Chapter 5
The next few chapters of this book breaks rhythm down into different types: physical rhythm, which is what we will call patterns of image and sound; emotional rhythm which is the shaping of rise and fall of emotions in the characters and in the spectators; and event rhythm, which is sometimes also called movement of plot, movement of story, or even “structure.”
As discussed in Chapter 1, the movements of actors, on however large (whole body) or small (blink) a scale, are the expression of their internal rhythms and emotions. Leisurely strolling and frenetic running have different rhythms, their timing and energy have different feelings and different meanings in the context of a character’s story. But the movement available to an editor to shape into patterns is not limited to the human body. Movements in the world of the film are shaped into rhythms, too. Water, for example: rushing, trickling, boiling, and freezing water all contain different qualities of time, space, and energy, and these, when shaped into the rhythmic composition of a film, extend their movement feeling across the images and the sense of rhythm in the film’s world.
Movement as a material from which edited rhythms are shaped is not limited to movement of images. It includes movement of sound, emotion, ideas, and stories. As Linda Aronson, author of Scriptwriting Updated, writes:
In fact everything about film—about moving pictures—is connected with time and movement in time, that is to say action, in every sense. Film consists of movement in all ways, physical, emotional and spiritual. In screenwriting, story is movement and our characters move through their own mental landscapes.1
Aronson makes distinctions between different kinds of movement, when she refers, for example, to “physical, emotional, and spiritual” movement. Making distinctions between these kinds of movement creates the possibility of articulating subtly different approaches to the shaping of each kind of rhythm. Below, I define and describe three kinds of movement that editors work with and look at some possible approaches to them.
Three Kinds of Movement
One experience the spectator has of movement is the sensory experience of physical movement, the movement of images and sound. In this kind of experience, there is kinaesthetic empathy with the rise and fall of the energy of the physical movement by itself. Does movement flow freely or is it restricted? Is it flailing or lyrical? Curving or direct? Each of these qualities expresses a different feeling, a different character or a different world. Following along with the arcs and flows of movement is a kind of ride in and of itself, in which the contraction and expansion of dynamics in time, space, and energy are a physical experience. Shaped into patterns, the movement of image and sound become physical rhythms (Fig. 5.1).
The next sort of rhythm is barely separable from the first, and in many cases will have precisely the same source, but is experienced slightly differently. It is the experience of the trajectory of the emotions in relation to the trajectory of the movement. Performances and juxtapositions convey emotions and provoke emotions. The editor’s attention when cutting psychological exchanges is not so much on the motion of the images as on the movement of the emotions. The editor is still shaping the physical movement (that’s all she has to work with), but she shapes it with her focus on how it conveys emotion, not on how it conveys pattern or spectacle. The movement patterns created by an editor could be understood as physical experiences, because the emotions are being physically expressed, but in fact, the editor is watching for and creating a pattern of the dynamics of emotions seen on the screen. The term I will use for the rhythms an editor shapes from movement experienced as emotional movement is emotional rhythm (Fig. 5.2).
Figure 5.1 Bernadette Walong in No Surrender (Richard James Allen, 2002). Dance films and scenes are driven by physical rhythm. The physical movement is the meaning. [Photo credit: The Physical TV Company/Dominika Ferenz]
The third kind of movement is the movement of events. An event is the release of new information or change of direction for characters as they pursue their goals. Each significant change in a story or structure is an event. Some events are big and have repercussions for the whole plot; others are minor and only change the direction of the plot a bit. In some films events occur rapidly, even dizzyingly; in other films there may be little change over the course of the whole, and the story
Figure 5.2 In En Kongelig Affære (A Royal Affair) (Nikolaj Arcel, 2012) Princess Caroline’s (Alicia Vikander) physical movement is restrained by her corsets, her position, her husband, and her time period. But, pushing against all of these physical restraints, her emotional life is turbulent and drives the film’s rhythms. [Photo credit: Zentropa Entertainments, Danmarks Radio (DR), Trollhättan Film AB]
may consist of just one substantial event. In either case, an event is a perceptible change at the level of story or structure. It is what happens in a story as distinct from the emotional exchanges (which may, of course, be the source of story changes) and image flow (which expresses and reveals the events). Event rhythm is the shaping of time, energy, and movement of events over the course of the story or structure as a whole (Fig. 5.3).
These three types of rhythm—physical rhythm, emotional rhythm, and event rhythm—are cumulative. The physical rhythm sets up a kinaesthetic empathy. The emotional rhythm relies on emotionally expressive physical movement. And the event rhythm relies on both the physical and the emotional to communicate its world, ideas, and story.
Figure 5.3 Bruce Willis in Live Free or Die Hard (Len Wiseman, 2007). Almost everything in this action-packed film is an event that changes the course of the plot or story. The actors are not known for the emotional strength of their performances, but that’s not the point of this sort of film, in which the thrills for the spectator come not only from the fireworks of the visuals but also from the rapid-fire change of events.[Photo credit: 20th Century Fox; The Kobal Collection; Frank Masi]
All three kinds of rhythm are ultimately just strands of one rhythm—that of the edited film—but making distinctions does have practical uses for the editing process. Distinguishing between kinds of rhythm allows us to identify more precisely where a problem may lie or where attention needs to be focused to make a rhythm work. It gives us something specific to look at and describe in our consultations about the progress of an edit, as opposed to trying to look at what has often been called “invisible.”
Distinguishing between the kinds of movement an editor is shaping is useful for the judging of editing, too. It is a way of describing what we know or mean when we say something feels right.
Australian Screen Editors Guild Awards Judging Criteria
(Judges assign a score from 1 to 10 for each criterion; the highest score out of 50 wins.)
1 Movement of story
Is the story clear? On a scale of 1 to 10, how well organized is the flow of information or plot events to convey the film’s intentions?
2 Movement of emotion
Is the film compelling? How well shaped are the performances and interactions in the film to convey feeling and provoke emotional responses?
3 Movement of images
Are the film’s images shaped effectively? From cut to cut and over a sequence or series of cuts, how well has the editor shaped the flow of images to create a visually engaging experience?
4 Style
Whether obvious or unobtrusive, has the editor established and sustained an approach to cutting that is appropriate to the production and supports the ideas and themes?
5 Structure and rhythm aggregate
This criterion addresses the integration of the other four, story, emotion, image flow, and style, into a whole that is well paced, timed, and organized to convey a compelling experience.
When the Australian Screen Editors Guild was trying to start up its annual editing awards, there was a lot of discussion about the difficulties of judging editing and the lack of shared language for describing good editing. We wanted to institute awards to give editors the credit they deserve, but the question of how to judge the editing almost sank the process. The distinction between the movement of events, of emotions, and of physical images and sounds proved very useful to me in putting forward a set of judging criteria for the awards. The guild steering committee adopted these criteria, and I am reprinting them here as an example of how the distinctions between kinds of movement and rhythm can be helpful in judging the whole.
Good Editing is not Invisible
People often say that good editing is invisible; that if it’s good, it lets you sink into the story so that you don’t see the edits. But good editing is not invisible. True, you don’t see the edits, but you do see the editing. In fact, saying “editing is invisible” is like saying films or videos are invisible.
So what do you see? You see movement. Movement shaped by editing.
You see physical movement. Watching the visual images is one level of seeing a film or video, and the flow, the pattern, or the movement from one image to another and over a sequence is created in editing.
You see (and hear!) emotion. Performances and interactions convey emotions and provoke emotions. Just like the movement of images, there are lots of ways that these can be spun in the editing suite. The flow of emotion doesn’t shape itself, and when you experience it, you are experiencing editing.
All of these images and emotions are governed by structure or the movement of events. What happens? How is information released? The flow of the story is also shaped in editing. You definitely don’t see structure when you see a good film, but if you experience a good story, one that moves along in a way appropriate to its subject matter, that doesn’t confuse or bore, then you’ve seen the editing.
I propose that editors stop perpetrating the myth that good editing is invisible. Instead, when someone says good editing is invisible, editors can say, “Well, you can see movement, can’t you? Editing shapes the movement that you see.” If the images fall into a compelling visual pattern, if the emotions engage, if the story makes sense and keeps moving, the editing has shaped these three kinds of movement.
It would be easier, of course, not to argue. But this is not just a theoretical issue for editors; it’s practical, political, and cultural. If we keep letting the myth that good editing is invisible slide by, it’s an easy step from there to not knowing the difference between good editing and not-so-good editing, and an even easier step from there to just having the director or producer cut it himself.
When we say that good editing is visible, we can say how a good editor’s talents are vitally important to the success of a production. A good editor has a talent for shaping movement. And this talent is distinct from the talents required for directing, producing, or shooting. It is a sensitivity to the movement of shots, performances, and story; a facility for shaping the flow of movement for an audience; and a creativity with combining the movement of images, emotions, and events laterally, to come up with something that is much more than any one of those things on its own.
To elaborate on how an editor shapes physical, emotional, and event movement, the next three chapters will each focus on a particular type of rhythm. Chapters 6 and 7 each have a case study to demonstrate the practical applications and outcomes of focusing on a particular strand of rhythm, and Chapter 8 has case studies focused on bringing all three types of rhythm back together to look at rhythm as a whole as “indispensable in fusing together the meanings expressed …”2