IN THE PAST FOUR YEARS A QUIET revolution has occurred in the world of Hollywood filmmaking: the advent of digital editing on computers. Not since the Moviola arrived, in the mid-1920s, has a machine so radically transformed the way movies are assembled -- for both good and ill -- or broadened the definition of film editing itself. And it has altered, in ways both painful and salutary, the lives of the men and women who make movies.
The revolution has come swiftly. In 1992 editor Rob Kobrin cut an entire feature, the thriller ""Needful Things,'' on an Avid computer. It was only one of four films edited that year on digital systems. Today roughly 80 percent of Hollywood movies are edited on either Avid or its rival system, Lightworks. ""I think it's the greatest thing since sliced bread,'' says Kobrin, 40, a self-appointed cheerleader for a technology that not everyone has welcomed. ""If computer editing is hell, then I'm Satan,'' he boasts.
Traditional film editing was always a funky, hands-on proposition: reeling and unreeling spools of film, cutting and gluing pieces of celluloid together, working amid a sea of film that sometimes got trampled underfoot. All that has changed, and the advantages are obvious. In the weightless world of digital information, 150 miles of film can be stored on hard drives, and an editor with the press of a key or the click of a mouse can instantly access any visual or audio moment in the film. Infinite variations of a scene can be stored and called up for review and comparison. Want to create a dissolve, a fade, a wipe? Instead of shipping the film out to an optical shop, and waiting days for it to come back, an editor can create these transitions instantly on his computer, and just as easily lay in a temporary music score, a bomb explosion, a title.
In this brave new world the line between editing and special effects has blurred, the jobs of editing film and sound have started to merge, and it's sometimes hard to know where editing begins and cinematography and production design leave off. In the current family movie ""Alaska,'' editor Kobrin, working with director Fraser Heston, literally moved mountains. The town the characters lived in was on the Canadian coast, but the mountains on view in the background were shot in Valdez, Alaska, and electronically laid into the image. ""Traditionally the art of film editing was the juxtaposition of frames,'' Kobrin explains. ""I'm now editing within the frame.'' A crowd of a hundred extras can be multiplied into a horde of thousands. You could say that in the digital universe all live-action films have the potential to become animation.
In the first 100 years of moviemaking, the editing room was a noisy, collaborative workplace where an assistant would sit beside the editor and get a hands-on demonstration of the art. Now, when you walk into the old house in Greenwich, Conn., where Ron Howard is putting together his big fall thriller, ""Ransom,'' there's a ghostly quiet. All you hear is the voices coming from the computer screens -- where Mel Gibson, as an airline magnate, learns his son has been kidnapped -- and the clicking of the keyboard. Howard is working with the two editors who won Oscars for ""Apollo 13,'' Mike Hill and Dan Hanley, but this is the director's first venture onto digital. Each editor works in a separate room; the assistants are in the basement, where they convert the film to video, digitize it and painstakingly catalog the footage. ""I find it thrilling,'' says Howard. ""You don't have to tear the movie completely down and put it back together. It's everything I ever hoped editing could be.''
But not everyone is rejoicing. For most editors the blade of revolution has a double edge. As Walter Murch, the legendary sound editor of ""Apocalypse Now,'' puts it, ""If God wants to punish you, he gives you what you want.'' Almost unanimously, editors rave about their new machines -- and complain that the quality of their lives, and of the work, has gone to hell. It's the much touted speed of these new machines that has led to problems. The studios, naturally, want a bottom-line return for the hundreds of thousands they've spent on their digital systems. Since time is huge money in Hollywood, executives figure that the time spent in post-production can now be cut in half. ""Editors are terribly upset about what's going on,'' says Thelma Schoonmaker, who cuts Martin Scorsese's films. ""Computers do save time to an extent, but not as much as producers thought.''
To make the opening dates determined by the marketing departments, teams of editors frequently come in to ""gang bang'' a movie. ""The vision goes,'' explains editor Tom Rolf (""Heat''). ""Editors have different styles, so the movie becomes a hodgepodge.'' Richard Marks, who edited ""Assassins'' last year in a rushed seven weeks, says, ""It's insane. It's the thinking process that makes the movie, not the speed at which you use the tools.''
""The digital revolution is digging a big hole for all of us,'' moans editor Carol Littleton (""The Big Chill''). ""You do the impossible and that becomes the norm. You can't explore anything.'' Another reason the process isn't that much quicker is that action directors, emboldened by the limitless options of their Avids and Lightworks, are shooting much more film -- instead of boiling 300,000 feet down to a 12,000-foot movie, the editors might have to contend with a million feet of film. ""We always worked terrible hours, and it's worse now,'' says Schoonmaker. ""Everyone's personal life and health is suffering. Everyone has to calm down and use the technology for the greatness of it and not get hysterical.''
It isn't just the workers who are getting hysterical -- so are the films. Several people cite the hyperactive ""The Rock'' -- cut by four editors on five Avids -- as an example of the new emphasis on kinetic impact over coherence. But is the technology driving the style, or is the style a response to an audience conditioned to a faster pace?
Rolf and his colleagues warn that the facility of the new tools can seduce filmmakers into cutting too much, and too quickly. A new generation of directors, schooled in MTV esthetics, is so used to editing on a computer screen that they can misjudge the impact of their images when they're amplified on a huge screen. Michael Bay, ""The Rock's'' 32-year-old director, realized, when he finally saw a car chase projected on film, that he'd cut it too fast for the eye to absorb. He had to ""de-cut.'' The next generation may magnify this dilemma. ""The real problem is with very young directors who have never edited on film,'' says Warner Bros. head of post-production Marc Solomon. ""They don't want to look at film dailies, they're happy to look at videotapes, and they lack a sense of proportion.''
The spirit of collaboration is disappearing, too. ""The goal of electronic editing is "one brain, one screen, one machine','' explains Murch. ""But is working by yourself the best thing for the most collaborative art form there is?'' Assistants, relegated to their bookkeeping chores in distant rooms, now have no shoulders to peer over -- no way of learning their craft. They may know computers, but nothing about how editing creates drama and emotion. ""I'm worried about how training is going to occur,'' says Hank Schloss of the Motion Picture Editors Guild. ""Everybody wants to get their end of it done today, and to hell with tomorrow.''
But there is no going back. The digital revolution is pointed in one clear direction: the all-electronic cinema Francis Coppola envisioned almost 20 years ago. Within the next five to 10 years, digital images will begin to match the subtlety and richness of film. Then, movies will be shot on digital cameras, fed directly into computers and beamed -- somehow -- electronically into theaters. Look, Ma! No hands! There will be no scratches on these movies, no faded colors and missing frames. There will be visions and effects and explosions the likes of which we've never seen. Will they be movies any of us want to see? That will have little to do with the machines, and everything to do with the people at the controls: the artists, craftsmen, executives and moneymen who will, rest assured, still be duking it out well into the 21st century. Some things don't change.