Noire: The art of storytelling in film began the moment directors realized the audience could weave meaning between scenes.
Noire: Thus came in the technique of Montage.
Delicate blue light sculpts the edge of Noire's cheekbone, and in her eyes the reflection of a glowing screen.
Noire: Once sound was only a dream, then a distant companion, onward until sound and image became inseparable, and now, we live in the era of digital editing.
The screen's flashes reflect in Noire's eyes.
Noire: What will come next? Movies projected straight from my mind to the audience, or visuals seamlessly streamed into theirs?
Beneath the rapid flicker of the convex screen lies a colorful composition, formed by thousands of units distorted faintly along the curved glass.
Noire slides the cursor with precision, placing a clip neatly onto the editing timeline.
Noire: The tools get slicker, but the core of a story? It's the same old song we've always sung.
Noire: Trim, select, position, merge ...
Noire: Try as we might to disguise it. Stories are just lies with good marketing.
Beneath a crescendo of keystrokes and mouse movements, Noire's pointer shifts her video segments from one track to another.
On the screen, the man's tear-streaked face hangs in the delicate balance between despair over death and elation for rebirth.
A single crisp noise, and then all is dark.
Noire: Hmm?
There is nothing in the silence, nothing but the dark.
The fan keeps spinning for a moment longer, dwindling to a stop under its own inertia.
Noire: A blackout?
The neighborhood outside is a curtain of darkness. At least, that confirmation saves her the trouble of another breaker-box routine.
Noire: Damn it. The footage I just cut ... Don't tell me it's all lost. There's no way this software doesn't autosave, right?
Noire: So this is the curse of new tech, huh? Cutting-edge, but unreliable when it really matters. I guess every solution starts off as a band-aid for disaster.
Noire: Thank God it was just some test footage. If it were an actual film ...
Noire drums her fingertips on the rim of her wheel, the sharp clicks and soft reverberations grounding her—a reminder not to linger too long in hypotheticals.
Noire: If this were an actual film, I'd be hitting save every few minutes just to keep sane.
After composing herself, Noire tilts to one side, her voice calm and low as she speaks to the wheelchair.
Noire: Let's roll on over to Noire's Set.
Two puppets on either side of her wheels move deftly in response, ushering Noire to her studio—"Noire's Set," as she calls it.
