If you are interested in the grammar and authorship of film, you should definitely check this book out. Ralph Rosenblum was in charge of editing many of the memorable movies which emerged from New York City in the late'60's and early '70's--"A Thousand Clowns," "Long Day's Journey into Night," "The Pawnbroker," "The Producers," and all of Woody Allen's features from "Take the Money and Run" to "Annie Hall."
As you might have guessed, he quarrels with the "auteur theory" (which asserts that the director is inevitably the sole author of the finished film), not only because of its cavalier disregard for the contribution of the editor, but because this disregard results not only in a distorted view of the process itself, but also in an inflated conception by the director of his own role, intensifying both his insecurities and his ego.
The book begins with a fascinating account of the editing of "The Night They Raided Minsky's," which Rosenblum says he rescued from disaster by creating a nostalgic atmosphere through an innovative uses of stock footage and music. I believe him, and "Minsky's" helps make the persuasive case for the crucial and creative role of the editor.
After the "Minsky's" introduction, "When the Shooting Stops" shifts back and forth between autobiographical chapters and chapters on the history of film editing. The alternation breaks up the complementary narratives effectively, and I learned many things from this first third.
The last two-thirds, however, is the core of the book. Here Rosenblum describes in detail--sometimes shot by shot--how the final version of most of the films listed above were put together, and what he learned about the art of editing by working on them.
I would recommend reading the whole book, but if you don't wish to, please read at least read the "Minsky's" chapter--a classic account of how to rescue a bad film--and the absolutely essential chapter on Woody Allen's "Annie Hall." Apparently the film as shot was nothing like the final product; instead, it was a mishmash of existential jokes, boyhood memories, day dreams and nightmares (including an actual visit to the circles of Hell), with a few charming scenes of Diane Keaton thrown in. Rosenblum shows us how both he and Allen examined the raw footage, and how the story of shy Midwestern Annie soon began to emerge. I'm a big Woody Allen fan-- and I have to admit that this look at one of the greatest works of a genuine "auteur" has caused me to watch films a little differently than I watched them before.
Oh, and as far as the directors he worked with are concerned (because I know this is what you really want to know): Rosenblum hated Mel Brooks and Friedkin (he really hated Friedkin) and loved Lumet and Allen, who he considers true professionals who also respected their editors as fellow professionals, and never let their egos get in the way of the collaborative process which is necessary if a film is to emerge as a fully realized work of art.