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Alternative Medicine

► Nontraditional Treatments

The Match Cut

When it comes to telling the story, whatever fulfills the needs of the scene is legitimate. This leads us to a crucial aspect of film doctoring: the need to break rules. Sometimes in watching a film you might notice what you would term a “bad cut.” But that bad cut might have saved the scene. It might have removed two pages of needless and boring exposition and, though it didn’t match perfectly, it was damn close.

Much has been written and discussed about the value of the match cut. As noted under the basic rules of editing, the process of continuity filmmaking allows editors to create match cuts by splicing the beginning of an action in one angle to the completion of that same action in another angle. In this regard, directors and cinematographers strive to give their editors coverage that redundantly supplies the action and dialogue for every angle in the scene. In this way each cut will transition smoothly to the next. If a character begins to rise in a close-up she will complete that action in the wide shot without apparent interruption. In a sense, the whole Hollywood filmmaking art is oriented toward the match cut.

Because of this hallowed position, an undue reverence has been attached to the match cut. It has become a tyrant. It has proliferated in editing rooms, film schools, and editing manuals. Even audiences are aware of the primacy of the match cut and will remark on the smoothness of an edit based on the fluidity of match cuts, forgetting that an edit, no matter how smooth, should not call attention to itself. The cutting should be so engaging that the audience doesn’t notice the process. In analyzing an edit, the film doctor is sometimes trapped by this beast as well. Upon first examination of an insufficient cut, one may be taken by the precision of the traditional editing. One action flows smoothly into the next. There are no sound dropouts; the temp mix has well-chosen music. Yet despite the evenness of execution and clarity of information, something’s wrong. It’s boring. There’s no spark to it. It’s all technique.

Because of its apparent smoothness, the film presents a challenge to anyone attempting to diagnose it. The first step is to turn off the music, since music is a band-aid for all sorts of ills. It can add fluidity and rhythm where none exists. If pacing is the issue, the next question to ask is, “What is slowing the pace?”

You may discover that there was a pause in the wide shot before the actor turned his head and delivered his next line, but rather than lose the opportunity for a match edit—cutting from the head turn in the wide shot to the completion of the head’s movement in the close-up—the editor waited for it. He allowed the pause so he could make the match cut. It may only be eight frames, but those are a crucial eight frames, especially when added together to the accumulation of all the other spare frames spent waiting to make the perfect match cut. The shot’s value has been consumed. The viewer is prepared to move on. If the cut does not follow along with that impulse, the film’s momentum lags. In general, it’s best to reveal to the audience less than they expect and never more. This is when it’s time to be bold. Follow your impulses and cut when you feel the need to cut. Don’t wait for the permission of the match cut. Just cut.

But how are you going to make those wonderful smooth edits that viewers respond to if we refuse to be driven by the match cut? Simply by employing another time-honored editing trick: cut on action. Or go to a cutaway. Or overlap sound. The idea is to find a way to make it work. Just about anything is better than waiting for the match cut. Instead of waiting to begin an action in the wide shot and then completing it in the close-up through a matched cut, let that same action begin and end in the close-up. If in the wide shot the character completes his line, then waits a beat before turning his head, don’t wait. Instead, as soon as the actor completes his line in the wide shot, make the cut. But what does the editor cut to? The same close-up as before, but at the beginning of the head turn rather than in the middle of it. By starting on this action, the cut pulls the viewer into the shot, creating the appearance of a match cut where none exists. Continuity of action has been created by introducing movement at the right moment rather than waiting for the movement to carry the edit. Take control of the cut.

As will be discussed in the next chapter, the advent of the jump cut was another challenge to the traditional principles of filmmaking. It brought new vitality to film editing. This once unconventional approach pervades many modern films due to its lively, shorthand approach to telling a story. When used judiciously, it blends seamlessly with traditional techniques.

The perfectly cut film can fulfill all the requirements of editing principles, but fail in terms of artistry. To conclude that a film that doesn’t routinely disobey the basic tenants of editing lacks vitality might not be too much of a stretch. In film schools, students are often admonished for using out-of-focus footage, yet some wonderful films, such as Dangerous Liaisons (1988) and Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008), have shots of questionable acuity. But those shots are important to advancing the story and characters, so the film would have suffered had they been left out. In school and in theory it is probably correct to strive for perfection, but in practice it can be fatal.

Continuity Errors

Like the match cut, continuity of place or object can be equally tyrannical. Film fans are vigilant in picking out these inconsistencies, and the Internet Movie Database (www.imdb.com) is full of what they title “goofs.” But most goofs aren’t spotted on first viewing. Or, if they are, their impact is overrated. Look at Jason Reitman’s clever satire Thank You for Smoking (2005). In the film the three villains whom we love to hate—the lobbyists for alcohol, tobacco, and firearms—meet regularly at a downtown restaurant to brag about their victories, including how many lives their product has snuffed out each year. The tobacco lobbyist Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart) far surpasses the others by taking credit for an overwhelming majority of deaths. In the course of their reprehensible conversation they enjoy their quintessentially American dessert, apple pie with a slice of American cheese on top. As the scene progresses, cutting from one angle to another, something odd happens to the pie. In one angle we see the alcohol lobbyist Polly Bailey (Maria Bello) take a bite of it, her fork dragging the cheese off the top of the pie. In the next angle the cheese is back where it was, and so on. Clearly, the performances in these different angles were valuable enough to warrant breaks in physical continuity. The scene is so well done, so amusing, that the filmmakers—who surely were not blind to this mismatch—chose to ignore the small inconsistencies in service of the greater good.

Now, imagine it another way. Perhaps the editor and director decided that the most important consideration was to maintain continuity and not potentially embarrass themselves by allowing the mismatch. They would sacrifice the delightful performances, perhaps remaining longer on a close-up or playing the scene in a wide shot in order to maintain consistency. In my experience, the danger of obsessing over such inconsistencies bears out again and again. Even though a director or producer may initially exhibit concern upon seeing the editor using mismatched footage, the assurance that the audience will be more engaged in the scene by including this footage pays off.

When it comes to editing, good is not good enough. Editing requires serious work. By the end of the process, there exists no cut that has avoided scrutiny. The technically proficient editor, like the sloppy editor, often quits before that work is done. Having satisfied himself with the expert technique that’s allowed him to construct the movie as scripted, this editor sits back and announces that the work is completed and all the elements are in place. He’s surprised when, having fit all the pieces of the puzzle together, a doubt is raised as to the resulting quality.

The sloppy editor, on the opposite side of the spectrum, enjoys the seemingly random ability of shots to fit together and make some sort of sense, especially if accompanied by music, such as he has seen in music videos. So he is surprised that his cut, which contains a quality of vividness and excitement that is missing from the work of a more conservative and law-abiding editor, has also gone astray.

In both cases the triumph will be found in the details. When it comes down to it, what separates an excellent film from a mediocre one is the attention to detail. That pervades everything from scripted dialogue, to careful and observant set design, to evocative lighting, to nuanced performances, to smart editing. There are little moments, easily passed over if one is not attentive to them, that add life to a film. They may be as subtle as a glance, a shift in posture, or a nod of the head. Experienced editors routinely search out these moments. Think of them as the goodies.

The Goodies

In studying the dailies, the editor considers how he or she will construct the scene. What will be the opening shot? How will the scene end? Who is it about, and so on? But also, and this is truly one of the most enjoyable parts of the process, where are the goodies? Where are the little details that make the scene come alive?

Off-Camera and Off-Track

Introduction of off-camera characters arriving on the scene, usually to interrupt the present action, has traditionally employed laying off-camera sound effects or dialogue over current visuals to transition the audience’s attention to the new arrival. A typical illustration of this occurs in The Princess Bride (1987), where the young hero and heroine, after an encounter with a large forest rodent, are about to kiss. The anticipated kiss is interrupted by the off-camera hoofbeats of the villains’ approaching horses. At that point the scene cuts to a shot of the horses.

This technique has worked well for all the decades since the invention of film sound. Yet today’s film-going audience is more savvy. This, combined with the more energetic pacing of modern films, calls for a reappraisal of this time-honored approach. While many editors today perpetuate this older technique, others have taken a more assertive approach. When a character enters the scene, we introduce her in a cut, pulling the viewer immediately into the arriving action. After the newcomer is established we cut back to the initial character’s reaction, which used to occur as a response to off-camera sound. Introducing the encroaching characters in their own right, rather than as an off-camera sound, gives them greater significance. Of course, there will still be some cases where initially postponing the cutaway and allowing the sound to lead will be indicated. But the age-old habit of this approach can be curtailed. The prominence that a character must have in order to deserve a place in a scene also serves to accelerate the pace and vary the rhythm by introducing a further intercut. Additionally, it carries the audience along with the action rather than keeping them at arm’s length.

A corollary to prefiguring action occurs in the case of interior and exterior action. Where an interior action will eventually transition to the exterior set, it helps to anticipate the exterior scene beforehand, with a brief cut to the outside before allowing the action to proceed. In Mac and Me the cops are trapped inside a Sears department store while an alien makes his getaway outside. By cutting from the interior with the cops to the exterior showing them through the locked glass doors, it anticipates their next move. They break the glass—interior—then rush out into the daylight—exterior.

In the action thriller Speed (1994), LAPD officer Jack Travern (Keanu Reeves) rescues Annie Porter (Sandra Bullock) from a speeding bus that a crazed bomber, played by Dennis Hopper, has set to explode when the bus falls below 50 mph. Afterward he finds himself on a Los Angeles Metro train, again attempting to save the same woman, who now has a bomb strapped to her. She is left holding the trigger that, if released, will detonate the explosive device. After dispatching Dennis Hopper during a classic mano a mano struggle atop the train, Reeves drops down into the train and, unable to stop it, decides instead to push the throttle forward to full speed. Instead of trying to disembark, he leans against the railing on which Bullock is handcuffed and hugs her while the train barrels through the subterranean tunnels. The station construction has not yet been completed, and the train leaves the tracks and tears through the construction ramp. At this point the editor, John Wright, cuts outside to establish the relative calm of Hollywood Boulevard and the boarded-up facade of the train’s exit. This sets the scene. A cut back inside reveals the chaos of the train car ripping through the station. And finally a cut outside again shows the exterior street a moment before the train explodes through the wall and out onto the street barely missing a tour van.

These various approaches, ranging from the less obvious to the truly unconventional, help solve difficult editing situations.