With the focus on editing a short film with the audiovisual material generated during the performance laboratory at Götaplatsen, I carried out a series of editing exercises. The aim of these exercises was not only to create edits of max. 20 min (as expected from a short to medium film format), but also to acquaint myself with the audiovisuality or visual vocabulary of the recorded material. To give you an insight, follows first the trailer of I am the Camera and second, some core aspects of the editing process.
Since the material had been shot with different technological devices (an iPhone, a GoPro, and a digital camera), one of the challenges was to find ways in which the quite different audiovisual tracks could speak to each other and compose a unified scenery. A type of scenery which could provide the viewer with a sense of spatial continuity, while at the same time giving an impression of the different formats and/or frames of each camera: a vertical image standing in opposition to a wide angled, horizontal one and a square image which only illustrates certain perspectives or details of a scene.
Starting from these premises, I first explored the editing principle of juxtaposing and/or overlaying the images so that I could either recognise some key differences such as proportion, colours, or atmosphere or try out different ways in which the images could merge. This made it possible to get a better sense of the interplay between the different camera shots, while experimenting with a pictorial language, especially by blurring the boundaries between the appearance and disappearance of images, or between the formation and dissolution of frames. A procedure which Craig Hight describes as:
A laborious process of sifting through possibilities to find the editing strategies that begin to create meaning for viewers. Inevitably this relies also on serendipity, epiphanies discovered through practice and most importantly experience with what does and does not ‘work’ in putting images together.1
Inspired by this, I became fascinated by the visual effects that editing can give a material and, in terms of the “poor image”, transform a simple snapshot into an aesthetically appealing – or at least inviting – imagery. Yet to convey a story, it may not be enough to rely solely on an artistic experimentation with images (as is often the case in video art). Another factor may be to look at how the audiovisual material can support the development of a script, or in other words, how the pre-recorded images and sounds could serve to create a new fictional (or imaginary) space.
By this, I am proposing to approach editing as both an organisational tool and writing practice, or more particularly, as a way of placing and composing images in the timeline while exploring how they can (re)perform a narrative. Therefore, I consider the editing room as a performative space, or a type of site-specific screen space in which I can translate images, sounds, feelings, atmospheres, and so on in a cinematic language. For the acclaimed editor Walter Murch, such an approach also points to the following:
In many ways, the film editor performs the same role for the director as the text editor does for the writer of a book – to encourage certain courses of action, to counsel against others, to discuss whether to include specific material in the finished work or whether new material needs to be added. At the end of the day, though, it is the writer who then goes off and puts the words together. But in film, the editor also has the responsibility for actually assembling the images (that is to say, the “words”) in a certain order and in a certain rhythm.2
Even though the structure of the performance laboratory, was not as predetermined as Murch describes, in the sense that we neither followed a preconceived script, nor a conventional labour division (for example, I took alternately took the role of the director, performer, videographer, or editor), this comparison can be helpful for discovering new narrative elements within an audiovisual material and, in turn, for depicting a yet hidden narrative.
From this perspective, I will highlight some key points which were central for editing, or (re)performing the short film I am the Camera:
- Using the iconic image Earthrise (shot by Bill Anders from the Apollo 8 crew in 1968) as a narrative line and conceptual framework to touch upon its historical relevance. In the film, this image appears in a catalogue which one of the characters is holding in their hands at the permanent exhibition "I am the Camera".
- Developing a sort of “dramatic arch” with the selected audiovisual material, which in this case consisted of a) the characters waiting for the camera to be taken out of the safe by the staff, b) rehearsing and shooting the interview with the camera, c) flipping the perspective of the two main characters regarding the question: Who is the camera? (e.g., the clown looking into the main camera or the influencer standing in front of the glass cabinet surrounded by cameras) and d) dissolving the action with an abrupt cut and using the soundtrack of Stanley Kubrick’s epic film 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) as the ultimate climax and return (or looping effect) to the initial scene of the Earthrise image.
- Employing the three distinct audiovisual tracks (from the iPhone, GoPro, and digital camera) as narrative indicators of the relationship of the characters with the camera, especially regarding its meaning and functionality. For example, for the influencer, a digital tool for documenting one’s own life, for the documentary filmmaker, a window to the world and for the clown, an intriguing object.
Departing from these editing strategies, a key aim was not only to give the film an overall rhythm – or in terms of Pearlman, to create “trajectory phrases” so that the shots feel right for an audience – but also to develop a non-linear narrative. This means a narrative which does not primarily seek to solve a problem or conflict, but rather to promote a reflection about a certain topic. As Ken Dancyger suggests:
The non-linear narrative may not have a resolution; it may not have a single character with whom to empathize and identify; it may not have characters who are goal-directed; and it may not have a dramatic shape driving towards resolution. Consequently, the non-linear narrative is not predictable. And here lies its great aesthetic potential, because of that unpredictability, it may provide an audience with a new, unexpected experience.3
My intention with such an editorial choice (which may surprise an audience) was, on the one hand, to use a satirical approach to philosophise on a human’s relationship with the camera, and on the other, to attune with – and to some degree, be honest about – the type of audiovisual material that I had in my hands: partly documentary (with some audiovisual traces of a performance laboratory work) and partly fictional (with shots of improvised actions and scenes).