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.