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Introduction
Although I had written textbooks on Digital Nonlinear Editing and Digital Filmmaking, it’s not as if I woke up one day and decided to do a book on motion picture editors. Rather, after decades of meeting some of the most accomplished editors in the world, I began thinking of all the experience, guidance, and advice that they could impart to a reader. I had, in the past, spent time preserving oral testimonies (from Armenian Genocide survivors) and historical music recordings. And the process of transferring analog audio and video tapes to digital, cleaning, normalizing, editing, and even writing liner notes, was enjoyable because the result was the preservation of historical experiences. And that was my only thought—preserving the experiences of these gifted artists.
Here were craftspeople who have edited some of the most famous, beloved films in the world. What happens when they pass away? What could they impart to aspiring editors? What had they learned—both positive and negative? And who would I interview? I had to adhere to some criteria and after some time it seemed somewhat logical to try and interview every Academy Award Best Editing recipient, either active or retired. Sure, there are BAFTA, César, Golden Bear, but that Oscar statuette—let’s face it—is recognizable all over the world.
Thus began “the list”. There were practical problems. How to make contact? What if enough didn’t agree? And there were names that kept coming up—editors who had never received an Oscar. And those editors didn’t receive just one nomination. Gerry Hambling? 6 nominations, amazing editor, never won. Richard Marks? 4 nominations, terrific editor, never won. And there were more. And it would be foolish not to include people, who, in any other year, would surely have won.
I thought that the book would go relatively quickly. Silly me. It ended up taking six years. Paris, Los Angeles, New York, Santa Fe, U.K., Italy, Australia—country after country. Interviews in person, by email, via phone, via video conferencing. Editors who were in the middle of really big films. Some were retired while others were jumping from film to film. Françoise Bonnot, Anne V. Coates, Jim Clark, Jerry Greenberg, Gerry Hambling, Tom Rolf, Thomas Stanford, Neil Travis—what a blessing that I was able to interview them before their passing. Regrets, too. I was two weeks away from interviewing Quentin Tarantino’s great editor, Sally Menke, before her passing as a result of a hiking accident. The loss of all these great editors to the editing community is significant. Interviews that were started in one country and finished in another. Revisions. Establishing the right timelines of credits amidst a lot of conflicting dates and information.
Remarkably, the interviews have minimal content revisions. When changes did come, editors (because, of course, they are editors) mostly wanted to make sure that the narrative flow was clear. There was always an issue of length!
Editors who had no intention of entering the motion picture industry and then winning an Academy Award. Editors who were terribly discouraged—careers that were going nowhere. The editor who was so dispirited that he was going to leave the profession. The next call? It led to the Oscar. People who were going to be scientists, mathematicians, photographers, architects…
And as I listened to these fantastic stories, I started to compile a list of themes that kept coming up:
Perseverance: staying with it despite the difficulties that arise.
Awareness: being ready and aware to see the opportunity when it presented itself.
Forthrightness: Asking for the job when you know you can do it.
I think that the editors who agreed to be interviewed did so for two reasons. The first I think was straightforward. I had been at the forefront of digital nonlinear editing system creation and many editors knew me because of that. But I think the second, and the much more important reason, was that I knew their work—who they apprenticed under, the directors, and I knew the films quite well. And I think they knew, given those things, that they and the profession would be fairly represented. There were several editors who I did not know. A conversation would go something like this: “You don’t know me, but you did this and that and you apprenticed with so and so…”, and pretty much from there we were talking like colleagues.
I was amazed at how many editors had no idea how many awards, in aggregate, the films they edited had garnered. Many did not realize how much money the films had made.
What you are about to read are the recollections, learnings, and guidance from some of the world’s finest motion picture editors. If you don’t know their names, you’ll know the films. And I hope that you will seek out those films you haven’t seen now that you know what went into making them from an editor’s viewpoint. Watch those films if you haven’t seen them—they’re well worth your time.
And in the Stranger Than Fiction section?
You don’t speak a word of French and yet your very first feature is Fahrenheit 451 for François Truffaut.
You find yourself editing West Side Story for the director who edited Citizen Kane.
You edited a few feature documentaries, but your first non-documentary feature is Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation working alongside Walter Murch.
You’re editing a pivotal scene in The Silence of the Lambs and you need something—a very specific shot—to make it work. And you look and look and it’s driving you nuts. And then you look up and that little piece of film you need is hanging—all by itself—from a hook in the trim bin.
Just by chance, you get a job to redo the lined script in Godfather II and then find yourself editing Apocalypse Now.
You wind up working for one of the most famous directors in motion picture history based on a five-minute conversation where he asks you, “Are you a good editor?” And, so far, you win three Academy Awards for editing.
You leave Apocalypse Now to go and edit Kramer vs. Kramer and you’re nominated for both films during the same year.
You write a letter to the producer telling him that you just got married and you can’t do the film. But you never send that letter. And then you win an Academy Award for Lawrence of Arabia.
The director looks at you, looks at the scene you just edited and says, “Do you have any idea what we went through there? How could you do this?’ And then he leaves. So, you work all night and eventually win an Academy Award.
And the life of an editor? Most of the time it’s a 6-12-month commitment on each film. Sometimes it’s 6-7 days a week. It can be hectic, or it can be much more relaxed.
You don’t think about a nomination and you get nominated. You know there’s absolutely no chance you’ll win, and you do. You thank your family. You forget to thank them. You go right back to work the next day. You wait for a year until the next job comes.
My profound thanks to the editors who agreed to be interviewed and who demonstrated great patience throughout the process. These editors gave their precious time, welcomed me into their homes, their editing rooms, interrupted family and vacation time, and made themselves available across long distances and many time zones. There are some editors who I could not interview—scheduling conflicts and, sometimes, a view that an editor felt that what they do is best left to the imagination. I had to respect those wishes. Perhaps in time…
My thanks to Steve Cohen and Michael Tronick—they were the first people I told about the book and they were terrifically enthusiastic. Alan Heim graciously believed in the project and led me to Jenni McCormick at
