For fans of the D.C. Extended Universe, this past week was a major moment of celebration. Following the launch of HBO Max, director Zack Snyder shared the news that “The Snyder Cut” of Justice League (2017) was finally making its way to the public in 2021.
For those who need a quick recap, “The Snyder Cut” was a mythic cut of Justice League that the director had made that was approximately four hours. Considering that Snyder left the project midway due to a death in the family, being replaced by Joss Whedon, many believed that any fault of the film being bad was Whedon’s fault. It wasn’t a pure vision, seeing as Snyder had already made the more acclaimed Man of Steel (2013) and Batman v. Superman (2016). People wanted this version so much that apparently, it’s going to be a reality.
This has gotten me thinking about other famed Director’s Cut™. So long as there has been a choice in the color gradient, there has been disagreement in how a film should look. Snyder has practically made this into an art form, where even his longest film (Watchmen (2009)) has TWO additional supplementary versions you can watch with or without the theatrical release. Others like Ridley Scott seem to have it in their contract that they need a Director’s Cut™ just so that the world knows what they had in mind for their work.
Honestly, a lot of these are superfluous and most cinema is deserving of a compromised vision. While a deleted scene may be fascinating on its own, to repurpose a film AFTER its release is always dicey. I haven’t seen most alternate cuts of films I love. I understand why they exist, and “The Snyder Cut” has the chance to be a lofty achievement, but are they entirely necessary in cases that don’t involve notorious studio interference?
To put it simply, I don’t think you can be a true cinephile without questioning certain values of the medium. What is gained by adding, editing footage? There have been cases where this has been widely mocked, such as when Steven Spielberg changed a scene in E.T. (1982) to have police officers pointing walkie talkies instead of guns. A discussion on what changes are necessary to give insight into how we consume media, understanding a vision for what it is, accepting the flaws, and learning from them. No film is perfect, but knowing when to stop and hit publish takes a true master.
For me, the most famous Director’s Cut™ came with Apocalypse Now: Redux (2001). More than any edit to a film, it feels like this has existed in the conversation for a variety of reasons. The most noteworthy is that it was taking a film already seen as a masterpiece and expanding on it with 40+ minutes of new footage. How would it reshape the film, pushing it to a 200-minute running time? This wasn’t just making one scene different but had the chance to recontextualize whole areas of the narrative. What could be so special about that?
These moments range from insignificant alterations to entire subplots added back in. For instance, there is a moment following a helicopter taking off that sees Playboy Bunnies interacting with soldiers. There’s another that involves French plantation workers. That last scene remains the most notorious, with anyone who loves Redux saying that it was more of a tonal piece, fitting more with the Joseph Conrad novel that it was based on. After all, who’s to question the brilliance of Francis Ford Coppola, the man who made some of cinema’s greatest achievements?
Considering that I come from a journalism student background, my desire to study and understand a full picture likely explains why I have a familiar obsession with Apocalypse Now (1979). It is one that requires me to not only watch the varied versions but also read up on its history, looking at that photo of Coppola with a gun to his head and understanding the insanity with which this film was made. The story of making Apocalypse Now is just as crazy as what is on screen, making arguably the greatest art-house film ever sanctioned by a big studio. It even made a great documentary with Heart of Darkness (1991), which isn’t common for behind the scenes stories.
So on the surface, I get why there are multiple versions of Apocalypse Now especially. Because of the ongoing weather conditions and conflicts with shooting locations, the film was constantly compromised. They were constantly going over-schedule and editing took over two years to complete. This was an ordeal that sounded like it would never be released. But, where Orson Welles had failed many times before, Coppola excelled in releasing a 2.5-hour cut which was itself full of things that would be changed, such as an ending that involved bombing the forests where they shot.
When you’re that close to madness, it’s easy to see why you would want to constantly doubt yourself of a masterpiece. While the world may love it, you know in your head that footage that has been left on the cutting room floor could’ve made it stronger. Ask any artist about their best work, and somewhere in all of their insight will be a form of doubt. We don’t get it as much with The Godfather (1972) from Coppola, but Apocalypse Now feels strangely formed, with a need to remold every now and then to find whatever he was originally going for.
There are other reasons to release new versions of films, such as the reality that cinematic technology isn’t always where it’s needed to be. For instance, the need to update to the clearest, cleanest picture, or to tweak a piece of cinematography and sound design are things that can only be achieved when the resources are available. You don’t want to make a great movie that looks awful, so why not perform restoration to make sure that it will exist forever with the hard work clearly displayed?
As far as I know, Redux is special because very few films have added a near-hour of material back into a film that’s been wrapped for as long as Apocalypse Now. Sure there was a need to do A.D.R. and have Walter Murch improve the imagery, but where somebody would add a dozen minutes or there, it doesn’t impact the story too greatly. With Redux, you felt the gargantuan task on full display, feeling how special and unique this whole endeavor was supposed to be.
For those who wish to know where I fall in this debate, I will give you a story of the time I bought the DVD. I loved the movie and was eager to find a reasonably priced copy on Amazon. This was easier said than done, as I went through every available link and made sure that they met some qualifications. I wasn’t wanting to buy the Redux version. I purposely looked through the running times and descriptions, trying to find ones that weren’t available. The unfortunate detail is that for those who want the original, they’re mostly on older versions or box sets that combine a whole lot of cool features… but was not in my price range.
It’s simple. I do not like what Coppola added. The French plantation workers scenes made me impatient, and I was eager to see the streamlined version that he had released back in the late-70s. There is something more powerful about it. The instinct is more direct, where you can feel every visceral detail. I am sure that one day I will rewatch Redux and come away with some form of appreciation, but for now, it’s like watching an entirely new movie, and not one that rewards the experience that I want. It isn’t because it’s longer. It’s just that I find it all a bit… pointless.
The Redux version played in 2001 at the Cannes Film Festival and marked a big achievement for restoration at the time. Considering that this was during the rise of DVD’s and special features, many like Peter Jackson with his Lord of the Rings trilogy were exploring longer cuts for those who had the time at home to enjoy a fuller vision. Those who loved Blade Runner (1982) now had multiple ways to interpret the story, appreciating the ending that they felt fit their desired outcome. In these cases, you could understand how small changes to storytelling were improved. Having five seconds of footage in Blade Runner gave a totally different read on its protagonist (not to mention removing tacky voiceover). The same couldn’t be said with Apocalypse Now, which already had everything it needed to tell a gripping story.
Like those suffering from PTSD, there is no proper way to fully capture the horrifying realities of war. What will be vivid to some won’t exactly scare others. Sometimes you need those quieter moments to punctuate it, reflecting a smaller significance that is overlooked in the explosions. That is the beauty of Apocalypse Now, itself an artistic collage so visceral that it becomes about more than its danger. It’s about the psychological need for peace, and the lack of gratification is ultimately uncomfortable. Men go mad looking for answers, and Coppola managed to make you feel that. Then again, he probably lost his mind doing that as the weight of delivering this thing in one coherent vision became impossible at times.
Considering that 2019 brought with it Apocalypse Now: The Final Cut (2019), there is now an even greater conversation to be had. I haven’t seen The Final Cut yet, but Coppola’s belief that this is how the film should be seen gives me some hope, rounding it down to roughly three hours, making the parts that I didn’t particularly love into something more palatable. It’s supposed to look and sound better than ever before, and I can only hope that he’s right about everything.
In a time where everyone is yelling “Release The Snyder Cut,” I am reminded of one of the most famous examples of The Director’s Cut™ ever released. Unlike other films to be reshaped, Redux symbolized a greater potential in storytelling, making an epic feel even grander and adding subtext that was impossible to fit in originally. How effective it ultimately is will remain up for debate, though I wish the availability of each version was more equal, allowing audiences to have their own say.
Whether or not you’re for or against Redux, I do believe that the history of Apocalypse Now is one worthy of study, especially if you’re a fan of filmmaking and understanding how a story comes together. The circumstances with which Coppola’s war film came into existence is an incredible achievement and one that makes me forgive his desire to constantly reshape the picture, finding depth and meaning where he had missed it the first time around. Whether it’s because of studio interference or personal psychological breaks, there is something to be said for how this film changes with time, though at some point it needs to be preserved. I hope The Final Cut is that resting place Coppola has been looking for this entire time.
Comments
Post a Comment