Split personalities, Criticism of the literary variety, and other assorted ramblings

Sorry for the late post. I had two papers due this week, a test, and a Spanish oral interview, and I guess the blog just got lost in the shuffle.

Last week in class we watched Blow Out, directed by Brian de Palma. In case anyone's reading this who hasn't seen the movie, here's a brief summary: John Travolta plays a sound man for a sleazy movie studio. One night while he's out recording samples for a film, he records a car crash that kills the governor and rescues a girl from the car. Travolta's character believes that his recording, when combined with a film of the crash taken by a would-be blackmailer, proves that this was no accident. As he sets out to convince the police, John Lithgow tries to kill him and the girl he rescued.

I actually started writing this blog post last Thursday when I got home after class. I didn't publish it then because as I wrote about the movie, my feelings began to change about it. Before I go any farther, I'd like to share my first reactions to the film, recorded that night. They aren't my feelings any more, but they serve to illustrate a point I want to make. here they are:
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Quite a few things bothered me about the film. For one thing, the plot seemed far too contrived for me too accept. One coincidence is fine. I can accept that Travolta just happened to be at the bridge when the accident happened. But when you ask me to accept that not only was someone recording the sound, but someone else was at the same bridge, on the same night, photographing the accident, and that those photographs were taken at a rate that allowed them to be turned into a film that perfectly syncs with the sound, that's a few too many coincidences.

But, on a note that's more closely related to this class, the technical aspects of the film felt overdone. De Palma never let's you forget that you're watching a film. There are cheesy slow-mo shots, one (admittedly technically impressive) rotating shot, split-screens, and several extremely-high angle interior shots that break not only the forth wall, but also the ceiling. All these things would not be a problem, assuming there was some clear overall artistic vision for them. The problem is, I didn't see any clear artistic vision. The film seemed like it was just showing off. "Look at me! I know all these film techniques, and I'm going to show you I know them."

We discussed in clas the idea that de Palma might be trying to convey with this film the message that American film consumers will watch any old garbage, as seen in the sleazy studio that manages to stay in business. If that's the case, this film is a great example of the phenomenon. Cheap flash and glitter aren't a replacement for a good, solid film, and, as much as I like some of de Palma's movies, this just doesn't seem like a solid film, though I'd probably enjoy it more if I were just watching for diversion.
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That's the first draft. Obviously the film left me with a bad taste in my mouth. As I started to write all this though, I began to wonder if that was the point. Maybe when we said in class that de Palma didn't respect the audience he was making the film for we were wrong. Maybe he was making the film for an audience he respected enough to expect them to get a deeper meaning out of the film. This would not neccessarily be the movie-going audience as a whole. Let me explain.

I mentioned that de Palma never lets you forget that you're watching a film. Suppose that was done in order to get the viewer thinking about the art of film. It wasn't showing off, it was setting the stage. Since the viewer doesn't get sucked into the film in the same way they might otherwise, they are in a position to reflect on the nature of film, a subject that is at the root of the movie. The movie opens with a scene from an extremely sleazy horror film, but there is no indication for the first few minutes that this is actually a film within a film. By not framing the sleazy, cheesy film, de Palma lulls the audience into thinking that this just might be the actual film. By showing the audience that something this bad might actually be accepted as a real film, he makes the audience admit that it is more than just comic relief in the plot. This is key. Later, de Palma makes use of the same long first-person PoV shot that was used in the sleazy film, further blurring the lines between good and bad film.

Now that the stage is set, we get the message. Having thought some more, I don't neccessarily agree with what we said in class- that de Palma was criticizing audiences. I believe he was instead criticizing the media. I think a prime example of this in in a line that we used as evidence in class. Travolta's character says at one point in the film "No one wants to know about conspiracy any more." one has only to think briefly about this statement to realize how ridiculous it is. This film came out only half a decade after Watergate, a conspiracy that the American public certainly didn't try to ignore, and conspiracy theories about the Kennedys remained popular,a fact that de Palma was obviously aware of, since he references both the Jack Kennedy assasination and the Chappequidick incident in the movie. Also note that later in the movie, the newscaster (the real one, not the killer impersonating one) is interested in showing evidence of the conspiracy on the air. He would only do this if he believed there was a market for such a program. So we can see that the earlier quote is not actually a statement by the film-maker, but simply an in-character moment that is proven false both within and without the world of the film.

Another moment we discussed in class that I believe can be interpreted differently is the ending, when the news program is spreading false information about the events seen in the film. In class, we decided that this was intended to show that audiences didn't care if they got the truth, as long as they heard something comforting, such as that the killer was dead. However, the public had no way of knowing that what they were hearing was not the truth. Furthermore, Travolta's character, the character the audience is supposed to identify with, repeatedly attempts to get the truth out, even risking his own life to do so. I don't think de Palma would have made the audience identification character that dedicated to the truth if he intended to indict the audience for not caring about the truth.

I hope that made just a little sense.

When all else fails, stab 'em in the eyeball.

So for our film class, we've got make a short (3-5 minutes) film in groups of five. The genre assigned to my group was drama. I was pretty dissappointed with that at first, since most of the ideas I had thought of were better suited to comedy. I think now, however, we've got an idea we can run with. We also have to include several props, namely a skull, a cheese grater, and a guitar, a mime or clown (I'm leaning toward mime), and the lines "Why is this happening to me, on today of all days?" and "It would be best not to talk about that."

So during the brainstorming session in class we came up with a lot of ideas, but, again, they were primarily comedy. There was one idea, however, that I just couldn't get out of my head. Someone, I don't remember who, suggested a story about a girl stalking a boy. When we found out during the class that we had to produce a drama, we pretty much abandoned that idea. For some reason though, my brain wouldn't let go of the idea. I kept thinking about that girl. Who was she, and why was she following this guy? Over the weekend, I figured out the answer. (I'm not going to tell you here, other than that it's a rather surreal idea. You'll find out soon enough.) I proposed my idea and plot outline to the group and they all liked it. Sarah wrote a first draft and sent it to me, and I think things are looking very promising at the moment. We've already got the mime, the props, and one of the lines situated in the script, so we're not losing any time getting going. (I lost some time once. It's always in the last place you'd think to look for it.)

As the director, it's my job to establish the overall feel of the film while we're shooting, so that my editor has a good base to build on. My hope is to create something that is a little suspenseful, a little dreamlike, and a little fun. The whole crew is great and very creative, so I have no doubt we'll be able to achieve whatever we decide to go for. There is one shot in the script however that I'm a little unsure about (and that's my fault, because it was in my outline), and that scene involves someone being hit by a car. Since we don't have access to a lot of special effects technology, and so far I haven't been able to find a willing stuntman (even after I promised to pay the hospital bill), we'll have to use some tricky cuts, POV shots, and the like in order to achieve the scene. I think it's within our abilities, but it's going to require a lot of planning, especially when compared to the rest of the film, which is pretty straightforward, cinematographically speaking. I think that one will be fun to figure out.

Regarding the title of this post, I'm not planning to have anyone stabbed in the eye in this film. I get queasy far too easily for that. I'm actually referring to "Spider", the short film we watched in class. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zdj9vMH4BfQ&feature=related) It sets the standard for shocker endings. Not my favorite short film ever, but I can't deny that it's very good.

I guess that's it for now. See you next week.

Film Techniques

In this class so far, we have discussed a wide variety of film techniques. In spite of the fact that I am totally and completely intimidated by the upcoming film project, I think there are some techniques that are within our reach for this project.

Lighting effects, I suspect, will be some of the easiest. I know a little about photography, so I have some experience working with shadows, oversaturation, etc. I particularly like the harsh feel that can be achieved with undersaturation. This is something that was used to great effect in The Godfather. That's one of my favorite movies, so I'll probably draw on it for inspiration. Other lighting techniques that I think would be within the reach of our group are lighting from below (for a creepy effect) and from behind (for a shadowed, otherworldly effect). I also like the effect created by black-and-white photography. I've used it in several still compositions, and I think I could probably use it to good effect in our film.

Sound is another important part of the film, and it's the area where I feel less confident. Unlike major film productions, we don't have the time or equipment to custom-mix every possible sound we need. Techniques that we've discussed that I do feel confident working with include sound-bridges between scenes and voice-overs.

As far as composition, transtitions, and other effects, there are several that I think are within our reach. A montage, like the dinner scene in Citizen Kane, seems like it wouldn't be that hard to accomplish, assuming we could get the sound-bridges to work, and since it compresses a large amount of information into a short period of time, it could be effective in a short film. I also like the use variations in depth of field, as seen in Sunset Boulevard. The Kuleshov effect, using a shot bookended by reaction shots to create the sense of a particular emotino, also seems like something we can pull off, and might ease some problems of framing that we might otherwise encounter.

"The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of"

For me, the above quote from The Maltese Falcon, when taken in context, illustrates exactly what film noir is all about. If you’re not familiar with The Maltese Falcon, here’s a brief summary to give you that context. [Warning: 60-year-old spoilers follow] The story follows Sam Spade (Humphrey Bogart), a private detective. Spade and his partner take a case tailing a man, and by the next morning the partner is dead. Spade looks deeper into the case, and finds that the girl who hired them (Brigid O’Shaughnessy, played by Mary Astor) is not who she says she is. She’s actually part of a gang of criminals (including Peter Lorre as Joel Cairo and Sydney Greenstreet as Kaspar Gutman), who are working to find an invaluable antique statuette of a black bird, the Maltese Falcon, which they stole and then had stolen from them. After being assaulted, suspect by the police of murdering his partner, and nearly dying, Spade manages to track down the bird. When he examines it, Spade discovers the statue is actually a worthless fake, made of lead. The real Maltese Falcon is still in the possession of its last owner. At the end of the film, after Spade brings in the police and they arrest the gang, a cop points to the Falcon and asks, “What’s that?” Spade answers “The, uh, stuff that dreams are made of.” It’s a very Romantic line when taken out of context, as I’ve often seen it, but when you look at the story that leads up to it, the line is a perfect encapsulation of the pessimism and darkness of Film Noir. Spade goes through hell to get the Falcon, and it turns out to be worthless. This is the stuff of dreams? It is if you believe that dreams themselves are usually worthless and not worth fighting for.

“Uh, Clint,” I hear you saying, “We watched Sunset Boulevard, not The Maltese Falcon. Why’d you make me read all that?” The answer, dear reader, is that these same themes are at work in Sunset Boulevard. In fact, you could say that Sunset Boulevard is all about dreams. Joe dreams of making it big in Hollywood, Norma Desmond dreams of a triumphant return to film, Max dreams of making the love of his life happy, and Betty dreams of moving up from reader to screenwriter. And of course, all their dreams come true, right?

Oh.

By the end of the film, Joe is dead, Norma Desmond is on her way to the loony bin, Max can do nothing for her, and without Joe, and Betty probably gave up hope of finishing their script. That’s four lives, the lives of all the main characters, ruined. And why were they ruined? Because Norma Desmond couldn’t let go of her dream, and instead made it realer than reality in her mind.

Reality and unreality are also explored in Sunset Boulevard. From the start, the viewer is presented with two worlds: the glamorous, ritzy, Hollywood ideal, which Joe dreams of, and the hardscrabble reality in which he lives. Excluding the initial scene of Joe’s body floating in the pool, the hardscrabble world is what we are shown for the first fifteen minutes or so, and therefore our suspension of disbelief adapts to this world, making it seem like reality to us. Because of this, the shift in tone when Joe arrives at Norma Desmond’s house strikes us as odd in a way it might not have if we were exposed to it right out of the gate. (Of course, the dead chimp helps too.)

As we stay in Norma’s world for a while, much longer than we were in Joe’s world, in fact, we become accustomed to it. That is not to say that we begin to see her as “normal”, of course, since the suspense in the film hinges on the fact that Norma is insane. However, our sense of reality within the world of the film becomes accustomed to the lonely house with the constant sense of foreboding.

This goes on for so long that when we finally return to the “real world”, Artie’s New Year’s party, there is a sense of unreality to it. This sense is aided by a certain unrealness in the staging. There are more people at the party than would reasonably be expected, and other smaller touches, like punch made from cough drops and Joe and Betty’s exaggerated dialogue add to the effect. While Norma’s mansion was shown in wide shots with long depth of field, the party has a much shallower depth of field for the most part, which might create a feeling that something is missing. (“It was the pictures that got small.”) Through all these small touches, the viewer is sucked into Norma’s mind, so that although we may not support her actions, we can at least sympathize with her.

If you’re reading this, that means that you’ve either managed to slog through the entire post, in which case I applaud your tenacity, or else you’ve cheated and skipped to the end, in which case, Shame On You. In closing, it would seem that Sunset Boulevard is a film about the pointlessness of dreams and the shifting nature of personal reality. I’ll leave you with the thought that when Betty speaks of her dreams of being an actress being shattered, she says “It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”