You, Too, Can Be Invisible (or, an editor's superhero power)

What I've been learning, off and on and in many different ways, is that the best picture editors are invisible.  They are unseen and spiritlike; hoisting up a movie like an expensive brassiere.  And the moment that I start thinking, "This is interesting editing," I know that the movie's editing failed.  Or at least failed it's Story.

To be honest, there's at least two schools of thought on ::dramatic booming voice:: the Art Known As Film.  One being that it's purpose is to tell a story; the other being that it's purpose is to be a visual spectacle.  You more often see the latter in the Avant Garde and Independent genres...

Except.  Well.  

In recent years I've seen more and more of mainstream film looking like Avant Garde film; to, I think, it's detriment.  The visual spectacle of, say, Visual Effects, or Look At My New Camera, or even Look At My Fast Cutting, while at first interesting through sheer novelty in the end drags down the story's pace.  If I want to linger in awe over a picture, I (personally) would prefer to linger over it in a museum or on the wall of my home or, say, anywhere other than in a movie theater.

Which brings me back to my initial point in that the moment editing is "seen", the moment the audience is looking at a "picture" instead of living the dream, is the moment where the magic is lost.

And there is magic in storytelling; in making something so real that people can't help but cry or cheer.  The irony (or is it beauty?) in creating magic is that something *has* to disappear; the strings of the puppet or the supports for the floating lady.

I hope that soon the novelty of all these special effects and new digital cameras will pass by; I miss stories.