Notes on the Editing of Neruda
Pablo Larraine said of his film, Neruda, that it was made in the edit. The film follows its titular character, Pablo Neruda, during the period of his life where he went into hiding to avoid political persecution at a time where being a communist in Chile was fatal. Far from a biopic, or a political thriller, Neruda is more interested in the process of creation, and takes its stylistic cues from the writer’s poetry. Hervé Schneid’s editing not only helps tell the story, but plays a clear role in what makes the film great; few other films come to mind where the editing so deftly conveys the essence of the story, in this case the spirit of Neruda’s poetry. Through the use of impressionistic “poetic” editing - a style whose rhythm and tone favors continuity of emotion and free form, dreamlike montage, over match cut edits and physical/spatial continuity that belongs to the realist style of editing, what I will refer to as “prose” editing - Schneid achieves an effect worthy of Neruda’s voice.
It’s a complex film that reveals itself to the audience, without slowing down (speaking down) to them. The open sequence does the heavy lifting of getting through loads of information: world setting, character introductions and situational context, by cutting out all the would be transitions, establishing shots and interstitials between scenes while setting the tone; a police chase is imminent, and the break neck speed out the gate gives the audience the feel that the chase has already begun.
But more than a chase, we’re watching a film about the process of creation and the impressionistic, disjointed editing, coupled with voice over (some of the best ever written or edited) gives us the sense that the story is being created on the fly; we’re witnessing art unfold, not events. Neruda is portrayed as a bougie communist living in hypocrisy; to him, the chase is a game and he, its author.
While extended sequences of this sort of montage editing has the potential to tire us out, the pacing never reaches burn-out thanks to carefully placed moments of reprieve, usually in the form of Neruda and/or Oscar (the police prefect in pursuit of him) driving their respective cars. These shots remind the audience that while there is a chase in progress, we’re not in a conventional cat and mouse high speed chase genre film; instead these driving shots show the characters in moments of reflection. The filmmakers subvert our expectations while teaching us the rules of this particular film.
In one of the few moments of “prose” in the film, Neruda is dining at an opulent restaurant, celebrating the work of poetry he has released while in hiding, when he is approached by a tipsy woman, Silvia, who asks to kiss him. After an inappropriately long kiss in front of Neruda’s wife, Delia, she asks a more serious question: “When communism arrives, will we all be equal to him? Or equal to me? One who’s cleaned the shit of the bourgeoisie since I was 11.” Neruda is confronted with a hard dose of reality and in this moment, at the film’s midpoint, the editing ditches its impressionistic leanings and slows down to ground itself for the weight of the question. To Neruda, it’s a game, but there is real danger and crime happening outside. He finally answers her, “We’ll all be equal to me: We’re going to eat in bed and fornicate in the kitchen.” Her response is a nuanced performance somewhere between sardonic and earnest, “That’s what we’re fighting for, comrade!” but the final shot of the scene, a reaction from Neruda and Delia, tips the scale towards sardonic, as they look sufficiently deflated by the weight of their hypocrisy.
Frequently, a scene will consist of what seems to be a seamless conversation that is intercut between different locations to varying effect. Sometimes this technique is used to expedite passage of time, as when Neruda is urged to go into hiding - they quickly cut between several conversations in various locations, while giving the illusion of a continuous conversation and placing the characters in similar blocking positions to provide some consistency.
At other times, it’s used as a sort of soliloquy; when Neruda approaches his wife, Delia, and proposes they escape - “together”. When the scene begins, she is at her easel painting and midway through the film cuts to a new location in the house - a long shot, back lit, almost in silhouette, their bodies pressed together, a heart shape of light between them. Delia speaks: ”Of course… we’ll leave together. Then you’ll go off on your own. As always.” Her words are a foreshadow of events to come, spoken in this quasi-liminal space. A Shakespearean aside. Then we’re back to the original location, Delia back at her painting; they decide to leave, and are off, cutting immediately to them on the road.
In yet another instance; Oscar Peluchonneau, the police prefect charged with catching Neruda, embodied by Gael Gacia Bernal, enters into the film and into his boss’ office, the President of Chile. A floating camera circles around a huddle of men in suits. The president addresses Oscar directly, “The Director of Investigations here was upset with me, because I wanted to speak to you.” Oscar, in an attempt to deflect conflict with the Director - who is standing right next to him - answers, “I don’t think he was upset” and we jump cut to a close up of the President, over Oscar’s shoulder, now just the two of them standing near a window, again back lit - a filmic aside. The president confirms, “He was upset.” He’s no nonsense, and this jarring jump cut means business, cutting right to the point. A short exchange, and we’re back to the circle of men.
The inventiveness in the way in which Pablo Lorain and Hervé Schneid used editing to convey various literary devices while telling a captivating story that evokes a variety of emotions is truly exquisite.
