ENTER THE EDIT: ACTIVATING FEELINGS OF IMMEDIACY AND INTIMACY WITH A FILM

Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley Jr in BEST OF ENEMIES, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley Jr in BEST OF ENEMIES, a Magnolia Pictures release. Photo courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

This is the fifth (and last!) in a series of posts on POV’s Documentary Blog about the regrettably underappreciated process and craft of documentary editing with our guide, 2016 Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellow Eileen Meyer. Catch up on earlier conversations with Meyer.

Coffee. Meditation. Mentorship. Slow-cooking. Aaron Wickenden, ACE (Best of EnemiesThe Trials of Muhammad Ali, Finding Vivian Maier, The Interrupters) talks about those things and more in his fascinating conversation with Eileen Meyer (current KSFEF Fellow, co-editor of Best of Enemies) as part of her blog series at PBS's POV website.

Aaron says, "The goal of all films I love is to use these collected relics to transport the audience towards feelings of immediacy and intimacy with the subject. We want to evoke for the viewer the same feeling you have when you’re in the midst of a deep discussion with your best friend."

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ENTER THE EDIT: HOW TO NAVIGATE THE DOCUMENTARY EDITING WORLD

This is the fourth in a series of posts on POV’s Documentary Blog about the regrettably underappreciated process and craft of documentary editing. Our guide is 2016 Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellow Eileen Meyer. Catch up on earlier conversations with Meyer.

2015 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation All Rights Reserved. HE NAMED ME MALALA: Malala Yousafzai in Birmingham, England. Dec 16, 2013

2015 Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation All Rights Reserved. HE NAMED ME MALALA: Malala Yousafzai in Birmingham, England. Dec 16, 2013

Greg Finton, ACE, has worked for over 25 years in documentary, television and film. He began a collaboration with director Davis Guggenheim in 2000 with the documentary short Teach. Greg has also edited the films He Named Me Malala (2015, Oscar short list, ACE Eddie and Emmy Award nominee), Waiting for “Superman” (2010, Oscar short list, ACE Eddie Award nominee), It Might Get LoudTeach (2013), and A Mother’s Promise: Barack Obama Bio Film (2008). He has also had notable collaboration with director RJ Cutler, editing such projects as The World According to Dick Cheney (2013), which he co-directed with Cutler, the TV series American High (2000), Black, White, and 30 Days (with Morgan Spurlock, 2005-08). His most recent film with director Marina Zenovich, Fantastic Lies, aired as part of ESPN’s 30 for 30 series this past March.

Eileen Meyer: To start at the beginning, how did you become an editor?

Greg Finton: Like many people who enter the film business, I wanted to be a director when I first came to Los Angeles out of film school. I was so naive I didn’t really know how to go about it. I thought if you want to be a director, then probably the best place to start would be as an assistant director. I managed to get hired as a 2nd AD on a low budget film the first day my phone was installed in my new apartment. That first job led to another, and then another, and the next thing I knew I had been working as an AD for about a year. Even though I was well on my way to reaching my required days to get into the DGA [Directors Guild of America], the position really wasn’t something I ever embraced. One day while I was on the set, I overheard a grip talking about his cousin who was an editor and how he might work as his apprentice. It was like a lightbulb went off in my head. I had loved editing when I was in film school – why not give that a try?

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ENTER THE EDIT: THE CHALLENGES OF BEING BOTH DIRECTOR AND EDITOR

This is the third in a series of posts on POV’s Documentary Blog about the regrettably underappreciated process and craft of documentary editing. Our guide is 2016 Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellow.

Pedro Kos, one of Meyer’s mentors, is an award-winning editor and director known for his character-driven films. This past June, he was invited to join the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. His credits include two Oscar-nominated documentaries (The Square and Waste Land), The Crash Reel and The Island President. In this conversation, Meyer and Kos discuss the nature of the director/editor relationship and what happens when you have to be both at the same time.

Eileen Meyer: Tell me about the film you’re working on now and what the process of co-directing and editing simultaneously has been like for you?

Pedro Kos: It has been a very long journey on this one, it’s been by far the longest edit I’ve actually been involved with — a year and four months. Which for me is really long.

This film is about a group of pioneers in the global health movement who founded an organization called Partners in Health in the mid-eighties. They started a small little operation in rural central Haiti. From the small clinic they built in a squatter settlement in rural central Haiti, the work slowly began to grow, and their models and their methods slowly began to spread. Eventually, it began to have an enormous impact internationally.

FROM PEDRO KOS' DOCUMENTARY IN DEVELOPMENT WITH KIEF DAVIDSON ABOUT PARTNERS IN HEALTH

FROM PEDRO KOS' DOCUMENTARY IN DEVELOPMENT WITH KIEF DAVIDSON ABOUT PARTNERS IN HEALTH

This film posed a challenge because it’s a very interview-driven and archival based film. I’ve done archival based films before, but this one was different because it’s mostly driven by interviews, and both Kief [Davidson], my co-director, and I wanted to make it as intimate, personal, and as emotional a portrait as possible. It’s a film that spans over thirty years, is set in different countries, with a story that is very big and epic, and it could have veered towards being a very issue-driven film — so that’s why it was a long road. There was a lot of reworking and reframing sections to make it more personal and intimate.

Even though the general structure has pretty much stayed the same, the beginning and the end proved very difficult to get right.

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ENTER THE EDIT: A CRASH COURSE ON STRUCTURING SOCIAL-ISSUE DOCUMENTARY

This is the second in a series of posts on POV’s Documentary Blog about the regrettably underappreciated process and craft of documentary editors. Our guide is Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellow Eileen Meyer.

food, inc., A film by robert kenner / magnolia pictures

food, inc., A film by robert kenner / magnolia pictures

I spoke with one my mentors, Kim Roberts, A.C.E., about her work in the social issue documentary realm. She has edited some of the most influential films of the last 10 years, including Food, Inc., Waiting For Superman, and The Hunting Ground, that have inspired me and many other filmmakers to explore the possibilities of documentary and social action. We discuss everything from how she started out working on these types of films to how she balances character, information, story, structure, objectivity and ethics standards.

As an emerging editor, I am specifically interested in how we can wisely choose the films we work on and how the conversation around documentary ethics informs that choice. Documentary filmmakers don’t really have a code book, as you do with careers in journalism, law, or medicine, and the unspoken expectation of ethical standards varies widely from person to person. In the midst of this topical and ongoing conversation in documentary circles, Kim gives us a sense of where her own barometer lies and how she navigates these difficult issues.

Meyer: What is your process in familiarizing yourself with the social issue of the documentary?

Kim Roberts: I pick documentaries that are about issues that I already care about, but have never studied in depth. I think it’s good not to know too much in the beginning, so that you know what questions the audience might have.

I often read a lot of articles or books about the subject as I go. I describe editing social issue documentaries as being perpetually in grad school, where you immerse yourself in one topic intensively, do tons of research, and then end up with a final product that you have to communicate clearly. The biggest challenge is how to simplify an issue so that it can fit in 90 minutes and be compelling.

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MANHATTAN EDIT WORKSHOP'S 15 QUESTIONS WITH EILEEN MEYER

Check out Manhattan Edit Workshop's "15 Questions with Eileen Meyer" to find out what films have inspired her, what she does when she's stuck on a scene and more:

Manhattan Edit Workshop congratulates Eileen Meyer, winner of the 2016 Karen Schmeer Fellowship! Eileen completed the MEWShop Six-Week Workshop in the fall of 2011. We caught up with her to chat about her achievements since, including a Cinema Eye Honors "Outstanding Achievement in Editing" nomination for her latest film, Best of Enemies, a 2015 Sundance Film Festival Grand Jury Prize nominee.

1. Where did you grow up?
Durham, North Carolina.  

2. What kind of film education did you receive?
My first job at 15 was at a local, independent video store that was walking distance from my house.  The store catered more towards the new indy films that were coming out in the late 90s, so that was my first experience with films that inspired me to be a filmmaker, especially all of the Sundance films of that era.  Later in high school I worked nights and weekends at an arthouse movie theater in Chapel Hill, NC and got my second dose of inspiration. I attended Hampshire College in Amherst, MA from 2000-2004 and studied documentary film.  I lived in NY for a few years after college and worked for a small documentary production company.  I was able to explore all aspects of the field, but gravitated mostly towards editing and producing.  

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ENTERING THE EDIT WITH KAREN SCHMEER FELLOW EILEEN MEYER

Today PBS' POV Documentary Blog is publishing "Entering the Edit with Karen Schmeer Fellow Eileen Meyer," an interview with Eileen about her process and her goals for the fellowship:

We’re kicking off the second edition of Enter the Edit, a series exploring the regrettably underappreciated process and craft of documentary editors. Our (new!) guide will be 2016 Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellow Eileen Meyer. 

We spoke with Meyer just before she was announced as the 2016 fellow at this year’s SXSW Film Festival in Austin, Texas.

POV: What’s your workflow when you’re starting on a new film?

Best Of Enemies / Magnolia Pictures

Best Of Enemies / Magnolia Pictures

Eileen Meyer: My first step is organization. This entails watching all the footage, making notes, and coming up with a strategy for breaking down the material. I like to spend as much time watching and organizing as possible before I make a single cut so that once I start putting things together, I can really get into a flow. I want to know where everything is and how to find it quickly so that the technical process doesn’t interfere as much with the creative process.

Every project calls for it’s own organizational system, whether it’s mostly dailies, interviews, archival or a combination of many elements. I find that breaking down the project is the first step in creating the potential structure of the film, because you start to see where your characters, themes or ideas insect and overlap. You can start to see scenes that will work and others that won’t, and what the film is lacking visually or emotionally. Once I’ve got everything organized by subject and I’m starting to group ideas together, the massive amount of material starts to look a little less overwhelming.

As I’m watching, I’ll make note of the best moments. I have learned that it’s incredibly important to take those notes the very first time you watch the footage because you’ll never get the chance to see the it again for the first time. It’s your only opportunity to truly be in the audience’s shoes. The moments that have energy, make you laugh, or endear you to a character are best on a first impression – you can build the information later and around those special moments.

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CONTEMPLATING THE CUT: THE STATE OF THE NONFICTION FILM EDITOR

On Saturday, April 18, the Sundance Institute Documentary Film Program and the Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellowship hosted a half-day of panel discussions with a gathering of documentary film editors, directors, and producers to discuss the art of editing. The goal of the day and future events is to shine a light on the role of the editor in the filmmaking process, build community, and celebrate an under-explored and often misunderstood collaboration between director and editor. Panelists included editors Toby Shimin (How to Dance in Ohio), Nels Bangerter (Let the Fire Burn), Mona Davis (Running from Crazy), Colin Nusbaum (Tough Love), and Mary Manhardt (American Promise) and moderators Tom Roston (Doc Soup) and Doug Block (112 Weddings). The day began with a Keynote from Jonathan Oppenheim (Paris is Burning, The Oath) included here:

                             FILMMAKER DOUG BLOCK (LEFT) WITH EDITORS JONATHAN OPPENHEIM AND TOBY SHIMIN.

                             FILMMAKER DOUG BLOCK (LEFT) WITH EDITORS JONATHAN OPPENHEIM AND TOBY SHIMIN.

The name of this series of Sundance/KSFEF events is The Art of Editing. And as a way of entering into the spirit of this panel, I want to talk about the particular uniqueness of the role of the editor on a nonfiction film and some of the implicit tensions this role creates.

An editor is brought in to work on a long form documentary. The editor initially brings distance, the outsider’s eye, to the screening of the director’s footage. But ultimately, the editor’s job is to absorb the subject of the film through the footage, to live and breathe with the material, making it his or her own, and, ultimately, to emerge with a vision for the possibilities (and impossibilities) of the film. If the editor isn’t doing this, the editor won’t be able to do his or her job, which is to find and write the narrative of the film using the words and moving images of the subject. Whatever the particular shape of the ensuing collaboration, the editor’s artistic process is critically important to the creation of the film.

So, in the end, the editor is hired to be an artist.

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ENTER THE EDIT: A CONVERSATION WITH EDITOR JONATHAN OPPENHEIM

The fifth in a series of posts on POV’s Documentary Blog about the regrettably under-appreciated process and craft of documentary editing with fellow Colin Nusbaum:

In the past year, Nusbaum has edited Tough Love (to broadcast on July 6, 2015 on POV), Florence, Arizona, and The Many Sad Fates of Mr. Toledano, set to premiere at the 2015 Tribeca Film Festival.

As Nusbaum’s year as Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellow comes to a close, he and one of his mentors, Jonathan Oppenheim – whose credits include Laura Poitras’s The Oath (POV 2010), Stephen Maing’s High Tech, Low Life (POV 2013) and Jennie Livingston’s iconic documentary Paris Is Burning – discuss the editing process with a year’s worth of conversations about the art of editing behind them.

Colin Nusbaum: How do you think about editing documentary film and what informs your process while you’re working?

                                                            Abu Jandal, the subject of Poitras’s film The Oath

Jonathan Oppenheim: In a documentary, pieces are collected, extremely partial fragments of reality. In fact, they’re very strange pieces because everyone in these fragments of reality is aware that they’re being filmed. It’s a very interesting kind of medium to work with. It’s an extraordinary medium to be able to manipulate fragment and to find what your own intention is in relation to it.

One of the practical struggles of trying to make a non-fiction film into art is that it’s not necessarily understood that you’re writing from footage and fragments. I’ve said that you have to think of a non-fiction editing schedule as if you were writing seven drafts of a fiction screenplay. You have to add that kind of timeframe. Seven was just a convenient number, but you can easily replace that with 60. It’s chaotic. You didn’t write a screenplay, you didn’t shoot the coverage, you’re not directing actors – it’s another animal.

Some editors actually edit during the screening process. I don’t. I prefer a pure state of absorptive, passive torment because I feel like I get a deeper relationship to what I feel about it. I also believe that documentary editing is not just a writing process, but also in fact an expression of my feelings about life, my vision of life expressed through the lens of a subject.

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COLIN NUSBAUM ON HIS "TOUGH LOVE" EDIT WITH MARY MANHARDT

The fourth in a series of posts on POV’s Documentary Blog about the regrettably underappreciated process and craft of documentary editing with fellow Colin Nusbaum:

toughlove.jpg

Colin Nusbaum: Stephanie [Wang-Breal] and the crew had been filming with Hannah’s story in New York for a good two years before I even really started [editing]. So it was nice for me to have the opportunity to be on the film while they were still doing some of the shooting with Patrick in Seattle. I don’t know if you’ve had that experience, Mary — for me it was really great to be able to have some input into what’s important as far as what they were shooting and how they were doing it.

Mary Manhardt: Generally, because I do tend to come in late on films, I don’t get that experience. Because I come in late, it tends to be that we’re filling in gaps. But it’s really interesting that you say that — did you feel like it was helpful for you, having looked at the Hannah part, which had been shot much earlier? Did that give you thoughts and opinions on how they should shoot Patrick’s part?

Colin Nusbaum: When we were shooting the Seattle story, we sort of knew those more crucial turning points or larger scenes in [Hannah's] story, so I was definitely looking out for those and what they might be in Patrick’s story. There were conversations about what were the most important things to shoot. I think in the end we had so much less footage in Seattle because we knew some of those signs. We knew what some of the more important moments might be, and we were able to be more audacious.

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COLIN INTERVIEWS NIELS PAGH ANDERSEN, EDITOR OF "THE ACT OF KILLING"

In his third post for POV's Documentary Blog, 2014 Fellow Colin Nusbaum has a fascinating interview with Niels Pagh Andersen, editor of "The Act of Killing":

actofkilling2.png

Colin Nusbaum: The Act of Killing looks at evil so closely. Looking at a character like Anwar, your main subject of the film, as the face of that evil, I am curious how you dealt with the needs of the audience, and their willingness to watch a person who is the embodiment of that.

Niels Pagh Andersen: Before I came on, Joshua [Oppenheimer, director of The Act of Killing] was sitting in London for almost a year with two junior editors, so I got around 35 hours of edited scenes, but without structure, and we had to recut the scenes. That’s where we built Anwar as the main character. We were re-editing the scenes from his point of view. It wasn’t just what everyone was doing, it was how does that affect Anwar.

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COLIN BLOGS ABOUT "HOW TO SURVIVE AS AN ASSISTANT EDITOR"

On today's POV Blog, 2014 Fellow Colin Nusbaum is interviewed about the role of the assistant editor:

What are the responsibilities of an assistant editor? Do they vary from job to job, or are they very well defined?

Each film is going to be very different. I’ve rarely ever replicated the exact process as an assistant, but always took it upon myself to carefully consider what might work best given the technicalities and goals for each film. Naturally, that also meant that if an editor was already set to work on the film that I would check in with him or her about organizational preferences.

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COLIN NUSBAUM ON THE FELLOWSHIP, STORIES WORTH TELLING, AND KAREN

By Colin Nusbaum, 2014 Fellow

Colin with his mentors: David Teague, Jean Tsien, A.C.E., & Jonathan Oppenheim

I think I inherited a skepticism and penchant for realism from my father. He liked to watch sports games, and when I was little, I liked to watch them with him. We were not deterred that our favorite teams from Detroit didn’t win very often because the journey of a game was enough entertainment. We would watch movies together too—mostly Hollywood hits or whatever reruns were on cable. At the time though, the fiction movies I saw didn’t do much to convince me that the actors playing roles were involved in situations that I should really care about or believe in. I had a difficult time investing in characters and stories that I understood to be fantasy, and so the entertainment seemed a bit flat.

It wasn’t until much later, just before my graduation from college, that I developed a voracious appetite for documentary films. For me, documentary appeared as a different animal. I found the films to be sincere in their exploration of ideas, people, struggle, truth, memory, and human experience. I recognized the captivating beauty of a well crafted nonfiction story—where the outcomes are unsure but always true, real in their complexity, and challenging the audience to consider life outside the screen in a new context—imbued with the narratives of the film.

And so, I began my pursuit of the documentary form from the other side—where the stories are being lived, captured, explored, and ultimately built in the edit room. In my early days, I worked as a production assistant on Liz Garbus’s film Bobby Fischer Against the World, and that was the last film that Karen Schmeer was able to edit. Karen and I never met, but the quality of her work and the spirit of her character are not lost on me as I begin my own career as a documentary editor. Her films were among the ones I watched over and over, as I fell in love with the artistry and the form.

The talented editor Mary Manhardt said to me recently that, unlike journalism, delivering information is not what documentary does best. In fact, documentary can offer something that is both more subtle and lasting through the words, actions or simply the look on a person’s face. I understand these as the moments when documentaries become films, cinema, and stories worth telling.

This year, I am being given the incredible opportunity to represent the Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellowship as their sole fellow. I am completely honored and entirely humbled to do it, and I cannot thank everyone who is extending this unique opportunity to me enough. I’m especially grateful to benefit from the mentorship of three stellar editors through the year in Jonathan Oppenheim, David Teague, and Jean Tsien. Most of all, I aim to take full advantage of the many opportunities to learn, grow, and work, as inspired by Karen’s example. Over the past couple weeks, I have heard a lot of poignant stories from friends of Karen. She was clearly an amazing woman. And it strikes me that she may have been an amazing editor not only because of her because of her artistic skill, devotion and intention, but also because of her attentiveness and compassion—her willingness to meet people where they are, and bring the best out, in films and in life.

JIM RAVES ABOUT MANHATTAN EDIT WORKSHOP'S 70'S NYC EDITING LEGENDS PANEL

By Jim Hession, 2013 Fellow

Liberty.jpg

Scary. Soiled. Scandalous. And basically shitty. This is how history not-so fondly remembers New York City of the 1970s. Drug use was rampant all across town; employment was not. Crime rates soared; faith in America’s greatest city plummeted. Bryant Park was referred to as “Needle Park,” and the 6 Train was appropriately termed “Mugger’s Express,” a place where armed bandits were known to have jumped turnstiles in a quest to rob hapless straphangers for free. Sorry kids, “Dave and Busters” and “TGI Fridays” were most definitely not the names of wholesome corporate establishments residing in Times Square, although such monikers likely echo those of the pimps and prostitutes (respectively) who once worked its corners. And when the financially devastated city teetered on bankruptcy in 1975, the nation’s president famously told New York to “drop dead.”

At the same time, on the opposite side of the country, the quaint town of Hollywood was suffering from its own version of social turmoil, as the mighty studio structure, which had long reigned supreme over American cinema for nearly four decades, started to crack. Existing on the heels of the 1960s Revolution(s) and operating amidst the economic recession of the ’70s, classical Hollywood studios and their traditional products never really stood a chance in America’s new era. Consequently, the late ’60s and ’70s marked the emergence of a new wave in cinema history, one in which a breed of young, fresh and relevant filmmakers broke free from the conventional modes of cinematic storytelling and started making movies that were, well, very different than the ones that mass audiences had grown accustomed to. Their films were a little more real, a little grittier, and a lot less comforting. Think: not-Casablanca and more-Taxi Driver (or, Bonnie and Clyde, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Easy Rider, A Clockwork Orange, Deliverance, The Godfather, American Graffiti, Badlands,The Exorcist, Lenny, Chinatown, Apocalypse Now …).

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It should come as no surprise to anyone, therefore, that out of the muck and mire that plagued New York City sprang glorious contributions to this new cinematic renaissance. Of the directors who rose to prominence in the 1970s, many were New Yorkers, including Sidney Lumet, Martin Scorsese, Woody Allen, Arthur Penn, Brian De Palma, and Bob Fosse. Not too shabby.

And for sure, the individual successes of New York’s directors were due in no small part to the bourgeoning community of cinematographers, sound mixers and editors who were beginning to take root in Manhattan. This specialized community was very talented. It was very small. And most of all, it was centralized. In fact, most every major motion picture that came out of New York at the time passed through one of three physical locations in and around Times Square: the old Studebaker Building at 1600 Broadway, the famed Brill Building at 1619 Broadway, or around the corner at 254 West 54th Street (the same building that housed the famed nightclub Studio 54). In the 1970s, New York City became a hub of innovative filmmaking. A tiny hub. But a significant one, nonetheless.

Taking a break from the symposium: Manhattan Edit Workshop's Jason Banke & Josh Apter, Fellow Jim Hession, and KSFEF's Rachel Shuman and Garret Savage.

Taking a break from the symposium: Manhattan Edit Workshop's Jason Banke & Josh Apter, Fellow Jim Hession, and KSFEF's Rachel Shuman and Garret Savage.

All of this historic backstory brings me to a recent panel discussion that I was lucky enough to attend thanks to the generosity and support of the Manhattan Edit Workshop, which hosted a day-long symposium entitled, "Inside the Cutting Room: Sight, Sound and Story." The event was chock-full of inspiring and insightful seminars, and a fabulous summary of the day’s happenings can be found here. In short, all of it was awesome! 

But the discussion that most captivated me was the day’s keynote event, which was moderated by film historian Bobbie O’Steen and included legendary editors Alan Heim, A.C.E.Jerry Greenberg, A.C.E.Susan Morse, A.C.E., and Bill Pankow, A.C.E. Wow! The panel was fittingly called, ”NY Legends of the ’70s: Master Editors Discuss Their Work From This Revolutionary Era in American Cinema.”

I am a relatively young editor who belongs to one of the first generations of film editors that, ironically, has never been contractually obligated to even touch a piece of physical celluloid film. Thanks to computers and the software applications Avid and Final Cut Pro, I have never known what it feels like to actually cut and connect the A-Side of a piece of film to the B-Side of a piece of film while using my God-given fingers (and a razor blade, I suppose). In discussing my own work, I frequently talk about “making cuts,” but in reality, I’ve never actually cut a physical piece of film. Never. Ever. Not once.

And so, I struggle to aptly express my genuine euphoria for the opportunity to have heard from the panel’s Editing Greats, all of whom laboriously spliced and cut actual film on the old Moviolas and Flatbed editing machines, collectively creating the very cinematic works that were seminally influential in my own personal love affair with the art of filmmaking. Additionally, as someone who was born on the island of Manhattan in January of 1981, I could not help but feel that these editors somehow represent a period in New York City’s illustrious history that I never had the chance to experience firsthand. As the title of the program states, the esteemed panelists are, indeed, living “NY Legends” who once discovered hope within the borders of a city that didn’t have enough of it.

Without any more further ado, here are seven of my favorite clips from the discussion:

CLIP ONE: JERRY WORKS THE ROOM

In this clip, Jerry opens up the talk with a couple of priceless zingers that immediately win over the crowd. Two noteworthy facts: 1. the panel discussion was held mere days after the NSA internet surveillance story had first hit the headlines, and 2. Jerry obviously got a kick out of being referred to as a “Legend.”

CLIP TWO: JERRY FONDLY REMEMBERS HIS FIRST ASSISTANT EDITING GIG

Before going on to edit such classics as The French ConnectionKramer vs. Kramer and Apocalypse Now, Jerry worked as an assistant for the legendary editor Dede Allen (Bonnie and Clyde,Slaughterhouse-FiveDog Day AfternoonThe Breakfast Club). Here, Jerry reminisces about his first day on the job in Dede’s cutting room at 1600 Broadway. The Studebaker Building has since been torn down and predictably replaced by upscale condominiums.

CLIP THREE: SUSAN RECOUNTS A STORY THAT FORESHADOWS HER BRILLIANT CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE WORLD OF FILMMAKING

Attention all over-worked, under-utilized assistant editors: no matter what the task, there is always a chance to show off the genius that lurks behind your embarrassing paycheck. In this story, Susan remembers how she first caught the eye of Dede Allen (yes, the same Dede that Jerry worked for) while filling in as a production assistant for a director on a low-budget PBS production that was being cut at 254 West 54th Street. Shortly after the recounted incident, Susan went on to edit Woody Allen’s Manhattan, which was nominated for two Academy Awards.

CLIP FOUR: BILL EXPRESSES HIS AMAZEMENT WITH THE OPPORTUNITY TO WORK AS JERRY’S ASSISTANT ON KRAMER vs. KRAMER (NOTE: JERRY IS SITTING DIRECTLY NEXT TO HIM)

Fair warning: there’s another Dede Allen mention coming up. No wonder that she’s remembered as being such a remarkable editor and wonderful human being! When viewing this clip, it is important to keep in mind that Bill and Jerry went on to become co-editors and fellow collaborators on films such as  Scarface and The Untouchables. And again, the two close friends are sitting directly next to each other.

CLIP FIVE: ALAN RECALLS A FORMATIVE “MINI-LESSON” THAT HE RECEIVED FROM DIRECTOR AND EDITOR ARAM AVAKIAN WHILE WORKING AS A YOUNG SOUND EFFECTS EDITOR ON SIDNEY LUMET’S THE GROUP.

Here, Alan discovers the beauty that can be found in “the movement of food.” Spoken like a true editor …

CLIP SIX: ALAN ILLUSTRATES WHY THE JOB OF AN EDITOR OFTEN REQUIRES MORE SKILLS THAN “JUST” EDITING

Ok, the following clip demands a decent amount of set-up and explanation. But trust me, it’s worth it. Alan edited a film called, All That Jazz. For his efforts, he was awarded with an Academy Award for Best Editing in 1979. Bob Fosse, who Alan considers to be a dear friend and long-time collaborator, directed the film. The main character of All That Jazz is named Joe Gideon, a troubled theatre director who also doubles as a Hollywood movie director. By all accounts, the character is closely based on the life of the film’s director, Bob Fosse. So far, so good? One more thing: Alan (the editor on the panel) also made a cameo appearance in the film as an actor. He played the role of (you guessed it) a film editor. Enjoy.

CLIP SEVEN: JERRY REVEALS THE SECRET OF NEW YORK’S MANY CONTRIBUTIONS TO THIS REVOLUTIONARY ERA IN AMERICAN CINEMA

One word: community.

As I walked home from this remarkable discussion to my apartment located on the west side of midtown Manhattan (mere blocks from the site of so many of the stories that I had just heard), I was most struck by the fact that none of the famed editors on the panel had seemed particularly interested in discussing the practice of actual editing, per se. Certainly, I reckoned, all of them possess profoundly relevant techniques and approaches and theories and philosophies concerning filmmaking’s most unsung craft. They are legends, after all!

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But what is clear to me is that the things that ended up mattering the most to these long-time film editors have little to do with specific editorial decisions and the thinking behind them; instead, these four masters are much more inclined to recall the personal relationships that they forged over the course of creating their many films while also reflecting upon how their respective professional endeavors ended up enriching their own personal lives. In other words, it’s not about the specific edits. It’s about the environment in which the edits stemmed from. And what they collectively resulted in.

For me, an ambitious young editor still hoping to prove his worth, these truths are both pertinent and inspiring, because at the end of the day, I try my best to always remember that the opportunity to pursue a line of work that one genuinely loves is a luxury not afforded to most people. Consequently, if I am ever lucky enough to be able to bang out a respectable livelihood in this crazy business, I will forever consider myself to be an extremely fortunate human being. Alan, Jerry, Susan and Bill helped remind of this conviction.

And one day, I hope to have a story that is as symbolic and compelling as the one about Jerry discovering his “sign” out the window of Dede Allen’s cutting room. If not? I suppose that I’ll just have to settle for the joy of remembering his tale each time I throw back a glass of Johnnie Walker on the rocks.

Bottoms up! 

JIM REPORTS ON THE 2013 SUNDANCE DOCUMENTARY EDIT AND STORY LAB

 By Jim Hession, 2013 Fellow

Lab Fellows (Photo credit: Jill Orschel, Courtesey of the Sundance Institute)

Lab Fellows (Photo credit: Jill Orschel, Courtesey of the Sundance Institute)

In the story that plays out in my own mind (and nobody else’s) I am an undercover secret agent whose misunderstood profession sends me to faraway, unfamiliar and often lonely places. Each of my missions has an objective, but the respective paths that lead to their successful completion are riddled with missteps, uncertainty and constant doubt. My job description isn’t always entirely clear to me, so I certainly don’t expect my family and loved-ones to truly understand what it is that I do for a living either. In fact, I embrace the inherent cloudiness of my chosen profession, as I feel that it facilitates a persona of mysteriousness that I would not otherwise possess. After all, being a secret agent is pretty cool even if the secret agent is not.

The "Rich Hill" Team: Jessica Dorfman (Lab Asst. Editor), Andrew, Tracy, Jim

The "Rich Hill" Team: Jessica Dorfman (Lab Asst. Editor), Andrew, Tracy, Jim

However, in the world that all of us fondly refer to as “reality,” I am a film editor. I live in an apartment building on the far west side of Manhattan with my beautiful wife, Mariela, our remarkable baby girl, Isabella Rose, and my venerable mother-in-law, Rosa. In other words, James Bond I am most definitely not. Like I said, I’m a film editor!

Anyway, back to being a secret agent…

I recently journeyed to the shadowy mountains of Sundance, Utah, where I was fortunate enough to partake in the Sundance Institute’s 2013 Documentary Edit and Story Labs. It was there that co-directors Tracy Droz Tragos and Andrew Droz Palermo brought along me and an unfinished roughcut of their documentary. The objective: to disappear into Robert Redford’s wooded lands for eight long days, workshop the film with some of the most respected and talented minds in the world of non-fiction filmmaking, and return home with a deeper, more evolved understanding of Rich Hill, the film that we are currently working on.

Andrew looks on as Jim problem-solves at his work station.

Andrew looks on as Jim problem-solves at his work station.

This year, The Labs invited a total of nine films and 22 fellows to attend the artists’ retreat, which spanned across two separate weeks. Rich Hill was invited to the second week, along with Yance Ford’s Strong Island, Chai Vasarhelyi’s An African Spring, and Anne de Mare and Kristen Kelly’s The Homestretch. A full list of this year’s films, fellows, and advisors can be found here.

Now, just to be clear, much of what goes on up in the mountains is shrouded in sworn secrecy. Nevertheless, I am allowed to note that there was a lot of talk about “edit trailers,” “river beers,” “quiet contemplation,” “mountain hikes,” “spiritual ceremonies,” and “The Owl.” But as a firm believer in the power of “movie magic” (and the protection of it), I wouldn’t dare discuss the specific conversations that revolved around the in-progress films that were brought to the workshop. As it turned out, attending The Lab was sort of a secret mission after all.

And yet, I feel obligated to stress that with the help of Director Cara Mertes, Kristin Feeley, John Cardellino and their entire staff, the Sundance Institute’s Documentary Edit and Story Labs have truly gave rise to a collection of programs that, first and foremost, lend needed support to the unique voices of independent filmmakers by way of creating and fostering a community that encourages all of us to struggle, fail, grapple and eventually succeed—together. This group dynamic is special. This group dynamic fuels creativity and encourages artistic risk-taking. And in the age of Skype, blazing-fast laptops, and work-from-home editors, it is increasingly rare.

I, for one, am beyond confident that all of the lucky films and fellows that were invited to attend this year’s Labs benefited greatly from the nutritive, communal support that was so generously provided. After all, I was fortunate enough to witness each documentary’s progress first hand. But much more importantly, the resulting films will eventually be sent out into the world for countless audiences around the globe to experience. And like all good stories, each documentary will deliver humanity minute ripples of creative thought that will begin to help us appreciate what it means to be human beings while simultaneously bringing us all a little bit closer to an understanding of each other in the process. The audiences will never know about the discussions that were had up in the mountains of Sundance, Utah. They will never have an understanding of the many creative decisions and re-decisions that were made in the edit room. And frankly, they shouldn’t need to be privy to any of this, because hopefully, the audience will just enjoy the damn movie. That’s the point!

And so, as I sit in my apartment in midtown Manhattan, my mind drifts back to my experience in the woods. Most of all, I take great solace in knowing that there is, in fact, a family of like-minded secret agents out there. And it was an honor to have met them.

Over and out.

Lab Fellows take a break in the mountains of Sundance.

Lab Fellows take a break in the mountains of Sundance.


JIM BREAKS DOWN SXSW 2013 FOR YOU

By Jim Hession, 2013 Fellow

Editors Aaron Wickenden & Jim Hession.at KSFEF SXSW meet up.

Editors Aaron Wickenden & Jim Hession.at KSFEF SXSW meet up.

Skinny jeans. Flannel shirts. Blond dreadlocks. Thick-rimmed glasses. Old-school kicks. Elaborate scarves. Carefully coiffed facial hair. Fedoras galore.

A resident of Manhattan for the last eight years, I rubbed my eyes and squinted: Is this what Brooklyn looks like?

But no, this was not Brooklyn. It wasn’t even Astoria, Queens. I was at Newark Liberty International Airport—Terminal C, Gate 70—and me, my vintage Air Force Ones, and this very fashion-forward crowd were all headed to the same place: Austin, Texas, home of cheap beer, good music, taco trucks, and the 2013 South by Southwest Conferences & Festivals.

I was fortunate enough to be traveling to SXSW on the very generous dime of the Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellowship. And as luck would have it, I had even been bumped to a first-class ticket in apology for several flight cancellations and numerous missteps at the hands of the well-intentioned but over-worked employees manning the American Airlines ticketing booth. In short, I was now riding in style.

But as I delicately sipped a complimentary cocktail while nestling into my cushy, row-three leather chair aboard the mammoth Boeing 747 airliner, I couldn’t help but eye the single-file line of embarking passengers and wonder what all of these 30-somethings did for a living in order to afford the over-priced airline ticket, a $1,800-plus festival pass, and all of this pre-washed designer denim! Unbeknownst to me at the time, I happened to be presented with an enormous hint when one slender, handsome, trendy-looking man passed by my seat carrying an expensive bag and wearing a t-shirt emboldened with the words “WILL BLOG FOR FOOD.”

Yes, as I would soon find out, SXSW is much more than “just” a film festival.  

For those of you who are uninitiated (as I was until very recently), SXSW is actually four distinct festivals rolled into a single two-week event: there’s the music and comedy festivals, which both take place on the second week; there’s the film festival, which spans the entire two weeks; and then there’s something called “SXSW Interactive,” which is held on the opening week but seems to infiltrate everything happening in Austin for that brief period of time.

If you’re anything like me, your first question might be: “What the hell is an Interactive Festival?” Sounds a bit scandalous, perhaps. In practice, however, it’s something that SXSW tamely defines as featuring “the brightest minds in emerging technology … [while hosting] an unbeatable lineup of special programs showcasing the best new digital works, video games and innovative ideas the international community has to offer.” Still confused? How’s this: while in line for my very first film screening at the festival, I happened to overhear one attendee inform the other that “this is where Twitter blew up in 2007.” Later on, I was inclined to verify such hyperbolic hearsay and found it to be entirely accurate. So yeah, the interactive portion of SXSW is sort of a big deal. It was also the reason that, for one of the very few times in my life, I actually wished I could have been in two places at once.   

For example, while me and the film-going crowds were busy huddling silently in dark, musty movie theaters for hours on end, the much more verbose and “interactive” crowds were simultaneously gathering at places such as Austin’s very au courant AT&T Convention Center, holding court and passionately declaring war on IT turnover, searching for illusive North Korean tweets with a member of the “Twiterati 100,”helping couch potatoes become more productive members of society, (finally) discovering a redeeming quality practiced by professional wrestlers, celebrating the virtues of something that we all possess by way of a discussion concerning some very innovative textiles, making rather large generalizations, taking online romance to a whole new level, speed dating on a strictly professional level, and confirming that, yes, a Twitter-driven robot can, in fact, stimulate each and every one of your God-given senses at the very popular Show & Smell gathering (the sequel). Believe it or not, all of this—and more—took place on just the opening weekend!

It is also worth pointing out that the palpable web-based fervor that descends upon Austin’s many conference rooms manages to aggressively permeate the streets of downtown, where numerous info booths, promotional displays, and teams of overly cheerful representatives for the-next-big-internet-thing merrily recite carefully crafted pitches while hawking an assortment of free stuff to the compliant schwag collectors passing by. It all begins to feel like a bit of a circus at times—it is a festival after all—and on certain streets I found it impossible to walk a half-block without being inundated with hordes of information concerning matters such as how I can best listen to online music while socially networking at the same time, or why I should shop for groceries from the comfort of my PC, or why it’s better to hail a taxi cab using my iPhone rather than with a raised arm and a shout. As a proud, self-respecting New Yorker, I found the latter proposal to be particularly specious in nature, but in complete fairness, a majority of these ardent app peddlers that littered Austin’s sidewalks were also distributing on-the-house beer tickets that were redeemable at the various event tents located nearby. So let’s just say that I owe all of them my deepest gratitude. Also, I should give credit where credit is due and note that my teething baby daughter, Isabella Rose, ended up thoroughly enjoying the collection of complimentary Frisbees and other gratis marketing trinkets that I amassed on her behalf; she sends her thanks as well.

But first-class airfare, free beverages, and promotional Frisbees aside, I had traveled to the Lone Star State in order to see movies. And movies I did see. But before mentioning any specific films, I feel obligated to stress that I am not a film critic (nor do I wish to pose as one). It should also go without saying that none of the works that were chosen by way of the selection committee’s exhaustive process need a blessing from little old me. And so, as a fellow filmmaker, I wish most of all to extend my sincere and heartfelt congratulations to each and every movie that was shown at this year’s SXSW Film Festival.

Unfortunately, there were a number of films that I regret not having the opportunity to see over the course of my brief trip. To name just a few: Maidentrip, Brothers Hypnotic, Linsanity, Medora, and Andrew Bujalski’s newest film, Computer Chess. I am looking forward to enjoying each of these movies later on this year! Nevertheless, of the films that I actually managed to catch at the festival, there were a handful of works that I found to be particularly memorable.

Most notably, I’ll join the growing chorus and say that I was absolutely blown away by Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing, a film that I think I can safely say is a cinematic masterpiece that will soon be considered required viewing for anyone interested in the craft of documentary filmmaking. I had the honor to attend a late night screening of the movie on a cold, breezy Sunday evening, and I woke up on a warm, sunny Monday morning still experiencing the residual horror, disbelief, and distress that the film imbued upon me and my consciousness. By design, Killing is not an easy watch, but I kindly urge anyone and everyone to see this very profound work of art sometime in the near future.  

On a much lighter note, I enjoyed loads of laughs while watching the comedy Awful Nice, which features the hilariously funny duo of James Pumphrey and Alex Rennie, both of whom I predict will be starring alongside a notable celebrity in a yet-to-be-made Hollywood movie sometime very soon (congrats to fellow editor and all-around good guy Kamau Bilal for his work on the film).

I was also grateful for the opportunity to have screened SXSW’s excellent “Documentary Shorts” program. I was very pleased when SLOMOwas awarded with the category’s “Best Documentary” honor, as I felt that the piece was superbly executed, refreshingly inspirational, and well deserving of distinction.

Lastly, I was lucky enough to be present at the world premiere of Downloaded, an entertaining documentary that chronicles the infamous rise and rapid fall of Napster, the turn-of-the-century peer-to-peer file sharing service. As the film’s director, Alex Winters, has correctly pointed out, the documentary was "the perfect movie for South by Southwest, because it's about music, it's about tech, and it's about movies." Well put, indeed; immediately following the film’s premiere, Mr. Winters surprised just about everyone and introduced Napster co-founders Sean Fanning and Sean Parker onto the stage, simultaneously upping the collective net worth of those in attendance at the historic Paramount Theatre by a few billion dollars (give or take) and sending the crowd into a complete tizzy. It was a reaction best embodied by that of a big, bald, burly, mustachioed gentleman sitting a few rows behind me, who let out a reactionary and seemingly irrepressible high-pitched squeal of “OH SHIT!” at the sight of these two Internet deities in the flesh. Remember when I noted that SXSW was not “just” a film festival?

I enjoyed many other worthwhile movies at this year's showcase. However, my most lasting impression from my jaunt to Austin does not concern one film in particular, but rather my refreshed appreciation for the power of cinema and the changing role that the medium potentially plays in today's increasingly fragmented, digitized, and plugged-in cultural landscape. Indeed, much has been said about the wonders of movie-going and the shared, collective experience that it facilities; ever since the Lumière brothers first screened a projected motion picture to a Parisian audience in 1895, people have been experiencing, firsthand, what it means to watch a film in the company of strangers. But for me, this time-honored experience felt significantly different at SXSW.

You see, some of my favorite moments happened in the minutes leading up to the start of the numerous screenings that I attended. It was a series of events that played out over and over again: the house lights would dim, the buzz of countless conversations would leisurely peter out, and then—and then!—everyone would reach into their pockets or purses and turn off (or at least mute) their goddamn cell phones. We would then proceed to sit in silence for upwards of 90 minutes and function as a group of living, heart-pumping, oxygen-sharing, CO2-expelling individuals, devoting our complete attention to a single, cohesive piece of work—a specific train of thought, if you will. And I increasingly came to find that the act of going to a movie took on new and exciting relevancy in Austin given the rather mundane fact that me and my fellow movie-goers had managed to find an excuse to untether ourselves from the ever-present email correspondences, text messages, Twitter feeds, Facebook updates, and additional forms of digital distractions that undoubtedly subjugate too many of us. Especially given the ubiquitous talk about Twitter-this, Spotify-that, and Hater-huh? that swirled around all of us filmmakers who managed to physically bring our bodily beings to Texas, I can honestly say that it was astonishingly refreshing to unplug from the digital world for an ever-so-brief period of time in the name of cinema appreciation—or in the name of appreciating anything, for that matter.

If the SXSW Interactive Festival provides any indication of what the future holds for tomorrow’s society (and by all accounts, it does), I can assertively say that all of us will be progressively presented with a growing host of new, innovative, and exciting digital tools designed to boast our productivity, increase our social connectivity, and satiate our natural desire to be recognized as individually relevant human beings. In practice, however, it is much more likely that a vast majority of these newfangled digital creations will collectively decimate our children’s attention spans, disconnect us from tangible human interaction, and herd us all towards Internet-based sales marketing uniformity. Facebook much, anyone?

And so, my time spent in Austin fostered a sensation of extreme admiration for the filmmaking community at large and its continued contributions to a cultural pastime that, in some small way, will forever provide a respite from the hyperventilating, omnipresent, and always proliferating reality of the ones-and-zeros lifestyle that so many of us lead. If I could pass on just one thought in exchange for the very special opportunity that was so graciously afforded to me by the Karen Schmeer Film Editing Fellowship and the SXSW Conferences and Festivals, I would kindly urge all of my fellow filmmakers to remember that storytelling, at its core, is a noble endeavor that has been pursued by human beings since the very beginning of our existence. And despite popular notions to the contrary, at the end of the day, there will never be a fresh new app that can rival a great movie and its ability to captivate us, unite us, and enrich our appreciation for the world that we all share.

And with that, I can proudly say, cheers to free drinks, cool schwag, and small victories!

JIM'S PHOTOSHOOT WITH TANYA BRAGANTI

By Jim Hession, 2013 Fellow

Shortly after learning that I would be fortunate enough to be named the 2013 Karen Schmeer Editing Fellow, I had the honor to meet up with one of Karen's oldest and dearest friends. Her name: Tanya Braganti. Her profession: photographer. Her goal: to take at least one headshot of my ugly mug and make it appear, at a minimum, presentable.

Karen, Tanya, and Tanya's cat Sam, around 1998

As it turned out, Tanya and her obvious talents achieved the ultimate objective in ways that I think surpassed everyone's greatest expectations, as she managed to compose an exceptionally flattering picture, for which I am incredibly grateful. And as someone with a fondness for the photographic image, I was genuinely interested in Tanya's thoughts while we walked around New York City's Meatpacking District in search of things like "good light," "good backgrounds" and poses that that would somehow make me appear "more natural." In my opinion, check, check and check... mate!

But it was Tanya's memories of Karen, which she generously shared with me between the "click, click, click" of her camera, that I will remember most about our brief encounter.

As I came to learn, Tanya attended Boston University with Karen way back when. It was there that the two classmates spent four years enrolling in courses such as "Being Indian in South America" while bonding over their mutual affection for life's oddities, quirks, obsessions and the people who possessed them.

It is perhaps not a coincidence, therefore, that they both cited Cinemania as one of their favorite documentaries of all time. Directed by Stephen Kijak and Angela Christlieb, the film follows five self-proclaimed cinephiles who compulsively watch between two and five movies every day. Yes, that is correct—two to five movies everyday. If you're like me, you haven't watched the documentary until someone kindly brought it to your attention, but just to give a taste of what the film explores: one of the characters is Harvey Schwartz, a man living with Asperger’s Syndrome who sustains himself with the sole help of disability benefits while wontedly watching "just about anything" and proudly possessing hundreds of vinyl soundtracks without ever bothering to own a record player. It was a shared appreciation for these sorts of matters that brought Karen and Tanya close over the years.

After graduation, like many college friends, the two lost touch for a period of time. After all, while Karen was busy working in Boston for the filmmaker Errol Morris, Tanya was consumed by her apprenticeship with the Vietnam photojournalist Phillip Jones Griffiths in New York City.

But it was shortly after Karen had completed the editing of Fast, Cheap and Out of Control and Mr. Death: The Rise and Fall of Fred A. Leuchter, Jr. that she and Tanya reconnected. Now a resident of Manhattan, Karen spent many weekends with Tanya strolling the not-yet-trendy sidewalks of the Meatpacking District on undefined photographic excursions. Snapping pictures of this and that as she zigzagged the gritty avenues and streets, Karen preferred to carry her Polaroid Land Camera, reveling in its distorted, heightened and immediate renderings of the physical world. Their walks would usually commence at the nearest available dive bar, and according to Tanya, it was over drinks that Karen would "hint" that she had "edited a couple of documentaries" in the past few years. Back then, Tanya didn't think much of "these documentaries" that Karen so humbly alluded to because, frankly, she hadn't heard of them.

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 At this point in the story, it should be noted that while Karen and Tanya were reconnecting as friends, the aforementioned documentaries were almost singlehandedly altering the film world’s perception of what a documentary could be, and critics were busy anointing the works with words like "brilliant," "magical" and "wildly original." And on a personal note, yours truly was so inspired while watching these films over and over again in my college dorm room that I began to think for the very first time that I might want to make movies for a living. Nevertheless, in Karen’s description to one of her closest friends, these were just "a couple of documentaries." No big deal.

At the tail end of our outing, Tanya and I wandered into a nearby bar, where the conversation eventually led to her describing what it was like to lose a dear friend.

"It was all so surreal and unbelievable when I first found out," Tanya recalled before going on to reminisce about the memorial service that was held in the days immediately following Karen's death.

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Karen working the box office at the Coolidge"It was at the Coolidge Corner Theater in Brookline," she remembered as her eyes began to water. "Karen used to work there as a ticket-taker."

Knowing that I had spent some time living in the Boston area and perhaps trying to change the subject, Tanya asked me if I had ever been to the well-known arthouse theater.

"No, I’ve never been," I answered without giving the question enough thought. "Sorry, that's not right," I quickly corrected myself in the same breath. "I went there once. It's where I saw The Fog of War for the first time."

I paused for a few moments. Tanya nodded. And we both realized the unintended significance of what I had just said.

"Yeah, it's where I saw The Fog of War for the first time," I uttered again—this time a little softer, a little slower.

A reposed smile appeared on Tanya's face. A slight twinkle entered her eye.

"Good movie," she said.

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Karen in front of the Coolidge

JIM HESSION REACTS TO BEING CHOSEN AS THE 2013 FELLOW

By Jim Hession, 2013 Fellow

Growing up, I wanted to be many things. Professional basketball player. Journalist. Doctor. Lawyer. Photographer. Scientist. Historian. Writer. Bartender. CIA Agent. I don't specifically remember ever wishing to become an astronaut, fireman, or police officer, but the chances are that I considered those lines of noble work at some point as well.  

It perhaps comes as little surprise, therefore, that I had many interests and passions throughout my youth. But above all else, I was an American history buff. And if I were to be completely honest, I'd actually say that I was a bit of an American history nerd. I loved reading about it, I loved studying it, and yes, I absolutely loved watching documentaries about it. In fact, some of my fondest childhood memories revolve around managing to watch nearly all 18.5 hours of Ken Burns' Baseball series with my father when it originally broadcasted on PBS. I was thirteen at the time and had my sights set on becoming a Hall of Fame relief pitcher.

But it was in my junior year of college that I was first introduced to the documentaries Fast, Cheap and Out of Control and Mr. Death: The Rise and Fall of Fred A. Leuchter, Jr. Both works were edited by Karen Schmeer. Both works altered the direction of my life. And both works changed my entire perception of what a documentary could be.  

At the time, I remember thinking that, indeed, these were documentaries. But they were also films! I was captivated by their artistry, charmed by their cleverness, and most of all, thoroughly amazed by the fact that a documentary could actually make me feel something on a visceral level. I laughed when the filmmakers wanted me to laugh, my body grew physically tense in the moments of drama, and I felt a legitimate affinity for the films’ characters. Sometimes they made me happy. Sometimes they made me sad. At other times they made me squeamishly uncomfortable.  

Either way, I was sold. “Damn,” I remember thinking. “Forget all of those other careers. I want to do that!”

In subsequent years, I have been fortunate enough to grow into the role of a professional editor, and over time, I've come to realize that the work I am most proud of manages to somehow reflect how I am inclined to view and experience the outside world. Consequently, I must believe that when we watch films such as The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara and Sergio, we are gaining a privileged insight into what life must have looked like through the eyes of Karen Schmeer. And upon reading the warm memories of the numerous people who Karen touched throughout her lifetime, I think that I now understand why so many of her films have affected me on a very human and emotional level. For sure, it is evident that Karen edited with the very same passion, care, and sensitivity with which she lived her life.   

And so, I am absolutely thrilled to learn that I will be representing the Karen Schmeer Editing Fellowship as this year's fellow. I wish to warmly thank everyone responsible for entrusting me with this very humbling honor. Over the course of the coming year, I look forward to taking full advantage of the wonderful and unique opportunities that the fellowship affords its awardee with the knowledge that there are many other emerging editors who are equally deserving of such recognition. But most of all, I will consider myself to be extremely lucky for being extended the chance to partake in the remembrance of an individual who provided so much inspiration for so many people—myself included.

LINDSAY AT SUNDANCE 2013: "SUNDANCE AND THE OPEN ROAD"

By Lindsay Utz, 2012 Fellow

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In January I visited Park City for the Sundance Film Festival for the third time. I broke my own personal record for cramming as many screenings as possible into a festival experience, averaging 2.6 films a day over a period of 10 days. Actually, since I spent the last full day there cross country skiing (my first time ever) and most of the first day traveling I think it would be fair to say my average was more like 3.25 films a day, which isn't bad when you consider all the other things I had to do: sleep (when necessary), eat (when possible), bathe (a few times), socialize (constantly), etc.

I saw many remarkable films, but for me the true highlights included Sarah Polley's gorgeous and gripping personal documentary Stories We Tell, Baltimore indie filmmaker Matthew Porterfield's I Used to Be Darker, and the fantastical and entirely illegal all-shot-in-Disney World-without-location-permits Escape from Tomorrow.

For me, attending film festivals is a crucial part of my occupation. This is for four reasons: 1) to be reminded that, despite the solitude of editing as a craft, I am in fact not alone in what I do, 2) to meet and interact with real, live, in-the-flesh people, i.e. not simply the characters with whom one spends countless hours in the edit, 3) to watch high-caliber work with a critical eye... in a dark room... on a big screen... for many days in a row and, 4) subsequently discuss and debate ad nauseam the merits and weaknesses of every single decision made in the film.

But there was a fifth reason that made this particular festival at this particular time especially meaningful for me. I was only two weeks into the edit on a new film I'm cutting, In Country, when I jumped on a flight to Utah. As an editor friend of mine, and fellow Sundance-goer who was also working on a film put it, "we're so lucky to get this break from our own creative process." The importance of leaving the edit and coming back to it with a fresh eye and a perspective honed through seeing others' creativity laid bare on screen is something that cannot be overestimated.

I was particularly spongey since I was at this early stage in my own project and taking so many notes throughout the entire festival: what worked, what didn't and why. And I literally couldn't wait to get back to my edit. When you're first starting out, there's this feeling of the open road, the beginning of a long drive where anything could happen. That sense of exploration, discovery, adventureit's thrilling. You haven't hit any deer yet or lost your way or gotten a flat tire or decided you were just too tired to keep driving through the night. You're in the early stage of your relationship to the material, and anything's possible.

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But that's a fantasy. And the truth is it's gonna get hard, it always does. We dream in those early days of cutting the perfect film, but there is no such thing as a perfect film—not even at Sundance. Yet sharing the ritual of watching with so many like-minded people, going for ten long days to cinema's "church," if you will, reminded me that no matter how hard it gets, it is worth it in the end. It's a humbling and spiritual experience to hole up in the mountains with a bunch of kindred spirits who create and struggle the same as you do. It's a sort of therapy—for you, for your work and for your process.

That said, what I experienced in the days after I returned home was this sort of wild creative surge, this newfound feeling of being a little more daring, more likely to choose the less obvious route, to try things I wouldn't normally try, and then try them again.

In the end, it wasn't all the movies I saw or friends I made this time around that made Sundance so rich, but the adrenaline and fresh energy I took home to my own edit room, grounded in a sense of realism about my own process. I think that's the gift that a festival like Sundance gives to filmmakers—a reminder that we're all in this together, and the nudge to push harder, be better and do great work, even if it's not perfect.

ERIN AT SUNDANCE 2013

By Erin Casper, 2011 Fellow

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A few months ago, I had the great opportunity to attend Sundance 2013 with two projects: a feature-length documentary film called American Promise and a short narrative film called Gun. I started working on both films around the same time in late 2011 and worked on both for almost a year. I was on American Promise full time and on Gun whenever my director Spencer Gillis and my co-editor Adam Brown and I could squeeze in time at night and on weekends around our day-jobs and other side jobs.

Park CityWhen I began working on the films I knew both sets of directors had their sights set on submitting to Sundance in late fall. I hoped both would get in, but tried to keep my expectations low. Needless to say, I was floored that both of them were accepted and that I would get to “double dip,” as my American Promise co-editors put it.

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On the first Saturday of the festival, the Gun crew piled into our rented van and headed out to Salt Lake City for our world premiere in Shorts Program IV. I don’t know if it’s just my luck, but I find shorts to be pretty hit or miss, so I wasn’t sure what to really expect going in. My uncertainty immediately evaporated as soon as the show started. We were in seriously good company. One of my favorite films in our program was called On Suffocation, which is about the execution of two male lovers who are hanged by a few jail guards for violating laws against homosexuality in an unspecified county. It was a brutal but masterful piece at only seven minutes long. In the Q&A that followed, Writer/Director Jenifer Malmqvist explained that she purposely chose to leave out dialogue because homosexuality is punishable by death in seven countries, and she felt the story should represent anyone who is persecuted in any of those countries. I made a mental note to think of ways I could incorporate that idea into future work.

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The "American Promise" cast and crew.The following Monday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, the Inauguration, and the premiere of American Promise. Again, we were in good company. American Promise is a 13-year story chronicling the entire education of two Brooklyn-born, African American boys who are sent to one of the country’s most prestigious private prep schools. Overall, there was a ballpark figure of 700-800 hours of footage which my co-editors Mary Manhardt and Andrew Siwoff waded through in about 11 months. Creating the architecture for such an extensive story in that timeframe felt like an achievement unto itself, let alone premiering at Sundance.

Both families and the boys—Idris and Seun—were there, as well as most of the crew who worked on the film over the years. It was the first time so many of us were together in the same room.

Idris and SeunThe thing that makes me the most nervous about a premiere is meeting the subjects for the first time and sitting through the film with them as they watch themselves with a live audience. American Promise has been exceptional in this instance because not only were one of the families directing and producing the film, but I had also met many of the subjects, including the two boys, long before the film was finished. Despite having less distance than usual from the subjects, I still felt very protective of everyone and hoped they would like the film. To me, there is no greater validation in my work than the participants being proud to be a part of the finished film—especially in the case of Idris and Seun, who were documented from age 5 to 18. Mary, Andrew and I came to care very much for the boys as we watched them grow on film, and we did not want to let them down. As luck should have it, I happened to sit right in front of Idris, Seun and their friends and siblings, and they provided a running commentary of their reactions—joking and laughing with and at each other. From what I could hear, they seemed to like it and enjoy the audience cheering them on.

Erin and Andrew Siwoff (photo by Errol Webber)

Erin and Andrew Siwoff (photo by Errol Webber)

Aside from eavesdropping on the boys, I spied on audience reactions. The laughs hit where they should, there were audible sniffs, a few gasps and tisks that all fell in their intended places. The mood in the room felt great, and I couldn’t have asked for a more engaged audience, especially since the film’s running time is 140 minutes! Once it was all over, we got a standing ovation. It was really cool to see everything come full circle for the families after such a long journey with this film.

Later that night we had our after party at an art gallery on Main Street.Jonathan Batiste and the Stay Human Band performed. We danced until they had to close the gallery so we marched down Main Street and took over Black House and had an even larger party. We danced for hours.

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The next day I attended a filmmaker panel about the New York Times’ new opinion journalism feature called Op-Docs. The panel highlighted Op-Docs from notable documentary directors Laura Poitras, Rachel Grady and Heidi Ewing and discussed the first year of the Op-Doc series. They also premiered two new pieces by directors Dawn Porter and Roger Ross Williams, which were based on their Sundance-selected films Gideon’s Army and God Loves Uganda, respectively. I got to edit Dawn's Op-Doc, called True Believers In Justice. The piece follows a young public defender named Travis who has fully committed his life—and skin, as you’ll see in the piece—to giving fair representation to indigent clients in the South. I got to meet Travis at the panel and personally thank him for his work, and he couldn’t have been more humble. A woman standing next to me called him an American Hero. “I’m just a regular person,” he replied.

I really enjoyed working with Dawn on the Op-Doc. Gideon’s Army had considerable success at the festival—cheers to the whole team!

Lindsay Utz (2012 Fellow) and Erin (2011 Fellow) at the end of Sundance

Lindsay Utz (2012 Fellow) and Erin (2011 Fellow) at the end of Sundance

On the last day of the festival American Promise received a Special Jury Prize for Achievement in Filmmaking. It felt like an accurate description in our work as a large, protracted family of collaborators. I couldn’t be more proud to be a part of that.

I also got to celebrate the end of Sundance with my fellow Schmellow Lindsay Utz! We danced and caught up on the past year. It was so cathartic. Lindsay reminded me that us editors always need to support each other—of course I agreed!

In between all of this, I got to see films and connect with fellow filmmakers and editors. I left Sundance 2013 feeling grateful for an incredible end to a challenging and busy year and came away with a deeper love of what I do.

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LINDSAY AT ACE EDIT FESTS NY AND LA 2012

By Lindsay Utz, 2012 Fellow

One of the greatest benefits of the Fellowship is a pass to both of the ACE Edit Fests: one in NY (June 8-9, 2012) and the other in LA (Aug 3-4, 2012). Each consisted of two days of panels with film and TV editors. I'd never been to either one, but I immensely enjoy any sort of conference where people talk about their creative process. In what can be such a solitary profession, it's so inspiring to hear other editors discuss the ins and outs and ups and downs of their work. Just as I was looking forward to attending Edit Fest NY, ACE invited me to be on a panel called The Documentary Edit: Nonfiction vs The Truth to talk about working on Bully and my other projects. Of course I said yes!

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The opening night panel at the Directors Guild Theater on W. 57th was called The Lean Forward Moment. Each editor picked a sequence from a feature film in which the editing inspired them. Lance Edmands (Tiny Furniture) showed the opening sequence from the 1973 film Don't Look Now, edited by Graeme Clifford. Wow! I had completely forgotten about how much I loved this film when I first saw it, and I saw it so long ago (before I became an editor) that I'm not sure I truly appreciated the editing. The cuts in this opening sequence are artfully jarring, frenetic in composite and unexpected, which leads to a feeling of fear and disorientation. If we, as editors, are in the business of producing feelings in our viewers, this is a great example of how it's done. 

After that, there was a Friday night cocktail party next door at Le Parker Meridien Hotel where we had a chance to mingle with conference participants and take in the stellar views from the rooftop patio—after all, no NYC conference would be complete without a swanky high altitude after-party!

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My panel was the first one on Saturday morning at 10 am. I wasn't expecting much of a turnout at that hour but the devoted editors and cinephiles of NYC didn't disappoint. On my panel were editors Lewis Erskine (Freedom Riders, Toots), David Tedeschi (George Harrison: Living in the Material World) and Arielle Amsalem (By the People: The Election of Barack Obama, The Education of Dee Dee Ricks). It was moderated by David Zieff (The Cove, The Awful Truth).

We discussed a range of questions: how did we get inspired to become editors; how do we approach a non-fiction edit with the sheer mass of material that is shown; how did the story evolve and how was the film treated before; during and after we knew what you were dealing with; how do we seek, discover and develop our story? Do we get guidelines from the director or have an internal sense of story or some combination? When the film advocates a particular point of view or desired response how does that affect our work with the director? For a good recap on what we said to all of these things, check out this site.

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It was a little nerve-wracking to get up in front of other editors and discuss what actually is essentially a private process. In a way I felt vulnerable talking about my experience. Documentary editing is a complicated and magical, but sometimes ethically tricky craft. Discussing it on stage is an equally complicated task. Somebody asked me afterward if maybe I was too honest. I thought that was a funny question because if you can't be honest in front of a roomful of editors, where can you be? 

Later in the day I really enjoyed hearing Christopher Tellefsen (Moneyball, Capote) discuss his work, especially the masterfully taut gallows execution scene from Capote, one of the best dramatic accounts of a true story I've ever seen. As a side note, In Cold Blood is one of my favorite books and is something I return to a lot when I struggle in the edit room; it informs a lot of the techniques nonfiction writers (and therefore documentary film editors) employ in books and film today. I actually reread it when I was working on Bully in order to get my brain thinking about alternative ways to structure a story. 

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Ellie Lee and Lindsay Utz at Edit Fest LAIn August I flew to Los Angeles to attend Edit Fest LA. That event had an entirely different feel both because of where it took place (on the historic Universal Studios lot) and because the programming was more centered around fiction, 3D and animation—appropriately so since that's what most LA editors are working on. Even though I'm primarily a documentary editor, I found much overlap in the challenges that fiction editors face in the edit room. One point in particular was made during the opening night panel in which fiction editors discussed how, because shooting digital is so cheap compared to rolling film, they're dealing with such a higher ratio of footage these days and that actors actually end up rehearsing their scenes now while the camera is rolling. It made me think about how it brings a sort of documentary element to fiction filmmaking.

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Lindsay and Kate Amend at Edit Fest LAThe highlight as always during my trip to LA was the people I met through the help of the fellowship and ACE: lunch with Leo Trombetta (Mad Men, Little Children), chatting with Carol Littleton (ET, The Rum Diary) over lunch and meeting superstar doc editor Kate Amend (The Long Way Home, Thin) for drinks at the closing party. They're all such wonderful editors who were full of fun anecdotes about their own work. I also finally got to meet Jenni McCormick, Executive Director of ACE, who was awesome about introducing me to people throughout the weekend. Jenni knows everyone! I look forward to staying in touch with all of them.