Storytelling
3
Still from Adaptation (2002). ©Columbia/courtesy Everett Collection
As a writer, you know, you should have
this little voice inside of you saying,
“Tell the truth. . . . Reveal a few secrets in here.”
—Quentin Tarantino
Films Start With Stories
Chapter 3
Learning Objectives
After reading this chapter, you should be able to do the following:
• Recognize the role that story plays in a film and appreciate the job of the writer, who brings
the story to life.
• Differentiate between story and plot.
• Identify narrative elements in film.
• Describe the literary devices used to tell stories and how symbolism can enhance content.
• Explain how storytelling elements involve and engage the audience in a film.
3.1 Films Start With Stories
When we think of making movies, we think of directors yelling, “Action!” We think of the “Clack!”
of a clapboard, followed by an actor laughing, crying, punching out the bad guy, or leaping from a
moving train. What we rarely think of, or at least don’t think of enough, is where the movie really
begins. And that is in the same place as a novel or short story: with a writer staring at a blank page
(or computer screen). Throughout history, when someone came up with a story idea, he or she
then had to decide on some way to communicate it to others. In the days of Homer, that meant
simply reciting or singing the story, and passing it along to others verbally. Later came the written
word and live theatrical performances. Today, a filmmaker can tell stories in any manner of ways
to far greater numbers of people, who may experience films as part of a group or privately. Yet if
the person who writes the story doesn’t have an interesting story to tell, the method and the size
of the audience matter little—the story will eventually die.
As we discussed in Chapter 1, film is by definition a visual medium, so we naturally gravitate first
toward the look of a movie and then toward the sound and the action. It’s why we’re in the theater,
after all. David Trottier, in his instructional manual The Screenwriter’s Bible, explains:
A movie is primarily visual. Yes, it will contain
dialogue. It may even deal with internal things.
But it is primarily a visual medium that requires
visual writing. . . . A screenplay will focus on the
visual aspects of the scene. (Trottier, 1998)
The screenplay has to come from somewhere,
and that somewhere is the mind of someone who
wants nothing more than to tell a story. After all,
without a story, Indiana Jones doesn’t recover the
Ark of the Covenant, E.T. never phones home, and
Batman never catches the Joker. Every movie, from
the biggest, loudest, most explosive blockbuster
Courtesy Everett Collection
to the most intimate independent film, begins
▲▲Scene from the movie E. T. The Extra-Terrestrial.
with a story. It can come from almost anywhere.
Melissa Mathison, the screenwriter for E.T., first estabSometimes the writer dreams it up out of thin air.
lished her reputation for appealing family pictures with
Other times he or she adapts it from a novel, a play,
her screenplay for The Black Stallion (1979).
or even a television show (as with 21 Jump Street
or The Flintstones, just to name two), or simply creates a story based on a previous hit film (a
remake, a “reboot,” a sequel, or a prequel). Hollywood loves presold properties that already have
Films Start With Stories
Chapter 3
audience name recognition, good will, and successful financial track records. For example, The
Pirates of the Caribbean franchise is based on a popular ride at Disneyland. Other movies, such
as the Resident Evil and Lara Croft Tomb Raider series, are inspired by video games. Still others
might be inspired by recent news headlines, current social issues, a famous public figure, a personal experience, or an anecdote overheard in an elevator. There is no requirement for the source
of an idea. The only requirement is that it exists and can be developed as a visual story.
The story at its simplest level is the idea about what happens, who does it, and all the reasons
behind everything. The writer then chooses key characters and events, and arranges them into
the order in which the audience will experience them. In other words, the writer turns the story,
or sequence of events, into a plot, which retells the story in a certain way. The writer then writes
it down in a screenplay format or script that the filmmakers use as a blueprint to make the movie.
Sometimes the finished product is a one-man show, directed by the same person who wrote the
screenplay. More often, the script tends to be a collaboration among several writers, producers,
the director, and even the actors, and the finished movie is heavily shaped by the cinematographer, editor, and other creative individuals.
However the film finally arrives on screen, it starts with the writer. A film always starts with a
writer’s story, and the story always starts with words on a page. In this chapter, we will look at the
different ways those stories are told, the tools their authors use to tell them, and how these tools
shape how the audience reacts to a film.
In film, screenwriters are integral to the telling of the story. The chances of success for a film are
far greater when it starts with a good story. Good or bad, however, you can’t start a movie without one. As Charlie Kaufman, who has written scripts for films such as Eternal Sunshine of the
Spotless Mind (for which he won an Academy Award for Best Screenplay), Being John Malkovich,
and Adaptation, puts it:
The only person who’s the complete inventor of the movie is the writer. The director’s interpreting material. Actors are interpreting material. Everybody’s interpreting the script. And
I’m not saying that the writer is more important than the director or other people, but
I’m saying the writer needs to be given his
or her due in the process. (Sciretta, 2008a,
para. 15)
That’s easier said than done. Film can be considered more of a director’s medium, whereas
television is thought of as being driven by
writers, who typically have a producer’s
credit. (Television shows have directors, too,
of course, but they are generally not as well
known, nor do they wield as much power.)
Writing scripts is not an exact science. There
are many movies, such as Slumdog Millionaire,
that are almost entirely dependent upon
storytelling if they are to be successful. The
director of Slumdog Millionaire, Danny Boyle,
was doubtful, trusting only in the track record
of the screenwriter:
©Fox Searchlight/courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲Scene from the movie Slumdog Millionaire, which is
set in India. Adaptation is a special case of screenwriting.
Translating from television to film and from the United
States to India demands cross-cultural sensitivity and a clear
understanding of differences in narrative expectations.
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
They sent the scripts, . . . they said it’s about Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, and I said, “Why
would I want to make a film about that?” But I saw his name was on it, Simon Beaufoy, who
wrote The Full Monty. . . . And seriously, by page 20, I was in. I just knew. (Sciretta, 2008b,
para. 9)
In part because of Danny Boyle’s trusting in the writer’s story, the movie was nominated for
10 Academy Awards and won eight, including Best Adapted Screenplay. An eclectic filmmaker,
moving easily from drug-fueled drama (Trainspotting) to horror (28 Days Later, arguably the film
that reignited the zombie craze) to orchestrating the 2012 Summer Olympics opening ceremonies, Boyle obviously knows what it is he looks for in a potential film. Each director’s process is his
or her own, but Boyle clearly was comfortable with what he found in the Slumdog script.
As we noted, the telling of the story is usually a collaborative effort between the screenwriter and
numerous other members of the creative team—all of which we will cover in later chapters. And
many decisions on how a story is seen on the screen are made for business reasons rather than
artistic or creative reasons. But for now we will focus on the screenwriter’s words on the page as
we discuss the telling of the story. To more fully understand the creative process, it is first necessary to learn more about the tools one uses to tell a story.
3.2 Narrative Elements in Film
A film is not a book, and vice versa. They are distinct
art forms, each with its own language. As with any
medium in which writing is used, they share certain
elements. These elements are used in different ways, of
course, but their function is the same: to tell a story in
the most compelling way possible.
It is instructive to look at those elements, the tools
that the filmmaker uses, so that we can better understand the effect that he or she is after. Sometimes
these are found in the script, the creation of the
screenwriter as he or she is coming up with the story.
Other times, the director uses cinematic techniques
to achieve the desired effect, what might be called
“cinematic language” rather than written or spoken
language. Often it is a combination of such artists
working together to create a powerful image, a moving scene, or a lasting impression that enriches audience enjoyment.
Courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲ The first act of The Misfits, written by the playwright Arthur Miller, establishes Reno, Nevada,
as the site of an “end-of-an-era” western—and a
clash of values as Marilyn Monroe (left) embodies
sentiment and Clark Gable (right) personifies the
cowboy’s code. Such classic films more often than
not employ a classic structure. Who is the hero?
What is the challenge?
The following list is not meant to be exhaustive—some
of the best filmmakers don’t just play with existing
forms; they create their own, breaking whatever molds
exist. But the terms listed are prevalent enough in
films that they serve as good examples of the devices
that writers and directors have at their disposal to tell
an engaging story.
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
Narrative Structure
Put most simply, a narrative is a story. But in practical terms, that definition is far too limited to
encompass the wide variety of styles that are used to tell stories in film. Any screenwriter must
consider all the material from his or her story (characters, events, settings, etc.) and select the
most significant elements. Then the writer organizes them into a plot, structuring the narrative in a way that will engage the audience without confusing them, and without becoming too
predictable. Almost every other literary element is contained within the narrative structure; it is
the basic building block of any story. “Classic Hollywood narrative,” as it has come to be called,
arranges the plot into a standard, easy-to-follow pattern. Films that depart from that pattern can
be more challenging and sometimes extremely difficult to follow for audiences accustomed to
the traditional Hollywood formulas that have influenced filmmakers around the world for the
past century. Audiences like enough plot twists and variations so that stories do not become too
predictable, but they may become confused and annoyed if stories are too unpredictable or presented in a manner that is too unfamiliar.
Acts
Of the films you’ve seen most recently, recall the sorts of things that happen at the very beginning and at the very end and how those things differ from what happens throughout the middle
section. Virtually any movie can be broken down into a recognizable structure of three to five
acts (see Figure 3.1). The basic three-act structure taught in many screenwriting classes can be
described simply as beginning–middle–end. Of course, it’s a bit more complex than that. The
beginning is the “set-up” of the story, often about the first quarter to third of the movie. For
instance, in The Sound of Music, during the first act we meet Maria (Julie Andrews) in the convent,
Figure 3.1: Basic dramatic plot structure (three-act and five-act)
Exposition typically continues throughout the plot, with small crises and subclimaxes providing additional development as action continues to rise to the main climax, followed by
resolution and possibly one or more subclimaxes.
BEGINNING
MIDDLE
SETUP
CONFRONTATION
END
CLIMAX
PAYOFF
RESOLUTION
CRISIS
DEVELOPMENT
EXPOSITION
Five-act structure
Three-act structure
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Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
where it is established that she does not fit in. The middle depicts the “confrontation” or conflict
between the characters, typically half or more of the movie. In The Sound of Music, Maria marries Captain Von Trapp (Christopher Plummer), takes charge of the children, and proves to be a
nurturing and inspiring wife and mother. The ending is the “payoff” that resolves the conflict and
problems set up at the beginning, usually within the final quarter or less of the movie. Again in
The Sound of Music, the Von Trapp family is able to escape Nazi soldiers, thanks to Maria’s love
and teaching of music to the family. A classic five-act structure may be more formally organized
into fairly equally divided sections of exposition–development–crisis–climax–resolution, with
varying periods of rising and falling action, tension, and release. The resolution, or end section
after the climax, is sometimes referred to as the denouement (pronounced “dey-noo-mahn”).
This structure was especially common in the early years of feature-length films, which patterned
their dramatic construction after the popular stage plays of the time. Other scripts may rearrange
these same elements into a different order or jump back and forth among them, more like a novel
might do, but even scripts designed with a three-act structure still contain all the elements of the
five-act structure.
Plot and Story
The story extends far beyond what we see in the plot, and many factors in the characters’ lives
are merely implied or barely referred to in the plot. The plot consists of carefully chosen elements
from the story that the writer feels the viewer needs to know and has arranged into a consciously
designed order, leaving out some things and possibly repeating other things more than once. If
story is what happens in a movie, the plot is how it happens. Think of the story as a city and plot
as the streets that lead you from one point to another; in fact, the process of putting together a
script is sometimes called “plotting” the story. But an engagingly plotted narrative is not merely
a string of random events. The events must have some sort of cause-and-effect relationship that
the viewer can recognize or may be challenged to figure out. We’ll discuss the narrative elements
of “character” and “theme” shortly, but it’s useful to know that some stories are more about the
action and the plotting itself, while others emphasize characters or thematic ideas. The most
effective have a pleasing balance of emphasis. Many plots begin with some sort of call to action
that inspires a character (usually the hero) to take action and by the end of the film come to some
sort of self-realization that reinforces the ideas the writer and director want audience members
to come away with. Frequently, stories incorporate archetypes that explore themes about human
nature or culture that have been treated in similar ways for decades, centuries, or even millennia.
Typically, when we describe what happens in a movie, we are recounting the plot, not the story.
If we describe the story in Avatar, for instance, we may say that it is about a man who learns that
the ways of the native people on a foreign planet are superior to those of humans, and he comes
to adopt them. If we describe the plot, however, we offer much more detail: Avatar is about a man,
a former soldier, who has been crippled in battle. He becomes part of a scientific experiment in
which he travels to a foreign planet and, by means of technology, is able to put his consciousness
into the body of a creature that is part human and part alien. He is meant to get to know the
native people, called the Na’vi, and befriend them, so that the humans can mine a rare mineral to
sustain life on Earth. However, once he learns the ways of the Na’vi, he falls in love and decides
that their peaceful ways are in fact superior to his own. He leads the Na’vi in a resistance fight
against the humans in an effort to prevent humans from driving them out of their homes. At the
end of the story, through a process with religious overtones, he becomes one of the Na’vi.
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
Point of View
The plot may be presented from different perspectives, known as the film’s point of view. One
type is considered a restricted point of view, which is letting the audience see only what one character or group of characters experiences and learn things as the characters do. Classic detective
films such as Out of the Past or Lady in the Lake give the audience the viewpoint of the detective.
Films such as Deliverance or The Birds follow a small group of characters so that one or more
of that group is always in each scene. The plot may also use an omniscient (all-knowing) point
of view that jumps back and forth among
various actions, letting the audience know
more than the characters throughout the
film, such as in the Pirates of the Caribbean
films. Often a plot uses a mixed point of
view, sometimes revealing story information only when a character learns it, and
other times giving the audience information before a character learns it. North by
Northwest is an excellent example of this.
Sometimes a plot has a voice-over narrator
who explains something or gives a character’s personal opinions to the audience.
Sometimes a narrator, especially if it’s a
character in the story, may be giving the
Courtesy Everett Collection
audience false information about the story, ▲▲Sunset Boulevard is told in flashback from the point of view
leading to a later surprise plot twist (as in of the dead narrator. This is a perfect device for this film-noir
classic.
Fight Club).
Time: Story Time vs. Plot Time
Of all the ways of telling a story, manipulation of time may be the most popular way to shake
things up. In films such as Citizen Kane, regarded by many as the greatest film ever made, filmmakers pay no heed to the order in which events would occur in real time (see Figure 3.2 for the
distinction between story time vs. plot time). The plot of Kane begins at the end of the story,
essentially; Charles Foster Kane, the subject of the film, dies, uttering the single word “Rosebud.”
But what does that mean? We will spend the next couple of hours finding out, as friends and
acquaintances of Kane recall his life to a reporter. Orson Welles, the director, co-writer, and star,
flits back and forth from the present to the past with little regard to the order in which events
occurred. Instead, he trusts in both himself and his audience, believing they will piece events
together through the course of the film. (We viewers do find out what Rosebud is in the final
frames of the film, but the characters in the story do not, and its true meaning is left to the audience’s interpretation.)
Chronological Order
Most movies follow a standard chronological order, which means that events in the movie’s
plot follow the same order (although not necessarily the same duration) in which they would
occur in the story, the order of real time. All the President’s Men is an example of this: The story
begins with reporter Bob Woodward (Robert Redford) of The Washington Post covering a hearing
for what seems to be a routine break-in at the Watergate hotel. Director Alan J. Pakula follows
the story in roughly the timeline in which it happened: Woodward teams with Carl Bernstein
(Dustin Hoffman), and together, under the stern guidance of editor Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards)
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
Figure 3.2: Understanding story time and plot time
While plot time may span years, and story time decades or centuries, all of these elements
must be conveyed within the span of the film time, which is often only one to three
hours long.
Story Time
(often years, decades,
generations, centuries;
including everything that
ever happened to all of
the characters, even if
not dramatized on screen)
Plot Time
(parts dramatized
on screen: usually
days, weeks, year)
Film Time*
(1–3 hours)
*Film time extends beyond the story and plot with credit titles, and film content usually includes other elements not
part of the story world, such as background mood music, superimposed titles, voiceover narrators who are not
characters in the story, metaphors, cutaways, etc.
and with the help of the mysterious source
known only as Deep Throat (Hal Holbrook), they
f03.02_ENG225.ai
uncover a conspiracy tied to the White House, eventually leading to the resignation of President
Richard Nixon.
Even though the narrative may be straightforward when it is in chronological order, that doesn’t
mean the film is in any way uninteresting. On the contrary, Pakula takes what can be boring, routine work—boiled down to its essence, this is basically the story of two young reporters interviewing people and writing stories about what
they find—and turns it into a suspenseful,
even thrilling tale of intrigue. The storytelling may be conventional, but the film is not
constrained by the use of narrative form.
Pakula heightens the drama by stressing
confrontation between the reporters and
their sources, as well as their editors, while
constantly reminding the audience of the
stakes: The president of the United States
may be involved in a massive cover-up.
©Sony Pictures Classics/Courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲Waltz With Bashir is an animated feature that tells the story
of an Israeli soldier lost in dreams and memories of the 1982
war in Lebanon. While history unfolds linearly, in this film our
understanding of the past is shown to be a much more complicated temporal experience.
Non-Linear Order
Perhaps the best-known modern use of
an unconventional narrative is found in
Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction, which
unfolds in non-linear order. That is, it
does not move from one event to the next in
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
chronological order, like All the President’s Men in the previous example; instead, it moves from
the present to the future to the past, and so on. The film contains three separate but occasionally
interrelated stories (with other, shorter segments between), and it jumps back and forth in time.
Hit man Vincent Vega (John Travolta), for instance, appears in the first part of the film, is killed
in the second, and is alive again in the third.
The time-shifting device was considered both radical and upsetting at the time of Pulp Fiction’s
release in 1994, and the reappearance of the Vega character was jarring to audiences at first. They
asked themselves how a dead man could show up on screen again. However, the headlong manner in which Tarantino launches into each segment, and the pure excitement of his storytelling,
proved so compelling that most viewers were willing to simply go where the story took them,
enjoying the ride and being willing to sort out the chronological details later (the story ultimately
makes the timeline unimportant). Originally, producers feared that the unconventional structure
would scare off audiences or that it would make the movie too hard to follow, but the film became
a huge hit.
Other films use less traditional narrative
forms. A film such as Memento (2000), for
instance, flouts conventional narrative flow.
The story, about a man (Guy Pearce) who
cannot form new memories after a blow
to the head and is trying to find out who
killed his wife, unfolds in black-and-white
sequences that represent chronological
order, and color sequences that unfold in
reverse chronological order. The main plot
(in color) begins with the murder, and soon
jumps to a scene that happened shortly
before and goes to a point with a very brief
overlap of what we’ve already seen, to estab©Sony Pictures Classics/Courtesy Everett Collection
lish the backwards pattern. The main char▲▲Synecdoche, New York is a labyrinthine film—stories within
acter soon starts to relate another story he
stories. The title is a clue to the complexity. In one sense it is a
remembers, bit by bit, and his story within pun on Schenectady, the setting of the film. The word “synecthe story plays out in chronological order doche” (si´nekdә kē) means a part that stands for the whole.
in black and white. Eventually the timelines
meet. Director Christopher Nolan expertly manipulates the two stories, resulting in a film that
challenges audience members but also rewards them for their effort. Nolan employed an even
more disjointed nonlinear narrative in his first feature, Following (1998), withholding key information from the audience until various moments to keep them unclear about motivations, with
a final payoff and bigger revelation at the very end. Nolan’s “Batman” films likewise present story
information out of order in the plot, but in a more conventional flashback form.
The French “new wave” film Last Year at Marienbad (1961) challenges the audience to construct
the story from what they see and hear in the plot. A man describes certain events repeatedly
while we watch them play out to his voice-over narration, yet each time the scene is slightly different. Viewers must decipher what is actually happening, what has happened in the past that one
character or the other is remembering, what is happening in the future that the characters are
planning to do, and what is merely being made up by the main character as he tries to convince
a woman that they’d had an affair the previous year. The director’s concept of time is that whatever a person is thinking (whether it is past, present, or future) is always in the present, because
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
the act of thinking about it is in the present—a very unconventional and potentially confusing
approach to telling a story that tries to recreate the mental process on film for an audience.
Charlie Kaufman’s screenplays, such as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Synecdoche,
New York, similarly attempt to imitate the sometimes random or stream-of-consciousness and
highly subjective thought process rather than present a conventional (and more predictable) plot.
In Tom Tykwer’s Run Lola Run (1998), after an opening segment that establishes the premise,
we seem to see the same 20-minute plot play over and over again, three times in a row, but each
repetition has slight yet significant differences and a different ending. The film also makes use of
numerous flashbacks and flash-forwards in time, as well as displaying character thoughts that are
more or less “outside” of the plot’s time and space.
These films are just a few examples of the different ways in which the narrative format of a film’s
time can differ, and how filmmakers can use both chronological order, shifting between past and
present, and non-linear forms to tell a story. Each method of manipulating time to tell a story
shows that following a certain method is not as important as telling the story in the manner best
suited to tell it.
Setting (Place and Period)
Some stories are universal and could take
place in any culture, time period, or location. Other stories are tied closely to the
time and place in which they happen,
known as the setting. The setting can
reinforce various themes the writer and
filmmaker want to explore. Stories about
emotional isolation, for example, may be set
entirely or in part in wilderness locations,
in remote or abandoned outposts, or within
a single apartment or hotel room. Stories
of community support may be set in small
towns, and stories of social violence may
be set in large cities. Sometimes the setting
Courtesy Everett Collection
becomes a key element in the film’s conflict
▲▲Scene from the movie McCabe and Mrs. Miller. Vilmos
and symbolic meaning (both of which will
Zsigmond, the cinematographer on McCabe and Mrs. Miller,
be discussed shortly). In Cast Away (2000),
decided to expose the film to a weak light before filming
for example, much of the film is set on a
began. This created a unique palette that reinforced our sense
of being in a distinct time and place in this unromantic view of deserted island where one man must find
the frontier.
ways to survive. The deserted island draws
attention to the conflict of the man against
his environment while also presenting a symbolic contrast with his once-hectic career in the
civilized world. In Walkabout (1971), the beautiful but desolate Australian Outback is simultaneously an antagonist to three main characters struggling to survive, a metaphor for emotional
desolation, and a symbolic natural contrast to modern civilization.
Setting is an important part of any story, and it can often be the defining factor, as in films such
as Cast Away and Walkabout. Because setting is so important to a story, remakes of movies that
change the setting—the location or the era of a story—may need additional heavy modifications
to make them work logically in the different setting, even though the basic plot and character
elements are nearly identical. Think of the numerous free adaptations of Shakespeare plays, such
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Chapter 3
as Romeo and Juliet into West Side Story, Othello into O, The Taming of the Shrew into Ten Things
I Hate About You, Twelfth Night into She’s the Man, King Lear into Jean-Luc Godard’s King Lear,
or Ran, or A Thousand Acres, and the list goes on. Other films may fit quite easily into a variety of settings. Japanese director Akira Kurosawa loved American Westerns and adapted the
familiar plot of a good bad man deciding to clean up a corrupt town into a popular samurai film,
Yojimbo (1961), starring Toshiro Mifune. The film was such an international hit that Italian director Sergio Leone took the same characters and plot, and even many camera angles, for his hit
Western A Fistful of Dollars (1964) with Clint Eastwood. A generation later, Walter Hill remade
it as an American gangster film starring Bruce Willis under the title Last Man Standing (1996).
In this instance, the transfer of the same plot into multiple settings shows that strong characters,
conflict, and action are the keys to a successful story.
Conflict and Character
In almost every case, conflict is essential to the plot of any story. Or, as the writer Robert Penn
Warren famously said, “To put it bluntly: No conflict, no story” (1943). And to have conflict, there
must be one or more characters trying to overcome obstacles to achieve some goal. A protagonist is the main character, the one the audience is supposed to identify with or at least care for,
typically a story’s hero. An antagonist is a character whose actions or goals get in the way of the
protagonist’s actions, typically a story’s villain. For example, Luke Skywalker is the protagonist
in the original Star Wars trilogy, and Darth Vader is the antagonist. Complex stories, especially
in films made after World War II, may blur the differences so that the protagonist is more of
an “antihero,” much more flawed and perhaps not even likable, such as in stories of alienated,
rebellious youth, and especially in crime dramas depicting detectives who are just as ruthless
and morally questionable as the criminals they’re tracking down. On the other hand, a villain/
antagonist may have admirable qualities and even be liked by the audience, as in the Western
3:10 to Yuma (2007 and 1957). Interestingly, in the three Star Wars “prequels,” Darth Vader as
Anakin Skywalker becomes the somewhat flawed, confused protagonist, growing increasingly
more troubled in each episode, until he develops into the antagonist.
Some characters in a story may be predictable, shallow, and flat, often called two-dimensional,
familiar types merely going through the actions of the plot. This is especially true in plots that
focus on action more than character, sometimes called plot-driven stories. Examples include the
Star Wars and Indiana Jones films, most horror films, and most big-budget action blockbusters.
Films that focus on characters as much as or more than the action are likely to have a greater
number of characters who can be called rounded or three-dimensional, with possibly conflicting character traits that make their actions unpredictable at any given time. Realistic characters
may have a certain degree of predictability, yet have a depth to their personalities that might
make them react to conflict in different ways at different times. And their reactions may change
throughout the plot based on their experiences, showing a growth in their character. This uncertainty makes them interesting to a viewer, partly because unexpected reactions by characters
can change the direction of a plot from what at first might have seemed predictable. Strong
characters can drive the story’s conflict and action, rather than serve as pawns whose moves are
preordained by the plot. 3:10 to Yuma, Moonrise Kingdom, Boy, and The Kid With a Bike are a few
films whose characters are critical to the direction taken by the action, rather than the other way
around. Some films may actually be centered on the characters to such a degree that there is very
little physical, external action. The action may be mostly psychological, in the minds of the characters, dealing with their internal struggles, personal issues, and emotional growth. Examples
include Quartet (2012), The Way, Tokyo Sonata, Napoleon Dynamite, Girl With a Pearl Earring,
Metropolitan, and Persona.
Narrative Elements in Film
Chapter 3
External Conflict
Virtually every film has a protagonist who is at odds with some sort of antagonist, human or
otherwise. Indeed, not many people would be interested in seeing a film in which the characters
never had to overcome some sort of difficulty or conflict. In films, there are different types of
conflict that storytellers use in different ways. An external conflict is the most obvious form: Two
sides are in conflict, whether it be the English and the French in Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation
of William Shakespeare’s Henry V, the United States vs. the Germans in Saving Private Ryan,
the Sharks vs. the Jets in West Side Story, or the Greeks vs. the Trojans in Troy. In other films, it
may be a single protagonist against a single antagonist, whether a police officer vs. a criminal,
a young man or woman vs. a serial killer, two rivals in a sport, rivals in love, or countless other
combinations. Sometimes nature can be the antagonist, as in films like 127 Hours, Into the Wild,
The Perfect Storm, Twister, and The White Hell of Piz Palu, in which the protagonist must struggle
to survive a perilous situation in the wilderness or extreme weather conditions. The conflict can
also be personal, as with Mr. Fox and the farmers in Fantastic Mr. Fox or the virtuous Eli (Denzel
Washington) vs. the evil Carnegie (Gary Oldman) in The Book of Eli.
Internal Conflict
There is also internal conflict, in which a character must choose how to act. In Casablanca, Rick
(Humphrey Bogart) decides he must let Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), the true love of his life, escape
Casablanca even though he knows that he will never see her again. Despite this, he makes her
leave, famously telling her that if she does not, she will regret it, “maybe not today, maybe not
tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life” (Warren et al., 1942). In Troy, besides the obvious
external conflict, various characters struggle with their own senses of personal honor vs. duty,
and loyalty to family, friends, or lovers vs. national loyalty. Internal conflicts can become major
themes of a film.
While many films may employ both external and internal conflicts, some can shift the focus from
one type of conflict to the other, changing viewer expectations and making the outcome less predictable. Götz Spielmann’s Revanche (2008) opens with some enigmatic scenes in a rural setting
and quickly moves to a plot about Alex, an Austrian ex-con, and Tamara, his Ukrainian prostitute
girlfriend, struggling against the oppressive
lives they lead in the sordid urban underworld of Vienna and the mobster who runs
the brothel where they both work. Alex
plans to rob a small bank of just enough
money to clear their sizable debts and start
a new life in Spain. Meanwhile, a parallel
plot thread follows an honest cop struggling to balance pressures from his home
life and job. So far it sounds like the makings of a standard crime thriller. However,
shortly before the film’s halfway mark,
there is an abrupt shift in tone, style, and
type of conflict. During the bank robbery,
things unexpectedly go terribly wrong, and
©Sony Pictures/courtesy Everett Collection
Alex decides to hide out on the remote farm
▲▲Scene from the 1996 version of Hamlet. Who is more
where his grandfather lives alone. The nearconflicted than Hamlet? “To be or not to be . . . .” Kenneth
est neighbor, Susanne, who often checks in
Branagh, pictured here with Kate Winslet in the role of
on the grandfather, just happens to be the
Ophelia, brings a contemporary sensibility to his portrayal of
the prince.
wife of Robert, the policeman who was on
Literary Elements in Film
Chapter 3
the scene at the bank holdup and who has become traumatized by his experience. The remainder
of the film is a gripping double character study of the inner torments of both Alex and Robert,
and Susanne’s relationship with both, quietly building to a climax that will result in some sense
of closure for all of them, either revenge or redemption or an odd combination of both. The film’s
symbolic shift in settings from urban to rural parallels its shift from external to internal conflict
and helps intensify its powerful universal themes of love, loss, guilt, fate, personal responsibility,
and human decency.
3.3 Literary Elements in Film
Film as a medium may be noted for how it uses image and sound (which we’ll examine in greater
detail later), but it is still a form of literature. As such, it often uses many of the same expressive
elements that can be found in traditional written literature, even if they are conveyed visually or
aurally rather than through words (which films are also fully capable of using). Like a book or a
poem, the narrative’s actions and characters may have deeper levels of meaning, and we may use
some of the same tools used for literary analysis to analyze films.
Themes and Symbolism
A theme is an idea, subject, or topic of some kind that pervades the plot. It is not so much
what “happens,” but rather what the movie is “about,” part of the meaning you are expected
to take away from the work. Films may have more than one theme. When watching, discussing, or writing about films, people often want to tell others what the film means to them. Some
people will recognize certain themes easily, but disregard or not even notice themes
that other viewers may concentrate on. A
symbol is simply something that stands for
something else; using symbols is known as
symbolism. But, as with most definitions,
it has many more meanings when put into
practice. Symbolism helps a writer or filmmaker express various themes. In films, that
usually means the use of a visual symbol;
something that we see on screen may have
a literal meaning—a white picket fence is
indeed a wooden fence painted white—but
may have a more symbolic meaning as well.
In the case of the fence, it might suggest the
Courtesy Everett Collection
traditional American home, the haven of
▲
▲
Scene
from
the
movie
Jaws.
When
is
a
shark
not just a
the nuclear family, and thus safety, security,
shark?
When
it
represents
all
of
our
fears
about
the many
and stability. On the other hand, it could
different
kinds
of
danger
that
lie
just
beneath
the
surface of
imply that certain characters are “fenced
our lives.
in” and have limited freedoms. Interpreting
symbolic content depends heavily upon
context. Characters, settings, props, words, and sounds can all be used symbolically. Even colors,
lighting, and camera angles can be used symbolically. When a significant element with symbolic
content is repeated throughout a film (or from film to film), it is referred to as a motif. See Table
3.1 for some common types of symbolism used in film.
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Chapter 3
Table 3.1 Examples of symbolic elements used in film
Black hats or dark clothing, dark lighting,
inclement weather
Bad characters, dangerous or sad situations
White hats or light clothing, bright lighting,
sunny weather
Good characters, happy situations
Water
Purity, rebirth, spiritual cleansing
Nature and rural settings, small towns
Idyllic, peaceful life, innocence
Hectic cities, nightclubs, urban crime
Secular and sinful human nature
Guns, cigars, tall or long structures/props
Male sexuality, masculinity
Clocks
Time deadlines, brevity of human life
Pastel or monochrome costumes
Bland, conservative characters
Brightly colored or multicolored costumes
Vibrant or flamboyant characters
Black-and-White Symbolism
A simplistic example of black-and-white symbolism can be found in stereotyped old Hollywood
westerns, in which a white 10-gallon hat on a cowboy often symbolizes that he is the good guy, as
in the case of the Lone Ranger. A black hat means the opposite; the man wearing it is a bad guy.
For a more contemporary example, look to the Star Wars films. It is no accident that Darth Vader,
the epitome of evil, is dressed completely in black. Nor is it on a whim that Luke Skywalker, who
will become a hero, dresses in white. Black and white as symbols of good and evil are here, as in
westerns, used as shortcuts, allowing the filmmaker to immediately establish the motives of the
characters on first glance.
Why, then, does a heroic figure such as Batman dress all in black, as well? Is Batman not, in
the simplest terms, a good guy? Yes—in the simplest terms—he is. But Batman, especially as
imagined by Christopher Nolan (the director of Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, and The Dark
Knight Rises) is a much more complex figure than the traditional comic-book hero. Bruce Wayne,
Batman’s secret identity, is a millionaire tortured by tragedy—he saw his parents killed—and
doubt. He is wracked by guilt, over both his parents’ death and what he decides to do about it:
avenge it. In these films (as in some of the comic-book versions), Batman is torn between the good
he is trying to do and the paradox of achieving good by doing evil. He is catching and punishing
bad guys, after all, but he goes about it as a lone vigilante working outside the law. He is, in many
ways, as crazy as the criminals he’s going after (the Joker, Two-Face, and the like). The pitch-black
color of his costume, his masked face, and his menacing look are symbolic of that inner torment
and internal conflict. His look alone, thanks to the symbolism involved, is enough to set Batman
apart as a more intriguing character than we would at first suspect.
Sexual Symbolism
Of course, symbolism goes beyond simple good and bad. Sexual symbolism is frequently prevalent in films, particularly older ones, in which sexuality could not be expressed in explicit ways.
In one of the most famous examples, at the end of Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest, as
Eve (Eva Marie Saint) joins her new husband, Roger (Cary Grant), in his bed on the train they
are taking, Hitchcock immediately cuts to a shot of the train going through a tunnel—an overt
allusion to sexual intercourse. While perhaps too obvious, particularly to sophisticated viewers
accustomed to recognizing symbolic content, it’s also funny, and a clever way to suggest sex at a
time when it couldn’t be shown on screen.
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Chapter 3
Modern films, with the permissiveness granted by R-rated and unrated editions, are more likely
to include frank discussions and/or depictions of sexual activity than suggest it symbolically.
Nevertheless, movies with more artistic sensibilities and those looking for more family-friendly
ratings often imply sex in various ways, rather than show it explicitly. In the PG-rated No
Reservations (2007), for example, Aaron Eckhart’s character comes home with Catherine ZetaJones’s character after a date, and we cut to the next morning with him having breakfast in
her apartment. In Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003), an emotional relationship between the artist
Vermeer and his maid, impossible for either to take to a physical level due to their strict morals,
is consummated symbolically when, with an almost ritualistic tenderness, he pierces her ear so
that she may pose for a painting wearing a specific earring.
Religious, or Faith-Based, Symbolism
The Star Wars films use a great many
forms of symbolism; among them is religious symbolism. The virtuous, or “good”
characters, are guided by The Force, which
cannot be seen or measured in any quantifiable way. When Luke Skywalker turns off
his guidance system while piloting his ship
through the nooks and crannies of a planet
in the first film, he is placing his trust in
The Force, and it is just as clearly present
in him. This is a symbolic act of faith that
echoes the faith shown in seemingly rash
acts such as the biblical Abraham agreeing
to sacrifice his son Isaac. As in the biblical
tale, things work out for the best in the end.
Other science-fiction films, such as The Day
Mary Evans/Ronald Grant/Everett Collection
the Earth Stood Still (1951 and 2008) and
The Matrix (1999), include messianic/sav- ▲▲Some symbols are freighted with meaning. When Leni
ior characters who come to Earth to teach Riefenstahl made Triumph of the Will in 1935, the swastika
people the truth. These characters are per- was the symbol of the triumphant rule of the Nazi party in
secuted and die, then rise to new life, which Germany. The meaning of symbols changes over time.
can be seen as a symbol for the Christian
Jesus. Religious symbolism serves to illustrate matters of faith more easily than explicit imagery,
which can serve to alienate or even offend those who don’t practice the faith that is depicted. By
using symbolism, the writer or director can get at the message indirectly, and just as powerfully
(sometimes more so).
Symbolism may be very subtle, or it may be so obvious that it loses the power a filmmaker is
hoping for. Different viewers may have nearly opposite reactions to the effectiveness of various
symbols, depending upon their own personal attitudes, while other viewers may miss those very
same symbols entirely, because they’re concentrating more on the action of the plot.
So, Why Use Symbolism?
In some cases, as with the previous example from North by Northwest, symbolism is used to suggest what the filmmaker cannot explicitly show. It’s also a quick and easy way for filmmakers to
tell us something about a character, whether he or she is good or bad, or his or her state of mind.
For example, scenes where characters are happy are often brightly lit and in open spaces, whereas
scenes where characters are sad are often dimly lit in more closed spaces, or may be set during a
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Chapter 3
rainstorm that provides symbolic natural tears. This is even done in animated cartoons such as
Despicable Me. But symbolism also serves a more important purpose than simply a wink and nod
from director to audience, showing what he or she can get away with. Symbols have long been
deeply powerful elements of storytelling.
However, it is also possible to overthink symbolism in film (and in other forms of art), to look
for deeper meaning when, in reality, there may be none there. Attaching sexual symbolism to
various props or finding significant symbolic meanings in elements that were not intended as
symbols by the filmmakers might say more about the critic than about the film. There is the
famous quote popularly attributed to Sigmund Freud (though there is no credible documentation that he uttered the exact words), the psychoanalyst who knew a thing or two about symbolism: “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” In other words, sometimes the object may simply be the
object as shown, with no greater substance associated with it than what we see on the screen.
Sometimes it may not be; sometimes there may be something more. The beauty of film, as with
all art forms, is in how it inspires interpretation and analysis. In Conversations With the Great
Moviemakers of Hollywood’s Golden Age, there is the following exchange between an interviewer
and Alfred Hitchcock:
Interviewer: In Sabotage, when somebody suddenly kills Oscar Homolka, there’s a film
about a bird called Who Killed Cock Robin? being shown. In Psycho, Tony Perkins stuffs birds
and also his mother, and in The Birds, in the crosscut shot of the mother grabbing at the son
and also the girlfriend grabbing at the son, he’s surrounded by all these birds. I’m wondering
if there is a connection you make between birds and women.
Hitchcock: I don’t know. I think women are referred to as chicks, aren’t they? That’s the only
connection I can think of at the moment. (as cited in Stevens, 2006)
Hitchcock seems to be saying that you need to be careful of reading too much into any symbol.
It’s a valid point, one that merits consideration. Symbolic content might be intentional, inadvertent, or perhaps unconscious on the part of a filmmaker. But Hitchcock was no stranger to the
practice—with Jimmy Stewart’s long-lens camera sitting in his lap serving as a phallic symbol in
Rear Window, for instance, suggesting sexuality without having to show it. In the same film, the
wide rectangular windows of his neighbors that he’s constantly looking into from the safety of
his apartment serve as an obvious metaphor for the voyeurism of the audience looking into the
lives of the film’s characters through the movie screen. Symbolism, when used (and interpreted)
correctly, is one of the most effective and powerful elements that the storyteller has at his or
her disposal.
Metaphor and Allegory
A metaphor is a type of symbol, in which a comparison between two items helps the audience
understand one of the items better. As discussed earlier, Hitchcock’s train going into a tunnel in
North by Northwest is a visual metaphor for the act of sexual intercourse. In The 39 Steps (1935),
Hitchcock uses an audio metaphor when we hear a screeching train whistle while we’re seeing a
woman screaming, and in Psycho (1960) the sound of screeching violins drowns out the shrieks
of a woman being stabbed in the shower. A more extreme example of visual or audio metaphors
would be inserting shots or sounds that are not even part of the world inhabited by the characters, such as a sudden shot of a flock of sheep as we’re watching big-city laborers heading to work
in Chaplin’s Modern Times (1936). Metaphors differ from symbols in that metaphors use comparisons between two things that appear to be unrelated to illustrate a theme, whereas symbols
use one item to stand for something else, telling us the theme simply by its presence.
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Chapter 3
Allegory is a term used for an entire story or a part of a
story that is symbolic of something else. Films such as High
Noon (1951) and On the Waterfront (1954) appear to be a
classic western and a timely exposé of labor union corruption, respectively. Each may be read allegorically, however,
as somewhat disguised but highly symbolic personal statements about the struggle by courageous individuals against
the aggressive investigations by the House Un-American
Activities Committee trying to uncover communists in
the film industry during the late 1940s and early 1950s.
The fact that both films can still stand on their own as
powerful human dramas many decades later without
any knowledge of their then-current political undercurrents is a testament to the artistry and skill of their creators. Fantasy and science-fiction films are often allegorical
dramatizations of current-day sociopolitical or religious
issues, but are set in the future or a fantasy world (such as
Avatar, District 9, Robocop, Starship Troopers, The Lord of
the Rings, The Chronicles of Narnia). Many other sorts of
genre films (which we’ll discuss in their own chapter) also
serve as allegories, even though they are disguised as typical action-based formula stories. Issues of rampant crime
and violence, powerful and ruthless corporate interests,
Courtesy Everett Collection
political corruption, and inefficient legal bureaucracies are ▲▲The ever-present chop-chopping helioften portrayed literally in today’s gangster films and cop copters, as depicted by Francis Coppola in
stories, but they are just as likely to show up allegorically in Apocalypse Now, came to stand for the
westerns set in the America of 150 years ago or sci-fi films relentless futility of the Vietnam War.
set in the distant future. The 2006 film 300 is purportedly a
retelling of the ancient Greek battle against the Persians at Thermopylae, a historical war actionadventure film, but it also can be seen as an allegory of present-day conflict between the free
democracies of the United States and Europe against repressive fanatics in the Middle East, especially Iran (Persia). Horror films dealing with serial killers, vampires, werewolves, and the like are
often not merely suspense thrillers but allegories about predatory and other addictive behaviors.
Good examples include the Swedish film Let the Right One In and its American remake Let Me In.
The recent Twilight vampire-romance films have been analyzed as religious allegories. Guillermo
del Toro’s Cronos also has obvious religious allegorical implications underlying its moody horror
story depicting curiosity leading to an increasingly addictive obsession.
Irony
Irony is a frequently used—and frequently misunderstood—literary element. The standard definition applies to a device in which what is presented as reality is different from what is actually
true. In film, as in literature, a common representation of irony is achieved by setting the audience up to expect one result and delivering another. Irony is a powerful tool for writers; as with
many storytelling devices, it is enhanced on screen, as we see it played out. There are three main
types of irony; here we will discuss them and how they’re used most often in film.
Dramatic Irony
Dramatic irony exists when the audience understands what is going on in the story to a degree
that the characters do not. Dramatic irony is often used in comedies, in which a character
Literary Elements in Film
Chapter 3
cluelessly goes about his business, digging himself deeper and deeper into trouble without understanding why. In The Jerk, for instance, Steve Martin stars as a ridiculously stupid person who
does increasingly dumb—and funny—things. Some of the slapstick humor would be funny by
itself, but it is funnier because Martin’s character doesn’t know that he is stupid. He believes he
is behaving normally, while the audience knows differently, and filters his actions through that
knowledge.
Dramatic irony is also frequently used in horror films. For instance, in Halloween—John
Carpenter’s classic 1978 horror film—the audience knows that the insane killer, Michael Myers,
is on the prowl, slicing up a large portion of the teenage population. For much of the film, however, Laurie (Jamie Lee Curtis) and her friends aren’t aware of the mortal danger they are in and
behave as if they are simply victims of Halloween pranks. The discrepancy between what the kids
know and what the audience knows makes the tension all the more unbearable—and because
this is a horror film, all the more enjoyable. The use of dramatic irony is so prevalent in horror
films, in fact, that the 1996 movie Scream was built on the audience’s knowledge of the use of
such a device.
Situational Irony
Situational irony occurs when we expect one thing to happen and something else does. In
the football film North Dallas Forty, for instance, aging wide receiver Phil Elliott (Nick Nolte)
has struggled with aging and clashes with
his coach and team executives. At the end
of a big game, after replacing an injured
player, Phil catches a pass from quarterback
Seth Maxwell (Mac Davis). After kicking
the extra point, almost an afterthought,
the game will go into overtime. However,
the overtly religious back-up quarterback
mishandles the snap from center, the kick
can’t be made, and Phil’s team loses the
game. This situational irony is effective in
several ways. It is the opposite of the ending
of most sports movies that we’re used to. It
puts blame on the type of character most
often portrayed as heroic and supports the
cynicism in professional sports that the film
has established from the start.
Courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲The world of the Marx Brothers is upside down or at least
skewed. Nothing is what it seems to be. Take this exchange
from Night at the Opera:
Fiorello: Hey, wait, wait. What does this say here, this thing
here?
Driftwood: Oh, that? Oh, that’s the usual clause that’s in
every contract. That just says, uh, it says, uh, if any of the parties participating in this contract are shown not to be in their
right mind, the entire agreement is automatically nullified.
Fiorello: Well, I don’t know . . .
Driftwood: It’s all right. That’s, that’s in every contract. That’s,
that’s what they call a sanity clause.
Fiorello: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! You can’t fool me. There ain’t no
Sanity Clause!
Verbal Irony
Verbal irony occurs when a speaker says
something that is intentionally the opposite of what is usually intended. There are
numerous examples of this; think of any
film in which a character says something
like, “Oh, I couldn’t be happier,” when in
fact he or she is miserable. Or, consider
the character who, upon entering a home
or apartment that is a pigsty, says, “Lovely
place you’ve got here.” Verbal irony is typically used for comic effect, but it is also
Literary Elements in Film
Chapter 3
used in dramas and horror films. Comedies of the Marx Brothers are loaded with verbal irony
(and outrageous puns), as are numerous “pre-code” comedies and musicals. The entire genre
of the screwball comedy popular during the later 1930s was built around verbal wit and ironic
comments that both skirted and evaded the censorship restrictions of the Hollywood Production
Code. A couple of key films include Nothing Sacred and His Girl Friday. Later films, such as Juno,
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and most recent comedies, tend to rely heavily on ironic statements
by their main characters that offer cynically amusing commentary on their situations or life in
general. The film and then the TV series M*A*S*H often used verbal irony for comedy and at the
same time to drive home its dramatic points about the tragedy of war.
Additional Examples of Irony
Even though the notion for a character’s behavior originates with whoever creates the story and
is brought to life by the director, who must bring the behavior to the screen in a believable way (if
believable is what the story calls for), it falls to the actor to bring the behavior to life. When irony
is especially effective in comedies, for instance, it is almost always because the actor playing the
character is taking a ridiculous situation completely seriously.
Brendan Fraser, who has played it straight in such silly comedies as Encino Man, in which he
played a frozen caveman who is thawed out and goes to high school, and George of the Jungle, in
which he plays the title character (think of a dumber version of Tarzan who often swings facefirst into trees and you’ll get the idea), says of acting in a comedy: “you’re dead in the water if you
think you’re funny. You have to be deadly serious. . .‘I’m doing this because I know it will make
you laugh’ is just, like, cheap” (as cited in Goodykoontz, 2010a, para. 11).
Irony is often used in more serious films as well. In The Lovely Bones, for instance, the main character, Susie Salmon (Saoirse Ronan) tells us from the start of the film that she is dead, so the audience knows her fate from the beginning. Yet we see Susie before she is killed, and her parents and
friends afterwards, and they are unaware of what has happened to her. (Her killer hid her body.) It
is wrenching to watch her father (Mark Wahlberg) and mother (Rachel Weisz) at the dinner table
when Susie doesn’t come home from school, assuming that she stopped by a friend’s house or
visited the mall and is simply late. As it grows later, they become more and more alarmed, fearing
that something bad has happened to her. The audience knows that it has; the desire to somehow
inform them of this is overwhelming. In this way, by giving the audience more information than
the characters, director Peter Jackson uses irony to more fully involve us in the movie.
In E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, an alien is stranded on Earth. E.T. is found by a lonely boy (Henry
Thomas) who hides him while working to get him home, fearing that adults would misunderstand the being’s gentle nature. Indeed, the government scientists, instead of being a trusted
source of help and understanding, are ironically a source of threat and danger.
Director Stanley Kubrick also uses irony in The Shining, a horror film in which Jack Nicholson
plays a writer working as the caretaker of a snowed-in hotel closed for the winter. While the audience has seen him slowly go insane, talking to ghosts that may or may not be real, and behaving
erratically, his wife (Shelley Duvall) and son (Danny Lloyd) have not, believing that he has simply
been working hard on a book project. Thus, when his wife finds the manuscript he has been writing and sees that it consists only of “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” written over
and over for hundreds of pages, it is much scarier than it might otherwise have been. The irony
is intensified by the fact that not only has her husband not been working as she believed, but her
husband’s name, as well as that of the actor playing him, is Jack. Seeing her sudden realization
that her husband is crazy, and that she and her son are in grave danger, is horrifying—as well as
satisfying.
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Chapter 3
Satire
Closely related to irony is satire, or the use of wit and humor to point out the ridiculousness
of a situation. Satire is sometimes the reason for making a film, and might be described as
its own genre, a subject we’ll discuss in the next chapter. It is typically used in comedy, as in
Thank You for Smoking. There is a scene
in the film in which the main character,
Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart), a spokesman for the tobacco industry, has lunch
with the spokesman and spokeswoman for
the firearms and alcohol industries. Each
brags about the number of people his or
her product kills. The intent is to illustrate
how difficult their jobs are, to try to “spin,”
or manipulate, news stories to put the best
possible face on bad news and unflattering
facts. But director and screenwriter Jason
Reitman emphasizes humor in the scene (as
did Christopher Buckley, upon whose novel
the film is based).
Courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲Kubrick’s tour-de-force Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to
Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb skewered the insanity of
the Cold War policy of mutually assured destruction (MAD).
It slyly asks us to wonder, even still, if our policymakers are
all there.
Sometimes comedy and drama are mixed
to ironic and satiric effect. In director Stanley Kubrick’s masterpiece, Dr.
Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop
Worrying and Love the Bomb, the threat of
nuclear war is satirized brilliantly. Kubrick
treats a most serious matter—the threat of
nuclear annihilation—with satiric comedy.
In one memorable scene, as military men
and politicians are arguing about how to
stop nuclear war between the Soviet Union
and the United States, the American president (played by Peter Sellers, in one of his
three roles in the film), says, “Gentlemen,
you can’t fight in here! This is the War
Room.” Can you see how this scene is both
satiric and ironic?
There are times when a filmmaker may go
too far. Jean-Luc Godard’s Weekend is a bitterly ironic satire about middle-class morals, egotism, and modern civilization, depicting an allegorical traffic jam and terrorists resorting to cannibalism of their self-obsessed victims. Many
viewers find it more distasteful than amusing, with the director’s sentiments becoming more of
an annoying diatribe than a convincing sociopolitical statement.
How Storytelling Makes the Audience Care About Movies
Chapter 3
3.4 How Storytelling Makes the Audience
Care About Movies
What we discussed previously are just a few of the elements available to writers. Their purpose is
not simply to help the writer tell the story, but also to make the audience care about the story by
giving the story meaning.
Empathy, or Making the Audience Relate
A film, like the telling of any tale, is far more enjoyable if we are invested in what happens.
Sometimes that means cheering on the protagonist when he or she wins, as we do when Jimmy
Chitwood (Maris Valainis) hits the last-second shot for tiny Hickory High School to win the
Indiana state basketball championship in Hoosiers. Or sometimes it’s making the audience agonize over what they are seeing. In Conversations With the Great Moviemakers of Hollywood’s
Golden Age, Alfred Hitchcock gives a famous example of how to manipulate an audience
through storytelling:
Let’s take a very simple, childish example. Four people are sitting around a table, talking
about baseball. Five minutes of it, very dull. Suddenly a bomb goes off, blows the people to
smithereens. What does the audience have? Ten seconds of shock. Now take the same scene.
Tell the audience there is a bomb under the table and it will go off in five minutes. Well, the
emotion of the audience is very different. Now the conversation about baseball becomes very
vital because the audience is saying: “Don’t be ridiculous. Stop talking about baseball, there’s
a bomb under there.” (Gottlieb, 2003)
Note that Hitchcock not only knows how to tell a story but also pays meticulous attention to how
the audience will receive the story. He was famous for carefully plotting out each part of the story,
leaving nothing to chance. (He self-admittedly did not allow improvisation on the set.)
Shifting Allegiances Through Conflict
The purpose of conflict is to give the characters a reason to behave in a certain way, whether it
be good or bad (or both). Most typically, the conflict exists between a protagonist, or the main
character in the story, and an antagonist, or the person who opposes the antagonist. No matter
how complex the story becomes, almost all movies boil down to conflict. And in most films,
as in most stories, the audience relates more to the protagonist; this is the character in which
we are most invested. We root for him or her. For example, in director Guy Ritchie’s version of
Sherlock Holmes, Holmes (Robert Downey, Jr.), the great detective, is the protagonist. The antagonist is Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong), a killer who uses the occult to strike fear into the heart of
London. Downey portrays Holmes as a messy, wild, bare-knuckles-fighting fellow. But he is also
a genius, able to deduce meaning from the smallest clues to solve crimes; he is far smarter than
anyone in the London police force, or at Scotland Yard. We like watching him work (Ritchie often
shows us what Holmes is thinking—for instance, where he will land a blow in a fight before he
actually strikes his opponent). Strong, meanwhile, portrays Blackwood as demented, pure evil.
Naturally, we want Holmes to catch him, to stop him before his plot to kill all the members of
Parliament can succeed. There are subplots involving Holmes’s friend Dr. Watson (Jude Law) and
a former girlfriend (Rachel McAdams), but the story really boils down to Holmes vs. Blackwood
(with the occasional sidelight of Holmes vs. himself).
How Storytelling Makes the Audience Care About Movies
Chapter 3
In some films, our feelings about the protagonist may change
because of changes in his or her behavior. In Jennifer’s Body,
Needy (Amanda Seyfried) is horrified when her best friend,
Jennifer (Megan Fox), becomes possessed by a demon that
must eat living flesh to survive. She tries, unsuccessfully,
to protect her boyfriend (Johnny Simmons) from Jennifer
and is herself attacked. Later, Needy kills Jennifer, yet no
one believes her claims that Jennifer was possessed, so
Needy winds up in a psychiatric hospital for the criminally
insane. As the movie nears its end, we learn that, because
she survived the attack by Jennifer, Needy now has some of
Jennifer’s powers. She escapes the hospital, finds the people
responsible for Jennifer’s possession, and brutally murders
them. Are we still on her side? Do we identify with her? In
some respects, yes—she is getting vengeance on the people
who caused the death of her friend and for the pain and
trouble they have caused her. Yet now she is also a murderer,
with demonic powers. Do we still side with her? Or has she
crossed a line that will no longer allow us to root for her?
Anyone who watches the film must decide for him/herself,
but the movie makes it a much more complicated choice
than simply pitting good against evil.
Doane Gregory/TM and © Fox Atomic. All rights reserved/Courtesy
Everett Collection
▲▲The film Jennifer’s Body, co-starring Megan
Fox, is a chance for some audiences to vicariously enjoy the thrill of murderous revenge.
The traditional pleasures of a horror film
come through a sense of catharsis. We identify with the story and somehow we are
relieved to find ourselves alive at the end of
the film.
Universal Truths
The best and most deeply affecting stories use personal
examples to get at universal truths, or experiences we can
all relate to. We may not experience the exact same thing
the protagonist, or main character in the story, does. But we
should be able to recognize what he is going through, to feel
empathy for his situation, even if the specifics are foreign to
us, because the story contains elements that are universal,
or familiar to all of us. We need to root for him, to understand him, to be on his side. Symbolism
helps make that happen, by taking specific elements and using symbols as a shortcut to more
universal feelings. Many people have not witnessed the death of their parents, as Bruce Wayne
does in the Batman stories. And certainly few dress up in a scary costume and roam the city seeking vengeance, even while conflicted about the methods of doing so. However, most of us have
experienced some form of tragedy in our lives, and we have done things for which we are not sure
whether the ends justify the means. We recognize those universal truths in Bruce Wayne and in
Batman. And his suit helps us get to that recognition faster than we would otherwise.
Films such as Peter Pan and the biographical film about author James M. Barrie, Finding
Neverland, are on the surface an adventure-fantasy in the case of the former, and a historically
based domestic drama in the case of the latter. The family fantasy Bridge to Terabithia seems at
first to be concerned mainly with the problem of loneliness and childhood bullying. But all three
films deal more fundamentally with such universal truths as the innocence of youth and the fear
of growing up, as well as how one might deal with the inevitability of death, especially when loved
ones are unexpectedly taken at young ages.
Summary and Resources
Chapter 3
Revealing universal truths by using symbols and allegory, particularly in films, is often a more
effective way to reveal the truth than telling it in a straightforward manner. It is certainly a more
interesting way to reveal it. Some stories need to be told in a straightforward way. Others allow
for more manipulation by the writer and director. But no matter how intricate the plotting, or
how impressive the trappings used to surround the audience (all the tricks of lighting, makeup,
acting, camerawork, editing, computer-generated imagery), the root of all movies is the story.
Without it, nothing else matters. If a story works, if it engages the audiences for two hours, then
there is no wrong way to tell it. If the story doesn’t work, then the opposite is true.
Summary and Resources
Chapter Summary
People have told stories for centuries; they have used film to tell them visually for more than 100
years. When writing the scripts that filmmakers use to make the movies, screenwriters organize
stories into plots, in which characters go through various actions that illustrate certain themes
that their creator wants to express. Films may focus primarily on the plot’s action, on characterization, or on the themes themselves, or they may have a balanced presentation of all three
aspects. Plots are usually structured according to a three- or five-act format that introduces a
premise and conflict, develops it to a climax, and resolves things by the end. Narrative techniques
may withhold story information from viewers or present it out of order or from a certain point of
view. Narrative elements such as character, conflict, and setting reinforce those themes the filmmakers are most interested in, often used symbolically and recurring as motifs. Literary techniques such as allegory and irony can enhance a film’s meaning and dramatic power even further.
To be effective, filmmakers must find ways to make the audience care about the characters and
their situations, expressing universal truths with which they can identify.
Questions to Ask Yourself About Storytelling When Viewing a Film
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
What is the narrative structure of the story?
Is the plot in chronological order or a non-linear form?
Where does the story take place?
Is there a conflict? What is it? How is it resolved?
Do the characters experience an internal or external conflict? What are they conflicted
about? Who is the conflict with?
Does the film contain symbolism? What kind of symbolism? What is the symbol? What
concept or message could it stand for?
Do you see metaphor or allegory in the film? Where?
Is there irony in the film? What kind of irony (dramatic, situational, verbal)?
Is there satire in the film?
Does the film help you relate to the characters or storyline? How?
Does the film address universal truths?
Summary and Resources
Chapter 3
You Try It
1. Without searching for information online or elsewhere, or discussing it with friends, quickly
write down the basic story of three of your favorite movies. Include as much detail as possible. Did the story come back to you quickly and easily? Or was it hard to remember what
happened?
2. Do you find that your favorite movies tend to have plots focused more on action, on character, on themes, or on a combination? Why?
3. Consider a movie in which you recognized symbolism being used. Was it used effectively?
Did it enhance your enjoyment of the film, distract from it, or confuse the plot and story?
Can you think of ways that others could interpret the same symbols differently? Go to
www.movieclips.com and search “Rear Window” to watch the following brief scene:
“A Closer Look at the Salesman”
Notice how James Stewart places a large lens on a camera before spying on neighbors across
a courtyard from his apartment. How does this represent sexual symbolism? Or does it?
4. Recall the last movie you saw and try to identify the points where something happened that
shifted the plot from its set-up phase into its confrontation section, and where something
else happened that shifted it to the payoff or resolution section. How far into the movies do
these changes occur? Did your movie begin with a confrontation and then backtrack to set
up the situations?
5. Think of a movie that you did not like. What did you dislike about it? Try, in a few sentences,
to improve the story, possibly by restructuring the plot or refocusing it to bring out more
action, character, or theme. Use the elements of a good story that we have discussed, including irony, conflict, and the like.
Key Terms
allegory A metaphoric, symbolic story or passage in a story that tries to teach the audience a
lesson by association, such as a parable, fable, or fairy tale, often with physical things representing abstract ideas. In films, this often means that something in the plot stands for something
else in the real world.
antagonist A character who works against the protagonist in a story.
archetype A recognizable type of character, motif, or plot formula that expresses aspects of
human nature considered universal and timeless, and that has been used by storytellers over
many generations.
chronological order The order in which events would logically occur, from beginning to end.
conflict An essential element of any story, the disagreement or confrontation between characters or between a character and his surrounding or situation. An obstacle to a character’s goal.
denouement The resolution or end section after the climax.
dramatic irony When the audience knows something that the character in a film does not.
irony When an actual outcome is contrasted against what appears to be true.
Summary and Resources
Chapter 3
metaphor A figure of speech or a visual or audio symbol in which a comparison between two
items helps the audience understand one of the items better.
motif A significant element that is repeated periodically and can be interpreted as symbolic.
narrative A story (when used as a noun) or something related to telling a story (when used
as an adjective). A narrative film tells a story, whereas an experimental film may show abstract
images, and a documentary presents a series of facts.
non-linear order Telling the story out of chronological order, jumping back and forth between
the present, the past, and even the future.
plot How a story unfolds, as opposed to what happens. Those particular elements of the story
that the writer and director decide to use in the film, including the order in which they are
presented, how many times they are presented, and the point of view from which they are presented. Plots may concentrate on action, character, theme, or all three.
point of view The perspective of the film, which can be the literal view through one of the
characters’ eyes in a film, or the director’s/writer’s/producer’s attitude and personal point of
view about the various character types and issues that are addressed in the film.
protagonist The main character in a story.
satire The use of wit and humor to illustrate the ridiculousness of a situation.
screenwriter The person who writes the movie’s script.
script The screen story in written form, normally typed in a specific screenplay format
designed for the actors and director to work from.
setting The time and place in a story.
situational irony When the audience expects one thing to happen but another thing happens.
story A narrative; all the elements and events that characters experience, whether before, during, or after the plot that is depicted in a book or a movie.
symbolism Using an object or action to suggest something else; for instance, a snake may be
used to symbolize evil.
theme An idea, issue, or concept that a writer wants to express through a story; a message or
meaning that the audience is meant to take away from a movie. Movies may often have more
than one theme or interpretation.
universal truths Experiences that we all can relate to, even if we have not personally undergone them.
verbal irony The difference in what a character says and what he or she actually means.
Criticism and
Analysis
10
Photograph of film critics Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert. ©Disney-ABC Domestic Television. All rights reserved.
In the arts, the critic is the only independent
source of information. The rest is advertising.
—Pauline Kael
What Is a Critic?
Chapter 10
Learning Objectives
After reading this chapter, you should be able to do the following:
• Define the differences between a film review and a film analysis, and between simple personal opinions and critical analysis.
• Recognize that films have levels of meaning deeper than their obvious referential content,
and recognize how they explicitly and implicitly convey attitudes about certain topics in
their stories.
• Discuss some basic theories of film analysis and different approaches to criticism, and be
able to apply them when appropriate to interpret films.
• Explain how a film can evoke very different, even opposite responses from people who are
looking at it for different things, and understand that a successful film analysis will balance
a film’s good and bad points.
10.1 What Is a Critic?
What is a critic? There are many definitions, some of which are unflattering, including as they do
charges of jealousy, mean-spiritedness, and flat-out incompetence. Ironically enough, one of the
best definitions comes from a character in a film, and in an animated film at that. In Pixar’s film
Ratatouille (2007), Peter O’Toole provides the voice of Anton Ego, a famous food critic feared for
his discriminating palate and his withering criticism. When he samples food that has secretly
been prepared by a rat, everyone fears the worst (particularly the rat). However, Ego begins his
review with a spirited defense of the art of criticism, observations that apply just as much to film
criticism as to food criticism:
In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those
who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism,
which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the
grand scheme of things, the average piece
of junk is probably more meaningful than
our criticism designating it so. But there
are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and
defense of the new. The world is often
unkind to new talent, new creations; the
new needs friends. . . . Not everyone can
become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. (Bird &
Pinkava, 2007)
©Walt Disney Co./courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲Ratatouille’s Anton Ego looks the part of a supercilious
critic. In the film, he has a large ego and a reputation for
asserting his knowledge and expertise.
This character Ego (and the writers who
gave him his words) offers an explanation of
one of the most important—and most satisfying—roles the critic plays: as someone
who can introduce little-known but worthy
work to the public. This requires expertise
and confidence—expertise in the understanding of how films are made, as well as
What Is a Critic?
Chapter 10
confidence that their opinions are correct, or at least rational, legitimate, and worthwhile for
other people to consider. Film textbooks such as the one you’re now reading, along with simply
watching a lot of movies, can help with the former. The latter, a belief in the validity of your
opinion, can be practiced but not taught. It requires both technical expertise as well as a belief in
yourself and your skills, a belief that your opinion and your evaluation matter.
Most people think of a film critic as someone who goes to a movie, takes notes, comes home,
and writes his or her opinion of it. And there is, in fact, a lot of truth to that notion, though it’s
not quite as easy as that sounds. This definition applies largely to popular critics. With the combination of a faltering economy sapping advertising dollars and the increasing amount of information available for free online, the professional popular critic is becoming more and more an
endangered species. As with most jobs in mainstream media, the movie critic once held a lofty
outsider’s position. Most newspapers, magazines, and wire services employed at least one movie
critic (as well as a television critic, a food critic, and perhaps even a book critic). Economic realities have diminished their number, but a few critics remain in mainstream media. However, film
criticism has exploded. How can this be?
Perhaps no one has written more passionately about this development than the late Roger Ebert,
one of the nation’s best-known critics for the past 30 years, who offered this explanation on
his blog:
This is a golden age for film criticism. Never before have more
critics written more or better words for more readers about more
films. . . . Film criticism is still a profession, but it’s no longer an
occupation. You can’t make any money at it. This provides an
opportunity for those who care about movies and enjoy expressing
themselves. Anyone with access to a computer need only to use
free blogware and set up in business. Countless others write long
and often expert posts on such sites as IMDb, Amazon, Rotten
Tomatoes and in the comment threads of blogs. (Ebert, 2010)
We discussed this “new army of critics” briefly at the end of Chapter
1. Ebert also notes, however, that people writing about film must
resist a growing trend to ramble on with uninformed personal
opinions, to offer immediate reactions to what they’ve just seen,
or to cater to popular celebrity-based fads. A good critic, he says,
is a teacher who can help readers broaden their perspectives and
discover their own answers:
A newspaper film critic should encourage critical thinking, introduce new developments, consider the local scene, look beyond the
weekend fanboy specials, be a weatherman on social trends, bring
in a larger context, teach, inform, amuse, inspire, be heartened, be
outraged. (Ebert, 2008)
Photo by Michael Germana/Everett Collection
▲▲Roger Ebert was a critic who appreciated all kinds of films. For him, the
best filmmaking was not only popular entertainment, but also art.
Ebert goes on to bemoan the modern culture’s embracing of fame
and glamour with no desire to think critically or question what they are told. “It is not about
dumbing-down. It is about snuffing out.” Ebert’s comments are a powerful warning to those who
believe that popular critics are too highbrow and scholarly, as well as to scholarly academics who
consider much popular culture, not to mention criticism of it, beneath serious consideration. In
truth, popular film criticism may be neither better nor worse than scholarly analysis; they simply
What Is a Critic?
Chapter 10
exist side by side. Moreover, a number of serious academics study pop culture (including but not
limited to movies) as a means for understanding American life at a deeper level than they feel is
possible by analyzing solely serious literature and historical documents.
Popular Criticism
Movie reviews are the most familiar form of popular criticism. A simple movie review may
indeed be no more than the reviewer’s personal opinions. However, such a review typically will
hold little weight with anyone whose own opinions are no less valid. This is not to say that reviewers should avoid opinions, but rather that they should also evaluate the acting, directing, story,
and production values in ways that will be useful to readers. Many popular movies, designed
primarily to entertain wide audiences, may not lend themselves to deep analysis, but they can
still be evaluated on how well they accomplish what they set out to do. Far too many amateur
critics look at only the story content and ignore cinematic techniques, while perhaps just as many
concentrate only on technical aspects or only on star personalities and completely overlook what
the story is about.
A reviewer who is conversant with the principles of mise en scène, cinematography, and editing
that we’ve examined earlier in this book can point out far more effectively (and believably) how
well or poorly a film might be made rather than saying, “It’s fantastic, a must-see,” or “It sucks big
time.” A reviewer who can recognize narrative techniques (or lack of them) will be able to explain
why certain characters come off as strong or weak, why the plot holds together (or doesn’t), and
how the film may present various themes or
explore various issues in a satisfactory way
(or not). A good way to start thinking about
criticism would be to go back to the truth
test introduced in Chapter 1. Is a film true
to itself, and does it reveal some truth about
human nature? What is it trying to say,
how well does it say it, and was its message
really worth saying? Once a film, however,
can stand up to this test, it deserves deeper
scrutiny, carefully considered analysis, and
a more scholarly approach—analytical criticism, which we will discuss later.
©Rogue Pictures/courtesy Everett Collection
▲▲A. O. Scott’s review of the “documentary” Catfish cuts to
the heart of the “truth test”: “It seems either disingenuous
or naïve to say that what happens is ‘just true.’ . . . [Catfish]
is bluntly simple-minded even as it makes a great show of its
epistemological sophistication” (Scott, 2010). The critic asks
us to carefully consider this question: How do we distinguish
between justifiable certainty and mere opinion?
The kinds of movie reviews typically
printed in newspapers and magazines, or
presented verbally on radio or television,
are very short in comparison to a scholarly
analysis or even a moderately in-depth critique. Professional film critics are limited in
page space or air time, so they must become
expert at cramming in as much important information, observations, and evaluation into as few
words as possible. A review may average between 400 and 1,200 words (the equivalent of one to
four double-spaced, typed pages), so it must concentrate only on the elements that most impressed
the critic (for better or worse). If a reviewer wants to discuss any serious issues, there is no space
to include more than a sentence or two of plot summary, just enough to put critical comments
in a context readers (or listeners or viewers) will be able to understand. It is also worth noting
that, depending upon publishing deadlines, most published movie reviews must be written very
What Is a Critic?
Chapter 10
quickly, within a few hours to perhaps a few days after seeing the film, without the luxuries of rewatching portions of the movie or making extensive revisions to the review.
The more space a critic is allotted, the more time can be spent on deeper analysis and interpretation that will give people useful information to influence their interest in the film one way or
another. It can be a real challenge for newspaper critics to say what they’d like to say in less than
a thousand words. Magazine critics often have double or triple the space available that newspaper
or radio/TV critics have. But even though magazine reviews might be able to present more information and a more genuine analysis than a quick newspaper review, they usually contain less
depth than an analytical essay written for a critical journal or chapter in a book. Film criticism
on personal blogs, because they tend to be self-published, runs the gamut from pure personal
reaction to simple plot synopses to informed critical and technical discussion to in-depth critical analysis and interpretation. Let’s look now at how even just a little analysis can turn a simple
review into a piece of criticism that others are more likely to take seriously. “Criticism,” unlike
how some may interpret the word, does not mean “pointing out faults.” It means discussing something intelligently and being able to recognize a variety of approaches to it.
Analytical Criticism
Film scholarship is a more academic discipline of analysis than writing popular reviews.
Scholarly critics may, instead of reviewing a single film, consider it in the larger context of
other films of its type (i.e., a genre study) or of its director (i.e., an
auteurist approach, as described in the last chapter on directing
and style). They will be certain to place it within its historical and
social context as well. Effective critics are able to see through the
technology, styles, and attitudes of whatever time a film was made
to recognize human truths in the story and characters. They will
then be able to relate those human truths to what they can tell us
about both the filmmakers and their intended audiences. That is,
a critic may genuinely believe in the moment that Goodfellas, for
example, is a great film. But how does it compare to other gangster
movies? How will it hold up 20 years after its release? How will it
hold up 20 years after that? And, perhaps most importantly, what
does it say about society, both at the time it was made—the late
20th century—and about humanity on a larger scale? Does the fact
that director Martin Scorsese invites us to identify with and even
root for sadistic killers, monsters whose solution to almost every
problem involves a fist or, worse, a gun, speak to a violent culture
in which morality no longer has a firm grip on us? Or is it meant
to be enjoyed simply as a thrill ride, falling back on the “it’s only a
movie” excuse? (Hint: In the case of Scorsese’s films, the latter is
never the case.)
Courtesy Everett Collection
As you can see, these are weighty issues. What makes the evaluation even trickier is that, at least on a basic measure of competence,
films must succeed on a technical level as well. The dialogue and
acting may be flawless, but if the director shoots the film in such a
way that, for instance, meaningless shots of scenery distract from
the actors’ performances, it will be less satisfying, both in the short
term for popular critics and in the long term for scholarly critics.
▲▲Scene from the movie 8-1/2.
Federico Fellini is a filmmaker whose
elaborate fantasies seemed to overflow the screen. The greatest films
and filmmakers, like the greatest
novelists, offer rich, dense work. The
more we bring to a film, the more we
can take away.
Digging Deeper: Levels of Meaning
Chapter 10
Another film might be a tour de force showcase for brilliant cinematography and flashy editing,
but it is weakened by poor acting or rendered meaningless by an incoherent, pointless story.
The director, as we have seen, must perform a balancing act, and any slip-up will be noticed and
discussed in detail. Not only that, but different viewers (and critics) will pick up on different
aspects differently. What may be distracting, meaningless shots of scenery to one critic may be
a powerfully significant directorial comment on the characters’ relationship to their environment to another critic. What may come across as poor acting or incoherent story points to one
viewer may be regarded as satirically stylized performances and challenging but daringly fresh
plot structure to another. What is dismissed as pretentious by some may be hailed as profound
by others.
10.2 Digging Deeper: Levels of Meaning
The easiest way to explain a film to someone is to give a simple synopsis, telling all the main
things that happened in the story and maybe describing a few memorable special effects, followed by a personal “thumbs-up” or “thumbs-down.” But a synopsis, no matter how detailed, is
not a film review, and it certainly is not an analysis. It’s the equivalent of a typical fourth-grader’s
first book report—or amateur bloggers and Internet Web forum contributors who simply are
incapable of seeing past the obvious. Such people are simply unaccustomed to looking below the
surface layers of a film and often may not even recognize the difference between the story they
are following and the specific elements of that story that the film’s plot is deliberately presenting
in a certain order, for a certain length of time, and sometimes more than once, as we learned in
our chapter on storytelling.
Some films are conscious, perhaps even self-conscious personal statements by directors who
consider themselves artists, who use film as their medium and who are not expected to reach
wide audiences. Other films are designed specifically as mass-market entertainment in the hopes
of becoming blockbuster hits, made by directors who specialize in fast-paced action-adventure
and spectacular visual effects. Although one film may provide richer material for analysis than
another, both types can benefit from scratching below the surface. Only in that way can we
find a better understanding of them. Next we’ll briefly discuss David Lynch’s Blue Velvet (1986)
and Zack Snyder’s 300 (2007), looking for meaning by using four progressively deeper levels of
interpretation. Both films received widely diverging critical reactions, with Lynch’s work more
popular with most critics than with moviegoers and Snyder’s vastly more popular with moviegoers than with most critics. A large factor in the different responses to each film (or to any film) is
what it is that the viewer chooses to focus upon. This depends upon the critical approach(es) and
depth of analysis the viewer is able to apply to the film.
Referential Content
The things that happen in the plot and that we understand about the story, even if merely mentioned rather than dramatized, are part of the first and most basic level of understanding. This is
sometimes called referential content, as it refers directly to what we see and hear in the film. A
one- or two-sentence summary in a TV movie listing or video catalog is a good example of something likely to explain only the referential content. It tells what happens, something that anyone
who sees the movie will agree with, but it is unlikely to explain what a movie is about on a deeper
level, what it might be trying to tell the viewers. It takes looking below the surface to interpret
the film rather than describe it, and there are three deeper levels we can find, with meanings that
become increasingly more complex, that reach a point where not every viewer may agree with
Digging Deeper: Levels of Meaning
Chapter 10
any given interpretation. A description that
uses only referential content to explain
David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, for example,
might mention that it is a crime drama in
which a college boy and high school girl
investigate a mysterious severed ear, only
to discover drug dealers, kidnappers, and
police corruption in their own small town.
But anyone who has seen the film is likely to
realize there is much more to it than that.
Explicit Content
Below the surface, or the referential conBarry Wetcher/TM & Copyright ©20th Century Fox Film Corp.
All rights reserved./courtesy Everett Collection
tent, is some explicit content that lets the
viewer know some point the filmmakers are ▲▲Wall Street, directed by Oliver Stone, is a film that refers to
trying to make. This, as the term implies, the pre-great recession financial services industry. Its explicit
is explicitly stated in the film, whether by content took on new resonance in its sequel, Wall Street:
a superimposed title, a voice-over narrator, Money Never Sleeps, released following the recession in 2010.
or dialogue that comes directly from the Gordon Gekko is named after a cold-blooded lizard. He proclaims, “Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. G...
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