed and refined them with dialogue, with interpretative camera movement and with the movement of the actors.

By implication the almost ‘matched’ eyelines between Annie and Enoch create an illusion of a space that is united by thought and longing. How does the intercutting of the parallel stories create tension and emotion?

6. Emotional stories in parallel

Continuous time is implied, so whilst witnessing one story the other is also unfolding off screen. The visual action is discontinuous in each strand but the viewer creates new meaning by filling in the story gaps. When Griffith had proposed intercutting parallel stories, his employers suggested that it might be distracting, worrying that the story might jump around. This clearly was not the case as parallel editing after 1909 became the dominant mode of film structure and laid the foundations of current narrative film structures.

Editing in the early 1900s was able to create a believable continuity of movement in space and time within the fictional world of the film. However, to retain the viewer’s engagement in the film story it was important to find new ways to create tension and elicit emotion. How could editing help to do this? D.W. Griffith was recognised by some as the ‘father of film’, with many filmmakers such as Eisenstein, Gance and Chaplin holding him in high respect. In his early films for the American Biograph Company he explored ways to emotionally engage the viewer in the events and lives of his characters. He used editing and the intercutting of parallel stories to create tension and suspense and recognised the power of the reaction shot and its emotional possibilities. He realised that through editing choices he could guide the viewer’s relationship to the characters and the story. In Enoch Arden (1911), a film story adapted from Tennyson’s poem Enoch Arden, Griffith intercuts two narrative strands to emphasise the longing and emotion of a couple separated by distance. The story requires two locales, a desert island where Enoch (Paget) has been shipwrecked and a home for his wife Annie Lee (Gish) who awaits his return. The use of parallel editing is used to emphasise their spatial separation but also serves to connect the couple emotionally. The viewer as an invisible witness knows, unlike Enoch’s wife, that he is still alive on the island and that she remains faithful even though his friend courts her. How does Griffith convey their mutual love and longing without words?

The editing has inferred through juxtaposition that the thoughts and emotions these two characters have for each other are mutual but the circumstances keep them apart. This increases the viewer’s involvement, as they desire for Enoch to be rescued before it is too late.

1

2

Enoch Arden (1911 Dir. Griffith) Griffith uses off-screen looks to create an almost mystical communication between shipwrecked Enoch wearing a locket (1) and his wife, Annie Lee (2). At home she looks pensively out of the side of the frame whilst her children and Philip, her suitor, joke and play.

3

Emotional stories in parallel  93

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 93

8/13/21 10:04 AM

7. Analysing the world, the editor as narrator Griffith found that the use of closer shots could help narrate the story, bring dramatic emphasis and guide the viewer. By 1912 he began to break a single space into several shots, constructing a scene. In the 15-minute short film The Girl and Her Trust (1912), he uses closer shots to give the viewer essential plot information and to portray Grace (Bernard) trying to frighten away the tramps in their attempt to steal money from the railway station. He analyses the complicated action by breaking it down into parts, using different shot sizes to convey each element. The shots are not only cut ins but closeup shots essential to the viewer’s understanding of the complex story.

Matched action over cuts creates a convincing continuity of time where we believe that the actions of both Grace and the tramps are temporally parallel. The screen shots are consecutive

1

2.1

2.2

2.3

The Girl and her Trust (1912 Dir. Griffith) Plan of the Scene The camera position numbers in the plan correspond to those of the screen shots.

The two spaces are divided by the locked door, the tramps on one side trying to break in (1) and Grace in the office on the other side (2). Their corresponding hand positions indicate a common space. When Grace turns and picks up an object from the desk (2.2), even her fairly close position in the wider shot does not tell the viewer what is in her hand as she is slightly off screen. This brief withholding of information has the potential to trigger curiosity. The cut in on action though clearly provides the answer, a bullet (3). The wide shot then re-establishes Grace in the office space (4). Whilst the tramps pound the other side of the door in (5), Grace has returned to the desk and picked up a hammer and scissors. The visual continuity of her action has been broken, as whilst the viewer watches the tramps hitting the door Grace has moved position. However, the intercutting alludes to a continuous time.

In this early example of analytical editing Griffith has established the two spaces with two wide frontal shots (1, 2) with ‘cut ins’ in the office on the same axis in two further sizes (3, 4), showing details that draw the viewer into the plot.

Shots 6 to 9 are cut on the action to present a continuous flow. There are now three different shot sizes with the closer shots on the same plane as the wide shot (2, 3, 7). As shown in the diagram the axis of action is between the camera and Grace. This produces the effect of jumping into a section of the wider shot at the cut.

94  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 94

8/13/21 10:04 AM

Grace places the scissor point onto the bullet (7), and the closer detail (8) increases tension in the viewer as they anticipate the result of her action. She hits the bullet once with no effect but as she raises the hammer again (9) there is a cut to the tramps and a brief moment before the viewer sees the explosion and their reaction to it (10). The bullet has now travelled between the two spaces.

3

4

5

6.1

6.2

7.1

7.2

8

9.1

9.2

10.1

10.2

For an editor there is a dilemma– do they show the hammer hitting the bullet or do they show the result of the action? – for in continuity editing it is not possible to show both. Here the editor has chosen to show the result of the explosion from the tramps’ side of the door. Using a fixed camera axis denies the viewer the opportunity to see Grace’s facial emotion, particularly in the closer shot (7, 9). To see her face the camera would need to move to another angle or Grace would need to reposition for us to see her face. The viewer is, though drawn into the fictional world by the urgency of Grace’s action emphasised by the closer shots and by their privileged position as a witness of both sets of action in the two locations.

Match action over cuts Why are cut ins on action convincing and why do we feel the action is continuous? If a movement on screen is our point of focus why do we automatically want to continue following it, anticipating that it will continue from one shot to the next? Smith notes that these expectations and the focus of attention on a specific visual stimulus can make the cut ‘invisible’.23 Our visual attention is captured by movement, with larger movements being more successful in distracting us from the cut than smaller movements. However, even a glance or slight eye flicker can attract attention depending on shot size, composition and narrative expectation. Movement can hide a cut by either attracting attention or by directing it. It is the general flow of movement in the scene from The Girl and Her Trust that attracts attention. The motion of Grace picking up an object from the desk provokes a perceptual enquiry: what does she have in her hand? The viewer is then directed to the object, the bullet, as she pushes it into the keyhole. Where is the best place to cut in on an action? There are several differing opinions on this, with some editors believing the correct place to cut being during an action.

Analysing the world, the editor as narrator  95

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 95

8/13/21 10:04 AM

Others believe it is somewhere at the height of action intensity, others near the onset of the action and others at a brief rest in the action or at the end of it. Cutting during the flow of movement has the advantage that the viewer’s attention is attracted to the motion but this can only work well if the actor or object has maintained a constant speed in both shots. Remembering that action appears faster in a closer shot than in a wide and that the performance needs to be adjusted to accommodate this. This type of cut requires the position and timing of the action in both shots to be accurate allowing the images to be graphically matched. Neither of these requirements is necessarily delivered to the cutting room, and even if they are, technically matching an action in continuous time and space across the cut may still cause a slight feeling of repeated movement or in some cases a jump. When observing a screen action the viewer’s attention is not always constant, with these variations of focus providing moments when the potential for a cut to attract attention is reduced. Attention can be occupied by the processing of the event prior to the cut or attention captured by new incoming visual motion. During most movements there are small moments of rest. It is suggested by many editors that these rhythmic pauses can form a place to punctuate the action with a cut.24 This ensures that the cut does not actually interrupt the flow of movement but creates two discrete phases in the movement. Not only does the cut fit rhythmically with the performance but this moment may also provide a place to cover a slightly different speed in the action. Cutting to the new action at the moment it begins may be an option that achieves the smoothest transition with the cut being hidden by the incoming visual motion and also fulfilling the answer to the viewer’s perceptual enquiry. Although the various options can be discussed technically all editing decisions are influenced by the dramatic, visual and aural content as well as the viewers desire to further the narrative so each cut has to be judged not only as a specific case but also in its relation to the whole scene.

Cutting to the emotive Griffith had discovered in The Girl and Her Trust that by breaking down a scene into incomplete sections he could join them in an order that directed the viewer’s attention. In the use of big closeups and mid-shots he creates a coherent narrative, but this serves to progress the plot rather than to show an emotional reaction. However, The Girl and Her Trust does demonstrate that the emotional affect the film viewer was now experiencing was no longer solely generated by the actor through overt gesture but guided by camera placement and by the editor in shot selection and order. The possibility of inserting a

closeup of a character’s face now offered an opportunity for their facial expression to be more easily ‘read’, suggesting an emotional state that the viewer might empathise with. This required a very different approach to acting where the use of a subtle gesture could encourage the viewer to believe that they were discovering rather than being presented with the character’s inner life. Gunning notes that in Griffith’s films the viewer was in ‘a position of visual mastery because he or she can never be seen by the spectacle being watched’.25 As actors no longer engaged with the camera, the viewer had gained what felt like a privileged access to a character’s emotions, creating a sense of exposure and intimacy. Griffith was very aware that this voyeuristic position via the camera’s viewpoint could be manipulated. He denied the viewer key elements by concealing a character’s face or cutting before an intimate moment to arouse their curiosity and their active involvement in the story construction.

8. Developing the spatial ‘rule’ A system of guidelines or ‘rules’ evolved to ensure spatial continuity. This occurred partly because of the financial implications of shooting an increased number of shots per scene and longer running times, and partly to cope with the logistical complications of complex narratives where the same location was returned to several times over the course of the film. A solution was to shoot out of script continuity order where similar shot sizes, camera positions and lighting setups in the same location were shot at one time. For this, careful planning was required and a method that would ensure that the discontinuity in shooting would produce a coherent whole when edited. Shooting out of story continuity also affected the actors who were required to repeat a performance accurately many times. With many more options available a thoughtful approach was needed in constructing a scene in the cutting room. The House of Darkness (1913) is a tale of the Patient (Mailes) who has escaped from a mental institution. Here Griffith uses analytical editing for dramatic emphasis, creating feelings of suspense in the viewer by supplying them with information that the character is unaware of. This scene shows the start of a move towards using the ‘axis of action’. The axis here has changed from between the camera and character to between two characters. For this a system was needed that allowed the camera to move further into the space and shoot from different angles but also preserve spatial continuity for the editor. This system is known as the 180-degree line, the axis of action or the line, as it involves shooting on one side of an invisible line.

96  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 96

8/13/21 10:04 AM

The House of Darkness (1913 Dir. Griffith) Plan of scene The camera position numbers in the plan correspond to the shots below Camera Positions 1. The wide shot 2. Close shot of Doctors wife 3. Close shot of Patient behind chair The big close up of the clock could have been shot anywhere. By intercutting the two characters as single shots (2 and 3) the viewer will assume that they are in the same space and that the events are taking place over continuous time. But is the time continuous in this scene?

The screen shots are consecutive In the establishing wide shot the Patient with his stolen gun climbs through a window in the doctor’s house unnoticed by the Doctor’s wife (McDowell) who plays with her cat (1). He then hides behind a chair. The axis of action is between the Doctor’s wife and the Patient. 1

2

3

4

5

6

The two single shots of the Doctor’s wife (2) and the Patient (3) that follow are at a slightly different angle to the wide shot. The effect of this positioning allows the viewer to see more of each character’s face, increasing empathy towards them and their situation. In a single mid-shot the Doctor’s wife plays with her cat, unaware of the danger (2). The sense of tension and worry the viewer experiences for the woman is reinforced by the Patient peering out from behind the chair, both shots matched in angle and size (3). Having seen the wide shot the viewer understands their spatial relationship but the direction of his eyes adds dramatic continuity to the action. She continues to play with the cat but pauses briefly, indicating she has heard something (4). This is a subtle, almost throwaway reaction that the Patient notices, building suspense in the viewer (5).

Developing the spatial ‘rule’  97

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 97

8/13/21 10:04 AM

The action of shutting the basket door indicates a change or decision being made and it is at this moment the viewer then expects a confrontation (6). Anticipating her movements, the Patient tries to hide behind the chair (7). Hearing another sound she looks round (8). As she turns the action is continued into the wide shot where he confronts her (9). When he picks up the clock there is a cut to a big closeup of the clock face indicating the time (10). The awkward angle feels out of place. Its intention might be that of her point of view but this is not confirmed by her reaction to it, so it seems it is solely placed for the benefit of the viewer. By using singles of each character Griffith has the opportunity in the edit to create suspense by extending the action. This is something he would not have been able to do if the scene had been played out in the wide shot where the action of the two characters would be locked together. He has constructed the scene dramatically by the choice of shot, its length of time on screen and by the visual information he selects to show. The decision to show one character over the other raises a question in the viewer as they imagine what is happening off screen. When looking at the shot of the Doctor’s wife the viewer asks, ‘what is the Patient doing’? The cut to the Patient supplies the answer but when the viewer sees the gun that the Patient hides they ask ‘has she seen him? What is going to happen to her?’ The Patient’s eyeline tells us that he is looking at her and the cat; this motivates our desire to see exactly what he is looking at. By giving and by withholding visual information the audience is drawn into this scene; they are curious, empathising with the characters and the situation, no longer just passive observers.

The axis Earlier examples have demonstrated that the viewer’s perception of the spatial relationship of one character to another or to an object can draw them into a film’s fictional world, the diegesis. The viewer is able to synthesise a spatial and temporal relationship between the content of two shots or a series of shots that have been filmed at different times and in different places. In the scene from The House of Darkness, the two closer shots, though filmed in the same location, were not filmed at the same time, but by the use of eyelines and looks a connection is inferred that allows the viewer to construct continuous time in a defined geographic space.

7

8

9.1

9.2

10

11

In continuity editing the space is organised along a line. This is an imaginary line between two objects, or people in conversation, or the progress of a vehicle or object moving, or a person running through the frame. All shots are planned and filmed to establish and keep to the 180-degree line of action. Because shooting is generally achieved out of script continuity, with dialogue and action repeated and overlapped to give the editor choice during editing, this simple ‘rule’ can provide for hours of discussion and argument. For the editor it is important to understand the principle but not to let it become law in the edit. The most important element of this system is the connection of eyelines to infer a believable space and a dramatic relationship between characters. A consistent background and lighting can help to make a convincing spatial relationship, but again it is not always necessary. Returning to Written on the Wind (1956) the scene discussed next takes place in the airport lounge prior to the hotel room scene previously discussed. This has been shot and edited according to the continuity system of editing. It is over forty years on since Griffith’s early films; how has this system been refined? How important are eyelines to believable spatial relations? Does the system affect how we feel about the characters?

98  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 98

8/13/21 10:05 AM

Written on the Wind (1956 Dir. Sirk, Ed. Schoengarth) Airport Café scene Screen shots are consecutive Plan of scene – camera position numbers correspond to screen shots

1.1

1.2

1.3

Kyle’s probably arranging to buy you the hotel, a stretch of the beach and a slice of the Gulf Stream. (Mitch) Why are you so sarcastic? Do you resent our being here or are just disappointed that I didn’t ask Kyle to turn back? (Lucy) The first surprise came a Titoborough, I under estimated Kyle’s charm. (Mitch) Perhaps you’ve always under estimated Kyle or maybe you are over . . . (Lucy) . . . estimating me. (Lucy) Could be. (Mitch)

2 Nothing like this has ever happened to me before; it’s an adventure, it’s exciting. (Lucy)

The opening shot establishes Kyle on the phone booking the hotel room whilst Lucy and Mitch drink tea (1). This wide panning shot sweeps to their table following the movement of an airline pilot entering the room (1.2). It comes to a still in a medium two-shot that favours Lucy (1.3). Mitch begins the conversation. This shot identifies the environment and the spatial relationship between the three characters. In the single close-up that follows Mitch is positioned with his head towards screen right but his eyes towards the left (2). Lucy’s head position in the reverse shot is fairly frontal but she is looking off screen right (3); however, the viewer feels as though they are looking at each other and their eyes are connected by an invisible line. The consistency of the background and the information retained from the first establishing shot confirm their spatial relationship.

3 The axis  99

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 99

8/13/21 10:05 AM

Are you looking for laughs or . . . are you soul searching. (Mitch)

4 The latter I guess . . . I think I’ve been getting to know Kyle . . . (Lucy)

5 . . . and to like him. (Lucy) In that case I’m glad . . . I really am. (Mitch)

When Mitch responds to Lucy he puts down his teacup and turns his head towards her, reinforcing the connection further (4). They are now matched in angle and eyeline (5, 6). If the camera had instead moved round to the position in 6a (shot 6 has been flipped) then Mitch and Lucy would no longer appear to be conversing with each other as they would both be looking screen right. This is considered disorientating by filmmakers that abide by the guidelines of classical continuity. The final shot of the scene is a two-shot that tracks back, accommodating Kyle as he walks in (7). This re-establishes the space and relaxes the tension created by the single closeups. The area revealed to the viewer by the two wide shots and the closeups is nearly 270 degrees of the environment, giving them a clear understanding of the spatial geography of the room.

6

6a

7

100  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 100

8/13/21 10:05 AM

By using closeup singles of each character a fairly intimate relationship is implied. Here they are either looking closely at each other or avoiding eye contact; although they appear physically quite close their body language and dialogue interaction infers awkwardness. In all of the close shots the viewer can see both eyes, making it easy to observe their facial reactions and guess at the possible subtext. This proximity to the character increases the viewer’s involvement in their situation. Through the camera position the viewer observes each character almost as the other character might view them. Though the angle is not completely subjective it does mean that the viewer feels as though they are witnessing something that should be hidden from them. This feeling is more evident on reaction shots such as witnessing the impact on Mitch of Lucy’s declaration ‘. . . and to like him’. As he quickly glances away and composes himself the viewer detects that perhaps he doesn’t mean what he says in reply (6). Using a single is not only an opportunity for the editor to create dramatic tension but also to tighten dialogue and to compress or extend pauses.

As humans we communicate a great deal through our eyes, with slight shifts in expression and movement being signifiers and indicators of internal thoughts and feelings. An editor can use an actor’s subtle gesture, the flicker of an eye, a blink and a quick glance to convey meaning. In this scene it is the line between the eyes of the two people that is more important to the continuity of the scene than the position of their bodies. When we speak to each other we often seek out the other’s eyes in order to discern the underlying meaning of what they are saying, though this may not be a constant connection. When cutting together close shots of a verbal or nonverbal interaction, a convincing relationship between each character’s eyes is vital to the viewer’s belief in a spatial and a narrative continuity. When Lucy starts her sentence: ‘The latter I guess. I think I’ve been getting to know Kyle’, she is looking down into her teacup, but as she gets to the end of her sentence, she looks up screen right. Lucy’s turn to Mitch motivates the cut, satisfying the viewer’s desire to see Mitch’s reaction to her comment. Her movement and position imply an off-screen space to her left (5) ensuring that the viewer is convinced that beyond the edge of the frame the film world continues; a diegetic off-screen space. At the cut, Mitch’s eyeline matches Lucy’s as he looks off screen to his right (6). In this shot-reverse-shot sequence neither character is in the other’s shot but the viewer synthesises the space, constructing the physical and emotional relationship between them.

The axis  101

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 101

8/13/21 10:05 AM

9. Breaking the rules So, what happens when the camera crosses the line, as in the flipped shot 6a in the previous section, and how does the editor solve this? How does the viewer feel when eyelines don’t connect? Is it possible to change the rules and still keep the viewer immersed in the diegesis? Today, the rules of the continuity system remain in use in most mainstream films but some filmmakers have explored alternatives to this system and others have manipulated the rules.

Crossing the line There are many ways to ‘cross the line’ that are not disorientating, for example by using a relevant cutaway, by using a character’s movement and by moving the camera to establish a new line of axis. In this scene from The Departed (2006), Staff Sergeant Dignam (Wahlberg) is questioning Billy Costigan (DiCaprio) about why he wants to join the Special Police Unit. He is belligerent and offensive to Billy, who hardly speaks. In these excerpts from the latter part of the scene Dignam is either pacing in front of the desk or leaning on it, physically communicating his position of power to both Billy and the viewer (1).

At the cut point when returning to the wide shot (3) the camera has moved round to a body and eyeline position that should match the incoming shot, but does it? Billy’s body and nose are still facing camera left with his left ear visible; however, he is looking almost directly down the line to an off-screen Dignam (2.2). The viewer is expecting to see in the next shot (3) an equivalent match of eyelines and possibly the same size of shot, but the cut is to a wide low angle over Billy’s shoulder to Dignam. It is positioned just slightly across the line with Billy’s right ear visible. So why is the relationship between these three shots convincing? Perhaps because in the closeup Billy’s eyes appear to lock onto the camera movement as if following Dignam’s walk. Dignam’s walk and movements in all three shots correspond in speed and direction. Is it the rhythm of these movements that pulls the viewers eye across the cut? The dialogue overlapping into Billy’s reaction shot also helps to persuade the viewer of a unified space. The viewer is also concentrating on the mounting tension and held-back anger inferred by Billy’s reaction, anticipating the moment when he will break his silence.

The Departed (2006 Dir. Scorsese, Ed. Schoonmaker) 1.1

Screen shots are consecutive Shot 1 is divided into three screen shots. Here the camera starts moving from left to right as Dignam walks around the table. It then picks up his movement as he paces in front of the desk towards frame left. The line of axis between the two characters changes as Dignam and the camera move with the 180-degree position being midway in his walk (1.2). The wide shot cuts when the camera appears to have crossed over the 180-degree line, thus establishing a new relationship between the characters and the camera (1.3). The incoming shot (2) of Billy is closer and matches in angle to Dignam’s position. He is looking up and Dignam, in the previous shot, had been looking down. Billy’s body position is just on the line but his head and eyes appear to be looking off screen left towards Dignam rather than screen right.

1.2

1.3

102  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 102

8/13/21 10:05 AM

2.1

Further into the scene there is a more definite ‘crossing the line’ between two over-the-shoulder mid-shots (4, 5). In shot 4 Billy is on the left of frame but at the cut to shot 5 he is now on the right. If abiding by the guidelines of continuity editing, he would need to be still on the left of frame, as in camera position 5a in the following diagram (flipped screen shot). Why do we accept this cut?

2.2

The unexpected change in spatial continuity at the cut means that the viewer needs to re-orientate. With the greater cognitive load, the brain needs to be selective in where it focuses attention. It may do this by looking for similar visual relationships within the shots to help quickly assemble the space. The need to allocate extra cognitive resources to spatial reorientation may also make the viewer blind to the cut.26 The matched speed of the camera movement at the cut also helps the viewer cope with the spatial disruption, as does the overlap of Dignam’s dialogue.

3

4

The viewer does not take in the overall frame but tends to fix and then track an object of interest. In shot 4 their eyes will be locked onto Dignam’s face in the top right section of the frame as he continues speaking, then at the cut they fix onto Billy’s face reacting to him (5). At this moment their eyes will have had relatively little distance to travel in the frame, with both objects being similar in size and lighting, but does this help ease the task of re-orientation or add to the disruption? Of course, the cuts also work narratively as we concentrate on the impact of Dignam’s verbal onslaught on Billy. In this scene Scorsese has successfully flouted the ‘rules’ without taking the viewer out of the diegetic world.

5

5a

Crossing the line  103

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 103

8/13/21 10:05 AM

Awkward eyes difficult space Although not technically a ‘crossing of the line’ this short pre-title scene from the TV series Sherlock (2010) is striking in the sense of tension that has been created by the use of an unconventional framing where both Watson (Freeman) and his therapist Ella (Moodie) are in mid and close singles where they look out of the ‘wrong side’ of the frame. This allows for very little conventional looking space and feels awkward, but it does echo the uncomfortable situation Watson feels himself to be in.

Sherlock: A Study in Pink, Episode One (2010 Dir. McGuigan, Ed. Philips) Screen shots are selective Shot 1 belongs to the previous scene but back laid over the image of the laptop the viewer hears a question from Watson’s analyst; ‘How’s the blog going?’ This provides an aural and thematic link between the two scenes. Watson is reluctant to answer (2). At this point the viewer has no idea of where he is or of the circumstances that relate to the question. An unusually wide framing, which feels formal and cold, then establishes the location and the spatial distance between the two characters (3). Watson is leaning back and the therapist forward in an interrogative position. The angle and size of the shot gives little emotional information facially but the fairly formal tone and atmosphere is conveyed physically by their body positions. In the mid and closer shots that follow the frame position of the actors is unsettling spatially. It is a deliberate choice and although initially disorientating the viewer quickly accepts the framing. The matched shot size and matched eye lines help to imply a coherent space beyond the edge of the frame and convince the viewer of spatial continuity. The last shot breaks the previous shot’s reverse shot structure. The therapist’s voice continues overlaid on Watson’s reaction but the slow move in suggests a more subjective state. If one character had been shot conventionally with the expected amount of space to look into and the other framed as in this scene the viewer would have been made more aware of the

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

filmmaking process, identifying perceptually what they might consider a mistake. The scene is in the opening few minutes of the series and although brief implies that Watson’s past life may have more than the obvious influence on his current situation.

104  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 104

8/13/21 10:05 AM

An alternative system Continuity editing is not the only way to create a spatial and narrative whole, but it has formed the basis from which certain filmmakers have explored and developed other approaches. Yasujiro Ozu defined an alternative system to the Continuity System based on using all 360 degrees of space, where instead of placing the camera at points around a half circle dictated by a line at 180 degrees, he constructed the action in segments, usually between 90 degrees and 180 degrees from a centre point of a 360-degree space. Yet as Bordwell notes, Ozu’s films, by shooting from every side, ‘present multiple spatial perspectives’ and may show an inconsistent background space, a lack of screen direction and eyelines that don’t match but do this without narrative confusion, presenting clear and engaging stories.27

sections contain the dialogue and fit a pattern of two singles (9, 10) and one two-shot (14). Apart from the big wide establishing shot Ozu only uses three types of shot size and angle (3, 8, 9) to build the scene.

Equinox Flower (1958 Dir. Ozu, Ed. Hamamura) Plan of scene – camera positions correspond to the screen shot numbers

In a scene from Equinox Flower (1958) the development of space is precise in how it has been edited together. Ozu’s formal system encompasses, as Branigan notes, ‘the choice of camera to object distance, slight variation in angle, the formal pattern of camera set ups, the introduction of ninety degree angles and overlapping space, as well as the graphic potential of consecutive spatial fragments’.28 Both Edward Branigan and David Bordwell 29 have studied and written extensively on Ozu’s films and his organisation of space.

Equinox Flower takes place in late 1950s Japan and is about Mr Hirayama’s (Saburi) attempt to arrange a marriage for his daughter Setsuko (Arima); however, she is in love with someone else. Mrs Hirayama (Tanaka) is more sympathetic to Setsuko’s wishes than her husband. The scene features a family outing to a lake. Whilst their two daughters go rowing the couple talk about the past and the changes to come.

The plan is based on viewing the edited scene and although not made to scale it is an attempt to show the symmetry and use of 360 degrees of the space.

In this scene Ozu sets up a graphic pattern between shots with their sizes and angles remaining consistent throughout. The scene contains 32 shots in total with seven camera positions represented in screen shots 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, 9 and 10, and also indicated on the plan. Ozu has devised his own set of editing rules that establish and re-establish the space with many of his cuts based on matched action, point of view or shot-reverse-shot editing. As Branigan says, Ozu’s editing in this scene obeys a formal structure with a symmetry that is distinct and satisfying.30 This can be seen with the big wide shot (2) being echoed at the end of the scene (32), and in shots 3–6 where the action, organisation, size and angle are repeated in 26–31. The shots between these two

An alternative system  105

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 105

8/13/21 10:05 AM

1

3.1

4.1

5

2

3.2

4.2

6.1

Screen shot numbers identify position in scene A hill framed by the upright lines of trees provides a transition from the previous scene (1). The trees are then situated within a big wide of a promenade beside the lake (2). Several people walk along and a couple sit on a bench. As viewers we look at this shot as a whole, it is purely a setting and we are not directed to look at anything specific. Retrospectively the viewer understands that the couple on the bench are the focus of the scene that follows this shot, however at this point it is essentially an establishing shot of the environment. The viewer initially identifies with Mr Hirayama and his wife in shot 3; seated on a bench they are viewed from behind. The camera is angled at 45 degrees to the bench with the light colour of the benches and the dark background trees linking visually to the previous shot. Mrs Hirayama gets up and walks to frame right; she does not fully leave the shot (3.2). She then enters the same side of the frame in the next shot (4). Again the camera position is from behind and the angle is more or less symmetric to that of shot 3 in its angle to the bench but further from the couple. Disturbingly in shot 4 Mr Hirayama seems to have disappeared but on closer scrutiny the viewer identifies that there is another bench to Mr Hirayama’s left. In continuity editing Mrs Hirayama would have entered frame left to keep ‘screen direction’. The background to the incoming shot has now significantly changed, giving the viewer a great deal of new visual information to decode. We accept this transition, but why? The flow of action matched across the cut as she walks towards the railing convinces the viewer of continuous time and space. The cut is also matched graphically with the planes, lines, colour and shape of the railing being common to both shots. The objects and compositional lines act as anchors for the viewer in their disentangling of the space. To also avoid disorientation Ozu shows an area of space shared by both shots; in this case it is the railing and the edge of the white bench to Mr Hirayama’s left. Mrs Hirayama is looking screen left into the distance (4). The viewer then sees what she is looking at; her two daughters in a rowing boat (5). Although the distance between them seems shortened the viewer understands this to be her point of view, a connection re-enforced by the reciprocal waving in the three shots (4, 5, 6). Here Ozu has used a convention of continuity editing to connect spaces.

106  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 106

8/13/21 10:05 AM

The matched action cut between 6 and 7 is the reverse of 3 and 4. In the closer shot Mrs Hirayama sits down (7). However, in the cut from 7 to 8 it is the small movement of her hand holding a white handkerchief that attracts the viewer’s attention, easing the transition.

6.2

7.1

7.2

8

Here Ozu has cut round 90 degrees to show a new background with the couple both looking out beyond the frame edge, screen right and towards the lake (8). The conversation is about the weather, but when Mr Hirayama mentions he would like to play golf she turns towards him and this motivates the cut (135°) to a single of Mrs Hirayama (9). She then says to him ‘Please not today, this may be the last time we go out . . .’ and then as she turns to look off screen left towards the lake she finishers her sentence ‘. . . if Setsuko gets married’ (9). In the cut from the two-shot to this single the viewer has now seen both sides of her face looking in what appears to be two different directions towards the lake.

9

10

11

12

The following single of Mr Hirayama, although equivalent in size to shot 9, is opposite in angle as he looks out to the right (10). Cutting between these two single shots should be disorientating but Ozu has used dialogue, head movements and locking eyelines (11, 12) to reinforce the spatial continuity. When the two characters turn in the single shots to look at each other they are nearly connected by a 180-degree eyeline.

An alternative system  107

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 107

8/13/21 10:05 AM

Towards the end of the scene

25

26

In classical continuity editing the cut between shot 25 and 26 would present an extreme discontinuity. Mrs Hiyayama in the single shot is leaning forward to leave her seat and the action is then continued in the wider shot. Ozu has cut round 225 degrees from camera position 9 on the plan to camera position 3. The cut mid-action has separated the movement into two sections punctuated by a slight rest between her lean forward to her leaving the seat. This presents an elegant and convincing action transition as the viewer’s attention is directed across the cut by the motion. By convincing the viewer of a temporal continuity the spatial discontinuity has been ignored.

27

29

31

28

30

32

The viewer’s attention could equally have been captured by a change in shot size where the need for extra cognitive effort in encoding the visual information might reduce the effect of the cut. The discussion on the bench has been about how the family lead separate lives. Eventually Mr Hiyayama gets up and joins his wife at the railing, also waving to their daughters. This physical action seems to signify that he has conceded with her wish for them all to be together more. As Branigan notes, in this scene Mrs Hirayama ‘mediate(s) between father and daughter at a spatial level’ eventually ‘draw(ing) Mr Hirayama into a new space – the railing’, where at the end of the scene he waves and interacts with his daughter on the lake.31 Throughout this scene the rhythm of movement and editing is calm and ordered with Ozu only cutting either when a character is about to leave or enter the frame or has completed an action or sentence of dialogue. For Ozu’s continuity to work the viewer needs to recognise the shared spaces between shots and to train their perception to discern corresponding overlaps and common relationships between the action, colours, graphic planes, size and shape. Although the space that Ozu creates does not abide by continuity editing rules the system he uses enforces and reinforces the space within a scene, so becoming for the viewer a learned system.

108  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 108

8/13/21 10:05 AM

On the line Wes Anderson, in several of his films, experiments with how the viewer perceives and decodes a space constructed by editing. In a scene near the beginning of The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) where over breakfast Gustave (Fiennes) says goodbye to Madame D (Swinton) there are some disorientating spatial relationships. The action takes place in a large hotel dining room.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014 Dir. Anderson, Ed. Pilling)

1

In this film the frame aspect ratio changes depending on the era from 1.37:1 for 1930’s, 1.85:1 for 1985 and 2.39:1 for 1960’s scenes. Gustave, the concierge of the Grand Budapest looks out from a recessed window towards the city; his face is turned away (1). A mid-shot cuts around 90 degrees to the side of the window recess and Gustave steps out from the window space. A date, 1932, types onto the screen (2). In a wide shot on the same axis the camera tracks with him as he walks down the room to open the doors for his staff to enter, carrying the table and Madame D’s luggage (3). At a choreographed pause in his walk back into the middle of the room Gustave appears to look into the camera, smiling as though waiting for his photo to be taken (3). The viewer has now seen two sides of the room. As the music fades there is a cut in to a midshot on nearly the same angle of Gustave (4). A small temporal ellipsis has occurred as this cut jumps Gustave from the preparations of Madame D’s departure to sitting down at the table opposite her. The viewer may feel disorientated because the cut appears to be on the same axis with the same background. Gustave also seems to look directly at the camera; is he smiling at us or someone else?

2

3

The cut to Madame D infers that it is her he looking at as she turns and looks directly at the camera and declares, ‘I’m not leaving’ (5).

4

On the line  109

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 109

8/13/21 10:05 AM

5

Plan of the Scene The camera positions correspond to the screen shot numbers.

6

Even though Gustave seems to be opposite her it almost feels as if she is confiding in us, the viewer. The cut to a mid two-shot appears to return to normal conventions by spatially situating the two characters – or does it? They are sitting in front of the same window as in shot 1 but in the closeup Madame D has doors behind her. These must be different from those that Gustave walked through, making this the fourth side of the room. What has happened? How does it make you feel? The short ellipsis in time takes the viewer a few moments to assimilate. Even though this is punctuated by the music the jump for the viewer from their position as a hidden observer in the wide shot to what feels like a personal confrontation in the closer shots with Gustave followed by Madame D is difficult to deal with. The viewer, no longer a hidden witness, feels uncomfortable when the characters look into the camera lens. Once the editor cuts out to the two-shot that confirms the characters’ positions the viewer’s feeling of being directly addressed subsides.

The background in both single shots, although similar in tone and in composition has significant mise en scène details that are different, enhancing the viewer’s perception that the characters are sitting opposite each other. Similar to the scene from Equinox Flower, Anderson has placed the camera on the 180-degree line of action (4, 5 in the diagram). This makes it feel as though the characters are actually looking at us. It could be argued that the organisation of space here through editing and camera placement makes the viewer aware of the filmmaking process, taking them out of the fictional diegesis. However, from the start of the film Anderson has set up a specific stylistic approach where the viewer has learned to expect certain visual cues in helping them construct continuity in space and time.

110  Chapter 4  Continuous Time and Space

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 110

8/13/21 10:05 AM

This chapter has looked at and analysed early films to show a clear progression in the evolution of continuity editing. It has established and situated the rules of the system next to later films that have either refined and developed the system or have flouted it. Continuity editing successfully achieves a continuous narrative experience that does not take the viewer out of the spatial and temporal continuity of the fictional world. It is a set of guidelines that are repeatedly used in contemporary film and television editing that can be adhered to

or not but should not be regarded as law. They should always be considered subservient to the emotional impact on the viewer, whether this is achieved by the ‘system’ or by other methods. It is the emotional connection that the viewer holds with the characters and their situation that will take priority over the continuity of space and time.

On the line  111

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 111

8/13/21 10:05 AM

5 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 112

Strategies of Persuasion: Study 2 Subjective Eyes

8/13/21 10:05 AM

Subjective Eyes The presentation of ‘eyes’ and their subjective impact has been applied and considered in many forms of visual art, from painting and photography to the theatre. Film editors also recognise how powerful eyes can be in persuading the viewer of a connected screen space and of the subjective positioning of a character. In most edited scenes the camera acts as the viewer’s standpoint, placing them in a fairly detached position to observe the action. If the viewer experiences the world through the ‘ears or eyes’ of a character a more intimate and personal connection with that character can be achieved. A point of view (POV) shot structure usually consists of two shots, in the first a character is observed looking and in the second what they are looking at is presented as if seen through the character’s eyes. For this relationship to be spatially convincing the eyeline and facial position of the character in shot 1 needs to correspond to the angle and position of the object in shot 2. Using this structure it is possible to infer a connection between a character and an object that do not share the same shooting location. The success of this implied connection also relies on the viewer’s curiosity being aroused. If the character moves or glances towards something off screen the viewer is motivated to question what has caught their attention. If at this point the editor cuts to the object of a character’s gaze the viewer is likely to feel satisfied. This may be an object or character the viewer is expecting to see and therefore easy to rationalise geographically or it may be something that has an emotional connection or it may be something new, an unforeseen surprise. The POV structure works for the editor as a rhetorical device for persuading the viewer of the connection between the ‘looker’ and the ‘looked at’. The viewer’s activity in the process involves them in their own persuasion.

1. Perceptually or mentally subjective? In the first story of The Tales of Hoffman (1951), scientist Spalanzani (Massine) and Coppelius (Helpmann), the maker of magic spectacles, have created Olympia (Shearer), a beautiful automaton. Coppelius entices Hoffman (Rounseville) to fall in love with her. The magic spectacles that Hoffman is tempted to wear appear to obscure Olympia’s artifice.

The Tales of Hoffman (1951 Dirs. Powell, Pressburger, Ed. Mills) Screen shots 1–3 are consecutive as are 4–5

1

2.1

2.2

3

4

5

The viewer encounters the magic of Coppelius’ spectacles as if through Hoffman’s eyes as he tests the first pair. The initial shot of this POV structure is over Hoffman’s shoulder rather than of his face (1). This allows the viewer to witness him putting on the glasses, an action that they are also familiar with. The following shot then shows what he sees through them. Painted figures (2.1) dissolve to two theatrical players moving (2.2), demonstrating the effect of the glasses. In the next shot Hoffman reacts (3). This convinces the viewer that they have seen what he has. As Coppelius asks for his payment, a close shot of Olympia (4) from Hoffman’s viewpoint and then a cut to him looking (5) convinces the viewer he has been persuaded. Through the ‘rose tinted’ spectacles she appears a lovely young woman who seems to breathe. Do the glasses really work or is he being part of his own

Perceptually or mentally subjective?  113

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 113

8/13/21 10:06 AM

deception? ‘3 ducats’ Coppelius demands for the use of the glasses – the price of admission to his fantasy, or a metaphor for the persuasive magic of cinema? The previous example uses a shot that presents what Hoffman is looking at as if seen through his eyes as he looks through the magic glasses (2.1, 2.2). This could be defined as a perceptually subjective shot. However, the dissolve could also imply a mental subjectivity where Hoffman’s imagination is at work responding to what he sees. Mentally subjective shots are often used to convey to the viewer a character’s inner thoughts, dreams, fantasies or memory.1 A scene from Spellbound (1945) demonstrates the use of a mentally subjective visual sequence. Dr Edwards/ Ballantine (Peck) is recounting his dream to Constance (Bergman) and Dr Brulov (Chekhov).

Spellbound (1945 Dir. Hitchcock, Eds, Kern, Zeigler) Selected screen shots from the sequence start. As the viewer hears the verbal account of his dream it is elaborated by what seems to be a visual representation of these thoughts (6–9). A dissolve transition from the first shot to the next suggests that the junction is not continuous space but it also indicates a change from an objective to a subjective state. The scene continues with a visual illustration of Dr Edwards’ account of his dream. The distinction between a perceptually subjective and a mentally subjective shot is often more ambiguous, with many films integrating both categories or blurring those boundaries. In the opening scene of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007), the protagonist Monsieur Bauby (Amalric) wakes after a three-week coma. The viewer hears the doctors questioning Bauby from his subjective aural perspective and it sounds as though he is answering them. However, it soon becomes evident that this communication is an internal response not an external dialogue between the two people.

6

7

8

9

‘I can’t make out just what sort of a place it was . . . . It seemed to be a gambling house, but there weren’t any walls just a lot of curtains with eyes painted on them . . . a man was walking around with a large pair of scissors cutting all the drapes in half . . . .’ (Dr Edwards)

114  Chapter 5  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 2 Subjective Eyes

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 114

8/13/21 10:06 AM

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007 Dir. Schnabel, Ed. Welfling) Selected screen shots A first-person voiceover establishes Bauby’s mental point of view. The viewer witnesses his visual viewpoint quite literally by seeing through his eyes.

10

The viewer perceives his subjective mental POV aurally via his spoken thoughts and witnesses his perceptual POV by observing the hospital environment and the doctors as they lean forwards towards him. They see it as he does, big close ups move in and out of focus and quick wipes convey his blinking (10–12). The visual POV is purely Bauby’s, with what the viewer sees heightening their understanding of Bauby’s physiological state. It is the choice of shot juxtaposed with the subjective verbalisation of his thoughts that intensifies the viewer’s empathy for the frustration he feels. A shot may be subjective in many ways but the subjectivity is usually implied by the shot, shots or sounds that are placed next to it. For a POV shot to be perceptually subjective the camera needs to be in the same place as the character, its content needs to exist in the same time and space as the character and this needs to be accessible to other characters in that space. Whereas, the content of a mentally subjective POV shot is invisible to other characters, existing solely in the mind of one character. In the preceding sequence the viewer perceives both Bauby’s mental and perceptual subjectivity through the aural and the visual.

11

12

Perceptually or mentally subjective?  115

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 115

8/13/21 10:06 AM

2. Point of view structure Branigan suggests that there are five elements to the structure of a POV shot sequence that contains two shots; a point-glance shot and a point-object shot.2 Firstly, in the point-glance shot a point in space is established, secondly a glance establishes an off-screen object. A glance can be an eye movement, a head movement, a body movement, dialogue such as ‘look over there’, camera movement, an off-screen sound cue or a narrative cue, all indicating an observer responding to a stimulus. The viewer, intrigued by what has caught the observer’s attention, will desire to share that point of view. This tendency to follow another’s gaze is likely to be derived from a survival mechanism that is possibly innate.3 The third element is for the POV structure to have a convincing temporal continuity. This needs to be implied at the cut from the outgoing to the incoming shot. Other forms of transition such as a dissolve may signal a more mentally subjective structure. Fourthly the camera in the incoming point-object shot must be positioned from the point in space that was established by the glance in element one. Element five is the revelation of the object that was ‘glanced at’ in the first shot. Perceptually for the viewer to believe that what they are seeing is being ‘glanced at’ the relationship has to also be spatially convincing. At the cut in a POV structure the physical change of position also shifts the viewer’s comprehension of the narrative from the objective and perhaps fairly general to the more personal and subjective. This shift in perspective may provoke the viewer to ask what is going on psychologically with the observer whilst they are looking at the object. In the POV structure the viewer sees what a specific character sees, but as Branigan suggests, there might also be a sixth element, and this concerns how the viewer sees the object. A movement, a change of focus or other stylistic device may then start to indicate a more mentally subjective shot that starts to blur the category division. There are of course, many variations on the above structure that can be used by the editor to elicit intrigue, tension or to deliberately confuse the viewer.

Hitchcock stated that Rear Window (1954) ‘is purely subjective treatment’; it is ‘what Jimmy Stewart (Jeff) sees all the time. And how he reacts to it.’4 This film is about looking but it is not only a reflection on the voyeurism of the lead character, Jeff (Stewart) but also on the viewer’s own position as an observer. Throughout the film there are a large number of shots where the viewer observes Jeff, who is confined to a wheel chair with a broken leg, as he watches his neighbours without being seen by them. Ironically his physical vulnerability puts him in a powerful position as it allows him to spend his time piecing together the fragments that will eventually expose a murderer. In an early scene whilst he is speaking on the phone to his boss he idly looks out the window.

116  Chapter 5  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 2 Subjective Eyes

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 116

8/13/21 10:06 AM

Rear Window (1954 Dir. Hitchcock, Ed. Tomasini) Screen shots 1 and 2 are consecutive, as are 3 and 4 The angle from which Jeff has been filmed is almost from that of his broken leg; low and looking up at his face, it allows the viewer to see small adjustments in his eye position as he takes in the windows in the opposite apartment block.

1

Whilst talking he surveys the view, a quick flick of his eyes up in a point-glance shot (1) motivates a pointobject shot (2). A glance down reveals a man opposite (3, 4) with each slight move indicating that something has caught his attention. It is Jeff’s POV that establishes and unites the geographical space of the film. The phone conversation conveys Jeff’s frustration; ‘if you don’t pull me out of this swamp of boredom I’m going to do something drastic’ he states. His boss recommends marriage but Jeff reflects on the negative aspects of domestic life including ‘. . . the garbage disposal, a nagging wife’. As his boss retorts ‘wives don’t nag anymore’ Jeff looks towards the apartment opposite his eyes following his neighbour Thorwold (Burr) as he goes into his bedroom and argues with his invalid wife (4). Jeff responds to his boss on the phone, ‘that’s so, maybe in the high rent neighbourhood they discuss, but in my neighbourhood they still nag’. By juxtaposing the dialogue of Jeff’s conversation with his POV (3, 4) Hitchcock is laying the foundations of the plot, building Jeff’s character and providing a motivation for his future investigation. Without Jeff’s point-glance shot the cut to the neighbour or to the helicopter would potentially have been unclear narratively, leaving the viewer trying to guess the meaning. If a cut had been made using a shot from a previous POV structure but without the point-glance shot this would again change the form of narration, as it could be perceived as metaphorical.

2

3

4

Point of view structure  117

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 117

8/13/21 10:06 AM

An undefined point of view in the opening scene Screen shots 5–6 are consecutive as are 7–8 As the opening titles in Rear Window conclude the camera starts to move in towards the open window in Jeff’s room as if to look out (5). The movement could be indicating a character’s viewpoint as they look towards and through the window. The next cut is to a cat on the ground and as it moves the camera follows; leaving the ground it travels up the buildings, panning across them right to left (6.1). Slight changes of movement and speed mimic the way a person might adjust their view as they assimilate what they are seeing (6.2). It also gives the impression that the unseen viewer is scrutinising the apartments. The camera then completes the circle around the buildings, returning through the window to a close up of Jeff asleep (6.3).

5

6.1

Does this unexpected revelation seem to infer an unseen observer in the room with Jeff or could the viewer assume that what they have seen to be part of his unconsciousness?

Clarity in a POV structure

6.2

Three further examples of POV structure illustrate how a stylistic device can change the intensity of focus. The first is in a later scene in Rear Window when Jeff suspects his neighbour Thorwold of killing his wife and monitors him through binoculars (7). The point-object shot (8) confirms clearly that this is Jeff’s POV and a vignette identifies that it is through the binoculars. A travelling movement across the building reinforces this further.

6.3

The POV structure in the Rear Window example consists of two shots with separate information that connects at the cut. However, in a POV structure the object can also be part of the point-glance shot with the second shot revealing the object in a new angle. 7

As seen in the second example this could be a closer or clearer view of the object. Here in the letter that Constance (Bergman) is reading in Spellbound she is seen in a medium shot holding the letter (9). In order for the viewer to see what she is reading the editor cuts round to her point of view of the letter (10). 8

118  Chapter 5  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 2 Subjective Eyes

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 118

8/13/21 10:06 AM

Spellbound (1945) This cut is motivated by Constance extending her arm in order to read the letter. Not wearing her glasses, she squints at the words (9). At the cut to the close up the words are initially blurred and unreadable but move into focus as if interpreting Constance’s POV (10). Both examples convey a temporal and spatial continuity through the action, camera movement and accuracy of relative angle and position. The vignette and the change of visual clarity place a strong emphasis on the point-object in each example with the editor drawing significant attention to the shot content. Branigan suggests that a character’s psychological awareness is an essential part of a coherent POV structure.5 He indicates that this could be represented by the visual manipulation of a shot from the story world rather than a completely internal representation, as in the earlier example from Spellbound (page 114).

9

10

Rear Window – Thorwold attacks Jeff Screen shots 11-14 are consecutive In one of the final scenes of Rear Window Jeff receives a call. He wrongly assumes that it is his friend Doyle, a police detective stating that the suspect (Thorwold) has left his apartment. When there is no reply he quickly guesses that the caller is actually the suspect, Thorwold. Jeff realises that he is in danger and trapped in his wheelchair. He arms himself with his flashgun and listens to Thorwold’s feet as they advance towards his door. Jeff attempts to stun Thorwold as he moves threateningly forward with the bright blast of the flashgun’s light. This sequence of shots is repeated four times in the scene. It moves between an objective shot of Jeff covering his eyes ready to operate the flashgun (11) to a shot that is essentially his point of view of Thorwold as the flash goes off (12). However, this is questionable as a POV as Jeff is covering his eyes in the previous shot, so is it purely an objective shot? The cut to a closer shot of Thorwold dazed by the light (13) suggests it is also Jeff’s POV by the eye line angle, except that at the cut to the next shot he appears to be looking down reloading his flashgun (14). Instead shots 13 and 14 are potentially a different POV structure, that of Thorwold, with shot 14 being a subjective shot, the point-object shot of Thorwold as he regains his vision after being temporarily blinded by the flash.

11

12

13

14

Point of view structure  119

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 119

8/13/21 10:06 AM

Here Hitchcock has not only used intercutting to create suspense and extend ‘believable’ time but he also combines objective with subjective shots to create atmosphere and tension. The switch between two characters’ POVs is interesting as it manipulates the viewer’s emotional allegiance to the characters. Initially they are afraid for Jeff who is in a vulnerable position but when witnessing Thorwold’s POV they may almost find a moment of sympathy for him. Hitchcock notes that throughout the film Jeff spends a lot of time looking. ‘Mr Stewart is sitting looking out of the window. He observes. We register his observations on his face . . . . We are using the mobility of the face, the expression, as our content of the piece of film’.6 By observing his face the viewer infers in Jeff an emotional reaction to what is taking place. It is through these reactions to what he sees that the viewer learns of his curiosity, frustration and worry, and this is what engages them.

3. In search of Sylvia: the viewer’s involvement Carroll proposes that a character’s face is never ‘bland’ or unemotional but reactive, registering what that character feels.7 In a POV shot structure this reaction is not solely to what the character sees or hears but to how they feel about what they perceive. It is believed that there is a recognisable set of universal facial expressions that inherently help us identify the broad cause of an emotion on a face. This ability in the viewer will promote an initial understanding of a character’s emotion; however, at the cut the content of the point-object shot focuses the cause of the emotion. For the POV structure to work the editor relies on the viewer’s instinctive tendency to follow a gaze and evaluate the result.8 It is, though, important to distinguish between our natural behavioural perception and the cinematic POV structure, which is a representation of perception. It is possible for the viewer to become closely involved with the concerns of a character through the POV structure. This involvement relies on the editor and the precise arrangement of the information. The selection of a particular performance as well as the moment to cut from the point-glance to the object of the glance manipulates the degree and type of emotional response the viewer experiences towards a character. Filmmakers have used the POV in complex ways to manipulate the expectations of the viewer. In an extensive scene from In the City of Sylvia (2007) it is used to construct a

totally engaging drama that has few words. This drama rests on a visual narration that is based primarily on point of view editing. In the scene there is very little to go on plot-wise but the viewer participates actively by imagining the reasons for the young man’s actions as he sits at a café, drinking beer, sketching and looking. Although the structure of this scene is formal and precisely controlled, it almost feels as though we too have chanced on the café and are idly people watching. The film is strangely engaging as we view the attractive occupants of the café. This also makes it a little disconcerting in that the images are intimate, revealing private and personal interactions, making the viewer as much a voyeur as the young man. The use of the visual ‘reveal’ is important, as the long lens (telephoto) that Guerin employs to shoot the scene selectively creates layers of bodies and faces. Slight body movements and focus pulls reveal and then obscure characters. The short depth of focus seems to specifically select certain characters in order for them to be gazed at. The scene uses the basics of montage psychology where the viewer, from the information supplied, constructs hypotheses and forms assumptions. By juxtaposition Guerin unites two or more images in space through looks and glances. This allows him to create moments of tension and release. As the scene progresses the viewer is drawn into the young man’s quest, trying to make narrative connections from the pieces of information provided. The soundtrack is purely diegetic with minimal dialogue. It works in a similar way to the pictures, selectively emphasising the on and off-screen sounds, the clinks of glasses, the odd piece of speech or the violins of the street musicians. Gradually over the length of the film the viewer learns that the young man is looking for Sylvia, based on the memory of their first and only encounter in a bar. He has returned to this unnamed city (Strasburg) to look for her. The film begins in a hotel room where an artistic looking young man sketches. The next day he leaves the hotel and finds the café at the drama school. Here he tries to approach a young woman who is sitting nearby; she seems to either ignore him or simply doesn’t hear him. This short interaction establishes the idea that the young man might be looking, possibly searching for someone. The woman and the waitress in this scene become part of the main café scene the following day. He upsets his coffee and there is a cut to a title card, ‘2nd Night’, followed by images that infer a sleepless night where he looks at the streetlights that illuminate his hotel room. The next day an establishing shot of the café positions all the characters that the viewer will later encounter (1). This shot is never returned to for the course of a nearly twenty-minute scene.

120  Chapter 5  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 2 Subjective Eyes

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 120

8/13/21 10:06 AM

The shots in the sequence that follows are carefully framed, each composition containing specific information to establish a character. The spatial relationship of the café goers is solely constructed by the juxtaposition of shots. Some of the shots are possibly the POV of the young man but this can only be assumed retrospectively. 1

In the City of Sylvia (2007 Dir. Guerin, Ed. Esquerra) Screen shots 3-5 and 9-15 are consecutive, the rest are selected Early on in the sequence Guerin prepares the viewer for his technique of selection through layered compositions. A man in the foreground is talking to a female friend (2.1), as he moves away from her another young woman behind him is revealed kissing her boyfriend. The viewer might be disconcerted by this composition: could the young woman be kissing the man in the foreground? (2.2) Within the whole sequence several small dramas take place; the waitress delivers the wrong order, the cigarette lighter vendor is ignored, a lover’s argument changes the tone. If the viewer were to understand at this stage that the young man is looking for Sylvia then these sections could be viewed as his POV. However, most appear to be objective, their purpose to build the atmosphere and train the viewer to be curious, speculate and anticipate possible relationships.

2.1

2.2

Before the young man becomes part of the café interactions a situation infused with tension is introduced to the otherwise cheerful setting. The body language of the characters indicates tension but this is reinforced by the framing and editing choices. The viewer is misled by a sequence of objective shots that are almost a lesson in perception and filmmaking. Each of the shots is held long enough for the viewer to speculate on the relationship between the four characters and the reason for their unhappy expressions. Initially three of the four characters are introduced (3). The next cut, motivated by the woman in pink raising her glass, isolates her and the man in grey (4). Their body position and facial expressions seem to link them together. The next shot reveals the fourth person (5). The viewer only associates her with the other two characters because she looks to her left where they are positioned spatially. In shot 6, after a cutaway to another couple, the edge of her arm can be seen confirming that she is sitting next to the man in grey.

3

4

5

6

In search of Sylvia: the viewer’s involvement  121

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 121

8/13/21 10:06 AM

A small drama has been inferred here that distracts the viewer from the young man who is unobtrusively revealed as a young woman leaves her seat (5). Several minutes pass by before the true situation is revealed, resolving the viewer’s speculation about the personal relationships of the four people (7, 8). Throughout the early part of the sequence the young man remains in a fixed position, slightly moving his head or his eyes to indicate a change of attention (9). In order to make a POV shot structure convincing not only does the eyeline angle need to convince the viewer spatially but the cut needs to be motivated by a focus of recognition in the character’s gaze. As a viewer our eyes follow those of the character; when they move we anticipate a cut to what is being focused on. Several frames added at the point of recognition can help the viewer adjust before the cut. In this scene the young man tends to blink when focusing on his viewpoint, with the editor allowing a lengthy 12 or so frames to accommodate the change of shot. This fits with the relaxed tone and the generally long shot length throughout the scene. Shots 9–15 follow a POV structure with the cut in on the waitress (13) emphasising a closer, more intense, look at her. This shot anticipates the young man starting to draw her. His perceptual POV of the drawing of the waitress allows the viewer to speculate on his new change of focus. The sketch incorporates the film title, Dans La Citie de Sylvie, a small but useful clue for the viewer as they try to piece together the information they have so far. Although the whole sequence appears initially to be continuous in time there are occasionally small temporal ellipses that move the action forward. Within the whole, small groups of activity are returned to. The waitress bringing the drinks, the unhappy couple (7, 8) all give form to the overall scene structure. Unlike the other café customers the young man is not animated. He only indicates his thoughts by a slight gesture or movement of his eyes. The viewer infers the rest, as they anticipate that something will happen and in expectation they search for an action to motivate a change. However, the young man just looks and continues to draw. The selection and isolation of each new face promises this change (16), with the viewer building

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

122  Chapter 5  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 2 Subjective Eyes

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 122

8/13/21 10:06 AM

new ideas about him, speculating on his motives and asking questions. Is he just an artist or something more sinister?

21

22

23

24

25

26

His glance is direct, he is staring but most of the young women seem to carefully avoid his glance. Apart from one who appears to be aware of him looking as she meets his eyes (17, 18). Her gaze is as direct as his and seems to be saying ‘back off’; this he does looking elsewhere. The close frame and longer shot length seems to increase the intensity of his glance, inferring a growing obsession with the women (21, 24). A fixation on details, the way they touch their hair, their smile reinforces his focus. A repetition of the glance-object POV structure of the same woman re-enforces this and provokes questions in the viewer’s mind (19–22). Eventually the young man moves to another seat in order to look at the blonde-haired woman’s face. In doing so he becomes aware of another woman through the café window; she is obscured by layers of reflections (23, 25). By the alternation of his reaction and his corresponding POV the viewer knows that he feels that she is different. At the point when the two appear to lock eyes in recognition the viewer notices a change – he has made a decision (25, 26). She gets up to leave and he suddenly jumps up and follows her. At the end of this scene very little of a plot has been divulged but it is the viewer’s involvement in looking and inferring meaning that has constructed a possible story. By the simple use of a POV structure the editor has formed a scene that, although sometimes frustrating, is also fascinating, holding the viewer with dramatic tension. In this sequence the intensity of looking and of being looked at is doubled as the viewer looks for information on an emotional level. The input needed is far greater than in many films that supply answers almost immediately, but even if this film is considered difficult this scene has an engaging internal rhythm where the alternation of the ‘looker’ and the ‘looked at’ creates intrigue and progression as each new relationship is put forward, considered, dropped or possibly established. It is a psychological involvement where the viewer receives the hints and clues placed by the editor and perceives or senses what they might mean.

In search of Sylvia: the viewer’s involvement  123

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 123

8/13/21 10:06 AM

6 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 124

The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic Viewing film is an intermingled, shared audio-visual sensory experience, but it is the relationship between these two distinct sensual elements that is important, as each can affect how the viewer experiences the other. This chapter is concerned with the aural aspect of film editing but it cannot be a discussion that solely concerns the viewer’s acoustic experience, so it aims to investigate sound’s impact on and relationship with the image. This association can range from being distinctively emotionally affective, to a subtle underlining of an action, to informing the viewer about an environment. Sound in film often confirms our belief in the physicality of a performance or the authenticity of a setting but it can also be used expressively to infer a character’s psyche or to direct how the viewer feels. The discussion will draw attention to our capacity as film viewers to listen, filter and interpret sound, and how the combination, layering and juxtaposition of both sound with sound and sound with image can influence our emotional and intellectual construction of the story. Unlike picture editing the editing of sound is a less-written about topic; this chapter will reference the viewpoints of several key theoreticians who have sought methods and perspectives to explore sound and its relation to the picture.

8/13/21 10:06 AM

Like the editing of the image, sound can also be positioned, juxtaposed and manipulated in such a way that leads the viewer to make associations and fill in gaps with their imagination. Although the aural and the visual in film are entwined, the way the viewer experiences the two sensual inputs is very different. Nancy notes that, ‘the visual persists until its disappearance; the sonorous appears and fades away into its permanence.’ He qualifies this by noting that the reception via the ear is inward and resonating whereas via the eye there is a manifestation, a display that makes evident.1 For the viewer, does this make the sensation of sound harder to pin down than the visual? And how does this effect the editor in their selection, treatment and placing of sound? Our hearing is omni-directional with our ears open to receiving sound at all times. In the actual world when confronted with sound we have to listen; we cannot ‘close our ears’ – all we can do is shift our attention or prioritise certain sounds or qualities of sound over others. In the making of a film the sound editor and sound mixer do just that. By selection, composition and manipulation they guide the viewer in the process of forming links between the audio and visual elements. Sound can be key to how an editor influences the viewer’s perception of time with it often being used to infer temporal continuity across a sequence of images that may not be inherently continuous. By synchronising specific audio-visual elements in successive shots or pinpointing them across a sequence a temporal flow can be implied. Chion corrects a general belief that sound actually occurs in continuity, stating that the ear listens in brief sections, synthesising short 2 or 3 second ‘slices’ of a sound as it progresses. The ear perceives the sound, the brain processes the data and then the listener hears it, thus the hearing of the audio follows the actual event and is not simultaneous to it.2 However, this transaction is extremely fast and as Chion notes the ‘ear analyses, processes and synthesises faster than the eye’ with certain sound qualities commanding our processing resources over others, particularly the tonal qualities of speech.3

relationships presented to them. They are concerned with how the acoustic environment of the film relates to the actions, interactions and decisions of the characters within it, and how sound information both on and off screen changes how the narrative progresses. Nancy remarks on the difference between hearing and listening, defining hearing as the literal understanding of the sound source, the sound that defines, for example, a car, a clock or a bird. He notes that although listening literally comes out of hearing it also implies an intention, a curiosity to understand the meaning of the sound: ‘to listen is to be straining toward a possible meaning, and consequently one that is not immediately accessible’.4 Listening, as an active acoustic experience, is therefore open ended, ongoing, where meaning is not fixed. Bearing this in mind the editor can through the placement and juxtaposition of sound elements encourage in the viewer an active aural participation that may go beyond the pure rationalisation of information to the expressive evocation of intense sensations. ‘Expressive’ can be thought of as a mode of communication describing the effective revelation of thoughts, intentions and feelings. However, it is also connected with ideas of emphasis and distortion and of changing the actual. The use of sound as an expressive mode of narration rests on whether the viewer perceives specific sounds or whole soundscapes as an accurate representation of events. The degree of distortion or change from this ‘norm’ can be interpreted as a point of expression. A viewer’s sense of what is accurate is based on their everyday aural experience as well as the conventions of ‘naturalistic’ representation in cinema.

When editing a screen performance it is critical to recognise the human tendency to respond to and prioritise vocal sound. The editor through the manipulation of the spoken aspect of performance can guide the viewer’s appreciation of and emotional empathy with a character. As in the actual world, a film viewer is constantly aurally active, attempting to decipher the image-sound

The expressive potential of the audio-visual dynamic  125

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 125

8/13/21 10:06 AM

1. A naturalistic sound mode Certain types of film story require the viewer to believe that the situations and characters presented are from the real world. Sometimes the form of presentation can almost convince the viewer that they are witnessing actuality footage. For this to happen numerous elements need to connect for the viewer to believe that the world and the characters they see and hear could potentially exist outside the film. Vital to this is the use of sound, but how can an editor present an acoustic experience that is perceived as authentic? Many scenes in I, Daniel Blake (2016) evoke feelings of truth and accuracy. On first viewing the audio, like the visual, seems straightforward and simple, with both being perceived as correct and honest. This response is contributed to by the frankness with which the story is told; a telling that is poignant and uncompromising in its gravity. However, the film is still a drama with the use of sound working subtly to draw the audience in and allow them to empathise with the characters.

1

2

I, Daniel Blake (2016 Dir. Loach, Ed. Morris) Selected screen shots Carpenter Daniel Blake (Johns) has suffered a heart attack. Now jobless he has to negotiate the bureaucracy of the UK’s social service benefit system without the necessary computer skills. Similarly caught in and unable to gain essential benefits from the ‘system’ is Katie (Squires) and her two children. This is the story of their mutual support and struggle against the humiliating tasks they have to go through to try to survive. It takes them to the local food bank where after joining a lengthy queue they eventually reach the entrance (1, 2). Daniel looks on whilst the children are given ‘juice and biscuits’ (4) and Katie is helped with her ‘shopping’ by a friendly volunteer, Jackie (3). Vegetables and tins of food are pushed into thin plastic carrier bags as they walk between the makeshift shelves.

3

4

5

Jackie is unaware of just how hungry Katie is, but the cut to a closer shot allows the viewer to glimpse her expression. Unable to control herself Katie opens a can of beans pours the liquid contents into her hand and gulps down a mouthful (5). She tries to conceal what she is doing 6

126  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 126

8/13/21 10:07 AM

but is discovered by Jackie. Humiliated and ashamed she breaks down and is comforted by Daniel (6).

2. Haptic sound – touching sound

The audio track conveys the murmur of a hall full of people; their voices and movements are muffled and echoed in the space. The dialogue, though, is distinctive and close but merges convincingly with the background.

Bresson cautioned that sound should not duplicate the meaning put forward in the picture, and that the image should not take away or ‘come to the rescue’ of the sound, or the sound to the picture.5 However, Chion notes that ‘value’ is consistently ‘added’ by sound, enriching the image both expressively and informatively.6 When viewing a film it may seem that the meaning is solely derived from the image but without its associated sound the image will seem indefinite. The ability of audio to confirm the meaning of what we see is most evident in the synchronisation of a sound to an action, particularly where there is impact, such as a punch, a teacup placed on a saucer or feet walking on a gravel path. It is though, the textural details in a sound that can ground a scene or action in the material, make it concrete. Chion categorises these details as materialising sound indices, noting that they have the capacity to make the viewer ‘“feel” the material conditions of the sound source’, giving them information about the material that has caused the sound and how it has been produced.7 But what makes the viewer believe that these sound details are truthful and fitting? Is it the recollection of a similar sound? Does the sound resonate with a previous acoustic experience? Does the emotion it evokes make it seem truthful? Certain characteristics make a sound seem real and concrete and these often convey the sensation of weight, resistance and texture: the unevenness of a movement or a voice, the regularity of breathing, a guttural noise in the throat or a vocal expression that is slightly off-key.

The thin rustle of the plastic bags identifies their quality, subtly emphasising the poverty. The harsh metallic scrape of the tin lid being pulled off by Katie resonates with the viewer. They recognise the action through the sound, knowing the potential for the sharp metal to cut. This intensifies their empathy for Katie and her desperate situation. The whole scene, like much of the film, is shot on a long lens, positioning the viewer from afar. Naturally if they had been placed in this camera position the viewer would not be able to hear the dialogue. The close audio recording allows the viewer to clearly listen to the verbal content and the vocal quality of the speech, making it possible for them to judge the levels of anxiety in Katie’s voice. However, the volume relationship to viewing position, although technically impossible outside of a film, does to a certain extent mimic the way we listen when trying to select and tune out audio that is currently unimportant. In this scene all the sound effects emanate from the action and the environment, their quality feels natural and believable and nothing is altered as a point of expression. Contributing to this sense of ‘realism’ is the combination of a long lens and close dialogue which draws the viewer into the drama without them feeling manipulated.

Haptic sound – touching sound  127

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 127

8/13/21 10:07 AM

The opening sequence of Seven (1995) introduces the viewer to Detective Somerset (Freeman). In the first five shots there is no dialogue. The sound of Somerset’s defined movements sit in an ambient blend of echoed voices that come from the corridors beyond his apartment, traffic noises from below, sirens, television, radio and distant human movements.

Seven (1995 Dir. Fincher. Ed. Francis-Bruce) Screen shots are consecutive The distinctive sound of Somerset’s actions as he prepares to leave for work is strikingly sharp and precise over the distant clamour. Caused by his actions they seem real and separate from the background; the coffee poured down the sink, the quick run of water and his feet on the floor (1). It is, though, the closeup sound that really resonates with the viewer. The action of his fingers gripping as they confidently button his shirt, the manipulation of the fabric as he positions the buttonhole and the button, and the click of the button being pushed into place (2); the metallic clank of the keys and other items as he picks them up (3), each with a different weight and material quality that makes the action tangible. This is an accentuated ‘real’ as the viewer is being made to listen, with the editor pushing forward acoustic clues to Somerset’s behavioural characteristics. The final shot of the sequence reinforces Somerset as a meticulous and ordered person. This appears to be to an obsessive degree as he reaches forward to a neatly laid-out jacket and flicks off a piece of fluff (5). The sound of his hand gesture has a haptic resonance. The close sound of his fingers rubbing each other and the fabric and the briskness of the movement communicates a material presence that calls up in our aural memory similar experiences of touch. We can almost feel the texture of the jacket and the surface of Somerset’s hands. The sound itself, although small, seems to echo and reverberate in our own bodies as if sharing the textural experience of touching the cloth. It is a prospect of intimate contact that is being offered to us.

1

2

3

4

5

128  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 128

8/13/21 11:19 AM

Sound is nothing without a listener. It needs a receiving ear and body to be meaningful, making listening a very corporeal process. The act of listening is not only intellectual but also a physical experience where external vibrations are received and reformed into internal sound. As Nancy notes, ‘sound and sense mix together and resonate in each other, or through each other’.8 The body echoes and reverberates with sound vibrations, making the experience corporeal and tactile, with certain sound qualities being literally sensed and felt. This resonating quality has been explored both in its potential to move viewers emotionally and in discussions of how affective sensual responses can influence our reflective cerebral workings. Coulthard notes that there is a haptic aurality to this sensing, particularly felt in the amplification of everyday noises that are associated with living, such as breathing, eating and the touching of skin.9 If, as Nancy also suggests, listening might be a resonant act that is not based on intellectual understanding but solely on the senses themselves, this presents questions.10 Do we as film listeners quite literally respond physically to certain sounds as though feeling through our skin? Can listeners, by opening themselves up to sound vibrations, experience a film in a way that has an emotionally affective response?

In L’Argent the unknowing acceptance of counterfeit money leads to the downward slide of Yvon Targe (Patey) from an innocent oil deliveryman to a murderer. The first shot of Yvon in the film shows his red rubber-­ gloved hands turn the metal cap after delivering oil (6). His action continues as he replaces the oil pipe nozzle on the delivery van, retracts the hose, takes off his gloves and writes the invoice for payment on a sheet of paper. After a slight temporal ellipsis, we see Yvon’s hand open the door to the photographic shop in a fairly close shot (8.1). As he enters, walks across to the counter and gives the invoice for the oil to the assistant, the frame develops into a wide mid-shot (8.2). It is the first time the viewer has seen Yvon’s whole body. The assistant shows the invoice to the owner (9), who opens the till and takes out the counterfeit notes to pay Yvon (10). Bresson advises that, ‘it is with something clean and precise that you will force the attention of inattentive eyes and ears’.11 The image and sound in this sequence do just this.

Bresson’s films are distinct in their attention to the aural. In L’Argent (1983) his use of sound explores the materiality of touch and the sensual response of contact. He frequently chooses to use images that are fragments of bodies, often closeups of hands interacting with surfaces. The sound connected with these images is usually precise, foregrounded and focused. Even though essentially naturalistic and emanating from the actions on screen the sounds are heightened, their close acoustic, textual quality and amplification aiming to engage a sensual tactile response in the viewer.

Haptic sound – touching sound  129

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 129

8/13/21 10:07 AM

L’Argent (1983 Dir. Bresson, Ed. Naudon) Screen shots 6-10 are consecutive In oversize thick rubber gloves Yvon’s hands turn the metal cap to close. The metal-on-metal noise is sharp and clear and the rubber on the metal cap is squeaky. The sound of the hand movements makes the unseen hands within them tangible. There is an echo as the metal nozzle is attached to the hose (6). Yvon’s shoes crunch on the pavement. Moving screen left they are distinct and solid. In the background of shots 6 and 7 is the ambiance of distant traffic. Yvon enters shot right, slots the nozzle into the holder. The liquid in the tank changes the tonal quality of the metallic clunks. The mechanical whir of the electronic winch pulling in the hose is precise. The action has been performed many times but the hard, jolting sound of the final violent twist is surprising and forceful. The sound of Yvon pulling off his rubber gloves indicates their weight, texture and fitting, invoking sensations of contact and touch (7). The viewer cannot see what he writes but the rough abrasive sound indicates he is using a pencil. From within the shop we hear the sound of the lever pushed down and the click of the door opening. The background traffic becomes more distinct as Yvon steps through the door, scuffs his feet on the floor and pulls it shut. The traffic then returns to its previous level (8.1). Yvon’s footsteps are defined clicking as he moves across the hard floor surface. The two men exchange a greeting, ‘Salut’, as Yvon hands over the invoice. Out of shot the sound of someone descending stairs makes the assistant turn, motivating the cut to the owner entering (8.2).

6

7

8.1

8.2

The assistant hands the invoice to the owner. All that can be heard is the click of their shoes, their body movements and the rustle of the paper. The owner walks towards screen left, the clomp of his feet deliberate (9). Again, the action of laying down the invoice for the oil, opening the till and taking out the notes is accentuated by the precise sound quality. The mechanical release of the cash drawer, the coins rattling from the sudden movement and the scrunch of the paper notes have a rhythmic deliberateness. The sound of the owner’s hands as they grasp the paper notes is crisp, familiar and tactile (10). In this short sequence the sound, even though naturalistic, is economic and controlled, its textural qualities

9

10

130  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 130

8/13/21 10:07 AM

emphasise the physicality of the actions and the materiality of the objects being handled. These are everyday actions but they feel far from ordinary. Though Bresson in his Notes promotes a cinema of contact and sensation over that of significance, his selective use and heightening of sound in this scene provokes a questioning and intellectual response in the viewer.12 The materiality of the sound in the first two shots emphasises the manual job and economic status of Yvon and the textual closeness of hands touching money implies a critique of capitalistic exchange. In this sequence the sounds are convincingly natural but it is their isolation, precision, quality and reproduction that imply meaning that goes beyond the informational into the expressive. Later in L’Argent after Yvon has been jailed for trying to pass on the counterfeit money, his relationship with his wife has become strained and the other inmates tease him for this. He reacts to their provocation violently and is placed in solitary confinement. In his cell he lies on a mattress scraping his metal cup on the hard floor. The sound is similar in quality to finger nails scratching a blackboard. It is tonally and textually uncomfortable, vibrating inside us as though we can physically feel the sound. The pitch is difficult and the persistent scrape is irritating, provoking the guard to eventually unlock Yvon’s cell. The delivery of this sound is far more expressive than those discussed earlier. It emanates from an action but the sound itself precedes the image that it derives from. Screen shots 11-13 are consecutive The guard’s action as he takes the cell key seems to be motivated but it is not until he reaches the cell door does the viewer hear what has triggered his response. Though it is questionable whether he could have heard the noise through the thick cell door it is very clear and definite on the audio track. He looks through the viewing hole (11). The cut round is from Yvon’s point of view of the door as it opens and the guard enters (12.1). Across the cut the volume and quality of the sound remains the same. Yvon asks for the time and day and the guard replies, turns, leaves and locks the door (12.2).

provoke the guards, also expresses a calculated calmness, indicating a change in his personality. The sound makes the action tangible but also infers the complications of Yvon’s psychological state. It resonates with the viewer not only though its acoustic vibrations but also by the meaning it expresses. The previous examples have been used to discuss the use of naturalistic sound and how the selection, positioning and treatment of those sounds can change the viewer’s emotional appreciation of the narrative. The following sections will look at other less naturalistic modes of acoustic expression available to the editor.

11

12.1

12.2

The scraping sound continues and a cut to Yvon through the cell bars reveals what he is doing (13). Eventually the guard and doctor re-enter, they give him the sleeping pills he is wordlessly asking for. When they leave, he spits out the pills, storing them for his future suicide attempt. In making the sound Yvon seems to express a pent-up rage and frustration. The noise, although intended to

13

Haptic sound – touching sound  131

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 131

8/13/21 10:07 AM

3. Sound before ‘the Talkies’ Film viewing has never been soundless, with the audiences of early films experiencing moving images accompanied by an orchestra or a piano player. Live narration or sound effects emitted from behind the screen; the ‘loud’ vocal insistence of intertitles and gestural performances also added an acoustic dimension. Eisenstein explored how images could form an analogy for ‘emotional sound’ in his ideas on tonal montage, where the gradation of light or the composition of sharply angled visual elements might infer a gloomy ‘sound’ or a shrill ‘sound.’13 No actual sound was conveyed but sonic tonal resonances could be inferred by the visual composition of a shot and how those shots were patterned in length and order. Eisenstein’s interest in the potential for landscape to suggest ‘emotional sound’ extended to a possible correspondence with music and musical composition; ‘When the emotional effect is achieved not only by a set of representational elements of nature but especially by the musical development and composition of what is being represented.’14

Battleship Potemkin (1925. Dir. Eisenstein) Selected shots from the ‘Odessa Mist’ sequence In a scene from Battleship Potemkin (1925), after the death of Vakulinchuk, Eisenstein suggests deep solemn tones with a sequence of ships in the fog, their looming outlines an expression of ‘stillness and anxiety’ (1,2). The quick movements of seabirds and sparkle of light on the water were intended to infer higher and lighter tones in order to inspire feelings of ‘expectation and hope’ (3, 4).15

‘secondary resonances’ of filmed material.16 Overtones in music run parallel to the basic tonal sound and are sensed as vibrations. Likewise, Eisenstein looked for visual vibrations or secondary stimuli that conflict with the dominant stimulus of the shot. The collision of these stimuli within the shot produced the ‘feeling’ of the shot. However, the emotional effect of overtonal montage was due to the combination of all the elements, within and between shots rather than from a single shot. With the arrival of synchronised recorded sound, Soviet filmmakers were wary of its benefits, stating that ‘every ADHESION of sound to a visual montage piece increases its inertia’.17 They suggested that sound, like the picture, should also be treated as a montage element. Rather than solely observing a ‘slavish imitation of naturalism’ that merely corresponded to the movements of people or objects on the screen it could also stimulate an idea.18 The Soviet filmmakers’ criticism to synchronised recorded sound was partly aimed at the loss of intellectual stimulus and partly at the return to a static staging of scenes as a result of the logistical needs of early technology. Early sound recording involved the actors gathering under a single stationary off-screen microphone to speak, and often the ‘talk’ was descriptive of events and interactions that were banal or could have been more interestingly shown.

Here Eisenstein is searching for a visual musicality where the textural substance of each shot generates the ‘sound’. The duration of each shot, the slight movements in the water, birds flying and the ‘melodic rocking’ of the ships and buoys form the rhythm. Note: Eisenstein commissioned a musical score for Battleship Potemkin from Edmund Meisel that was first performed in Soviet Russia. Eisenstein developed his ideas of ‘tonal montage’ further into what he called ‘overtonal montage’. Taking as a reference the analogy of harmonics, he compared the small vibrations or overtones that accompany a fundamental tone and determine its quality and timbre to the

1

2

3

4

132  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 132

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Blackmail (1929 Dir. Hitchcock, Ed. De Ruelle)

‘ . . . but there is one thing you seem to have forgotten’ ‘Oh . . . and what’s that?’ ‘Before we get to any hanging I shall have quite a lot to say, and the first thing I shall say is that she was there too.’ ‘Ah you will, will you, isn’t there one thing you have forgotten, that our word is as good as, or perhaps a bit better than that of a jailbird. So we’ll face that when the time comes . . . .’

Part of a scene towards end of the film – ‘Talkie’ version Hitchcock shot two versions of Blackmail (1929), one silent and one with synchronised dialogue sequences. It is this version that is considered Hitchcock’s first ‘talkie’. Some of the dialogue scenes in the talkie are static, with the verbal information delivered in a necessarily fixed manner. In the example to the right the story is being conveyed primarily through the dialogue. Hitchcock, when reflecting on the film, commented to Truffaut that the characters in certain scenes seemed to be ‘people speaking titles’. They were conveying information that an audience would once have read in an intertitle. Hitchcock advised that when telling a cinematic story ‘we should resort to dialogue only when it is impossible to do otherwise’.19 In both versions of Blackmail Hitchcock concentrated on using pictures to convey the story; though the talkie version is also noted for its innovative use of sound. In the ‘knife’ scene Hitchcock uses sound to move from the literal to the subjective. The scene starts when the family are eating breakfast and a talkative neighbour arrives to speculate on the choice of weapon used in a murder the previous night. Her repetition of the word ‘knife’ multiple times clearly affects Alice, who, unknown to the others, has committed the murder. Both versions of the scene convey Alice’s inner turmoil and anxiety but in the silent version it is the juxtaposition, choice of shot size and its position and timing with the intertitle that suggests how the interfering neighbour’s gossip affects Alice. The following analyses are from the two versions.

1

2

3

4

5

6

Knife scene – The ‘Silent’ version The screen shots are consecutive Each title card in the silent version takes a certain amount of time to read, and whilst doing this, the viewer is unable to witness Alice’s reaction (2). Their prior knowledge of the murder and the implications of the text encourage them to imagine how she is feeling. Alice’s anxiety is confirmed in the cut to a fairly close reaction shot (3). The neighbour’s performance juxtaposed with the imagined spoken aural quality of the written text helps to heighten the viewer’s empathy with Alice (4,5).

Instead of reinforcing Alice’s turmoil with a closeup, Hitchcock cuts to a wider shot that shows Alice’s back as she tries to ignore the neighbour, again leaving her facial reaction to the viewer’s imagination (6). Her father speaks to her but the exact verbal communication is conveyed only after the interaction.

Sound before ‘the Talkies’  133

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 133

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Does the intertitle text (7) represent the actual delivery of his words or the echo of his words in Alice’s mind? The next cut to her closeup seems to infer this (8.1). As the only moving shot in the sequence this pointedly shows Alice’s thought process as the camera moves down to the shadow of her hand hovering over the breadknife, reinforcing the significance that these words have for her (8.2).

7

8.1

8.2

9

10

11

1.1

1.2

. . . a good clean honest whack over the head is one thing, there’s something British about that . . . but knives is not right.

I must say that’s what I think and that’s what I feel. Whatever the provocation I could never use a knife. Now mind you . . .

The further alternation of Alice’s closeup (9- 10) with her hand reaching for the knife increases the tension. The quick cut to the shop bell ‘ringing’ (11) visually indicates the aural. The sound causes Alice to start and drop the knife. In both versions the action and the length of the scene is comparable; however in the talkie version Hitchcock has perhaps been more obvious in directing the viewer. By placing the spoken word over Alice’s face the emotional meaning is intensified, as there is no need to cut away from the action to the text. The quality of the neighbour’s voice and her fixation on the murder weapon creates an immediate sympathy for Alice.

Knife scene – The ‘Talkie’ version The screen shots are consecutive. Similar to the silent version Hitchcock uses the movement of the camera to direct the viewer. Instead of cutting he pans from Alice to the neighbour (1.1) and back to Alice (1.2), punctuating the delivery of the dialogue with the movement. By placing the word ‘knife’ over Alice’s frightened face the viewer infers the subtext; her fear of being found out. It is the manipulation of the word, its tonal quality and its distinct clarity in relation to the other words, which have been reduced to an ‘out of focus’ mumble, that moves this scene into Alice’s subjectivity (1.2).

134  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 134

8/13/21 10:07 AM

The jump cut into a slightly closer shot of Alice also promotes the idea of entering her internal thoughts (2.1). The change in lighting works to accentuate her anxiety, with the treated sound encouraging the viewer to ‘feel’ what she is feeling – fear.

2.1

2.2

. . . a knife is a difficult thing to handle, I mean any knife . . . mumble . . . knife . . . mumble . . . KNIFE

‘knife . . . knnerife . . . knife . . . knife . . . mumble . . . knife . . . mustn’t use a KNIFE . . .

Alice cut us a bit of bread will you?’ (father)

When her father asks, ‘Alice cut us a bit of bread will you’, the viewer empathises with Alice, knowing that she has to pick up the knife. The repeated and distorted word reflects her thoughts and fear. Every time the neighbour repeats the word ‘knife’ the audio increases in volume. The word has become an internal expression of Alice’s fear, whilst the rest of the dialogue is reduced to a low and not very coherent mumble. Alice goes to cut the bread but the effect of the last ‘knife’ jolts her from her thoughts, and she throws the knife into the air. The viewer almost certainly jumps in shock when this happens (2.3) and is probably more shocked than the people in the room (3).

2.3

3

I mean in Chelsea you mustn’t use a KNIFE!’ (Neighbour)

You oughta be more careful; you might have cut somebody with that. . . (Father)

Timeline showing the audio waveform for the three shot sequence. Volume peaks identify the verbal expression of ‘knife’.

The waveform indicates how the volume level for the word ‘knife’ has been raised whilst the other words are low and barely audible. It is easy to assume that the levels may have been changed in postproduction but it is likely for technical reasons that the sound has

been recorded live and the level adjustment part of the actor’s performance. The intense stress on the last use of the word is placed both by the actor’s expression and by the volume level. In both versions of the scene it is the sound that motivates Alice’s reaction. In the

Sound before ‘the Talkies’  135

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 135

8/13/21 10:07 AM

silent version the viewer has to imagine the quality of the neighbour’s voice, both externally in the room and internally echoed in Alice’s mind. In the talkie this information is supplied, but even though Hitchcock distorts and layers the sound in order to direct the viewer, he still demands of them an active emotional involvement.

4. The internal: stylistic acoustic expression A viewer’s knowledge of a character’s psychological state is often essential for their understanding of a particular situation. If this state is not outwardly disclosed, other means of expression may be needed. The expressive manipulation of sound in relation to the image can make a character’s inner turmoil apparent to the viewer. Murch, in an interview, speaks of how sound in film can contribute ‘a metaphoric tension between the sound and the image’.20 What he is referring to is the capacity of the viewer to rationalise what they see and hear with the tension between two unrelated audio and visual ideas evoking a unique sensation; an emotion or idea that is not on screen but in their minds. This activity has the potential to involve the viewer in a character’s psyche enough for them to feel the same fear, anger, disgust or repulsion as the character feels. This is especially evident in psychological horror films where the viewer’s mental immersion is essential.

Carol is a beautiful young woman who works in a beauty salon and lives with her sister Helen in a London apartment. The film is about the deterioration of her psychological state. Men desire Carol but she is repulsed by sexuality, she fears intimacy and is disgusted by her sister’s lover, Michael. From the start of the film the viewer perceives that Carol is different. She rarely speaks, with her psychological breakdown learnt of solely via the visual and aural expression of her surreal hallucinations. When Helen and Michael leave for a holiday she locks herself into the apartment in an attempt to keep out the world but the outside breaks in through the walls, doors and barriers she has built. The apartment through the editing, the mise en scene and the sound becomes, as Laine suggests, an analogy for Carol’s psychological state.22 When the viewer is positioned within her head they are disturbed and unsettled, possibly fearing for their own sanity.

The soundtrack to Repulsion (1965) works with the images to involve the viewer in the disgust and fear that Carol (Deneuve) feels towards elements of her world that others might normally find pleasure in, particularly the touch and bodily contact of men. Repulsion or disgust is often aligned to touching or being touched by another and the viewer becomes quickly attuned to the disgust Carol has for the proximity and possible contact of others. As Barker notes the fascination and repulsion the viewer feels is not just Carol’s but their own reaction to the ‘grime and seediness lurking, growing or decaying beneath the seamless surfaces’ and it is that which defines their relationship with the film.21 Initially Carol’s world appears to be ordinary; but via her viewpoint and her tactile interaction with it the viewer witnesses its corruption and disintegration. Cracks erupt in the walls, taps drip, a man’s razor becomes a point of focus, a skinned rabbit decomposes, potatoes sprout shoots and worn and dirty clothing is smelt. The decay and menace is reflected in the soundtrack with sudden noises, discordant tones and unexpected accentuation. All these stylistic elements work together in conveying the textural, tactile and bodily nature of the film.

136  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 136

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Repulsion (1965. Dir. Polanski, Ed. McIntyre) Screen shots are consecutive Aurally the enclosed apartment is quiet, with the sound of Carol’s movements defined but low. The buzz of a fly on a skinned rabbit left out of the fridge, the drone of a distant helicopter and the echoed drips from the bathroom are everyday sounds, but selectively placed they accentuate her isolation. Repulsed by the smell of Michael’s vest left in the bathroom, Carol vomits. In the kitchen she fills a glass of water and drinks; the drips echo distinctly over a distant city ambiance coming through the open window (1). She appears to hear slights creaks, sensing something behind her. A sudden deep and resounding splitting or cracking noise followed by an echoed crunch motivates her to turn and look towards the wall. Further clunks rumble and vibrate across the cut into the big close up of Carol’s wide eyes (2). The point-ofview shot that follows is of a crack in the wall (3). The shot structure implies that the image is the source of the sound. The audio over this image is sparse, tailing down to what feels like an empty track, seeming to imply a closure to the episode.

1

2

3

Timeline showing the audio waveform for the three shot sequence Arrows and brackets identify the audio effects and their position

The treated sound effects of the water drips and of Carol’s action are laid on a low background atmosphere. Their isolation and placement heighten the viewer’s anxiety. The loud unexpected ripping and crunching noises that follow are shocking, provoking in the viewer a sudden start and fear. These sounds are completely out of context, and not part of the environment. However, the

use of the perceptual point of view (POV) structure and the closeness of the sound encourage the viewer to believe that they are caused by the crack in shot 3. The viewer’s prior knowledge of Carol’s psychological state also prompts them to assume that this POV is probably subjective.

The internal: stylistic acoustic expression  137

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 137

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Later in the film Screen shots 1–5 are consecutive, the rest are selected After a repeated ‘crack’ and the terrifying glimpse of a man in a mirror Carol retreats to her bedroom. Although she is alone in the apartment a wardrobe blocks the internal door to her sister’s bedroom. Carol lies in bed awake; the persistent tick of the bedside clock sits in the room ambiance; though prominent it is not loud enough to obscure the sound of a man’s footsteps outside in the corridor. The texture and squeak of the shoes is menacing as they pause and move past her door towards her sister’s room. Carol’s eyes follow the sound; her facial reaction and body movements transmit her fear (1). The choice of framing and POV structure enhance the subjectivity of the scene. Although the sound of the footsteps appears to have triggered the start of her delusion, they are of course part of it. The ‘imaginary’ man pushes the door open, it hits the wardrobe, he moves it aside, and enters the room (2). The only sound that can be heard is the clock and Carol’s body movements. These are slight but close. The sound effects of the door being pushed as it hits the wooden wardrobe and the man’s body movements have been omitted. As he advances Carol screams but this is a silent scream; the only sound is the ticking clock increasing in volume and a slight body movement (3, 4). In the shots that follow he appears to rape her. The camera movements and close framing heighten the tension and the viewer’s anxiety for Carol (9, 12). In this scene the physicality of the violence is conveyed not only by the acting but also by elements in the picture. The framing is close and the camera moving, sometimes the bodies are obscured and fractured, with cuts to Carol’s face and hands implying what is happening rather than showing it (5, 9, 12). The violence is NOT conveyed by the use of a synchronised soundtrack. As the preceding waveform indicates, apart from three initial foley sounds no sound emanates from Carol’s violent struggles or from her attacker. The only sound is the tick of the clock that becomes louder when the man enters the bedroom. The scene ends abruptly with a cut to a telephone and the sound of its loud insistent ring (14). This penetrating noise propels the viewer out of the hallucination they have shared with Carol into a new emotional state.

1

2

3

4

5

9

12

14

How does the lack of synchronised sound contribute the viewer’s emotions? In itself the rape is a devastating act with the viewer recoiling as Carol does from the man’s advances, but coming from Carol’s inner state the enactment of rape is extremely disturbing. Her open mouth, screaming devoid of sound seems to signal an inner cry for help. The viewer imagines the sound of her screams, her gasps, of her attacker’s violence, the noises of struggle and cloth ripping. Their own reaction is tactile, bodily and immediate involving them in the frightening prospect of this being real. But how does the tick of a clock influence these emotions? Generally, a ticking clock is shorthand for time passing, or it is used to indicate the monotony of a situation or as part of a background ambiance but in this scene, juxtaposed with these images it does something different. At the start of the scene the alarm clock on the bedside table is part of the setting and its mechanical noise diegetic. Initially the sound emanates from within the room but as the intensity of Carol’s hallucination

138  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 138

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Shot list of scene excerpt. Numbers correspond to the screen shots and the following audio timeline A = Mid-shot Carol moves position on bed B = Carol’s POV of door. It starts to open 1 = Carol in closer shot looks at door 2 = Man pushes wardrobe and enters room 3 = Carol moves back on bed 4 = Man moves toward Carol 5 = Carol screams and moves back 6 = Man coat obscures our view of Carol

7 = Man pulls carol by her hair to the bed 8 = Close up, man pulls nightdress 9 = Fast pull out from carol’s face 10 = Man’s hand pushes on Carol’s face 11 = From above carol’s frightened face 12 = Carol’s hands move and grip the sheets 13 = Carol’s hands pull on clothing 14 = Close up – phone, Carol’s hand picks up receiver

Audio timeline of excerpt shows waveform and sound effects in their relation to the picture

increases the ticking is amplified, pushing the sound into a stylistic expression of her psyche. The ticking bears no direct relationship to the visual events of Carol’s hallucination but through its alignment with the images and the manipulation of its acoustic quality it becomes an expression of her mental state. Throughout, the ‘tick tock’ remains rhythmically constant, seemingly linking the scene to the passage of time. Once the sound has passed into the subjective its regularity and speed locks the viewer into the inevitable; helpless they are entangled in Carol’s nightmarish hallucination. In these excerpts the tension between the sound effects and the images has triggered a sensory and almost tactical response in the viewer where the heightened and selective placement shifts them into the character’s subjectivity.

5. The silence of space Silence in contemporary film is rare, with an audience expecting their auditory space to be filled with an overwhelming layering of dialogue, music and sound effects that emanate from all sides of the cinema. When a viewer expects a full and present soundtrack a lack of sound can provoke an insecurity that may take away from their appreciation of the film. Because of this silence in film is seldom complete and often simulated by the use of relative volume. What happens when we

perceive an absence of sound? Is our listening more concentrated? Do we strive harder to hear? Nancy remarks that in the perfect circumstances of silence ‘you hear your own body resonate, your own breath, your heart and all its resounding cave’.23 The absence of noise stimulates a need to listen, to find out and to question. In our striving towards sound, and in its absence we turn inward and listen to ourselves, we become aware of the act of listening. The body actively resonates with the sensations from within underlining the haptic quality to our sensing of sound. Many editors are aware of the expressive potential of silence in film but finding a realistic effect to mimic the silence of outer space can prove a creative challenge. The pre-title onscreen text in Gravity (2013) acknowledges the acoustic quality of space: ‘At 600 km above planet earth the temperature fluctuates between +258 and -148 degrees Fahrenheit . . . . . There is nothing to carry sound, no air pressure, no oxygen . . . . . Life in space is impossible’. The film’s sound editor (Freemantle), in order to create a believable world, devised an approach for the soundscape based on ideas of vibration. He reasoned that as the airless vacuum cannot transmit sound waves the characters through touch would be able to ‘hear’ certain sounds via their physical vibrations. When the viewer is situated within Stone’s (Bullock) space suit they experience her voice, breath and heartbeat from an

The silence of space  139

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 139

8/13/21 10:07 AM

almost internal bodily position. When she collides with objects the viewer hears the vibrations of her impact as they might through their own body. By panning the audio with the character’s movements, the sound becomes connected to them, creating for the viewer the feeling that they are also moving through the same world. The film never lacks sound but acknowledges the silence of space with a musical score (composer Stephen Price) that helps describe actions or movements that would normally have generated sounds. To signify an acoustic presence a subsonic layer of sound that is not audibly identifiable has been laid under the score and the effects. In this film the viewer is being asked through the manipulation of the sound and silence in its relation to the picture and performance to use sensory responses that are very close to real life. The intensity of the experience, though, is far beyond normal, making the haptic, visual and auditory involvement both immersive and emotionally engaging.

Gravity’s narrative may seem quite minimal but it is the emotional change that Stone undergoes that moves the story forward. In her attempt to return to Earth Stone’s psychological state moves from determination to despair to hope. Diegetic sound is, on the whole, used to evoke a convincing setting, but at certain points the heightening of sound effects and the use of 360-degree movements generates excitement and tension when Stone and Kowalski (Clooney) are adrift in space.

Gravity (2013. Dir. Cuarón. Ed. Cuaron/Sanger) Screen shots 1.1- 1.4 are selected from one shot that is perceived as continuous In this excerpt, Stone, propelled away from the damaged spaceship has lost sight of Kowalski. Breathless she gasps for oxygen and the camera passes from outside, through and into her helmet (1.1, 1.2). The perspective of the sound not only attempts to mimic the change from the vacuum of outer space to the oxygenated bubble inside the helmet but to also infer Stone’s physical and mental transformation as she regains sight of the spaceship. When the camera is on the exterior a non-diegetic music track mirrors her anxiety with small electronic beeps and whistles that suggest the possibility of contact.

1.1

1.2 Lieutenant Kowalski do you copy? – Stone

1.3 Explorer do you copy?

1.4 Houston do you copy?

her heart is more noticeable and the music distant. The quality of Stone’s voice changes from a clear close and breathy quality (1.2) to muffled and distant outside the helmet (1.3, 1.4). The adherence to a more ‘truthful’ change of acoustic space makes it difficult for us to hear her. Does this technique obscure the emotion in her voice or enhance the emotional impact of her situation? Do the close textural bodily sounds inside the helmet resonate with our own physicality and increase our empathy for her? In a later excerpt silence is used to emphasise Stone’s psychological state when she reaches the apparent safety of the Soyuz spacecraft, to then find it has no fuel. Her attempts to contact Earth fail and her initial hope turns to despair, prompting her to turn off the flow of oxygen.

It is only when the camera moves inside the helmet that her gasps are clear and close in texture, the pulse of 140  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 140

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Screen shots 2.1-2.6 are selected from one shot that is perceived as continuous Stone closes her eyes and murmurs to a song on the radio, ‘sing me to sleep and I’ll sleep’ (2.1). Under the lulling musical tones and electronic radio whistles there is a faint knock. Outside the airlock window is Kowalski (2.2), who the viewer believes to have died earlier in the film when he was separated from Stone. As he tries to enter the craft the volume of the music track increases and the camera rapidly pans to Stone and back to Kowalski. She shouts ‘oh no, no’ to stop him from releasing the hatch. He does and at this point the music track is pulled out completely. It seems as though the soundless vacuum of space has entered the capsule (2.3). In the emptiness of silence Kowalski climbs through the hatch and into the seat beside Stone. Even though the lack of corresponding sound for Kowalski’s voice and body movements seems to take on a metaphoric significance it is the sudden acoustic change that affects the viewer in an almost physically reflexive way. At first it feels like a gasp for breath but the viewer, conscious of their own breathing, is aware that the ‘breath’ is held too long and begins to feel self-conscious. The viewer in trying to unravel what has happened tends to fill the silences; as Murch notes they do this ‘with sounds and feelings of their own making, and they will individually answer the question ‘why is it quiet?’ 24 As Kowalski turns the oxygen level back up the hiss of the gas creeps in and the volume of his voice increases as he persuades Stone not to give up (2.4, 2.5). The camera moves into a single close shot of Stone, and as she turns her head towards Kowalski it is revealed he is no longer there (2.6). The absence of sound for just over 30 seconds is worrying, almost shocking. It isn’t logically possible for Kowalski to be there, but he is. Is this an oxygen-­deprived hallucination or an indication of Stone’s mental inner state? The manipulation of the sound prompts the viewer to imagine Stone’s inner debate. This internal argument is only fully revealed when she turns up the oxygen and breathes in. The length of the silence makes the viewer aware of their own internal ‘noises’, their breathing and heartbeat and those of others seated next to them in the cinema. A lack of sound can promote an immersive participation that can make the viewer feel exposed; as Chion points out it is, ‘as if we were in the presence of a giant ear, tuned to our own slightest noises. We are no longer merely listening to the film, we are as it were being listened to by it as well’.25 The manipulation of diegetic sound in this excerpt motivates a visceral sensory response where the viewer may physically empathise with Stone.

2.1 Sing me to sleep and I’ll sleep. (radio)

2.2 Oh no. No (Stone)

2.3

2.4

2.5

2.6 Hey Ryan, it’s time to go home (Kowalski)

The silence of space  141

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 141

8/13/21 10:07 AM

6. Sound as poetic time Poetry uses language for its aesthetic as well as semantic meaning. It can hint at, condense and omit things; it can create its own truth that may or may not coincide with the real world. By using a shorthand combination of selected elements, it can capture images and sounds and evoke feelings and themes that may induce reflective thought in the reader. Many poems do not have a formal narrative structure; some may have an internal logic or others may seem irrational but most leave room for the reader to make links and reflect. In his films Andrei Tarkovsky seems to invite the viewer to accept and experience them as they would a poem, allowing the resonance of sound and images to encourage an intimate personal reflection: ‘look at my films as into a mirror in which he will see himself’. 26 In a poem the tonal quality and organisation of the words, whether internally formed or vocalised, can generate rhythmic sound structures and patterns that may conflict or enhance the meaning of the words. The volume, variation of cadence and the repetition of sounds over time can infer a mood or open up ideas. Tarkovsky uses sound not just as a representation of the visual action but also as an intensification of that experience, leading the viewer into worlds where the idea of reality and permanence are questioned. He presents a visual and acoustic space that can makes us feel as though we are losing control where nothing is secure or as it should be. The concept of the flow of time is important for Tarkovsky with his use of the ‘long take’ attempting to show the pressure of ‘real’ time within in a shot uninterrupted by the cut. For Tarkovsky the purpose of editing is an organic process, bringing together shots ‘which are already filled with time’, organising ‘the unified living structure inherent in the film’.27

As Chion reminds us sound can temporalise images, it can lock linearity, imposing a sense of progression. However, in Mirror sound effects are not always predictable, they tend to mystify and promote a dream-like quality by their uneven flow.29 Tarkovsky talks of finding the cacophony of a completely naturalistic sound representation ‘tantamount to silent, since it has no expression of its own’, and by manipulation he removes sound from its literal correspondence with the image in order for the ‘film to acquire a resonance’.30 Mirror’s sound is sensory, textural and almost tactile; it is also expressive in that it heightens the ephemeral nature of the world, but does it elicit emotion in the viewer? In this sequence the intensification of selected ‘real’ sound hints at solidity alongside the weightless, hallucinatory quality of the images. A rhythm and sense of linearity is imposed by the sound of dripping water, slight body movements and a deep electronic wind-like tone.

In Mirror (1974) time is far from chronological; the past, present and future are woven together in sound and image. Deleuze presents the idea of the ‘time–image’ that is not locked in by a narrative but is more abstract and open ended where the actual present and the virtual past may converge or crytallise.28 Similarly in Mirror things are not logically connected but are linked subjectively via a dream, memory or thought that is stimulated by a space, a reflection or a sound. Tarkovsky notes that Mirror is about his feelings toward the people who are dear to him, his family, and although not openly referenced in the film the visual and aural elements infer a personal reflection.

142  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 142

8/13/21 10:07 AM

Mirror (1975 Dir. Tarkovsky. Ed. Feyginova) Screen shots are consecutive A bird calls, cueing the boy (Yankovskiy) to wake (1). As he sits up the sound effects are minimal – a closeup rustle of the bedclothes and a tinkle of bedsprings. He looks out of the frame. An electronic tone continues across the cut to a monochromatic shot of static woodland over which is a birdcall (2). A sudden wind blows the trees. The movement feels unnatural in the stillness and although made concrete by the sound effects, the definition of sound and image allude to a magical place. The cut back to the boy reveals him lying down (again monochrome); has time passed or is this a dream? He murmurs ‘Papa’ and again sits up (3.1). The electronic tone has gone; the birdcall and the tinkle of bedsprings are repeated. The camera follows as the boy gets out of bed with the few sound effects synchronised to his movements. The lack of foley (sound effects made by body movement or impact) for his feet on the floor enhances the dream-like floating quality.

1

2

As the boy reaches the doorway between the rooms a bird calls and a piece of clothing is thrown across the doorway (3.2). The cut to a man as he pours water over a woman’s head implies this is happening beyond the door. Is this shot the boy’s point of view? (4.1) The sound of the poured water is almost an echoed response to the movement of the thrown cloth. It is crystal clear and definite in the silence. As the man leaves the frame the camera tilts down to the woman (Terekhova) (4.2).

3.1

3.2

4.1

Sound as poetic time  143

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 143

8/13/21 10:08 AM

There are no sound effects until she lifts her hair from the water, the drips echoing as if in a large empty space. She rises to her feet and again there is no foley, only the echoed drips. The camera then moves out to a wide shot and over an electronic wind-like tone a metallic bell rings, its volume increasing. The frame reveals that the woman is no longer in the previous domestic space but in a larger room with dripping, decaying walls and a lit gas cooker (4.3).

4.2

At the next cut she has vanished. Water cascades down the walls and plaster falls to the floor in slow motion (5). The electronic tone continues across the cut. Does this cue a temporal change or infer linearity? As the debris hits the floor synchronised splashes imply a tangible reality whereas the vibrating bell-like sound suggests a surreal dream. Not only does the sound reverberate but the image also echoes, both with a sense of decay. If this is a lived-in space it is organic and quickly dissolving.

4.3

In a cut to a mid-shot of the woman the camera follows her as she moves across the room (6), it reveals her reflection in the mirror and then finds her drying her hair with a towel. It is temporally continuous but the use of fragmented reflected surfaces and deep-echoed watery sounds may disorientate the viewer. In this excerpt the source of the sound effects feels diegetic but by manipulation it seems as though they emanate from beyond the frame from another time. By selecting and defining specific elements Tarkovsky heightens the viewer’s listening experience, making the texture of time aural as well as visual. In Stalker (1979) Tarkovsky sought to convey a more definite and continual temporality with the ‘articulations between shots to be the continuum of the action and nothing more, to involve no dislocation of time’.31 Themes of human dignity and self-respect are explored as Stalker takes two people into the Zone on a journey of self-discovery. With Stalker as their spiritual guide they seek a magical room that grants their greatest desire. The opening scene before Stalker goes on the journey and the final scene take place in the apartment Stalker shares with his wife and disabled daughter ‘Monkey’. Within this space the sound is sometimes precise and causal and at other moments expressive and atmospheric, often implying an environment beyond the frame edge or hinting at an inner world. The performances, like the image and soundscape, are stylised but the relationship between the aural, the visual and the acting is not always literal, it is this that makes the film resonate.

5

6

144  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 144

8/13/21 10:08 AM

Stalker (1979 Dir. Tarkovsky. Ed. Feyginova)

Sound Loud wind-like noise Metal rattles – echoed Tapping – low Drips of water into water Creaks Distant hoot – the docks Metal rattle – close

Sound effects are listed next to each shot.

Opening scene Screen shots are consecutive The opening shot of the film is a slow move in through a doorway towards a bed. It feels like the occupants may be long dead (1). After all, could anyone possibly be living here in the dampness and decay?

1 Sound Wind-like noise Metal rattles – synced to the movements of glass and sound of train Train approach – as camera tracks to left volume increases

The space is sepia tinted, with the sound of dripping water and the creaks and rattles having no obvious source. They are layered but also distinct from the less natural, more electronic tone of a wind-like noise. Atmospherically this is a strange place where strange things could happen. The toot of a distant train – or is it a ships horn? – indicate the outside world but the viewer is unsure about the relevance of these sounds.

2.1

On the first precise metallic rattle there is a cut to a close overhead shot of a metal table with a glass of water on it (2.1). The source of the rattle is now obvious as the table shakes more violently and the glass moves. Under the rattle and clatter is the rumble of a train, which we assume is diegetic by the change of perspective and the increase in volume as it approaches.

2.2

At this point the viewer is building an acoustic knowledge that helps structure their idea of the interior space and the greater environment. The volume of the train increases, obscuring the rattles and drips; it seems to cue the camera move across the bed and the three people lying asleep. The volume of the soundscape as it changes from near silence to thunderous makes it hard to believe that they are sleep. Music seemingly coming from the train blares for a few seconds as the camera passes over Monkey sleeping (2.3). It fades when the camera reaches Stalker, motivating a track back across the bed (2.4). The rattling tray resumes as the train sound dwindles. Echoed drips and the rush of an unnatural wind bridge the cut and the return to the wide shot, inferring continuous time (3). The room appears to physically shake, suggesting that this is an unstable and difficult place. As Stalker gets out of bed the squeal of the bedsprings are distinct and the foley sounds of his movements precise and realistic, but these sit in a layer of treated natural effects that echo and reverberate. In these three shots the aural and the

Sound Train passes. Clearer sounds of the wheels on tracks. Toot and hiss. As camera tracks right volume decreases. Shouts Rattle of tray – drips echoed – loud wind-like noise

Sound Train passes fast Music volume increases (Beethoven)

2.3 Sound Train closer, slows, then passes to become distant. Toots. Music volume decreases People shout

2.4

3

Sound Bedsprings Foley of body movement, zip and cloth, floor creaks as he walks Drips echoed and close Distant clanks Wind and possible dock noises Distant ship horns

Sound as poetic time  145

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 145

8/13/21 10:08 AM

visual work together to underline a sense of decay. It is a sensory, heightened and rather ambiguous environment where nature seems to be reclaiming the manmade. The narrative of Stalker is cyclical; it ends as it began with the visual and aural symmetry adding to the poetic nature of the film. In the penultimate scene of the film Stalker’s wife pours out her anguish and shame directly to the camera before she goes onto deliver a statement of love and devotion. The austere monochrome image then cuts to a side view of Monkey as she reads a book (4.1). In contrast this is a hopeful golden image with the steam from a hot drink and soft floating seeds softening the image.

(4.3). The sound, though is not of splintering glass – it hasn’t broken – but the clunk as hits the floor seems to prompt the rattle of the metal tray and the train noises from the first scene. The camera tracks forward and as the volume increases the whole room shakes until the train passes to frame right (4.4). The music that crashes in from the train is Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. As it fades Monkey very briefly looks into the camera and the viewer is left listening to the final rattles of the tray. The soundtrack has come full circle and if the viewer still has questions about the film’s meaning then it is unlikely that they will be answered. They have experienced a journey where the linking of the visual and aural has encouraged a reflection on time and self.

Final scene Screen shots are selected from one continuous shot The toot of a boat horn and the tweeting of numerous birds cue the cut from the woman. However, the birds sound as if they are outdoors, not within an enclosed room. As Dyer suggests, these sounds, like the floating seeds, seem to have come from the Zone, perhaps brought back by Stalker.32 Behind the birds is a layer of echoed toots and industrial noises. Distant voices sit in a low wind-like atmosphere. The close sound of Monkey’s hands on the book gives a synchronous weight to an otherwise mystical sound space. The camera moves out to reveal the table. Monkey looks up, cueing an off-screen female voice that recites a love poem by Fydor Tyuchev.33 Is Monkey vocalising her inner voice or is it the voice of someone else? Because the voice starts at the point she looks up the viewer connects it to her even though the words of the poem seem mature for a young girl (4.2). The vocal quality is clear, forward and echoed. As the poem ends Monkey looks towards the window and then back to the table, her eyes locking onto a glass containing brown liquid. Using her telekinetic powers she begins to move the glass towards the camera. The sound of the glass on the marble surface is sharp, hard and synchronous. A dog whines as if responding to this mysterious act. She glances towards the dog from the Zone. Behind this are the birds and the toots of the ship horns. The second glass as she moves it across the surface has a different tonal quality. Several loud toots seem to cue her to move the final glass. Laying her head on the marble surface she moves the glass to the edge; it falls to the floor but she is unresponsive, almost bored with her power

4.1

4.2

4.3

4.4

146  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 146

8/13/21 10:08 AM

7. Sensory and immersive sound Although the film viewer always remains an onlooker it is possible and often desirable for them to feel ‘surrounded’ by the world they are viewing and listening to. If they ‘physically’ experience the environment of the film or the specific world of a character they are less likely to feel separate from it. Sound by its nature surrounds us; it is very much an experiential phenomenon demanding a sensory interaction. When listening even though we are ‘surrounded’ we try to selectively filter out what is important and what is not. Certain sounds and sound qualities give more of a feeling of immersion than others. Low frequencies and rumbles that are difficult to tie to a source or direction can produce this effect. How can the sound editor or editor, by placement and manipulation, control this involvement in order to make the viewer feel that they are a participator in the onscreen world rather than an observer of it?

In Repulsion the viewer receives the sound as a subjective expression of Carol’s psychological state; the treatment and selective placement of the acoustic is noticeable in its manipulation. When creating an immediate and believable aural representation of a character, of an event or even an era, the choice of sound effects and their presentation should not draw attention to itself. In order to induce a sense of immersion in an environment the editor may need to place the viewer aurally in the physical position of the character.

Sensory and immersive sound  147

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 147

8/13/21 10:08 AM

The intention of a scene at the beginning of Saving Private Ryan (1998), where soldiers land at Omaha beach in June 1944, is to take the viewer on a viscerally immersive journey that emotionally engages them with the characters and their experience of the war. Aurally it is from the perspective of the soldiers as they approach the beach on a landing craft, attempt to jump ashore, dodge bullets or are mown down. The sound designer (Rydstrom) has stated that he wanted to create an experience true to that remembered by those who survived the actual landing.34 In order to create a feeling of realistic involvement he did this solely with sound effects, each chosen or made for its sense of authenticity, something that would have been difficult to achieve if combined with music.

1

Saving Private Ryan (1998. Dir. Spielberg, Ed. Kahn) Screen shots are selected from the sequence As the soldiers huddle scared against the side of the landing craft bullets whistle past, waves splatter, metal clanks and the thunderous war outside is mixed with the closeup body movements of the men who vomit, cough and pray (1). The viewer is placed acoustically within the craft, listening to the watery textures, the low thunder of engines and the boom of distant guns. The background roar is pierced by closeup hard, sharp metallic staccato whistles, whines and thuds that permeate the false security of the metal craft. As the ramp is lowered bullets mow down the men who lead. Bullets whistle in front, behind and across the screen with thuds as they hit human targets; they ricochet off the metal craft and ping on men’s helmets. Certain sounds are synchronised to the picture and others are positioned off screen. The viewer feels surrounded, exposed to the bullets, experiencing almost as the characters, the fear, terror and desire to find safety. The emotions experienced are pre-reflective emotional appraisals where the sound of bombs or bullets heading toward the viewer may cause a direct bodily response such as a sudden movement to duck or an increase in heart rate.35 This type of response or primary impulse also motivates an emotional evaluation where the viewer fears for the soldiers and their situation. A cycle of affective appraisal and emotional evaluation continues throughout this scene as the soldiers jump over the side into the sea hoping for safety. The camera follows as the men sink beneath the water (2). Mirroring the change of acoustic environment the

2

3

sound effects are modified to a muffled echoed roar with water-like gulps. The water seems protective both aurally and visually but this is deceptive as the bullets whizz through it finding targets. Certain sound effects for this scene have been invented but it is through their synchronisation with the action that their deadly potential is made tangible and convincing. The camera rises, breaking the surface of the water, mimicking a soldier coming up for air and the sound shifts perspective, the chaos of war crashing back (3). Sound in this part of the scene not only convinces the viewer that what the soldiers are experiencing is authentic but it also immerses them in the war through the manipulation, layering, placement and amplification of the effects.

148  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 148

8/13/21 10:08 AM

Later in the sequence Selected screen shots Captain Miller (Hanks) pulls himself through the bodies onto the sand. In a cut from a close shot of his face (4) to his view point the viewer appreciates Miller’s reaction to the death and wounding of his soldiers (5). A further point of view structure confirms his reaction to the devastation (6, 7). However, it is the quality of sound that emphasises his shell-shocked state. The roar of the war changes perspective, becoming distant and distorted. The sounds echo and ‘whoosh’ as if resonating with Miller’s inner turmoil. The diegetic sound effects have been merged and slowed down, their pitch becoming a deep rumble on which a few isolated but muffled sound effects are synchronised to the picture.

4

5

Miller, in a significantly closer shot combination, appears to be trying to hear a soldier who is shouting at him (8, 9). Neither the viewer nor Miller can hear the words until a high-pitched rising whistle signals Miller’s snap back to the immediacy of war and the need for survival. The audio track then returns to the chaos of war and the soldier shouting ‘what the hell do we do now, sir?’. In this excerpt the viewer experiences the events through Miller’s personal perspective, externally via the image and internally through the sound.

6

In the previous excerpt the sound serves to immerse the viewer viscerally in the landing. In both cases sound forms a way to express what it was like to be at the Omaha landing both physically and mentally. Dunkirk (2017), like Saving Private Ryan reconstructs and re-imagines the Second World War, seeking to immerse the viewer viscerally in the action as if they were physically and emotionally part of it. Unlike the scenes from Saving Private Ryan, Dunkirk does this through the intertwining of the sound effects (sound editor, King) and the music (composer, Zimmer). The film follows the evacuation of the British troops in 1940 from the beaches of Northern France where they are trapped by the advancing German army. It is structured from three different perspectives, from the land, the sea and the air. On land the troops wait to be taken across the Channel, vulnerable and exposed to the German bombers. Tommy (Whitehead) meets Gibson (Barnard) who later saves him and Alex (Styles). By sea, the crew of a civilian boat Moonstone – Dawson the skipper (Rylance), his son Peter (Glynn-Carney) and George (Keoghan) – cross to France in an attempt to rescue the troops. By air, Farrier (Hardy) and Collins (Lowden), Royal Air Force (British) fighter pilots, aim to protect the ships and small boats as they cross. Suspense is created by multiple crosscuts to the events encountered by the

7

8

9

Sensory and immersive sound  149

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 149

8/13/21 10:08 AM

three sets of characters in their race to survive the war. The quality and content of the soundtrack heightens the viewer’s anxiety and tension. After several attempts to leave the beach, Tommy, Gibson and Alex join a group of soldiers trying to find refuge in the hull of a beached trawler near the periphery of the ‘safe’ zone (1). The crew has vanished and the soldiers aim to lie low in safety until high tide moves the trawler off the sand. The scene within the trawler’s hull is intercut with the Moonstone trying to pick up survivors, Collins ditching his Spitfire and Farrier continuing the dogfight with the German plane. Enclosed within the trawler’s hull tensions between the men mount as they wait, listening to but not being able to see the world outside. Sounds heard from within the hull are accentuated and distorted, leading the soldiers to imagine and fear what is causing them.

highlights their vulnerability in the enclosed space. The bullet prompts the wail of a siren, the sound distant behind the tense breathing and small body movements of the soldiers as they cower.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

Dunkirk (2017 Dir. Nolan, Ed. Smith) Screen shots are selected. Feet clump, resounding on the metal deck overhead, signalling an unexpected visitor. The men, their body movements low, carefully pick up their rifles and aim towards the hatch (2). On the music track a high-pitched siren-like sound that has continued from the previous scene seems to ramp up the tension. A man is pulled down into the hull; the trawler’s Dutch skipper. The ping of a bullet ricochets off the hull making the men and the viewer jump. Its tone is sharp, high and lethal. In the cut to Collins ditching the Spitfire in the sea, the plane heads downwards fast (3, 4). The music track echoes the rhythm of the revolving propeller. It seems to beat faster and faster, increasing the tension. Layered behind this track is a high-pitched sound. As the plane hits the water the musical sounds cut out and the viewer is moved to Peter’s standpoint on the Moonstone as he watches the crash (5). The rhythm of the boat’s motor becomes incorporated into that of the music. Overhead Farrier, low on fuel, continues the dogfight with the German plane. On the cut back inside the trawler’s hull the sound of the Spitfire’s engine has transferred to a fast clock-like tick on the music track. The sound is sparse and insistent over a high-pitched tone. Is actual time running out for these men or do they just perceive it to be? The fierce, hard lethal ping of a bullet as it hits the hull scares the soldiers and the viewer. Its closeness

150  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 150

8/13/21 10:08 AM

This scene, juxtaposed with Collins struggling to get out of the cockpit as the water rises, ironically emphasises how the fluid mass of water is determining the lives of both sets of men. Inside the trawler the men hear deep metallic grating thumps as the incoming tide starts to move the boat (6). Water starts to gurgle and trickle through the bullet holes (7). The sound is close and defined over a low but echoed watery bass track that implies danger. A soldier attempts to plug the holes and is shot. His screams mingling with the watery spray and drips are stifled. Metallic clangs of the boat’s movement echo inside. Juxtaposed with the desperate struggle inside the plane’s cockpit the watery splashes, trickles and gurgles reinforce the peril that both are in (8). Tension mounts inside the trawler when they decide to lessen the weight in the hull. Their arguments waste time as the hull fills with water (9, 10). A sudden movement pushes the men into the water nearly up to their necks (11). Chaotic sounds of shouting and frantic splashing sit on the constant higher pitched tones and more thudding beat of the music track. Bullets continue to pierce the hull. In parallel the water is up to Collins’ neck (12). His head dips below the water, the sounds of his struggle are filtered and distorted by the water. His fists desperately hit the glass and the music track beat increases in pace. Peter’s boat hook cracks the cockpit glass and Collins is released, alive. The music subsides to let the calm, now more ‘friendly’ sound of lapping water come through. The trawler is afloat but filling fast and the men partially submerged (13), with metallic clangs and rattles, distant shouts, close breathy gasps as they struggle to stay afloat and plug the holes (14). Water sprays and gurgles, screams distort and reverberate as the enclosed space fills. The music is very present, heightening the viewer’s anxiety over the possibility of the men’s survival. In this film the quality, selection and positioning of the sound effects contribute to the viewer’s visceral and immediate sharing of events with the characters. The sound is often close, defined and frequently caused by actions. Although convincing the sound effects are not from historic recordings but have been made specifically for each situation: underwater recordings of screams, a steel drum construction to simulate the Stuka’s siren as it dive bombs, fire hoses for intense water noises and controlled recordings of bullets on metal.36 Comparatively the film lacks dialogue, instead it uses the score to express the internal and guide the emotional tension the viewer experiences, with the music sometimes moving across cut and scene boundaries. Many viewers have

also noted physical effects, including feeling nauseous, anxious and tense. This may have been due to the use of an audio effect called the Shepard tone. This is an illusion that relies on the brain’s capacity to hear two tones an octave apart rising in pitch at the same time. The brain is tricked into perceiving them as one constant ascending tone and when looped this sounds like a continuous never-ending rising scale. Used in the musical score for Dunkirk this creates strong feelings of tension. In the earlier examples the accentuation and manipulation of the diegetic ‘natural’ sound has activated a sensory and emotional response in the viewer. Upstream Color (2013) is a film where sound, though not dialogue, is the dominant means of storytelling. Themes of nature, its cycles and rhythms, and the bodily reliance on water and air are explored through the texture and flow of the sound. Underlying the surface action, the more innate connections that still bind us to nature are implied. However, although the intellectual seems to be suppressed by the sensual the film’s far from explicit narrative presents a puzzle that lingers beyond first viewing. Sound that naturally emanates from the environment is heightened to promote its textural quality; sound effects are re-assembled to reverberate as a music-like track or placed out of immediate context. The effect of tangible and abstract sounds working together is felt haptically and corporeally. At the start of the film the viewer sees and hears a man harvesting blue-tinted grubs from orchid plants. He puts one into a pill casing. In an alley behind a nightclub he knocks out a woman in the torrential rain and then forces her to consume the pill. The ‘drug’ allows him to take control of Kris (Seimetz) and steal her money. When his theft is complete he leaves her, the ‘drug’ wears off and she comes round to find worms rippling under her skin. Desperate, she tries to cut them out with a kitchen knife but is unsuccessful. In her attempt to get rid of the worms the viewer witnesses the knife but never sees it plunge into her skin. The raw quality, volume and proximity of her gasps and tears is visceral; the viewer feels almost physically shocked, recoiling as if the knife was entering their own skin. These closeup sounds sit in a room tone that has been carefully manipulated. By increasing its volume as Kris makes the decision to extract the worms the tension is subtly heightened. When she inhales from pain her gasp for air motivates a jump cut. Her body is lying on the floor and the change of sound to light, distant bird calls and dog barks conveys time has passed. Initially, the viewer may believe that she is dead but is relieved when her fingers move slightly (1). This scene is very much about the body and Kris’s fear of its invasion with the use of sound intensifying the viewer’s sensations of revulsion to what is happening. Sensory and immersive sound  151

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 151

8/13/21 10:08 AM

Upstream Color (2013. Dir. Carruth, Eds. Carruth/Lowery) The screen shots are selected An abrupt cut from Kris’s bloody hand to several obscure close shots of large audio speakers in the back of a moving van and the echoed, distorted rumble of its wheels on a road surface moves the viewer forward. The Sampler (Sensenig) takes the speakers out of the van and deliberately lays them face down in a field, subdued ‘clomps’ are audible when they hit the grass (2). Is he intending to communicate acoustically with the earth? In extreme close up a cassette is inserted into a player, the hand movements and mechanical sounds are defined, close and amplified. As a man’s fingers bring up the faders a loud whooshing wave-like bass rhythmically emanates from the speakers (3). It is now night and The Sampler sits in the field illuminated by the van’s headlights; he is recording the scene on video (4). The whooshing wavelike sound pulsates loudly over a background of crickets that provide a higher pitched tone. The viewer at this point is trying very hard to rationalise what is happening and why the soundtrack is dominant.

1

2

3

4

Kris’s car approaches and The Sampler packs away his chair as though her arrival has been expected. Have the sounds from the speakers been used to ‘call’ her to the van? What powers does this man have and what is her relationship with him? Distinct foley sounds are selectively used as he folds his chair and tripod but the sound of Kris’s approaching car has been muted; only the car lights that swing round indicate movement. Kris looks towards The Sampler and as she walks towards his van the whooshing sound changes, coming now from her perspective (5). In a big wide shot she holds up her arms and says, ‘They won’t come out’ (6). Her voice is distinct and close, too close for the size of the shot. It is separate from the wave-like whoosh but tiny and hopeless in its expression. Although the viewer has assumed that the speakers are emitting the whooshing sound it now seems to have taken on a more non-diegetic musical purpose, creating tension. In the scene that follows The Sampler extracts the worms from Kris’s body in his makeshift operating theatre after which he transfers them to a pig (7). During the ‘operation’ a lighter music track that feels tonally in juxtaposition to the action is used. As the scene progresses the low rhythmic tones of the wave-like whoosh are brought back layered with Kris’s gasps of pain, accentuating the menacing quality of the procedure. A cut to outside the van reconnects the wave-like whoosh to the speakers. The big closeup of earthworms that follows seems to infer that the acoustic vibrations have stimulated their writhing movement (8).

5

6

7

8

9

152  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 152

8/13/21 10:08 AM

Is the film hinting at an acoustic power that resonates with humans and worms alike? How exactly does the audio quality, its fluctuations and pulses affect the viewer? Does their breathing and heartbeat rate change? Do they lock into the rhythm of the sounds? The soundtrack as a whole feels dominant but by carefully allowing certain source sounds to come through or to be heightened over more abstract ones the viewer’s experience has a hyperreal and sensory quality to it. The origin of the wave-like whoosh might be considered resolved in the scene of Kris waking up in her car parked between the lanes of a freeway. The rush or whoosh of passing traffic brings back to her and to the viewer the events of the previous night (9). Later in the film the viewer learns more about The Sampler when his obsession with recording sound effects is revealed.

10

11

He records the movements of nature, leaves rustling (10), the flow of water, the acoustic vibrations of objects as he hits them; stones falling (11) or a metal file is drawn against wood. The purpose of this is soon made clear. These acoustic samples are for experimentation and the creation of music (12). The Sampler is a listener, someone acutely aware of his aural environment, its vibrations and resonances but he is also aware of the aesthetic and compositional potential of these sounds.

12

Throughout the film the editing, both visual and aural, draws attention to how sound has a causal resonance on each character. United by their common experience they are also linked through a shared acoustic sensibility. 13

As The Sampler draws a metal file across wood the pitch and sound quality follows across the cut to the sound of a printer that Kris operates (13). The sound resonates with Kris; her facial reaction seems to indicate an acoustic empathy or memory. The Sampler’s process of sound recording is also intercut with Jeff (Carruth) watching the water emptying from a sink (14), he is also mesmerised by the watery gurgles. Here the sound overlaps across the cut to The Sampler recording the noise of water, drawing attention to the similar auditory qualities (15). The intercutting of picture and the mirroring of sound qualities implies a narrative connection between the three characters.

Upstream Color seems to be almost teaching the viewer about how the quality, texture and arrangement of sound can physically affect us. The viewer is taken on a journey that is primarily sensual where the sound immerses and leads them in their assumptions of the narrative.

14

15

Sensory and immersive sound  153

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 153

8/13/21 10:08 AM

8. More than just words – the nuances of speech Rene Clair wrote in 1929 that sound as part of film should not duplicate the message of the picture but should ‘excite emotions which could not have been roused by the sight of pictures alone’. He also questioned whether the new technique of recording speech in early sound films had by conquering the world of voices lost ‘the world of dreams’ that belonged to silent cinema.37 Clair did however recognise the power of the human voice and the lure of its charm to the viewer. Hearing and seeing fellow humans speak on screen was and still is fascinating. Perhaps this is because the voice is personal, it is made by and comes from our bodies, it is a fundamental form of communication and significantly, an agent of emotion. Each voice is individual, unique and lets others know about the speaker. This is not only through its linguistic message but also by the pitch, timbre and tone of the words emitted, by the rate and flow of the sounds and by the emphasis and volume given them. If it is not just about what a character says but how they say it, how does this influence an actor’s vocal performance and the choices an editor makes? In his discussion of singing and its affective potential Barthes rejects ‘all the features that belong to the structure of the language being sung’, ‘everything in the performance which is in the service of communication, representation, expression’. Instead he argues that the ‘individual thrill’ he feels in listening to singing does not come from the intellectual but from the bodily. How our own body ‘listens’ to the materiality of a voice or to the ‘grain of the voice’ is significant. Barthes describes ‘a voice with grain’ as something that is ‘manifest and stubborn’, goes ‘beyond the meaning of the words, their form’, ‘the style of execution’, ‘something which is directly the cantor’s (singer’s) body, brought to your ears in one and the same movement from deep down in the cavities, the muscles, the membrane, the cartilages’.38 ‘The ‘grain’ is the body of the voice as it sings or as it speaks, and as Barthes is suggesting it is this quality that affects the listener emotionally. Although the materiality of vocal sound is important, the expressive and the representational aspects of speech, as Van Leeuwen points out, should not be separated as both affect the listener.39

When a speaker uses an unfamiliar language the listener often understands more about what they are trying to communicate via the quality of their voice than through the meaning of the words. As listeners we also selectively isolate speech from other sounds in order to identify what is being said. When viewing a film we behave similarly, trying to situate onscreen and off-screen dialogue in its relation to other narrative information. How can editors, by recognising the viewer’s tendency to place vocals in a primary position in the aural hierarchy, direct and promote an emotional response? Fincher in the following two instances creates confusion with the viewer’s expectation that dialogue in film will be placed in the foreground perspective. In one of the opening scenes of Seven (1995) detectives Mills (Pitt) and Somerset (Freeman), who have just met for the first time, converse as they leave a building and walk out into the rain (1). They are attempting to communicate and establish a brief working relationship in the oneweek overlap prior to Somerset’s retirement and Mills taking over.

154  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 154

8/13/21 10:08 AM

Seven (1995. Dir. Fincher, Ed. Francis-Bruce) Screen shots from one single shot Instead of allowing the viewer to hear the dialogue clearly Fincher raises the volume level of the rain, enough for it to nearly obscure the speech. In this scene the pitch levels of some vocal elements and the rainy street are similar, making it difficult for the audience to differentiate between the two sounds. The effect of this heightens the awkwardness of the situation and accentuates the emotional distance between the two men. The viewer is forced to concentrate closely, using all the aural and visual clues available to assess the future of this relationship. This need for acoustic focus pulls them into the drama that is unfolding.

1

1.2

Fincher repeats this technique in The Social Network (2010) where Mark Zuckerberg (Eisenberg) and Sean Parker (Timberlake) meet in a club to discuss the financial possibilities of Mark’s new social networking site, Facebook. The relationship between the background club ambiance and the diegetic music with the dialogue is deliberately undifferentiated, making it difficult to grasp the meaning of the words spoken. The viewer experiences the acoustics of the scene almost as if they were actually there.

The Social Network (2010 Dir. Fincher, Eds. Baxter/Wall) Selected screen shots Again this is a first meeting between two characters who have adopted a fairly formal distance from each other with a table between them. This distance would naturally require the need for more vocal projection than in a casual conversation. However, in the club the background acoustic volume is such that this vocal projection would need to be even greater for the characters to hear clearly what is being said or they would need to lean forward to hear each other. Both characters have raised their voices but the choice in relative volume made in the audio mix between dialogue, sound effects and ambient music means that the viewer strains, leans forward, to decipher the words. This places the viewer in an immersive position where they are integrated into the acoustic environment through the need to extract

2

3

More than just words – the nuances of speech  155

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 155

8/13/21 10:09 AM

meaning from the speech. It is a slightly uncomfortable voyeuristic position that excites feelings of tension and awkwardness, similar to those that the characters might be feeling. This poses a question, is the emotional effect on the viewer more impactful from this acoustic treatment than it would be if complete vocal clarity allowed meaning to be extracted from the spoken text?

9. Expressions of speech Van Leeuwen talks of a past concept of language that explains verbal communication as a set of rules that two or more people understand. He describes this as a ‘code’ that allows people to connect the same meaning to the same sounds and their organisation.40 In certain circumstances strict rules of verbal interpretation are obeyed but in others the established ‘code’ is treated flexibly, flouted or adapted. As in real life an actor will communicate verbal meaning through recognisable pronunciation but they will also apply the expressive potential of pitch changes, intonation patterning, adding accents of stress and changes in tempo in order to hint at an underlying meaning. An editor needs to develop sensitivity to the flow and cadences of speech, to interpret the rhythm of the sounds as well as their meaning, and also to sense and nurture the subtext that is being inferred.

Gal (Winstone), an ex-gangster and his wife DeeDee (Redman), have retired from London’s criminal world to a Spanish villa; their paradise in the sun. Their idyllic lifestyle is disturbed by the arrival of gangster Don Logan (Kingsley) who needs Gal to perform one last heist in London. Don’s dangerous, obsessive, emotionally repressed personality makes it hard for Gal to refuse, but he does. This incurs a torrent of abuse followed by the rejection of Gal’s refusal. Here linguistic meaning may not initially signify poetry but Kingsley’s interpretation of Don’s dialogue, together with the sensitive editing of his performance, creates another level of meaning. Glazer notes that when directing the film it was important to obey the specific wording of the script as the rapid stark dialogue deliberately deals with the musicality and rhythm of the words.42 Throughout the film there are many examples of how the use of word sounds and the pattern of these sounds express more than the meaning of the words themselves.

Paulin notes that the vocalisation of words enables interpretation through expression and timing, sometimes enough to make a pattern of sounds, a poem where the structure of a sentence is ‘a sound in itself on which other sounds, called words, may be strung’.41 In certain scenes in Sexy Beast (2000) the acoustic presentation of the dialogue verges on poetic structure with the verbal expression conveying as much meaning as the words themselves.

156  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 156

8/13/21 10:09 AM

Sexy Beast (2000 Dir. Glazer. Eds. Scott and Sneade) Selected screen shots It is morning in the villa. Don is angry that the previous evening he could not persuade Gal to do the job. He wakes Gal and DeeDee, punching Gal in the face whilst he is lying in bed. After this Don and Gal sit opposite each other in the living room. Gal looks miserable, beaten and Don shows an uncharacteristic social awareness in his soft approach to Gal; ‘I love you Gal . . . you’re lovable . . . big lovable bloke . . . lovable lump . . . lovable lummox . . . Gal Dove party boy. . . big oaf’. These terms of endearment are delivered in a flat calm even manner under a thin smile with the use of ‘love’ initially sounding genuine but on repetition it seems to veil a threat (A). Gal responds with a look of hidden disbelief as he avoids eye contact with Don (B). Don’s monologue grows in viciousness as he taunts Gal with DeeDee’s history of promiscuity. Undefeated Don continues the verbal battering in the Villa’s kitchen goading Gal into a ‘yes- no’ battle. His tactic is to wear down Gal by persistent vocal force. The repeated phrases are thrown back and forth, forming a violent rhythmic exchange. If Kingsley’s interpretation had not held an underlying threat this interaction may have felt like a childlike rhyming game. The voices of both characters sit in the hard acoustic of the kitchen with the ambient background of distant birds and fridge hum convincing the viewer of a unified space and time. However, the vocal quality of each character is very different with Gal’s voice indicating a tired, bruised fear as he tries to withhold his emotions. His vocal quality is low in energy and low in pitch, it also has a fairly narrow pitch range and is breathy from his fatigue and quite rough in texture. He speaks slowly and deliberately with a consciously controlled calm that the viewer knows he doesn’t feel. There is a slight waver in his voice when he realises that he has hit a sensitive chord with Don. The perspective of his speech is close, reflecting both the actual distance between them (about 1.5 metres) and the social distance of two people who know each other fairly well.

A

B

The viewer is already familiar with the clear diction, high pitch, rise and fall fluctuations and vocal texture of Don’s voice. In contrast, although physically positioned close to Gal his projected volume rises to a level far greater than that needed to converse at this distance. Here Kingsley is using his voice as an expressive tool that goes beyond a realistic presentation. As Don’s need for dominance increases so does his vocal volume, pitch level and rate of speaking, going beyond that of a ‘normal’ angry person. The upper frequencies in Don’s voice not only command attention but also generate feelings of tension and anxiety in the viewer, who is aware of Don’s volatile and dangerous personality and his threat to Gal.

Expressions of speech  157

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 157

8/13/21 10:09 AM

Sexy Beast (2000 dir. Glazer)

Don – ‘Do it’

The ‘yes-no’ kitchen scene – length 2 minutes 21 seconds – 26 shots Screen shots are consecutive Don begins, ‘Do it’ and continues through stubborn verbal intimidation to try and persuade Gal to do the job. He is not going to take ‘no’ for an answer (1–4). Because the editor has laid the last part of Gal’s lines, ‘I’ve had enough of this crime and punishment b. . .. ks,’ under the reaction shot of Don (5) the viewer expects him to react, but he doesn’t, nothing indicates his mental process until he blinks. This marks a useful point to cut to Gal as he pleads ‘I’m happy here’ (6). As Gal slightly raises his eyes this motivates the cut back to Don but there is nearly two seconds of tense silence before Don responds explosively ‘I won’t let you be happy’, his pitch rising to an unnerving level. He is a dangerous man reacting like a spoilt child. The high-pitched intensity of his vocal projection is assertive, and as Van Leeuwen notes the higher the pitch level the greater the vocal effort demanded literally producing a more ‘keyed up’ effect.43 The level of pitch and rate of delivery remains even and constant to the end of the phrase, which is strangely completed by a question ‘why should I?’(7) Normally at the end of a question there should be a slight rise in the vocal melody in expectation of an answer but all that happens here is a slight slow down in speed. The nine words take two seconds to say. Although his question seems rhetorical, not demanding an answer, the editor has placed a one-second pause or beat at the end of the shot. This creates a tense space for the audience to anticipate Don’s next move. Over Gal’s reaction (8) Don starts to reiterate his demands but the editor cuts mid-sentence interrupting the flow ‘Gros/venor, you’ll be there’, in order for us to see Don finishing the sentence (9).

1 Gal – ‘I’m retired’

2

3 Don – ‘Do it’ Gal – ‘This is madness’

4 Gal – I’ve had enough of this crime and punishment b. . .. . .ks

5 Gal – ‘I’m happy here’

6 Don – ‘I won’t let you be happy, why should I?’

7 Don – ‘Friday at the Gros . . .’

8

158  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 158

8/13/21 10:09 AM

It is a vocal battle where volume and intensity of emphasis are intended to enforce Gal to submit, but Gal continues to say ‘No’. The editor at this stage has to make a decision, either to stay on the speaker or cut to the reaction. Here the short, often single word phrases present two problems. Who is it more important to see, Don expressing the words or Gal’s reaction to them? And how short a shot will work? The script presents a repeated pattern with the actor’s interpretation of the text accentuating the rhythmic musicality of words making it feel like a piece of urban poetry. The editor is sympathetic to this precision, initially holding on the shot of Don speaking (11) with Gal’s refusal laid under it and then following with short, less than one second alternate shots on each character (13–16), mimicking the rhythm in the speech. Don then rapidly repeats the word ‘yes’ five times followed by a quiet beat of exactly the length of the repeated ‘yes’.

Continuation of the dialogue Gal – Don let’s stop kidding ourselves, we both know the reason you’re here and it’s not because of me Don – (long stare) ‘What did you say? Gal – It’s not just because of me Don – What are you talking about? Gal – ‘You didn’t come here . . . just because of me Don – I find this astonishing you’re amazing this is astounding repeat Gal – Let’s be honest . . . this is about Jackie

Don – ‘. . . venor you’ll be there!’ Gal – ‘I won’t’ Don – ‘You will I told Ted you’re doing it don’t you show me up!’ 9 Gal – ‘No I won’t be there’

10 Don – ‘You will!.. You’re Mr Rowntree’ Gal – ‘No’ Don – ‘Yes! Rowntree! Gal – ‘No’ Don –’Yes! Grosvenor! 11

Gal – ‘No Don’

12 Don – ‘Friday!’

13

14

Gal – ‘I won’t be . . .

Gal – . . . there’ Don – ‘You will’

15 Gal – ‘No Don’ Don – ‘Yes!

16 Don – ‘Yes! . . . Yes! . . . Yes! . . .Yes!

17 Expressions of speech  159

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 159

8/13/21 10:09 AM

In music there is a definite measured time, with a ‘measure’ being a unit equal in length to another measure and the length of each measure determining the tempo. The beginning of a measure is defined by a sound that is stressed, a pulse. Regular rhythms naturally occur in our bodies, in our heartbeat, our breathing and in speech, where certain sounds are stressed by increased volume, pitch or timing. In speech specific syllables can be stressed over others in order to emphasise information. Van Leeuwen notes that measured time in speech is grouped into phrases and that the length of each phrase is governed by our breathing with the speaker accommodating the number of syllables per phrase, articulating rapidly if there are many syllables in a measure or slowly if only one.44 In this scene Don’s verbal delivery fluctuates from the extreme punctuation of ‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes’ (17) to a rapid flow without the usual stress points. There are fifteen syllables in ‘You will / I told Ted you’re doing it / don’t you show me up’ (9) and the sentence lasts 1 minute, 18 frames. Don speaks this line without pause delivering the words evenly as one phrase. Only five words have a very slight difference in emphasis to the others (shown in bold). Kingsley could have chosen to break this text into three distinct phrases as identified by the forward slash / where slight pauses could have placed stress on word meanings. However, his speed of delivery is so fast that the information the viewer receives via the rush of words moves away from the literal meaning of the text to the meaning conveyed by the physical expression of the sounds.

In the continuation of the dialogue Gal puts forward the idea that there is another reason for Don’s visit. He says, ‘we both know the reason you’re here and it’s not because of me’, and then reiterates ‘it’s not because of me’ twice more. Don questions him each time as if doubting what he hears and finally responds ‘I find this astonishing you’re amazing this is astounding . . . repeat’. As written the structure of this retort doesn’t seem to belong to a ‘normal’ speech pattern or relate to what has been said previously. The text in this arrangement has a musical quality and a poetic structure that, if spoken with intonation, the rise and fall of pitch could infer meaning. However here Don says the lines in one rush without pause, as one phrase on a fairly even pitch level without placing emphasis on any word or syllable except ‘repeat’. Do we believe Don saying these words? Kingsley’s spoken interpretation makes the words feel uncomfortable and unnatural, spoken as if read without the emotion. But do we believe Don? Yes, as the words have been expressed by a character who finds it difficult to communicate emotion, who lives in a world that is either ‘yes’ or ‘no’. The resulting effect is that the meaning of the words is subordinated to the meaning of the presentation of them. This scene is an example of how an editor’s awareness in interpreting the script and the vocal intonation presented by an actor can inform the point at which they cut. The choices made manipulate the performance, enhancing the subtext of the scene. As Don says when he accuses Gal at the end of the scene, ‘It’s not what you are saying, it’s all the stuff you’re not saying. Insinuendos’.

160  Chapter 6  The Expressive Potential of the Audio-Visual Dynamic

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 160

8/13/21 10:09 AM

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 161

8/13/21 10:09 AM

7 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 162

Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

8/13/21 10:09 AM

Fascinating Rhythms This study discusses a strategy of persuasion that involves movement. By the interpretation of the rhythms inherent within the shot material or by creating new rhythms through the selection, positioning and alternation of images and sound the editor can persuade the viewer to engage with characters and narrative. This study will also look at how the viewer connects with the physical-ness of on-screen movement and how the editor can harness this flow of kinetic energy to affect the viewer emotionally. Murch states, ‘A good editor must have some sense of how to tell a story and that involves a sense of rhythm. There’s an inbuilt relationship between the story itself and how to tell a story and the rhythm with which you tell it, and editing is certainly 70% about rhythm, what you are showing and the rate at which you show it’.1 For many editors one of the main requirements of a perfect cut is for it to work rhythmically. What exactly is cinematic rhythm? Is it possible for the editor to manipulate the rhythm of the whole film and the rhythms within it? How can the editor use rhythm to persuade the viewer to feel, both physically and emotionally? A rhythm is a pattern of regular or irregular pulses where something is stressed over something else, up or down, strong or weak, dark or light, fast or slow. Usually rhythm suggests a movement or a change over time that may be repeated or have some sort of cycle. Lefebvre in his ‘new science’ of rhythm, ‘Rhythmanalysis’ describes rhythm as repetition through time and space. However, rhythmic repetitions are rarely identical as – ‘there is always something new and unforeseen that introduces itself into the repetitive’ – and this leads to difference.2 He distinguishes two types of rhythms, cyclical rhythms that originate in the cosmic, the revolution of the sun, the tides or the seasons and linear rhythms that come from social practice and human activity. Though defined as separate both interfere with one another and ‘exert a reciprocal action’ and so can be measured against each other.3 Rhythm is often linked to the mechanical appearing as regulated time but it is also organic, with the natural rhythms of the heart, respiration, and hunger locked in with social rhythms. This leads to a tension between the mathematical and logical with the visceral and bodily. As a rhythmanalyst the editor can learn from listening to their own body, which can serve as a metronome on which to measure,

perceive and acknowledge the rhythms in the content and organisation of filmed material. Rhythm is invariably connected to music but in films it is not only found in the composed score but also in the symphony of images and sounds that combine to form the narrative whole. Film is time based with its own intrinsic repetition, pulsing at 24 or 25 or even more still frames a second in front of the viewer’s eyes. Rhythms in moving images can be found in the action or movement of characters or objects, from a momentary blink to the ‘swish’ of a sword. Speech and human movements create cadences and modulated patterns; objects emit clatters, thuds and whistles when struck or operated, and if these elements are placed side-by-side or layered new rhythmic structures are formed.

1. The editor and film rhythm The editor can synchronise sounds to the rhythms within a picture or in some cases the editing of the picture can reflect the beat and tempo of the music or sound effects. Composed musical scores harmonised or counterpointed with visual action can guide the viewer’s interpretation of the film’s emotional themes. Camera movement and frame composition inherently generate rhythms. Not only are these integral to the recorded images and sounds received in the cutting room but are also imposed by the editor. By cutting from one shot to the next a rhythmic structure is created with the alternation of sound and picture forming pulses and beats. Movement within one shot when taken up by a movement in the next shot can convince the viewer of a continuous rhythmic flow that is pleasurable or satisfying whilst a disrupted harmonious flow can provoke feelings of tension. When watching a film the viewer’s eyes are not fixed in one place; they constantly move across the frame attracted by different stimuli. The editor, by recognising where the viewer’s attention is at the cut, can create a rhythmic flow that feels ‘natural’. Juxtaposition of colour, light, line and shape either within a shot or across a series of shots can also create visually dynamic rhythms. Many filmmakers have pursued the rhythmic possibilities of line and colour, whether harmonious or discordant or whether within a single shot or in the juxtaposition of shots.

The editor and film rhythm  163

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 163

8/13/21 10:09 AM

Trade Tattoo (1937 Dir. Lye) The films of Len Lye are very much about rhythm, combining drawn animation with treated and manipulated ‘found footage’ (1–4). In Trade Tattoo (1937) Lye creates a pulsating rhythm by juxtaposing blocks of colour, both within the frame and between shots; the graphic lines, dots and dashes are edited to dance to the music of the Cuban Lecuona Band.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

La Chinoise (1967 Dir Godard, Eds. Desfons, Guillemot) Godard in La Chinoise (1967) not only chose to juxtapose colour, text : ‘A film in the process of being made’ (5) and the graphic lines of composition within the frame but also between shots (6–8). This he did to convey a dynamic but dark comedy about political commitment. The cramped Paris apartment where five student activists discuss their Maoist ideals and plan a revolution vibrates with blocks of colour. Mainly primary, the colours red, blue and yellow and sometimes green are rhythmically dynamic within the frame, with the red of Mao’s Little Red Book being dominant. In the film the viewer not only needs to assimilate jump cuts between shots on the same angle but also cuts between opposing primary colours. These are structural decisions that abruptly change the flow. The intention of their dissonance is to draw attention, promote questions and discussion rather than to persuade the viewer of a natural progression. However, if the discordant rhythmic pattern of the visual and aural information in La Chinoise demands a concentrated intellectual participation from the viewer, how does its rhythm affect how they feel?

164  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 164

8/13/21 10:09 AM

The ongoing movement of a narrative presents cognitive and affective challenges that maintain in the viewer a flow of curiosity. In response to the changes of stimulus the viewer can feel the optimistic rise of hope followed by the deflation of despair with, as Tan remarks ‘the intensity of the emotion being related to the magnitude of change’, and to the rate of change.4 In most films the rhythmic pattern of positive and negative feelings creates interest for the viewer. If a problem arises for a character, the viewer desires for a certain outcome and they then start to feel secure in their expectations but when a complication occurs and the outcome now seems impossible they feel less optimistic. The viewer may feel despair and perhaps fear for the character but if there is a further small, unexpected change they may start to feel hopeful. The privileged knowledge they have as an invisible witness may also lead to tension, as other events indicate this equilibrium might not last. Then if it all suddenly works out well the viewer feels satisfied, perhaps joyful or tearful when they are released from their previous uncertainty. The regulation by the editor of the rhythmic movement of emotion from celebration to misery is vital to the viewer’s commitment to the film. As Frijda points out the ebb and flow can be subtle but change is important as a continuous state becomes habitual with ‘continued pleasures wearing off’ and ‘continued hardships losing their poignancy’.5

It is possible for an editor, by determining the screen duration of a shot, to control pace and impose a rhythm, but in doing this it is important for them to be sensitive to the rhythms inherent in the material. In order to judge when to cut and how to regulate the tempo of a scene the editor needs be aware of the internal rhythm contained within each fragment of visual and aural material. Every section of material has points of stress or accents in the movement, sound or story within it and these can provide a place to cut or to avoid cutting. The rhythm within the shot can determine the tempo of the whole scene but an editor can also use the cut itself as an accent or point of stress to impose a simulated rhythmic pattern. The examples that follow are chosen for a different type of rhythmic pattern, their construction following a more familiar musical organisation such the waltz, polka or jive.

The editor and film rhythm  165

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 165

8/13/21 10:09 AM

2. Imposing a rhythm After making his first talkie, The Deserter (1933), Pudovkin reasoned that to avoid the theatricality and lack of dynamism he associated with early sound films he had to cut the sound negative as freely as the picture. By employing a system of montage he recognised the potential for the emotional effect that sound could have on the viewer. He planned the various audio elements: ‘a word of a speaker broken in half by an interruption, for the interrupter in turn over swept by a tide of noise coming from the crowd, for the speaker inaudible again, to create a clear and definite, almost musical rhythm: A rhythm that develops and increases short piece by short piece, till it reaches a climax of emotional effect that swells like the waves on a sea’.6

The Deserter (1933 Dir. Pudovkin) Selected screen shots from the shipyard sequence He also noted that in the docks section of The Deserter this technique produced an almost musical rhythm where he used ‘natural sounds, heavy hammers, pneumatic drills . . . the smaller noise of fixing a rivet, voices of sirens and the crashing crescendo of a falling chain’. . . in a complicated syncopation.’7 In determining the length of each shot, he worked as a musician might, ‘feeling’ the accent necessary for each note. A similar effect has been created in Delicatessen (1991). An early sequence in the film introduces the viewer to the strange characters that live in a dilapidated apartment block. The sequence is an expressive symphony of action and sound effects that enhances the film’s magical but rather sinister humour. The story takes place in a futuristic French town where there is very little to eat. Louison (Pinon), an ex-clown, takes a room in the apartment block above the delicatessen-butcher shop that supplies meat of a dubious origin. The montage of intercut scenes that encompasses 42 shots starts with Louison decorating his new room. Each of the scenes that follow introduces the viewer to the other occupants living in the building. The action within each scene takes place in parallel with the others, in continuous time. This is unified by the physical rhythm of movement and the aural rhythm of the diegetic sound effects. It is a rhythmic flow that lasts two and a half minutes and has a ‘balletic’ but also mechanical feel that unites organic

1

2

3

4

human movements with those of the inanimate objects as they interact in a fluid dance. The apartment block has thin walls and shared vents that make the lovemaking of the Butcher and his mistress audible to every occupant and the cello practice of Julie, the butcher’s daughter, also discernible. The action of each occupant has its own distinctive physical and aural rhythm, with accents and pauses that provide moments for the editor to make elegant cuts.

166  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 166

8/13/21 10:09 AM

Delicatessen (1991 Dirs. Jeunet and Caro, Ed. Schneid) Screen shots numbered according to position in sequence.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8 = 4 sec 4fr

9 = 4 sec 5fr

10 = 4 sec

The next cut introduces another occupant of the block as he pumps his bicycle tyre (9). He also looks up, but is it the sound of the bedsprings or the cello in the next shot that he pumps in sync with? (10). Like the woman beating the rug his downward movement lasts about 5 frames and his upward 10 frames.

11

12 = 3 sec 13fr

By shot 12 the general shot length has not only decreased but the actions have got faster with the downward and upward movements being 5 frames each.

13 = 2 sec 6fr

14 = 2 sec 3fr

15 = 2 sec 5fr

16

Shot lengths are indicated in seconds and frames The rhythm is established by the Butcher making love to his mistress, though the only visual evidence of this is a brief close up of their faces (1). They fall onto the bed, the sound of the bedsprings flex communicates the impact of their weight (2). The squeaking sound then establishes a guiding rhythm that Louison echoes in his movement as he paints the ceiling suspended by his trouser braces (3). One of the few moving camera shots then tracks under the bed close to the springs and enters the opening of a stove (4). The cut to the next moving shot is concealed by several black frames and unified by the echoed sounds of the bedsprings and the incoming notes of the cello practice, to then reveal Julie playing the cello (5). As the instrument emits a low note there is a cut to the down movement of the bedsprings. The two actions rhythmically coincide, visually and aurally, synchronising to the same beat (6). The cut to a closer shot of the bedsprings works as a continuous action (7). The downward movement lasts 7 frames, as does the upward movement. The shot cuts out on an upward movement and softer sound. The next shot of the woman beating the rug cuts in as her hand goes down to hit the rug continuing the ‘up down’ movement (8). The viewer perceives the sound of her action to be synchronised to the timing of the bedsprings. Her look up to the floor above implies that she can also hear the lovemaking. This begins to establish the geography of the apartment block.

Looking in detail at the metronome shot (14), it is so short that it appears synchronised with the previous shot and with the following shot. It is the only accurately

Imposing a rhythm  167

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 167

8/13/21 10:09 AM

timed movement and sound, the others being made by human intervention are likely to result in imprecise timing. The editor has achieved the cut between the outgoing (14) and incoming (15) shots by taking out the last metronome sound and continuing the audio beat with the first sound of the pump to produce a convincing flow across the cut. The action in shot 15 takes longer than the same action in shot 9, but due to the closer shot size and its reduced length it appears faster. The Kube brothers are introduced (17, 18). They make small toys (sound boxes) that produce a ‘moo’ when tipped. One of the brothers uses a tuning fork to test the quality of the ‘moo’, which in turn provides a tonal inflection. All these actions synchronise to the rhythm imposed by the bedsprings. The click of the knitting needles produces a different tonal range (23). The speed of the beat increases during a cut to the bedsprings and the shots become closer, the angles are more extreme, the shot length shorter and the movements faster expressing a sense of urgency. Camera movements interpret the action as Louison paints the ceiling. As the lovemaking, signified by the Butcher’s voice, culminates (38), the rhythm of the actions in the other scenes also reach a peak. The tyre bursts (39), the cello string breaks (40) and Louison’s braces give way and he plummets to the floor (41). In its humorous way a symphony of small sound and picture fragments has introduced the viewer to the world above the Delicatessen. On first viewing it seems that these cuts have been determined by a formulaic metric precision. Perhaps in a similar way to Eisenstein’s idea of a ‘metric montage’ that corresponded to a measure of music. The metronome and the tuning fork, both instruments to measure tone and beat in music, allude visually to this idea. Eisenstein pointed out that the clarity of a recognisably imposed beat ‘can bring into unison the “pulsing” of the film and the “pulsing” of the audience’. 8 He went on to note that without the unification of these two aspects the ‘sensual impression’ he desired could not be achieved. In Delicatessen, although the editor and the actors may have timed the movements to a fairly regular beat, the results do vary. However, even with an increase in speed also built into the action the variation in timing does not affect the rhythmic satisfaction experienced by the viewer. In his category ‘rhythmic montage’ Eisenstein conceded that the length of a shot should not only be determined by its relation to the structure of a sequence but also by its content, where the movement within the frame should

17

18

23

29

38

39

40

41

impel the movement from shot to shot. The choice of cut position and shot length in the Delicatessen sequence has been based on the rhythm of the actor’s movements that have been guided to hit a similar beat.

3. Hitting sync Love Me Tonight (1932) is an early ‘talkie’ that stars Maurice Chevalier and Jeanette McDonald. The opening sequence integrates the natural sound effects that emanate from the diegetic world, the voices and the movements within the frame and those made by the camera in a rhythmic musicality that evokes the city of Paris awakening. The editing and the action have a more leisurely pace with a rhythm that feels less imposed than in Delicatessen. The percussive noises generated by the occupants of the city can be analysed as Lea Jacob’s notes in terms of musical pitch, with the lowest pitches providing the ‘most sustained rhythmic pattern’.9 Some of the noises have a more defined tone and fit into the rhythmic pattern more than others. Certain shots provide a visual motivation for the sound and in others the sounds come from an off-screen diegetic space. Once an action has produced a sound it is rarely returned to in vision.

168  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 168

8/13/21 10:09 AM

Love Me Tonight (1932 Dir. Mamoulian, Eds. Mamoulian, Shea) Screen shots are consecutive The sequence opens with a wide shot of the Paris rooftops and a church bell tolling (1). This slow resonant sound motivates the cut to each of the following three shots at the start of each toll (2-4). Within each shot there are slight movements and compositional elements that draw the viewer’s eyes to different areas of the frame generating a rhythmic activity in the viewer. The atmosphere of early morning and empty streets is disturbed by the more defined noise of a workman pushing his barrow (5). As his pickaxe hits the ground for the second time with a thump (6), there is a cut to a man asleep on the street, snoring (7). This sets up a core rhythm that continues through the opening sequence of snore, thump and snore. A woman starts to sweep outside of her door (8). Together they form a snore, thump, brush rhythmic sequence. All three sounds emanate from on screen action and as Jacobs notes form elements comparable to a 4/4 musical rhythm.10 In the following shot (9) the source of the ‘clanck’ and ‘clinck’ sounds are not immediately indicated. However, the camera by moving into a closer shot of the three chimneys puffing smoke infers that the two metallic sounds come from within the building. The apparent synchronisation of the sound of the brush with the first puff and the sound of the pick with the larger puff of smoke implies a unified soundscape. This rhythmic structure is emphasised within the shot with sound accents referring to specific rhythms within the picture.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

The next cut is motivated by new sounds as the shutters open; a shrill alarm and a baby cry. Again, the rhythm of on-screen movement has been synchronised to the noises that continue from the previous shots (10). This excerpt is just over 30 seconds from the first sound of the pickaxe (5) to the window (10). Within this short time a rhythm has been built by the different pitches, volumes and qualities of the noises and with how they are positioned alongside the flow of on-screen action and camera movement.

Hitting sync  169

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 169

8/13/21 10:10 AM

The table below indicates the approximate time in seconds and frames at which a sound starts, the occurrence and rate at which it is used during the 30 seconds and its arrangement in relation to the other sounds. Most of the sounds reoccur at fairly regular intervals producing an almost musical effect. 15 seconds into the sequence the layering of sound effects becomes denser producing a more complex soundscape where some sounds recede as new ones are introduced. Eisenstein notes that in the move from silent montage film to sound film the ‘basic centre of support’ in film rhythmic structure changed from being ‘the element between shots, the juncture’ that is more than just the depiction of information, to the element within the shot where ‘the accents within the piece’ support the depiction.11 Accents within a shot could be the change of light, the change of a character’s emotional state or a sudden gesture that breaks the flow; in fact everything that attracts the attention of the viewer. Eisenstein was interested in how the accents of action or behaviour in the picture may naturally conflict with those

on the soundtrack and how they could be ‘composed’ (edited). The schemas he devised based on the possible synchrony and asynchrony of strong and weak accents of picture and music can be related to the editing of picture and sound effects in Love Me Tonight. Less interested in an obvious synchronisation where strong accents coincide frequently to produce a mechanical marching effect that he felt could be comic, Eisenstein wanted to explore the synchronisation of weak to strong, strong to weak or of areas of non-synchronisation. By looking beyond the use of obvious sync points he strove to construct picture and sound relationships that would produce a new quality of experience. He was, though, very aware that a non-synchronicity throughout a sequence where nothing corresponds to anything else produces a lack of inner structure and that this can deter the viewer from forming meaning. In the sequence from Love Me Tonight, a fairly mechanical beat is set up using the sounds of the city; but certain cuts and actions do not always coincide with definite sound and picture accents.

Love Me tonight opening showing time code for start of sound in minutes: Seconds: Frames Table: The occurrence of sounds in minutes: seconds: frames, between shot 6 and 10 Seconds (Film Time) Shot 05 Shot 06

Pick axe

Snore

Brush

Metallic Clank

Metallic Clinck

Cry

Alarm

00:00:00 00:00:05 00:02:21 00:04:09

Shot 07 00:05:22

00:07:10 Shot 08

00:08:23 00:10:12 00:12:01 00:13:13 00:14:04 00:15:01 00:15:17 00:16:14

Shot 09

00:17:05

00:18:03 00:18:20 00:19:13 00:19:19 00:20:08 00:21:04 00:21:19 00:21:20 00:22:05 00:22:14 00:22:18 00:23:09 00:23:20 00:24:05 00:24:21 00:24:22 00:25:07 00:25:16 00:25:20

Shot 10

00:26:10

00:26:10

00:26:20

00:2620

00:27:06 00:27:20 00:28:18 00:28:22 00:29:01 00:29:08 00:30:05 Shot 11

00:33:13

To 00:35:14

170  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 170

8/13/21 10:10 AM

Screen shots are numbered according to position in sequence The cut from the man opening his green-grocer shop (13) happens at an accent in his action as the shutters reach the top. At the cut the eye is drawn to the movement of the woman on her balcony but the accent of her action comes later (14). At the cut there are no definite sounds; these come several frames before and after. Prior to the cut is the deep thump of the pickaxe; it reoccurs about every 3 seconds and provides the backbone of the rhythm (P in diagram). After the cut there is the reoccurring metallic clink and clank but again these are not synchronised with a visual accent. In shot 14 the first flap of the washing (Z1 in the diagram) feels partially synchronised to the next beat of the pickaxe. Then, instead of adhering to the every ‘3-second rule’, two further beats of the pickaxe are inserted. Both beats definitely coincide with the action accents of the woman shaking her washing (Z in diagram). The next sound of the pick falls on the 3-second mark (P in the diagram) but doesn’t coincide with a visual accent. As the woman shakes out her washing her performance has been accentuated by the synchronisation of her action with the sound of the workman below. If two of her actions hit the beat and the other two are slightly off how does this make the viewer feel? Perhaps it adds to the believability of the scene or perhaps it goes unnoticed due to the precise rhythm in the following shot. Differently, in this single shot two cobblers beat a two-person rhythm (15), the first man hammering the nail into the boot once and the other man twice. The combination of the two different tones adds

13

14

15

16

‘a touch of syncopation’, but the creation of this rhythm rests on the precision and timing of the performance rather than the editing.12 In an action similar to that in Delicatessen a woman beats a rug; however, instead of hearing the source sound we hear the cobblers beating the rhythm. In this sequence the coincidence of sound and picture provides a reassuring fusion, but since not all of the pickaxe beats are ‘synced’ the ones that do fall together feel more accidental. The characters are never visually connected but the sounds that emanate from their actions are laid into incoming shots, which through their timing in the edit fit rhythmically to produce a cohesive sequence.

Hitting sync  171

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 171

8/13/21 10:10 AM

4. Rhythmic emotion

21

Shot 21 marks the end of the rhythmic sequence. A woman opens her window shutters and then reaches behind to put on a gramophone record. The music starts as part of the diegesis but becomes part of the music track when Maurice (Chevalier) closes the windows to his room and starts to sing That’s the song of Paree (composers Rodgers and Hart). The sound and picture rhythms that started the sequence as discrete individual elements have eventually come together; unified, they communicate the idea of the city waking up, and as Chevalier points out, it is a song – the song of Paris. As if from Lefebvre’s position on a balcony window, the carefully choreographed rhythms of the everyday in the sequence have been observed in detail and analysed.13 The linear rhythms exist within the cyclical rhythm of the day, a day that will be repeated with similar though different rhythms tomorrow.

Is there a relationship between the physical rhythms and the emotional impact of a scene? How can an editor tune the rhythms of performance and the shot content to change how the viewer feels? Towards the end of The Birds (1963) in a scene where Melanie (Hedren) goes into the attic alone a series of dynamic shots instil feelings of fear and anxiety in the viewer. In this scene that encompasses 85 shots from her entrance to the attic to her exit the viewer experiences with Melanie, a traumatic visceral immersion that lasts just over two minutes. By looking closely at the scene’s construction, it is possible to see how the editor interprets the physical rhythms to manipulate the emotional arc. Rhythm is inherent within every shot, in Melanie’s expressive movements, in the bird’s diving and circling, in the camera movements that interpret the action, by the framing, by the contrast and the colour, and by the sound. Mitch, Lydia and Cathy are asleep in the living room, the attacks from birds seem to have eased off and only Melanie is awake. Suddenly she hears the flutter of wings and decides to investigate. Taking a torch she climbs the stairs to the attic. Tension is built at this moment by cutting to Melanie’s hand as she hesitates before opening the attic door.

172  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 172

8/13/21 10:10 AM

The Birds (1963 Dir. Hitchcock, Ed. Tomasini) Screen shots 1-4 and 5-6 are consecutive. There is a deceptive calm as she enters that attic and witnesses the hole in the roof. She notices the birds on the rafters and gasps (1), then raises the torch (2). Its light seems to initiate the first attack by the birds (3). Combined, these three shots generate a rhythm in both the sound and picture. In shot 1 Melanie gasps just after the cut but the shot is left a beat longer, allowing the viewer to witness her expression change from surprise to fear. The camera follows the torch movement as it is raised. The editor allows this action to complete before cutting to the birds on the rafters. There is a close flutter of wings as the birds take off flying towards the lens, visually and aurally becoming Melanie’s POV. Over the following cut to where Melanie raises her arms to defend herself there is a shriek that appears to be in sync with her open mouth, but sounds more birdlike than human (4). Here a rhythmic chain of cause and effect creates energy and emotion; Melanie gasps, the light is raised, it motivates the birds to attack, they shriek and she turns away as they reach her. Although the shot lengths are fairly short there is enough time for the viewer to register the shot content and to assimilate its impact on the potential outcome of the scene. Once the door is shut the viewer feels like Melanie, trapped in the attic and vulnerable. Hitchcock continually changes from the more objective shots of the birds attacking Melanie to her point of view of the birds flying directly towards her (5). These subjective shots provoke what seems to be an instinctive urge in the viewer to raise their hands or look away in order to protect their own face. Either reaction might be accompanied by an actual movement or by a more internal muscular reflex. This is an involuntary pre-reflective emotional response that is elicited by the framing of the shot and the quality and perspective of the sound. But why has the viewer responded in this bodily way? Is it the narrative that provokes this response or an expression of physical empathy with Melanie’s circumstances?

1

2

3

4

5

6

Melanie is a fictional character but in this scene the viewer seems to imitate or almost become part of her experience. Through the plot structure the viewer has expectations based on their knowledge of previous bird attacks and the behaviour of the characters to them. By 7

Rhythmic emotion  173

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 173

8/13/21 10:10 AM

isolating Melanie in the attic Hitchcock has limited any hope of her rescue from those asleep downstairs and this elicits emotions of fear, tension and anxiety in the viewer. These are cognitive reflective appraisals but why do our muscles contract, our hearts beat faster and we try to hide? Pre-reflective appraisals in the viewer to cinematic representation are probably rooted in innate responses that have been developed for survival and then honed through life experience. As the birds fly towards the camera lens, or ‘towards us’ we instinctively want to duck to protect our faces. Does the viewer’s acknowledgement that they are watching a film tone down the actual manifestation of this reflex? The viewer may flinch slightly or feel the muscular contraction to duck but they don’t usually move down behind the cinema seats. It is interesting to ask if during this direct reaction to the threat the viewer has momentarily forgotten Melanie? Is their physical response purely selfish? Plantinga makes a distinction between this this type of immediate response, categorising it as ‘direct affect’ rather than ‘affective mimicry’.14 Hitchcock, by cutting or switching to the more objective shot of Melanie fending off the birds, allows the viewer to observe her face expressing fear, her arms frantic in defence and the gasps and whimpers of her vocal stress (6). In witnessing her distress the viewer’s empathetic response is triggered not only by their immediate observation but by the emotional memory of the previous subjective shot. An almost unconscious tendency to mimic physical movements and facial expression may also lead, as Plantinga points out, to an affective mimicry and emotional contagion.15 The viewer by simulating Melanie’s facial and physical expression shares her bodily experience, intensifying their empathy and identification with her situation. It is highly unlikely that the viewer has ever been attacked by birds; however, they do draw on their own bodily knowledge in their interpretation of ‘what it feels like’ to be in this situation. It is this that contributes to their immersion in the scene.

Arrows indicate the direction of movement in the series of screen shots opposite. Screen shots 9–12 and 13–15 are consecutive Although the scene seems at first to be an unrelenting expression of fear and tension there are moments of release and hope. As Melanie defends herself with the torch (7) her hand reaches back to grasp the door handle, she fumbles and then eventually opens it (8). Cut with the frantic movement of the torch across the frame and the sound of pulsing wings the sense of tension increases, but when she opens the door the viewer anticipates and hopes for her escape. This though is denied by the onslaught of the attack that follows. The editor, by selecting precise moments from the action, controls the viewer’s emotional response. The choice and alignment of fast frenetic movement, obtuse angles, close framing and short shot length creates a rhythmic intensity to the attacks. There are distinct patterns of movement horizontally across the frame; the flashing light of the torch creating a strobe-like effect, Melanie’s flailing arms and the more focused flying of the birds obscure and reveal. However, this effect is enhanced by the closeup sound of the threatening and rapid beat of bird wings. By cutting in and out of shots at specific moments the editor leads the viewer’s eyes rhythmically back and forth across the frame. When Melanie’s arm reaches the left-hand side of the frame (9) there is a cut to the light of the torch, taking up the swinging trajectory back towards the right (10.1). After several swings back and forth the torch reaches the left-hand side of the frame (10.2), motivating the cut to a bird heading towards the camera (11.1); as it about to hit the lens or Melanie’s face (11.2) there is a cut to her arm flailing in response to a bird that then enters the frame (12). In this series of shots the editor carefully choreographs the movements to appear connected, again in a sequence of cause and effect with each shot length being determined by its internal rhythm and content. Where the editor has used shots with less movement the shot length is much shorter, but even in the 9 frames of Melanie’s eyes (13) her terrified blinking is used to motivate the cut to the swing of her arm with the torch (14) – 8 frames, and then back to her terrified face (15) – 12 frames.

174  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 174

8/13/21 10:10 AM

By shortening the shot length the viewer receives less information from each shot but tends to assume they have seen more than they actually have. A fast rate of shot change can increase excitement and interest in the story but it is important to remember that it is not always necessary to cut. Leaving a shot on longer can generate empathy and tension as in shot 16 (about 4 seconds). Here the shot content holds the viewer’s attention as Melanie, bloody and weak, opens the door to escape but does not succeed. In this medium size shot the viewer can appreciate the action of opening the door, her facial expression, her bodily reaction and the assault by the birds. If Hitchcock had cut to a detail this would have disrupted the flow of the performance and emphasised one piece of information over another. The emotional rhythm within this sequence is also generated by the audio track with the oscillating beat of the bird’s wings generating, as Hitchcock mentions, ‘a menacing wave of vibration’; an ‘assimilation of the unequal noise of the wings’.16 This percussive sound dominates throughout with very few bird cries, no screams and only close-up low gasps and whimpers from Melanie. When Mitch rescues her the bird squawks increase as though protesting about what is happening. The scene, if played without the menacingly rhythmic sound effects track, provokes the viewer to question the ‘reality’ of the situation, but with it they are fully immersed. The editing of the images in this scene demonstrates that an impactful impressionistic rhythm within the framework of an integral story rhythm can accentuate moments of crisis and tension. The viewer not only experiences an empathetic fear for Melanie but is immersed enough to feel a sense of fear for themselves.

8

9

10.1

10.2

11.1

11.2

12

13

14

15

16

Rhythmic emotion  175

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 175

8/13/21 10:10 AM

5. Movement empathy It is generally the intention of the editor to draw the viewer into the on-screen fictional world so that they feel immersed in the story as it unfolds. One of the keys ways to ‘suspend our disbelief’ of the filmmaking process lies in our relationship to movement. Film is inherently a medium of motion and by its very state fascinates the viewer who is usually fairly motionless when viewing. However, during certain film sequences, particularly those with dynamic action or dance, viewers often comment on how they feel physically. Sometimes noting that they actually ‘feel as though’ they are taking part in the action, physically experiencing the body movements of the character with their own bodies. Whilst the viewer knows that they are viewing a representation and not a real experience they may still feel their bodies mirroring or mimicking the movements or gestures of the characters. This is usually unseen and felt as an internal imitation. This raises a question: if human beings have an innate understanding of their own bodily rhythms – heartbeat, breathing, vocal patterns, physical movement – how does this help them to appreciate the rhythmic structures within a film? Anderson notes that ‘since every human body intrinsically knows what it feels like to move a human body through space, movement itself evokes a “feeling” through a process of the viewer’s muscular sympathy or empathy ’. 17 Each individual viewer seems to not only appreciate a character’s movements mentally but also physically, processing a unique version based partly on their own kinaesthetic memory. But why does a viewer experience these virtual embodied sensations? Recent research into motor mimicry in animals and humans suggests that in order to survive we need to understand the actions of others and this learning depends on the observation and imitation of others.18 It is thought that the functioning of the mirror neuron system may mediate the human ability to imitate the actions of others. Each time an action is seen, mirror neurons that represent that action are automatically activated in the observer, transforming the visual information into knowledge. It is proposed that later when the observer sees an action that shares similar qualities with the one stored in their memory ‘they are primed to repeat it’.19 This suggests that the vicarious muscular sensations that a viewer can feel whilst watching the cinematic representation of human movement are triggered by mirror neurons. Research has demonstrated that this motor mechanism also applies to emotion and sensation. Gallese and Guerra note that

when we witness someone expressing pain or pleasure or experiencing a touch sensation this activates the same area in our brains that is triggered when we actually undergo the same emotion or sensation.20 By witnessing a character’s movement, emotion or sensation the film viewer’s own motor neuron mechanism is activated, resulting in an ‘embodied simulation’ of that experience.21 Virtually mirroring the movements and sensations of fictional characters gives the viewer direct access to their state, by sharing the meaning of the action, or intended action or emotion. This not only immerses the viewer through physical empathy with a character or situation but it is also thought to increase their belief in the ‘realism’ of the fictional world. It is suggested that embodied understanding through pre-reflexive visceral responses is an important starting point for cognitive evaluation and that the two processes are interdependent.22 How can an editor use the viewer’s capacity for movement empathy to engage them in the story? Like viewers at the cinema, film editors often speak of a physical response whilst viewing the rushes or when reviewing an edited sequence. This physical empathy generated by the movement of the actors or by the camera could potentially help the editor to define the point at which to cut. Thinking rhythmically is important, as cutting not only breaks the continuum of movement but also interrupts the viewer’s automatic pre-reflexive response to the motion. Being sensitive to the rhythmic flow of movement can also help reduce the cognitive load demanded by the change of visual and aural information at the cut. Making use of movement empathy requires the editor to consider a choice of shot size that allows the viewer to see the bodies of the actors. Similarly, if the intention is to provoke an affective mimicry though the face or voice then the viewer needs closer access. In any sequence where the presentation of a continuous body movement is necessary, looking for a moment that will minimise the disruption of the cut is key. However, most body movements have an inherent rhythm where there are brief moments of rest or changes of motion that can potentially ease a cut. The editing of dance sequences has often required long wide extended shots that are joined seamlessly to continue the flow in order to allow the viewer to appreciate a dancer’s full body movements. The editor can also shape as well as interpret the rhythms of dance movement. In a scene from Chicago (2002),

176  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 176

8/13/21 10:10 AM

editing helps to punctuate and define the vocal intonation and body movements of the characters. The cut becomes an expressive part of the whole, helping to form the rhythmic energy of the sequence. Roxie (Zellweger) has been sent to Cook County jail for shooting her lover. She witnesses the Cell Block Tango where the other female inmates explain the circumstances of the murders they have committed. The performance Roxie ‘sees’ incorporates dance, song and the spoken word in a fairly theatrical setting with cuts to more conventional prison locations. In her cell, Roxie, who cannot sleep, listens to the drip of a tap, the sound of feet and the voices of the other inmates as they start to form a musical chant. ‘Miraculously’ her cell doors open and she takes a seat to watch the performance (1).

Chicago (2002 Dir. Marshall, Ed. Walsh) Screen shots 2-8 and 9-12 are consecutive The music and beat are initiated by each of the six murderesses as they come towards the cell bars and express a single word, directly engaging the camera as they speak. The words are significant to each character’s story of why they have murdered. Instead of a direct cut there is a quick fade up from black that promotes a more theatrical feel to the performance.

1

2 ‘Pop’

3 ’Six’

4 ’Squish’

5 ’Uh-uh’

6 ’Cicero’

7 ’Lipshitz’

8 ’Pop’

This verbal pattern is repeated again; without the fades the cut punctuates, contributing to the faster beat. Wider shots and more varied shots repeat the same verbal pattern. The repetition of shots and vocals in this sequence serves to define each feisty character but it also draws them as ‘performers’ together as the synchronised alternation of the music beat and the edits set up a dynamic rhythm. The editor has used the cut to impose a rhythm that is taken up by the music. The murderesses continue their song together in a wide shot, agreeing that ‘he had it coming, he had it coming, he only had himself to blame’.

Movement empathy  177

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 177

8/13/21 10:10 AM

After the ‘introductions’ the first prisoner, Liz – ‘pop’ (Misner) starts to relate how she killed her husband because of his annoying habit of popping bubble gum. She does this through spoken word and movement; a male dancer represents her husband. At the end of her tale she punctuates the words with an upward leg movement (9.1) that then continues as she lowers her foot onto her victim’s face (9.2). The wide shot allows the viewer to appreciate the big leg movement and her interaction with her partner. The end of her sentence and the pause in her action provide a moment to cut to the closer shot (10.1); this lasts just 15 frames. The editor, by cutting in closer, has punctuated her action and placed emphasis on the verbal narration of her story. The motion of her movement and the drawing out of the red cloth that appears to symbolise the victim’s blood distracts the viewer from the cut. As the red cloth is pulled away from his head there is a cut mid action to the wider shot (11.1). A lighting change reveals the other women behind the bars who as a chorus hit the floor with a unified stamp on the musical beat as the man falls to the ground (11.2). The chorus comes in, ‘he had it coming, he had it coming, he only had himself to blame’ and there is a cut on a dynamic arm movement to a mid-shot (12) that is helped by an incoming camera move across bars that provide a visual wipe. In this excerpt the editor has used the cut to expressively choreograph the dance. By finding the precise moment to change shot the rhythm of the dancers’ bodies is emphasised and the intonation and beat of the song is followed. Although very much played as a theatrical performance the decision to dissect the movements through changes of shot size and angle in the edit has brought the viewer into the space. It has allowed them to recognise the characters, their stories and to appreciate the dance movements. The vocal reiteration reinforces the familiar beat and drama of the tango, and the expressive movements and energy generated by dancers’ bodies encourages a physical empathy in the viewer.

‘. . . so I took the shotgun off the wall and fired two warning shots. . .

9.1 . . . into his hee . . .

9.2 . . . ead’

10.1

10.2

11.1 He had it . . .

11.2 . . . coming

12

178  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 178

8/13/21 10:10 AM

6. Repetition, difference, energy Lefebvre points out that ‘everywhere where there is an interaction between a place, a time and expenditure of energy, there is rhythm’.23 The flow of energy is engaging visually and aurally, particularly when connected to the physicality of vocal expression. The rhythmic pattern of speech not only communicates the meaning of the words but also hints at what is left unsaid. Speaking comes with small gestures, a nervous twitch, a downward glance, a sniff and an intake of breath. Some of these are the result of our natural bodily rhythms and some are learned and conform to the rhythms of a socially accepted order. The rhythm of sung speech – song – is distinct from verbal rhythm in that it generally adheres to a musical structure; a structure where there are opposites, contrasts – differences. These can be in tonal values, length of notes, whether notes are played/ sung simultaneously or successively, whether they are linked or separate and importantly, how they are placed in time. This is musical rhythm. The beat as the basic measure of musical time can be slow or fast and is generally measured as tempo. However, because the voice is locked to the rhythm of the body the musical time of song has a strong physical relationship.

Many films use lyrics to convey the feelings, interactions and situations that befall characters either as part of the diegesis or as non-diegetic soundtrack. In musicals such as Chicago and Singing in the Rain (1952) the characters sing the scripted dialogue, giving melodic and harmonic expression to the meaning of the words. Like film, song exists in time, and the use of repetition through verbal expression can infer meaning beyond the literal. The quality or irregularity of a voice, its closeness in recording, its juxtaposition within the acoustic environment and its relationship to the tempo of musical instruments creates difference, similarity and rhythm. As the film viewer listens, the vocal expression of the words and their meaning reverberates and resounds, again generating small internal rhythms. The editor, in order to analyse rhythm, needs to place themselves simultaneously inside and outside of it, and as Lefebvre recommends in order ‘to grasp a rhythm it is necessary to have been grasped by it; one must let oneself go, give oneself over to it, abandon oneself to its duration’.24

Repetition, difference, energy  179

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 179

8/13/21 10:10 AM

London Road (2015) could be described as a musical crime drama about the actual serial killing of five women in Ipswich, Suffolk. London Road, once a quiet residential street, has become Ipswich’s red-light district much to the distress of the people who live there. The film as in the original musical play is unusual in that the text is direct verbatim of interviews given by the residents of London Road after the killings to one of the screenwriters (Blythe). In the film the actors were asked to match the exact words and the delivery of them by the residents in the recorded interviews, but this did not preclude their repetition or that different characters speak the same phrases. The film opens by establishing several of the interviewees. Onscreen text defines that what follows is exactly what the residents said and ‘exactly as they said it’.

London Road (2015 Dir. Norris, Ed. Wilson) Screen shots 1 to 2 and 3-12 are consecutive A wide shot of the street moves into focus on Julie (Colman) as she walks home (1). Then it moves fluidly to a neighbour’s window and dissolves though it to a man watching the morning television news (2). The content of the news report quickly establishes the concerns of the residents and the film.

1

2.1

2.2

3 Reporter 1

‘Hello and good morning and welcome to Suffolk today. The nightmare gets worse; two more bodies discovered by police investigating the killings of prostitutes in Suffolk, bringing the total to five, well let’s go back to Simon live in Ipswich’ – (News reader) ‘Well this is an investigation changing literally by the hour. We have five women found dead in the space of 10 days and two more bodies found here this morning, so we have one method of killing, eh, so the question today, really does this mean there is really more than one killer.’ – Simon (reporter) The ‘news music’ and the verbal delivery of the news reader and reporter feel ‘normal’. There is a slight indication that this scene may develop beyond the traditional drama format when the reporter says ‘eh’. The rising inflection seems to disrupt the verbal flow.

4

‘they stop and question drivers in the red light district. Officers still try to trace the last movements of the five murdered prostitutes. There are now 350 police officers from 31 forces from as far afield as Northern Ireland working on this case . . .’ (Reporter 1). The camera slowly tracks in as June (Dobson) Terry (Ward) watch the news, implying that the clips and the selected verbal content that follows is more subjective. This either seems to represent the focus of their specific worries or to represent the collective fears and opinions of all the neighbours.

180  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 180

8/13/21 10:10 AM

‘Experts say that you couldn’t fault this place with traditionally low levels of crime . . . . (Reporter 2) Behind the intelligible dialogue the voices of the other reporters continue to promote their version of events. The content is not discernible but the tonal expression is. 5 Reporter 2

6 Reporter 3

. . . for a long time’ (Reporter 2). . . . Northern Ireland . . . there are now more than 350 . . .’ (Reporter 3) ‘more than one method of killing . . .’ (Simon.)

7 Reporter - Simon Dialogue indiscernible amongst mix of voices

8 Reporter 1

. . . the so called Ipswich ripper . . .’ (Reporter 3)

9 Reporter 3

. . . Ipswich ripper . . . (Simon)

10 Reporter - Simon

. . . Ipswich ripper. (Reporter 2)

11 Reporter 2

Groups of neighbours are established in their own homes watching the news bulletins. The transitions between the people watching, the TV broadcasts and the other neighbours are fluid and the cuts are hidden behind wipes and black frames. The clips of reporters alternate, stressing the sense of ‘vulnerability’ and ‘profound impact’ that the news of the killings has made on a community ‘with traditionally low levels of crime’. The music behind the voices begins to change beat, becoming fast and more urgent in tone and the soundtrack starting to become more than just the broadcast ‘news music’. As the cuts between each reporter progress, the pieces become shorter with small snippets of verbal information being conveyed rather than whole sentences. The voices take on a sung-like quality taking up the beat and tonal values of the music rather than conforming to the pattern of normal speech. The dialogue is repeated with specific words reiterated by different reporters until the sequence reaches a climax. The concluding beats of the ‘news’ music cross over the cut to next scene. As Julie crosses the road she turns to the camera and sings, ‘Everyone is very, very nervous and very unsure of everything’ (12). Her statement, sung to a different piece of music, seems to summarise the feelings of all the residents. Throughout the film different characters repeat this phrase, the repetition creating an almost internal cyclical rhythm.

12

Repetition, difference, energy  181

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 181

8/13/21 10:10 AM

In the previous short excerpt that lasts just under two minutes, the editing, through the selection, placement and length of the clips, generates different rhythms. Initially the camera is fluid, always moving and repositioning, with the unseen cuts creating a continuous and almost leisurely flow. In contrast to this on the sound track the frenetic music and urgent speech has a quite different rhythm. This approach changes (shot 5) when the camera remains static and jump cuts create the forward movement, promoting a more direct sense of mounting tension. At this point the conventional vocal rhythms associated with news presenters change, accommodating and fitting with the music. Although the performances conform to the same musical measure the varying quality of each voice creates difference and energy. Later in the film, the killer is still at large and the residents are fearful and nervous, not knowing who has committed the murders – it could be one of them. The phrase voiced earlier by Julie ‘Everyone is very, very nervous and very unsure of everything’ forms the base of a song that is repeated by many characters in and around Ipswich. This includes two teenage girls (Suddaby and Laurence), who are easily identified by their pink sweatshirts and blue gilets. In a café the local people, mainly men, deliberate over the murders. The two girls enter and enjoy their own speculation about the clientele expressing, ‘You automatically think it could be him. That’s the scary thing when you know he could be amongst us . . . and walking around everyday . . . and we don’t know.’ ‘Like anyone, it could be anyone here, for all we know, which now really scares me when you think about it. I’m just gonna like cry’. Other people voice their thoughts and worries and the girls start to feel scared themselves. A scene that follows on the top deck of a bus conforms more to the style of a film musical than the opening scene. It combines both physical and choreographed movement, the girls sing individually and together with the bus passengers providing the chorus. The music and the vocals take priority over the diegetic sound which is subdued and low. On the bus, Grahame (Lockyer) is the only man (15). He is sitting in front of the other passengers, all women and clad in pink and blue. They take up the refrain from earlier ‘You automatically think it could be him’. The women restricted to their seats sing and dance with head and hand movements.

13

‘Like anyone, it could be anyone here. Like anyone, it could be anyone here.’– Chorus and Girls. The two girls take their seats at the back. ‘I’m just gonna like cry’ – Girl 1

14

15

‘Ah ha, yeah’ – Chorus, all the female passengers move their heads in unison behind Grahame. The positioning allows the viewer to see his reaction.

‘it could be anyone here. . .’- Chorus. The women shake their heads from side to side. 16 ‘. . . which now really scares me . . .’ – Girl and chorus

17

18

19

‘when you think about it. I’m just gonna like cry. Ah ha’. ‘You automatically think . . .’ The girls, their voices distinct from the chorus, start to rise from their seats to peer at Grahame. The action continues across the cut. The rest of the female passengers also get up to look finishing the phrase, ‘. . . it could be him’. – Chorus

182  Chapter 7  Strategies of Persuasion: Study 3 Fascinating Rhythms

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 182

8/13/21 10:11 AM

The bus scene Screen shots 14– 19 and 20–21 are consecutive The song continues. The editing seems to indicate that Grahame knows they are directing the words of the song at him, but are they? Grahame turns round to look at the passengers and the music beat slows and traffic noise returns. When he turns back again the two girls start the refrain, ‘You automatically think it could be him’, their voices distinct clear and young. As Grahame gets up to leave he pauses and confides to the camera ‘you’ve got this feeling of suspicious by everybody . . . upon everybody else’. Perhaps he has not heard the voices and the song; has it all been a representation of the shared fears of the passengers and purely for the viewer? He gets off the bus and one of the girls says ‘is it him, is it him’ and the other takes it up as they look out of the window (21). ‘I don’t know’.

20

21

22

The cut to a taxi driver (Hardy) looking up at them reveals who they are referring to (22). In this short musical scene (1 minute, 7 seconds) the rhythms of music and movement have implied how fear amongst the women of the uncaught murderer has led to the men feeling accused and shameful. The upbeat energy of the pulsing music and the physicality of the ‘dance’ seems at odds to the seriousness of what is happening in the community. For the viewer the repetitive rhythm of the voices, music and movements might stimulate an almost physical reaction to ‘dance along’ cheerfully with them but the tension between this and the subject matter may also generate uncomfortable and contradictory emotions.

Repetition, difference, energy  183

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 183

8/13/21 10:11 AM

8 9781474254908_txt_app.indd 184

Constructing a Performance The editing of speech and the construction of human interaction is a primary concern for the film editor. This chapter will focus on the skills needed and the options available when interpreting an actor’s presentation of a character in order for the viewer to believe in and emotionally trust the world on screen. The experiments of Kuleshov and the other Soviet filmmakers explored how the viewer, when observing the ‘neutral’ face of a man (an actor) juxtaposed with an object or another subject, could infer a particular emotion in the man even when the performance of the actor does not contribute to the evocation of that emotion. With this thought in mind an editor might justifiably question the need for any acting interpretation at all. However, it is of course recognised that an actor’s contribution is valuable, but how can the choices and decisions an editor makes effect the performance presented? By these choices can the editor manipulate the viewer’s emotional involvement with a character, and how can they make this feel natural? Every editor–director collaboration is different but it is rare for an editor to be on set during shooting. The editor will instead be reviewing and assembling the material as they receive it in the cutting room. By using an objective point of view ‘untainted’ by the circumstances of the shoot they can look for performances or aspects of a performance that ‘sparkle’ or identify those that are not going to work and need reshooting. Although the editor has the script to guide them it is a similar experience to receiving the pieces of a puzzle, but this is a puzzle that doesn’t have an exact solution. Preproduction discussions with the director and an understanding of their previous work, as well as being familiar with the script and interpreting the clues in the paperwork from the shoot also help to make sense of the puzzle.

8/13/21 10:11 AM

An editor’s collaboration with the director is about communication, ‘being on the same page’, understanding ideas and suggestions and having the confidence to put forward their own thoughts in a diplomatic way. David Mamet stresses that a director should ask themselves two questions, ‘where do I put the camera and what do I tell the actors’ and then ask ‘what is the scene about’.1 Likewise the editor should also be very aware of what the director has told the actors and why they have chosen a certain camera position, but critically they need to know what the scene should mean to the viewer. This meaning will be conveyed by the juxtaposition of different elements but it is the exact selection of these components that is also significant. The editor’s choices may be based on many things that will include the actor’s interpretation of a character, the framing,

lighting and the continuity. Although it is unusual for an editor to meet an actor ‘in the flesh’, understanding the process of directing actors and how an actor interprets a part will help them to decipher the actor’s intentions. The voice and the face are great communicators, particularly in their potential for conveying the subtext of a story with the expression and intonation of dialogue being discussed in Chapter 6. This chapter will look at how editing can influence the flow and authenticity of verbal and non-verbal interactions. When an editor or eventually the viewer appraises an actor’s interpretation the words ‘truthful and realistic’ are often expressed. Given the unnatural and artificial circumstances of the filmmaking process, how can the editor contribute to constructing believable characters that interact with each other convincingly?

1. Being seen ‘to act’.

She is surprised to find that she is not alone in the house, as Rita (Elena-Harring), the only survivor of a car crash on Mulholland Drive, has slipped in unnoticed. Rita is suffering from amnesia and Betty energetically tries to help her regain her memory. The evening before an audition Rita helps Betty rehearse her lines. Betty puts everything into the performance, which is passionate and noticeably angry. However, at the audition Betty interprets the same lines in a completely different way, changing their meaning, her low whispers and gestures being sexually suggestive. This scene is disconcerting as Watts is being seen ‘to act’ as a hopeful actress at the audition whilst she is also acting in the larger fiction of the film. The viewer is unsure of quite where they stand or what they are to believe, especially as Betty/Watts presents interpretations of the character in a variety of ways with each version being construed by how she ‘performs’.

In a scene from Mulholland Drive (2001), Lynch not only seems to offer the viewer a lesson in acting for film but also comments on ideas of believability and what we accept as real. The film, named after the high road that winds through the Los Angeles hills, presents with perhaps a touch of irony an insight into the lives of those that live and work in Hollywood. It is though much more, as it entwines numerous narrative threads, leaves multiple clues for the viewer to decipher and presents many characters, all of which, as Lynch notes, deal with questions of identity.2 Betty Elms (Watts), an aspiring actress arrives from Canada to her aunt’s house in the L.A. suburbs. Excited, dreaming of stardom in Hollywood she approaches her quest in a positive yet naive way.

Being seen ‘to act’  185

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 185

8/13/21 10:11 AM

Mulholland Drive (2001. Dir. Lynch. Ed. Sweeney) Screen shots 1– 6 are selected. 7–11 are consecutive At the audition a group of professionals are each individually introduced to Betty, with every cut being motivated by the dialogue and the action of Wally (Karen), the producer as he formally presents each person to her. Each character is seen from Betty’s point of view but Betty and Wally are observed more objectively. The room’s geography is clear and the cuts are timed to reflect what the viewer expects to see (1–5); however for such a simple interaction this feels a little strange. Perhaps this is because the cause-and-effect interaction relies on the timing of matched eyelines, and whilst some looks ‘lock’ (2, 3) others are less connected (4, 5). This makes, as Chion points out, what should be a straightforward interaction feel rather unstable.3 Before the audition starts Wally asks the director, Bob, to indicate how he wishes the actors to play the scene. He responds enigmatically requesting that they ‘don’t play it for real until it gets real’ (6). The onlookers and Woody (Everett), the tanned older actor who is to play opposite Betty, react with doubt at Bob’s advice (3). What is Bob really suggesting? Is he asking them to let their unconscious dictate how they will play or is he pointing out that each character or actor needs to bounce off the other? Woody seems to confirm this when he responds with how he intends to play the scene ‘Bobby, acting is reacting I just play off em’ (6). In a medium two-shot Woody pulls Betty towards him (7). As he says ‘Now we’ll play this nice and close just like in the movies, Ok’, the viewer observes Betty as she decides how to deal with what is being implied. Bob calls action and Woody tries to kiss Betty but as she pushes him off the viewer questions whether she is responding as her casting scene character or as Betty reacting to Woody taking advantage?

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

186  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 186

8/13/21 10:11 AM

He pulls her to him again and in a cut to a big closeup of his hand hovering over her thigh she unexpectedly pushes it down, making her decision (8). In the next closeup two-shot, Betty, now in control, looks up from her hand to Woody. It is in this moment that the viewer feels that she has become the character in the casting scene and is ‘playing it for real’ (9.1). Woody perhaps enjoys her response a little too much and is then surprised by the intensity of Betty’s performance. When he asks ‘Before what?’ She grasps the imaginary knife behind his neck and allows him to kiss her, breathlessly uttering ‘before I kill you’ (9.2). Woody’s reaction, ‘Then they’ll put you in jail’ is at once wooden in the context of the casting scene but also believable in the context of the scene within the film; in that he is revealing his thoughts on Betty’s acting. The brief cut to the wider shot tempers her vehement ‘I hate you’ and reinstates the casting room environment (10). The return to the closeup two-shot and Betty’s ‘I hate us both’ heightens the tension to another level as Betty steps back into a single shot and the viewer is allowed to briefly contemplate the emotional impact of the scene for several long seconds (11). Wally then claps and the earlier tension is released and the viewer is returned to the reality of the casting room. Why is Betty crying? Is she crying as Betty or as the character that Betty is playing or both? What is she really thinking? Why is this scene so uncomfortable to view? Perhaps it is the editor’s decision to stay on the closeup two-shot (9) for nearly the entire audition performance without cutting to the reaction of the many onlookers. Observing the intimate action in a close shot with closeup sound for over two minutes means the viewer is placed uncomfortably near, for a relatively long time, to the parts of us that communicate most, the face and eyes. By the choice of framing and by denying the viewer the reactions of others in the room they become involved in the dynamic between the two characters in the audition scene. The viewer feels as though they are witnessing a ‘real’ intimate scene between two characters; however, when Wally breaks the tension, they are reminded it has been an actor’s performance. Throughout the duration of the audition scene questions arise. Who is playing ‘real’ and at what level is the reality, and what is the subtext that is being implied? As Lynch notes, like many of the characters in the film, Betty is dealing with questions of identify; she is ‘someone who only becomes ‘real’ when she plays someone else’.4

8

9.1

9.2

10

11

Being seen ‘to act’  187

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 187

8/13/21 10:11 AM

2. Reaction and emotion When an actor or director is asked about what they are trying to achieve with a performance they will often both express a desire for truth and spontaneity. An editor when viewing the shot material (the ‘rushes’ or the ‘dailies’) is also looking for a performance that feels ‘un-acted’ in both the physical and psychological representation of a character. This of course presents a dilemma, as acting is fundamentally unreal; it is someone playing someone else (real or fictional) in a fictional world. This begs several questions, what is a real person? and, how different is a fictional screen character to someone in real life? If a screen character is a concentrated, perhaps more focused version of a ‘real’ person how does this affect how the viewer feels towards them? How do actors, directors and editors present a fictional character that a viewer finds true, someone that they will relate to emotionally? Western film and television acting style has grown from the theatre, particularly from the teaching and ideas of Konstantin Stanislavski and his work at the Moscow Arts Theatre. For the theatre Stanislavski developed a system of techniques to overcome the established clichés of ‘mechanical acting’, where a performer might use an external gesture such as a hand over their heart to indicate love.5 His key principle of ‘unconscious creativeness through conscious technique’ encouraged actors to ‘live the part’ and never allow themselves to portray externally anything that they have not inwardly experienced.6 His early techniques required actors to access their sensual and emotional memories. The process of internally re-experiencing past emotions would then spark truthful emotions in their presentation of a character. Stanislavski later found that this method sometimes led to an actor being emotionally extreme. To avoid this he focused more on stimulating an actor’s imagination by asking questions; ‘How would you, a human being have acted if the given circumstances were real?’ This was intended to generate a belief in the circumstances and produce a sense of truth in an action. Lee Strasberg in his acting technique ‘the Method’ developed further the idea of actors using their own personal experiences to connect with the emotional and intellectual life of a character, with many of today’s screen actors following this process. Stanislavski writes of a strong connection between an actor’s mind and body and how the physical and the psychological are not separate but entwined and

mutually supportive.7 An actor should ‘be’ rather than ‘show’, he advised, with each action motivated by an inner sense of truth. Although Stanislavski’s system was intended for theatre actors it is very applicable to screen acting, particularly when a close-up shot, further enlarged on a big screen, gives the viewer access to small, hardly perceptible actions that can potentially indicate an emotional change. But how easy is it for the viewer to decipher these small facial changes? And is the viewer aware when an actor is just ‘showing’ rather than ‘being’ the character? In real life our faces and eyes seem to reveal a great deal about what we are thinking. A change of expression can be immediate, an impulsive reaction to surprise, or it can be more considered, the gradual revelation of enjoyment. Early emotion theorists proposed that instead of facial expressions being simple reactions to either a pleasant or unpleasant experience, that a defined set of spontaneous facial expressions or muscular patterns could be categorised to indicate responses to specific emotions, (happy, surprise, fear, disgust, anger, sad).8 They also proposed that facial expressions could provide signals to others, thereby influencing or modifying each person’s behaviour.9 It was found that some expressions such as happiness and surprise are easily recognised even over distance whilst others, such as anger and sadness, are only recognised in close up, with disgust and fear being very difficult to recognise at all.10 Ekman notes that in real interactions intended facial expressions usually correspond to the content of the exchange and last between half a second to four seconds but ‘when someone tries to conceal his or her emotions, “leakage” of that emotion will often be evident in that person’s face’.11 This may just affect one area of the face or quickly flash across the whole face as a ‘micro-expression’ that lasts between 1/15 and 1/25 of a second and occurs when people either hide their feelings from themselves or deliberately conceal them from others. Of course, we can express more than one emotion at a time and each one to greater or lesser degree; but how much subtlety can a viewer detect in a face? Can we really judge what we are receiving is an accurate reflection of a person’s emotional experience? The face definitely seems to communicate signals that reflect a person’s inner dialogue and we seem to be very sensitive to even small variations of facial change. In real life it is the more subtle expressions that reveal the most to us as they often indicate that something is being left unsaid. How does this affect an actor’s screen performance and an editor’s decision of what to include and where to cut?

188  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 188

8/13/21 10:11 AM

Returning to the viewer’s tendency to actively participate in a film story, directors such as David Mamet feel that it is ‘not the actors job to be emotional’ and that a screen performance should be ‘created by the juxtaposition of simple shots and simple uninflected actions’ that will inspire a reaction in the viewer.12 With this in mind an editor will look for sincerity and truth in an actor’s presentation but also identify moments where the juxtaposition of sound and picture can promote or conceal emotional information. Assimilating the information, the viewer starts to make their own assumptions about how they understand a certain character

or how they think one character feels about another. The editor, by showing the reaction of one character placed over the dialogue of another, can infer meaning that may go beyond what is being said. In an interaction the facial and bodily reaction of the character listening may signal, as Britten points out, an ‘inner dialogue’ or struggle as they assimilate the spoken information and weigh up the implications it has for them.13 They may also more significantly be reacting to what is being left unsaid, however it is through the juxtaposition that the viewer will also understand this.

Reaction and emotion  189

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 189

8/13/21 10:11 AM

Brief Encounter (1945) is a romantic drama about a love affair between two married people who meet by chance at a railway station. The film and the scene discussed is told from Laura’s (Johnson) point of view, with the viewer learning of the intense emotion that both characters conceal through the use of reaction shots and a subjective voiceover. The holding back of a visible demonstration of their feelings seems to make the emotional impact for the viewer even more intense. The addition of Rachminov’s second piano concerto at key moments further heightens these feelings. The film begins in the past with Laura and Alec (Howard) saying goodbye in the station café before ending their brief but passionate affair to return to their spouses and families. Their last few precious moments are ruined by the intrusion of an acquaintance of Laura’s, Dolly Messiter (Gregg). Later, in present time at home, Laura relates in voiceover the story of her encounter and affair with Alec. The film is almost entirely a flashback, including returning at the end to the same scene that started it, their goodbye in the station café. The two versions of this scene are told in different ways; the first is a more objective view allowing the viewer to witness the immediate emotional impact of Dolly’s intrusion on Laura and the second is much more subjective as Laura reflects on her experience and relives the emotions she felt. In both scenes the access to Laura’s inner thoughts is via closeup reaction shots overlaid with the audio of Dolly’s gossip. The second version of the scene is more overt with Laura’s internal thoughts being verbalised.

Brief Encounter (1945 Dir. Lean. Ed. Harris)

1.1

1.2 Laura what a lovely surprise. . .(Dolly)

2

The opening scene of the film Screen shots 2–12 are consecutive In the first version of the scene at the start of the film the focus seems to be with the train guard gossiping and flirting with the café manager. In a camera pan from them (1.1) the viewer then discovers Laura and Alec seated at a table (1.2) engrossed in each other. However, their conversation is inaudible as we can only hear the guard and his friend. The editor returns to them in vision cutting back and forth between medium closeups, allowing the viewer to appreciate their interaction.

3

4

190  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 190

8/13/21 10:11 AM

In a wide shot the emphasis then shifts when Dolly enters the room and sits down with Laura and Alec (2). Dolly tries to get Laura to reveal her relationship with Alec whilst he buys her tea (3). She continues in a stream of ‘talk’ over Laura’s reaction shot (4). It is very easy to see from Laura’s distracted expression and her glance towards Alec that she has more on her mind than the incessant chatter. At this point the viewer does not understand that these are Alec and Laura’s last moments together but they do understand that the moment is important and that the couple are being too polite, too proper to stop Dolly talking. After Alec returns with the tea (5) Dolly comments on the amount of milk, with her action in sipping the tea making a moment without dialogue to elegantly cut to the over-the-shoulder (OS) of Dolly, two-shot of Alec and Laura (6.1). At the cut Alec moves his eyes from looking towards Dolly with controlled annoyance to meet Laura’s gaze (6.1–6.2). Their non-verbal interaction communicates much more than the words they are being denied speaking.

There’s certainly enough milk in it but still it will be refreshing.(Dolly)

5

6.1

The bell rings for the arrival of Alec’s train and the announcement confirms the destination. In a wide shot Alec gets up to leave, shakes Dolly’s hand and gathers his coat, but the angle of Laura to the camera deprives the viewer of her reaction (7). In the cut to Laura’s closeup Alec’s hand briefly and gently rests on her shoulder. The timing of the cut, choice of shot size, the performance of the action and Laura’s expression indicate to the viewer the emotional impact this moment has for her (8). The single close shot and the isolation of Alec’s hand movement implies much more about her internal thoughts than any dialogue could express. The emotion conveyed is not solely by the shot juxtaposition but also by Laura’s large expressive eyes as they watch him leave. A wide shot shows Alec leave (9). Laura’s eyes remain looking at him but lower in desperation at Dolly’s chatter (10).

6.2

7

8

Reaction and emotion  191

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 191

8/13/21 10:11 AM

The insensitivity of Dolly’s continued chatter is accentuated by the close shot choice (11). This appears to be Laura’s point of view but it also makes the viewer squirm by her thoughtlessness. A two-shot follows, conveying Laura’s shocked reaction to what has just happened and her incomprehension at the endless ‘talk’ (12). Here within one shot the simple mute reaction of Laura’s face contrasted with Dolly’s chatter infers the subtext.

9

In this short scene the emotion that the characters experience and that the viewer empathises with is formed by carefully timed reaction shots and the use of very few relevant words. Pinter reminds us, ‘that there are two silences’, one where no word is being spoken and the other where ‘a torrent of language is being employed’.14 Both seem to be used here, with ‘the speech we hear an indication of that which we don’t hear’.15 10

Later on the train Dolly’s prying and endless talk motivates a cut to a big closeup of Laura (13). As the camera moves in slowly Dolly’s chatter fades out and the viewer is taken into Laura’s mind with her first piece of voiceover expressing her internal thoughts, confirming what the viewer has guessed from her mute reactions. This subjective narration creates a very different reaction in the viewer as it supports what they have been imagining about Laura and her situation but also divulges new information that prompts further speculation.

11

12

13

192  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 192

8/13/21 10:11 AM

In the same scene repeated at the end of the film the dialogue that was muted in the first scene is now audible, revealing that this is their final time together. If this dialogue had been clear in the first version too much information about their affair would have been revealed, denying the viewer the chance to imagine and actively participate.

Laura what a lovely surprise . . . (Dolly)

The same scene at the end of Brief Encounter

1

Screen shots 1- 6 are consecutive In the second version the viewer hears Alec say, ‘we still have a few minutes’ before Dolly’s voice loudly intrudes from off screen; ‘Laura what a lovely surprise’ (1). This provokes in Laura a genuine emotional response of surprise at the interruption. Even though this is a repetition of the same scene and a shot that was probably covered in a number of takes when shooting, we still believe their reactions to be spontaneous. Why? Is it their acting, the juxtaposition of voice and image or is it our desire to see their reaction? Having learnt their story through the course of the film the viewer desires to see the impact of Dolly’s intrusion rather than the intrusion itself. The viewer already knows the layout of the room and is familiar with Dolly so a wide shot is now unimportant, however the closer two-shot reveals their facial reaction in more detail.

2.1

To help the cut from 1 to 2, the camera pans in the second shot with Dolly as she walks and sits down, arriving at a medium over-the-shoulder (OS) shot towards Alec and Laura (2.1). The frame is still near enough for the viewer to register their distress at the intrusion. As Alec goes for the tea the camera slowly moves into Laura’s closeup (2.2). At this point in the shot the lighting subtly changes, isolating her face from the background. The change motivates Laura’s voiceover. It lasts nearly 30 seconds, taking the viewer into her subjective world. In the same shot the sound of the bell and a return to less subjective lighting brings the viewer back to the external world.

It was cruel of fate to be against us up to the very last minute . . . (Laura)

2.2

3 I felt the touch of his hand on my shoulder for a moment . . . (Laura)

From a wider OS shot favouring Alec and Laura (3) there is a cut to a closeup of Laura, with almost identical framing to the first version. However, this time the shot is held on Laura’s face longer whilst Alec picks up his coat (4).

4

Reaction and emotion  193

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 193

8/13/21 10:11 AM

The viewer now has more time to dwell on the impact their parting has on her. The action, though very similar, of Alec’s hand on her shoulder reinforces this small gesture as their last intimate moment. The viewer applies to this moment a complete knowledge of the two characters and their journey. Layered with Laura’s internal thoughts this takes on a greater significance. Alec should perhaps have kissed her but his small gesture seems now to infer more than just his love for Laura, it expresses his deference to the behavioural conventions of ‘proper’ people, and his acknowledgement of the need to conform. Alec leaves the room (5.1), but instead of cutting the empty frame is filled by Dolly as she takes his seat and comments to Laura on the possibility of him missing the train. At such an emotionally poignant moment this is quite shocking, almost suggesting comic irony (5.2). If there is any comedy it is dispelled quickly as Dolly’s gossip is faded down and the camera slowly moves into Laura’s close-up and the viewer enters Laura’s subjective voiceover (6.1, 6.2). When viewing both versions of this scene without sound it is very possible to understand the emotional tone and guess the underlying story. This is because the subtext is implied through the use of reaction shots. Here the editor’s choice of whether the viewer sees the words being spoken or witnesses another character reacting to them has determined the emotional empathy they feel towards the characters. Subtext can of course also be conveyed by the way words are delivered, the performance of them. When viewing dialogue exchanges much of our time is spent trying to ‘read between the lines’, as we guess what a speaker really means or what the listener really thinks about what is being said. We react both to the stimulus of the textual meaning and to the meaning implied by the verbal expression.

. . . and then he walked away . . . out of my life forever. (Laura)

5.1 Ha, ha, he’s got to get right over to the other platform . . . . (Dolly)

5.2

6.1

6.2

194  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 194

8/13/21 10:11 AM

3. Playing off each other: Editing two handers When shooting a two-person verbal interchange or a two hander, there are two aspects that vie for importance, the practicalities of the shoot and the realisation of a believable performance from the actors. It is of course possible to achieve both. Time and budget restrictions usually make it essential to shoot out of script continuity. This procedure fragments and reorders the script but prioritises all the shots from one angle and lighting set up before changing to the reverse angle. It requires the actor to repeat their performance for each take as well as retain the same level of spontaneity and freshness each time. This is quite demanding, and for both actors it is a collaborative experience with each working off the others performance, the first actor shaping and adapting their response to that of the second actor. The process aims to ensure a natural flow as it would in a real conversation, and it is this believable flow of energy that the editor is trying to achieve when constructing the scene from the multiple angles and shot sizes that they have received in the cutting room. What happens in a ‘real’ two-way interchange? In English and other Western languages we speak sequentially, taking turns. If a speaker interrupts this is considered either rude, accidental or a sign of enthusiasm signaling interest in what the other person is saying. Van Leeuwen notes that in ‘adjacency pairs’ there is often a call-response structure, with the content of the initiator’s dialogue constraining the response of the next speaker.16 For example: ‘where do you come from?’ ‘Helsinki’. ‘It is it always cold there?’ ‘Not always’. Following the expected pattern helps build a relationship, whereas not doing so can undermine one. This could happen in an argument: ‘why are you doing that?’ ‘no answer’ ‘are you trying to tell me I’m wrong?’ ‘no answer’ ‘why are you looking at me like that?’ Sometimes a speaker indicates it is the other person’s turn to speak by a change in pitch or by ending the sentence with a dialogue ‘hook’ such as ‘and . . .’ then a slight pause inviting the next speaker to talk.17 How an editor shows the taking of turns can influence how the viewer feels about a character and their understanding of the direction the interaction is going. Overlaps in dialogue, where one character speaks over the other can add truthfulness to an interaction but need to be considered especially if implemented during the shooting stage. If this happens the two voices and actions will be locked together, restricting the editor’s ability to change the amount of overlap of the voices. If recorded separately an editor can instigate an interruption. By using several

audio track layers the control of volume and sound quality can be retained, enabling the selection and emphasis of certain words, influencing how the viewer perceives the interaction. A verbal interchange can be a generous exchange of ideas or a vocal power struggle, it may be the divulgence of a secret or the declaration of love but in most interactions something is discovered or understood, either openly or indirectly. Even conversations that may seem innocuous will be motivated by a need for change, with the speakers not necessarily using the linguistic meaning to express their underlying desire. An editor needs to understand each character’s motivation and how their goals conflict with others. As most scenes progress characters will often reassess or change their desired objectives and it is at this point that the editor can accentuate the shift or hide it from the viewer. It is very possible for an editor to change the meaning of a scene through the use of emphasis. This can be achieved by choosing to show one character rather than another or by selecting a specific section of a performance over another, however this needs to feel probable or the viewer will recognise that they are being manipulated. Towards the end of American Gangster (2007) there is verbal confrontation between Frank Lucas (Washington), the most powerful crime boss in Harlem, and detective Ritchie Roberts (Crowe). Set in 1968, Lucas has been smuggling a very potent form of heroin, ‘Blue Magic’ into the USA in the coffins of dead soldiers returning from Saigon. He has made it difficult for the police to track him down by keeping an outwardly clean profile but is eventually arrested by Roberts and brought to trial. This courtroom scene is intercut with the dialogue between Lucas and Roberts in a police cell prior to the trial. In the interaction the underlying agenda for both characters is to ‘get’ something from the other and this is achieved through a process of probing and revealing. Roberts needs information, the names of corrupt police colleagues and offshore bank accounts, and Lucas wants to avoid a custodial sentence and to keep his business intact. It is a verbal struggle for dominance that results in compromise where for much of the scene the two ‘opponents’ sit opposite each other and appear to just converse. But is this all they do? The intercutting of the two scenes does not reciprocate a parallel time but one that moves forwards and back, with an overlapping and juxtaposition of action and dialogue that makes the viewer consider implications beyond the explicit meaning of the words.

Playing off each other: Editing two handers  195

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 195

8/13/21 10:11 AM

American Gangster (2007 Dir. Scott. Ed. Scalia) Screen shots 2-3, 4-5 and 6-14 are consecutive Dialogue key: Red = Lucas and Black = Roberts This section starts with a very confident Lucas secure in an unusually spacious cell as he dismisses his lawyer and minders (1). It is evident that Lucas’s self-assured manner hides his objective, one that he is approaching in a slightly circuitous way. After his attempt to bribe Roberts is rebuffed Lucas changes tactic by trying to reason with him: ‘Let me ask you this, do you really think that putting me behind bars is going to change anything on them streets?’ (2) He emphasises his words by leaning forward towards Roberts, his fingers hitting the desk with a jabbing movement between the two coffee cups as if to impose his dominance in the discussion. Although seemingly insignificant the two paper cups become useful props as the interaction progresses.

1

2

3

Roberts is calm at first as he lets Lucas plead his case against going to jail (3). When he retaliates with his own evidence the interaction becomes a restrained but competitive verbal battle as each opponent takes his turn without interruption. Intercut with the court scene their words hold more resonance, but when Roberts points out to Lucas that the Manzano Crime family are willing to testify against him; ‘You damaged a lot of lives Frank. I got the Manzano Crime . . .’ (4) Lucas loses his composure. He interrupts and denies any involvement with the crime family. At this point they are both speaking at the same time (5).

. . . family, remember those boys, you put . . . ‘No I don’t . . . them out of business (Roberts) I ain’t got nothing to do with no Manzanos (Lucas) At this moment, by breaking the convention of sequential speaking, the flow has been disturbed. In real life we often ‘butt in’ during a conversation, which makes a similar verbal interruption on screen seem natural and spontaneous. If this happens it can be difficult to hear one of the speakers making it important for the sound editor to have the flexibility to manipulate the level and

4

5

vocal quality of each individual during the mix. If overlapped dialogue is recorded during the shoot it is locked together, making manipulation difficult and may require rerecording later. If the editor is able to instigate a verbal interruption by overlapping clean dialogue they can then control the audio level. However, if a ‘false’ interruption is created, the rhythm and delivery of a performance may change so this needs to be considered carefully. In the previous instance the interruption is purely aural as it is played over the shot of the Manzano family in court. This makes it easier to create the overlap but more difficult for the audience to hear everything that is spoken, as

196  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 196

8/13/21 10:11 AM

they will also be assimilating and constructing meaning from the disparate visual and aural information. Instead of making a bid for dominance Lucas’s behaviour has changed from aggressive to defensive. At this point the editor moves from the matched slightly over-theshoulder or ‘dirty’ mid-shots (as in 2, 3) that mimic the ‘held back’ restraint of the interaction to single closeups. The angle to the camera and closeness of Lucas’s shot gives the viewer the opportunity to see his eyes (7). He tries to ‘play’ innocent but the viewer may detect that he is lying. Roberts suggests to Lucas that his position of power may be doubly annoying to the Italian crime family (6). Although Lucas is caught off guard, he tries to deny what Roberts is suggesting. However, when Roberts is more definite the viewer can read a slight facial change in Lucas (7). Is this subtle reaction part of Washington’s performance or inferred by the editor through juxtaposition? Roberts leaves no time for a response from Lucas as he answers his own question (8). His dialogue starts in vision but continues over Lucas’s reaction (9.1). The overlapped dialogue over Lucas’s closeup; ‘with you out of the way everything can return to normal’ seems to show that these words have had a considerable effect on Lucas; his facial reaction being that of a sulky schoolboy wrongly accused. Or could the viewer also infer that he is debating the available options?

Because apart from the fact they hate you personally, they hate what you represent.

6 I don’t represent nothing but Frank Lucas You sure? Black businessman like you? 7 You represent progress, the kind of progress that is going to lose them a lot of money . . .

8 . . .with you out of the way everything can return to normal.

9.1 My man . . . (he laughs and drinks from cup).

Lucas drinks from the cup, briefly breaking their previously connected eyelines. His dry laugh lowers the tension slightly (9.2). This soon dissipates when he retaliates (10). Here it is the editor’s decision to show Lucas’s reaction in closeup rather than see Roberts speaking that makes the viewer engage with their developing relationship (9.1). But what makes us convinced that Lucas is really reacting to what is being said? By starting with Roberts speaking in sync and then overlapping his dialogue the editor infers that Lucas is listening, but it is the timing of the moment to cut to Lucas that makes it believable. By cutting to Lucas in the pause after ‘money’ as Roberts takes a breath the editor uses a natural punctuation point before the incoming dialogue goes on to provide a conclusion to the point being made. This minimises the disruption of the cut by both preserving the rhythmic flow of the words and by anticipating what the viewer wishes to see.

9.2 . . . you know what normal is to me Ritchie. . .

10

Playing off each other: Editing two handers  197

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 197

8/13/21 10:11 AM

If necessary it is often possible to take a reaction shot from another section of a scene and lay it over dialogue that did not originally correspond. This has the potential to work but only if the viewer believes that the character is actually listening to the speaker; if not their attention will be drawn to the manipulation. If the editor can find a subtle facial movement that corresponds to what is being said this will help the possibility of creating a believable connection. When we listen to someone in a real conversation we need to focus on what they are trying to communicate in order to understand how this might affect us. This processing of information or ‘inner monologue’ can actively influence our outward behaviour and indicate to a film viewer whether an actor is really engaged with the other character or just faking it.18 Stanislavski identified that it is very easy for a theatre audience to detect the ‘mechanical gaze’ of an unconnected interaction and emphasised the importance of an actor focusing their inner attention.19 He acknowledged the need for a ‘disciplined power of concentration’ and developed exercises that involved the use of objects to help focus an actor’s attention. In the cell scene the coffee cups have become a natural part of the action but as yet have no other significance apart from their intended purpose. They have however been used as punctuation points in the expression of the dialogue and to motivate a cut as the click of the cup placed on the table helps the change of shot (9.2). Lucas’s retort to Roberts comment about gangland returning to ‘normal’ (10) is aimed at gaining his sympathy. As he relates the story of his cousin the editor cuts to Roberts’ reaction for the final part of the gruesome tale. Does the viewer perceive a flicker of empathy in his face or is it in recognition of Lucas’s tactic (12). As Lucas reaches the peak of his anger, he swipes the full coffee cup towards the window, a surprising gesture that has the feeling of genuine spontaneity (13). On repeated viewing the claimed improvised nature of this performance could be considered confirmed by the slight ‘fluff’ of Lucas’s lines but of course this small hesitation could equally be a deliberate move by the actor to add authenticity. As Stanislavsky notes it is the impulsive energy of an action that makes us believe that it is the physical outlet of an inner conflict, but here it also important to the depth and meaning it gives to Lucas’s story.20

11

. . . I ain’t seen normal since I was six years old. . .. Normal is seeing the police ride up to my house, dragging my little 12-year-old cousin out and tying him to a pole. Shoving a shotgun in his mouth . . . . . . so hard they bust his teeth, then they bust two shotgun shells in his head and bust his f. . .. head off, that’s what normal is to me.

12 I’m not gonna f..k about no . . . police, I’m gonna f..k about no police now.

13 Sh..t.. you know what you can do, whatever you wanna do…so…

14

15 What can you promise me Ritchie?

16

198  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 198

8/13/21 10:11 AM

If this had been a rehearsed action it might have cued the need for an immediate reaction from Roberts to show his surprise, instead the viewer continues to witness Lucas’s anger for longer. When Roberts’ reaction does follow it is very possible to detect slight eye movements as he scans Lucas’s face, seemingly revealing an anxious inner assessment of the situation (14). As they start to negotiate the coffee cup is used as a chess piece with each character pushing it forward to signify the others move (15, 16). It is easy to understand why the editor has decided to include the take with the impromptu movement (13) rather than a more rehearsed one as the tension has been heightened by what feels like a genuine ‘un-acted’ response. Many directors feel that it is important to strive for a type of spontaneity that makes the audience feel that what they are viewing has just happened, that they have just witnessed real people dealing with the events of real life.21

4. Truth and spontaneity The British film and TV director Ken Loach has been described as taking a ‘naturalist’ approach in his films.22 Though fictional, much of his work represents the lives of real people in real locations, often in circumstances where they may be powerless to effect change in an unjust society or economic condition. In his films the viewer is placed as an observer but this is an active position with intense responses being provoked. It is impossible for them to just stand back and ‘observe’, they have to become critically involved, empathise with characters, question and make judgements. The films themselves, as Knight notes, don’t just present and reflect on the events that befall the characters; they ask us to be witnesses, to evaluate and inspire the possibility of change.23 For this type of engagement the editor needs to construct a fictional situation with the immediacy of real life making the fine line between guiding the viewer didactically and letting them assume their own opinions – a sensitive negotiation. Loach makes certain choices in order to achieve the truth and spontaneity of real life with key roles often being played by untrained cast whose own life experience helps to bring out the essence of a character. As Murphy explains he looks for qualities in an actor that are ‘less about acting and more about you as a person.’24 Loach also chooses to shoot in the order in which the events in the story would have happened, allowing the actors to develop their

emotional instinct as each scene prepares them for the next. By releasing script pages shortly before filming or sometimes not at all he removes the impetus for the actor to apply an intellectual reasoning to the role. The intention is to achieve an emotional reaction to events that is immediate and unmediated: ‘You don’t have the script as your document you’re reacting as it happens in the film, so it becomes all emotion and not intellect’.25 Genuine surprise is difficult for most actors, but by withholding the outcome of events Loach records the ‘gut instinct as the person in front of the camera responds as though it were actually happening’.26 In order to capture the instinctive reflex of surprise, Loach often shoots a reaction rather than the action, and it is this genuine response that the editor looks for in the rushes. The Angel’s Share (2012) is a comedy set in Glasgow in the less-than-funny circumstances of youth unemployment where young people often slide toward criminality and violence. Robbie (Brannigan), guilty of GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm), escapes custody and is given community service because he is soon to become a father. He is determined to build a future for the child but is trapped by societal pressures, their families and his past, and for most of the film he is frustrated and thwarted in his desire. The writer, Paul Laverty, encountered Brannigan whilst researching the script and although untrained as an actor he came from a similar background to the lead character Robbie. Critically he was, as Loach mentions, prepared to make links with his own life and circumstances and able to connect with his own emotions.27 In the following scene Robbie’s emotional reaction to events feels raw and truthful. How much of this is a result of the editing and how much the performance? Robbie reveals to his partner Leonie (Reilly) that he has received a letter asking that he attend a meeting with the victim and his family. ‘What does TASC mean?’ Leonie asks, ‘talk after serious crime’, Robbie responds. She suggests that attending the meeting may help him as well as the family. The scene that follows is bleak in contrast to the comedy in other parts of the film.

Truth and spontaneity  199

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 199

8/13/21 10:11 AM

The Angel’s Share (2012 Dir. Loach, Ed. Morris) Robbie meets the victim Plan of character positions and initial camera set-ups

Screen shots 1–9 are consecutive; the rest are selected from the scene Dialogue key: A= Anthony, M= Mother The door of the stark institutional room opens and the victim’s family enter and are introduced (1). The viewer does not know until the next shot that this is from Robbie’s viewpoint (2). The space of this room has been constructed by the editing as at no point does the viewer see an overall wide shot. The preceding plan shows the relative positions of the characters.

1

The cut to Anthony, the victim of Robbie’s attack, is to an equivalent size shot (3). Both young men have lowered heads and occasionally look towards each other their eyes meeting. We observe Robbie’s reaction in long shot taken from behind the family. It feels as though he is genuinely unprepared for the meeting. At this point it is probable that Brannigan’s knowledge of the attack on Anthony would have been solely from the perspective of Robbie’s actions whilst filming the flashback.

2

3

200  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 200

8/13/21 10:12 AM

‘It was Friday night I was going out with my girlfriend I hadn’t see her for a week or so, I was quite excited to go and see her, ahum . . . (A) 4 We were just parking. I guess I swerved in quite quickly . . . (A)

5

6

Umm , all of a sudden this guy is kicking the car, hitting the bonnet, shouting and swearing at us . . . next thing he’s grabbed me by the hair, (A) he’s pulling me out the car, I can’t get him off urh . . . (A)

Anthony’s memory of the event is related verbally in the meeting with his voice laid over the flashback. This gives a different perspective to the past event and of Robbie (4, 6, 8). The juxtaposition of the violent images and the account of Anthony’s injuries initially provokes in the viewer sympathy for him and a justifiably strong judgment against Robbie and what he has done. It is not until the point that the recounted violence becomes extreme that the editor cuts to a close shot of Robbie and the viewer witnesses his strong emotional reaction to Anthony’s words (9). Until this point they will have been imagining how he is receiving the information. Observing Robbie clearly reflecting on what he has done may start to change the viewer’s assessment of him, promoting a more nuanced judgement. When Anthony relates that Robbie was on drugs the more side angled shot allows the viewer to see Leonie for the first time. She glances towards him, and for a short moment we imagine what she is thinking (10). The change of camera angle takes away slightly from the immediacy of Robbie’s facial reaction but gives the viewer essential information about the couple.

7 he punches me in the face, he umm hits my head off the car bonnet, urh . . . (A)

8 he starts kicking into me, I’m on the ground, umm . . .

9 umm the police said the guy was coked up to the eyeballs . . . (A)

10

Truth and spontaneity  201

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 201

8/13/21 10:12 AM

As Anthony’s mother vehemently lists the many injuries that her son has suffered the viewer’s sympathy starts to shift as they begin to consider Robbie’s side of things (11). The viewer is aware of the inevitability of his social background and his frustrated attempts to break free from the constraints it imposes. They start to feel sympathy towards Robbie’s situation; something Anthony’s mother has no knowledge of. It is uncomfortable for the viewer to witness Robbie listening as Anthony’s mother reiterates and hammers home all the things he already knows, ‘you’re nothing but a wee thug . . . that’s all yee are . . .’ (12).

and a fractured eye socket which has left him with a squint, he canna even see out that eye now – proud of yee self . . . (M) 11

12

. . . . .you’re nothing, you’re just a wee thug that does nee know any better, that’s all ye are, look at me, I don’t even think that ye sorry for what yee done . . . (M)

The last shot in the scene is of Robbie as the meeting coordinator finally asks if he would like to say anything. Now obviously crying, he shakes his head and the viewer is left thinking of Robbie’s unspoken thoughts rather than the specific instances of Anthony’s injuries. The story being related by the victim has its own explicit impact on the viewer. However, other perhaps more powerful emotions are evoked because the viewer believes that Robbie is genuinely reflecting and shocked by what he hears and that his reactions are sincere. These are partly a result of the timing of his reaction shot over specific dialogue but are also due to Robbie’s emotion seeming truthful and un-acted. Perhaps Brannigan as an untrained actor is drawing from his own social circumstances and experience. For an inexperienced actor the repetition and spontaneity of an emotional reaction would be hard to repeat over numerous takes. This might suggest that Robbie’s reaction to Anthony’s dialogue may have been shot first rather than using the more common practice of shooting the speaker first. The editor has used Robbie’s closeup sparingly at the start of the scene and more frequently towards the end, ensuring that the viewer appreciates the impact of the event as it shifts and builds. When Robbie’s face is not visible the viewer imagines what he is going through and when they do witness his emotion they question where this is directed. Throughout the scene Robbie does not speak but through his convincing reaction he has said a great deal.

202  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 202

8/13/21 10:12 AM

5. Cutting a multi-person scene When cutting together a scene involving multiple characters in the same space the editor needs to appreciate the complexity of shooting such a scene, both logistically and dramatically. In order for the audience to feel secure and emotionally involved in the action they need to have a mental geography of the position and repositioning of each character. This can be achieved with a wide shot of the whole space or by using closer shots where eyelines as well as eye and head movements reinforce the space fractured by the change of shot. In the preceding scenes reaction shots have been used to imply meaning that is not always conveyed in the dialogue. As previously discussed, subtext is often what most interests the viewer, making a convincing reaction shot where a character is believably responding to someone or something, vitally important. Depending on the tone and mood of a scene the editor can choose to alternate between shots of each speaker or they can show the reaction of the non-speaker to the dialogue. Reaction shots can be singles or show multiple characters; the reaction of a listener can also be shown within the same shot as the speaker. The repeat use of a single reaction of one person in a scene with multiple characters places a strong emphasis in the viewer’s mind on that character over the others. Using a two-shot where non-speakers react to each other can imply or refer to a subsidiary conflict or agenda in the scene, contributing another element to the story. Similarly, subtext can be achieved by editing reactions in a series of successive single shots, but for the editor to make these choices it is important that the appropriate coverage is considered at the shooting stage.

of his characters is the result of an intense and often lengthy period of preparation before shooting. This involves the actors working individually with Leigh over several months where, through a process of research and improvisation, they develop and ‘find’ their characters.29 When casting Leigh reminds the actors ‘I can’t tell you what it’s about, I can’t tell you what your character is. We’ll invent it as part of the process. And you will never know more than your character knows.’30 This concentrated method of working where each actor may know little more than a theme demands an intense emotional involvement. The aim of the process for Leigh is to generate onscreen an actual emotion where the actor is responding as the character to the events with an unguarded spontaneity and honesty. Leigh’s concern with the truth and reality of the everyday results in films that are both tragic and comic, but as he says, ‘you can’t be funny unless there is a serious basis to the joke and you can’t have a tragedy without jokes’.31 How then does the editor deal with these moments of intense emotion? And how can they help reveal the humour in a scene but also retain a sense of truth?

The tragic and the comic Achieving a sense of spontaneity and truth within a scene with multiple characters relies on each actor not only being completely immersed in their own character but also aware of the potential for their character to respond to others. The films of director Mike Leigh are often concerned with how we live our lives; featuring the ordinary things in life they frequently include small events like eating together, birthdays and holidays. However, his characters and the situations we see them in are not uneventful with the everyday transformed and sometimes heightened. As Marchand points out it is the texture and detail of these lives that fascinate us as we recognise a ‘lived reality’ that we find often parallels with our own.28 Our belief in the ‘realness’

Cutting a multi-person scene  203

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 203

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Another Year (2010) is structured across four seasons but centred on the suburban middle-class home of a professional and contented couple, Tom (Broadbent) and Gerri (Sheen). However, Mary (Manville), a colleague and friend of Gerri’s is her opposite; unhappy and lonely. Mary’s belief that she is more youthful than her age is confirmed in her desire for a romantic relationship with Gerri and Tom’s son, Joe (Maltman) who is significantly younger. Mary has come to rely on her friendship with the family to the extent that when things change and Joe reveals he has a girlfriend her insecurity and vulnerability become more extreme. Two scenes from Another Year that both take place in Tom and Gerri’s kitchen show two alternative ways of interpreting a dialogue scene that involves multiple characters. The first takes place after Joe has quite literally sprung his new girlfriend, Katie (Fernandez) on his parents when they return home. They all sit down to an impromptu lunch and although the scene is dialogue based it is the repartee and body language that conveys the forced good humour and slight awkwardness of a first meeting. The interaction lasts about 3 minutes, contains 65 shots and nearly a hundred lines of dialogue with each line often being little more than a couple of words.

Plan shows selected shots. The numbers correspond to shot position in the scene.

Another Year (2010. Dir. Leigh, Ed. Gregory) Scene: Lunch with Katie Screen shots are numbered according to position in the sequence

1 Ah my dad’s a postman and my mum works on a make up counter. (K)

Dialogue key: G = Gerri, T = Tom, J = Joe, K = Katie The scene starts with a close up of a vase in which Gerri is arranging the flowers that Katie has just given her. This is followed by a big wide shot of the kitchen that lasts for just over 30 seconds (1). This shot not only allows the viewer to appreciate the layout of the kitchen but also the physical relationship of the four people. Whilst eating they exchange information about each other in reverse two-shots where the matched eyelines unite the speakers (6, 7). The interaction continues in a series of single closeups of Gerri and Katie as they ask about each other’s work (8–11).

6 Oh Yeah. (T) And what do you do Katie? (G) 8

7 I’m an occupational thera . . . (K)

8

204  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 204

8/13/21 10:12 AM

The editor either cuts as the last word is still completing and the end sound goes across the cut as in ‘thera – pist’ (8) or after the end of the word as in ‘Free’ (10). The first option moves the conversation along in a fast call-response pattern that feels almost as though the responder has interrupted or knows what the correct response should be. This method can be effective but can also present the possibility of the audience missing the end of the word as their attention is occupied by the task of assimilating the disruption of the cut. The second approach allows a slight pause for the viewer to absorb the meaning of the text and the meaning implied by the expression of the words. Here this initial question and answer interchange presents a rhythmic forward and backward response that supplies the information that the viewer desires to hear and see. As the scene progresses the editor continues to cut from speaker to speaker using the sound of laughter and several visual laughter reactions to emphasise the mood and to remind the viewer of the non-speakers. Later in the scene after Katie has learnt about the nature of Tom’s job Joe asks what his parents’ plans are for later that day. His question, followed by Tom’s cautious answer, is played over Gerri’s close up, but it is her reaction that tells us more as she rolls her eyes and looks towards Tom (57). Tom’s dry response ‘Oh yes . . . we’re having a visitation,’ infers that he is less tolerant of Mary’s visit than Gerri.

. . . pist. (K) Oh are you, where do you work? (G)

9 At the Royal Free. (K)

10 Oh that’s a great hospital. (G)

11

What you got planned later. (J) Oh yes . . . (T)

57 . . . we’re having a visitation. (T)

58 Sounds ominous? (J)

Joe’s reaction to Tom comes with the advantage of his prior knowledge of Mary but for Katie this is all new as she is yet to meet her. In the two-shot of Joe and Katie (61) they not only both react to Gerri but also exchange glances, with Joe looking for Katie’s reaction to his ‘quip’. In the next two shot of Gerri and Tom (64) they do the same internal shot reaction. This allows the viewer to appreciate both characters’ reactions and body language, adding a more comedic element to the discussion than if the dialogue had been played in single closeups.

59 Mary’s coming for tea. (G)

60 I was right, huh. (J) Whose Mary? (K)

The final few sentences of dialogue also anticipate the forthcoming visit and cue the transition to the next scene. 61

Cutting a multi-person scene  205

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 205

8/13/21 10:12 AM

During this interaction there is no difficulty in understanding where a character is looking or to whom they are speaking. A static camera and a good selection of frame sizes allows the editor to create a rhythm led by the performance. Shorter beats take place in singles and longer in two-shots allowing the speed of the interaction to feel authentic and dynamic. The editor when cutting this scene would have understood that its function is to not only to introduce the viewer to a new character but also to make them aware of her potential to change the happy equilibrium already established in the lives of this family and their friends. The scene that follows serves a different function; with Katie welcomed and accepted by Tom and Gerri the focus is now on Mary’s reaction to her and how this newcomer might change her own status within the family. This scene resonates strongly coming after the lighter tone of the previous with Mary’s fragility and loneliness in contrast to the almost smug happiness of the two couples.

She’s a friend from work. (G)

62 Ah right. (K) Yeah . . . (T)

63 . . . she’s uh, yes. . . (T)

64 ..um, yeah she’s something else. ( J) I won’t ask. (K)

65

Scene: Mary meets Katie

Plan of the kitchen for scene. Mary arrives, is introduced to Katie, talks and then sits at the table.

This scene uses the opposite end of the kitchen to the previous scene but does not start with a big wide shot to show the entire space and positions of the characters. Certain visual overlaps with the previous scene such as the dresser behind Joe and Katie and the pan as Mary enters (2) help the viewer construct the space. With less fixed positions the movement of the characters adds an interesting dynamic to the tension of the interaction.

206  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 206

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Screen shots 6–21 are consecutive

This is Joe’s girlfriend. (G)

Dialogue key: G = Gerri, T = Tom, J = Joe, K = Katie After Mary’s confident arrival the viewer witnesses her sudden confusion when Joe introduces Katie and Gerri announces ‘This is Joe’s girlfriend’. The close single shot of Mary is held as the others chat around her (1). This gives the viewer several moments to ‘read’ Mary’s facial response as she watches Joe and Katie interact; her eyes flicking back and forth seem to suggest her inner thought process as she copes with the new ‘obstacle’ trying to work out how ‘serious’ this all is. In the kitchen Mary begins a long tale of the problems she has had with her car (2). This is very much a monologue with a few sympathetic murmurs from the others. The choice of allowing Mary to explain in length her car problems in a fairly low wide three-shot emphasises the ‘performance’ aspect of the action (2). Mary is ‘performing’ to the others, particularly Joe and Katie, and the viewer feels as though they are also in a similar position observing her. The editor then cuts to a closer single of Mary that reveals through her body language that she is only partially concentrating on relating her story to Tom. Whilst trying not to look at Katie, it is obvious that this new ‘problem’ is preoccupying her (3). As Goffman notes, in any first meeting each person will seek information that will help them gauge how they will act towards the other in order to get their desired response.32 Katie is clearly trying to seek information that will help define the situation and allow her to assess how it might affect her own hopes and desires. Joe and Katie listen to her and exchange ‘secret’ looks (4). It is these ‘knowing’ reactions of the family to each other, either in two-shot or singles, that add a comic aspect to Mary’s story. Their looks are also carefully timed to emphasise the acceptance of Katie within the family and point out Mary’s lack of inclusion. However, Mary appears to be so self-absorbed that these looks appear to go unnoticed. The viewer could find this superficially comic but may also feel uncomfortable as it accentuates the tragedy of Mary’s life in relation to the contentment of the family.

1

2

3

4 Yeah thanks Joe. (M)

5 At least you’re here now, aay. (K)

6 What did you say your name was? (M)

7 Katie. (K)

8 Well the good news is, Mary . . .(G)

9

Cutting a multi-person scene  207

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 207

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Joe tries to lighten the mood, ‘Come on Mary come and sit down and relax’, and Katie tries to make her feel at ease (6). Mary’s sharp and unfriendly retort as she pretends to forget Katie’s name is unkind, indicating that she has not coped well in adjusting to Katie and Joe’s affectionate body language (7). Joe’s reaction over Katie’s reply shows clearly that he has noted Mary’s jealousy (8). The cut to Gerri extends the awkward pause, as she has also witnessed Mary’s coolness towards Katie, but decides to ease the atmosphere by bringing in the cake (9). Still preoccupied Mary mumbles her thanks (10). The cut to the cake as the knife in Gerri’s hand goes to divide it in two feels a natural continuation of the action but on second view seems to signify more (11). Is the gesture perhaps Gerri’s reaction to Mary’s hostility, the ‘cutting off’ of Mary from the family and the acceptance of Katie? The cake, originally made to show welcome, becomes a ‘peace’ offering that develops into an object for antagonism. When Katie asks for the cake recipe her sentence starts in an over-the-shoulder two-shot, with Joe watching Mary for her response (12). The composition and size of the shot feels as though we are observing the couple but the slight inclusion of Mary’s shoulder reminds us of her proximity to them. Instead of choosing to cut directly to Gerri’s response the editor cuts to a close shot of Mary. This shot is held long enough for the viewer to witness her external reaction as she glances at Katie; her internal thoughts are clear (13). Joe and Katie’s outward display of affection has affected Mary, but does she still retain hope that it might fade in the near future? Do Joe and Katie see in her facial expression the same internal confusion as the viewer or is this just being inferred by the juxtaposition? This shot is completely different to the previous as it is intimate and close, provoking mixed feelings of empathy and awkwardness as the viewer witnesses Mary’s lack of control. As Marchand notes we respond to her here as though she were a real person rather than an ‘imagined identity’.33 This has been achieved through the timing of Mary’s reaction and through our belief in her character.

. . . I’ve made a cake in your honour. (G) Oh thanks Gerri. (M) She knew you . . . (T) 10 . . . were coming so she baked a cake. (T)

11 Don’t forget to give me the recipe . . . (K)

12 . . . will you? (K) No I won’t forget Katie. (G)

13 You haven’t tasted it yet. (T)

14 Yeah well it smells nice anyway. (K)

15

16

17

Yeah I wouldn’t mind having the recipe for that Gerri, I’ve never baked a cake before. (M) ‘Course you can. (G) You can have a cakeoff. (J) Oh I don’t think so. I tried making a fruit cake once, everything sank to the bottom, it was horrible. (K) You’re a good cook. (J) Thank you. (K)

208  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 208

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Their continued banter adds to the awkwardness felt by the viewer as they are thinking about Mary’s feelings. Holding onto the OS two-shot of Tom and Katie as they flatter each other for about 11 seconds makes the viewer feel as though they are watching the couple from Mary’s perspective (17). The shot of Mary that follows confirms how uncomfortable she feels (18). Tom’s question as he joins her in the shot, ‘What about these two Mary?’ shows Mary’s discomfort at the need to give an answer. The choice of a two-shot for this interaction demands that both performances complement each other and feel genuine. Our eyes are fixed mainly on Mary as she rather excessively fidgets with her hair; but does Tom’s straightforwardness temper her performance or heighten it? Mary’s reaction to Joe’s comment (20) about Tom and Gerri having accepted Katie further emphasises her struggle to come to terms with their new relationship (21). Again, as she quickly lifts her eyes the viewer feels as though they are being given access to her internal thoughts. If Tom’s dialogue had instead been played on a two-shot reaction of Joe and Katie the viewer would have been able to appreciate their confident happiness and that would have perhaps promoted thoughts about Mary’s feelings. However, by directing the viewer with a closeup of Mary they are immediately cued to perceive her thoughts.

18

What about these two Mary? (T) Such a surprise. (G) This monster hid this young lady behind the sitting room door (T) It made me jump. (G) Yeah poor Tom . . . (K)

19 . . . I thought I was going to give him a heart attack. (K) She passed her test. (J) 20

21

I’m surprised you passed the test. I would’ve got rid of you on the spot huh, terrible way to treat a woman. (T)

Throughout this scene Mary’s single closeup has been used to allow the viewer access to her feelings. It also accentuates her isolation, whereas when single shots of the others have been used it has the effect of showing the family as a cohesive unit, and also giving the viewer an insight into how they feel about Mary’s behaviour. It is the timing and placing of these shots by the editor that governs the viewer’s response and feelings towards the characters. Even though this scene has been refined and worked on through a long preparation process prior to shooting, the footage presents new options in the edit that are not just about fitting the pieces together. As Leigh mentions, it is about distillation where the preparation allows in the edit for an ‘emotional and investigative process’ that is similar to the one the actors have gone through.34 In this scene Mary reveals through her body her feelings towards Joe and Katie. Why does the viewer perceive these movements to be emotionally true of Mary? Movements that are either large or hardly perceptible can both be signifiers of personality or of plot, giving

Cutting a multi-person scene  209

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 209

8/13/21 10:12 AM

the viewer clues to how a character is feeling. Of course these actions need to be consistent with the character for the viewer to believe them. For an actor’s movement to be a sincere expression of a character’s internal impulse is challenging as they bring their own learned and experienced physicality to the process. How do they then translate the movement of a fictional person onto their own bodies? Contemporary methods of movement training strive to achieve a ‘neutral’ body where the actor, through a physical rather than intellectual re-learning process, strips away in an attempt to achieve a ‘blank canvas’. Evans notes that pure movement connects with the body directly ‘without interference to the actor’s own imaginative and emotional impulses’.35 Through a physical awareness and consciousness of the body an actor can convey with clarity the expression of emotion or an intention. If the movements signify and communicate a ‘truth’ the viewer will feel connected with a character. The actor, as Evans points out, has to deal with two things: their bodies as signifiers and their bodies as intentional and active; they have to both ‘be and become’, and for this they need to develop an ‘active consciousness’.36 It is this process that allows certain actors to play diverse characters convincingly. However, it isn’t solely the actor’s responsibility for conveying a physical ‘truth’. The choices that the editor makes when selecting a section of an action can make a difference to the viewer’s belief in its ‘truth’. If a particular character device such as a limp or even a sniff are overused or given prominence through choice of frame size the viewer’s attention will be drawn to them and question their authenticity within the narrative.

At the start of this chapter it was asked whether the power of a juxtaposition to imply a feeling in a character and evoke an emotional response in the viewer negated the work of the actor. The examples explored seem to positively demonstrate that acting and editing need to exist symbiotically in order to engage the viewer. The desire for truth and spontaneity has led the directors of the scenes analysed to approach their preparation and shooting in different ways, but it is only in the edit that this is honed and shaped and the story discovered again. In every scene studied the use of the reaction shot has allowed the audience space to participate and use their imagination, extending and developing meaning beyond that which is stated. The scenes analysed show how the positioning and choice of shots by the editor can change how the viewer feels towards a character and how the results of these choices need to be ‘natural’ or the viewer will feel manipulated. In editing a scene where actors are representing fictional characters the editor needs to develop an enquiring practice in that they are flexible and willing to push an idea beyond the obvious in order to find the essence of that idea.

Manville through the process of preparation ‘becomes’ Mary with the viewer accepting her posture and movements as a lived part of her behaviour. Making certain gestures such as fidgeting with her hair may seem ‘too much’ in isolation but when situated as part of the narrative context they seem to go completely unquestioned. Although an excessive nervous fidget may well go unnoticed in a real human interaction the emphasis placed by the camera position can draw attention to it. The editor by careful selection can guide the viewer, diverting their attention to the essential elements needed for them to be immersed in the interaction and infer meaning. So, although the actor exerts control over the meaning via their movement, gesture and posture this is never total, as it is also the decisions that the editor makes that allows the viewer to take part in the construction of a character’s emotions and their relationship with others.

210  Chapter 8  Constructing a Performance

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 210

8/13/21 10:12 AM

References Introduction References   1. Godard, J.L. 1986. Godard on Godard. Da Capo Press. p39

Chapter 1 References   1. Yorke, J. 2013. Into the Woods. How Stories Work and Why We Tell Them. Penguin Books. p27   2. Branigan, E. 1992. Narrative Comprehension and Film. Routledge. Chap 1   3. Bordwell, D. 1985. Narration in the Fiction Film. Routledge. Chap 3   4. Branigan, E. 1992. Narrative Comprehension and Film. Routledge. p13   5. Bordwell, D. 1985. Narration in the Fiction Film. Routledge. Chap 3. p35   6. Bordwell, D. 1985. Narration in the Fiction Film. Routledge. p32   7. Branigan, E. 1992. Narrative Comprehension and Film. Routledge. p15   8. Elsaessar, T. 2009. The Mind Game Film. Puzzle Films: Complex Storytelling in Contemporary Cinema. Ed. Buckland, W. Wiley-Blackwell. p21   9. Branigan, E. 1992. Narrative Comprehension and Film. Routledge. p15 10. Munsterberg, H. 1916. The Photoplay: A Psychological Study. D. Appleton and Company, Ebook 2005 [#15383] Guttenberg Press. Chap 9. p53 11. Branigan, E. 2002. Nearly True: Forking Plots, Forking Interpretations: A Response to David Bordwell’s “Film Futures”. SubStance. Vol 31, No 1, pp105–114 12. Frijda, N. 1988. The Laws of Emotion. American Psychologist. Vol 43, No 5, pp349–358 13. Laine, T. 2011. Feeling Cinema: Emotional Dynamics in Film Studies. Bloomsbury 14. Hitchcock interview with Huw Wheldon. 1964. BBC Monitor 15. Laine, T. 2011. Feeling Cinema: Emotional Dynamics in Film Studies. Bloomsbury 16. Freer, I. 2017. La La Land review. Empire online. https:// www.empireonline.com/movies/la-la-land/review/

Filmography Babel (2006. Dir. Iñárritu. Eds. Crise and Mirrione) The English Patient (1996. Dir. Minghella, Ed. Murch) La La Land (2016. Dir. Chazelle. Ed. Cross) ‘Last Orders’ (1999. Dir. Glazer) J. Lowe London, Commercial for Stella Artois. Available at: http://www.academyfilms .com/jonathan-glazer#stella-artois-last-orders Sabotage (1936. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. Frend)

Other resources Hassapopoulou, M. 2008. Babel: Pushing and Reaffirming Mainstream Cinema’s Boundaries. Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, No. 50, Spring 2008 Ondaatje, M. 2002. The Conversations: Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Film. Alfred A. Knopf. Bloomsbury Plantinga, C. 2009. Moving Viewer. American Film and the Spectator’s Experience. University of California Press Tan, E. 1994. Film-induced Affect as a Witness Emotion. Poetics. Elsevier Tan, E. 1995. Emotion and the Structure of Narrative Film: Film as an Emotion Machine. Routledge

Chapter 2 References   1. Hitchcock in Gottlieb, S. 1995. Hitchcock on Hitchcock: Selected Writings and Interviews. University of California Press. p288   2. Kuleshov, L. 1974. Kuleshov on Film: Writings by Lev Kuleshov. Ed. and Trans. Levaco, R. University of California Press. ‘Americanitis’. p127   3. Kuleshov, L. 1922. Kuleshov on Film: Writings by Lev Kuleshov. Ed. and Trans. Levaco, R. University of California Press. ‘Art of Cinema’. p47   4. Kuleshov, L. 1974. Kuleshov on Film: Writings by Lev Kuleshov. Ed. and Trans. Levaco, R. University of California Press. p33   5. Kuleshov, L. 1974. Kuleshov on Film: Writings by Lev Kuleshov. Ed. and Trans. Levaco, R. University of California Press. p33   6. Smith, T.J. 2005. An Attentional Theory of Continuity Editing. University of Edinburgh. p44

References 211

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 211

8/13/21 10:12 AM

  7. Smith, T.J. 2005. An Attentional Theory of Continuity Editing. University of Edinburgh. pp41–42   8. Pudovkin, V.I. 1929. Film Technique and Film Acting. p141   9. Pudovkin, V.I. 1929. Film Technique and Film Acting. p23 10. Pudovkin, V.I. 1929. Film Technique and Film Acting. p23 11. Bazin, A. 1967. What Is Cinema? University of California Press. p102 12. Eisenstein, S. 1991. Towards a Theory of Montage. Selected Works Vol 2. Eds. Glenny, M. and Taylor, R. I.B.Taurus. p133 13. Eisenstein, S. 1991. Towards a Theory of Montage. Selected Works Vol 2. Eds. Glenny, M. and Taylor, R. I.B.Taurus. 14. Eisenstein, S. 2010. Writings, 1922–1934. Selected Works Vol 1. Ed. Taylor, R. p144 15. Eisenstein, S. 2010. Writings, 1922–1934. Selected Works Vol 1. Ed. Taylor, R. pp144–145 16. Eisenstein, S. 2010. Writings, 1922–1934. Selected Works Vol 1. Ed. Taylor, R. p168 17. Aresenjuk, L. 2018. Movement, Action, Image, Montage. Sergei Eisenstein and the Cinema in Crisis. University of Minnesota Press. p86 18. Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. Ed. Leyda, J. Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. p62 19. Smith, M. 1990. Technological Determination, Aesthetic Resistance, or a Cottage on Dartmoor: Goat-Gland Talkie or Masterpiece? Wide Angle. Vol 12, No 3, 80–97, Ohio University of Arts 20. Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. Ed. Leyda, J. Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. p162 21 Eisenstein, S. 2010. Writings, 1922–1934. Selected Works Vol 1. Ed. Taylor, R. I.B.Taurus. p186 22. Pudovkin, V.I. 1929. Film Technique and Film Acting. p141 23. Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. Ed. Leyda, J. Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc. p74 24. Laine, T. 2011. Feeling Cinema: Emotional Dynamics in Film Studies. Bloomsbury Publishing 25. D’Aloia, A. 2012. Cinematic Empathy: Spectator Involvement in the Film Experience. In Kinesthetic Empathy in Creative and Cultural Practices. Eds. Reynolds, D. and Reason, M. Intellect. 26. Hitchcock, A. 1937. My Own Methods, Sight and Sound. BFI 27. Skerry, P.J. 2008. Psycho in the Shower. The History of Cinema’s Most Famous Scene. Bloomsbury Publishing 28. Hitchcock in Gottlieb, S. 1995. Hitchcock on Hitchcock: Selected Writings and Interviews. University of California Press. p288 29. Berliner, T. 2005. Visual Absurdity in Raging Bull. Ed. Hayes, K.J. Cambridge University Press 30. Lanza, J. 1989. Fragile Geometry. The Films, Philosophy and Misadventures of Nicholas Roeg. p30 31. Macabe, C. 1998. Performance. BFI Film Classics

32. Lanza, J. 1989. Fragile Geometry. The Films, Philosophy and Misadventures of Nicholas Roeg. PAJ Publications. 33. Jagger (quoted in Macabe, C. 1998. Performance. BFI Film Classics) 34. Patch, A. 2010. Don’t Look Now: British Cinema in the 1970s. Ed. Newland, P. Intellect. p258 35. Patch, A. 2010. Don’t Look Now: British Cinema in the 1970s. Ed. Newland, P. Intellect. p258 36. Nic Roeg in Lanza, J. 1989. Fragile Geometry. The Films, Philosophy and Misadventures of Nicholas Roeg. PAJ Publications 37. Laine, T. 2013. Feeling Cinema: Emotional Dynamics in Film Studies. Bloomsbury Publishing 38. Lanza, J. 1989. Fragile Geometry. The Films, Philosophy and Misadventures of Nicholas Roeg. PAJ Publications. Interview. p92 39. Bordwell, D. 2002. Intensified Continuity: Visual Style in Contemporary American Film. Film Quarterly. Vol 55, No 3, 16–28 40. Godard, J.L. 1972. Godard on Godard. Eds. Narboni, J. and Milne, T. Da Capo Press. p39

Filmography Battleship Potemkin (1925. Dir. Eisenstein) A Cottage on Dartmoor (1929. Dir. Asquith) Don’t Look Now (1973. Dir. Roeg. Ed. Clifford) Hot Fuzz (2007. Dir. Wright. Ed. Dickens) The Kiss in the Tunnel (1900. Bamforth) Le Jardinier (1895. Dir. Lumiére) Mother (1929. Dir. Pudovkin) October (1927. Dir. Eisenstein) Performance (1960. Dirs. Cammell and Roeg) Points of View for ‘The Guardian’ Newspaper (1986. Dir. Weiland) Psycho (1960. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. Tomasini) Raging Bull (1980. Dir. Scorsese. Ed. Schoonmaker) Strike (1925. Dir. Eisenstein) 20th Century Women (2016. Dir. Mills. Ed. Jones)

Other resources Eisenstein, S. 1943. The Film Sense. Edited and trans. Leyda, J. Faber and Faber Eisenstein, S. 2010. Writings, 1934–1947. Selected Works Vol. 3. Ed. Taylor, R. I.B.Taurus Eisenstein, S. 2017. On the Detective Story. Seagull Books Sanderson, M. 1996. Don’t Look Now. BFI Modern Classics Tsivan, Y. 1991. Inside the Film Factory, New Approaches to Russian and Soviet Cinema. Eds. Taylor, R. and Christie, I. p13

212 References

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 212

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Chapter 3 References   1. Aristotle. The Art of Rhetoric. 1991. Trans. LawsonTancred, H. Penguin Classics. p74   2. Aristotle. The Art of Rhetoric. 1991. Trans. LawsonTancred, H. Penguin Classics. p139   3. Enoch Arden is analysed in Chapter 4   4. Gunning, T. 1994. D.W. Griffith & the Origins of American Narrative Film. The Early Years at Biograph. The University of Illinois Press. p241   5. Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. Harcourt Brace and World Inc. Trans. Leyda, J. p240   6. Griffith, D.W. Quoted by Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. p243. He quotes Griffith from Long, R.E. 1920.   7. Deleuze, G. 1986. Cinema 1: The Movement Image. Trans. Tomlinson, H. and Habberjam, B. Bloomsbury, The Athlone Press. p33   8. Deleuze, G. 1986. Cinema 1: The Movement Image. Trans. Tomlinson, H. and Habberjam, B. Bloomsbury, The Athlone Press. pp32–33   9. Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. Harcourt Brace and World Inc. Trans. Leyda, J. p243 10. Gottlieb, S. 1997. Hitchcock on Hitchcock Vol. 1: Selected Writings and Interviews. University of California. p129 11. Gottlieb, S. 1997. Hitchcock on Hitchcock Vol. 1: Selected Writings and Interviews. University of California. p129 12. Tan, Ed S.-H. 1994. Film-Induced Affect as a Witness Emotion. Poetics 23, 7–32. Elsevier. p19

Filmography The Birds (1963. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. Tomasini) Casablanca (1945. Dir. Curtiz. Ed. Marks) A Corner in Wheat (1909. Dir. Griffith. Ed. Smith) Intolerance (1916. Dir. Griffith. Eds. Griffith, J. Smith, R. Smith) Skyfall (2012. Dir. Mendes. Ed. Baird) Strangers on a Train (1951. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. Zieglar)

Chapter 4 References   1. Bazin, A. 1967. What Is Cinema? University of California Press. p34   2. Bazin, A. 1967. What Is Cinema? University of California Press. p36   3. Note: further explorations can be made into the relationship of the moving image with time and movement in Gilles Deleuze’s two books. Deleuze, G. 1989. Cinema

1 The Movement Image. Cinema 2 The Time Image. The Athlone Press   4. Pudovkin, V. 1954. Film Technique and Film Acting. Vision Press Limited. p67   5. Bordwell, D. 1985. Film Narration. Routledge   6. Bordwell, D. and Thompson, K. 1986. Film Art. University of Wisconsin. Alfred K. Knopf, Inc.   7. Burch, N. 1979. Film’s Institutional Mode of Representation and the Soviet Response. October, Vol 11. Essays in Honor of Jay Leyda. MIT Press   8. Mackendrick, A. 2004. On Filmmaking: An Introduction to the Craft of the Director. Ed. Cronin, P. Faber and Faber   9. Smith, T.J. 2005. The Attentional Theory of Cinematic Continuity. University of Edinburgh 10. Bottomore, S. 2008. Shots in the Dark: The Real Origins of Film Editing. In Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative. London BFI Publishing. Eds. Elsaesser, T. and Barker, A. 11. Gunning, T. 1990. ‘Primitive’ Cinema: A Frame-up? Or the Trick’s on Us. In Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative. Eds. Elsaesser, T. Barker, A. 12. Gunning, T. 1990. ‘Primitive’ Cinema: A Frame-up? Or the Trick’s on Us. In Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative. Eds. Elsaesser, T. and Barker, A. 13. Christie, I. R. W. Paul – The Collected Films 1895–1908 (DVD) BFI 14. Christie, I. R. W. Paul – The Collected Films 1895–1908 (DVD) BFI 15. Barr, C. 2001. Before Blackmail: Silent British Cinema. The British Cinema Book. Ed. Murphy, R. BFI 16. Gunning, T. 1990. ‘Primitive’ Cinema: A Frame-up? Or the Trick’s on Us. In Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative. Eds. Elsaesser, T. and Barker, A. 17. Smith, T.J. 2005. The Attentional Theory of Cinematic Continuity. University of Edinburgh. p126 18. Smith, T.J. 2005. The Attentional Theory of Cinematic Continuity. University of Edinburgh. p95 19. Smith, T.J. 2005. The Attentional Theory of Cinematic Continuity. University of Edinburgh. p177 20. Burch, N. 1983. Passion, Poursuite: La Linéarisation. Ref. in Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative. Eds. Elsaesser, T. and Barker, A. 21. Gunning, G. 1994. D.W. Griffith and the Origins of American Narrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph. University of Illinois Press 22. Gunning, G. 1994. D.W. Griffith and the Origins of American Narrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph. University of Illinois Press 23. Smith, T.J. 2005. The Attentional Theory of Cinematic Continuity. University of Edinburgh. p29 24. Miller, G. and Reisz, K. 1989 (first pub. 1953). The Technique of Film Editing. Focal Press 25. Gunning, G. 1994. D.W. Griffith and the Origins of American Narrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph. University of Illinois Press 26. Smith, T.J. 2005. The Attentional Theory of Cinematic Continuity. University of Edinburgh

References 213

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 213

8/13/21 10:12 AM

27. Bordwell, D. 1985. Film Narration. Routledge. p120 28. Branigan, E. 1976. The Space of Equinox Flower. Screen. Oxford Journals.org. pp74–105 29. Bordwell, D. 1988. Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema. BFI and Princeton University Press 30. Branigan, E. 1976. The Space of Equinox Flower. Screen. Oxford Journals.org. pp74–105 31. Branigan, E. 1976. The Space of Equinox Flower. Screen. Oxford Journals.org. pp74–105

Filmography The Departed (2006. Dir. Scorsese. Ed. Schoonmaker) Dough and Dynamite (1914. Dir. Chaplin. Ed. S. Chaplin) Enoch Arden (1911. Dir. Griffith) Equinox Flower (1958. Dir. Ozu. Ed. Hamamura) The Gay Shoe Clerk (1903. Dir. Porter) The Girl and Her Trust (1912. Dir. Griffith) Gone with the Wind (1939. Dir. Flemming. Ed. Kern) Grand Budapest Hotel (2014. Dir. Anderson. Ed. Pilling) The House of Darkness (1913. Dir. Griffith) The Launch of Old Albion (1898. Dir. Paul) The Passenger (1975. Dir. Antonioni. Eds. Arcalli, Antonioni) Rescued by Rover (1905. Dir. Hepworth) Sherlock; A Study in Pink, Episode One (2010. Dir. McGuigan. Ed. Philips) The Vanishing Lady (1896. Dir. Melies) What Happened in the Tunnel (1903. Dir. Porter) Written on the Wind (1956. Dir. Sirk. Ed. Schoengarth)

Chapter 5 References   1. Thompson, K. 2008. Categorical Coherence: A Closer Look at Character Subjectivity. Observations on Film Art. http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog   2. Branigan, E. 1975. Formal Permutations of the Point-ofView Shot. Screen, Vol 16, Issue 3, Autumn 1975, p55   3. Carroll, N. 1993. Toward a Theory of Point-of-View Editing: Communication, Emotion and the Movies. Poetics Today, Vol 14, No 1, pp123–141. Duke University Press, Porter Institute for Poetics and Semiotics p6   4. Gottlieb, S. 1997. Hitchcock on Hitchcock Vol. 1: Selected Writings and Interviews. University of California   5. Branigan, E. 1975. Formal Permutations of the Point-ofView Shot. Screen, Vol 16, Issue 3, Autumn 1975, p58   6. Belton, J. 2000. Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window. Cambridge University Press   7. Carroll, N. 1993. Toward a Theory of Point-of-View Editing: Communication, Emotion and the Movies. Poetics Today, Vol 14, No 1, pp123–141. Duke University Press, Porter Institute for Poetics and Semiotics   8. Carroll, N. 1993. Toward a Theory of Point-of-View Editing: Communication, Emotion and the Movies.

Poetics Today, Vol 14, No 1, pp123–141. Duke University Press, Porter Institute for Poetics and Semiotics

Filmography City of Sylvia (2007. Dir. Guerin. Ed. Esquerra) The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007. Dir. Schnabel. Ed. Welfling) Rear Window (1954. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. Tomasini) Spellbound (1945. Dir. Hitchcock. Eds. Kern, Ziegler) The Tales of Hoffman (1951. Dirs. Powell, Pressburger. Ed. Mills)

Other resources Bordwell, D. 2007. Three Nights of a Dreamer. Observations on Film Art. http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog

Chapter 6 References   1. Nancy, J.L. 2007. Listening. Fordham University Press. Trans. Mandell, C. p5 2. Chion, M. 1994. Audio Vision: Sound on Screen. Columbia University Press. Trans. Gorbman, C. p12   3. Chion, M. 1994. Audio Vision: Sound on Screen. Columbia University Press. Trans. Gorbman, C. p10   4. Nancy, J.L. 2007. Listening. Fordham University Press. Trans. Mandell, C. p6   5. Bresson, R. 1986. Notes on the Cinematographer. Quartet Books. Trans. Griffith, J. p51   6. Chion, M. 1994. Audio Vision: Sound on Screen. Columbia University Press. Trans. Gorbman, C. p5   7. Chion, M. 1994. Audio Vision: Sound on Screen. Columbia University Press. Trans. Gorbman, C. p114   8. Nancy, J.L. 2007. Listening. Fordham University Press. Trans. Mandell, C. p7   9. Coulthard, L. 2012. Haptic Aurality: Listening to the Films of Michael Haneke. Film-Philosophy 16.1 p18 10. Nancy, J.L. 2007. Listening. Fordham University Press. Trans. Mandell, C. p7 11. Bresson, R. 1986. Notes on the Cinematographer. Quartet Books. Trans. Griffin, J. p91 12. Bresson, R. 1986. Notes on the Cinematographer. Quartet Books. Trans. Griffin, J. p91 13. Eisenstein, S. 1947. (1977). Film Form, Essays in Film Theory. Ed. Leyda, J. Harcourt, Brace and World. p76 14. Eisenstein, S. 1988. NonIndifferent Nature: Film and the Structure of Things. Cambridge University Press. p225 15. Eisenstein, S. 1988. NonIndifferent Nature: Film and the Structure of Things. Cambridge University Press. p219 16. Eisenstein, S. 1947. (1977). Film Form, Essays in Film Theory. Ed. Leyda, J. Harcourt, Brace and World. p70

214 References

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 214

8/13/21 10:12 AM

17. Eisenstein, S., V.I. Pudovkin, G.V. Alexandrov.1985. A Statement. Trans. Leyda, J. Film Sound, Theory and Practice. Eds. Weis, E. and Belton, J. Columbia University Press. p84 18. Pudovkin, V.I. 1929. Asynchronism as a Principle of a Sound Film. Film Technique and Film Acting. p155 19. Truffaut, F. 1983. Hitchcock-Truffaut. Simon & Schuster Paperbacks. p61 20. Constantini, G. 2010. Walter Murch interview. The Soundtrack. Vol 3 No 1. Intellect Ltd Article. p35 21. Barker, J. 2009. The Tactile Eye. University of California Press. p48 22. Laine, T. 2013. Feeling Cinema. Emotional Dynamics in Film Studies. Bloomsbury Academic. p25 23. Nancy, J.L. 2007. Listening. Fordham University Press. Trans. Mandell, C. p21 24. Murch, W. 1998. Touch of Silence. In Soundscape: The School of Sound Lectures 1998–2001. Eds. Sider, L., Freeman, D. and Sider, J. Wallflower Press. p100 25. Chion, M. 1998. The Silence of the Loudspeakers, or Why with Dolby Sound It Is the Film that Listens to Us. Soundscape. The School of Sound Lectures 1998–2001. Eds. Sider, L., Sider, J. and Freeman, D. Wallflower Press. 26. Tarkovsky, A. 1986. Sculpting in Time, Reflections on Cinema. The Bodley Head. p183 27. Tarkovsky, A. 1986. Sculpting in Time, Reflections on Cinema. The Bodley Head. p114 28. Deleuze, G. 1989. Cinema 2, The Time-Image. The Athlone Press. p81 29. Chion, M. 1994. Audio Vision: Sound on Screen. Columbia University Press. Trans. Gorbman, C. pp13–18 30. Tarkovsky, A. 1986. Sculpting in Time, Reflections on Cinema. The Bodley Head. p158 31. Tarkovsky, A. 1986. Sculpting in Time, Reflections on Cinema. The Bodley Head. p194 32. Dyer, G. 2012. Zona, a book about a Film about a Journey to a Room. Canon Gate 33. Tyuchev, F. (1803–1873) Cited in Tarkovsky, A. 1986. Sculpting in Time, Reflections on Cinema. Trans. Kitty Hunter-Blair Poem in Stalker How I love you eye, my friend, With their radiant play of fire, When you lift them fleetingly And like lightening in the skies Your gaze sweeps swiftly round. But there is charm more powerful still In eyes downward cast For the moment of a passionate kiss, When through lowered eyelids glows The sombre, dull flame of desire. Tyuchev 34. Interview with sound designer Gary Rydstrom. https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=4UqJrfmDlJ0 7mins in 35. Laine, T. 2013. Feeling Cinema. Emotional Dynamics in Film studies. Bloomsbury Academic. p5

36. Richard King Interviewed. https://www.asoundeffect.com/ dunkirk-sound/ 37. Clair, R. 1929. The Art of Sound. In Weis, E. and Belton, J. 1985. Film Sound: Theory and Practice. pp92–95 38. Barthes, R. 1977. The Grain of the Voice in Images Music Text. Flamingo (1982) pp179–189 39. Van Leeuwen, T. 1999. Speech, Music, Sound. Palgrave Macmillan. p128 40. Van Leeuwen, T. 1999. Speech, Music, Sound. Palgrave Macmillan. p5 41. Paulin, T. 2003. Soundscape. The School of Sound Lectures 1998–2001. The Despotism of the Eye. Wallflower Press. Eds. Sider, L., Freeman, D. and Sider, J. 42. James, N. 2001. Thieves on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. Sight & Sound, Vol 11, Issue 1, p18 43. Van Leeuwen, T. 1999. Speech, Music, Sound. Palgrave Macmillan. p107 44. Van Leeuwen, T. 1999. Speech, Music, Sound. Palgrave Macmillan. p43

Filmography Battleship Potemkin (1925. Dir. Eisenstein) Blackmail (1929. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. De Ruelle) Dunkirk (2017. Dir. Nolan. Ed. Smith) Gravity (2013. Dir. Cuarón. Eds. Cuaron, Sanger) I, Daniel Blake (2016. Dir. Loach. Ed. Morris) L’Argent (1983. Dir. Bresson. Ed. Naudon) Mirror (1975. Dir. Tarkovsky. Ed. Feyginova) Repulsion (1965. Dir. Polanski. Ed. McIntyre) Saving Private Ryan (1998. Dir. Spielberg. Ed. Kahn) Seven (1995. Dir. Fincher. Ed. Francis-Bruce) Sexy Beast (2000. Dir. Glazer. Eds. Scott, Sneade) The Social Network (2010. Dir. Fincher. Eds. Baxter, Wall) Stalker (1979. Dir. Tarkovsky. Ed. Feyginova) Upstream Color (2013. Dir. Carruth. Eds. Carruth, Lowery)

Other resources Robertson, R. 2009. Eisenstein on the Audiovisual: The Montage of Music, Image and Sound in Cinema. I.B.Tauris

Chapter 7 References   1. Murch, W. 2013. Bafta Guru interview with Walter Murch. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcBpXLNmS3Q   2. Lefebvre, H. 2004. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life. Continuum. p8   3. Lefebvre, H. 2004. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life. Continuum. p8   4. Tan, E.S. 1995. Emotion and the Structure of Narrative Film: Film as an Emotion Machine. Routledge. p57

References 215

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 215

8/13/21 10:12 AM

  5. Frijda, N. 1988. The Laws of Emotion. University of Amsterdam. American Psychologist. Vol 43. No 5, 349–358, p353   6. Pudovkin, V. 1954. Film Technique and Film Acting. The Cinema Writings of V.I. Pudovkin. Vision Press. pp169– 170   7. Pudovkin, V. 1954. Film Technique and Film Acting. The Cinema Writings of V.I. Pudovkin. Vision Press. p171   8. Eisenstein, S. 1949. Film Form. Essays in Film Theory. Harcourt Brace and World Inc. Trans. Leyda, J. p73   9. Jacobs, L. 2015. Film Rhythm after Sound: Technology, Music, and Performance. University of California 10. Jacobs, L. 2015. Film Rhythm after Sound: Technology, Music, and Performance. University of California. p114 11. Eisenstein, S. 1987. Nonindifferent Nature: Film and the Structure of Things. Trans. Marshall, H. Cambridge University Press. p349 12. Jacobs, L. 2015. Film Rhythm after Sound: Technology, Music, and Performance. University of California. Note Jacobs provides an excellent musical transcription and discussion of the tonal and pictorial sync points of the opening sequence. 13. Lefebvre, H. 2004. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life. Continuum. 14. Plantinga, C. 2009. Moving Viewers: American Film and the Spectator’s Experience. University of California Press. p114 15. Plantinga, C. 2009. Moving Viewers: American Film and the Spectator’s Experience. University of California Press. p126 16. Paglia, C. 1998. The Birds. BFI Film Classics. Hitchcock quoted. 17. Anderson, A. 1998. Kinesthesia in Martial Arts Films. Action in Motion. Jump Cut, no. 42, pp1–11, 83 18. Rizzolatti and Craighero. 2004. The Mirror Neuron System. Annual Review of Neuroscience. Vol 27, 169–192. University of Colorado 19. Rizzolatti and Craighero. 2004. The Mirror Neuron System. Annual Review of Neuroscience. Vol 27, 169–192, 180 20. Gallese, V. and Guerra, M. 2012. Embodying Movies: Embodied Simulation and Film Studies. Cinema 3. University of Parma. p185 21. Gallese, V. and Guerra, M. 2012. Embodying Movies: Embodied Simulation and Film Studies. Cinema 3. University of Parma. p184 22. Shaviro, S. 2008. The Cinematic Body Redux, Parallax 1 23. Lefebvre, H. 2004. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life. Continuum. p15 24. Lefebvre, H. 2004. Rhythmanalysis: Space, Time and Everyday Life. Continuum. p27

Filmography

Delicatessen (1991. Dirs. Jeunet, Caro. Ed. Schneid) The Deserter (1933. Dir. Pudovkin) La Chinoise (1967. Dir. Godard. Eds. Desfons, Guillemot) London Road (2015. Dirs. Norris, Wilson) Love Me Tonight (1932. Dir. Mamoulian. Eds. Mamoulian, Shea) Trade Tattoo (1937. Dir. Lye)

Other resources Van Leeuwen, T. 1985 Rhythmic Structure of the Film Text. Discourse and Communication: New Approaches to the Analysis of Mass Media, Ed. Van Dijk. Walter de Gruyter

Chapter 8 References   1. Mamet, D. 1991. On Directing Film. Penguin Books. p1   2. Lynch, D. 2005. Lynch on Lynch. Ed. Rodley, C. Farrar, Straus and Giroux   3. Chion, M. 2005. David Lynch. British Film Institute. p178   4. Rodley, C. 2005. Lynch on Lynch. Faber and Faber   5. Stanislavski, C. 1967. An Actor Prepares. Penguin Books. Trans. Reynolds Hapgood, E. First published in USSR 1926, Trans. UK 1937 Bles, G. p30   6. Stanislavski, C. 1967. An Actor Prepares. pp34, 51   7. Stanislavski, C. 1967. An Actor Prepares. p132   8. Ekman, P., Friesen, W. and Ancoli, S. 1980. Facial Signs of Emotional Experience. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. Vol 39, No 6, 1125–1134   9. Ekman, P. Keltner, D. 2000. Facial Expression of Emotion. In The Handbook of Emotion 2nd Ed. Guildford Publications NY. p239 10. Martinez, A. and Du, S. 2012. A Model of the Perception of Facial Expressions of Emotion Humans: Research Overview and Perspectives. Journal of Machine Learning Research 13. p1592 11. Ekman. http://www.paulekman.com/micro-expressions/ 12. Mamet, D. 1991. On Directing Film. Penguin Books. p71 13. Britten, B. 2015. From Stage to Screen. Bloomsbury Methuen. p35 14. Pinter, H. 1962. The Echoing Silence. Harold Pinter Various Voices: Prose, Poetry, Politics 1948–1998. Faber 15. Pinter, H. 1962. The Echoing Silence. Harold Pinter Various Voices: Prose, Poetry, Politics 1948–1998. Faber 16. Van Leeuwen, T. 1999. Speech, Music, Sound. Palgrave, Macmillan. p77 17. Van Leeuwen, T. 1999. Speech, Music, Sound. Palgrave, Macmillan. p 99 18. Britten, B. 2015. From Stage to Screen. Bloomsbury Methuen. p35

The Birds (1963. Dir. Hitchcock. Ed. Tomasini) Chicago (2002. Dir. Marshall. Ed. Walsh)

216 References

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 216

8/13/21 10:12 AM

19. Stanislavski, C. 1967. An Actor Prepares. Penguin Books. Trans. Reynolds Hapgood, E. First published in USSR 1926, Trans. UK 1937 Bles, G. p85 20. Stanislavski, C. 1967. An Actor Prepares. Penguin Books. Trans. Reynolds Hapgood, E. First published in USSR 1926, Trans. UK 1937 Bles, G. p140 21. Ken Loach interview. http://www.mentorless. com/2014/03/12/8-tips-ken-loach-capture-spontaneousperformances/ 22. Knight, D. 1997. Naturalism, Narration and Critical Perspective: Ken Loach and the Experimental Method. In Agent of Challenge and Defiance: The Films of Ken Loach. Ed. McKnight, G. Praeger. p60 23. Knight, D. 1997. Naturalism, Narration and Critical Perspective: Ken Loach and the Experimental Method. In Agent of Challenge and Defiance: The Films of Ken Loach. Ed. McKnight, G. Praeger. p63 24. Cillian Murphy in Versus: The Life and Films of Ken Loach. Dir. Osmond, L. 2016. Dogwoof 25. Loach in Versus documentary: The Life and Films of Ken Loach. Dir. Osmond, L. 2016. Dogwoof 26. Loach in Bafta Guru interview 27. Loach in Versus documentary: The Life and Films of Ken Loach. Dir. Osmond, L. 2016. Dogwoof 28. Marchand, R. 2013. Devised and Directed by Mike Leigh. Bloomsbury. Ed. Cardinalle-Powell, B. and DiPaolo, M. p38 29. Watson, G. 2004. Mike Leigh: A Sense of the Real. Directors Cuts. Wallflower Press. p 29

30. Cardullo, B. 2010. ‘Making People Think Is What It’s All About’: An Interview with Mike Leigh. Cinema Journal. Vol 50 No 1. University of Texas Press. p3 31. Another Year (DVD). Interview with Leigh 32. Goffman, E. 1959. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Doubleday Anchor 33. Marchand, R. 2013. Devised and Directed by Mike Leigh. Bloomsbury. Ed. Cardinalle-Powell, B. and DiPaolo, M. p38 34. Sabbadini, A. 2008. A Conversation with Mike Leigh. Projections Vol 2, Issue 2, Winter 2008, 1–20 © Berghahn Journals doi: 10:3167/proj.2008.020202 p7 35. Evans, M. 2010. Movement Training for the Modern Actor. p94 36. Evans, M. 2010. Movement Training for the Modern Actor. p102

Filmography American Gangster (2007. Dir. Scott. Ed. Scalia) The Angel’s Share (2012. Dir. Loach. Ed. Morris) Another Year (2010. Dir. Leigh. Ed. Gregory) Brief Encounter (1945. Dir. Lean. Ed. Harris) Mulholland Drive (2001. Dir. Lynch. Ed. Sweeney)

Other resources American Gangster DVD Directors commentary

References 217

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 217

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Acknowledgements This book is dedicated to Ronald Gow, for his support, encouragement, wonderful knowledge and ideas. It is also for my editing students, past and present who continue to inspire, question and encourage debates on editing. It is also for all those filmmakers who value the vital but sometimes overlooked job of the editor. A thank you to my family and friends who have listened and been sympathetic to my continual response ‘it’s nearly finished’. A thank you to my colleagues at the University of Westminster, past and present and to those at the sadly missed Drama Centre London (UAL). A thank you to Mick Audsley, Lucia Zucchetti, Marek Budzynski and Richard Cox as well as to all those editors whose amazing work I have referred to in the text; and for Katie Gallof, Erin Duffy and all the staff at Bloomsbury who have helped guide me through the whole process.

The author acknowledges the copyright owners of the films, TV dramas and commercials from which frame shots and screenplay excerpts have been used in this academic publication for the purpose of commentary, criticism and scholarship under the Fair Use doctrine. The diagrams and plans within the text were created by the author.

218 Acknowledgements

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 218

8/13/21 10:12 AM

Index A accents, 156, 165, 166, 169–171 acoustic expression, the internal, 136–139 acoustic samples, 153 acting, 14–15, 32, 61, 65, 96, 138, 144, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 193, 199, 210 adjacency pairs, 195 affective mimicry, 174, 176 alternative system, 105 American Gangster (2007), 195–199 Angel’s Share (2012), 199–202 Another Year (2010), 204–210 Aristotle, 65–66 attention withdrawal, 89 audio waveform, 135, 137 audio-visual dynamic Battleship Potemkin (1925), 132 Blackmail (1929), 133 knife scene The ‘Silent’ version, 133–134 The ‘Talkie’ version, 134–136 Daniel Blake (2016), 126–127 Dunkirk (2017), 149–151 Gravity (2013), 139–141 L’Argent (1983), 129–131 Mirror (1974), 142–144 Repulsion (1965), 136–139 Saving Private Ryan (1998), 148–149 Seven (1995), 128–129, 154–155 Sexy Beast (2000), 156–160 The Social Network (2010), 155–156 Stalker (1979), 144–146 Upstream Color (2013), 151–153 audio-visual sensory experience, 124 audition, 16, 185–187 aural perspective, 114 aural rhythm, 166 axis, 98–101 asynchrony, 170 B Babel (2006), 6–11 actual temporal chronology of events, 10–11 four initial sections of, 7–8 sections in film chronological order, 9 Barker, J., 136 Barthes, R., 154 Battleship Potemkin (1925), 38, 40, 42–45, 132 The Birds (1963), 66, 172–175

Blackmail (1929), 133 Bordwell, D., 2, 6 Branigan, Edward, 1, 8, 11, 105, 108, 116, 119 Bresson, R., 127, 129, 130, 131 Brief Encounter (1945), 190–194 Britten, B., 189 Burch, N., 90 C Carroll, N., 120 Casablanca (1942), 25, 65–66 causality, 11, 67, 90 Cause and effect, 1, 8–10, 44, 67, 74, 173, 174, 186 chase film, 67–71, 87–89 Chicago (2002), 176–179 Chion, M., 125, 127, 141, 142, 186 choreographed, 109, 172, 182 Christie, I., 86 cinema before and after the Cut, 30 as montage, 32 early Soviet cinema, disruption in, 32 theory and practice, 35–37 thesis, developing, 33–34 Clair, R., 154 cognitive processes, 11, 12, 32 collaboration, 184–85 collision, 35, 37, 45, 49, 50, 51, 132 conflict, 12, 17, 35, 35, 37, 43, 44, 75, 79, 170, 195, 198, 203 conflict of planes, 35, 45 graphic, 35, 37, 42–43, 44, 46, 50, 52, 58, 132, 142 light, 35, 44 spatial, 35 tempo, 35, 52, 142 of volumes, 35 constructing performance, 184–185 American Gangster (2007), 195–199 Another Year (2010), 204–210 Angel’s Share (2012), 199–202 Brief Encounter (1945), 190–194 Mulholland Drive (2001), 185–187 Continuous Time and Space, v continuous time and space, 80 The Departed (2006), 102–103 Dough and Dynamite (1914), 89–90 Enoch Arden (1911), 93 Equinox Flower (1958), 105–108

The Gay Shoe Clerk (1903), 91–92 The Girl and Her Trust (1912), 94–96 Gone with the Wind (1939), 83–84 The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), 109–111 The House of Darkness (1913), 96–98 The Launch of Old Albion (1898), 86 The Passenger (1975), 81–82 Rescued by Rover (1905), 87–89 Sherlock: A Study in Pink, Episode One (2010), 104 The Vanishing Lady (1896), 85–86 Written on the Wind (1956), 92–93, 98–101 continuity, of action, 83, 87, 89–91 breaking the rules, 102-110 directional, 88–89 narrative, 82, 88, 101 spatial and temporal, 83-84 spatial rule, 96-98 system, alternative, 105–108 system, evolution of, 85–86 A Corner in Wheat (1909), 74 A Cottage on Dartmoor (1929), 40, 41 Coulthard, L., 129 cross cutting, 67, 70 curiosity, of the viewer, 2, 67, 71–73, 94, 96, 113, 120, 125, 165 cut, 27–32 cut ins, 91–93 smooth, 82, 87 D dance, 17, 19–20, 24, 39, 164, 166, 176–178, 182–183 Daniel Blake (2016), 126–127 Deleuze, G., 76, 142 Delicatessen (1991), 167–168 The Departed (2006), 102–103 depiction, 35, 170 The Deserter (1933), 166 dialogue hook, 195 overlaps in, 195 diegesis, 82, 98, 102, 110, 172, 179 diegetic effect, 11 diegetic sound, 60, 140, 141, 149, 166, 179, 182 direct affect, 174

Index 219

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 219

8/16/21 2:59 PM

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007), 114–115 Don’t Look Now (1973), 58–60 Dough and Dynamite (1914), 89–90 Dunkirk (2017), 149–151 Dyer, G., 146 dynamization, 38 E early Soviet cinema, 32–37 editing, analytical, 81, 94, 96 continuity, 82–83, 88, 91, 95, 98, 103, 105–106, 108, 111 multi-person scenes, 203 parallel, 67, 93 two handers, 195 Eisenstein, S, 35–37 Ekman, P., 188 Elsaessar, T., 6 embodied sensation, 176 embodied simulation, 176 emotion, 12, 188–194 audience and editor, 11 joy, frustration, sadness, 16–21 processes function, 12–13 vicarious emotion, 14–16 emotional allegiance, 120 emotional responses, 12–13 emotional sounds, 132 emotional stories in parallel, 93 Emotion, Performance and Story, iv empathy, 5, 12, 18, 79, 97, 115, 127, 133, 140, 174, 198 emotional, 35, 43, 48, 49, 125, 194 physical, 14, 48, 173, 176–178 energy, flow of, 179, 195 The English Patient (1996), 14–16 Enoch Arden (1911), 74, 93 enthymeme, 65, 66–67 Equinox Flower (1958), 105–108 Evans, M., 210 existence constancy, 88 expressions of speech, 156–160 The Expressive Potential of the Audio- Visual Dynamic, v eyeline, 19, 84, 93, 98, 100–102, 105, 107, 113, 122, 186, 197, 203, 204 eyes, the viewer’s, 88, 163, 169, 174 F Fascinating Rhythms, vi, 163 film rhythm, 163–165 Frijda, N., 11, 165 frustration, 16–21 G Gallese, V. and Guerra, M., 176 The Gay Shoe Clerk (1903), 91–92

gaze, 89, 113, 116, 120, 122–123, 191, 198 The Girl and Her Trust (1912), 94–96 Godard, J.L., viii, 63, 164 Goffman, E, 207 Gone with the Wind (1939), 83–84 grain of the voice, 154 The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), 109–111 Gravity (2013), 139–141 Griffith, D.W., 74–76, 93–94, 96–98 Gunning, T., 74, 85, 86, 88, 90, 96 H haptic aurality, 129 haptic sound, 127–131 harmonics, 132 ‘hierarchical patterns’, 8 Hitchcock, A., 13, 22, 48–49, 66, 71–73, 76, 78–79, 114, 116, 117, 120, 133–134, 136, 173–175 Hot Fuzz (2007), 51 The House of Darkness (1913), 96–98 I illusion, 83–84 immersive sound, 147–153 In the City of Sylvia (2007), 120–123 inner attention, 198 inner dialogue, 188–189 instinctive reflex, 199s Institutional Mode of Representation (IMR), 82 intellectual montage, 38 A Cottage on Dartmoor (1929), 41 October (1928), 38–40 intensified montage, 60–63 Intolerance (1916), 74–76 invisible observer, 82 J Jacobs, L., 168, 169 joy, 16–21 juxtaposition, viii, 6, 10, 16, 23, 27, 35, 39–40, 41, 42, 47, 48, 57, 58, 60, 74, 77, 79, 93, 120, 121, 124, 125, 133, 152, 163, 179, 185, 189, 191, 193, 195, 197, 201, 208, 210 aural, 50, 53 dynamic, 46 experiments in, 32, 184 graphic, 49, 53 structural, 52 K The Kiss in the Tunnel (1899), 31 Knight, D., 199 Kuleshov, L., 32, 33, 184 L La Chinoise (1967), 164–165

Laine, T., 12, 16, 48, 58, 136 La La Land (2016), 16–21 Lanza, J., 52 L’Argent (1983), 129–131 ‘Last Orders,’ Lowe London for Stella Artois. (1999), 2–6 The Launch of Old Albion (1898), 86 Lefebvre, H., 163, 172, 179 Le Jardinier (1895), 30 linguistic meaning, 156, 195 Loach, K., 126, 199, 200 London Road (2015), 180–183 long and more complex narratives, 6–11 Love Me Tonight (1932), 168–172 Lynch, D., 185–187 M Macabe, C., 52, 57 Mackendrick, A., 82 The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), 80 Mamet, D., 185, 189 Marchand, R., 203, 208 matched action, 95-96, 105, 107 measure, musical, 45, 160, 163, 168, 179 mechanical acting, 188 mentally subjective, 113–116 metaphor, 37, 39, 41, 74, 114 Mirror (1974), 142–144 mirror neuron, 176, montage, iv, 22–23 cinema as, 32 early Soviet cinema, disruption in, 32 theory and practice, 35–37 thesis, developing, 33–34 constructive editing, 33 expressive and the tonal, 51–60 graphic conflict, 42–45 illustrative, 23, 62 intellectual montage, developing, 38 A Cottage on Dartmoor (1929), 41 October (1928), 38–40 intensified montage, 60–63 The Kiss in the Tunnel (1899), 31 Le Jardinier (1895), 30 linking, 35, 48, 54 metric montage, 45, 168 one plus one multiplied, 48–51 overtonal, 132 Points of View (1986), 27–29 rhythmic montage, 46–47, 168 tonal, 132 20th Century Women (2016), 23–26 Mother (1929), 33–34 motor mimicry, 176 movement empathy, 176–178 Mulholland Drive (2001), 185–187

220 Index

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 220

8/13/21 10:12 AM

multi-person scene, cutting, 203–210 multiple strands, 75 Munsterberg, H., 10 Murch, W., 14, 136, 141, 163 N Nancy, J.L., 125, 129, 139, 165 narrative, long and complex, 6–11 short, 2–6 naturalistic sound mode, 126–127 O October (1928), 38–40 orientating response, 32, 48 overtones, 132 P parallel tracks, v parallelism, 74, 75 The Passenger (1975), 81–82 pattern of sounds, 156 Paulin, T., 156 perceptual discontinuity, 80 perceptual enquiry, 82, 95, 96 perceptually subjective, 114–115 Performance (1970), 52, 54–58 persuasion strategies The Birds (1963), 66 Casablanca (1942), 65–66 fascinating rhythms, 163 The Birds (1963), 172–175 Chicago (2002), 176–178 Delicatessen (1991), 167–168 The Deserter (1933), 166 La Chinoise (1967), 164–165 London Road (2015), 180–183 Love Me Tonight (1932), 168–172 Trade Tattoo (1937), 164 parallel tracks, 67–68 A Corner in Wheat (1909), 74 Intolerance (1916), 74–76 Skyfall (2012), 67–71 Strangers on a Train (1951), 71–73, 76–79 subjective eyes In the City of Sylvia (2007), 120–123 The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007), 114–115 Rear Window (1954), 117–118 Spellbound (1945), 114, 119 The Tales of Hoffman (1951), 113–114 physical empathy, ix, 14, 48, 173, 176, 178, physical identification, of the viewer, 48 physical rhythm, 166, 172 phrase, 157–160 Pinter, H., 192

pitch, 14, 49, 55, 131, 149–158, 160, 168, 169, 195 Plantinga, C., 174 point-glance shot, 116–118, 120 point-object shot, 116, 118–120 point of view, 24, 27, 28, 44, 47, 49, 67, 98, 105, 106, 113, 115, 116, 131, 137, 143, 149, 173, 184, 186, 190, 192 point of view structure, 116–120 Points of View (1986), 27–29 primary affective, 12 Psycho (1960), 49–50 psychological awareness, 119 pulsing, 45, 54, 70, 163, 168, 174, 183 puzzle films, 6 R Raging Bull (1980), 48, 50–51 reaction, 188–194 Rear Window (1954), 117–118 reflective evaluative, 12 repetition, 60, 62, 72, 123, 133, 142, 157, 163, 177, 179–183, 193, 202 Repulsion (1965), 136–139 Rescued by Rover (1905), 87–89 rhetoric, 65 rhetorical syllogism, see also enthymeme, 66 rhythm, 162–168 rhythmanalysis, 163 rhythmic emotion, 172–175 rhythmic montage, 46–47 rhythmic musicality, 159, 168 rhythmic structure, 43, 163, 169–170 Roeg, N., 51, 52, 54, 58–60 S Sabotage (1936), 12 saccadic eye movement, 88–89 sadness, 16–21 Saving Private Ryan (1998), 148–149 schema, 1–2, 3, 6, 27, 29, 170 sensory and immersive sound, 147–153 sensual, 52, 124, 125, 129, 151, 153, 168, 188, Seven (1995), 128–129, 154–155 Sexy Beast (2000), 156–160 Sherlock: A Study in Pink, Episode One (2010), 104 shortest attention withdrawal, 89 short narratives, 2–6 Singing in the Rain (1952), 179 Skerry, P.J., 49 Skyfall (2012), 67–71 Smith, T.J., 31 The Social Network (2010), 155–156

sound, as poetic time, 142–146 sound, before the ‘talkies’, 132–134 sound, sensory and immersive, 147–153 sound, silence of space, 139–141 spatial continuity, 84, 88, 96, 103, 104, 107, 119 speech, expressions of, 156–160 speech, more than just words, 154–156 speech pattern, 168, 179 Spellbound (1945), 114, 119 spontaneity, 199–202 Stanislavski, C., 188, 198 story construction, x, 6, 11, 21, 63, 96, emotion, the audience and the editor, 11 long and more complex narratives, 6–11 short narratives, 2–6 story rhythm, 175 Strangers on a Train (1951), 66, 71–73, 76–79 stress, 14, 17, 60, 76, 135, 156, 160, 163, 165, 174, 181, 185 The Strike (1925), 35–38 structural juxtaposition, 52–60 stylistic device, 116, 118 subjective eyes, v subjective narration, 192 subjective, perceptually or mentally, 113–115 subjective voiceover, 190,194 subtext, vi, 18, 101, 134, 156, 160, 185, 187, 192, 194, 203 suspense, 2, 11, 12, 13, 34, 58, 67, 76, 93, 96, 97, 98, 120, 149 sympathy, vii, 3, 4, 6, 11–12, 51, 65, 67, 74, 76, 77, 79, 120, 134, 176, 198, 201, 202 synchronization, 53, 127, 148, 168–171 synchrony, 170 T tactile, 129, 130, 136, 138, 142 The Tales of Hoffman (1951), 113–114 ‘talkies’, 40, 132–135 Tan, E., 79, 165 Tarkovsky, A., 142–145 Teddy at the Throttle (1917), 32 temporal continuity, 67, 69, 82–84, 88, 89, 108, 111, 116, 125 temporal flow, 125 thematic associations, 74–76 touching sound, 127–131 Trade Tattoo (1937), 164 Truffaut, F., 133 truth, 199–202 20th Century Women (2016), 23–26 Tyuchev, F., 146

Index 221

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 221

8/13/21 10:12 AM

U unconventional framing, 104 uninflected actions, 189 Upstream Color (2013), 151–153 V The Vanishing Lady (1896), 85–86 Van Leeuwen, T., 154, 156, 158, 160, 195 verbal battle, 196

verbal interruption, 196 verbatim, 180 vibration, 129, 131, 132, 139–140, 152–153, 175 vicarious emotion, 14–16 viewer, 1–2, 120–123 visceral, 14, 17, 48, 51, 148, 149, 151, 163, 172, 176 visceral sensory response, 141

vocal expression, 127, 179 voiceover, subjective, 190, 194 Y Yorke, J., 1 W wide shots, 91–93 Written on the Wind (1956), 92–93, 98–101

222 Index

9781474254908_txt_app.indd 222

8/13/21 10:12 AM