Latent Discourse

In the first week of class this semester we were asked, “What does film mean to you?” I remember many of us mentioning that our view of cinema as an escape from reality; a chance for us leave any troubles and frustrations we face and be transported into a new realm for ninety minutes. As cliché and contrived as this sounds, I think this is certainly true.

Ultimately, I am of the opinion that we watch films for the stories. We like the idea of being able to adopt a voyeuristic stance in which we can live the lives of others without being faced with the social and moral consequences of our actions. The story plays a vital part in the emotional connection we develop with a film and its characters and thus sutures us into the fabric of the film. In comparison to the passive nature of the story of a film, discourse represents the way in which film communicates to the viewer, the latent aspects of filmmaking and the way they manipulate the way in which the story is told and interpreted.

In Christian Metz’s article titled Story/Discourse: Notes on Two Kinds of Voyeurism he addresses the contrast between story and discourse in film. He mentions the idea that part of the purpose of discourse is to hide “all traces of enunciation” and “masquerade as story”. In the majority of cases in film, this is true. In Hollywood, we don’t often see explicit decisions made by the director to reveal discourse, as this could easily reduce the reality of a scene and disengage the viewer. This idea is mentioned in author Neil Gabler’s discussion titled Celebrating the Conversation: Public Discourse. Moderator Judith Rodin states “there is little public discourse in American film” because “rational discourse isn’t exactly going to provide nail-biting suspense.

Still, many films have been made that aren’t afraid to flaunt discourse and the ideological side of film. Man with the Movie Camera by Dziga Vertov is a great example of this. This experimental film rids itself of story and actively provides with the viewer of a perspective in which they are behind the filmmaker as the film is being shot, rather watching the film through the filmmaker’s camera. This effectively rids the audience of the camera’s perspective and forces the audience to assess and appreciate the ideological angle of film. Rather than connecting the characters in a story through shot-reverse shots, the filmmaker and his subjects are connected through shot-reverse shots of the subjects and the man with the movie camera. This allows the filmmakers active role in the construction of the shot to surface. A great example of this is the scene in which we see a close-up shot of a woman riding in a horse-driven cart. Rather than show a shot of another character in the film or establish an idea of where the cart is going, as it would for a concise story, the film shows us a shot of the cameraman perched on the cart filming the lady.

Man with the Movie Camera allows thus forces us to consider these latent aspects of film, and makes us realize the way in which a filmmakers shot selection and decision can manipulate us as an audience. It makes us realize Metz's message in that discourse is brought to the fore. It was a real paradigm shift in that I as a very consumer-centric Hollywood audience member failed to realize the way in which discourse is disguised to move and affect me. Having said that, I found Man with a Movie Camera incredibly difficult to watch. This could be attributed to the fact that the lack of tangible story meant that it was difficult for the audience to be woven into the fabric of the film, and like Rodin says, the rationality and understanding behind the film didn’t allow for suspense or engaging action.

Out of the Past: Classic Film Noir

Even though I had never seen a movie in the film noir genre, I had a vague idea of what it’d be like. Various images came to my mind when I thought envisioned the film. Misty cigarette smoke. Dim lighting. Dark brimmed hats and suspicious overcoats. Out of the Past did nothing to alter these stereotypes, and I could do little but laugh as I heard the cheesy one-liners and noticed the emotionless arrogance of the actors. I think we have been conditioned to expect an effort to replicate reality in modern film, and this habituation skewed my appreciation for the characters in this classic genre. This is somewhat ironic because despite the unrealistic characters in the story, the lack of a necessarily moral ‘lesson’ at the conclusion of the film presents a story that is often more akin to reality than other Hollywood movies.

One must realize that film noir as a genre produced some of the most influential and reputed actors in American film history. (Many film noir actors appear in the American Film Institutes list of the twenty-five best American actors.) I think this is because film noir, despite its blatantly pessimistic undertones and cynical outlook, provided at platform for actors to play characters that were larger than life. This stage portrayed characters as iconic figures and role models for audiences.

A good example is the Robert Mitchum’s character Jeff in Out of the Past. Despite all the tension and deception Jeff deals in the movie, he manages to evade displaying even the slightest trace of emotion. In addition, Jeff displays qualities that men would yearn to have with his charm, wit and confidence (not to mention the nonchalant way in which he lights a cigarette and is able to dispose of it after a couple of puffs in the most carefree fashion!). Even though I was repelled by what I thought was a pseudo-realistic impression of a real man, I quickly began to appreciate the more artistic and salient aspects of the film, first of which was the trademark use of lighting. Director Jacques Tourneur sets the tone for the scene with the use of lighting and shadows especially in scenes where there is a heightened sense of tension. For example, in the scene where Jeff is finally able to meet again with Kathy after they are forced apart, the joyful mood is disturbed by the dark shadows from the leaves and branches, foreshadowing the trouble that is approaching.

In Rick Altman’s article titled A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre he notes that genres are undergoing change and morphing constantly. The suggestion that some genres incorporate aspects of others to propagate themselves is applicable in this particular case because we see signature elements of romance and mystery films in Out of the Past. However, I feel that as a genre film noir is more distinctly classified. As an art form, I feel that the expressionistic nature of film noir and that lack of obligation to go the “happily ever after” route make it an atypical Hollywood film, and Out of the Past is a great example of this.

The International: Review

In The International, rugged Interpol veteran Lou Sallinger (Clive Owen) finds himself in a quest to bring down the powerful International Bank of Business and Credit after he uncovers their illegal money-laundering and arms dealing activities. Fueled by the suspicious and abrupt murder of his Interpol wingman and obstructed by the ruthlessness and influence of the organization that he has to take on, Sallinger finds the help of fellow agent Eleanor Whitman (Naomi Watts) in his globe-trekking quest to establish justice.

The International seeks to redefine our definition of justice and laments the sorry state of a world run by big businesses and political power. In portraying Sallinger as a rugged and determined protagonist the story is fundamentally a good versus evil clash of an embattled hero against an omnipotent villain (the financial institution). This could well have been The International’s biggest disappointment. Despite its attempts to distinguish itself from other mainstream actions films by focusing on a contemporary issue and conflict rather than a far-fetched premise and romantic side-story, it seems pressured into justifying itself with a lengthy and complex plot. Ultimately, the film is creative and displays sharp narrative, but loses some of its spark due to a meandering storyline.

Still, whatever the film lacks in plot it makes up for with unique realism and astute cinematography. The films signature consists of clear and crisp shot composition throughout, with German director Tom Tykwer paying special attention to the rule of thirds in many of his scenes. Numerous shots also emphasize visual boundaries across the screen, with clear lines and color differences dissecting the shot. This, in addition the predominantly bright and white lighting, provides us with a false sense of order that veils the discord and confusion in the scenes, reflecting the composed and firm exterior of the bank that hides activities swathed in sin. In general, the films mise-en-scene is constructed to provide a visual contrast between Sallinger and his surroundings, effectively conveying the pervasiveness of his opponent and the difficulty and deceptiveness he faces in executing his duty. An important facet of this is the numbing lack of color in the film, with almost all outdoor scenes shot in overcast, gloomy conditions while indoor scenes are often set in glass buildings or concrete cities. In addition, the music used in the key scenes is neither inspiring nor dramatic. This provides a cold and unemotional backdrop to highlight Sallinger’s vigor and passion, further emphasized by the costumes in the film. While all IBBC employees are dressed in crisp suits exuding efficiency and stoic clarity, our hero is an unshaven and dirty mess and stands out in his loose shirt and crumpled overcoat.

In comparison to other action flicks, I admire the attention that Tykwer paid to establishing realism in his shots. The lack of high-flying stunts from our main protagonist distinguishes the film from other clichéd hero-driven action counterparts (think Jason Statham in The Transporter) and maintains an abstract and earthen feel similar to other Tykwer films such as German action-thriller Lola Rennt (1998). In fact, the culminating action sequence is a messy blur of blood and broken glass that takes place in the Guggenheim Museum, in which Sallinger pays more attention to getting out safely than to killing all the “bad-guys”. This is possibly a symbolic representation of Sallinger’s dogged perseverance in the ultimate disruption of the established order, and adds a human touch to the movie that pleads with the audience to step back and think about the films underlying message.

If you are a fan of action thrillers, The International is a movie that warrants your audience. It is a refreshing change from the Hollywood norm, and displays a creative and artistic approach to complement the coarse violence that is inevitable. Tom Tykwer offers an interesting angle to the film, and his interpretation of the genre is certainly different (I definitely recommend watching Lola Rennt for context!). However, I still find that the director struggles with the length and complexity of the plot. In feeling the need to justify the story to the audience, the films potentially jarring social statement is diluted.

Cache: The Camera in Hiding

The name says it all. Cache (or “hidden” in French) is a movie that explores the hidden space in narrative. There are so many questions we ask ourselves during films. How was the special effect engineered? What is she looking at? Why would the director choose this particular shot? Who is he talking to? Usually, directors take pleasure in answering these questions and unraveling a beautifully wrapped story. Not this time…

In Cache, Georges Laurent, a middle-aged French TV presenter and his wife Anne find voyeuristic videotapes of their house left at their door. These videos trigger a series of increasingly hasty actions from Georges as he tries to piece together the mystery behind them. Award-winning director Michael Haneke succeeds in maintaining an elevated level of fervent tension throughout the film not only through what he decides to show on screen, but also largely through the parts he chooses to leave out.

In Daniel Dayan's article The Tutor Code of Classical Cinema he reminds us of the theory of the absent one, a term given to the limited image that the audience can perceive as a result of the screen displaying only "the axis of glance of another spectator, who is ghostly or absent". This limitation leaves the viewer uncertain and “distrustful” of the image, as its context not clear. Only until the next shot is revealed is the meaning of the previous shot truly understood. In conventional cinema, we are used to seeing a reverse shot that abolishes all ambiguity concerning the owner of the previous point of view (in most cases, another human in conversation). Bonitzer describes this realization fluently in his article titled Off-Screen Space when he notes that the reverse shot “retrospectively renders the space concrete” and “confirms the reality of the scene”.

The beauty of Haneke’s direction is that he does not allow this ambiguity to be alleviated through a shot/reverse shot sequence and maintains the level of anxiety felt by the viewer. By putting constraints on what the audience can see and understand, he cleverly adds another layer of apprehension to the story. The voyeuristic videotape shot of Georges’ house, for example, is so effective in building tension because we are almost conditioned to expect that the next reverse shot will reveal the person standing outside the house, and are surprised and frustrated when Haneke refuses to reveal it.

A significant portion of the movie consists of shots that include very little camera movement. For example, in a scene where the couple has friends over for an evening meal, the entire scene is a long shot that takes place without the camera moving at all. In addition, some shots are purposely filmed at a distance, as if the camera is in hiding. Examples of this include the across-the-street shot outside Pierrot’s (Georges’ son) school as well as an extended scene shot from inside a garage while the subjects are minute objects in the distance.

Haneke is also not afraid to allow characters to leave the shot and not return, allowing the viewer to make their own assumptions about the narrative and raising yet more questions in their minds. Interestingly there are also scenes where, quite literally, nothing happens! These techniques emphasize the security camera-like feel with which the movie is shot. Over the course of the film, there is a realization that the audience is in fact watching the film as a voyeur and possibly isn’t as emotionally invested in the story, as they are lead to believe. Unlike other mainstream movies, the viewer is almost made to believe that watching the film is a sinful indulgence.

Cinema Paradiso: A Classic Hollywood Film?

We’ve all seen it before. The ruggedly handsome male protagonist beset with hardship, fighting against all odds to win over the girl of his dreams and finally reach a settled plateau of nirvana after steep and rocky hardship throughout. The stereotypical plot we all think of when we hear about the “classical Hollywood film” is a subset of a grander more general structure than can be attributed to a large percentage of movies generated out of tinsel town over the past century.

Cinema Paradiso, the Academy award winning Italian film directed by Giuseppe Tornatore possesses many elements of the classical Hollywood film. The male protagonist, Toto, is a small town Italian boy who is brought up by a single mother and goes on to achieve his dream of being a projectionist and subsequently a filmmaker amid bright lights and glamour in Rome. This basic plotline and many of the filmmaking techniques that Tornatore uses scream “Hollywood classic”. However, there are also instances in the story where Tornatore deviates from this overriding structure of classical Western filmmaking.

The most important similarity between Cinema Paradiso and the classical Hollywood film as described by David Bordwell’s piece titled Classical Hollywood Cinema: Narrational Principles and Procedures relates to the plot. As described earlier, an important facet of a stereotype film is the fact that it is run by Toto, the film’s main protagonist. Bordwell describes this character type as the “chief object of audience identification” in any movie, and this is adhered to in that we as the audience quickly develop and emotional bond with Toto as we sympathize with his family’s domestic situation, namely the fact that his father has not returned from the war. In addition, the fact that the film is set as a flashback provides us with a nostalgic feel and furthers our sympathy and appreciation of Toto’s struggles. By leading us through Toto’s daily activities such as going to school and visiting Alfredo in the theatre, we quickly identify with Toto and appreciate the film through his eyes.

We also see that causality is the films prime unifying principle. The key accelerator of the plotline is when Alfredo is blinded in the theatre fire, paving the way Toto to take over and finally, after much struggle, be able to operate the machinery in the projection room. I found very ironic that this incident foreshadows the conclusion of Toto’s contact with Alfredo. Like the way in which Alfredo pushes Toto away emotionally and physically as he asks him to leave Giancaldo for the sake of his future, earlier in the movie Alfredo also has to sacrifice greatly (by giving up his eyesight) in order to allow Toto to flourish and for his dream for Toto to be set on course.

Bordwell also informs us of certain classical film styles and techniques that are used to “enhance the process of goal formation, struggle and decision”. I found it especially interesting that weather and setting plays an important part dramatizing parts of the movie, especially the instances where it flashes between the present and Salvatore’s memories from childhood. While every shot in Rome in during nighttime and is punctuated by invasive and disturbing streaks of lightning into Salvatore’s home and psyche, the weather in Giancaldo is for the most part filled with blue skies and the sun. This seems to be a directorial technique that persuades Salvatore and the audience to go against the wishes of Alfredo that have till now been closely kept to heart and make the trip back to Giancaldo.

In addition to this, we also see that Cinema Paradiso adheres to the double causal structure that is common in classic Hollywood films. The films two main storylines include Toto’s adoption of Alfredo as a father figure and his desire to fulfill his dream of becoming a projectionist and the simultaneous quest to get Elena to fall in love with him. As specified by Bordwell, each of these plot lines has “goals and obstacles”. However, unlike the classical Hollywood flick, the film version we see (not the Director’s cut) does not allow for a definite “climax” in both cases.

Despite all the similarities to the classical Hollywood film, there are some key choices that Tornatore makes that deviate from the general structure. Firstly, the story (especially the cut version) ends without “decisive victory or defeat”. Even though Alfredo’s funeral and the symbolic and concurrent ‘funeral’ held for Cinema Paradiso (many members of Giancaldo’s community somberly watch as the building is brought down) suggests a closure to the open-ended relationship that Toto had with Giancaldo and its residents, both the storylines are not decisive as we don’t see the solution to Toto’s unstable love life and never hear from Elena again. Unlike the stereotypical Hollywood classic where the hero and heroine are united for the final sequence, this cut version is atypical in that it leaves one of the storylines open-ended. Even after reading about the end of the director’s cut version, it seems that Tornatore has evaded the “pressure” of a classical Hollywood ended by revealing that Elena is married with a child. This might be a suggestion of the ultimate sacrifice that Toto had to make in order to achieve his dream and that he now has live without his true love. Tornatore perhaps makes this choice to take a swipe at film’s evasion to reality in general, where he tantalizes us with the Toto’s struggles and the prospect of a classical ending, but brings us back down to earth to remind us that reality is not like always the “classical Hollywood film”.

How does film in general affect the way I see the world?

It is interesting that we can become so easily conditioned to the restrictions of space and time. The finite quantities that surround us possess the power to restrict our imagination and affect our perception of everyday life. Film, however, allows for avenues that traverse these boundaries and stretch and distort our observations of them. In general, I feel that film’s impact on my world is the most significant when I am not in front of the screen or behind a camera.

In my opinion, film’s greatest feature is its ability to manipulate space and time. For example, the drastic elevation changes and sped up time in the opening sequence of Fight Club is a perfect example of modern film’s ability to illustrate the world in ways that cannot be easily done. Unlike painted art and the photograph, film gives us the chance to affect these natural worldly restrictions to spur the imagination.

I would say this very imagination is by far the greatest way in which movies affect me. Film provides a way for these situations, like the Fight Club scene, to be possible even if they could not have been fathomable beforehand. I find that the moments after I finish and comprehend a film are the most beautiful, and I often assess a movie based on these emotions. Envisioning scenes and the motives and stimuli behind these decisions allow the film to be appreciated far beyond the time of screening.

The opening up of new scenarios and experiences is interesting in that it also shrinks our world in terms of cultures and dynamic differences. This, in addition to stimulating our minds and thoughts is the way in which film affects the way I see the world.