Editing is an unseen part of the filmmaking process, one that literally dwells in a darkened room. It is my job as a film editor to organize each day’s footage to most closely approximate the director’s vision. When shooting is finished I carefully shape, tweak and meticulously perfect the final theatrical version of the film.
I catalogue every single take an actor does of a line and, thanks to computer technology, plop them in and takes them out and recombine them until every scene works. I will keep switching shots around, taking out dialogue or snipping sequences until the movie moves with its own rhythm and rhyme and inexorable logic.
When the editing works, you shouldn’t even notice it. If you stop watching the story and begin to pay attention to how the film is made, then we have failed as filmmakers. I edit many of the projects that I direct. Even as I am shooting, I am editing the sequence together in my head. I often discover a sequence by connecting the dots that go unnoticed by others.
One of my greatest challenges, and greatest joys to edit I might add, were the therapist scenes in Lure. Although the actors knew how they would begin and end every scene, what happened in between was all improvised, presenting me with the challenge of trimming the footage to a usable essence, then knitting it seamlessly into the narrative of the movie. It was a lot like editing a documentary. There was no structure; I just have to find it. I had to make it seem like a scripted scene, even though it was entirely improvised.
