Ben Affleck just described something Beethoven figured out 200 years ago, except Beethoven couldn't hear a single note of it.
In 1823, a copyist named Franz Schlemmer got a handwritten score from Ludwig van Beethoven that was almost unreadable. Notes crossed out, rewritten, crossed through again. Pages glued on top of other pages. Schlemmer had to guess at what Beethoven meant, and Beethoven, deaf for nine years by then, had to write corrections in conversation notebooks, furious at every mistake.
The 9th Symphony took seven years to sketch. Beethoven's surviving notebooks show the famous "Ode to Joy" melody went through over 200 versions before he landed on the one you know. Early versions are almost unrecognizable. He knew. He always knew. He reportedly threw early sketches across the room and started again.
Ninety percent of the time, you look at it and think: we've got a long way to go.
The hardest part was the collaboration he couldn't escape. Beethoven wrote music only he could hear inside his own head. But a symphony needs 200 musicians who can't read your mind. He had to explain everything. The markings in his scores were obsessively detailed, so specific that musicians sometimes couldn't make sense of them. What was clear in his deaf skull wasn't clear to anyone holding a violin.
What's obvious to you isn't always obvious to someone else.
The premiere of the 9th Symphony was May 7, 1824, in Vienna. Beethoven stood near conductor Michael Umlauf and moved his body to music he literally could not hear. Umlauf had quietly told the musicians beforehand: ignore him. Follow me.
The symphony ended and five thousand people erupted into applause. Beethoven kept conducting, his hands still moving to a piece that was already over.
He had no idea. A soloist named Caroline Unger walked over and physically turned him to face the crowd. Five standing ovations. Security had to step in before the audience would leave.
The first cut is a private failure. The final version is a public miracle. Between them is years of repetition, frustrated collaboration, and the exhausting work of making other people understand what you can only fully see inside your own head.
Film is collaborative. So is a symphony. So is every complex thing humans have built. The Eiffel Tower needed 300 metalworkers and faced a petition from 300 Parisian artists calling it an iron eyesore, before a single tourist had climbed it.
The first cut is supposed to be bad. The real work is the 200 versions of a melody that isn't right yet, the copyist who misreads your notation, the seven years between the first rough sketch and the night someone has to physically turn you around to face what you made.
Ben Affleck says the first cut of a movie is usually so bad it makes him question everything.
“When I see the first cut of my own movie, I want to kill myself.”
“90% of the time, you watch it and think, ‘Okay, we’ve got a long way to go.’”
“Making a movie is a very iterative process. A lot of the work happens after filming ends.”
“Sometimes you have to sit with the editor and explain exactly why a scene is supposed to be funny.”
“What’s obvious to you isn’t always obvious to someone else.”
“You have to explain the joke, the callback, the surprise, and why a certain take works.”
“People think there’s some magic to editing, but a lot of the time editors just need feedback.”
“Film isn’t like writing a novel. It’s collaborative.”