Training the Eye - seeing nuances through the practice of edit analysis

 Analyzing, appreciating and making films are very different activities - although they can be reconciled. Cinematic techniques tend to conceal themselves in order to create an effect (visceral, emotional, intellectual etc.), especially in fiction films. Although, with enough conscious practice one can train their eyes to see beyond the self-effacing methods. Although documentaries often use different techniques, their basic elements (shots, sound, music, sequences) are the same as in fiction. An edit analysis is a good way of learning to see differently - the first step of assembling a visual narrative of our own is disassembling one and seeing how their parts work. In a way, it helps us unlearn the complete innocence or naivete when watching films (if it is good or bad can be debated).

The still is from Jan Sverák's mockumentary Oil Gobblers (Ropáci, 1988) in which he ventures out with a zoologist and biochemist to capture on film a timid animal that feed on petrol and plastic. It used the stylistic elements of a documentary, used expert narration and made viewers believe that the peculiar animal (called pompously Pacurofagus oxitoxicus) is real. After the premiere of the film (which originally was a student project) people feverishly discussed the newfound creature. Two weeks later the creators published a TV programme in which they explained that the animal is in fact fictive ("played" by a plastic figure manufactured for the film) and the film was intended as a joke. However, it became a document of human gullibility, but also the potential ingenuity of nature and evolution to overcome the damage caused by human intervention. It can also be seen as an example of the environmentalist argument which warns against the dangers of senseless exploitation and pollution caused by "developed" societies.

Watching documentaries can feel distinct from watching fiction films. In my opinion, the difference between fiction and non-fiction in cinema is not primarily a question of form (even though it has formal aspects) but rather entails a sort of pact between filmmaker and viewer. This pact concerns the mode of reception or the relation between the director and the pro-filmic object. It is almost like the autobiographical pact described by Philippe Lejeune, in which the author enters in a contract with the reader promising to give a detailed account of their lives, and of nothing but that life. In a documentary the viewer usually does not expect to see artificiality, constructedness, a fabricated or altered "reality" - they expect to see the world as it is (or as it was in front of the camera). The viewer expects that the filmmaker does not interfere or try to alter, stage what they are filming (it is the filmmaker-object relation in the pact). Moreover, it is expected that the filmmaker does not try to manipulate, deceive the viewer or present something that did not happen in front of the camera. It is a very tight and restricted understanding of documentary filmmaking (maybe closer to what film theorists call direct cinema). Documentaries do utilize a "sleight of hand" to arrange/organize the material and make arguments, and it is not necessarily an act of deception. However, visual training (i.e. watching a lot of documentaries, analyzing them, performing edit analyses) can help us learn their tricks, decide what works for us and what does not. And maybe most importantly, it enables us to find our ethical borderline, meaning what type or degree of intervention (in editing, sound effects, narration, artistic techniques) is still acceptable for us and which authorial/editorial choices "distort", "bend" the pro-filmic object enough for us that we feel that we are watching fiction.

Edit Analysis

Jamie Meltzer, Chris Filippone: Huntsville Station (2020), closing scene

Action

Sound

LS BUS STATION, EXT., DAY three men sitting on metal benches, seemingly waiting, looking a bit tired and bored   Cut to MS of a man sitting on the curb, looking away from the camera to the left, his hands locked. Seems pensive, maybe a bit somber. He shifts his gaze to the other side, rubbing his hands together   Cut to MCU of a man in a checkered shirt, looking out of the frame pensively, brows furrowed, he fiddles a bit and licks his lips       Cut to CU of a metal post, another metal piece is clanking against it repeatedly as the wind moves it a little   Cut to MCU of a young, tattooed man resting in the shade, then he peeks out and the sun hits his face. He seems somewhat impatient, looking into the distance. He takes a puff of his cigarette, then slowly exhales. He scratches his beard pensively, then suddenly looks up     Cut to MCU of a man in a white shirt looking out of the frame to the right. He licks his lips absentmindedly and accidentally looks at the camera. Then he puts his fingers against each other and looks away. Then he looks at the camera again, his eye flutters away. He looks pensive           Cut to MS of a man in glasses sitting on the curb next to a walking frame, looking out of the frame to the left. He drops his head and sniffles. He takes off his glasses, continues sniffling, he rubs his eyes and then keeps rubbing, stroking his hair. While still sniffling, he puts his hand in front of his face as if wanting to block it from the camera       Cut to ELS of the blue sky with some clouds         Cut to MCU of the metal benches of the bus station. A Bible and an abandoned shirt left there   Cut to ELS of the outside of the Greyhound station. A big, bearded man is collecting is collecting trash from the benches and puts it into a trashcan. The shop clerk from the inside turns the OPEN/CLOSE sign on the entrance and then exists the building. End credits keep appearing on the screen the bearded man and the clerk leave the frame in opposing directions. A car passes in front of the camera, temporarily blocking the view. As it leaves, the bearded man reappears, still collecting trash   FADE OUT which signals the ending of the film

diegetic sound of a bus passing by         sound of birds chirping, R&B music from a distant car, train whistles in the distance         sound of wind and leaves, the train keeps whistling in the distance, birds chirping, flies buzzing V/O sound of cars passing by, something metallic is clanking against metal   clanking noise continues, birds chirping       birds chirping, flies buzzing distant, unintelligble chatting of pedestrians outside of the frame   Noise of beard scratching amplified in the relative silence V/O church bell tolling in the distance     Bell tolling continues Flies buzzing                       sniffling cars passing by in the distance                   V/O sniffling cars passing by sound of a bus arriving, a man unintelligibly shouting, giving instructions in the distance   sound of a bus passing V/O metallic clanking     clanking sound of the pinching trash-collecting tool unintelligible speech of pedestrians outside the frame mechanic noise in the distance flies buzzing

 

The sequence is the closing scene of the short documentary titled Huntsville Station (2020). The film is about a group of inmates recently released on parole from Huntsville Penitentiary in Texas. Upon release they receive a bus ticket voucher and a $100 release check, thus most of them make their way to the nearby Greyhound station to get a bus home. Their episode is a daily occurrence: their scenes of frantic and emotional phone calls, purchasing new clothes in the small shop and waiting somberly or hopefully on the benches cyclically happens each day. The closing sequence takes 4 minutes and 24 seconds and consists of 8 different shots. Its beginning is marked by a medium long shot of a bus passing by, the subsequent cut reveals three men sitting on a metal bench still waiting. The sequence aims to capture the experience of those left over: their fellow inmates already started their journey home but they are still stuck at the station, eager to go home.

The overall atmosphere of the sequence is static and melancholic. The portrait-like shots of the nameless men waiting resembles moving photographs. The camera does not move but tenderly captures even the smallest movements of their faces. This eager but not too invasive gaze creates an intimacy, it helps the viewer feel the emotions swirling in the newly released inmates. The camera only presents us the men, without any additional explanation or voice-over narration. The viewer is left to figure out the array of emotions in the weary men: they appear as reflective, pensive, melancholic, hopeful and broken. Despite not knowing their names, they appear in their individuality, with their idiosyncratic gestures, moods and features. The camera takes the position of an “objective outsider” and the men usually avoid its gaze, as if it was not there. However, one of them accidentally looks into the camera, breaking this illusion of objectivity. The viewer then realizes that the camera intrudes into their most private moments, their first instances of regained freedom. This intrusion is made evident when the camera shows a man crying, who is trying to hide his face. The camera then discreetly “averts its gaze” and cuts to the sky (which can seem like a heavy-handed symbol of the desire for freedom) but we still hear his sniffle off screen.

The camera does not make any movements, only shifts between close-ups and long shots to place the waiting men into the barren, gray environment of the bus station. Bus stations are transitional spaces and this milieu fits the in-betweenness, the liminal mood of the film. Huntsville Station is only 14 minutes long altogether and only contains about three sequences which could all be described as episodic. There is no tangible tension or plot twists, the camera only shows us the gradual emptying of the station, as all inmates leave. The closing sequence presents the last phase of this process (which is repeated daily). The employees, the big, bearded man and the clerk clean up and leave, but tomorrow they will return and repeat the same routine with new inmates. The static shots and the absence of camera movements capture this feeling of being stuck, repetition and timelessness. The bus station and the inmates are out of time, the closing sequence and whole film itself conveys the feeling of time dripping slowly, but also time standing still. In the 4-minute excerpt of the film the viewer does not really know how much time has passed, the static shots and the lack of events trick us into believing that it is an eternity. Its formal traits and visual techniques artificially extend time.

The directors Meltzer and Filippone only used diegetic sound: the soundscape of the street, birds chirping and buses passing by. The closing sequence does not include any dialogues, we only hear distant chatting and shouting. Ambient noises dominate the scene which create a realistic atmosphere and places the viewer into the location. However, Meltzer and Filippone artificially amplify certain noises (e.g. clanking of metal, the scratching of the beard) to convey how sounds appear louder in the relative silence, when people are bored and waiting endlessly. The shifting amplification of sounds mimics the wandering senses of a waiting person, how they start paying attention to seemingly meaningless details to mitigate boredom.