SOURCE REVIEW:

How does an editor disrupt reality to craft a profound emotional impact on viewers?

In the pursuit of unravelling the emotional intricacies embedded within film editing, the exploration commences with a focus on how editors reflect on their own emotions in the editing process. Pearlman’s exploration of editors engaging corporeal memory and mirror neurons (Pearlman, 2016) introduces a neurobiological perspective. The synchronisation of visual and audio elements engages not only cognitive but also physical aspects of the editor's experience.

This insight reinforces the notion that film editing is a sensory-driven process, where editors react and reflect on their own neuron system, mirroring the onscreen characters to convey a certain rhythm of their approach. 

But what is the essence of a rhythm? Rhythm is the heartbeat of a film, which can be traced and testified within editing. Tarkovsky's assertion that "Rhythm is determined not by the length of the edited pieces, but by the pressure of the time that runs through them” (Crittenden, 2006, p.205) establishes a foundational principle—the tempo of the heartbeat. Professor Josef Valusiak further articulates the symbiotic relationship between tempo and the birth of emotion: “The tempo of the storytelling does not depend on the frequency of the actions and attractions but on the control of timing where the emotion, philosophy, and beauty are born” (Crittenden, 2006, p.239). This underscores that rhythmic editing is not merely about showing time passing on a certain beat; it is about reshaping performances to serve the plot and orchestrate an engaging emotional dynamic.

Rhythm constructs a skeleton of storytelling, it is in a state of flux rather static, as Kelly Nixion suggests : “Be cutty, linger, hold characters at arm’s length or further, be close with them, be close but disgusted by them, have an intimate understanding with their inner thoughts, keep them facing away to the point of frustration” (Hullfish, 2017, p.120;121) to make the best possible use of the materials on the desk. Fundamentally, editing is a recreational art form of storytelling, rather limited in serving the coherence of continuity. Tom Cross values a great performance not only as a single contribution from the performer, but also as a well-edited piece, considering that it is selected and sculpted from a numerous number of choices by the editor. He emphasises that the emotional continuity propels the story and holds the film together, deeming everything else as secondary (Hullfish, 2017, p.133). The relationship between editing-rhythm-performance has a similar trait with conducting, both requiring a keen sense of rhythm and the ability to process information from different sources. 

The French female editor Agnès Guillemot (1931-2005), who worked with both Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut, views the art of editing as music. Agnès’s passion of music and conducting transmitted into a metaphorical connection with editing, in which she found the factors of rhythm, music and poetry in editing elevate the meaning of things. “One had to listen, feel, receive and then transmit.” (Crittenden, 2006, p.5). Murch's pragmatic "Rules of Six" (Murch, 2005) elevates emotional resonance above spatial continuity, emphasising the attention of rhythm in crafting compelling narratives.

During the editing of my Capstone film Skin (2023), the challenge was picking the most emotionally impactful moments from numbers of running takes. My director, Dylan Nyerges, aimed to pull out the strongest emotions from our extraordinary leading actor, Nora Goldbach (who plays Anna), making the most of our limited budget's time on set. However, the story's complexity and ambiguity made it tricky to select in the cutting room. The abundant choices left me wondering: how do I choose the strongest approach among them? Intuitively, I sensed that the solution went beyond merely selecting the best take and stringing them together. But what is the approach? I turned to a remarkable and distinctive sequence in Lion (Davis, 2016) for insight—a scene not only charged with emotion but also distinguished by a unique editing style.

Lion(2016)

I was fortunate to interview Alexandre de Franceschi ASE, the editor of Lion (Davis, 2016) as my professional practitioner. I asked in detail to get insights into his editing approach for this specific scene. Unfortunately, my interview with Alexandre took place after the picture lock of Skin. However, it remains inspiring as I could use a reverse engine to stress specific questions and reflect on my editing choices. Alexandre walked me through how he relied on his instincts to empathise with the young boy Saroo and constructed the scene on sound. For instance, when Saroo arrives at the train station with his brother, the sounds of people bustling around create a noisy environment. After his brother places him on a bench and promises to return, Saroo falls asleep. Upon waking up, the first thing he experiences is silence, which gradually intensifies and accelerates as Saroo begins to panic. This silence eventually transforms into screams, blending with the noise of the train. It's at this point that the music kicks in, the sound from the narrative drops sharply to an atmospheric quietness, and time seems to race across the screen. The concept of using sensory perception to guide the scene, rather than relying solely on traditional continuity editing, struck me as extraordinary. It underscores the significance of editors engaging in emotional reflection and maintaining a mindful connection with the characters they are shaping.

When we encounter moving images and sound, our minds construct a mental representation by delving into the layers of our memory, navigating through the 'sheets of past' until a coherent image is formed. Automatic or habitual recollection follows a directed and spatially motivated response to stimuli, operating in a linear sequence of reaction and action. In contrast, attentive recollection involves withdrawing perception from a number of external moments (Deleuze, 1988, p.51), allowing thoughts to travel intensively through layers of time rather than extensively through space. These two cognitive processes delineate the distinction between actuality and subjectivity, emphasizing that the objective, spatial reality contrasts with the mental and imaginary, discovered in time through memory (Powell, 2005, p.162). When editors reflect on their own emotion, and edit with a sense of subjectivity/imaginary, the movement-image shocks us into thoughts, as in the Eisenstein montage (Eisenstein, 2010) of juxtaposed images in a dynamic collision productive of thought as their third term (thesis-antithesis=synthesis) (Powell, 2005, p.161). This underscores the significant role of subjective perception in shaping our understanding of reality, emphasising the mental and imaginative aspects that editing can leverage when editors embrace attentive recollection and infuse their work with a sense of subjectivity.

In a broader context, considering a film as a whole, the linear structure creates a clear and comprehensible image of the world (Pearlman, 2016, p.172), while non-linear structure emerges as a cognitive dissonance compared to our conventional perception of everyday life. Applying a non-linear approach to my capstone film Skin (2023), I'm intrigued to explore how viewers react to and embrace a framework that deviates from linear conventions. This exploration delves into the realm of cognitive dissonance—how audiences perceive and believe a narrative presented in a non-linear or discontinuous form.

I draw on sources to examine the distinction between physical reality (coherent) and mental reality (fragmented). This examination aims to endorse the idea that film editing should not be confined by continuity or linear truth. Instead, it should prioritise an embodied perspective, emphasising the significance of re-tuning the film in editing. It goes beyond showcasing editors' skills in reshuffling scenes, jumping in time and space, or deviating from the script. Rather, it explores how these artistic choices, much like a collision or twist in human cognition, can evoke new meanings and provoke profound thoughts and emotions in the audience.

The assertion that "Strong impossibilities tend to obstruct elementary mental processes of narrative comprehension" (Kiss & Willemsen, 2018, p.86) raises a crucial point in cognitive narratology. This field posits that narratives are comprehended through the lens of everyday knowledge acquired from real-life experiences. Viewers, often unconsciously, bring this acquired knowledge into play when mentally reconstructing various story elements. Cognitive frames, as highlighted by Kiss and Willemsen, play a pivotal role in shaping our understanding of storyworlds. They serve as tools viewers use to structure incoming information, regulate expectations, identify striking points, and fill gaps in the narrative.

Going beyond the realms of conscious comprehension, the argument extends to the deliberate disruption caused by logically impossible scenarios. Kiss and Willemsen debate that such scenarios not only upset conscious and reflected knowledge based on everyday experiences, but also challenge deeply ingrained, cognitive underpinnings of our sense-making operations. This cognitive dissonance, particularly in the context of impossible puzzle films, such as Momento (Nolan, 2000), plays on the universal operations and limitations of our embodied minds. These films, with their unconventional narrative structures, challenge the well-established routines derived from fundamental aspects of our lived experience (Kiss & Willemsen, 2018, p.91;92). Pearlman also argues this disruption experience consumes extra time and effort for the viewers to search for their own interpretation. Hence it activates the viewers proactivity to feel and think; these sequences that employ collision and contrast in editing conveys more energy than a coherent approach (Pearlman, 2016, p.171).

These discussions, in conjunction with Powell's insights, emphasises the effectiveness of a non-linear and discontinuous approach in film editing. By embracing cognitive dissonance and challenging conventional sense-making routines, these structures enhance emotional impact and prompt the audience to think and feel more profoundly than smooth narratives. The interplay of perceptual impossibilities and abstract structures fosters a cinematic experience that transcends traditional storytelling boundaries, encouraging viewers to engage more deeply with the narrative.

Here's an analysis where I juxtapose a scene from Natural Born Killers (Stone, 1994) with its inspiration drawn from a real prison interview with Charles Manson in 1988 (ClevelandLiveMusic, 2020).

Natural Born Killers (1994)

Hank Corwin, the editor famously renowned for his intensive approach, employs this dissonant editing technique in many of his works, by using quick inserts, flash-backs and juxtapositions. In Natural Born Killers (Stone, 1994), Corwin compellingly guides the audience, provides glimpses into Mickey's mind as the journalist intensifies his demon. The emotional rhythm reaches a crescendo through glitchy and jarring cutaways. While the actual real-life event is absurd and dangerous, Corwin transforms the editing with a subjective touch, drawing from the dark energy he perceived both from the real event and the performances in the film, therefore manipulating the audience to feel how Mickey feels about mass media’s propaganda. Editing, with its similar energy to real life, rhythmically places the audience on the edge of their seats by disrupting narrative continuity and exposing the brutal and violent imagery within the killer's mind. It stands as an extraordinary example of how editors capture the authenticity of emotion and elevate it to new heights through a subjective lens. This example serves as a miniature representation of the broader definition of non-linear or discontinuous in editing, showcasing how collisions in editing can engage the audience on a deeper level.

From here, the impact of films goes beyond the immediate emotional experience during viewing; it lingers, influencing thoughts for days, weeks, or even years. Powell's (2005) insight captures this dual nature of film engagement, emphasising the connection between our sensory and cognitive responses. Our neural pathways, the intricate network connecting audio-visual stimuli to the brain and back, operates within larger cosmic flows similar to the movement of light waves through space and time. “In the dynamic motion of these circuits, film becomes thought as well as feeling. When the film appeals to be over, it continues to run. We reflect on our experience and become aware of its ongoing reverberations. Inevitably, the sensory effect becomes less intense each time we remember, while the thoughts trigger extent and form assemblages with other thoughts on other films to produce new insights.” (Powell, 2005, p.202).

The reflection resonates deeply with me. It prompts consideration on how I found my passion and talent in editing, prioritising intuition and emotion over a technical or strategic approach. Perhaps my empathetic nature as a woman contributes, but there's more to it. The hundreds of films I've absorbed since my teenage years serve as a profound and ongoing brain workout. This quantitative consumption isn't just about numbers; it's a process that trains my mind to subconsciously navigate and synthesise a multitude of film experiences. As an audience, my past experience and my natural sensitivity train myself within certain ranges of stimulation-music, sound, body movements, atmosphere, face expression, etc. As a practitioner, the goal to edit evoking emotions in a great amount of variation in my approach involves motivation and cognitive ability. Therefore, the importance of the emotions in my edit motivates my audience to become involved in the story. (Csikszentmihalyi, 1999, p.337). The resonance of this idea intrigues me to consider a practical method to potentially unveil the answer to my research question with relative clarity: As I reflect on my own emotions and edit a film intuitively, how do I experience and respond to the emotional impact of a film that contains a disruptive reality?