* * *
Hey dude,
This is to keep you in the loop on what is the craziest thing I and we have ever been a part of. This is THE THREAD to date.
– hope you’re good, I am in a state of controlled fear.
– ramy
Ramy Katrib seals the last box for shipment to Bucharest.
* * *
After he finishes taping up box number 13 for shipping—the last one—Ramy announces, “I think we’re ready for him to come in.” He walks out the door onto Sunset Boulevard and waves toward a white van that has been parked, waiting, in a metered spot. The driver for Packair Airfreight and Customs Brokers pulls up in front of DFT. The boxes are loaded, and at a few minutes past 6:00 p.m, the van pulls out into traffic and heads west into the pale summer sunset to Los Angeles International Airport. Ramy stands on the sidewalk, DV camera in hand, as $135,911 worth of editing gear begins its trip around the globe to Romania, where Walter Murch anxiously waits for its arrival, and where he will hold Final Cut Pro to the fire on the largest, most complex film project it’s ever been used on.
The van with the Cold Mountain Final Cut Pro edit systems leaves DigitalFilm Tree for Los Angeles International Airport, and Bucharest, Romania.
With the last 72 hours of intense activity behind them, and the equipment out of the building, Ramy, Tim, Henry, Zed, and Edvin, can finally sit down and relax. Draped along a green office couch, they sit in front of the TV and watch the news.
JULY 9, 2002—BUCHAREST, ROMANIA
Murch again writes a long email to Apple CEO Steve Jobs. He updates Jobs about arriving in Bucharest, his plans for the FCP editing setup, and his meeting with Bill Hudson and Brian Meaney in Berkeley before he left California. “We went over the major unresolved issues, which they may have reported to you: non-embedded OMF export & change lists being the major items. I gave B & B [Bill Hudson and Brian Meaney] a timeline of the shooting and post-production of Cold Mountain, and they were confident that the Cinema Tools and FCP software could be rewritten to get us what we need when we need it (around March of next year).”
Murch goes on to say he intends to convert from using Apple’s System 9 during shooting to OS X once they move the editing to London, assuming Aurora’s add-on cards for digitizing are also upgraded to the newer operating system.
“We are also ready and enthusiastic to make this leap,” Murch continues, “even though not all of FCP’s features are completely ready for a film as big as Cold Mountain, because we think it will ultimately all work out, and for the good of this specific film, for the film industry, and for Final Cut, which we think is the system that will come to dominate professional filmmaking in the years to come. We are excited to be playing an instrumental part in this adventure.”
Then Murch broaches the idea of a barter: if Apple is willing to upgrade the computer hardware Murch is getting, he and Minghella are willing to plug the Final Cut Pro system. But Murch writes this under a false assumption that Apple is providing FCP software at no charge. Over the last few weeks there had been discussions between Melanie Laird at Miramax and Apple executives about a product placement deal—donating the software in return for promotional rights—but it never came together.
“Anthony Minghella and I would like you to know that we have been very happy with the progress that has been made so far,” Murch writes to Jobs, “and would be glad to do promotional work for Apple and FCP whenever that would be suitable towards the conclusion of the project (summer of 2003 and on). The film is expected to be released in the fall of 2003.”
Not being aware that Miramax actually paid for Final Cut Pro places Murch in an awkward position. Thinking the door is already open, Murch keeps on walking: “Apple has been generous with their time, and have given us the necessary software free of charge. I would like to request, if possible, some additional support in hardware. We will be using four G-4 2x1 GB machines. Perhaps something can be arranged through Miramax-Disney-Pixar if that would be a convenient channel.”
There has been extraordinary pressure by Miramax and MGM on all departments within Cold Mountain to cut costs. This is typical for any film studio about to start a high-budget motion picture—and in the case of Cold Mountain, one of the big reasons it’s been shot in Eastern Europe. Once filming begins, budgets only go up; they never go down. Only by setting their fixed costs as low as possible before production do the studios have any chance of holding the line against cost overruns caused by acts of God (weather, injuries, breakdowns, etc.) and flashes of creativity. For Minghella, this meant grueling preproduction meetings going over script, storyboards, and budgets looking for ways to save money by cutting down scenes, eliminating shooting days, removing locations, and reducing the shooting schedule. For Murch and other department heads, the financial squeeze means working with one less person than usual, or relying exclusively on lower-paid, less-experienced Romanian assistants. Even though Murch is ahead of the curve, having selected an editing platform that saves tens of thousands of dollars, he is trying to further economize his costs so he can bring on a needed third assistant editor, Dei Reynolds, from London. Saving money with Apple may give him the budget savings to have one extra body to work more comfortably.
* * *
The Six Stages of Film Production
1. Wild Enthusiasm
2. Total Confusion
3. Utter Despair
4. Search for the Guilty
5. Punishment of the Innocent
6. Reward of the Non-Involved
—an old movie industry adage recalled by Murch in his journal, July 9, 2003
* * *
“In any case,” Murch concludes in his email to Jobs, “I am very happy with the situation we find ourselves in. It has just the right balance of certainty and unknown to be creatively energizing. I wish you well in whatever your endeavors are at the moment, and will report on our progress at decent intervals. All best wishes, Walter Murch.”
JULY 10, 2003—BUCHAREST
The following day, film with test shots of actors in wardrobe and makeup is being printed. The second unit, a small-sized crew, is starting to film areas of the big battle scene. Assistant editor Sean Cullen sends emails to Ramy about sync sound problems he’s having with this first set of dailies. Audio files that Cullen runs separately on an Akai digital sound player are not syncing up to the projected film workprint. He needs some way to convert these .wav files into either .aiff or Sound Designer 2 format. Characteristically, when he asks Ramy for advice, Sean seems calm and to the point. Just another workaround.
Later the same day, Sean sends another email to Ramy with a new question about the electrical power for the Akai machine providing audio playback. It is supposed to run on 120 volts at 60 Hz in the U.S. and Canada; 220-240 volts at 50 Hz in Europe. “Can I plug my (Akai) Dubbers into 240 V @ 50 Hz or will they fry? It is important to consider the downside of losing the dubbers: no dailies, then death.” In the meantime Sean will use Murch’s ProTools sound edit system, which had finally arrived from California. “Thanks for all the hard work,” Sean writes to Ramy. “We started (second unit) shooting an hour ago, soon we will see what all this fuss is about. All the best, Sean.”
As for the sound conversion problem, Zed puts Sean in touch with AVTransfer, an outfit in Australia that might be able to help him convert the audio files. However, they want $1,000 a day in consulting fees. It’s a lot of money and Sean wants to forestall unexpected financial expenditures like these because he and Walter are still trying to find room in their budget for Dei Reynolds to come on board. So, as an alternative, Ramy, Zed, and John Taylor (via telephone) review Taylor’s previous workflow document to include a new conversion step. They tell Sean to use an AVTransfer application, which unfortunately is written to run only on a PC, not a Mac. But it will convert the Broadcast Wave files into Sound Designer II files so he can sync up sound for dailies projection. All Sean has to do now is find a copy of Virtual PC, a program that allows his Mac
to imitate a PC.
* * *
Subject: A book for Romania...
Date: Wednesday, July 10, 2002 1:29 PM
From: Sean Cullen
To: Ramy Katrib
Ramy,
Walter has asked that we secure a copy of “Final Cut Pro 3 for Macintosh (Visual QuickPro Guide)” by Lisa Brenneis. Could you grab a copy and have Jim bring it along with him. You can’t believe how much we envy your location. FedEx actually means something.
All the best,
Sean.
* * *
Upstairs at Kodak Cinelabs in Bucharest.
On Friday July 12, Ramy gives a sigh of relief: Miramax decided to forgo leasing the computer equipment and instead will make an outright purchase. This is a comfort, since DFT has by this time laid out $116,000 for hardware and $12,500 for software.
July 12, 2002, Murch’s Journal
Birthday #59. Go out to battlefield for the “flag” shot. It had just rained, and was soggy muddy but shootable. Rode back to hotel in Dianne’s car. Dailies good.
The “test footage” shakedown before the official first day of shooting on July 15 has escalated to include hundreds of soldiers. A camera crane executing a dramatic reveal of the Union soldiers lying on their stomachs, waiting for the tunnel dynamite to explode will later become one of the key moments in the film.
The Rorke hard drive array with 1.2 terabytes of storage capacity. It winds up holding all 113 miles of Cold Mountain film dailies, with room to spare.
By this time Walter’s arrangements at the Kodak lab are in place. He knows Miramax signed off on paying DigitalFilm Tree for the Final Cut Pro systems still in transit. First day of principal photography is still four days away. It’s a chance to breathe a little easier. Those who know Murch will not find it surprising that he connects with the two American photographers brought to Romania to take Civil War-era tintype photographs for the motion picture. These are important props in Cold Mountain, as Inman and Ada each give one to the other before Inman goes off to battle. While fascinated by new technology and how it can improve his daily work, Murch is simultaneously obsessed with older epochs, whether it’s Civil War–period photography, what happened to the slaves after the sack of Rome, or Edison’s attempts to play synchronous sound with projected film. So it’s predictable that he finds kindred spirits in the tintypers, Stephen Berkman and Barrett Oliver. Their process replicates a long-forgotten 19th century photographic technique, and with their longish hair and muttonchop sideburns, they look like time travelers from the 1860s. They listen with equal interest to Murch’s exposition of Bode’s Law, a theory about the proportional distances of planets from the sun that has preoccupied Walter for many years. He actively works on a proof for the theorem, even while editing movies.
While the hubbub of filmmaking swirls around and the anticipation of full-on production grows to fever pitch, Murch takes refuge in “my planets,” as he says, eager to share his theories with interested companions. In just two days the gates will open and the film footage will start to flood his days and nights. For now Walter can take comfort in the long view and the big picture.
German astronomer Johann Elert Bode (1747–1826). In his spare time Murch has been working on a proof for Bode’s Law of planetary distances.
July 13, 2002, Murch’s Journal
Lunch with Sean in Hotel, more about Bode.
Walter uses this tranquil moment before the storm to provide support for director Minghella on the eve of the first day of principal photography. This means receiving Walter’s ritual gift of the director’s prescription bottle: a genuine amber-colored plastic pill container (with child-proof cap) that Murch fills with fortunes—slips of typewritten messages, missives, maxims, and advisories all relating to the feat of directing a motion picture. Minghella’s phial is labeled:
Murchway Pharmacy
One each day, AM or PM
Before or after shooting
Slight giddiness normal side effect
Do not operate heavy machinery
120 pastilles. Discard after 12/20/03
Director’s medicine.
Among the fortunes inside:
• Find without seeking.
• Debussy himself used to play with the piano lid closed.
• Find, for each shot, a new pungency over and above what you imagined.
• Reorganize chance. That is the basis of your work.
• Those horrible days...when shooting film disgusts you, when you are exhausted, powerless in the face of so many obstacles...make them part of your method of work.
One legend has it that Murch’s source for these epigrams is the French surrealist poet and filmmaker Jean Cocteau, or French film director Robert Bresson. Another says he’s been collecting them from various places for years. At any rate, this third collaboration between Minghella and Murch provides the occasion for a third set of fortunes.
July 14, 2002, Murch’s Journal
Eight mile run to the Botanical Gardens. I am attacked by a mangy dog who tries to nip my heel and keeps trying four or five times until I eventually move out of his orbit. Give fortunes to Ant in Prescription Bottle. It needs a label because transparent.
The first day of principal photography on a motion picture means high anxiety, exaltation, fear, madness, jubilation, and disbelief—and that’s just during the first few minutes, and usually before sunrise. For Minghella and the Cold Mountain producers, this day has been six years in the making. But no matter how well prepared and professional the crew, how experienced and dedicated the actors, or how big or small the budget, the momentousness of the day quivers down in everyone’s guts. The fact that on this same day, Walter’s Final Cut Pro equipment arrives from halfway around the world, intact, sends an extra surge of electricity through the charged-up edit crew.
July 15, 2002, Murch’s Journal
Official Start Shooting Cold Mountain. FCP Equipment from US arrives. Jim arrives to install it. Throw I Ching: good changing to very bad. Hmm...
Organizing Office. Run around Palace at 9:30 p.m.
Sean got LocPro to Synch Akai: thanks! And thanks that the Akai runs at 50hz—the only thing they said to watch out for was overheating.
Inevitably, the thrill of the first day’s actual shooting gives way to the heaviness of grueling 14- or 16-hour days and the unrelenting demands of solving creative problems. For the edit team—Walter, Walter Jr., and Sean—the second day of production also means a similar sinking into the handling of actual film footage with all its wonderment and imperfection. Yes, the film runs properly, gets synced up, and will land on Walter’s Final Cut desktop, and that’s a relief. Just as it will be a comfort at the last preview come October 2003 in New Jersey, when the splices do indeed hold together. The physics of it all deserve recognition. But there isn’t enough time to spend appreciating the wonder of technology, nor the fact this is a breakthrough moment. There’s a movie to make, film to be evaluated, and a niggling storytelling problem that appears in the footage right away: why do the Union soldiers entrap themselves in the crater at the Battle of Petersburg?
July 16, 2002, Murch’s Journal
Looked at second unit dailies and confer with Ant, John, and Darren afterwards. The problem is to explain visually why the northerners ran into a hole and trapped themselves. It is inherent problem in the script, but becomes more pointed visually. We screened dailies, limpingly with Mike’s personal sound system, which was distorting. Help. And both channels weren’t working. May tomorrow be a better day. I feel puffy and fat and shlubby.
Murch’s desk on first day of principal photography.
Chapter 6. Scenes I Can Cut!
The first film dailies of Cold Mountain were screened on July 17, third day of principal photography.
A motion picture in the making is often more mysterious and complex than any one person can fathom, be it writer, producer, director, or editor. Luckily, movie directors who work with Walter Murch get an editor who w
ears more than one hat. Murch is a film editor and sound mixer, but he has also worked as a sound editor and designer, screenwriter, and director, so he can see a motion picture from many sides. His own varied interests—music, physics, translating Italian literature, history, astronomy, and beyond—likewise give Murch numerous entryways for discovering the secrets of a film. The material can tell filmmakers what to do, just as novelists say their characters often guide the plot, but you must know how to hear. Murch watches, listens, and contemplates, using a set of dependable tools he has acquired over 30 years.
For everyone involved in shooting the film, the screenplay is the front door, the portal to the story’s interior. But for the editor, once closeted with actual footage, the written document doesn’t remain useful for very long. It guides the editor’s first assembly—all the scenes, as shot, put together in order, as written, but films are rarely released exactly as written. For one thing, most of them would be too long for audiences to tolerate. The rule of thumb is that one page of script equals one minute of screen time. But with certain directors, Anthony Minghella included, that formula isn’t too reliable. The shooting script for The English Patient, for example, was 121 pages. Applying the one-page/one-minute equation, the first assembly should have been 2:01 hours. In fact, it was 4:20, more than twice as long. The final released version was 2:42.
Once a scene starts getting transformed from words on a page to film on the screen, all bets are off. Some directors, like Hitchcock and Spielberg, shoot exactly what’s in the script as written; it’s a way of working that suits their personalities. But they are the exceptions. Most directors find their conception for a particular scene changes once they’re on the set. The tempo of actors’ dialogue and the blocking of their movements, the vagaries of light and costume, can change the way a scene gets executed. New material might be added; planned shots may be jettisoned due to weather, schedule, or actors being unavailable; “coverage”—having multiple camera angles on the same action for the editor to choose from—might be compromised, causing a scene to be drastically re-imagined. The editor necessarily works with the material provided, rather than what was imagined but never shot.
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