When I first saw this film back in high school, the moment that stood out for me the most was the 5 minute long take near the end of the film when Clive Owen's character Theo is navigating a war torn city with the baby. However, since that interested more because it seemed so difficult to achieve from a filmmaking standpoint as compared to an emotional response, I decided against writing about it.
The moment I have chosen to describe is early in the film when Theo goes to see his cousin at the Ark of Arts. The scene is completely saturated with blue and green tones. The silver car (Bentley, I'm assuming) Theo arrives in is not flashy or reflective, but muted by this color scheme. Theo is dressed up in a shirt and tie, but it is an outfit very loosely worn, and nothing about him screams "elitist." The vertical structures of the metal detectors first appear to be pillars, in an architecture style to classical Rome or Greece, but as the camera pulls back their true nature becomes apparent. The super-structure known as the Ark of Arts is a very lonely place, as the sprawling inside in littered with very few people. Of those that are seen in the background, two are in military uniform and are heavily armed. The others seen are dressed in a full suit and tie, and seem to be a futuristic secret service type. The film never directly mentions Big Brother or 1984, but it resonates with the same type of tone - a dystopian future in which a vast government has squeezed the life out of civilization.
Hugo (2011)
One of the opening shots of the film is the grand crane move
down into the train station, then a dolly move through it before raising up
again on the clock through which Hugo is looking. It is a very complicated
shot, and no doubt only possible through CGI, but it also made me wonder if
there were any practical elements to it, or if it was 100% CGI. The look and
feel of the shot actually reminded me of The
Polar Express, which used actors, but relies completely on motion capture
for the final product seen on film. In these situations, it is very difficult
to refer to such a product as “film.”
Although
it is noticeable throughout the film, the color of the film came to the
forefront of my mind during the scene in which Hugo describes the world as one
big machine to Isabelle. It is very common for films to be altered in post
production to be bluer (as in, more blue) to imbed a cold, wintery tone to the
scene, or also as a substitute for moonlight. However, Hugo seems to have really emphasized more of a turquoise color. As
Hugo and Isabelle are talking, I felt the scene had the look of one that was
taking place under water, not looking over Paris. It was a very interesting
choice by Scorsese, and one that he uses to help define the look of the film.
When
Huge and Isabelle find the book on film history (The Invention of Dreams) at the library, they flip through it and
find pictures from all sorts of old movies. Although these are single, static
pictures, they bring back memories of moments of the film. I instantly made a
connection between this way of looking at the pictures, and cinephiliac academic
study. This whole sequence was full of connections to be made, though, as the
character from The Great Train Robbery
breaking the fourth wall and firing his gun at the scene was something Scorsese
recreated himself at the end of Goodfellas.
I also had a certain reaction to the sequence, as whenever I hear “Danse
Macabre” in a film, I always think back to the first film I heard it in, which
was Tombstone.
A Single Man (2009)
Early in the film, George receives a phone call informing
him of Jim’s car accident and death. The scene is entirely shot from George’s
side, and includes a fairly extended take showing his reaction. What is not
seen, however, is the voice on the other end of the phone. The voice is,
however, heard. And I instantly recognized it as the voice of Jon Hamm, most
famous for playing the character of Don Draper on the television series Mad Men. It is worth noting that both A Single Man and Mad Men both take place in the 1960’s. Because of this, I was able
to picture Jon Hamm in his most famous role, and it completely went along with
everything else in the film. I could picture a whole other world on the other
side of the phone, full of people with their own problems. I could picture him
wearing a correct period piece suit, in his period piece correct office,
surrounded by all the correct details of the 1960’s.
This connection between A Single Man and Mad Men ended up going further than I expected, as George later decries
how many students are only moving towards a corporate job that sells Coca-Cola
and comes up with television jingles. It was no longer a connection between the
film and the show, but a dichotomy. For the remainder of the film, I watched it
with the paradigm of understanding it as the flip side of the coin to the view
of the 1960’s as presented by Mad Men.
George became symbolic of the people that rejected the change brought during
this time period (even though he is a homosexual). He now represented a
perspective of the 1960’s that was not thrilled about the evolution towards a
consumer driven culture, and wanted the status quo to remain. He represented
the film critic from the 1960’s that saw television as a bad thing, and as the
instrument of death for television. In this sense, the film is itself a film commenting
on the death of film.
The Prestige (2006)
If
one wants to see the evolution of film language, one needs to look no further
than the first 15 minutes of The Prestige.
By my count, in the first 15 minutes, there are scenes occurring in 4 different
times. There is the opening scene of Cutter (Michael Caine) performing a magic
trick for Borden’s daughter which is cut together with Borden (Christian Bale) “murdering”
the Great Danton/Angier (Hugh Jackman). When Borden is in prison, he reads Angier’s
diary, which allows for a flashback to when Angier was previously spending time
in Colorado. And during the flashback to Angier in Colorado, Angier is reading
Borden’s diary, allowing for an even further flashback to when they both were
just starting out as magicians.
The
real magic to all of this is how easily all this information is conveyed on
screen (as compared to how convoluted it is to write on paper). There are no
title cards indicating what time period each scene is taking place in, and yet
as a viewer I have no trouble following the plot. When critics speak of how
films are “faster,” they often are speaking about the total number of edits in
the film and the average shot length. I believe what Christopher Nolan is
proving in this film is that the speed of the film can also refer to how fast
the film moves between different temporal spaces. This is not new territory for
Nolan, either, as Following and Memento both rely heavily on cutting
between action taking place during different times (and to a lesser extent, Batman Begins makes heavy use of
flashbacks as well). There is a balance that Nolan’s films achieve, in that
they provide enough information so that the audience does not become confused,
yet cuts around enough so that the audience actively has to pay attention to
keep up with the film.
Melancholia (2011)
The opening of this film cannot be ignored. It is a montage of scenarios and motifs that are fully developed later in the film, and they are all shot in super slo-motion. And they seemingly go on forever. If director Lars Von Triers was trying to bore me into submission - mission accomplished. I know earlier in this class we had a discussion about Woody Allen's "long" opening montage of Midnight in Paris, which I believe was roughly 3 minutes long. By my somewhat imprecise count, I believe the opening montage of Melancholia was almost 10 minutes long.
Another issue I had with the film was the expectation that the audience would have a general idea of the story going into viewing the film. If I would have not known that Melancholia was a planet about the hit Earth, I not only would have had a hard time interpreting the opening montage, but I would not have found out this crucial plot piece till Claire's chapter of the film. This may be how films are to be made now in this over-saturated media culture, in which a viewer is expected to have watched a trailer for a film before watching the actual film.
My finally gripe is that I had a very hard time connecting to any character. Kirsten Dunst put in a marvelous performance as a new bride suffering from depression, but I never liked the character of Justine. I was not tear struck when everyone died. I know this representation was an intentional choice made by the director (and it certainly makes the film unique), but I also made the choice not to respond to the characters.
As evidenced here, I was probably not the biggest fan of this film. And I didn't even get into my absolute frustration with the handheld camera work. It was almost unbearable during the opening sequence at the wedding reception at the country club, but ended up toning down all the wild and distracting movements. Less I digress, though - it may be a very personal film for Von Triers, but it was not one that I responded to.
The Hurt Locker (2009)
The first scene I would point out establishing a new
visual style of action in The Hurt Locker
is
from very late in the film, in which a man has been forced to wear a suicide
bomber’s vest. One stylistic choice I see is a lot of unmotivated zoom ins and
zoom outs. There does not seem to be a pattern to them, other than to recreate
the feel that what is being shown is “real” documentary footage. If what the
film was showing was real, it would not be cinematic, but a hand-held, jerky
type footage, which the film recreates.
The second scene I would like to mention is when the
U.S. soldiers meet up with some mercenaries and are attacked by snipers. The
camera movements are all over the place, with each shot seemingly containing at
least one pan or tilt. The shot that most stood out to me was a when the film
framed the open landscape from which the enemy bullets were being fired. The
actual snipers are not seen yet, and the camera makes two panning moves to the
right, as if it is in search of these shooters. What is not clear, however, is
if this is meant to be a character’s POV, or if the camera is acting on its
own. If it is the latter, the camera is in essence breaking the 4th
wall, or there is an unmentioned camera man making decisions who exists in the
reality of the film.
The last scene I would like to talk about is when
Jeremy Renner’s character diffuses a bomb in the back of a car (though I also
bring into question other shots from the film). The film uses multiple POV
shots, with some being distorted to recreate the look of a soldier using the
scope on his rifle, or having a circular frame around the shot to recreate the
POV that Jeremy Renner’s character sees while wearing his large helmet. It is
clear in these situations whose POV is being used, but in the scene involving
the car bomb, this becomes less apparent. There are a multitude of cuts in this
scene, and some very brief shots are framed from the top of buildings (the
angle of the camera pointing down is my evidence for this). It is not clear,
however, if this is the POV of a bystander, an unnamed cameraman, or just the
aesthetic of the film (it is probably either the first or third option – with my
personal guess being the third option).
So after paying attention to the camerawork in
specific scenes, the larger question that is to be answered is, “What motivates
this choice?”
Viaggio in Italia (1954)
Connotation - they are enjoying the good life. They do not have to work, and are free to do as they please, such as lounging around the Italian countryside.
Myth-Making - those on vacation are more relaxed people. Those that have to work all the time are not happy, but miserable for working. They hope that if they work hard enough, one day they can go on a relaxing vacation.
Psycho (1960)
If
one is to discuss cinematic moments from Psycho
(1960), one must mention the shower scene, regardless of how clichéd that
may be. What I would like to focus most on is the editing of the scene. Many
critics today like to comment on how the editing of films has sped up, and how
this is somehow connected to MTV and music videos. However, this scene clearly
shows that Hollywood knew how to cut quickly for action and energy well before
the dawn of MTV. The shower scene in Psycho
has by count 31 cuts in a 22 second period, for an average shot length of a
little more than 7/10 of a second. That number sounds more like the average
shot length of an action scene from a Jason Bourne movie, not a 1960’s film.
But
this effect of quick cuts is something that cannot be duplicated in any other
art form. A novelist can write as terse of sentences as he or she can muster,
but it pales in comparison to the energy brought to the screen in Psycho. Obviously a theatrical play
cannot involve cuts or edits, and photography does not show motion, so the
point is kind of moot.
The
other moment I find to be cinematic is the last scene of the film, when Norman
is sitting while his mother’s narration speaks of how he can’t harm a fly. Now
certain elements of this scene can be re-created in a theatrical play, such as
the voice over narration or the physical actions by the actor. And a novel can
also reproduce the voice of narration as a stream of consciousness passage.
However, neither can reproduce the effect that comes from the dolly move that
pushes in on Norman. The scene starts out by framing Norman’s entire body, then
slowly pushes in during the scene and reframes him in a close-up by the end of
the dolly move. When added with the musical score, it gives a very eerie feel, as
the audience moves physically closer to this crazed killer. The scene has a
certain feel and tone produced by this camera movement that it must be
considered a truly cinematic moment.
Grapes of Wrath (1940)
While I have never read John Steinbeck’s book, The Grapes of Wrath, I have a stage play
version of it, so do have some prior experience with the material.
Some instances of cinematic moments of the film:
- The wide shots of traveling (such as the opening shot of
the film of Tom walking down road, Tom and Jim seen in silhouette in the shot
of them arriving at Joad house, or the Joad caravan riding down Route 66).
While these shots could be described with words, they also instantly project a
mood and a tone that is difficult to describe – just seeing how small the
characters are in frame, and how devastated the land around them makes for a very
powerful image. And obviously the concept of a wide shot is even more difficult
to re-create in a theatrical play.
- The chiaroscuro lighting of Tom, Jim, and Muley in the
abandoned shack. While this is nothing new in paintings, the amount of light
actually varies during the scene; sometimes this change is accompanied by a
sound effect of a heavy gust of wind, indicating that the wind is almost
blowing out the fire.
- I would describe ability to move the camera in a scene to
be cinematic. When the Joads arrive in their first migrant camp worker, there is
a POV shot from the point of view of the Joads caravan, and travels through the
camp, revealing the shanty and depressed nature of the camp. Or, as Tom Joad
says, “Looks none to prosperous.” I feel this shot is more impressive in 1940,
as there were no steadi-cams or the same type of technology we have today in
image stabilization to help create it.
Midnight in Paris (2011)
The
question of what film can do that other forms of art cannot is quite a tricky
one, as I do not believe film can truly do anything that cannot be reproduced
in a theatrical play/opera, photograph, painting, or novel. However, it can
display different aspects of these respective art forms simultaneously, and I believe that is what is part of what makes
film such a special medium. For instance, a photograph cannot show motion; a
theatrical play can. A theatrical play cannot show the actor in a shallow depth
of field; a photograph can. So the fact that a film can show motion and create
a shallow depth of field is not singular, but it is singular that it can do
both at the same time. I have chosen 3 parts of Midnight in Paris to analyze that will elaborate on this point.
1.
The film has a very distinct look to it,
especially the scenes that take place in the past. They are very warmly lit,
meaning that the “warmer” colors (oranges, reds, yellows – in the range of 3200K)
are very prominent. This choice gives the scenes from the past a very distinct
feel and tone; it is as if these scenes are more inviting than the scenes from
the present, which are shot usually in daylight (roughly 5600K if not color
timed in post production) or the fluorescent light of the hotel (very roughly 4400K, as the color
temperature of fluorescent lights can greatly differ). This is obviously a
completely visual aspect of the film, and thus could be reproduced in a
photograph, painting and, to a certain extent, in a theatrical play. However,
it is virtually impossible to translate this to literature. The author may
describe the atmosphere of the room or even the quality of the light, but that
does not necessarily mean the reader can picture it as the author intends, as
describing light is no easy feat. And what’s more, the author must call
attention to the light to describe it; Midnight
in Paris is very subtle in its use of light. It is never the centerpiece of
a scene, or even an attention-getting piece of the scene, but it always added
something to the scene.
2.
The film makes use of both long takes and long
shots, but punctuates certain scenes with close-ups; for me, this is the
biggest difference in a theatrical production and film. In a theater, an
audience member has a singular view of the action, while a film can change
perspectives as often as the filmmaker chooses to. Once again, literature
cannot replicate this, and even though a photograph and painting can, they
obviously cannot incorporate motion into this image. The scene in which Gil has
a conversation with the surrealists and his conversation with Gabrielle at the
end of the film both use singles that are framed as close-ups. This adds a very
intimate feel to the shots, as most of the film is shot is medium and long
shots, usually with multiple characters appearing in them. This was consicuous
decision by director Woody Allen, as these scenes deal with the serious issue
of Gil’s emotions and his involvement with women. (Sidenote – I believe that
Woody either forget to get good coverage of that last dialogue scene between
Gil and Gabrielle, or the footage he did shoot was just bad. When the scene
moves into close-ups, Gil is seen in a single well before Gabrielle, who is
shot in an over the shoulder before moving into her close-up. The cutting between these two angles is
very awkward and distracting, and it is not a time in the film when there
should be awkwardness between these characters. The actual angles of the eye
lines don’t really match until they both are framed in single close-ups. Not
Best Picture quality stuff - or Best Director quality stuff either.)
3.
Due to much of the film being framed in long shots,
the film is able to show multiple actions and conversations at once. When Gil
and Inez “find” her lost earrings and John has chest pains, they both are seen
on screen at the same time and both continue their dialogue as usual. This is
something that is extremely commonplace in reality, but is rarely seen in film,
as a film will traditionally cut back and forth between the two conversations.
This cutting between two conversations is also how a novel would deal with this
situation, as a novel can’t literally have two characters talking over one
another – unless there is some new form of reading involving 3-D glasses in
which two lines of text can be read at the same time. A photograph and painting
can both have multiple levels of action being portrayed, but once again, they
would lack motion as well as sound (thus, they could not communicate multiple
conversations with audible dialogue). A theatrical play is the one form that
would be able to do this, however, proving that film does not have one distinct
aspect that makes it unique, but the fact that it can incorporate so many
different aspects of multiple forms of art that the same time, it is an art
form unlike any other.
Masculine-Feminine (1966)
The first break away from the Institutional Mode of Representation (IMR) from Masculine-Feminine that I would like to discuss comes roughly 8 minutes into the film, when Paul and Madeline are having a conversation in the bathroom. In a very broad sense, this sequence would fall under the “shot reverse shot” model; however, in its execution, it is unlike the traditional shot reverse shot editing of a dialogue scene. Godard allows to camera to frame one character at a time in a medium close-up, and for quite a long time. Even if the other character is speaking, the camera will remain on one character at a time. Each shot lasts for more than 30 seconds, with some lasting more than a minute. So technically, it is edited together in a shot reverse shot pattern, only in slow-motion, though. I find this effect distances the characters, and makes the scene play out more as a type of job interview, rather than a conversation early in a relationship; it does the exact opposite of the more common use of shot reverse shot, which tends to form a connection between characters.
The other break from IMR that I would like to discuss comes 38 minutes into the film, when Paul is telling his story in the laundry. The scene is full of jump cuts, as the film cuts from a shot of him in one area of the laundromat to a shot of him in a completely different area of the same laundromat. It certainly gives more energy to scene, as compared to a long continuous shot of Paul telling his story, but it also certainly breaks the IMR. I did not find this to be as disconnecting or awkward as original audiences might have, as the pace of current films can be similar to this, and audiences have grown more sophisticated in their understanding of jump cuts.
One other aspect of the film I would like to bring up is the first two shots of the film. The first is a medium close-up on Paul as he talks, and is completely static; the second is a high angle shot of Paul and Madeline in a diner, and pushes in on Madeline and re-frames her in a medium close-up. Both of these shots are held for an exceptionally long time, and establishes an uncommon average shot length (ASL) for the film – this trope of long takes appears later in the film in the sequence that ends with Paul witnessing a man stabbing himself. Now, if it can be agreed that these first two shots are exceptionally long takes for such little action, what becomes fascinating is that they both are almost exactly a minute and 30 seconds long. I am not sure exactly how to explain Godard’s motive for this, as it could be an experiment in metric editing as much as it could be some kind of inside joke. Regardless, I find these first two scenes the be notable enough to receive consideration in terms of what Godard is attempting to accomplish with this film.
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