9:55 p.m. Murch searches the dailies for all the possible shots of Inman and Ada in the snow. There is a medium shot of Jude Law but his throat moves, so he doesn’t look dead. What if Murch uses the “good part” of the crane shot, after the camera settles down, and puts a dissolve from the existing medium close-up to this wide shot? This might add a sense of transition, of time passing in the gorge before we move on into the future.
Murch makes these edits with the sound turned off. The silence in the room is interrupted sporadically by Guy Fawkes fireworks from nearby Primrose Hill.
10:17 p.m. Anthony comes in. “Do you need some sustenance?” he asks Walter.
“Nah.”
“Nah?” Anthony repeats. “That’s just for sissies, right? What did you have to eat today, Walter?”
“I had a croissant.”
Ada and Inman near the conclusion of Cold Mountain.
“That’s it?”
“Well, and an apple.”
Dean, who provides night security at the Old Chapel, sticks his head in the door to say he’s on the premises if they need anything.
“Tell me when Portsmouth goals are on,” Anthony says, wanting to see TV replays of his soccer team winning.
10:37 p.m. Anthony looks at the revised death scene: “I think the intersperse between the close-up and the top shot is too short. You see it and then you’re out of it.”
Murch adds three to four seconds to the head of the second shot. Dean calls up for Anthony to say the soccer highlights are on.
“Sorry, guys,” Minghella says, and goes downstairs to watch.
10:51 p.m. Walter tries putting several new exterior landscape shots between the final image of Inman and Ada in the snow and the shot of Ada’s daughter, Grace, at Black Cove Farm years later. Producer Sydney Pollack had earlier suggested interposing some neutral shots between the death of Inman and the coda to create a sense of time passing. He had done something comparable in his film Tootsie to address a similar need to create space between two separate chronologies. Murch adds static shots of the farmhouse in winter, the surrounding mountains, then a final wide shot of Black Cove Farm in summer. “These visuals are like chords, musical chords,” he says. “This last one, the house—we’ve spent a lot of time there—it asks a question, gives you time to wonder, What happened to her, to Ada?”
Murch adjusts the dialogue of Kidman’s letter reading accordingly (“There are days...”), bringing it forward so it begins over the last farmhouse-in-winter shot.
11:14 p.m. Anthony is back upstairs to watch this new transition. “It’s a little goosebump moment for me,” he says, happily.
“A voice in the clear is like that; it takes you into the end,” Murch says.
Anthony goes down the hall and asks if he can borrow Sean and Susannah, who are still working, for their reactions.
They watch the revisions. “I prefer no buildings between the gorge and the house,” Sean says. Anthony admits he rarely believes anything for certain, but now he’s confident about what he’s seen, and good-naturedly tells Sean, “You’re wrong!”
“I like it,” Anthony says. “We don’t want to go straight away to realities. We want to keep hearts beating.”
Sporadic flashes from the Guy Fawkes fireworks appear through the window, reflecting off the building next door.
11:42 p.m. Walter plays the sequence through to the end for Anthony. “This time I thought to myself maybe the four other characters could still be there, that they’re survivors,” Anthony says.
“It’s a reminder of seasonal change, of mortality and evolution,” Murch says.
Anthony considers the shot of Grace watching Ada put a sheepskin on a newborn lamb: “Did it make you think this obviates bringing Grace forward? See what happens without Grace and begin the old way.”
Murch makes the edits and runs the scene with Grace now appearing in the field and walking toward the camera before we see Ada cutting off the sheepskin.
Minghella prefers this version.
“It’s got the right mix of lyricism and violence,” Walter says.
“Enormous changes at the last minute,” says Anthony.
“Our specialty,” replies Walter.
Midnight. Sean comes in to confirm that he will make tapes of the newly revised reel one for tomorrow’s sound mix.
“That’s it,” Anthony says. He stands up, goes to Walter, and they hug.
“It’s a real lock now,” Murch says.
The Guy Fawkes fireworks are spent now, as Murch and his dog Hana walk home. Murch recounts what just happened with the end transition. “This afternoon I didn’t really know what we were going to do, although I remembered those landscape shots of the farm. It had snowed the night before, and [visual effects supervisor] Dennis Lowe grabbed a camera and went out and got the material that we just wound up cutting into the film. The original intention was to film shots to use for background images in visual effects to be done later.” Murch and Hana crunch through the fall leaves that cover sections of sidewalk between the Old Chapel and Primrose Hill.
It’s fascinating to note that the final story items that had to be addressed were beginnings and endings. “That always seems to be the way it is,” Murch says, chuckling slightly. “It could have easily been a day in the completion of English Patient or Ripley.”
And with that Murch says goodnight. He and Hana descend Primrose Hill Road and disappear into the darkness.
Anthony Minghella is fond of rephrasing what French critic and writer Paul Valéry wrote about a poem: “A film is never finished, only abandoned.” Indeed, over the next two weeks he and Murch will tweak this, adjust that, and otherwise see the film through its final technical processes and steps of quality control. It’s not very creative, but it is work that must get done carefully lest an imperfection be embedded that millions of viewers will see or hear forever. Murch describes the final steps of finishing movies as a kind of petering out: “They don’t end with a bang, they sort of dribble off.” There is no one defining moment; no “martini shot” (during filming, the last take of the day before drinks); no tangible finish line to cross.
The next Sunday, November 9, back at De Lane Lea, Murch uses last night’s picture change lists from FCP to re-conform the mix masters on the Akai dubbers and the corresponding automation files in the Harrison mixing board. They both snap into place exactly. “A big sight of relief,” says mixer Matthew Gough. “High readings on the sigh-o-meter.” The next day Murch finishes the print master—the absolutely final six-track sound mix used in the lab for making release prints. Two days later, Murch checks the revised mix against the complete film print struck from the digital intermediate (“Another watershed moment, one step closer to completion,” he writes in his journal). On November 13, Murch fixes Ada’s vision of Inman when she looks down Esco’s well, swapping a few frames to make it less obvious that Inman falls down. Then, on November 17, Murch, Minghella, Harvey Weinstein, and Colin Vaines screen the answer print against the sound print master.
Wednesday, November 19, 2003, Murch’s Journal
This way of doing films, everything is called into question, and nothing is certain until the very end. Anthony’s secret way of liberating the film from the limits of its own intelligence, making sure the film is smarter than the author, as Kundera said the novel must be.
But hold the phone—it’s not over yet. The end credit songs need to switch positions; Elvis Costello’s “Scarlet Tide” now comes first, followed by Sting’s “My Ain True Love.” Murch makes this change, having to do a sound edit within the print master.
By now, Studio A at De Lane Lea is no longer available for these last tweaks to the soundtrack. In a November 25 email to Tim Bricknell, Murch writes: “We are scurrying around homeless in Soho, trying to find places that will let us squeeze in and do what we need to do (remix, remaster, etc.). But we will get it done, somehow, somewhere.”
Friday, November 21, 2003, Murch’s Journal
In car going to Deluxe: to look at the first married print. God willing, it will be good. If there are changes to be made, let us see them clearly and act decisively with wisdom.
The print looks good, except for a half-dozen shots that still require color adjustments. These are unavoidable mistakes that occur when a release print is struck from the internegative for the first time. But there are some very good things, too, especially the night scenes and dark interiors, which please Murch.
* * *
Resurfacing
“Finishing a film is like coming up to the surface of the ocean from a great depth. You stand now on the deck of a boat looking at the surface and wonder ‘What was all the fuss about?’ You know how important oxygen was, you know how deep it was, and how complex and contingent the journey was, with tangled kelp forests and sharks. But now the ocean smiles back at you, flat and sparkling in the sunlight.”
—Murch’s Journal
* * *
The pace slows down. Suddenly there is nothing more to accomplish. Closure, with its own rituals, is underway.
Friday, November 28, 2003, Murch’s Journal
Party for Mirage at Landsdowne Pub. Very good. Awards were given out. Dei won “most athletic biking gear.” I won “most promising newcomer” award. Hana won the Thalberg Achievement award, particularly cited for bravery in sitting on Harvey’s lap.
On Saturday, November 29, a screening for cast and crew is held at a commercial theater in Chelsea. Murch calls it dispiriting, because much of the film is projected out of focus, and the theater’s sound system is flat and unbalanced.
Murch and Minghella finish the mix at De Lane Lea.
Sunday, November 30, 2003, Murch’s Journal
Lazy day. Got up late and had breakfast with Aggie around 11 am. Went out to the Chapel and got the Fortnum & Mason baskets and took some photographs of the scene boards. I may look normal, but I’m not. Feeling the effects of “parade syndrome.” The reactive sensation that the film, though finished, is coming apart, not as good as I thought it was, all that effort for... this? When I think about it now it seems so simple and self-evident, why did it take us so long to put it together? “Are you maaaad?” etc., etc.
* * *
Murch on Reaching an Audience
Film is a popular medium, and the audience is never far from our thoughts, the way the ocean is never far from the thoughts of a shipbuilder. But that shouldn’t prevent, in fact it should even encourage, beautiful ships being built.
* * *
The next day Walter and Aggie leave early in the morning for California. They arrive in time for the first in a round of Cold Mountain previews in the San Francisco Bay Area and later in Los Angeles.
Wednesday, December 3, 2003, Murch’s Journal
Standing in Union Square. The center of it is all paved over now. The Union Square of “The Conversation” is gone. Here is where Harry’s van was parked, in front of Macy’s. But remarkably still here is the bicycling Santa on Hoogasian’s flower stand, which you can see in the film when the van pulls away, leaving Harry walking in the other direction into the crowd. Then I met Aggie on that same corner, going into Neiman Marcus (used-to-be-City of Paris), what a nice surprise!
* * *
Anthony Minghella on Finishing a Film
I love to make movies, I just hate releasing them. One’s skin is very thin. At a certain point it’s hard to be judged. No one wants to be judged.
* * *
Sunday, December 7, 2003, Murch’s Journal
LA Premiere: Variety screening at Egyptian. Excellent sound and picture. Very good top end and great low end, especially during the explosion. Staggering. Better than De Lane Lea.
DECEMBER 25, 2003—CITRUS HEIGHTS, CALIFORNIA
The Century Greenback 16 Theatres are just off Interstate 80, past the Holiday Inn Express and a Ford dealership full of RVs. This working-class suburb is a hundred miles from San Francisco and eons from Hollywood. At 6:45 p.m. on Christmas Day there are fewer than ten empty spaces in the huge parking lot. James, the assistant manager, says five screenings have sold out today. This augurs well for a good holiday box office.
The crowd is predominantly white and Latino, with a handful of Asian Americans and African Americans. Sweatshirts and jeans are de rigueur for both sexes. Squint and you’re back at the multiplex in Edgewater, New Jersey.
There are 25 people already waiting for the 7:20 p.m. showing of Cold Mountain, one of 2,000 theatres nationally where the movie opens today. The people in line are older and whiter than the rest of the theater patrons, with nearly twice as many women as men.
One woman says she is here because of the good reviews and the stars. “People coming out said it was very good, but sad.”
“I came because of the story line,” one man says. “I enjoy war action stories.” “Nicole Kidman never makes a bad movie,” his wife adds.
The line has swelled. Fifty people wait to go inside.
“I saw the commercial,” a woman says. “I like Nicole Kidman and Jude Law. And it looks like it’s action packed!”
The previous showing ends. The double doors open and the sound of “My Ain True Love” drifts out into the hall. The people waiting in line start to move forward.
FEBRUARY 25, 2003—LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
It’s Oscar week. Amid the flurry of parties and prognostications, Walter Murch—nominated for Best Editing for Cold Mountain—will appear tonight at the Los Angeles Final Cut Pro User Group’s monthly meeting. By appearing here, only a few minutes drive from DigitalFilm Tree and from The Lot where he edited K-19: The Widowmaker, Murch is closing the loop. The group is an eclectic mix of editors who use the application for all sorts of purposes, from features to documentaries, television, and amateur video. LAFCPUG, as it’s known, was formed in June 2002, the same month Murch chose FCP for Cold Mountain and left for Bucharest.
Murch speaks to the Los Angeles Final Cut Pro User’s Group.
LAFCPUG meetings are held at the Los Angeles Film School on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. Members show their own works-in-progress, trailers of finished projects, and scenes that need troubleshooting. Guest speakers from the creative and technical communities often make presentations. Topics might include: “Multi-task while playing a sequence in the FCP Timeline,” “35mm Plug-ins, “and “Logic Pro 6.” Representatives from Apple have used these events to preview new products—Brian Meaney recently demonstrated FCP HD 4.5 for the group.
Ramy and Zed are here, along with some 200 other Final Cut devotees. Some have edited a feature film, most aspire to. All have heard or read accounts of Murch and Cold Mountain. By being here and telling the Cold Mountain story, Murch is making a powerful statement about where he belongs and what he values.
Mike Horton, the group’s president, briefly introduces Murch, ending by admitting, “I’m so nervous.” Murch projects his “eye on the pole” picture on the screen behind him and describes his initial surprise at finding himself editing Cold Mountain in Romania. As he continues, a screensaver slide show from his laptop begins to cycle images of the moon, the planets, a star nebulae, and Earth as seen from space. Murch speaks of the original motivations for changing edit systems.
An image of Mars dissolves into an image of the Milky Way. “I have to say, temperamentally, I’m someone who likes to make these leaps into areas that are not fully explored.” The audience makes its own leap and a collective chuckle ripples around the room. Someone who wants to make sure Murch knows the laughter is not directed at him says, “Look behind you!”
“I’m here to report to you it all worked out great!”
“Yeah,” Murch says as he turns around to see a blue and white world that seems to rotate underneath him. “Exactly.” Then after a beat, like a comedian with a professional sense of rhythm (he is an editor), Murch quips, “Was the timing right?” More laughter.
The first audience question: “Would you use Final Cut on your next project?”
“Y
es. Yes!” Murch says, and the answer is greeted with applause.
Someone asks about his artistic influences. Murch uses the opportunity to give what he calls “a fingering tip, if this was about piano playing,” and proceeds to describe his “edit-on-the-fly” technique. This is a way, he says, to turn the film over, in part, to instinct and to musicality. “To make the film smarter than you are.” If you’re too intellectually calculating, he says, “a rhythmic tone-deafness creeps into your work.”
There are anecdotes about working with directors: Coppola is like a chef using the “spaghetti-sauce method” to make a film, he says, slowly simmering all the ingredients over time; Lucas works like Procustes, lopping off whole limbs as the character from Greek mythology did. Like Coppola, some directors avoid spending too much time in the cutting room, only wanting to see nearly finished work.
Murch tells the story about director John Huston, who wasn’t that interested in the detailed process of editing. “It’s like seeing my wife dressing for a party,” said Huston. “All those snaps and garters. I don’t want to know how it’s achieved, I just want to see the final results.”
Director Kathryn Bigelow, on the other hand, set up her office in the back of Murch’s edit room on K-19, complete with her own live video monitor of the editing in progress. “She’d be on the phone, making calls, and look at the monitor and say, ‘Okay, Walter, great.’ And I’d have to say, ‘Not yet, I’m still working!’” The audience laughs sympathetically. “I hadn’t worked that way before, but I got used to it and actually enjoyed it. I learned something.”
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