Editing Nightmare

June 2002 — Los Angeles

Inside the FotoKem editing suite the spent coffee smell moderately blended with the aroma of old film stock. Harry Jackson was bent over a Steenbeck flatbed with grease pencil-smeared fingers. For three weeks the sound of the splicer had filled his every day. He was weary, and it showed.

"Cut the third flashback," said Susan Morse, his editor. She used her foot pedal to rewind the workprint, eyes tightly focused on the flickering screen. "It's dragging the pacing."

Harry sighed and glanced over at his PowerBook G4. The timeline in Final Cut Pro was a jumble - layers, markers, notes scattered everywhere. "But that's where we talk about the priest's motivation."

Susan did not blink. "You have six minutes of exposition, Jackson, before the kill room scene. That's a long time. No audience needs that much backstory."

Before Harry could respond, the rotary phone sitting in the corner started ringing. He quickly answered it.

"Jackson."

"Harry, it's Rick from the lab. Your cutting notes are mismatched and confusing everyone. You have a dissolve marked with no evidence in the camera rolls."

Harry closed his eyes. "I'll be there in an hour."

Bay 4 had been cranking nonstop. The tiny screen of the Moviola flickered to life with frame after frame of Javier Bardem. Harry's eyes burned.

"You missed it," Susan said, pointing to a single frame. "There, that's your cut."

Harry leaned in. "That's mid-blink."

"Precisely. The brain fills in the blanks. You're overthinking it."

"But the script—"

Susan yanked the strip from his hands. "You're not in the script anymore. You're in the edit. This is where directors stop being precious."

The door opened and Gregory Lang walked in, holding a VHS. "Test screening numbers are in. Good news or bad?"

Harry took the tape labeled "PROVIDENCE TEST AUD 6/12/02" and popped it into the deck. The screen showed a roomful of young adults filling out cards.

"Good?"

"Leads scored 98% for performance."

"And the bad?"

Susan, still splicing, didn't look up. "They think your lead looks constipated in act three."

_____

The next day Dan Aloni arrived with a FedEx envelope from Fox. Inside was a stack of pages and red Post-Its.

"Let me guess," Harry said under his breath. "Jump scares."

Dan lit up a cigarette, ignoring the sign. "No. They want twenty minutes out. Running time is too long. Fox doesn't do 120-minute thrillers anymore."

"And the priest's arc?"

"Cut it. They'll consider Cannes, if you keep the long version. But Fox won't pay to print it."

Harry turned to the trim bin. The sequence in the town square that he loved was still tightly coiled and uncut.

Susan chimed in. "Tell Fox they will have a new cut by Friday."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "With back story?"

She smiled. "Of course."

When the door clicked shut she turned to Harry. "We are cutting the square scene. The back story will remain."

By 3 a.m., the editing room was covered in takeout boxes and spliced film. Harry sorted through trims on the floor while Susan rifled through bins.

"Here!" she said, holding up a strip. "Your transition."

Harry peered at it. "That's second unit."

"Exactly. It works. No need for a dissolve. Priest's eyes to the ledger—done."

They threaded it into the Steenbeck. The image snapped into place. Javier's expression sold the moment without any tricks.

Harry nodded. "That's it."

Susan smiled. "Sometimes it's not about shooting more. It's about using what you have."

Harry's pager buzzed again. The lab. He didn't move.

"Let them wait," he said. He grabbed fresh reels. "Let's restructure act two."

-----

Three weeks later, the finished 35mm print ran through the Technicolor screening room. The Dolby SR mix hummed in the background.

When the lights came up, the Fox execs were silent. Then Dan clapped.

"Well, kid," he said. "You made a movie."

Susan handed Harry a canister labeled PROVIDENCE – FINAL CUT.