1 Documentary Film by Paul Rotha. Faber, 1936, p. 76 . 2 Ibid. , p. 77 .
The absence of a plot is at once an advantage and a disadvantage to the documentary director. Many an indif-ferently made story-fi lm can hold an audience simply by telling an intriguing story. An exciting plot can generate enough interest and suspense to compensate for shortcomings in the acting and presentation. The documentary does not have this advantage. Here the theme must be presented in a novel, stimulating way to hold an audience at all; even if the theme itself is one in which the spectator might reasonably be expected to be interested, it is in the manner of the presentation, in the aptness and originality of the visual associations, and in the purposeful editing, that the fi lm will gain its interest. In a documentary the theme is only the mer-est starting point, demanding interpretation. The fi lm’s merit will rmer-est on the quality of the treatment, not in the spontaneous entertaining power of the theme itself. In many cases, the simplest themes have provided the starting point for the most successful documentaries.
What the documentary director loses in missing the suspense of a plot, he gains in his freedom to edit his fi lms in an original and expressive way. He is not tied by the strict chronology of events laid down by a set story, but can present facets of his theme and alternations of mood in the order and tempo he chooses. He does not have his images anchored by a dialogue track, but can experiment with evocative uses of actual and commentative sound. Most important, he has a greater freedom of interpretation than a story-fi lm director, because it is the interpretation — the editing — that will bring life to his subject.
For this reason (and for the reason that documentary fi lms are generally made on much lower budgets and therefore with smaller units) the documentary director is more completely in charge of production than is his story-fi lm counterpart. The interpretation of a theme is so much a matter of fi ne personal judgments, that to spread the responsibility for writing, direction and editing between three separate individuals would be to impair the fi lm’s unity: it would, for example, be nonsensical to allot the editing of a documentary to an inde-pendently working editor — as is often done with story-fi lms in Hollywood — for the acts of direction and editing are merely two stages of one creative process.
Thus the skill of the documentary director is essentially the skill of an editor. He must contrive to convey all the fi ne shades of meaning through the creative use of sound and by ensuring an eloquent fl ow of shot juxta-positions, for he has no actors through whom to express himself. More than with the fi ction fi lm, the editing process must begin long before the fi lm reaches the cutting rooms.
Not until you come to cut do you realise the importance of correct analysis during camerawork and the essential need for preliminary observation. For unless your material has been understood from the inside, you cannot hope to bring it alive. No amount of cutting, short or otherwise, will give movement to shots in which movement does not already exist.
No skill of cross-reference will add poetic imagery to your sequence if you have been unaware of your images during shooting. Your fi lm is given life on the cutting-bench, but you cannot create life unless the necessary raw stuff is to hand.
Cutting is not confi ned to the cutting-room alone. Cutting must be present all through the stages of production — script, photography and approach to natural material — fi nally to take concrete form as the sound is added. 3
This need to obtain apt, incisive “ raw stuff ” before editing begins is demonstrated must forcefully in the pro-duction of the simplest form of documentary — the reportage fi lm.
The aim of good fi lm reportage is to convey the drama of natural events. At its simplest it is concerned solely with the presentation of natural happenings and does not set out to explore implications or to draw conclusions
3 Documentary Film by Paul Rotha. Faber, 1936 .
from its material. The method has been used in fi lms like the monthly series of This Modern Age reviews, and is frequently applied when the aim is to spread information rather than to make specifi c propaganda. The facts alone are of interest and the director’s task is to present them as authentically as possible.
At fi rst sight nothing would appear to be simpler than to present an exciting event in an exciting way.
Actually, as we shall see, to achieve a convincing impression of an actually observed scene, a most elaborate editing process may have to be brought into operation. An event which is dramatic when seen in real life does not necessarily remain so when recorded on to celluloid.
Take , for instance, a fi lm of a football match. If the director takes a camera and shoots the whole of the match from the position of a spectator in the grandstand, the result is hardly likely to be very exciting. To get an effec-tive fi lm record, the director must cover various aspects of the game from different camera positions, in every case choosing the best set-up for any particular incident. He needs to select only the most signifi cant moments of the game and then edit them in such a way as to convey the impression of more or less continuous play.
If , on the other hand, a director is asked to fi lm an event like the launching of a rocket, he proceeds in an entirely different way. If he sets up his camera — however advantageously — and records only the moment of fi ring, his fi lm will be fl at and insignifi cant: the whole event will be over before the spectator has time to realise what is happening. In a case of this sort, a considerable build-up is needed: the director might photo-graph some of the activities leading up to the fi ring and might show the operator pulling the lever which will set the rocket off, before showing the fi ring itself. In one way or another, he might produce an atmosphere of expectancy for the culminating event and thereby extract the maximum excitement from the situation.
These two simple instances should serve to show in an elementary way how the director needs to distort and control the factor of time in order to make a natural event arresting and life-like. In the fi rst case it is nec-essary to condense the duration of the game to a much shorter time than it would actually take to play; in the second, the event has to be lengthened beyond its natural span of time. Although neither of these simple scenes requires any extraneous or specially rehearsed material, the use of only natural shots does not necessar-ily in itself make them appear real. It is precisely through the purposeful selection and editing of the natural material that a convincing and signifi cant impression of reality can be achieved.
To make our point a little more defi nite, here is a short extract from a straightforward passage of reportage in which extremely economic shooting, allied to good editing, has produced a simple yet exciting sequence.
MERCHANT SEAMEN 4 Extract from Reel 3
About merchant ship convoys during the war, how they steered their way through mine-fi elds and protected themselves against submarines. The charac-ters are a group of sailors whose ship is sunk at the beginning of the fi lm. The extract is part of the sinking of a submarine which attacked the new ship on which the group of sailors were working. ( “ Nipper, ” who is the junior member of the crew, is the gunnery expert. )
4 Director: J. B. Holems. Editor: R. Q. McNaughton. Crown Film Unit, 1941.
A U-boat is sighted and the captain has given instructions to man the guns. Men below are playing cards, a gramophone is playing. Shots of men hurrying to their guns on deck precede .
Round I
Ft. fr.
Ft. fr.
“Merchant Seamen”
Ft. fr.
Round V
34 – 38 Another sequence of shots pre-paratory to fi ring the gun. Cut very fast; mainly close shots of seamen’s hands handling parts of the gun.
Various commands (off). 7 13
39 Offi cers watching. Sight-setter : (off) 2 1
Fire!
40 L.S. Submarine surfacing. Loud explosion. 1 5 41 L.S. Cone of water thrown up by
the shell.
Loud explosion.
1
42 As in 40. Loud explosion.
2
43 As in 41. Loud explosion.
3
44 As in 40. Loud explosion.
1
45 Explosion in distance. Loud explosion.
1
46 As in 40. Loud explosion.
1
47 As in 45. Loud explosion. 2 9
48 Control Offi cer on right, other sailors on left.
Control Offi cer : Check, Check, Check.
2 15
Sight-setter:
Check, Check, Check.
49 – 50 Sailors moving about. Calm music starts. 2 7 51 Control Offi cer facing camera. Control Offi cer: 1 10
Cease fi re!
Music continues.
Merchant Seamen was made during the war and was designed to convince merchant sailors of the importance of learning gunnery as a means of defence against submarines. Intended to be viewed by experts, it was essen-tial that the details of procedure should be faithfully rendered and that the “ lesson ” should not be too obvi-ously planted. This meant, among other things, that the gun had to be shown fi ring several times before the submarine was hit — as, of course, would normally happen. Out of this necessity arises the overall editing pat-tern of the sequence.
The cycle of operations leading up to the fi ring is shown three times and implied twice more, before the submarine is fi nally hit. Having to show the action fi ve times brought with it another problem: clearly, to be effective, the shooting drill must be quickly and effi ciently carried out and must therefore be shown swiftly in the fi lm. On the other hand, for dramatic reasons, the pace of the sequence as a whole has to increase towards
the climax. This diffi culty was overcome by showing the fi ve operations not only at a different pace but in a completely different manner.
Round I . In shots 3 – 23 the fi rst cycle of operations is shown. From the slow preceding scene we are suddenly plunged into the midst of battle. This abrupt change of cutting rate not only makes the dramatic point that an attack may come at the most unexpected moment, but also, by contrast with the previous scene, makes the fi rst fi ring appear fast and effi cient. The whole drill is now shown in full: all the commands leading up to the fi ring are heard clearly, each command coming from the person in picture.
As we have already remarked in connection with action scenes, the fi rst essential in making a passage of this kind exciting is that the spectator should know exactly what is going on. The whole drill is therefore shown step by step fi rst, in order to acquaint the spectator with the exact procedure; although a single viewing will not at fi rst explain the whole process to him, the spectator will accept it as genuine because it proceeds by apparently authentic steps.
In order to convey something of the quick, staccato rhythm of the manœuvre, the cuts are timed to a defi nite pat-tern. Each cut takes place a fraction of a second — a frame or two — before the appropriate character has fi nished his last word. For instance, in 4 , the cut to 5 is timed just before the Control Offi cer has fi nished the word “ sight ” and we are taken straight to the next person in the chain of action. This timing is maintained right through the sequence.
In one or two places ( 7, 12, for example), a character’s words are allowed to fl ow over into the next shot, showing the effect of his actions. In these cases, the cut is timed on the last word of a phrase — in shot 11 , for example, on the word “ left. ”
In addition to giving the sequence a defi nite rhythm of this kind, the tempo of cutting quite deliberately increases towards the climax. This is done by cutting down the moments preceding a character’s words, mak-ing them get shorter and shorter up to shot 15 .
16 and 17 then provide a short pause while everything is ready for the fi ring, and 18, 19 and 20 are cut as short as possible: the words “ Ready! ” “ Shoot! ” “ Fire! ” follow each other without pause and the images are in each case left on the screen only long enough to accommodate the sound-track of the words.
Shot 23 is left on the screen long enough to give the sensation of anxious watching. Coming after a period of extremely quick cutting, the three feet of shot 23 appear to last quite an appreciable time.
Round II . In 24 – 29 a second cycle of operations is shown. The spectator should know now how the drill is carried out and does not need to be shown the complete procedure again. An abbreviated version of the drill is given again, but this time we do not start from the beginning.
The cut-away to the sea ( 23 ) makes it perfectly acceptable that when we cut back to the seamen, they are already halfway through their preliminary drill. The visual emphasis of this round is on the personal reactions of the seamen (shown mostly in rather static close shots) and most of the shots are not of speaking characters; it is therefore possible to give the sequence of commands as quickly as desired. Again (as with shot 23 ), shot 30 is longish in duration and conveys the anxious seconds of waiting before the shell strikes water.
Rounds III and IV . At this point we cut away to two subsidiary characters who are outside the main action.
Digger, a disgruntled Australian, has been shown in earlier parts of the fi lm to be extremely sceptical about
the effectiveness of small guns and his remarks here are merely a further side-light on the “ message ” of the fi lm. At the same time, cutting away from the main action provides an opportunity to imply in the sound-track that while these two men are talking, two more shells have been fi red; the shots of the two men are slow and relatively long, and make the fi ring of two more shells in this short time believable. Lastly, the scene, by slowing down the tempo of the sequence, strengthens the feverishly fast effect of the fi nal round ( 34 – 38 ) which leads up to the sinking of the submarine. It is the calm moment before the fi nal burst of activity which makes the climax more effective by contrast.
Round V . Shot 39 (like 23 and 30 ) provides the moment of expectancy while the shell is travelling through the air.
Then , with tremendous pace, the cycle of commands is repeated in 34 – 39 ; this time, close shots of hands speedily manipulating the gun are shown, and the total impression is of quick, frantic activity and movement.
The commands are heard “ off ” and are given as fast as possible.
After one further cut-away to some onlookers on the ship, the submarine is briefl y shown surfacing — the shot is left on the screen only long enough to let the spectator know what is happening and is quickly fol-lowed by the explosion itself. With the explosion dying down, the pace suddenly relaxes (by comparison with 40 – 46 , shots 47 – 49 appear slow and leisurely) and the calm music takes over.
Looking at the passage as a whole, it becomes quite obvious that considerable liberties have been taken with the tempo of the fi ve operations. We see a process, which is in practice the same every time, in fi ve differ-ent ways and at fi ve differdiffer-ent speeds, yet the fi nal effect is one of complete authdiffer-enticity. More than this, it conveys an excitement which is of the same kind as might be experienced in a similar situation in real life;
it is not the artifi cial, studio-made suspense of a last-minute rescue but that of a genuinely thrilling natural event. Telescoping, contracting and rearranging the material have merely brought out the full excitement of the scene in a way in which the spectator can most readily appreciate it. It is precisely through the purposive control of pace that the editor has achieved the impression of reality.
The explosion which ends the above sequence is not a real record of a submarine being blown up; actually the submarine shot was taken at a different time altogether and merely shows a vessel coming up to the sur-face. The editor was therefore faced with the problem of conveying the impression of an explosion without having a shot of it. The result may not be ideal but it certainly gives the appearance of being authentic.
A great deal of the effect is achieved through the careful build-up. The whole sequence has been leading up to this point and the spectator is expecting something to happen. The observers who are on board ( 39 ) are shown for the fi rst time; they are anxiously looking out to sea and the shot serves as a warning to the specta-tor that something is just about to happen. Then we are briefl y shown the submarine surfacing, which creates the impression that it is in fact involved in the explosion which follows.
The explosion itself is conveyed by the rapid intercutting of frames of the submarine and of a cone of water thrown up by a depth-charge. A chaotic, bursting image is created by the alternating frames because the conning-tower of the submarine is on the left side of the picture and the cone of water is on the right.
Almost before the spectator has time to realise what is happening, the whole screen is fi lled with a tremen-dous upsurge of water (actually a closer shot of a depth-charge exploding in the sea) which he takes to be
the effect of the explosion. The effect is strongly reinforced by the sound of the explosion, heard for the fi rst time.
It is by no means implied that this editing is ideal or that it should be taken as an example of the way to con-struct scenes of this kind. Yet the explosion, as here conveyed, is effective, and appears convincing in spite of the fact that no actual shot of an exploding submarine was used.
In passing, it is perhaps worth noting that Pudovkin has described a similar passage from his own experience:
I wished to show a terrifi c explosion. In order to render the effect of this explosion with absolute faithfulness, I caused a great mass of dynamite to be buried in the earth, had it blasted, and shot it. The explosion was veritably colossal — but fi lmically it was nothing. On the screen it was merely a slow, lifeless movement. Later, after much trial and experiment, I managed to edit the explosion with all the effect I required — moreover without using a single piece of the scene I
I wished to show a terrifi c explosion. In order to render the effect of this explosion with absolute faithfulness, I caused a great mass of dynamite to be buried in the earth, had it blasted, and shot it. The explosion was veritably colossal — but fi lmically it was nothing. On the screen it was merely a slow, lifeless movement. Later, after much trial and experiment, I managed to edit the explosion with all the effect I required — moreover without using a single piece of the scene I