The One-Take and the Cult of the Cutless Cut
Why the long take isn’t as cinematic as you think, and what it’s hiding
Hi all,
Last week’s Substack dove into a pivotal moment in video editing history with the launch of Final Cut Pro X. I heard from a lot of you (thanks for all the comments) that it was a tough subject to look at with impartial (or at least a less-partial) lens and in the context of the explosion of video and video creators in the world of iPhones and YouTubes.
I get that.
And my bigger mission is still that I want more people to tell more and better stories using the most powerful and evocative medium we have, video. For that, I am grateful to all those who seek to move and shake and cajole the production and post production industry forward.
Besides replying to comments at all hours (I actually enjoy it…sorry to my wife if you’re reading this), the team and I have been heads-down after launching our three NLE integrations/plug-ins. And next week? We’re dropping something big. Not a feature, but something meaningful for independent filmmakers. I’ve probably already said too much (cue the angry Slack msg from marketing).
This week, we’re doubling down on divisive takes with a deep dive into the culture of the cutless cut. There’s a reason people lose their minds over one-takes (I still do). It’s a cinematic sleight of hand—like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a Steadicam rig.
I love one-takes! We included one in our launch video for AI multicam editing. (By “one” I mean 22 takes later.) And I recently watched Adolescence on Netflix. Powerful, thought-provoking story (that every parent should watch) and yes, the one-take cinematography was befitting to the intensity of the subject matter!
In this week’s essay, Efosa unpacks the myth of the one-take and asks whether refusing to cut is really as “cinematic” as it seems. From Roy Andersson’s motionless tableaux to TikTok’s raw, uncut monologues, we explore when the long take works—and when it’s just a gimmick in need of an editor.
—Shamir
You’ve heard the stories: 1917 stitched together to feel like a single unbroken shot across a war zone. Birdman floating from dressing room to stage to street like a fever dream. Children of Men's car ambush.
Filmmaking subreddits light up. The director gets a standing ovation. DP gets a podcast episode.
But let’s kill the mystique for a second.
Because the truth is: the long take is a trick. An expensive, exhausting, camera-flexing trick. And it might be the most overrated, misunderstood, and least cinematic cut in modern storytelling.
The Myth of the Long Take
A “one-take” or “long take” is a shot that unfolds in real time, uninterrupted by visible cuts. The camera follows characters across rooms, through alleys, into chaos. No edits. No escape. Sounds impressive?
It is. But so is riding a unicycle across a tightrope. Doesn’t mean it’s the best way to deliver a story.
And yet we’ve made long takes into legend. Go back far enough and you get to Hitchcock’s Rope (1948), a film built out of hidden cuts, stitched together to feel seamless. Then came Russian Ark (2002), filmed in a single 96-minute Steadicam shot through the Hermitage Museum.
The Problem with Never Cutting
Here’s the thing: most long takes work against the fundamentals of editing.
Editing, when done right, controls rhythm. Focus. Emotion. It’s where the magic happens. The cut tells us where to look, what matters, and when it matters. Without it, the audience becomes a hostage to geography.
Suddenly, we’re not inside a character’s head, we’re watching the camera struggle to get around a table. We become aware of the blocking, the choreography, the lighting trickery required to keep the illusion alive.
“But It’s Immersive!”
Sure. But so is VR. That doesn’t make it cinema.
The promise of immersion is seductive. But film isn't just about putting you in the scene. It’s about shaping how you feel the scene. And that’s what the cut does.
Think Psycho’s shower scene, where 70 cuts in 45 seconds hit like stabs. Or Whiplash’s drum solo finale, where every cut is a cymbal crash.
By refusing to cut, the one-take withholds emotion. It traps us in real time. It becomes a performance of endurance, for the actors, for the crew, and for the audience.
When a one-take works, it’s often in spite of the gimmick, not because of it.
The Tableaux Trap: Roy Andersson and the Tyranny of Stillness
Still image from Roy Andersson’s You, the Living
Swedish filmmaker Roy Andersson built his entire aesthetic on anti-editing. Each scene in films like Songs from the Second Floor or You, the Living is a meticulously composed tableau. Static. Wide. Unbroken. Locked off. No pans, no tilts, no camera moves.
Every frame a living painting: deeply focused, coldly lit, and absolutely still.
The result? Hypnotic. Haunting. Sometimes hilarious.
The kind of bleak, pastel-toned absurdism that lands somewhere between Monty Python and Wes Anderson, if both were Swedish and clinically depressed.
This anti-editing has certainly left Roy Andersson not short of admirers, including the Cannes Jury prize and a Golden Lion at Venice.
As idiosyncratic and challenging as his work his, it’s also very singular meaning you won’t recreate it.
What starts as stylized often curdles into self-parody. His uncut style demands we study the frame like a painting. It kind of works for Andersson deadpan comic style as comedy often lives in the wide shot and his films literally only live in the wide shot.
But if you’re trying to tell an emotional story with multiple story beats, his style isn’t the best way to go about it.
Victoria (2015) and the Art of Self-Sabotage
A 138-minute German crime drama shot in a single, uninterrupted take. For real though. No hidden cuts, no stitching. Just pure, real-time cinema. Or so the tagline goes.
So they pulled it off. But about halfway through, the cracks in the story start showing. The pacing flatlines. Dialogue stalls. Characters meander.
And because there’s no cut to reset the rhythm or shift perspective, we’re trapped inside the drag. What could’ve been electric starts to feel like endurance art.
The core problem is that the crime story doesn’t actually need to unfold in real time. So it bends over backwards pretending it does.
If this were a story built for real-time like a heist, a hostage crisis or something clock-driven then one-take could make some emotional sense.
And yet, the film still had plaudits.
Not because of what they felt, but because of how it was done. Because somewhere along the way, the behind-the-scenes video became more powerful than the scene itself.
TikTok Take
Scroll TikTok and you’ll find a different kind of long take. But the same principle: unbroken monologues, skits, stories delivered in selfie-mode.
Except here’s the twist: the one-take isn’t for immersion, it’s for authenticity. Cuts imply manipulation. One-takes feel raw. Honest. Intimate.
But even TikTokers know when to stop.
Watch enough, and you’ll see creators throwing in punch-in jump cuts, camera flips, overlays. Because deep down, even the most “authentic” platforms understand: the cut is power.
It’s the director’s breath. The editor’s pulse. The moment you shape what matters.
When Long Takes Actually Work
Let’s be fair. Some long takes do serve the story.
Think of the opening of Gravity, Cuarón’s 13-minute drift in space that evokes disorientation and helplessness. Or the early tracking shot in Goodfellas, where the camera snakes through the Copacabana’s back hallways, showing us Henry Hill’s rise in the mob world.
But the difference is intent. These shots aren’t flexes. They’re metaphors.
And crucially, they know when to stop. It’s not the length of the take. It’s the why of it.
A Hot Take in Two Cuts
The long take isn't the future of editing.
When directors brag about how hard the long take was to pull off, you should ask: would you care about the scene if it wasn’t a long take?
Cinema isn’t about continuity.
Filmmaking lives and dies in the edit as we bend time, sculpt emotion, rewrite reality.
Because, the power isn’t in the shot. And it’s not how long you can hold it.
The real power exists in knowing exactly when to cut…
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