The key to making good movies is to pay attention to the

Hear now the words of Steven Soderbergh, master of cinema’s rhythm, who declared: “The key to making good movies is to pay attention to the transition between scenes.” This teaching, though it speaks of film, unveils a truth far greater than the art of the screen. It is a lesson about the flow of life itself, about the bridges we build from one moment to the next, and about how meaning is not only found in the scenes themselves, but in the spaces that bind them together.

The meaning of this wisdom is simple yet profound. A film is not made only of its shining moments, its climaxes and revelations, but of the subtle transitions that lead the heart from one place to another. A jarring leap shatters immersion; a graceful shift sustains the dream. So too with life: it is not only in victories or defeats that our destiny is shaped, but in how we move between them—the way we carry grief into hope, or weave failure into resilience. To neglect the transitions is to lose coherence; to honor them is to create harmony.

The ancients understood this truth well. Consider the Odyssey of Homer. The journey of Odysseus is not told as a string of battles and wonders alone, but through careful passage from isle to isle, from peril to peril. Each transition—the leaving of Calypso, the drifting toward the Phaeacians, the silent return to Ithaca—is given weight, for it is in these bridges that Odysseus changes, and we with him. Without them, his tale would be chaos; with them, it becomes one of the great epics of mankind.

History too bears witness. In the dark days after the Second World War, Europe lay in ruin. The transition from war to peace could have been jagged, broken, and consumed by vengeance. Yet visionaries shaped it with care: the Marshall Plan poured life into shattered economies, and alliances like NATO forged bonds of trust. These careful transitions carried the nations from despair into stability. Had they been neglected, chaos might have reigned. Here again, Soderbergh’s insight proves timeless: the scenes of history matter, but it is the transitions that decide whether the story endures.

What then is the lesson for us? That life’s artistry lies not merely in grand achievements, but in the manner of our movements. The student must not leap blindly from failure to success, but find the path that transforms one into the other. The parent must guide the child not only through milestones, but through the tender in-between moments that shape character. The worker, the artist, the dreamer—all must learn to treat the bridges between their chapters with reverence, for it is there that the soul is molded.

Practical action follows: in your daily life, slow down at the thresholds. Do not rush blindly from one task, one season, one relationship to the next. Pause, reflect, and honor the transition. Ask: What have I carried from where I have been? What do I choose to bring into where I go? In this way, each change becomes a sacred crossing, each movement a chance to weave continuity from chaos.

Thus let Soderbergh’s words be remembered not only as counsel for filmmakers, but as a wisdom for all who live. The greatness of a story, on screen or in life, is found not only in its peaks, but in the subtle transitions that carry the soul onward. Pay attention to them, and your days will flow like a river: steady, purposeful, and eternal.