4.3.4: Continuity Editing

Editing is where the grammar and syntax of cinematic language come together.

Maybe it’s obvious, but if editing is where the grammar and syntax of cinematic language come together, then the whole point is to make whatever we see on screen make as much sense as possible. Just like a writer wants to draw the reader into the story, not remind them they’re reading a book, an editor’s job, first and foremost, is to draw the viewer into the cinematic experience, not remind them they’re watching a movie. (Unless that’s exactly what the filmmaker wants to do, but more on that later.) The last thing most editors want to do is draw attention to the editing itself. We call this approach to editing continuity editing, or more to the point, invisible editing.

Continually editing aims to create a continuous flow of images and sound, a linear, logical progression, shot to shot and scene to scene, constantly orienting the viewer in space and time and carrying them through the narrative. All without ever making any of that obvious or obtrusive. It involves a number of different techniques, from cutting-on-action to match cuts and transitions and from maintaining screen direction to the master shot and coverage technique and the 180-degree rule. Let’s take a look at these and other tricks editors use to hide their handiwork.

Cutting on Action

The first problem an editor faces is how and when to cut from one shot to the next without disorienting the viewer or breaking continuity, that is, the continuous flow of the narrative. Back in Chapter Two, I discussed one of the most common techniques is to “hide” the cut in the middle of some on-screen action. Called, appropriately enough, cutting-on-action, the trick is to end one shot in the middle of an action – a character sitting down in a chair or climbing into a car – and start the next in the middle of the same action. Our eyes are drawn to the action on screen and not the cut itself. The edit disappears as we track the movement of the character. Here’s a quick example:

The two shots are radically different in terms of the geography of the scene – one outside of the truck, the other inside – but by cutting on the action of the character entering the truck, it feels like one continuous moment. Of course, we notice the cut, but it does not distract us from the scene or call attention to itself.

And now that you know what to look for, you’ll see this technique used in just about every film or tv show, over and over, all the time.

Match Cuts

Cutting-on-action is arguably the most common continuity editing trick, but there are plenty of other cuts that use the technique of matching some visual element between two contiguous shots, also known as a match cut. There are eyeline match cuts that cut from a shot of a character looking off camera to a shot of whatever it is they are looking at, graphic match cuts that cut between two images that look similar (the barrel of a gun to James Bond in an underground tunnel, for example), and even subject match cuts that cut between two similar ideas or concepts (a flame from a matchstick to the sun rising over the desert in David Lean’s Lawrence of Arabia (1962)).

Almost all of these examples rely on a hard cut from one shot to the next, but sometimes an editor simply can’t hide the edit with some matching action, image or idea. Instead, they have to transition the viewer from one shot to the next, or one scene to the next, in the most organic, unobtrusive way possible. We call these, well, transitions. As discussed in Chapter Two, you can think of these as conjunctions in grammar, words meant to connect ideas seamlessly. The more obvious examples, like fade-ins and fade-outs or long dissolves, are drawn from our own experience. A slow fade-out, where the screen drifts into blackness, reflects our experience of falling asleep and drifting out of consciousness. And dissolves, where one shot blends into the next, reflecting how one moment bleeds into and overlaps with another in our memory. But some transitions, like wipes and iris outs, are peculiar to motion pictures and have no relation to how we normally see the world. Sure, they might “call attention to themselves,” but somehow, they still do the trick, moving the viewer from one shot or scene to the next without distracting from the story itself.

Wondering what some of these match cuts and transitions look like? Check out several examples of each (along with some not-so-invisible edits like jump cuts) here:

Screen Direction

Maintaining consistent screen direction is another technique editors use to keep us focused on the story and keep their work invisible. Take a look at this scene from Casablanca:

We are entering the main setting for the film, a crowded, somewhat chaotic tavern in Morocco. Notice how the camera moves consistently from right to left and that the blocking of the actors (that is, how they move in the frame) is also predominantly from right to left until we settle on the piano player, Sam. The flow of images introduces the tavern as if the viewer were entering as a patron for the first time. This consistent screen direction helps establish the geography of the scene, orienting the viewer to the physical space. An editor concerned about continuity never wants the audience to ask, “Where are we?” or “What’s going on?” And obviously, this isn’t something an editor can do after the fact all by themselves. It requires a plan from the beginning, with the director, the cinematographer, the production designer, and the editor all working together to ensure they have the moving images they need to execute the scene.

Some filmmakers can take this commitment to consistent screen direction to the extreme to serve the narrative and emphasize a theme. Check out this analysis of Bong Joon-ho’s Snowpiercer (2013):

Master Shot and Coverage

Consistent screen direction is an important part of how continuity editing ensures the audience is always aware of where everyone is located in relation to the setting and each other. Another common technique to achieve the same goal is to approach each scene with a master shot and coverage.

The idea is fairly simple. On set during production, the filmmaker films a scene from one, wide master shot that includes all of the actors and action in one frame from start to finish. Then, they film coverage, that is, they “cover” that same scene from multiple angles, isolating characters, moving in closer, and almost always filming the entire scene again from start to finish with each new set-up. When they’re done, they have filmed the entire scene many, many times from many different perspectives.

And that’s where the editor comes in.

It’s the editor’s job to build the scene from that raw material, usually starting with the master shot to establish the geography of the scene, then cutting to the coverage as the scene plays out, using the best takes and angles to express the thematic intent. They can stay on each character for their lines of dialogue or cut to another character for a reaction. They can also cut back to the master shot whenever they choose to re-establish the geography or re-set the tone of the scene. But maybe most importantly, by having so many options, the editor can cut around poor performances or condense the scene by dropping lines of dialogue between edits. Done well, the viewer is drawn into the interaction of the characters, never stopping to ask where they are or who is talking to whom, and hopefully never even noticing a cut.

Let’s take a look at a scene from Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash (2014), shot and edited in the classic master shot and coverage technique:

The scene opens with a master shot. We see both characters, Andrew and Nicole, in the same frame, sitting at a table in a café. The next shot is from the coverage, over Nicole’s shoulder, on Andrew as he reacts to her first line of dialogue. Then on, Nicole, over Andrew’s shoulder as she reacts to his line. The editor, Tom Cross, moves back and forth between these two shots until Andrew asks a question tied to the film’s main theme, “What do you do?” Then he switches to close-up coverage of the two characters. Tension builds until there is a subtle clash between them, a moment of conflict. And what does the editor do? He cuts back to the master shot, resetting the scene emotionally and reorienting the viewer to the space. The two characters begin to reconnect, and the editor returns to the coverage, again shifting to close-ups until the two find a point of connection (symbolized by an insert shot of their shoes gently touching). The rhythm of this scene is built from the raw materials, the master shot and the coverage, that the editor has to work with. But more than just presenting the scene as written, the editor has the power to emphasize the storytelling by when to cut and what shots to use.

The master shot and coverage technique gives the editor an incredible amount of freedom to shape a scene, but there is one thing they can’t do. A rule they must follow. And I don’t mean one of those artistic rules that are meant to be broken. Break this rule, and it will break the continuity of any scene. It’s called the 180 degree rule and it’s related to the master shot and coverage technique.

Basically, the 180-degree rule defines an axis of action, an imaginary line that runs through the characters in a scene that the camera cannot cross:

Once the master shot establishes which side of the action the camera will capture, the coverage must stay on that side throughout the scene. The camera can rotate 180 degrees around its subject, but if it crosses that imaginary line and inches past 180 degrees, the subjects in the frame will reverse positions and will no longer be looking at each other from shot to shot. Take a look at that scene from Whiplash again. Notice how the master shot establishes the camera on Andrew’s left and Nicole’s right. Every subsequent angle of coverage stays on that side of the table, Andrew always looking right to the left, and Nicole always looking left to the right. If the camera were to jump the line, Andrew would appear to be looking in the opposite direction, confusing the viewer and breaking continuity.

Now, I know I just wrote that this is not one of those artistic rules that was meant to be broken. But the fact is, editors can break the rule if they actually want to disorient the viewer, to put them into the psychology of a character or scene. Or if they need to jump the line to keep the narrative going, they can use a new master shot to reorient the axis of action.

Parallel Editing

All of these techniques, cutting-on-action, match cuts, transitions, consistent screen direction, and the master shot and coverage technique, are all ways that editors can keep their craft invisible and maintain continuity. But what does an editor do when there is more than one narrative playing out at the same time? How do you show both and maintain continuity? One solution is to use cross-cutting, cutting back and forth between two or more narratives, also known as parallel editing.

Parallel editing has actually been around for quite some time. Perhaps one of the most famous early examples is from D. W. Griffith’s Way Down East (1920). Kuleshov had already demonstrated the power of juxtaposing shots to create an emotional effect. But Griffith, among others, showed that you could also create a sense of thrilling anxiety by juxtaposing two or more lines of action, cross-cutting from one to another in a rhythmic pattern. In a climactic scene from the film, a man races to save a woman adrift on a frozen river and heading straight for a dangerous waterfall. To establish these lines of action and to increase our own sense of dread and anxiety, the editor cuts from the man to the woman to the waterfall in a regular, rhythmic pattern, cross-cutting between them to constantly remind the audience of the impending doom as we cheer on our hero until the lines of action finally converge. Here’s the scene:

By cross-cutting in a regular pattern – man, woman, man, waterfall, woman, man, woman, waterfall – the audience is not only drawn into the action, they are also no longer paying attention to the editing itself, thus maintaining continuity.

This technique has become so common, so integral to our shared cinematic language, that editors can use our fluency against us, subverting expectations by playing with the form. Check out this (rather disturbing) clip from Jonathan Demme’s The Silence of the Lambs (1991):

The scene uses the same parallel editing technique as Way Down East, using cross-cutting to increase our anxiety as two lines of action converge. But in this case, the editor subverts our expectations by revealing there were actually three lines of action, not two. However, the trick only works if parallel action is already part of our cinematic language.