ONE CUT OF THE DEAD, One Takes, and a Beautiful F*ck You To Criticism (Patreon)

I don’t like the “one take” obsession.

This would be this philosophy that doing everything in some big, ornate one take is the height of filmmaking prowess. Yes, they are often pretty and eye-catching. But for this philosophy to really be true, it would require the added belief that one-take-filmmaking is inherently better for storytelling across the board. That it somehow imbues a film with more realism or power… But I’ll get right to the point: this is a garbage belief. Because the basic “edit” is actually the essential point of the form. It’s what allows you to move in an invisible instant. Within it, there is no more powerful act than shot / reverse shot and its ability to bring you into an emotional exchange between two people. Editing between any carefully selected shots has this endlessly abundant power. It allows you to focus on the moment of the story you need to focus on. At its most essential, Tarkovsky said filmmaking itself is “sculpting in time.” But when you remove the cut, you remove the sculpt. To put it reductively, no matter how pretty the one take, you are just pointing, shooting and following a subject. You are basically removing the final act of filmmaking.

To be clear, there is very much a point of holding on a given shot. Even for a few seconds, you create that sense of focus. You can sustain and hold tension. You can even entrance the viewer. But the more and more you hold on the shot, the more and more you play this game of chicken.  You think you are holding tension, but if you press it too long you just let the air out or a scene. Or you end up focusing on something that’s kind of irrelevant and fill it with a moment of “dead air” in the midst of transition. Which is why the most deadly part of all is when you miss a beat where an edit would serve the impact of the story 100 times better. Which is why you always have to understand THE WHY behind any given shot. You have to know what tension you’re trying to hold. You have to know what emotion you’re trying to create. Because the technique of execution can affect it greatly.

For instance, a hand-held one take CAN give the feeling an uneasy feeling to the viewer, but it is not, as many assume, a direct path to documentary-like realism. Often, one too many bits of handheld can tip the scales and make the viewer feel like “someone is FILMING this,” which is the total opposite of what you want. As for the other end of the spectrum, it starts with knowing that long, elegant, smooth tracking shots gives the “god’s eye” feeling of control and oversight to the viewer. Which shouldn’t be the feeling for every moment, but instead specific ones. Few times has it worked better than Scorsese’s use of it in Goodfellas of them walking through the restaurant to get their own newly-made-up table. It works because you’re so ingrained in her character and there’s this overwhelming wonder to it all in her eye. It can also work really well in some of Spielberg’s famous “secret oners” where he’s using these little moves to keep moving between frames, often to these brilliant little exchanges of power in blocking (but even I will admit they’re getting a little less stealthy). One takes can absolutely function within a given sequence. So please understand what I’m really criticizing here…

… Is the “one take for one take’s sake.”

Which is this belief you can start backwards from wanting to achieve this big trick of production and then make it work. Because then you just end up trying to figure out how you're technically going to link things that shouldn’t really be linked (and would be better if they weren’t). But let’s be honest, people do this because it will surely impress people and get noticed. And the big problem is that in this surface-level world they are not wrong to think so. Because it DOES get noticed. And because the hyper-controlled one shot DOES give this feeling of control or “mastery” to the viewer. It makes them feel like everything is so controlled or go “wow, this was hard to make!” And because we falsely equate difficulty with effectiveness, it will always do the trick for some people. I admit this plainly. But I also will keep saying again and again and again that it also so often also sticks a pin in the effectiveness of some of those same sequences. Or worse, without the one take gimmick, it can reveal how completely boring the moment story is without it. In the end, it makes your direction seem better and your actual story worse. Because if this was the “better way” to tell stories, we would do it all the time. There’s a reason we don’t. And I will die on this damn hill.

Now, the real problem is that this also ties into something complicated, which is this whole push / pull of “immersion.” Because so many people crave the notion of immersion, right? They don’t want their attention pulled away or to be “taken out” of a movie. The problem with this is that it’s an inherently limiting desire. Which is often why the same folks don’t like when the tone changes. Or don’t like it when they feel like the filmmaking becomes to noticeable. The inherent problem with this is that ALL filmmaking is technique. There are strings behind EVERY choice, especially ones that achieve “naturalism” and tone balance. No technique is inherently better or more “correct” in general. For cinema, it’s about what those techniques communicate in a given moment. When separates Scorsese from the flock of imitators is the nuts and bolts know how of what does what. When whips the camera around with flash in Color of Money, every single point is about communicating a moment. Whether it’s a loud break, an object, or a character reaction, he’s picking spaces of emphasis and creating impact. Meanwhile, when the camera whips around in, say, episodes of Euphoria, there’s almost no actual emphasis. It’s kind of amazing, really. The camera feels more like its moving out of frustration and boredom. It’s not focused on anything or creating a moment of comparison, it’s just antsy and it can't stop moving (to be fair, I’ve had someone remark that it's a style that reflects their feelings with ADHD, which I find interesting? I don’t know, it’s not for me to argue, but I’m curious).

The question is always WHY. Every time I’m looking at a shot in a movie I am sitting there with the composition, subject, moment, story, all of it and asking “why?” Because you have to bring the answer right into the story to make it really successful. Even within an incredible film like Children of Men, I think there is a range of function to the one takes. The first oner sequence in the car is sublime because It so readily captures the playful, calm interaction of the ping pong ball right before turning into the claustrophobic horror of being trapped in that car as people attack. But the much ballyhooed final sequence? I’m sorry, I can’t help but watch as he slooooowly crawls along these acts of big demolition and think “huh, could really use some edits there…” There’s so many moments where I wish there was a misdirect or powerful reversal. It feels like they started from the point of self-daring. That is the obsession with whether or not they could pull it off and worked backward. Same goes for the sumptuous but utterly-purposeless-for-the-story beach shot in Atonement. Same goes for the entire premise of 1917. Again, the question is always “why.” You can’t just make a one take for one take’s sake.

Or at least shouldn’t.

And thankfully, all of this is at the center of One Cut of the Dead.

* * *

Note: the following contains massive spoilers and I highly recommend watching blind.

When I first heard about the film I was dreading it.

Specifically for all the reasons I mentioned above. I knew a big giant one take was the central idea of the film, so I kept putting it off. But as I was doing a twitch stream of movies I had never seen and it became the single most requested film hands down. So I put it in the line-up. And as I started watching, at first it seemed like I was right to dread. Where some of you may have enjoyed the opening a lot more than I did, I… I had maybe never hated anything more? At least not in a while. I was sitting there in my seat with all these thoughts rushing through my head. Heck, I didn’t even talk about the inherent problems of found footage movies above, but, like, is the camera person there or not there? If they are there then they HAVE to be a character to properly hold both reality tension. But there’s these big moments that cheat wantonly. I’m sitting there going. What is with these delays? Why is that arm throw so obvious? Why do these scenes feel improved and purposeless? Even the lowest budget film sets don’t look like that! Why is it so obviously hiding the gore / set ups / switches? Why is she screaming going so long!?!?! This is insufferable!!!

Yes, all these questions seem obvious in hindsight, but sitting there, my stomach was turning in knots because everything about the problems of striving for one-takes is just GOING OFF LIKE CRAZY and I’m terrified the reason so many people loved this movie was the same reason 1917 gets awards buzz on principle. I mean, I knew there was some sort of shift to the movie coming (anytime people say “go in blind,” you know that it’s going to go SOMEWHERE you’re not expecting). But given what I was seeing, my thoughts couldn’t help but think, oh, it’s film within a film, but it’s probably going to be a film within a film within a film and there’s gonna be another REAL zombie attack, etc. which would be the worst version offered, most likely.

I was definitely not expecting one of the most beautiful reversals I’ve ever seen.

I cannot explain the wave of relief that came, not just with the title dropping and credits, but specifically the moment where the director Higurashi is getting pitched on the idea by the producers. They want to do this live TV special being done as a one take and I’m like OH SHIT, THEY GET IT. Both the filmmaker character - and more importantly, the filmmakers behind the film we’re actually watching - have the exact same values and hang-ups about this one take approach and its limitations. But of course, it’s an opportunity for Higurashi to get away from corporate video gigs and make something actually dramatic because no one else wants to touch an idea so misguided. Thus, the needs of the industry dictate him taking the job. On top of that, we’re not just creating the motivation where he sells himself on “fast, cheap, and average,” but creating the perfect lead-in for the arc of getting of that same filmmaker remembering that “it’s my job to do this to the best of my limitations” And as it begins telling the “real” story of how we got here, it employs all this beautiful traditional, simple, and super effective filmmaking in the process.

We get these carefully chosen static shots that paint a story of a disconnect between Higurashi and his daughter. They once shared a passion for movies. But he’s the guy who fell into a rut and couldn’t say no. Now she’s an ambitious student who is so passionate she has no self-control. Then as production starts, the set-ups fly fast and furious with the crew. An ambitious camera assistant and controlling DP. Two actors having an affair. An alcoholic character actor. An inability for the “boom operator” to drink hard water. An ego-driven actor who thinks he’s too good for all this. And even warning about the mom’s past with acting and being too driven. Everything is set up so perfectly and you’re starting to guess where some of it is going. But when you get to that last third? When you realize the whole finale is going to be about repeating the opening, but we’re seeing everything from behind the scenes? And when you realize this was going to be about the miracle of them somehow pulling off this horrible bad idea?

I simply cannot think of a more joyful finale.

Because every single thing that is “wrong” in the first act is very much not wrong, but instead just part of these carefully-constructed set-ups and pay-offs in the real-life production. Most of them weren’t on purpose. The cameraman was never supposed to be acknowledged. And some of it is the little technical things like the rubbing of the lens (culminating in the camera assistant’s amazing stunt fall) or a rebuttal to the time I thought, “that’s a lame arm throw,” only to see how funny it plays when you see the stressed PA toss it in before she’s gotta run. But it’s the bigger character moments, too. This assistant takes over the camera when the DP falls. The alcoholic will pound sake and REALLY PUKE and the other actor will be beside himself. The boom operator will have to poop immediately (the image of him getting zombie make-up done while it happens is incredible).The affair will cause both Higurashi and his wife to throw themselves back into acting. And it turns out his “fear” of her actor is actually because she is the most insanely funny method actor who completely loses herself in roles and nearly derails the entire movie. Watching the hilarity ensue as they correct every hiccup and somehow still end up where they need to be is one thing, but realizing exactly how this was going to pay-off in terms of emotional catharsis between the characters is another.

To be clear, the second the finale started I realized this was going to end with his daughter on his shoulders with a camera, effectively recreating the picture. I don’t care that I wasn’t surprised because I don’t care about surprise. Often, surprise is bullshit. Moreover, whenever someone says “pssssh, I knew that was gonna happen,” as a detriment, I’m like “congrats you have a basic understanding of storytelling! And somehow think anyone following that basic understanding is bad?” It’s never made sense to me. Besides, the point is that it’s not about “called it!” It's about the feelings those choices create, even when you understand they’re coming. Better yet, having a feeling that something like that is coming just helps create the emotional anticipation. Watching it play out creates tension. Seeing the crane fall just helps amp up the set-up. You feel the build up of all of it. This way the entire last act wasn’t just funny, it was emotional. And when the final emotional moment came? When - even though I knew what the moment was referencing - the daughter still pulls out the picture and presents it to him and we see their smiling, amazing faces? That’s fucking catharsis in a nutshell. I was positively bawling. But it wasn’t just about the two of them. It was everything about the finale coming together. It’s the mom watching on. The tired and exasperated crew smiling with joy. And especially the subtle move of seeing the ego-driven actor suddenly being willing to put himself on the middle part of the pyramid, then smiling with everyone else. It’s a tactful, symbolic, subtle moment that shows the tact of everything that’s happened in this film.

Because ultimately, what is perhaps the most powerful thing about One Cut of the Dead is what it’s saying through its overall construction. Because it is perfectly designed to take aim at a person like me. A person who will watch the first third and have every criticism, every hang up, and every instinct to put himself above the first third output and go “this is mediocre and deeply flawed.” And it will make us eat my fucking hats. Not just because it was all a bunch of set-ups for funny gags and emotional moments. But because it is the gorgeous reminder that all art is made by people trying to do something beyond the limitations that are directly in front of them. That there is so much in striving to be just a little bit better than average. That it’s art. And that it’s all art. And that there is beauty in the purpose of every attempt at it. That every completed film is fucking a miracle. That every error can be a happy accident if you look at it the right way. That even though we make things for producers who don’t care because they’re looking at their phones, we can still do something that has incredible meaning to people making it. Thus, this film is probably the greatest love letter to the value of mediocre art I’ve ever seen.

But it doesn’t create that love letter by being mediocre in and of itself…

No, the film itself is executed with sublime focus. The editing of the finale is razor sharp and composed perfectly-directed farce. The writing is a miracle of efficiency. The crew behavior’s is dead-on and insightful. And as for the film within the film, do you know how hard it is to make something look “mediocre” on purpose? It’s so hard. Which all just gets back to “the why.” Why would the filmmakers put this all up front? If the filmmakers know how to make a perfect movie from start to finish, what is the point of that first act where you see it all play out in glorious mediocrity? It’s all to this unifying purpose and reminder of something critical.

Because a long, long time ago I echoed the wisdom of “never hate a movie,” and sometimes I think it’s easy to lose the sentiment of what is really behind it. Because this isn’t just a story of “I was hating it then I loved it.” No, it’s a film that makes me love the very thing I “hated,” perhaps more than I loved a story in my entire life. That got me to see my own judgmentalness. That got to the push / pull ethos and reality of one takes better than I ever could. That married the points of the mediocre and the sublime in a way that gives me goosebumps. And that somehow pulled this all off for 25,000 dollars USD. It seems like a magic trick of so many levels, but like all magic, there’s no real magic at all. It’s craft, driving of focus, and sleight of hand. It makes the pledge, the turn, and the prestige. All because it understands THE WHY of every step. Thus, it’s everything that makes films feel meaningful and important. It seems silly now, but going in I was dreading it thanks to all the surface assumptions that surround the industry and assumption itself. But that dread is part of the miracle of its function. And thanks to the marathon…

One Cut of the Dead is one of my favorite films of the last 10 years.

Thanks for making me watch it.

<3HULK