Children of Men (2006), Alfonso Cuarón
What I like about Children of Men is its use of long shots mixed with handheld cinematography to make you feel as if you were there, as if it was really happening. The scene in which Julian (Julianne Moore) is shot in the neck and killed is one particular scene in which this technique excels. We begin the sequence, or shot, with Julian and Theo (Clive Owen) rekindling an old flame, spitting a ping pong ball back and forth. Suddenly a burning car rolls up in front of them and they are ambushed, Julian shot in the process. Everything happens so suddenly. We then continue as two cops pull them over, their windshield destroyed from the gun shot, and Luke (Chiwetel Ejiofor) shoots both of them and tells them they have to keep going. We end on the two cops' legs, a puddle of blood underneath them. The element of randomness mixed with the cinematography really pulls you into the film and leaves a gloomy feeling in the pit of your stomach. If you pay close attention, you can tell that some of the effects are computer generated--blood, broken glass, etc.--but that doesn't keep me from enjoying it.
Hugo (2011), Martin Scorsese
The 1st aspect of Hugo I'd like to discuss is the recurring theme of clocks. The film opens with a complex arrangement of clocks which crossfades into Paris. Throughout the film, there are references to clocks and ticking noises, which refers to the mechanics behind film and the noise of the film projector. The parts in which the theme of clocks is best represented is when Hugo first flashes back to his father's story. The key light on Hugo begins to flicker and we hear the "projector-ticking" sound, and then his flashback begins. This happens again when they read Tabard's book--flickering begins as Hugo watches the old films in his head. The clocks could represent the mechanics behind films, or the mental process in which we grasp films.
The 2nd moment I'd like to discuss is the fantastical "paper-flying" scene in which Hugo and Isabelle discover Melies' sketches. They begin to float around as if by magic. When the adults enter the room, the magic ceases to exist and the papers simply float to the ground. This is a direct contrast between the young, innocent, and inspired versus the old, experienced, and despondent. This contrast calls upon the moment we become immersed with a film and lose ourselves in the magic of the cinema. When we learn the secrets behind film, the inspiration we had as children disappears in a secret compartment in the armoire in our bedroom.
The 3rd element I'd like to talk about is the notion of film as history. The first moment I can recall is when Mama Jeanne says she was a different girl back when she was an actress, and Tabard asks her, "Would you like to meet her again?" This presents film as a way to record the present reality and, over time, represent the past. Another moment that reflects film as historical is when Melies describes how the war ruined his career. During his story, we see clips of old war films and war footage, signifying the historical significance of film.
A Single Man (2009), Tom Ford
My favorite part of the film is George's (Firth) psychological perception of the car accident Jim (Goode), his lover, died in. At first, it appears to be a stylized moment of despair, loss, and fatality. George lies next to his lifeless partner, and his dog, sincerely and forlornly, and kisses him, as if to wish him a safe journey to the afterlife, telling him it's okay. When we see that he actually heard about the accident via his telephone, and he is immediately shut out from Jim's family, he is entirely heart-broken and rushes to his only true friend, Charley (Moore). This snow sequence not only relates to the ending, but also calls upon a psychological aspect of the film in which the spectator must be ready for in order to understand and appreciate the film.
As Tom Ford's first film, he has displayed his mastery of direction and his knowledge of the cinema. His use of color editing both establishes the mood and reveals the variable psyche of George. I love his subtle use of classic films, such as Psycho (an ad on a wall), Taxi Driver (using his finger to pretend to shoot someone), and Saving Private Ryan (under water, distorted noise, slo-mo). Another favorite moment of mine is the classroom scene in which George presents an Aldous Huxley parable, which discusses the minority as being a model of fear. This reference to his own homosexuality and his discomfort with himself in such an anti-gay community describes his personal struggle. Another instance that displays his struggle is in a bank, when an innocent girl (his neighbor?) tells him her father stated that George is "light in his loafers."Although this homosexual resentment isn't portrayed highly throughout the film, this little nuance of innocence and bias, of misunderstanding and resentment, adds to the isolation George feels in a society of heterosexuals.
The Prestige (2006), Christopher Nolan
I am a huge Christopher Nolan fan. I love his combination of Hollywood cinematography and special effects combined with the mind-wrenching narratives. I liked several aspects of the film, but most importantly I'd like to discuss something I've noticed in each of Nolan's films: his use of montage. At certain points he overlays scenes and creates transitions with brief flashbacks and abstract chronology. One sequence takes place after Angier's (Jackman) wife drowns--Angier submerges his own head into a filled sink and sees his wife drowning. Experiencing his wife's fate is displayed through this rapid montage to establish why Jackman chooses to nearly drown himself, which would make no sense otherwise. Another sequence where Nolan uses a brief montage for a unique effect takes place when Sarah (Hall) looks at all of the magical contraptions that Alfred Borden (Bale) possesses, just before committing suicide. My favorite one occurs towards the end, when Angier presents his final act and refers his wife's death to the audience--we see flashbacks of her drowning, calling back the opening of the film and foreshadowing the ending.
Another aspect of the film I'd like to discuss is the use of frames and objects within the film that display a presence of isolation and imprisonment: water tanks, birdcages, Tesla's machine, Borden's boxes, Angier's doors/traps, and the trap room (under the stage). All of these objects are used in magic tricks which produce the illusion of the impossible--almost complete freedom from the constraints of the world--while the objects themselves are commonly used throughout film as objects of isolation and imprisonment, separating the magician from the civilian, from society, from the universe.
The last thing I'd like to discuss is the theme of science vs. fiction, or of physics vs. magic. The magic tricks are representative of the illusive and engaging attributes of film, where as the scientific revolution experienced between the two magicians represents the continually expanding technology used for film. The technology drives the two against each other, along with their opposing views and tragic incidents.
Melancholia (2011), Lars Von Trier
The most noteworthy aspects of Von Trier's Melancholia are its recurring themes. The first of which is the most obvious: Melancholia--a giant planet approaching Earth. The characters each view the inevitable apocalypse differently--Justine (Dunst) accepts their fate; Claire (Gainsbourg) is increasingly upset and depressed; Leo (Spurr) is encouraged to close his eyes and pretend it isn't happening; John (Sutherland) hides the truth from the others, explaining that they will be fine when he secretly knows that they won't. This theme can be applied to several different things, including and especially the decay of cinema.
Another recurring theme is the bridge that leads to the town. Both times our protagonists approach the bridge they are unable to cross. The first time they are on horseback, and Justine's horse is too afraid to step onto the bridge. The second time, Claire attempts to drive her son, Leo, in a golf kart to town. However, the golf kart's battery runs out and she is unable to escape. This is an obvious metaphor for our protagonists (along with the rest of mankind?) not being able to escape their fate.
Adding on to the above-mentioned themes, I believe the film's two sections, Justine and Claire, emphasize which protagonist we must pay close attention to. In the first chapter, we witness the trial of Justine to overcome her fear/anger towards a future with Michael, almost seeming like her mother. She can't explain why she acts the way she does, but her depression overwhelms her, and she eventually succeeds in ending their relationship. In the second chapter, Claire suffers horrific anxiety towards her impending doom. She is unable to accept her fate, and when the time comes she is the only one out of the three in the "magic cave" that shrieks in fear, cowering away from the rapidly approaching apocalypse.
Viaggio in Italia
There were two shots in particular that stuck out to me throughout the entire film: one was Alex and Katherine's arrival in Italy (Napoli?) at night, the other was in one of the earlier museums in which Katherine visits. I didn't really care much for the film, but these shots really stood out to me.
The arrival shot was interesting in that not much was viewable--everything was pitch black except for the lights in the distance and on the street. I'm not sure if this was supposed to be a blunt metaphor, foreshadowing their experience in Italy, or if Roberto Rossellini was playing on the film stock's ability to capture extreme contrasts, but it is something that most directors, in fact most filmmakers, avoid because the spectator can't see much at all.
Another shot that stood out to me was in a museum in which the camera tracks along a row of female statues and ends on Katherine. Obviously Rossellini was relating her to the statues, yet I still don't understand why. It could have something to do with the relation between one's current domestic issues in comparison/contrast to greater past issues of political and historical importance.
When determining the myths/ideologies of these shots, I am completely stumped because I feel there are innumerable ways to interpret these images. My view is that these shots are as ambiguous as they are metaphorical. However, if I had to choose something more specific, I would say Rossellini is critiquing the difference between political/historical significance and domesticity. In Ancient Greek Drama, plays were often divided between these "themes." Today, they still are to an extent. Rossellini was probably showing how both are truly complicated and always will be in their own special, humanistic way.
Psycho (1960), Alfred Hitchcock
There are 3 aspects of Psycho that strike me as purely cinematic. The first of which deals with the opening title sequence, and the second deals with editing, and the third deals with sound.
The opening title sequence is representative of Hitchcock. I recently watched North by Northwest (1959), Hitchcock's film that came out the year before Psycho, and the title sequence was very similar: fast-paced, intense music with basic, yet effective, title movement mixed with abstract lines and shapes. This is one reason why Hitchcock is considered an auteur--right from the beginning we know we are being drawn into a Hitchcock masterpiece.
Match cuts are one way to manipulate the audience into thinking what we see all takes place at the same time in the same location. When Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) looks through the peephole at Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) undressing, we are lead to believe that he is in fact spying on her on the other side of the wall, when in reality it could've been filmed on two separate sets. This is a purely cinematic form of art in which editing, no matter how subtle, can engage the viewer and shape their view of the world on the screen.
Sound is just as important as visuals when it comes to film, and in Psycho it tricks the audience into the Norman's mother is still alive. The various characters hear the woman without actually seeing her, and since they believe she is real we believe she is real. This enables the shock at the end to be very effective. At other moments throughout the film, voice-overs enable us to get inside the mind of different characters. For example, when Marion is driving away with the money, she plays out multiple scenes in her head, conveying how she feels about her situation and what she thinks would happen under these scenarios. The chaos that ensues in her mind gives her a bit of a "psychotic" aura, not as terrible as Norman's but still chaotic. Norman, however, suffers from schizophrenia, and when we hear his thoughts at the end of the film he has completely transformed into his "mother" and believes himself, or herself, to be righteous.
The Grapes of Wrath (1940), John Ford
This film didn't quite grab me the way I expected it to. However, I did notice how its cinematic moments did create an inspirational, enlightening effect. One scene in particular was when the family is at an outdoor camp, listening to a boy play guitar. One of the men interjects their conversation and tells them that they're fools for believing there is work out west in California. After appearing cruel and frank, he then switches gears and begins telling them why he acted in such an arrogant manner. He reveals his disheartening story of losing his family along with all of his possessions. As this happens, John Ford decides to cut from him to the expressions of the other poor men and women sitting around the guitarist. This nearly unnoticeable cutting technique, with the man's voice continuing throughout, allows us to view the story from multiple perspectives--watching the man lay down his guard and watching each and every individual gain respect and sympathy, even empathy, for him. Film is such a unique medium that allows the viewer to learn more than just the main story. It allows us to view how each character responds and reacts to the given situation, revealing even more about the story itself and each individual's story.
When thinking of the term "cinematic," I also think of moments in a film that give film its own uniqueness when comparing to other mediums. One sequence--a very brief and generally unimportant one, yet crucial to the continuance of the story and for film itself--was when the family is on their way to the Transient Camp. We cut to a POV shot of the family looking at a "City Limit"sign, followed by a sign that says, "Transient Camp --> 2 Miles." Because of the seamless editing, we believe that they are in fact looking at those signs. In reality, it was simply a camera and crew with no family, no car--similar to how a match cut functions (I can't remember if this was actually a match cut). The beauty of film and manipulative editing gives the storyteller so much more power both behind the scenes and on screen, creating a believable story.
Midnight in Paris (2011), Woody Allen
The first time I saw this film, I didn't really think much of it. Yes, it was witty, had a nice "no era will ever be self-satisfied" theme, and was over-all entertaining, even with Owen Wilson as the lead. During my second viewing, however, and keeping in mind our current discussion of film as a unique medium, I really saw how interesting the use of film techniques could really change one's experience in listening to a story.
Other mediums--radio, book, newspaper--have limitations concerning the observer's experience. Film combines the aspects of these mediums and produces a much greater experience for the audience. From the opening sequence of the film's Paris montage to the final scene where Gil (Owen Wilson) and the French Girl are walking in the rain, the combination of editing, music, quick-witted dialogue, and all of the other aspects that go into filmmaking allow the viewer to "go inside" the world of the story and experience as if they were there.
One simple moment in the film that separates itself from other mediums is the opening title sequence. Over-layed with quick-paced dialogue, the titles flash by as we engage ourselves into the plot. No other medium can credit the cast and crew while continuing the story the way film can, especially in this unconventional sense.
There are moments in this film, like many other films, in which a group of side characters discuss the whereabouts of the main character. Unlike other mediums, this allows the audience to experience the story from multiple perspectives. One specific example from Midnight in Paris is when Inez (Rachel McAdams) and her family are discussing Gil's odd behavior. What they say engages the viewer--we tell ourselves, "no, you're completely wrong! If only you'd listen to him!" as if we could actually reach out to the characters on the screen and speak to them.
The main difference between film and other mediums, I feel, is the use of editing. Match cuts are one of the many effective techniques used in film. In the scene where we first see the private-eye following Gil, he observes Gil getting into the mysterious car and ends up following him, getting lost in Versailles during the era of Louis XIV. We don't notice it at first, but after paying closer attention to the transitions between the shots during this sequence I noticed that the private-eye could potentially be in another location--they just filmed him in one location and used a match-cut to make it appear as if he were there. This technique is used in nearly every film and tricks the viewer into believing something that is completely false, all due to the effectiveness of editing.
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Masculin Féminin (1966), Jean-Luc Godard
I've seen Godard's Breathless (1960) so I knew what to expect before watching the film. And, as I expected, the film left me with the same stumped feeling as did Breathless. I'm so accustomed to watching films not as "cinema" but as a two-hour window of letting my brain turn to mush and getting lost in a story. Godard clearly views cinema differently and makes it obvious in his film and editing style. This is apparent in the beginning of the film. When we listen to the protagonist's (Paul) narration and cut to Madeleine, who has caught his eye, instead of match-cutting to a POV shot we are instead in another part of the cafe with Paul partially out-of-frame. This was profoundly jarring, and clearly the director's intent.
Throughout the film, Godard chooses to divide sequences with frequent title-slates which include philosophical, propaganda-esque sentences. When there aren't words, there are numbers, and in no specific order, skipping numbers just to throw off the audience. This aspect of the film jumps out at the viewer and reminds them that they are watching "cinema" and not a real story.
Other moments that call the audience's attention to the film as "cinema" are seen throughout the film. My favorite is the scene where Paul finds himself arguing with someone in an arcade, who quickly resorts to chasing him out with a knife. After Paul escapes, the man turns the knife on himself and stabs himself--a confused, panicking Paul comes running to his aid. This seen potentially embodies the nature of a man's quick change of heart in a given circumstance--from being scared of a hostile assaulter to giving sympathetic aid to that same assaulter. Or Godard was just messing with us...
What I really love about Godard's work are his montage sequences. In this film, and especially in Breathless, he uses the montage in a unique, unconventional manner. In the laundromat scene, Paul is telling his friend a story and Godard harnesses an unusual breaking of continuity while maintaining a cohesive story told by Paul. Paul begins his story in one spot when suddenly a jump cut presents him in another part of the laundromat, continuing his story as if there were no jump cut. Again, this calls great attention to the film as "cinema" and Godard's style.
Another technique I loved in the film was Godard's blending of fiction and non-fiction. At first I didn't realize it, but his random street shots of pedestrians walking by are in fact candid, and when they look at the camera it is genuine curiosity, just like you'd expect a random person to do if you were shooting a film in a busy downtown area. He manages to use editing to splice together these random shots and Paul walking through a similar bustling downtown area. It's amazing how these subtle editing techniques can leave the audience oblivious to what is actually going on.
After viewing the film for my first time, I decidedly hated it--with the sense that I was missing the bigger part of the picture. And as I expected, I learned what was really going on and have grown a deep respect for Godard's famously annoying style.
