Pacing and Duration

[feihong]

Yeah, it's interesting that nearly all of those reviews claim that the film in question has no "point," and thus the reviewer is implying a lack of substance. The substance of the films is exactly what the reviewers aren't able to recognize or access. So I guess it might seem like a conspiracy to them when people seem to receive enjoyment from a movie that seems "hidden" to them.

Topping my list of least valid criticisms of the movies is "pacing." "This film is slow," "it could have moved faster," and the like. It always seems to imply that there is one acceptable speed at which a movie unfolds, and that is FAST. Whereas in a film like Le Samouraï--more gripping and involving than the Transformers films, which move three or four times as fast--the precisely measured pacing of the film is one of the main ways the movie communicates with viewers.

[knives]

Pacing can be made into a valid criticism though. To give an ordinary example the pacing of the Nolan Bat films tend to be their biggest flaw with scenes which hurt the overall momentum of the film (I'm especially thinking of the scenes after the Joker's capture in the second one here).

[feihong]

So when those scenes in The Dark Knight occur, and the overall momentum of the movie changes, or is soiled, or whatever, what is the upshot of that? How does it affect the subject matter of the film? The aesthetics of the film?

[feihong]

I don't see the pace of the Batman pictures as being one of the most essential elements. Is the idea of Batman really enriched if he is fast-moving? Or is it his moral purpose that make his adventures compelling? I actually felt that the constant pace of The Dark Knight served to obscure the nature of some of the more interesting things that were happening in the movie. In other words, the picture was less clear in its meanings because it moved so fast; if anything, the pacing worked against the cumulative effect of the movie. What I'm suggesting is that the film could have been engaging and involving if it were filmed and edited with another pace in mind. While I do recognize that I'm using pace as a form of criticism here, What I see happening most of the time is that people open and close their critique with pace, and pack little substance in the middle. Calling a picture like Vertigo "slow" ignores every shred of subject matter packed between the opening credits and the Ending title-card. In between, the viewer never bothered to question why the picture might move at the pace it does. Could it be that a film in which a person is changed by the force of another's fantasy need to move at a ruminative pace?

I can't count the number of times I've shown people interesting films, packed with ideas, and been told afterwards, "yeah, I thought it moved too slow." "Yeah, E'clisse moved too slow." Really? You caught all that, you received all the ideas in the picture so quickly, that the film needed to race in order to keep up with you? "Celine and Julie moved too slow, but it was fun." So you in fact enjoyed the experience in its entirety, but if you had the chance, you would have played the movie in fast-forward? I guess what I'm saying is that the criticism of pace that you see coming from the standard movie-viewer is made without any serious appraisal of the place pace has in the making of a motion picture. The standard viewer doesn't allow for the idea that pace can be part of a larger conception, or idea; they have it in their heads that a fast-paced movie is a good one, and a slow-paced movie is a pretentious movie. And the thinking ends, much as it began.

So I do see your point, but I think real, genuine criticism of pace has to take into account the subject matter of the movie, and be treated as one element of its overall approach.

[knives]

I don't see the pace of the Batman pictures as being one of the most essential elements. Is the idea of Batman really enriched if he is fast-moving?

I have never equated good pacing with a fast pace. There are many films out there that flow beautifully due to a pace which could be described as slow. What I have said is that poor pacing, pacing which affects in an adverse way the flow of watching a film is bad.

Or is it his moral purpose that make his adventures compelling?

That's fine and good, but irrelevant to my point. The thematic essence of film doesn't matter if it is unwatchable and a huge part of making a film watchable is if it is well paced. Long stretches of redundancy or continuing past the point where there is an emotional or intellectual connection are bad for any film and will make the film bad.

I actually felt that the constant pace of The Dark Knight served to obscure the nature of some of the more interesting things that were happening in the movie. In other words, the picture was less clear in its meanings because it moved so fast; if anything, the pacing worked against the cumulative effect of the movie.

Yes, that is an example of bad pacing so if this is your point why do you act of if we are in disagreement? The film needed a tighter editing job to allow it to be paced better. It is clearly overstuffed and excessively jumpy which results in bad pacing. I'm not saying pacing is the cause of things, but it is the effect which allows for badness.

[Aspect]

"A film is - or should be - more like music than like fiction. It should be a progression of moods and feelings. The theme, what's behind the emotion, the meaning, all that comes later.” - Stanley Kubrick. Since movies are generally pieces of film edited together over time and according to rhythms dictated by the filmmaker, I think this is more or less an accurate description of the viewing experience. The filmmaker makes a decision to pace a film slowly, moderately, or fast (or everything and anything in between) based on numerous factors, but mainly due to a sort of gut feeling about how the story should unfold in time.

I think it's always important to remember that, like music, movies take time. Like Knives said, some movies flow beautifully at a slow pace. It's really hard to pinpoint why the pacing in a movie is off, or why is completely right. It's also highly subjective, but after one watches many movies, I think one develops a sort of sense of what works and what doesn't. The same thing happens to filmmakers. As they get more experienced, they know how to pace their films better.

For me, the best paced films (which are, in my mind, often the best films for me) are ones in which I become hypnotized by the unfolding of a story and don't feel forced into anything. I think that's why people say movies flow better than others. We like to be held by the hand in a film, not dragged by too quick for the story pacing. When we are dragged, we get lost and everything seems off. Conversely, when a movie moves slowly and there's not enough drama to sustain our interest and justify the slow rhythm, we get bored and we call the movie slow. I guess what I'm trying to say is that pacing involves a balance of many qualities, such as story, performance, and editing. Just like music, when all the notes work and harmonize together (and become dissonant when they need to, only to harmonize again in a satisfying manner) we sense that balance and call a movie well paced. The editing must feel appropriate to the story and vice versa. Whether this is done well or not is often a matter of opinion. Just like whether a piece of music works for us or not.

[tarpilot]

All of this reminds me...I'm not sure if it's been brought up elsewhere, but economist Murray Rothbard fancied himself a bit of an amateur film critic, and in one particularly hateful piece from 1994 he declares Juliet of the Spirits the Worst Movie of All-Time, seems to sincerely wish death upon the entire cast and crew of The Piano, and mounts a bizarre defence for a group of inner city kids who turned a screening of Schindler's List into their own MST3K episode ("So what does Spielberg expect, if he won't make shooting scenes sufficiently realistic?")

[karmajuice]

Pace is an integral aspect of making a film, or any work of art which takes time to unfold (literature, theater, music, etc). The pace of a film is something like the tempo in a piece of music: it can be slow or rapid or a careful combination of the two. Some works benefit from long, in-depth exposition; some are better off diving into the deep end. It depends on the tone you're looking for. Pace varies from piece to piece. It's very flexible. At times it even feels intangible, but it does have certain concrete qualities which develop as the work is being made. Certain choices become good choices in the context of the rest of the piece. After an action scene or an intense dramatic moment, one might benefit from including a more subdued scene, something that allows you to process the preceding events while continuing to follow the flow of the film. As a writer, pace is profoundly important to me, and I'm adamant about streamlining scenes and making sure they maintain a rhythm. Sometimes you might have good material, but if it bogs down the work as a whole, it's best to excise it.

[Grand Illusion]

Pacing is definitely important, but it's more than just the ASL or speed of the edit. I recently re-watched The Turin Horse, and it invigorates me. The actions are mundane, but the camera gracefully moves around the scene, constantly giving new information via the shot or the layered soundtrack. For others, I've seen the film described as "boring."

On the other hand, it's funny to mention L'Eclisse, which really works for me in the interpersonal scenes, but drags in the stock market scenes. I feel like I get the thematic importance and political statement almost immediately, and those scenes make my mind wander off the film.

[zedz]

Pacing is definitely important, but it's more than just the ASL or speed of the edit. I recently re-watched The Turin Horse, and it invigorates me. The actions are mundane, but the camera gracefully moves around the scene, constantly giving new information via the shot or the layered soundtrack. For others, I've seen the film described as "boring."

And even though complaints about 'pacing' are often just the reflection of a twitchy TV-trained viewer who got bored, it cuts both ways. If The Turin Horse suddenly accelerated its cutting speed, or introduced plot complications and a lot of dialogue to explain them in its last half hour, that would be a pacing issue (to say the least).

Another version of this complaint is "it could have been x minutes shorter / it could have been more tightly edited," which is a comment so vapid and vague it could literally be applied to any feature film. Just because something could be edited or paced differently doesn't mean that it should. (It doesn't mean that it shouldn't, either, but that argument requires much more substantiation and a high degree of specificity.)

[warren oates]

I like much of what's been said already about pacing, which is really such an ineffable quality in a film. I find it useful to think of the issue alongside Tarkovsky's notion of a film's "time pressure."

There are very few filmmakers whose slowness rises to the level of an art all by itself (Bela Tarr and Tsai Ming Liang for example) or who use duration hypnotically to immerse you in a world, as Tarkovsky does in Stalker.

I agree with Zedz in general about "could have been shorter"/"should have been tighter" comments. And yet? The older I get and the more films I watch, the more often I find myself feeling that way (I did write something along these lines in the Once Upon A Time In Anatolia thread). In part because of a familiarity with certain obligatory story beats in more mainstream narrative films. In part because I'm convinced that the visually literate audience of today can and does often get the point of a moment -- even the abstract poetry of it -- a little bit faster than we used to. In part because I've become more partial to the virtues of an almost ruthless economy (Bresson is the epitome here) in all works of art.

I think of how the directors cuts of certain Sokurov films, which already sport relatively short runtimes by art film standards, are usually shorter by at least 10 minutes.

The one exception would be epic stories that are harmed by the Procrustean length limits of theatrical distribution. The theatrical version of Fanny and Alexander or Until the End of the World. Even Kingdom of Heaven, which seemed like a much better and shorter film with an hour so added back in.

[Drucker]

I have always found it to be a little silly to judge something based on how it would be if it were different. Certain people would have you believe if The White Album were just one album, or cut out some of the filler tracks, it would be better. I don't agree with this and think it could just make it worse.

You gotta take the good with the bad, and enjoy films warts and all as far as I'm concerned. Taking out that one scene that doesn't work for you just disrupts the balance of the work, and it could end up making something else not fit.

[zedz]

Warren: Yes, it's interesting how pace can be quite distinct from duration. Those shortened Sokhurovs still move like a hippo in treacle (in a good way!). On the other hand, I recently saw Goncalo Tocha's leisurely three-hour documentary on Corvo, It's the Earth, not the Moon, and the time just flew, even though nothing much happened (Goncalo did get a lovely knitted hat out of it, though.)

Drucker: Agreed about the White Album analogy. Part of that album's essential character is that it's sprawling and diverse. The problem is also the subjectivity of determining what is or is not 'filler'. I could compile an 'ideal' single album that would omit many of your favourite tracks and vice versa. It seems to be a growing problem that people want works of art / culture in general to be tailored specifically to their own preferences (see also some comments in the Sight and Sound Poll thread), which just ends up in a bias-confirming feedback loop and the intellectual laziness borne of a reluctance to engage with things that don't immediately suit your predilections.

[warren oates]

This is why the natural experiments available to us, like theatrical vs. directors cuts or more radically reimagined works like Blade Runner and Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid and Touch of Evil or the long and short versions of various Rivette films are important. They can be seen as case studies in the effects of these decisions on well-known works.

I suppose it all comes down to the feeling of how interesting any given choice of pacing or duration makes the work in the end.

I can't help thinking of how Tsai Ming-Liang came to the slowness he's known for today through a mixture of chance and a crucial choice he made at the very beginning of his career. He started out wanting the "time pressure" of his films to be faster than Lee Khang-Shen felt comfortable moving. But after some initial frustration, he wisely decided to build the rhythm of whole films around his leading man's preternaturally singular slowness.

[Roger Ryan]

I think it's easier to identify pacing problems when it affects one or two scenes in a film that is otherwise well-paced. Certainly the shoot-out scene in Kubrick's THE KILLING is rushed, almost comically so. No matter how many times I see the film, this scene stumbles for me.

On the other end would be the controversial "car ride" scene in Tarkovsky's SOLARIS. Regardless of how Tarkovsky wished to sculpt this particular real time experience, it effectively stops the film. Is it the fact that a Western and/or modern audience is too familiar with Tokyo for it to appear as alien as Soviet audiences might have found it in 1971? Did Tarkovsky feel obligated to extend the sequence to justify his trip to Japan? This can't just be pinned on Tarkovsky's very deliberate style; with every viewing, the pacing of SOLARIS seems quicker than I remembered it being...with the exception of that one scene that significantly overstays its welcome.

[MichaelB]

Whereas I absolutely love that scene and find it completely mesmerising every time I watch it.

[Matt]

Yeah, it's the second-best scene in the movie for me.

[Brian C]

I saw Solaris for the first time this past spring, and I was disappointed when that scene ended. But I can watch stuff like that for days; when I first saw Zazie dans le Metro, I found myself wishing that the opening credits sequence on the train tracks was in real time.

[Roger Ryan]

Whereas I absolutely love that scene and find it completely mesmerising every time I watch it.

I suppose it's just a matter of taste. I wouldn't think to fast-forward through it and I find it interesting as a construction, but this particular digression takes me out of the story every time. There is not another example like it in Tarkovsky's canon; no other sequence or shot seems to stick around longer than it should (although I find one or two moments in IVAN'S CHILDHOOD to be paced too quickly for my tastes).

[Alan Smithee]

When I was a 14 year old budding cinephile, Solaris was on TV and that scene was where I came in. I was completely blown away. Never seen anything like it. Proceeded to fall asleep in about an hour but not because I didn't like it. I just remember being in a trance. So yeah that was my first intro to Tarkovsky and I haven't looked back.

[repeat]

The composer Morton Feldman spoke about the ideally inverse proportion between the length of a piece and the amount of material - the sparser the materials, the longer you can go with them, whereas a shorter work will need more material and faster pacing. I've noticed several times with films that disproportion in this respect tends to lead to problems with perceived duration ("too long" - just think if something like Une femme est une femme went on for two and a half hours); while a very long but properly paced film like Sátántangó ends up feeling considerably "shorter" than one would expect (at least that's what happened to me)

[warren oates]

It's worth noting that Tarkovsky intented at least part of the effect of some of his longer bits of sustained duration like the Solaris car ride or the trolly car scene in Stalker to be endurance tests for weeding out unserious audience members. In the Mississippi press book of interviews he talks about conflicts with his Soviet distributor Goskino that might as well have been with a Hollywood studio. They complained that Stalker started slow and took too long to get going. And he countered that this was exactly the way he wanted it so that viewers who were there to see a conventional sci-fi flick would have time to realize their mistake and leave the theater.

For me great immersive patience-testing long takes or slow sequences, like the one in Solaris or in just about all of The Turin Horse work like those experimental Andy Kaufman routines that start out being funny and then become strange and then boring and then funny again for different reasons. Tarr's editor talks about not so much knowing when to cut as when not to cut -- when to let things keep on happening.

[matrixschmatrix]

I've always seen the highway scene as a means by which to dilate your attention span- it's like the three dots on a magic eye puzzle, a way to get you to look at the rest of the film properly.

[Roger Ryan]

I've always seen the highway seen as a means by which to dilate your attention span- it's like the three dots on a magic eye puzzle, a way to get you to look at the rest of the film properly.

Are you referring to the driving scene in SOLARIS? I would say you are absolutely correct in terms of how the trolley car scene works in STALKER! The elongation of time and the sense that the trolley is not actually going anywhere (due to the shot being done in close-up) is an excellent set-up for how the rest of the journey will be presented. The SOLARIS drive doesn't serve this same purpose for me since it is only tangentially related to the film's main action and is taken from the viewpoint of a character who will not appear in the film again. If SOLARIS was more like ANDREI RUBLEV, where events are distributed among numerous characters, I might feel better about the scene in question. But the remainder of the film is strictly from the viewpoint of Kelvin, so this long digression lacks the justification.

[colinr0380]

I saw Solaris for the first time this past spring, and I was disappointed when that scene ended. But I can watch stuff like that for days; when I first saw Zazie dans le Metro, I found myself wishing that the opening credits sequence on the train tracks was in real time.

My favourite scene of Zazie is the one near the end of the film where the title character is almost falling asleep on the boot of the car as nighttime Paris bustles around her. I could have seen that moment of 'nothing happening' expanded into an entire film, or to put it another way, that is a perfect example for me of a moment in a film that I wish that I could 'live' in!

If you like French films with train track openings, can I recommend Andre Techine's Rendez-vous?

On duration and pacing, I think it is down to whether there is a reason behind a shot, or behind holding on a shot for a long time. Sometimes the feelings created by a shot held for an extremely long time, and the way that changes what is being looked at, can be the entire motivation of a scene. Or the way that a long held scene may capture a small, fleeting moment within it, creating a sense of discovery that may be destroyed if a shot is too obviously composed to show off purely that moment. In that sense I can see why people might be frustrated at the driving sequence in Tarkovsky's Solaris (as Roger Ryan neatly describes in the above post), since it might not provide any particular reason for being necessary in the wider film. Yet I love that sequence, especially because it is a rather unique one in any film that I have seen (maybe that is a good thing, I hear people saying!), and I love the steady escalation of it. Plus in a way the whole point of that scene is as much to create an impact with the abrupt cut back to the silent, quiet dacha as anything to do with showing off a futuristic cityscape.

One of the things that I love about film is that, unlike life, someone has chosen the images and sounds on display for a particular purpose. That purpose can be easily graspable or obscure even to those making the work, but that choice is still there. A filmmaker can focus on a leaf for thirty minutes, or set a camera down and and come back in an hour after having filmed 'nothing', but that act of filming and choosing where, when and if to cut is still a creative act in a way. (This for me makes the idea the attempt of films to capture reality (even in documentaries) rather silly, since a film is inherently unlike reality just by virtue of it being mediated and 'chosen'.)

It might not result in a great, or enlightening, piece of filmmaking (and there was that whole debate in Sight and Sound a while back about 'slow cinema' and the suggestion of a filmmaker abdicating their creative responsibilities or, looked at more charitably, creating a freeform space for the audience member to inhabit and project upon), because there needs to be a thought process behind that mechanical creation and of there being a meaning behind, say, watching that potato rolling around on the tabletop for five minutes.

However if there is a kind of filmmaking confidence on display, even in the suggestion that there is a meaning there that I cannot quite discern, I find that can captivate me enough to enjoy a film. Whereas there have been some heavily narrative based, fast cutting films which can be difficult to follow in their own way! (In a sense the 'intensified continuity' of something like the Bourne films and the long durations of a Bela Tarr film could be seen as two sides of the same coin - both using editing to heighten audience participation with the world of the film, and maybe obscuring a story that could be told in simpler, but not as visceral or intriguing terms)

What do the forum members think of Lisandro Alonso's Liverpool? I've been going back and forth on it since watching it between finding the narrative throughline frustating if you are looking for any kind of resolution to justify the enormous amount of time spent with the main characters travelling. Yet each scene in that film is a wonderful centrepiece in its own right - I could spend more time on board the tanker in the beginning; or in the cafe; or with the daughter; or with the daughter and her grandfather out hunting at the end and just that experience would justify the film having been made. Presumably the filmmaker has deeper intentions for these scenes, perhaps social or political ones which remain obscure to me, yet I can still get some pleasure from the way the film unfolds its locations, and maybe other meanings will reveal themselves with time (The prime example of this 'centrepiece' feeling for me is Antonioni's L'eclisse, which is such a magnificent film in my opinion because every single scene could be taken as the central scene of the film which every other scene is supporting and clarifying into a wider statement)