Introduction

I first met Walter Murch at the Saul Zaentz Film Center in Berkeley, California in the mid-1990s when he was editing The English Patient, directed by Anthony Minghella, and I was developing, Dumbarton Bridge, my first feature film as a writer-director. We had a couple of lunches together, he agreed to look at my treatment, and then my screenplay. The idea that someone of Murch’s stature was reading this first-time director’s script was, well, a thrill and a confidence-booster. Nearly a year went by as I struggled to raise independent financing and assemble a filmmaking team. By that time The English Patient was released to great acclaim. I had not been in contact with Walter for quite a while. One very early Saturday morning, just after dawn, while I was strolling my sleepless infant daughter, Gaby, through the neighborhood, I chanced upon a young man sitting on his front steps reading. I glanced at the cover—it was Murch’s book on film editing, In the Blink of an Eye, which I had read before I first had lunch with Walter.

“You’re reading Blink of an Eye!” I said to the stranger.

“Yes, it’s amazing,” he said.

I said I knew Murch. The young man’s eyes lit up.

I felt this coincidence might be a portent—and I needed to act.

Later that morning, after waiting until a more reasonable hour, I nervously phoned Walter at home. I explained the situation to him about my film and how I needed help. He asked what he might do. Understand—an independent filmmaker pulling a project together through sheer will and chutzpah learns to lose all sense of propriety and protocol. I steeled my will and requested he consider editing.

There was a silence that seemed to go on forever.

“I’m starting the re-edit of Orson Welles’ Touch of Evil,” he said, “so I’m pretty committed. But I will be working on it at the Zaentz Film Center, so I could be around for some advice if you want.”

Right then he agreed to be the consulting editor. Later he connected me with the wonderfully talented editor I hired for Dumbarton Bridge (Robert Grahamjones, his former assistant editor). Two weeks before my first day of principal photography Walter walked me through his script notes. (Yes, I did a rewrite after that.) During post production he came into our edit room whenever I needed advice, and he attended screenings of each new assembly.

This was my introduction to Walter Murch—the best possible way for beginning to get to know him—through active engagement on a film project. Credit goes to Frank Simeone for acquainting us.

Several years later, in the summer of 2003, I’d heard Walter was editing Cold Mountain, the film directed by Anthony Minghella, using Apple’s Final Cut Pro system. There was already a lot of buzz about this in the film community, especially in the San Francisco Bay Area, because this had never been done before. Like everyone else, I was curious to know why he chose this $995 software to edit an $80 million studio film, and the creative and technological consequences.

Around that same time, Lisa Brenneis, a friend and author of books on Final Cut Pro, put me in contact with Peachpit Press Executive Editor Marjorie Baer. Peachpit had published several successful books on digital film editing. I asked Marjorie if she’d be interested in a book about Walter Murch using Final Cut Pro to edit Cold Mountain. Marjorie, being the well-informed editor she is, knew of Murch and his groundbreaking venture. And having confident intuition, she said yes, then and there. And in your hands is the consequence of her decision.

. . .

This book takes a particular and unusual point of view about feature filmmaking. In most other accounts, the editor is either completely invisible or a shadowy, unfocussed presence. By putting the editor in the spotlight, and concentrating on the events surrounding the completion of the film, the inevitable consequence is that other, more familiar perspectives become foreshortened. I apologize in advance for not being just as thorough about every department’s crucial contributions to Cold Mountain, but it would have been impossible to achieve without expanding Behind the Seen far beyond its original mission.

Taking this kind of journey with Walter Murch would never have begun had Anthony Minghella not said yes to my proposal. He did that quickly, enthusiastically, and with no small amount of personal and professional risk. I could only write this book by being on the scene, with complete access to the creative process as it unfolded. Anthony allowed me free rein during the editing in London for ten days in September 2003, and for a week during the final sound mixing, also in London, during November 2003. I also had the privilege of attending two preview test screenings in the New York area.

This kind of inside view of a major motion picture still in-progress is usually denied to an author because it is such a sensitive time with so much at stake. Anthony, I will always be in your debt.

Cold Mountain producers Sydney Pollack, Bill Horberg, Albert Berger, and Ron Yerxa welcomed me and the idea of this book, which I appreciate.

In addition to seeing Cold Mountain unfold in real time, I was blessed to have an ocean of background materials from Walter Murch. On my first research trip to New York, he offered to make his emails and personal journal available to me so I could chart the course he took on Cold Mountain. He’s been a serious journal-keeper for 30 years, and I knew immediately this and his electronic correspondence were going to prove bountiful for my research. When I began to read this material, and subsequent installments, I realized I had more on my hands than simply helpful background information—here were heartfelt and dramatic reports from the front lines that belonged in this story. So within these pages are generous excerpts from Walter’s 18-month journal on this project, and his 2,111 pages of email.

Sean Cullen, Walter Murch’s assistant editor, was an incomparable resource for me. He never failed to provide thorough, well-explained answers to my oft-repeated, frequently naïve questions—be they another explanation of reverse-telecine, or which Underground line to use.

Ramy Katrib and Zed Saeed at DigitalFilm Tree have been devoted in their support and enthusiasm for this book, while also giving me priceless information and details.

Tim Bricknell, Cassius Matthias, Karen Cattini, and everyone at Mirage Enterprises in London always made me feel at home, and for that I’m very grateful. Walter Slater Murch, Dei Reynolds, and Susannah Reid made room for me in their cramped edit space at the Old Chapel and they were great companions.

Likewise, being able to write amidst friends and colleagues here at Fantasy Inc. and the Saul Zaentz Film Center is a pleasure: thanks especially to Steve Shurtz, Scott Roberts, Paul Zaentz, Bill Belmont, Terri Hinte, and Nancy Eichler.

Appreciation to L. Wayne Alexander who helped put this enterprise together, to Dayna Holz who got me organized, to Debra Kalmon for her fine, enthusiastic transcribing, to Melanie Laird for helping set the stage, and to Bunny Alsup for being a Looking Glass guide.

Jenni McCormick of American Cinema Editors (ACE), Michael Horton at the L.A. Final Cut Pro Users Group, and Philip Hodgetts at IntelligentAssistance.com all provided key background research assistance. Edie Ichioka generously filled in many blanks.

There are an abundance of wonderful images herein: Greg Williams of London took the terrific shots at Minghella’s Old Chapel Studio. Thanks to Kristin Piljay for her expert photo editing and research, and to Steve Maruta for his photography and tireless work preparing images. Katrin Eismann and Sandee Cohen pitched in with location photos on the east coast. Shelley Wanger was generous in her advice.

Kim Aubry, Anahid Nazarian, James Mockoski, and Rachel Eckerling at American Zoetrope, along with Kathleen Talbert—thanks for all your assistance.

Miramax Films generously provided movie images from Cold Mountain and for that, thanks go to Harvey and Bob Weinstein, Steve Hutensky, and Brad Buchanan.

Steve Jobs, Will Stein, Bill Hudson, and Brian Meaney at Apple have been forthcoming, generous, and supportive—I am appreciative.

Thank you to Marjorie for saying yes, and for always being there with everything I needed. My gratitude to Nancy Ruenzel, the publisher of Peachpit, for saying yes to Marjorie and marshalling the resources. Everyone at Peachpit took this book into their collective heart, including Paula Baker, Harriet Goldberg, Rebecca Ross, Scott Cowlin, Kim Lombardi, Susan Nixon, Mimi Vitetta, and Evan Pricco. Special thanks to Damon Hampson and Sara Jane Todd for their creative marketing and publicity. And very special thanks to Hilal Sala for her patient and thorough project management.

I was blessed to have a team of thoughtful, careful editors: Marjorie Baer, Kaitlin Quistgaard, William Rodarmor, and especially Doug Cruickshank. Not only did Doug’s sharp eye, good sense, and informed opinion keep this book focused—he became a friend in the process.

This volume looks so good because of Kim Scott’s attentive layout and design work on the interior, Aren Howell’s on the cover.

I would not have had the proper approach nor the observational tools to undertake this book had it not been for my experience making documentaries, writing scripts, and directing a feature film. Many, many people made that possible and I thank them all—not the least of whom is my late father, Howard, a filmmaker, writer, and film editor who never forsook his upright Moviola.

Walter Murch’s family—Aggie, Walter Slater, Beatrice, Connie, and Carrie—thank you for allowing me to include you in this account. It’s richer for it.

My family gave me time and space to become as fully immersed in the work as I needed to be. Walker, Gabriella, and Jonah—your spirits of curiosity and strength can be found in here, too—and yes, Daddy’s done with the book now. My wife, Deb Sibony, gave her all (and more) for over a year, along with wise counsel and steadfast support.

Finally, I wish to thank Walter. But words here will never be enough. May the book that follows suffice.

Charles Koppelman
September, 2004
Berkeley, California