Okay, so the AFI gives us three weeks to cut this. Is that reasonable? I asked William. All business.
It'll have to be if that's what we get, he answered. Matching my professionalism.
How old is this guy? He has the weight of wisdom and the earned confidence of someone in their fifties. I wanted that, and if I couldn't find it on my own, I wanted to hang around it and feel the protection of such certainty.
By the end of August, the film had been shot and William and I started our work in a tiny editing suite. I had earned my own spunk simply by getting up every day and doing the job. I was on a high and riding the thrill of having directed a film, having answered a million questions from cast and crew, having made decisions, and having had control of a project in a way an actor never experiences. I was feeling pretty damn hot and on top of the world, but there was still much I didn't know. I learned about film editing from William. He led me through the process of finishing sound and music. We sat on a mixing stage with our sound crew. I was way out of my element and looked across the table as William spoke.
What the director would like....
What she's trying achieve here....
I don't think that's the direction she's looking for....
He gave words to our work. He spoke with authority and respect for my ideas to his fellow crew members responsible for putting the finishing aspects on our movie. He spoke as if he were representing a hundred-million dollar studio picture. This short film was William's first solo job as an editor but no one in the room knew that. I relaxed into my chair and watched his confidence infuse the room. I was hard-pressed to remember creatively trusting anyone like this. I barely had to speak in our sound meetings. I was much too busy falling in love.
It's a pain to rise above when a fella's smart and funny. This delectable combo platter is difficult to ignore. One afternoon in our tiny, dark editing room, the telephone rang. I picked up the receiver but heard only dial tone. Hmmm. I replaced the receiver. William was busy at his editing console, fixing some thingamajiggy. Again the phone rang and again I answered, with the same result. It took three times before I caught sight of William's shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
What are you doing?
What are you doing? William broke out laughing as he played his telephone ring sound effect over and over.
Okay, enough hilarity, he said. We have to edit sound.
Sure, I answered, ripping open a package of crackers. I munched and he did something technical. Then his fingers ceased tapping. He waited for something, I munched another handful of crackers. He pressed a few more buttons, listened, then stopped again.
I'm trying to edit sound, he said.
Yeah, I see that. Crunch.
So, I'm trying to hear it.
Got it. Crunch.
Are you going to eat all of those?
I'm so sorry, did you want some? How rude. Here.
No, I want to get this sound done.
Of course. Crunch.
And with the speed of an attacking rattler, he grabbed the crackers out of my hands and set them down on the other side of the desk. This man: dry as the Sahara, dry as stale crackers.
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