“It has been the greatest joy of my life to work with Werner Herzog, and also a cross to bear,” editor and filmmaker Joe Bini admitted to the eager crowd atTIFF 2016’s Doc Conference. These conflicting feelings likely sum up why their 27th film together—TIFF 2016 premiereInto the Inferno—will be their last, an announcement which prompted audible gasps from his audience of documentary makers and aficionados.
Bini was joined on stage by his wife, Maya Hawke, who has editorial credits on several of the films as well. In fact, the team edits in Bini and Hawke’s home, and they all eat lunch together every day. (The couple shared a funny tale of Nicole Kidman coming by during the editing ofFrom One Second to the Next and getting locked in their bathroom. “She was very nice about it,” Bini recalled.)
Naturally, over the course of their partnership, Bini and Herzog developed a system. He explained, “The most important part is to look at rushes and be clear about how we feel about it. Writing narration is a big part of the process. It’s organic.” Hawke added, “It’s more of a language process that you guys do.” The pair has a microphone right on the editing desk and record at least the first round of Herzog’s narration spontaneously based on their reactions to the images.
In tribute to the fact thatInto the Inferno was premiering that night, the Bini and Hawke took the doc conference as an opportunity to create a slideshow tribute to the 27 films and give brief anecdotes about each one. As with any long-term relationship, the tales ranged from humorous (“I have absolutely no recollection of editing this film”) to volatile, but there was an underlying tone of deep respect and affection. Here are a few of the most insightful moments.
"When Werner and I edit together, we edit together."
Bini started out his presentation with a warning: Be careful what youdon’twish for. He recalled, “I wanted to be a filmmaker, not an editor, and I didn’t want to do documentaries.” Long story short, he was introduced to Herzog and their first collaboration, Little Dieter Needs to Fly—one of the most widely acclaimed films they worked on together—changed his whole feeling about documentaries.
Herzog’s approach was a revelation for Bini. "He included a dream sequence in a documentary," Bini said. "That was an amazing breakthrough for me."
The pair went on to create several more films in the subsequent years, but their relationship as true collaborative partners took a while to cement. After all, Herzog had already been making films for 30 years. Of their early projects together, Bini said, “They are his films without my influence.The White Diamond, the fifth or sixth one, was almost my last film with Werner. The films weren’t getting seen, and I didn’t feel like I was having input.”
Hawke remembered the period similarly. "It was a difficult time for you," she said to Bini, "but then things turned around withGrizzly Man."
'Grizzly Man'
Another early collaboration was a German TV show about Pagan Christianity rituals in South America calledLord and the Laden. Herzog shot the film himself, and they had to edit quickly in what Bini called, “a low point, career-wise.”
However, there’s a humorous twist to the story. In this version, the German broadcaster replaced Herzog’s trademark, esoteric voiceover with another narration track. Bini said, “It’s completely bizarre. The narrator is saying this Discovery Channel stuff but you’re looking at weird, Herzogian visuals.”
Fortunately, they were able to do their own version of the film later, which they calledChrist and Demons in New Spain.When Bini reviewed parts of the film in preparation for the TIFF talk, he was “very moved by it.”
Bini concurred with Hawke’s assessment ofGrizzly Man being a turning point. “My influence on Werner kicked in onGrizzly Man. For the first few years, I was intimated. I was terrified of having lunch with him. (“I still am,” Hawke joked.)
“Editors get steamrolled quite a lot,” Bini said. But once he found hisvoice with Herzog, their creative relationship—and their films—flourished. At this point, “I’m pushy about if you work with me, we’re co-filmmakers. I think all editing needs to be done with more than one person. When Werner and I edit together, we edittogether."
"You remember the process as much as you remember the film."
This transformation may be why Bini mentioned thatGrizzly Man is “up there as one of my favorite documentaries, period. I don’t like to watch our movies again. But I can watch this one.” He admitted that he doesn’t enjoy re-watching films because of the volatile nature of the editing process. When you watch, "you remember the process as much as you remember the film," he said.
Other films in Bini’s “top three favorites” of his projects with Herzog: Bad Lieutenant and Into the Abyss.
True to the nature of their film Wheel of Time, about Tibetan Buddhism, Bini was exceedingly humble. In this film, and in others, he opined, "It’s 100 percent purely about the cinematography."
Herzog has been working with the same DP, Peter Zeitlinger, since 1995’sDeath For Five Voices—just a bit longer than he’s been working with Bini. Even Bini was surprised when he realized the extent to which "when you think of Herzog films, you are thinking of Peter’s cinematography."
Werner Herzog interviewing an inmate for 'On Death Row'
For this miniseries of four hour-long episodes, shot inside a maximum security prison in Texas, Bini thought Herzog was in top form as an interviewer. Because he was speaking to death row inmates in a stark and highly regulated setting, "they’re raw," he said. "There’s no bullshit. NoB-roll. Everything is there for a reason."
In rare cases like this, Bini said appreciatively, "You justjump cut and it works."
On the upcoming screening of their final collaboration, Bini was wistful, telling the audience, “It’s gonna be emotional, but it’s all good.”
As for his next move, Bini has been editing other people’s work (notably Andrea Arnold’s narrative American Honey, which premiered at Cannes and also played at this year's TIFF), and is wrapping a second editorial collaboration with Scottish directorLynne Ramsay.
After that, he is ready to focus on his own films. In fact, he said, "I always considered myself to be a filmmaker first."
What the Nobel Laureate taught us about clarity, courage, and cutting what doesn’t matter.
In an age of endless words,Hemingway wrote with a rifleman’s precision. Here’s how.
He didn’t waste ink. He stripped sentences down to their bare bones and nerves. His sentences were clean, sharp, and often unfinished.
Today, we scroll past clickbait, skim walls of text, and still crave something that feels real. Hemingway’s advice isn’t just for novelists, but for anyone who writes. Journalists, marketers, copywriters, and even the poor soul drafting emails on deadline.
What made his style revolutionary was the restraint. The trust in the reader. He left room between the lines. You never got the whole story, just the part you needed to feel it.
So, whether you're hammering out a novel or tightening your blog post, the following 13 tips—straight from Hemingway’s philosophy—will change how you write. The Foundations—Hemingway’s Core Principles
Short sentences help you hit. They leave no room for confusion or escape. Hemingway wrote as if he were reporting from the front. No lace. No soft landings.
ReadA Farewell to Arms. Then read anything from the Victorian era. One feels like a punch; the other, a parlor trick. He achieved certain effects by keeping his sentences short, clarity, dramatic effect, variety, and melodic quality. They made you choose your words carefully.
Write the sentence. Cut it in half. Then see if it still works. If it does, keep it.
Hemingway didn’t write whatwas done to the thing(passive voice). He wrote whatthe man did to the thing.Active voice is so much more than a grammar rule. It's movement. It’s cause and effect. "Someoneshot the lion," not "the lion was shot."
He wrote inDeath in the Afternoon, “Prose is architecture, not interior decoration, and the Baroque is over.” And action builds structure. Every sentence needs a spine. Make sure it stands up.
Hemingway’s most famous rule wasn’t about what you say, but it was about what you leave out. He called it theiceberg theory: only a small part should show, but it must carry the weight of everything beneath.
InHills Like White Elephants, two characters talk about the weather, beer, and train schedules. But the real conversation—about abortion—never surfaces. You feel it, though. It hums underneath.
Don’t explain. Don’t label. Don’t hand-hold. Just show what they do, how they look away, what they don’t say. The reader will catch the rest.
Hemingway had a trick. When the writing flowed, he walked away—obviously not out of laziness, but to keep the thread alive. He reasoned that doing so would keep your subconscious alert all the time, rather than tiring your brain out.
It sounds backward. Most people write until they’re dry. But he wrote until he was still thirsty. That way, when he returned the next day, he knew exactly where to start. No fumbling. No false starts.
Want to beat the blank page? Leave yourself breadcrumbs the night before.
When stuck, Hemingway searched for one sentence heknew to be true. Not clever. Not poetic. Just honest. That single line broke the dam.
InA Movable Feast, his memoir, Hemingway wrote, “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”
Truth, in his world, wasn’t big or abstract. It was something you’d seen, felt, and survived. It lived in the details (how someone sips soup after bad news, how light bends in a cheap motel).
Start small. Write one thing that feels real. Build from there.
He cut without mercy. Not because he hated his words, but because he loved the reader more.
Hemingway famously said several times, including to biographer Arnold Samuelson in 1934 (viaEsquire), “The first draft of anything is shit.”
He rewrote the ending ofA Farewell to Arms 47 times.
Don’t protect your favorite lines. Protect your story. If a sentence doesn’t serve it, cut it. If it’s there to show off, cut it. When in doubt, cut deeper.
Verbs are the engine. If your sentence crawls, it’s because the verb limps. Hemingway picked verbs that moved. He didn’t say someonewalked slowly. He said theytrudged,dragged,staggered.
Strong verbs do double duty. They carry the action and the emotion. They paint a picture without needing an adjective for backup.
If you can feel the verb in your gut, keep it. If it sounds like filler, replace it with something that hits.
Too many modifiers and the sentence sags. Hemingway avoided them like potholes. His rule was simple: if the sentence works without the adverb, it goes.
Take this: “She smiled happily.”
Cut the adverb. Now: “She smiled.” Still works. Maybe stronger. Maybe truer.
He forced his nouns and verbs to carry the tone. That’s how the writing stays tight. You don’t need “terribly hungry” when “starving” will do.
Strip it. Then see what’s left.
Hemingway’s dialogue felt real because it was bare. People didn’t explain themselves, but they dodged, repeated, snapped, and stumbled. That’s how people actually talk.
InThe Sun Also Rises, the dialogue is clipped and tense. It crackles because it’s unfinished. No one spells out what they want. But, you know, that’s the point.
Cut theexposition. Let the characters speak. Trust the silence between lines to do the talking.
He wrote about pain like a surgeon, no flinching. Love lost. Bodies broken. Wars that never ended. He didn’t explain emotions. He exposed them.
InA Farewell to Arms, when Catherine dies, there’s nomelodrama. Just a man walking away from a hospital bed. The grief lives in what’s not said.
If it hurts, write it anyway. Not to vent. But because somewhere, someone else has felt it too, and they’ll see themselves in your sentence.
Hemingway gave his characters space to be human. He didn’t scold them. He didn’t defend them. He let them act and let us decide.
This distance gives power. It allows tension to build without commentary. It respects the reader’s intelligence.
Judging characters is cowardice. It tells the reader what to feel. Hemingway trusted you’d feel it on your own.
Hemingway was something. The man boxed in Paris, hunted in Africa, covered wars, and drank with gangsters.
His stories came from what he saw, not what he imagined. That’s why, when you read his stories, it feels like he earned his subject matter.
You don’t need to run with the bulls. But live fully. Pay attention. Get your heart broken. Watch how people argue in cafés. Then sit down and write what you remember, not what you wish had happened.
This was Hemingway’s last and most brutal rule: every word must carry its own weight. So, it makes sense, if a word or a paragraph is not moving your story, axe it.
He edited like a butcher, cleaving the fat until only the muscle remained.
It wasn’t about writing less. It was about writing clearly. Each word had to earn its place. Nothing ornamental. Nothing vague. Just bone, sinew, and the beat underneath.
Try this: take a paragraph you’ve written and cut 30%. If it gets better, you’re doing it right.
Hemingway showed us that mediocre writing is about saying more, and good writing is aboutmeaning more. Every cut, every silence, every stripped-down sentence pointed to something more profound. Something human.
You don’t need to follow all 13 tips. Just pick one. Try it on your next draft. See how your words change. Discover what you reveal when you stop decorating and start digging.
The sentence doesn’t need to be perfect. But it does need to be true. That’s where it starts.