The Godfather of the Cut
To understand Steven Spielberg’s secret sauce, you have to talk about Michael Kahn. For nearly five decades, Kahn has been the director’s most crucial collaborator, the man shaping the rhythm and emotion of everything from *Schindler’s List* to *Jurassic
Park*. Kahn isn’t just a technician who splices shots together; he’s what’s known as a “heart editor.” He famously says he doesn’t watch the dailies with the sound on at first, preferring to find the emotional truth in an actor’s performance through their eyes and body language. This is the man who taught a generation of audiences to be terrified of a shark they barely see in *Jaws*. He built the awe-inspiring, terrifying reveal of the T-Rex not with quick cuts, but by holding on the vibrating water, the terrified faces, and the slow, deliberate pan. His editing isn’t about speed; it’s about feeling. In a film about something as world-changing as UFO disclosure, you don’t want a frantic music video. You want Kahn’s mastery of a slow-burn build, forcing the audience to live inside the characters’ mounting dread and wonder.
The New Guard and the Passing of the Torch
At 90 years old, Michael Kahn is a living legend. But for the last decade, he hasn't worked alone. Enter Sarah Broshar, who began as an assistant and rose to become his co-editor and creative partner. She’s not just an apprentice; she’s the future of Spielberg's editorial voice. Their collaboration began in earnest on films like *The Post*, where the duo had to create breathless suspense from people talking in rooms and running printing presses. They masterfully cross-cut between newsrooms, boardrooms, and courtrooms, building a symphony of journalistic tension. Broshar’s influence represents a bridge between Kahn’s classic, instinctual style and a modern sensibility. On *The Fabelmans*, their most personal project with Spielberg, they navigated the delicate balance between family melodrama and the birth of a creative genius. Broshar is the trusted hand ensuring the legacy of Spielberg’s storytelling rhythm continues, blending Kahn’s foundational principles with a fresh perspective.
The Art of What You Don’t See
A story about first contact or UFO disclosure is, at its core, a story about information. What do we know? When do we know it? And, crucially, what are we not being shown? This is where the Kahn-Broshar partnership becomes a suspense engine. Their greatest shared strength is restraint. Look at *Close Encounters of the Third Kind*, Kahn’s masterclass in the genre. For most of the film, the aliens are just lights in the sky, strange sounds on a radar, and sunburnt faces. The suspense comes from the *reaction* to the unknown, not the unknown itself. It’s about Richard Dreyfuss sculpting a mountain out of mashed potatoes, his obsession and terror made tangible. A modern “Disclosure Day” film edited by this team wouldn’t be a CGI-fest from the first frame. It would be about a scientist noticing a flicker on a screen, a pilot’s hushed voice on a radio, or a small town experiencing a power outage that feels… different. They build suspense by putting the audience in the same position as the characters: piecing together a terrifying, exhilarating puzzle one fragment at a time.
Editing for Humanity, Not Just Spectacle
Ultimately, what separates a Spielberg film from a standard blockbuster is its unwavering focus on humanism, and that’s a quality his editors protect fiercely. A film about humanity learning it’s not alone in the universe is less about the aliens and more about the *us*. It’s a story of fear, unity, paranoia, and hope. Michael Kahn and Sarah Broshar are experts in editing for emotion. They know precisely how long to hold on a face that has just seen the impossible. They know how to cut from a global event on a TV screen to the intimate reaction of a family in their living room. Any director can film a spaceship. But it takes a master editing duo to make you feel the weight of its shadow, not just on a city, but on a single human heart. That’s why they matter. They aren’t just cutting a movie; they’re calibrating an experience. They are the custodians of awe.
