When Longer Is Less

The paradox is that while studios are far from powerless, they rarely choose to enforce that power. Often, even when a studio grants a director final cut, it will retain control over the running time (Twentieth Century Fox had the right to limit the length of Titanic; the studio chose not to). But having that right and enforcing it are two separate issues. If the studio asserts itself and cuts the film, it risks alienating a director of some stature and an onslaught of bad press. John Sloss, an entertainment attorney who has executive-produced such films as Velvet Goldmine and 54, explains: ''If the director exceeds the bounds of the contract, his representatives and the participants in the film may support the director. If the studio enforces the contract, it could have a public-relations nightmare on its hands.... I think in the end, it's the director who has marginally more power than the studio.''

That was certainly the case with Quentin Tarantino and Jackie Brown. While neither Tarantino nor Miramax will comment, a source who was privy to the ensuing conversations says the director was determined that the film run at 2 hours and 40 minutes, despite Miramax's protests: ''There was a great movie in there, but I guarantee you [the length] hurt the movie in the neighborhood of a 40 percent return in gross. You had to take out all the redundant details.''

Ideally, the studio and director have nailed down the details before filming begins. New Line production's president and COO, Michael De Luca, has given Boogie Nights director Paul Thomas Anderson final cut on his next film, Magnolia; he says that it is vital to have as many meetings as possible before the deal with the filmmaker is even signed. ''It's something in general we'd rather not do, but after Boogie Nights it became part of Paul's deal,'' De Luca says. ''But Paul and I are so close it's a trust issue.'' (De Luca also supported the two and a half hour running time of Boogie Nights and says he only regrets that the movie wasn't longer ''with a disco intermission.'')

Still, all the planning in the world can be shot to smithereens once the director goes out on the set. ''Sometimes there are surprises, even if the studio has been in on a script and seeing dailies,'' says Gary Foster, who worked with directors Ron Shelton (Tin Cup) and Sidney Lumet (Gloria), both of whom had final cut. ''You don't necessarily know what happened in the editing room. I've been in a situation where the studio sees it and says, 'Uh, what happened?''' (Occasionally, the director isn't sure himself. Richard LaGravenese, who cowrote the screenplay for The Horse Whisperer, watched Robert Redford's final cut log in at 2 hours and 44 minutes. ''We tried to condense the script,'' he says. While Redford made cuts, ''the movie was still long. It wasn't intentional, but it was necessary.'')

If a director and studio can't agree to disagree, a producer can sometimes save the day — or at least some relationships. Foster, who calls himself ''a diplomat with an opinion,'' says, ''the key is never making a director feel attacked, because they'll go into their cave of an editing room and say 'F--- you.''' One producer skilled in such negotiations recalls working with a director who had final cut and a studio that felt reshoots were needed to make the movie coherent. ''That was tough. No director wants to feel his movie can't be fixed in the editing room, so we had to be very careful to make it feel like it was his idea.''

''It's not that you want to cut the film, because if you get to that point, you've won the battle but lost the war,'' says a studio executive. ''But if you have final cut, you have a seat at the table.''

And even if you don't, good manners still count. ''At the end of the day,'' says De Luca ''you've agreed to honor the filmmaker. You bought into it, you have to live with it.''