Editing analysis: Brazil

The editing of the interrogation scene in Terry Gilliam's Brazil (1985) uses long takes and seamless continuity editing to convey the nature of the two main characters in this scene and their conflict. Although the scene conveys extreme tension, urgency, and crisis, this is accomplished by the editing aiding the narrative of the story and not through tense editing and abrupt cuts, as in Battleship Potemkin (to which Brazil pays homage in an earlier scene).

In this scene, our protagonist Sam Lowry finds himself apprehended by the totalitarian government and strapped to a chair in a torturous interrogation room, before his interrogator enters - his old co-worker and friend, Jack Lint.

The scene opens with a close-up of Sam as a bag is lifted from his head and he is introduced to his new, horrifying environment, with creepy music quiet in the background.  The camera quickly pulls out to an establishing shot of the vast chamber as the music crescendoes, then falls silent. This first shot establishes the viewer to identify with Sam: at first, disoriented and with a clear impression of his emotions, and then astounded at his circumstances. The music accompanies the story by instilling shock and horror in the viewer.

In the next phrase, the camera cuts between Sam's panicky point of view and close-ups of his horrified face, switching seamlessly with the aid of atmosphere established in the first phrase. For this phrase, the viewer sees and hears only within Sam's proximity. When his captors leave, the very long shot of the door at the far end of the chamber lingers onscreen, accompanied only by silence and faint speech, creating a strong sense of suspense.

Next, Jack enters the scene, and we are torn from Sam's POV to follow him with a seamless reverse-angle shot. Gilliam continues using close-ups, juxtaposed with the vast emptiness of the chamber, to underline Jack as a character and make the viewer consider his thoughts and motives. Now that the viewer has strong familiarity with both charater's points of view, tension is established as a result of their inevitable confrontation.

After briefly returning to Sam's face, the camera cuts to a medium shot of Jack, then positions itself with a much more objective POV with a steady two-shot of Jack and Sam. The camera stays in this position for almost a full minute, once again relying totally on the narrative drama onscreen to drive the tension and suspense.

At the end of this scene, Gilliam returns to reverse-angle cutting between close-ups to emphasize his characters and their actions as isolated and individual (suspenseful music begins to play in the background): Sam's face, Jack's mask, Sam's face again, Jack's torture tool, and finally, Jack's impending approach before he is abruptly shot. This quick cutting on action creates a sense of profound panic and anticipation for what might be about to happen; yet it is seamless because the viewer, heavily entrenched in the narrative, follows the action from every angle on tinterhooks.

The overall editing structure of this portion of the scene is this: it begins with a subjective and emotive camera, gradually changing into a more objective and voyeuristic POV, then finally switching back to subjective storytelling. This structure works as a means to tell the story by establishing each character individually, letting them have their conflict, and ending with powerful excitement.

Video (the scene described above refers to time boundaries 0:00 - 2:23):

Interview

The Soundwalk

The time is 3:00 in the afternoon, and the neighborhood is Midtown East. Here, sound is layered with a rich diversity. I can best describe it as a loud hum that cakes the streets, on which sounds a balanced cacophony of activity, and accented with more specific audial details.

The background—or keynote—is a soft, whistling hum; it sound like a constant, windy exhale, but only a loud whisper. Walking up Park Avenue at 50^th Street, it seems inescapable, and once I try to focus on it, my ears feel it as the shade of brown you get when you mix together every shade of paint. The skin of this layer is wavy and kinetic: a hundred car engines revving and stalling, coming and going, always being replaced in a pattern of rise and fall.

My favorite audial detail is the honking. A car horn may be heard honking, on average, about every five seconds, though usually they come in groups. Sometimes the honking is close by (the taxi cabs always honk in A-flat), but mostly, honks are peppered and heard from—what I can only guess—is a distance of over a hundred feet. These far honks have no sharpness. To me, their gentle echo almost sounds pleasant, like a soft burst of music: quiet, soft, and foggy around the edges.

Then there are the pedestrians. When one passes by, his or her shoes usually make a muted clap against the pavement, in a steady, independent percussive beats that fade in and out.

            The sound hierarchy of Midtown East characterizes it as what it is—that is, a hubbub of motion and life, in its impatient and bustling state.

Project 1: Defining a Space

Defining a Space: Piano Rooms from Noam Ben Yakir on Vimeo.

Artist Statement

When it comes to video production, I am inexorably influenced by television. There was a six-year stretch of my life, between ages eight and fourteen, during which time watching television was my primary intake of media and most compelling form of storytelling. This period has affected me passionately as an adult: I strive to understand the relationship (often, the disparity) between mere entertainment and art.

The intersection of entertainment and art is where my creativity operates. I have experience in improv comedy, dramatic acting, and screenwriting that I hope to utilize for the sake of endowing film—as a form of entertainment—with artistic merit. This means that through humor and through witty realism I strive to bring out or explore some truths and beauties about life, whether or not I can state these verbally. 
There is a school of thought, of which I am certainly a part, that holds that laughter—the purest form of amusement and a central tenet of entertainment—comes from seeing what we recognize. It may sometimes seem that we laugh at what is ridiculous or unrealistic, but in fact,  I believe that every breath of laughter begins when we make an observation that we have already made; this time, our subject is exaggerated, unexpected, or simply placed within a different context. We laugh at what we know to be. Taking this truth hand-in-hand with the idea that art seeks to present truth in creative ways yields my artistic aspirations.
 My greatest influences come from creators of film and television that is often self-aware, and almost always uniquely entertaining. Among these names are the Coen brothers, Scorsese, Kubrick, Mike Nichols, Tom Stoppard, Rod Serling, and Mitchell Hurwitz.