Last week saw a series of quick successive deaths of key figures in the entertainment industry. This, while tragic, reminded me of another such occurrence earlier this year that I had always meant to comment on in something more drawn out and less glib than a tweet or status update. I felt this needed to be addressed from a personal viewpoint, rather than some sermonising eulogy about how their work will never be forgotten.
Problem is that this person and their contribution to an art form I worship will be forgotten. Outside of the industry it is unlikely many will acknowledge their passing, and admittedly even those few on the outside who know who the departed was, are unlikely to care.
I am talking about Sally Menke. Not a name immediately familiar to anyone with even a fairly decent knowledge of film. She died the same week as Arthur Penn, Tony Curtis, Gloria Stuart and Greg Giraldo, echoing the recent departures of Leslie Nielsen and Irwin Kershner within days of each other. She is not a director, a writer or an actor of note – she is merely an editor. Come February, when the In Memoriam montage is played at the Oscars people will applaud, and probably wonder who she was. But her contribution to cinema is intrinsically important to my own love of film.
When I was 13, I saw Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction for the first time. This had followed years of listening to the film’s soundtrack; chock full of music that I had no idea could exist; let alone was popular. Hearing momentary snippets of dialogue about burgers in France and why sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie accompanied these songs. Finally at 13 the film was finally unleashed unto me, with the supervision of my parents to make sure I wasn’t getting particularly horrified by the results.
Outside of the dialogue, the wonderful performances, eclectic soundtrack and wonderful set-pieces I pondered at what I was watching. The film was not going from start to finish. Certainly the film makes complete sense on a narrative level, in fact in my opinion it is a flawless narrative, but for the first time A was not necessarily followed by B.
In the years that have followed the ‘jumbled narrative’; to provide it with its street name; has always fascinated, and impressed me. This is what storytelling on the big screen is capable of in a way few other mediums accomplish so readily and fluidly. It is something I hope to attempt myself when I hopefully get to a stage where I am trusted with other people’s money and cameras. What Menke did that was so important and significant is she made it not only look easy but made it so that the hidden art of editing is noticed.
What I mean by this is that editing is almost always an unseen art. Someone, and I forget whom, once said that the only time you notice editing is when it is done badly. Menke’s talent proved there was an exception to that rule. Without sacrificing story or confusing the cinema audience she was able to clearly tell a story, and highlight her talent while not necessarily giving the relevant points in the right order. Her impact has travelled too. Immediately after the one-two of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, films imitated its style, although often to mixed reception. Although The Usual Suspects emerged at this time, with similar narrative tics and is one of the definitive films of the 90s – right alongside Pulp Fiction. Menke’s style is undeniably a key factor in the film’s enduring popularity. Not only that but Christopher Nolan’s career is indebted to Menke’s ability to tell a jumbled narrative.
But this blog was never intended to be about Menke’s impact or legacy. This is about a thirteen year old who watched a film and forever since has wanted to make movies. As much as I am someone who will forever go to directors for inspiration; Sally Menke is owed a debt as much as them.
Thank you Sally, and rest in peace.
