Cut to the joke: André Rodrigues

Long before Okay Studio’s André Rodrigues was cutting BAFTA-nominated short films and glossy branded content for Netflix, he was tinkering with a Hi-8 camera in his parents’ basement, repeatedly taping over his own ideas. 

Growing up in France, in a Portuguese immigrant household, Rodrigues and his brother spent hours reenacting TV sketches, filming silly scenes and immediately re-editing them. While the performances themselves were playful, what fascinated Rodrigues most was the ability to play with the footage and reshape what had already happened. “I remember loving the fact you could do things again and erase the old tape,” he says. “I was kind of editing on the go already.”

Editing is about making people stay on the journey with you, from first to last frame. Even if it’s only 60 seconds.

That mix of experimentation and improvisation still sits at the heart of Rodrigues’ editing process today. Across short films, commercials, branded entertainment and music videos, the London-based editor has built a reputation for work that feels emotionally grounded without becoming sentimentally heavy; films that pivot between humour and heartbreak, chaos and tenderness, often within seconds. 

For Rodrigues, playfulness in editing isn’t about flashy transitions or visual gimmicks. It’s about rhythm, surprise and emotional manipulation: giving audiences permission to lose themselves in a story, even briefly. “I love the idea of making people forget about their problems for a bit,” he says. “It’s very needed at the moment.” 

Above: Rodrigues splices together various types of footage, changing the tone from zesty and youthful energy to something more menacing in this powerful anti sexual harrassment film for Our Streets Now.

With a knack for balancing tonal opposites simultaneously, he manages to make short films feel cinematic in scope - emotionally rich yet light on their feet. Whether he’s cutting bombastic Nigerian wedding scenes, queer period dramas or beauty campaigns inspired by Wednesday Addams, Rodrigues believes “editing is about making people stay on the journey with you, from first to last frame. Even if it’s only 60 seconds.”

I don’t want to be a certain ‘type’ of editor. Maybe it’s because being a queer person, you get [labelled] very early on.

Rodrigues, who is trilingual in French, Portuguese and English, has spent the last 14 years carving out a genre-agnostic career spanning film, television, commercials and music videos, editing for big brands including Nike, Samsung, Google, EasyJet and Uber as well as artists such as Self Esteem, Mahalia and Two Door Cinema Club. Has he cultivated a signature style? “I don’t want to be a certain ‘type’ of editor,” he says firmly. “Maybe it’s because being a queer person, you get [labelled] very early on.”

If anything has defined Rodrigues’ work so far, it’s his ability to move between worlds and tones with fluidity. That tonal dexterity is perhaps most visible in Festival of Slaps, Abdou Cissé’s BAFTA-nominated, BIFA-winning short film about a Nigerian mother who unexpectedly starts clobbering her son, Ade, in a fancy restaurant. Surrounded by horrified fellow diners, each series of wallops causes Ade’s life to literally flash before his eyes. What begins as a comic reflection on the stereotype of strict Black parenting gradually reveals a tender exploration of sacrifice, protection and the complicated ways love gets expressed within families. In a brilliant twist, the slaps are revealed as a life-saving manoeuvre to stop Ade from choking.

I never thought I was creative. I was always very technical. Then I realised problem solving is creative. Editing is balancing both.

From an editing perspective, the film demanded constant tonal recalibration. Rodrigues joined the crew after an initial edit and quickly realised the emotional reveal needed more breathing room. “His mum saved his life - he can’t just say thank you. Otherwise, there’s no actual resolve.” What followed was a process of experimentation and reconstruction: reshaping the emotional peaks and ultimately pushing for an add-on shoot to properly land the ending. “There was a lot of trial and error,” he says.

Above: In Abdou Cissé’s BAFTA-nominated short film, Festival of Slaps, Rodrigues expertly enhanced the comedy through the timing of the slaps. 

The resulting film constantly wrongfoots the audience, weaponising comedy, tension and surprise while maintaining emotional sincerity throughout. Rodrigues’ comedic timing is sharp, but what makes the film work is his understanding that humour only lands if the emotional stakes underneath feel real. “I think we found the film there,” he reflects. “Because it was always about [Ade] and his mother.”

Festival of Slaps led to another Nigerian-centred short, Spray Me, directed by Chris Chuky. Set during a lavish Yoruba wedding celebration where guests ‘spray’ cash over newlyweds as a symbol of prosperity and affection, the film contrasts colourful communal celebration with the awkward emotional introspection of adolescence. “There’s something so universal about being a teenager at a wedding and no one caring about you,” Rodrigues laughs. “I’ve been [the awkward teenage girl character] Bukky.”

Someone I worked with used to say when something [35mm film] is so beautiful, it’s like cutting with butter.

The rushes themselves, he says, felt playful: improvised performances, explosive colour, constant movement and infectious energy spilling across every frame. It helped that the film was shot on 35mm film. “Someone I worked with used to say when something is so beautiful, it’s like cutting with butter,” he says. The tactile quality of film stock also connected him back to his early years working in film restoration after graduating from ESEC film school in Paris. 

Although editing had always been the goal, Rodrigues initially worked in a Parisian film lab handling 35mm and 16mm prints - an experience that deepened both his technical knowledge and his love of cinema history. “Giving old films the chance to be rediscovered was amazing,” he says. “To actually touch film was incredible.”

By 2011, however, Rodrigues was craving a different creative environment and relocated to London, drawn partly by his love of British humour and shows like The Office and The IT Crowd. He entered Soho’s notoriously gruelling post-production ladder through runner jobs at MPC and Avalon Television before eventually becoming an assistant editor at The Mill and Whitehouse Post. Those years sharpened his technical instincts while reinforcing his belief that editing sits somewhere between engineering and emotion. “I never thought I was a creative person,” he admits. “I was always very technical. But then I realised problem solving is creative. Editing is balancing both.”

Above: Rodrigues loved working with the 35mm film in the richly coloured, textured film Spray Me.

That balance is especially evident in Sweetheart, director Luke Wintour’s short film exploring London’s clandestine molly houses - underground queer venues operating in the 1720s when homosexuality remained punishable by death. The film premiered at Sundance Film Festival before winning the Iris Prize, and became one of Rodrigues’ most personal projects to date. “The script resonated because it involved drag,” he laughs. “Something I used to do a bit of when I was younger and single.” While Sweetheart explores darker historical realities, Rodrigues remembers the production itself as unusually joyous. “On that set, there were only two straight people - the two sound guys,” he remembers. “All that queer energy really helped shape the film.”

The script resonated because it involved drag... Something I used to do a bit of when I was younger and single.

That collective sense of freedom and playfulness feeds directly into the edit, particularly in the crowded molly house sequences where Rodrigues balances immersive chaos with emotional clarity. Even potentially awkward conversations about whether the opening scene featured “too much humping” or “too much bum cheek on show” became part of the creative process. Yet beneath the humour lies the same emotional precision that runs through all his work. “It always comes back to character. Does [their] reaction feel real?”