Narrative/Storytelling

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As you prepare to write this discussion, take a few moments to do the following:

  • Read any required and recommended reading materials for this week, especially Chapter 3 from the text.
  • Review the grading rubric for this discussion.
  • Select a full-length film from the AFI 10: Top 10 list (Links to an external site.)Links to an external site..http://www.afi.com/10top10/
  • MoviesPlease view the video Adding Pictures and Video to Discussions and Introductions (Links to an external site.)Links to an external site. for guidance on how to integrate multimedia with your response.In at least 200 words, describe the relationship of story to plot in your chosen film. Be sure to:
    • Identify the title, writer, director, major actors, and the year.
    • Summarize the story and plot of your chosen movie.
    • Discuss whether your film is presented chronologically or non-linearly. In your discussion, address the following:
      • How did this aesthetic choice contribute to the general effect on the audience?
      • How are elements like character development or foreshadowing impacted by the choice of storytelling methods?
    • If the film had followed a different presentation style, how would the general effect on the audience have been different?

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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 f03.01_ENG225.ai 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 Narrative Elements in Film 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. Literary Elements in Film 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. Literary Elements in Film 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 Literary Elements in Film 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. Literary Elements in Film 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. Literary Elements in Film 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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