Historical Relevance in Documentary

In his article entitled "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction", Walter Benjamin makes the claim that "The unique existence of the work of art determined the history to which it was subject throughout the time of its existence." I agree with this statement in the context of Leni Riefenstahl's 1935 documentary "Triumph of the Will." In considering Rea Tajiri's History and Memory, however, I would claim that the converse is true - the unique history of the United States during the time of the Japanese internment camps has enabled the existence and continuing impact of Tajiri's work. I would go even further and say that Riefenstahl's work has lost a great deal of its intitial power due to the simple fact that we are no longer living in the time period in which its message was relevant. In reflecting upon the past from a modern perspective, Tajiri has created a work of art whose relevance will transcend the particular circumstance of the time in which it was produced.



When Riefenstahl presented Triumph of the Will to a Germany that was entrhalled by the Fuhrer's charms and passionate dedication to improving his country, it produced exactly the effect that Hitler, the Nazi party, and Riefenstahl herself had desired. The film is a brilliant example of propaganda in cinema, and its execution is nearly flawless in its attempts at persuasion. The film opens with a sweeping shot of the German landscape and shows Hitler's planes flying through a clear sky. The development of the filmic "story" is beautifully accomplished as well - the events of each of the first 3 days that are catalogued build up perfectly to the final day, which can be seen as the climax, in which the most memorable images are presented to the viewer. The final message of the film itself is clearly stated in Hitler's speech in which he makes the claim that all loyal Germans will be members of the National Socialist party. Riefenstahl's impeccable use of camera techniques (such as aerial shots, sweeping images of the enormous crowds that swelled to hear the Furher speak, and evocative close ups of individuals) coupled with her choice of emotionally stirring music by German composer Richard Wagner must have inspired viewers to even more fervent levels of dedication to the leader who was supposedly going to save their nation.

For modern day viewers, however, the effectiveness of the political message of Triumph of the Will has mostly vanished. The propaganda will no longer inspire viewers to believe in Hitler's message, or make them willing to adhere to his vision for the future of Germany. The course of World War II and its aftermath, as well as the course of history in the decades since, prevents viewers from finding any relation between the viewpoint he espoused and the world in which we live today. The film's power, therefore, has been relegated to the status of a historical artifact: it is now considered to be one of the greatest examples of political propaganda in cinema, but is no longer remotely powerful in its persuasiveness or particular message. It is praised for what it once was, and what it will never again be able to achieve.


History and Memory, on the other hand, speaks to a particular period in history from a detached perspective. The film presents the story of a family that was impacted by the imprisonment of Japanese Americans in internment camps during World War II - but unlike Triumph of the Will, it is told years after the fact, when the war was completed and America had had years to ponder the events and come to emotional terms with them. It remains relevant for viewers today because it is not stuck in the past. It embraces the past as the foundation for its message, but understands it for what it was and the impact that it would come to have. It is nearly impossible to approach a contemporary issue or event from a detached and forward-thinking perspective, because the ultimate impact of the events cannot be foreseen. Film that addresses events as they happen will undoubtedly become outdated and irrelevant because later viewers will never be able to fully understand or embrace the mentality that inspired them. By waiting to examine the events until there has been a significant period of time for reflection and analysis, Tajiri has created a film that will continue to have an emotional impact on viewers, regardless of the particular moment in history in which they come into contact with it.

It should be noted, however, that the lack of relevance in today's world does not diminish the grand success the Riefenstahl has enjoyed from her production of Triumph of the Will. Although it is no longer politically or socially applicable, it can still be appreciated for what it once was, and serve as a modern example and excellent inspiration to any directors who may attempt to have a similar impact on the world today.

Gay Perry: The New Hard-Boiled Detective

One of the most frequent topics that has been addressed regarding our class' screening of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang is the extent to which the film turns the classical film noir/detective story on its head, while simultaneously adhering to some of the key components of that genre.  I agree with these observations, and think that the question of genre in relation to this film deserves further exploration.

Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang cannot be considered to be, in the strictest sense, an anachronistic return to the film noir flicks of the 1940s and 50s.  It is, as Arielle states in her blog, "a comedy, a film noir, a drama, a mystery, a black comedy, a satire, and almost anything" and therefore cannot be limited by the label of one specific genre (www.ariellefilmstudies.blogspot.com).  In many ways, however, it does retain the central elements that characterized those films.  In order to analyze its noir-ish characteristics, I think it would be interesting to consider this film in comparison with John Huston's film adaptation of Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon.

The Maltese Falcon presents the viewer with the stereotypical film noir male protagonist: a hard boiled, quick witted, smooth talking, cynical detective named Sam Spade.  With his usual finesse, Humphrey Bogart presents a man who is not afraid of threats from dangerous men and refuses to be taken for a ride, even by the beautiful femme fatale character played by Mary Astor.  While he does make the classic mistake of falling for the girl who is up to no good, Spade's emotions never once make him blind to her dishonesty or prevent him from recognizing her true intentions.  At the end of the film, he is able to put aside his love for her, and turn her in to the authorities for the murder of his partner.  In Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, we are presented with Gay Perry (Val Kilmer) - a flamingly homosexual P.I. who uses gay humor and homophobia to his advantage at every turn.  In appearance, he is far from the classic figure in a trench coat and hat that Bogart cuts - but he is no less ruthless and capable.  In fact, he and Bogart both share the ability to be two steps ahead of everyone else most of the time, and neither requires more than a couple seconds to make the necessary leaps at every new piece of information that is presented to him.  Despite the fact that, as Wynn points out in his blog, "The heterosexual virility which has pervaded this character archetype in the past is literally, and figuratively, turned around in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang", the viewer is left with no doubt about Gay Perry's incredibly masculine competence.  

                                                                                                                              

It is arguable, in fact, that he is more competent than other film noir male leads who allow themselves to be distracted and negatively impacted by their relationships with women - such as Robert Mitchum in Out of the Past.  Perry is not plagued by any romantic distractions and exploits his homosexuality on more than one occasion to get him out of a tight spot.  These scenes (such as when he forces Harry Lockhart to kiss him to avoid being spotted by the cops, and when he conceals a gun in his underwear) add humor to the film and also increase the viewer's opinion of his capability to think creatively under pressure.  

In The Maltese Falcon, Sam Spade's abilities are highlighted by the early death of his partner, Archer, who is referred to as the less competent and intelligent of the two.  Spade's success is made even more notable by virtue of this comparison: both he and his partner were dealing with the same dangerous criminals, and yet there is never a moment where the viewer is truly concerned that Spade has gotten himself in over his head.  Similarly, Robert Downey Jr's character in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang makes Perry's superiority obvious at every turn - and unlike Archer, he remains on screen throughout the film, acting as a constant foil to Perry in his eager (and unsuccessful) attempts to crack the case.

It is also interesting to note the ways in which Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang adheres to the standards described by John Cawelti in his article, "The Formula of the Classical Detective Story."  Cawelti states that the example for detective stories was set by Poe's famous short stories "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "The Purloined Letter."  According to Cawelti, one of the two major types of crime on which detective literature is based is "murder, frequently with sexual or grotesque overtones."  Ironically, this may be more true for Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang than any of the other films we have viewed from the actual film noir genre.  In its satirical treatment of the detective story, the film plays up these sexual and grotesque overtones to a hilarious and often appalling degree.  The entire movie (and nearly every murder) is rife with sexuality, and the key clue to solving the case involves the presence--and absence--of lingerie on a woman's body.  Additionally, Cawelti states that "The classical detective usually has little real personal interest in the crime he is investigating."  This is certainly the case in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang - Perry remains calmly detached from the horrific situation unfolding around him, and does not show any emotional response to the countless murders that take place in a disconcertingly short amount of time.  Cawelti also notes the presence of the less competent assistant in these stories, and points out that Poe's short stories are told from the point of view of "his devoted but far less brilliant friend."  It is clear that this is the role that Harry Lockhart plays in serving as Perry's sidekick throughout the film.

In this way, it seems that Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang has stayed very close to the traditions of the detective story genre - and actually managed to give the story a refreshing, entertaining, and much needed face lift.

Film Noir: Genre or Reality?

One of the most common observations made about the "category" of films known as film noir is that it is nearly impossible to offer a solid, succinct definition of what, exactly, that term constitutes.  French film critics Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton stated that "We'd be oversimplifying things in calling film noir oneiric, strange, erotic, ambivalent, and cruel...", and yet, it seems that a list of such adjectives is one of the only ways to easily approach the question of how to define film noir.  There is no easy answer to this question, and there are even those who would question whether it is appropriate to consider film noir as a distinct genre of film.  An oversimplification may, therefore, be necessary as a starting point for investigating these films. After establishing a list of qualities to watch out for, we can turn our investigation to different examples of such films and build up from there.

Out of the Past is often described as one of the best examples of film noir, representing its various themes and embodying its very title with its investigation of the darkest sides of human nature.  The film satisfies nearly all of our preconceived notions of what film noir "should" be: we are given a protagonist whose shrouded past is revealed and gradually comes back to haunt him, as well as a dangerously cunning femme fatale who encapsulates every stereotypical quality that a good Delilah should. There are love triangles and deception, as well as no small helping of violence and crime.  The film brings out many of humanity's worst qualities and exploits them for the purpose of showing the viewer what a dark place the world can be.  The viewer is left with both an unsettling sense that the depths of man's being are filled with an enormous potential for evil, as well as the uncomfortable notion that the events of the past that we thought were left behind may return at any moment to chip away at the life we lead.

 

The use of lighting, costumes, and shadow imagery also serve to effectively reinforce the darker themes of the plot.  The entire film seems to be shrouded in the mists of secrecy and deceit, and this offers the viewer no hope that a happy ending awaits these characters.  Additionally, the use of flashback provides an ironic twist for the viewer, who knows as well as Jeff that the woman he is falling in love with is going to betray him at every possible turn. The director almost seems to taunt Jeff by dressing Kathie in white during their first encounter.  It is clear that she could not be farther from pure and innocent, and the viewer can see how Jeff has been deceived by every aspect of herself that she presents to him.  Equally, the director allows us to see early on that Jeff is going to become entangled once again in her web of manipulation and cruelty.  In his work entitled "Notes on Film Noir", Paul Schrader points out that Jeff Bailey "relates his history with such pathetic relish that it is obvious there is not hope for any future: one can only take pleasure in reliving a doomed past."  The film does not imply that the notion that the past is inescapable is a happy one - rather, it illustrates the way that it will force Jeff on a path that ultimately leads to his destruction.

Despite the fact that Out of the Past seems to embody many of the commonly accepted features of film noir, it does not leave the viewer with the ability to accurately define this category of films.  There are other examples of film noir that do not include the private detective or the duplicitous femme fatale.  Indeed, there is very little continuity in the specifics of the many different examples of film noir.  This raises the challenges of terming film noir as a genre in and of itself.  It is not defined by setting, as are Western films, or by a common procedure by which all the films are developed and play out.  Rather, it seems better defined as a way of classifying humanity and considering the world around us.  Film noir does not rely on a specific type of plot or distinct "categories" of characters or particular cinematographic techniques that appear over and over again.  It merely emphasizes the darkest aspects of common human emotions and behavior, and perverts those basic qualities in a way that leaves the viewer wondering if this depravity may lie within us all.

What Keeps Us Watching?

In his article entitled "Off-Screen Space", Pascal Bonitzer offers an explanation of the filmgoers experience of being drawn into a seemingly contradictory world of surreal reality.  He states that "we are therefore interested in 'what is not there' in the filmic image according to double register of lack: 1) 'diachronically', what is between-two-shots, 2) 'synchronically', what is out-of-frame."  In the case of Michael Haneke's film Caché, the major point at issue seems to be the second register of lack.  Indeed, the majority of the film's suspense is drawn from the viewer's inability to determine the identity of the mysterious figure who is lurking just offscreen, with his or her face perpetually hidden behind the shadow of a video camera. The impermeable offscreen space in which this person exists is what keeps the viewer engaged in Haneke's world, constantly frustrated by the lack of clarity offered by the director and the characters in the film.

When one considers several of the techniques employed in Caché to draw the viewer into the film's reality as compared with those used in other suspense films, such as Hitchcock's Suspicion, it becomes clear that there are many different manners of producing similar reactions.  For example, Hitchcock's constant use of the shot-reverse shot during dialogue heightens the tension of the scene, and leaves the viewer feeling edgy and nervous about what will follow.  When Majid and Georges are speaking in Caché, on the other hand, the viewer is situated outside of the actual scene, in an almost voyeuristic position, and is therefore in full view of both characters throughout the conversation.  Interestingly, this lack of back-and-forth, quick-shot movement does nothing to detract from the suspense of the interaction - rather, the ability to see the facial and physical responses that each man has to the other increases the viewer's tension and puzzlement over what may happen at any moment.

Additionally, it is interesting to note the way that each director uses pacing and music in radically different ways to produce an atmosphere of mystery and, often, confusion.  In a style typical of his works, Hitchcock uses music to great effect to heighten the viewer's anxiety and to create a sense of impending doom or dramatic action.  Throughout Suspicion, Hitchcock incorporates musical scores that are perfectly suited to the mood of the particular scene - and are often responsible for actually establishing the mood.  While Lina is being interviewed by the police officers regarding the death of Johnny's friend, Beaky, the music is a slow yet resonant tune that seems to move at the tempo of a nervously beating heart.  During the final scene of the film, when Lina and Johnny are driving towards her mother's home, the viewer is left on the edge of his seat with palms sweating as the music hurtles along at the same reckless pace as Johnny's driving.  Therefore, the viewer's emotional response and preparation for a dramatic occurrence at any moment is inspired, and arguably forced upon him, by the musical implication that that moment is about to arrive.  In Caché, on the other hand, the music does not give the viewer any clues as to what may happen next.  Rather, it is steady and somewhat constant, and keeps the emotion of the film at a fairly low frequency.  The film is suffused with a somber and subdued air of suppressed memory and secrets that are too well kept to be uncovered.  This lack of musical emotion manages to create the same sensations of nerve-wracking anticipation and stress because it gives the viewer no clues as to what he should be feeling or preparing himself for at any point in the film.  Indeed, this even keeled musical background makes the moment at which Majid unexpectedly slits his throat all the more heart-stopping and jarring because it comes with absolutely no warning.

The endings of both Caché and Suspicion once again take radically different approaches to producing a sense of unrest and uncertainty in the viewer regarding the future of the film's characters.  Suspicion comes to a dramatic and active end that leaves the viewer watching helplessly as Lina narrowly avoids death on the cliff, and then seals her own fate by riding back towards an uncertain future with her duplicitous and conniving husband.  As the car drives away, the viewer is left behind, wishing that there was some way to see what future awaits Lina at the end of the drive and filled with dread over what seems to have been a grave judgment error on the part of the protagonist.  The final scene of Caché leaves the viewer feeling similarly helpless and detached, but it does so by once again thrusting the viewer outside of the narrative action and leaving him to watch the character's lives from the same voyeuristic position of the man behind the video camera.  This scene frustrates with its utter refusal to offer a decisive conclusion or resolution, and the viewer is left on his own to determine the identity of the unseen cameraman.  What should amaze the viewer of both films is the fact that both directors managed to end on a note frustration and continuing mystery, while using approaches that could not have been more divergent.  It is clear, just from these two examples, that there is a vast world of opportunity available to filmmakers who are willing to experiment and utilize different techniques and strategies.  A comparison of these films with any other similarly effective thrillers would reveal even more interesting divergences and possibilities.

Spatial Reality in Sleepless in Seattle

In several of the responses to Nora Ephron's Sleepless in Seattle, people have made the observation that the movie seems to lack a complex story or plot.  I agree that this is the case - but only in the narrowest sense of those terms.  It is certainly true that the course of action that the film takes is incredibly basic and straightforward.  The film situates the viewer in a very specific moment in time, immediately following the death of Tom Hanks' wife (which we quickly realize will be the subplot that guides the narrative), and then finishes at an equally decisive point at which some of the "conflict" created by that event has been resolved.  It is not difficult to see where the movie is going, or to realize from the beginning that the two characters are going to overcome all the odds and end the film in a felicitous union.  There is not even a particularly forceful moment in which the viewer is forced to consider that an alternate ending may be impending - that the two of them may not meet and find love with one another.  Rather, everything proceeds exactly as it seems that it will, with no twists or turns.  In the strictest sense of things, therefore, there could hardly be a less complicated plot.  What is interesting to consider about this relates to the concept of offscreen space addressed in the Bonitzer article.  In this response, however, I am using the term offscreen space to mean something slightly different than the actual interaction of character and camera, and what is physically seen and unseen in the film.  I'm considering the relationship that Bonitzer discusses, between the viewer and the film, and the way that the overall "verisimilitude" of the plot affects the viewers ability to truly engage in the filmic setting.  Clearly, the actual events do not appear to follow a pattern that we view in daily life.  However, I believe that the overall humanity of the characters' various circumstances enables the viewer to suspend disbelief regarding the specific events and relate to the believability of the human experience.  The film is, if nothing else, an examination of the deeper emotions that go into human relationships, and what is going in people's minds that is not displayed on the surface.  The two main characters have both reached a type of roadblock in their lives and are trying to determine how to move forward, a fact around which a "shallow" plot is conceived, but which is indicative of something far more important going on underneath.  And the story that is concealed underneath the surface of the obvious progression of the plot is anything but shallow.  The viewer need only be a human who has had experience with relationships to understand that something far more important is going on than immediately meets the eye.

Additionally, there have been a number of comments regarding the on-screen chemistry of the two main characters, played by Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.  I found this particularly interesting to consider in contrast with their later film collaboration in You've Got Mail.  This film, which was also directed by Nora Ephron, can be viewed in some ways as remarkably similar to Sleepless in Seattle.  The course of events is not particularly difficult to determine, and the viewer is once again in the privileged position of knowing the "punchline" before the characters themselves realize it.  This can also be termed an "unrealistic" film without too much difficult - the actual likelihood of two people meeting in cyberspace and then finding that their lives outside of the internet have become intricately linked is infinitesimally small.  However, while the ability to relate to the human experience is what enables the viewer to engage in the filmic scene of Sleepless in Seattle, in You've Got Mail, the viewer cannot help but be completely charmed and convinced by the dazzling chemistry between the two actors.  Their dialogue flows so naturally, and is so convincing, that the viewer is able to once again abandon their preoccupations with "realism" and embrace the world in which these two exist.  The reason that I find this point particularly interesting is that it is clear that Ephron realized that the need for this one-on-one interaction was not essential to carry the plot of Sleepless in Seattle, and might, in fact, have negatively impacted the spatial games she was playing, and the viewers ability to analyze the two characters as humans on their own, rather than simply in terms of their relationship with one another.

Cinema Paradiso

In Giuseppe Tornatore's film, Cinema Paradiso, the Italian director examines the role that cinema plays in the lives of a young boy who grows to adulthood throughout the film, as well as the boy's relationship with an older film projectionist who becomes a type of mentor and father figure.  The film raises many interesting questions regarding the interplay of film and life, and in doing so, creates an obvious yet still intriguing additional dimension in which the viewer is watching a film within a film and seeing the impact of cinema on other fictional characters.  The irony of certain scenes in the movie is incredibly apparent - for example, when Alfredo offers Toto one of his last poetic bits of advice, and then explains that life is not like the movies, and that the real world doesn't function like the fictional world of film.  This leaves the viewer wondering what truths can be extracted from the film itself, considering that one of the central characters has just made it clear that what they are seeing cannot and should not be taken as reality.  

The review of the film states that the director seems to lose his narrative focus during Toto's adolescent years, and that his footing is most sure in the first and third parts.  However, the end of the movie seemed a bit contrived and almost unrealistic - yet another ironic feature in a movie that advances the belief that life does not mimic movies.  The movie seems to be impaled upon its own sword in that sense.  Additionally, the ending almost seems to push the idea of change vs. constancy in a manner that is too blatant and one dimensional.  Is the viewer really to believe that this man turned his back on his entire past without any backlash from the family and friends that he left behind?  And the idea that he chooses not to petition to save the theatre that he loved so much out of a refusal to live immersed in the past is once again a little too neat and convenient.  Cinema Paradiso certainly succeeds as an evocative story that will pluck the heartstrings of its viewers, and if the director's intention was to create this sense of pervasive irony, he has succeeded in that respect as well.  If, however, he was hoping to leave the viewer with some sense of profound truth regarding the relationship between cinema and life, it seems that he has failed to surmount the obstacles set in his own path by the film's claims about the separation between reality and cinema. 

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

Film - like all forms of mass produced entertainment - serves primarily as a source of escapism for its viewers.  When we pick up a book, or sit down to watch a movie, we are attempting to momentarily suspend the world in which we experience reality and transport ourselves to a separate dimension of surreality.  At the same time, there may exist certain connections between the fictional world being portrayed on the screen and life as it is actually experienced by humans. Film therefore has the ability to both offer us a view of a life that we would prefer to our own, as well as to provide us with insight that transcends the fictional realm and relates to our own lives. Movies such as Fight Club appear to offer more of a view into a less realistic world - or at least a world that we would rather believe cannot intersect with our own.  That kind of violence and mental disruption was unsettling to me personally, and I would be hesitant to search for a relation between the life of the narrator/Tyler Durden and my own.  However, while the specifics of this particular film are not as closely linked to mainstream reality, there are still real-life applications to be found.  The narrator's inability to sleep without finding an outlet for his pent-up emotions, as well as the suffering that is portrayed in the group therapy meetings could not be more realistic.  We witness suffering in multiple forms every day, and while those particular situations seem to be vaguely satirized in the film, that does not take away from the fact that the film is addressing an ever-present reality.  Our perception of the world can be altered by films that force us to face these realities in new and different forms.  Whether or not they are presented in a way that we can personally relate to or even physically experience is irrelevant - the truths they reveal remain intact.  Indeed, it can be argued that presenting reality in an unbelievable context is one of the best ways to drive a point home to viewers.  If something is presented to us in a light that hits uncomfortably close to home, we tend to become defensive and unreceptive.  By viewing these situations in a form that is entirely foreign to us, there is a greater likelihood that we will recognize them in their pure form and then come to discover their applications to our own personal experiences.