Behind the Scenes on Clara's Heart

by Peter Tonguette

Peter Tonguette was Staff Critic for The Film Journal from 2002 to 2005.  His writing has also appeared in Senses of Cinema, Bright Lights Film Journal, Contracampo, and 24fps Magazine.

This past summer, I interviewed two of Robert Mulligan’s key collaborators on Clara’s Heart: Sidney Levin, film editor, and Else Blangsted, music editor. Their insights into Mulligan’s working methods were invaluable; and their insights into his heart even more so. I wish to thank Mr. Levin and Mrs. Blangsted for their time and recollections. As a particular admirer of the underrated Clara’s Heart, it was an immense pleasure to have been able to speak with them, two who were instrumental colleagues of the director on that film and who, in Mrs. Blangsted’s case, became one of his closest friends. I also wish to thank my friend and colleague Fred Camper, a great scholar of Clara’s Heart, who inspired or suggested several of my questions.

I interviewed Sidney Levin by phone on August 26, 2004.

Sidney Levin:I think I was hired by the producer, Marty Elfand, with Mulligan’s consent. I don’t know if I met Mulligan in Los Angeles or in Maryland. It could well have been in Maryland. I simply don’t remember.

Peter Tonguette: What was the first meeting like?

SL: Robert was a bit aloof, which was, of course, quite understandable. Bob was in the middle of pulling a big collection of people together into a team before shooting.

Peter Tonguette: What did you discuss during the meeting?

SL:Our discussion was of the most rudimentary kind, nuts and bolts stuff, like, where I’m going to physically be editing the film, how long it was going to take for me to finish my cut, etc.

Even at my first meeting, where he gave out very little, it was obvious that Mulligan was a caring, sensitive, decent man. During the first weeks of shooting, however, something happened that colored our relationship for shooting period . I was concerned with the direction the Spalding Gray character was taking. He seemed to becoming a satirical portrayal of a grief counselor. I felt it presented a danger to the integrity of the story. As a result, one night, just before we were about to view dailies in the motel’s banquet room, I pulled Bob aside and expressed my concerns, something I would do with any director, and I was surprised by Bob reaction. He was very angry at me for bringing it up. It was clear that I was not to go there, or anywhere, with him other than as an editing pair of hands. That ended any attempt on my part to be what I hoped, a friendly stop for him on the Wild West stage coach ride that Truffaut described as an analogy to shooting a film. Generally I had found directors grateful for my reaction to the dailies and was taken aback by Bob’s reaction.

When Bob came to L.A. for the editing process, he was a different person. Relaxed and calm; the battle of getting the film in the can was over, he was generous, thoughtful. This allowed for a completely open and creative process of collaboration. I was able and happy to give him, and the film, the best I had.

When the big confession scene with Whoopi and the boy was shot, as I remember it was improvised to some degree. Whoopi brought to it a darkness, a negativity that I think was inappropriate and it didn’t play well. Bob agreed. I don’t remember the exact discussion, but it was something along the lines of me saying, “I have some notions on how to fix it. Can I explore it for a day, is that okay?” He said, “Of course.” And he left.

Whoopi didn’t do anything wrong. She was very skilled at improvising. She was just exploring the darker regions. In improvising, you go everywhere. So I did what an editor does: remove, rearrange, cheat a little here and a little there, and ended up with what I thought was appropriate and what Bob would want. When he saw it, he seemed comfortable with what I had wrought. He made some suggestions for fine tuning, and the scene was done.

Because he had covered the scene in the classic way, master shots, two-shots, and singles (C.U.’s) on each character, I had all the material I needed to reconstruct the scene.

PT: The use of the wide shot at the end of the scene was very interesting. Do you remember whose idea that was?

SL:I don’t know whose idea it was. I cut it that way because it seemed obvious that the wide shot had to be where it was. I’m sure that it was Bob’s intention to use it there when he shot the wide shot.

When something is so emotional, I like to step back and look at it, not shove the emotion in someone’s face. When editing a film, I’m always worried about pushing a scene or a moment beyond its natural boundaries. I had learned from my experience in theatre, and especially in my relationship with Marty Ritt, to jealously guard the overall tension in a film, to not piss the tension way too early in the game. To be disciplined in withholding so that there is some place to go emotionally when you’ve reached the end peak of the film. You have to maintain a disciplined aloofness, if possible, so that when you move in close, it has greater dramatic significance. The reverse is true as well, after an emotional peak—it helps to step back and reflect.

PT: When you comment that he covered things in “the classic way,” would you say he was more of a part of the classic Hollywood generation?

SL:Oh, definitely. Definitely. Which is not a negative. For that period of time, it was the grammar in American film. It did the job well. Wonderful films were made that way. Bob created classic films by that method. It was only later that new, less formal and exciting ways of constructing film stories penetrated Hollywood

He had a very good DP in Freddie Francis, who helped Bob realize whatever Bob envisioned. It seem to be one of those good relationships between the DP and the director. The producer, Marty Elfand, was also very supportive of Bob.

PT: You mentioned that Mulligan would be on the set when you’d get there first thing in the morning.

SL:If you remember, the location of the film was an extraordinarily pretty place. The house was on a hill and had a lovely sloping lawn that ran down to the Chesapeake Bay, a few hundred feet away. If you were to arrive on the set before the crew, before the work for that day began, you would find that Bob would be there already. You would see him wandering around at the base of the vast lawn, near the little dock, pacing and in deep thought. There was something touching about this little figure way down there, thinking so hard, with all the responsibility of directing the film on his shoulders. He seemed so vulnerable. It softened my feelings about him.

PT: When I interviewed Sheldon Kahn about Mulligan, he mentioned that when he would go on the set, he’d always see Mulligan, during any given take, right below the camera. Did you notice that?

SL:Yeah. Another director who I worked with a lot, Marty Ritt, also sat below the camera. This was the time before video assist. That was the only place a director could be reasonably assured of what the camera was seeing.

PT: Did Mulligan have final cut on the film?

SL:That I don’t know. He may not have had it on paper, but he had it, I think, by virtue of who he was. Bob’s qualities as a director and as a person elicited respect. I may not have agreed with some choices, but I certainly respected Robert’s integrity.

PT: Were there any previews done for the film?

SL:There probably were, but I simply don’t remember a formal preview other than a screening at the Academy Theatre for cast, crew, and friends.

PT: The funeral at the beginning was shot very indirectly. Instead of staging a lengthy scene, it’s really covered in just a handful of shots.

SL:That’s all that was required.

PT: A colleague of mine, Fred Camper, has pointed out the similarity between the close-up of David at the funeral to a similar close-up of him…

SL: …and at the end. I don’t know whether that was intentional. I don’t know. It may well have been.

PT: How were the scenes of David swimming out to the buoy worked out?

SL:There was nothing unusual about it. It was rather straight ahead. I had a great deal of footage and played with it. I picked a piece of piano music that felt right. I can’t think of the pianist’s name, I think it was Winston.

I used that music as a structure, the rhythm of the scene. It was a straightforward editing job. As I remember, Bob looked at it, had some suggestions to heighten and improve it, we made those changes, and that was that. Dave Grusin also used a piano for the scene when he scored it. It had the same mood as the piece I had picked, but with Grusin’s sensibilities. He did say to me when he first heard what I picked as a Temp Track, “I hate New Age music.” I liked what he had done.

PT: Now once Dave Grusin wrote the score, was there any re-editing done or adjustments to be made?

SL:No, no.

PT: It just fit?

SL:Yeah, because the scoring is so precise and of such a piece, so connected with the image, that it would be very unusual to change anything. I mean, it happens, but it would be rather unusual.

PT: I’m a tremendous admirer of the wonderful long take where the arguing parents are literally separated by a wall.

SL:I don’t know if that was Bob’s idea or Freddie’s or if they both came to it at the same time.

PT: Was there any coverage shot for it, or was it just that scene in that shot?

SL:I don’t remember if there was any coverage. I would doubt that there was.

PT: It looks like something he just shot and he decided…

SL:Yeah, that’s the kind of decision you make. You haven’t got the luxury of doing a lot of different kinds of coverage for a scene. Unless you’re unsure of the validity of an unusual shot, you just go with one idea.

PT: How long did the editing process take once you got into the editing room?

SL: I think about ten weeks or twelve weeks from the end of shooting to presenting the film to the studio as the director’s finished film. So we had the luxury of time. I had a week or two to get everything together before Bob first came in editing room.

As I remember, he would come in the morning and we’d look at stuff together for an hour or so and talk about a scene and then he’d leave. Or he might come back later that afternoon and look at a scene that I had worked on that morning and we would discuss it and, if it was good, put it to bed and go to the next scene. So he was probably in the editing room, on the average, maybe two or three hours a day, would be my guess.

The rhythm and pacing of his films are not of this time. They are without the sexy, shocking editing that might get in the way of the seductive storytelling that Bob does so well. They are of another time and yet they will always be valid and interesting because they are done in a classic manner of storytelling. You look at some of the Japanese directors like Ozu, Kurosawa, and you will see a similar quiet, reflective quality.

If I may digress for a minute, I cut the film Sounder, and it was the first film I did with Marty Ritt. Do you know the film?

PT: I’ve never seen the film, but I know Ritt’s work fairly well.

SL:This is a very important moment in my editing education. There’s a scene between a father and son at the end of the film that generally brings tears to one’s eyes. The boy, played by Kevin Hooks, who was to become a director and re-shoot the film, is about twelve and Paul Winfield is the father. They’re sitting on a bank of a river, the son is about to leave home to go into the world. Very classic, touching moment. And the scene was shot in a two-shot and two singles. The two-shot was really, really good, a kind of wide two-shot, but the singles were even more powerful. When you saw these faces up close, it heightened the intensity, it was just wonderful. Marty Ritt and I both felt that the scene worked well just in the two-shot. I told Marty, “I must put these close-ups in and see how they work. They’re just so good. Let’s experiment, okay?” He said “Sure,” and I spent an afternoon getting all those close-ups in. I did a sensitive, thoughtful job of editing—and it killed the scene. It absolutely killed it because it had imposed upon it a false sense of timing and pushed emotion. The actors’ decisions in the two-shot were right and had to be respected. That’s the lesson I learned: don’t screw around and inflate a scene that’s working.

PT: Do you have any favorite memories of working with Mulligan?

SL:I don’t have one particular memory but I do remember the warm feeling I had towards him. I was so touched by his vulnerability. I was sorry when we were finished. All films, when they end, have enormous poignancy because you’re about to lose contact with people that have become important to you. And I knew that I would never see Bob again, or I felt that way, and it made me very sad because I really become very fond of him.

If I were to characterize him now, with the hindsight of the years, I would say that some part of me will always see the little boy in him. An extremely sensitive and vulnerable little boy that sat very quietly and just watched. And that’s what he was like to me. How could you not be touched by that?

PT: So that sort of answers the next question right there: did you ever discuss working together again?

SL:No, it just didn’t feel like that was in the cards for me. And I can’t tell you why. You know when you’ve hit it off with someone that it’s going to be like a lifetime thing. For all I know, he may have inquired about me on the next film he did and I was working on other films, I don’t know. I don’t know the reasons, but we didn’t discuss it. Normally, you wouldn’t. Well, I don’t know if there’s any normal—there’s no normal.

I interviewed Else Blangsted by phone on August 25, 2004.

Else Blangsted:Well, I met Mulligan because my husband [Folmar Blangsted] worked for him when he was in life. And I liked him. And then I didn’t see him for years and years and years. And then there was a film called Clara’s Heartand Dave Grusin did the music and I came kind of like an automatic package with Dave Grusin. We did the film and it was sheer delight.

Peter Tonguette: And what did you do…

EB:I’m a music editor.

PT: And what did that entail?

EB:Oh, Peter. [Laughs] It’s a translator. I’m now waxing poetry because I can’t tell you the technicality of it, which has certainly changed drastically since I did it. The composer is hired to write a score, music for a film, which is ideally to support, enhance whatever story value is already in the film. That’s how I see it. I don’t know whether that is as accurate as other people see it, but you add, you translate, you support what is already there, which with Mulligan is a joy because he is in every sense there. That’s really it and then we established writing—we write to each other, which is no longer prevalent either.

PT: Did Mulligan give you a lot of freedom in your job?

EB:Yes, he did. He trusts the people he hires, which is a very intelligent thing to do because you cannot be fascistic when you create. A lot of them try, but it doesn’t work.

PT: Would he run the film for you and Grusin and give you ideas or suggestions about what he wanted?

EB: Not a lot. You know, when you’re in a cutting room you feel immediately that there is a communication—or none; you feel that as well. He didn’t need to explain Clara to us, he didn’t need to explain the marriage that wasn’t really working, he didn’t need to explain the child and his conflict. We know this. All we then determine is where is it necessary, possible, and desirable to enhance a scene. And we did that.

PT: I think you’re absolutely right that you can tell from watching the film what it’s all about. I don’t know when you’ve last seen the film, so maybe you don’t recall this specific shot, but, in talking about the marriage that’s going wrong, there’s a wonderful shot where the husband is in one room and the wife is in another. (1)

EB: Oh, I do know. That’s Robert. That’s his sensitivity, that’s his talent. Yes, I remember it well. Oh, God, yes. And he’s so good. There is also within the film a Jamaican group. Is she Jamaican? I don’t remember.

PT: Yes.

EB: It’s a Jamaican group playing and they’re celebrating something. And they’re certain players. When David and I did this particular scene… in other words, they don’t play or if they play, that gets thrown out. We have to metronomically click it out and make it fit. But we had a saxophone player on the stage who started to play because we were having a good time. Now there’s no saxophone player in that scene! [Laughter] There’s a group, you will note it if you run it again. And Bob, of course, saw that and said, “Where’s the saxophone player?” And I said, “He ain’t there!” [Laughter] And Bob said, “It’s okay. Sounds good, sounds good, leave it alone, leave it alone.”

PT: That’s great.

EB: Yeah, you know, that’s about the atmosphere that I can describe to you.

PT: Clara’s Heart is an extraordinary film in many ways.

EB:It is so sweet.

PT: And it’s very underrated, I think.

EB:Oh, my God, and we talked this morning and I said, “You know, I watch the Turner channel and To Kill A Mockingbird is on all the time!” All the time.

PT: I’m hoping that since Reese Witherspoon has become such a big star, more and more people will become aware of The Man in the Moon.

EB:Oh, that’s right. She was in that.

PT: Her first role.

EB:Oh, my God, that’s another sweet movie. I bought it, I have it. He’s so good, he’s so good. He lets you into the heart of the people. That is as profound a statement as I can make about his work.

PT: Now what were some of the challenges or points of interest in doing your work on Clara’s Heart? Could you talk just a little bit about what you did on that film and what some of the challenges were?

EB: No challenges. It was really one of the most pleasurable… you know, I worked for a lot of people because I worked for Dave Grusin, so whenever he was hired, I was hired. And we would spot the film. You know what that is? Determine what should have music and what shouldn’t. It was just a happy marriage. I can’t think of one negative occurrence.

PT: Now the music in his films is very distinctive and very well chosen, but he doesn’t use too much music. He knows when not to use it.

EB:No, and, Peter, that’s another story. Whenever you work for a director who feels that the movie isn’t working—let’s just be blunt—they count heavily on the composer to, I don’t know, underline, color, bring out, whatever words you want to use. And it doesn’t really work. It doesn’t. It is simply a complementary addition. You support what the director wanted to make you feel. It’s all about feeling. And Dave Grusin is very good at that. He, too, is my friend.

PT: At what point would you come in, and Dave Grusin come in, to do the music?

EB: When the film was done.

PT: Totally done?

EB: Well, I wouldn’t say totally. There’s always little snippets here and little snippets there. You know, there is another film that I loved. I didn’t work on it, Shelly [Kahn] worked on it with Bob. Do you know the one I’m talking about?

PT: Well, there are three that Sheldon Kahn worked on.

EB: Tell me what they are.

PT: Blood Brothers…

EB: It was Blood Brothers.

PT: That is an extraordinary film.

EB: It is! Nobody ever shows that.

PT: I know, and again you have someone who would later become a big film star: Richard Gere.

EB: That was his first film.

PT: So you’d think it would be shown just because…

EB: I know, I know. But, you know, Bob really doesn’t care. He doesn’t care whether they do this or not. I understand it because… can I just be a little philosophical at this point? Neither one of us, Mr. Mulligan nor I, are at the crest of our lives. We’re getting older. I think he’s 70. I’m 84. And the now, the day, the today becomes very, very important. And we want to live it. The day. The now. So that when there is a lot of emphasis on what we did yesterday, it becomes absurd.

PT: I can understand that.

EB: It becomes an absurdity. It’s not real. And neither he nor I take great pleasure in it. Now, there are people who no longer have a life when they get old. And then there is a lot of warming up. Do I mean “warming up”? I mean when you didn’t eat your spinach the first time and your mother made you eat it again—is that called “warming up”? We’re not great about warming up. We want to have something new that day. And something good and something nourishing. And he has it and I have it.

PT: Did he retire after directing his last film?

EB: I think so. I think what happened is, he had offers, they sent him scripts. He needs time, everybody needs time to create something good. And they—“they” being the people who put the money up—no longer give you time. Because the money that they borrow—this is maybe too realistic for you—to make the film has to be paid back and, as quickly as it’s paid back, the interest is lessened. So they whip your ass. And you can quote me on that! [Laughs] So it’s no more fun. Dave and I no longer work. It’s no fun.

The strangest films make the most money. I cannot give you the answer to that, but it’s so. I don’t know what motivates people to want to see car chases or a lot of blood on the screen. I don’t know what it is, unless it is that something happens on the screen that they are not quite able to do themselves. In other words, their life—which is dull, or they think is dull, or has become dull, or hasn’t happened yet, with the young ones!—they think that whatever happens on the screen, whether it’s The Matrix, it’s bloody and it’s fast.

PT: And you contrast that with Mulligan’s films…

EB: There’s no humanity.

He talked, filmed the human heart, the need for it, the need for love, the need for not love, and it’s all there. It’s there. You know, if you recall in To Kill A Mockingbird, there is such a little snippet of the actual brutality—because you felt the brutality in the courtroom!

I’m sorry he doesn’t do it anymore. Every once in a while I read a book and I tell him, “Oh, this would make a great movie.” There is a book… oh, God, I can’t think of it. Something about a river. I told him about it. And they’re children in it. But I don’t think he wants to go through the pain of it. I wouldn’t want to. It’s painful, Peter. It’s worse than giving birth, and I’ve done both. [Laughs] It’s hard, it’s really hard.

PT: So you think that that’s the main reason that he’s retired or moved on.

EB: Yes, yes. You know, we have gotten to that delicious part of life where we can communicate only with those that are really dear to us. We don’t have to—I call it “pretzeling.” We don’t have to pretzel ourselves anymore.

I know that he bought a story by a wonderful writer, Reynolds Price. I think it was called “Good Hearts,” but I’m not sure. And Reynolds Price wrote a wonderful script, but it’s a story about human beings. And it’s not a hot item.

He did commission Reynolds Price, so he must have had somewhere the hope that it would happen, because it was money that he spent on his own. But it didn’t happen. And it’s a very hard town, Peter.

Note

1. This is the shot of the parents “literally separated by a wall” which I mentioned in talking with Sidney Levin.

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