The Big Picture Final Westernized Analysis

Based on the novel by William Dale Jennings, Mark Rydell delivers a timeless western classic: The Cowboys (1972). An aging rugged cowboy, Wil Anderson (John Wayne), desperately and reluctantly hires a group of teenage boys to assist him on a 400-mile cattle drive from Montana to Belle Fourche, South Dakota. Along the way, Anderson bonds with the boys and teaches them the ropes of the west. In the end, crooked clans of cattle rustlers attempt to steal the heard and harm the boys. For the final paper, I have chosen a key ten shot sequence (30:05-31:13) in the beginning of the film, which adequately utilizes traditional film techniques: spatial continuity, true origins, sound, and close ups. In my analysis, I will first synopsize the sequence and examine how these traditional film techniques embellish on-screen action and mise en scène. Lastly, I will connect the film with cultural ideologies of the time period, standards of the Western film genre, and its utilization of John Wayne.

Preceding the sequence for analysis, Anderson’s employees have abandoned him, opting to dig for gold instead. Anderson is left helpless for his upcoming cattle drive, which is imperative for his financial sake. In this scene, Anderson has offered the job to a group of teenage boys at the schoolhouse and is explaining the guidelines of the job.

The first shot shows Anderson at the tail end of his proposal speech, with an odd framing from just below the waist up. Anderson’s hand in-pocket position and accent illustrate his dominant western charisma. Take notice to the silence in the room shows the respect he is given and how Wayne has the entire focus of the screen. Following the end of Anderson’s speech, viewers see a quick one-second shot(shot two) of the little boy in shot two and as the boy raises his hand a new angle is implemented.

Shot three is another short shot: a two-second over the shoulder (of the boy) shot at lower angle looking slightly up at Wil Anderson. By framing Anderson at an upward angle, it establishes an eye line camera match between with the boy and Anderson’s persona of the “boss” role. Within the shot, viewers clearly see the boy’s hand rise in the center of the frame, as well as the boy on his right.

Shot four is a shot reverse shot of shot three, a shot from Anderson’s point of view. Interestingly, shot two’s angle is vertically opposite of shot one’s angle. Shot four looks down at the boy from Anderson’s perspective while maintaining the 180-degree rule and the eye line matches; this provides a unique narrative context by altering the vantage point between angles of the boy’s and Anderson’s. On-screen timing is perfect for the cut; after the youngest boy asks the question the boy sitting to his right turns his head and looks to Anderson. The boy to the right looks to Anderson, what he turns to look at triggers the motivation for a cut to shot five, this exemplifies the sequence’s true origin, the cause of the image.

Next in shot five, the viewer is back to the same angle seen in shot three. Notice the 180-degree rule is never broken through this quick shot reverse shot sequence. Shot five marks the first time the camera moves in the sequence, as the boy gets up the camera horizontally follows him to the left and then remains set. Now viewers see more of the traditional chalkboard, as the boy stands in front of Anderson. The boy stands as tall as Anderson’s belly, this framing used reemphasizes the paradoxically different characters (young/old and small/big). Anderson reaches out to grab the boy’s shoulders, which leads into the next shot.

With a new angle and framing, viewers are unable to see Anderson fully, but instead just a head shot of the boy against the chalkboard with Anderson’s hand drawing the chalk line in shot five. This particular framing allows for a more appropriate scale to see Anderson drawing the minimum height line above the boy’s head. As the boy nervously looks to the board, western harmonica based music is introduced after Wayne speaks (at 31 second mark) which compliments the action of Anderson rejecting the boy, and the overall western mise en scène.

Anderson’s guilt is further built upon in shot seven. Shot seven is a close up clean single framing of Anderson who has a priceless look of guilt on his face. This is again another example of all focus on Anderson. Anderson quickly rids his culpable expression and puts on his game face as he turns and to escape the scene of the crime he’s just committed, in a sense. The music picks up with new instruments being introduced that additionally build upon the chagrin in the room.

The shot to shot motivation, true origin, withholds as Anderson crosses the frame in shot seven the angle changes to shot eight. In shot eight, viewers have a full room view of Anderson’s exit. This new angle provides a more complete perspective of the schoolhouse and the rest of the boys as Anderson trudges out the door. The music remains consistent with shot seven’s. The big-boarded desks, the clothing of the boys, and the coats and hats in the back of the room combined with the music reiterate the western feel. As Anderson exists the room, many of the boys watch in surprise.

Shot nine, returns to a brief upper-body clean single from the waist up of the boy against the chalkboard still standing in misery after being denied a chance to become a real cowboy. Though it is off-screen, viewers hear Anderson slamming the door as he leaves. The boy looks down at the floor in shame. The music continues its negative but still western vibe.

The longest shot of the sequence, shot ten is another new angle, which focuses on the back of the classroom specifically two of the older boys in the class on the left side of the picture. As one of the older boys nudges the other and they get up, the music changes pace yet again (at 49 second mark), but this time the sound creates a sense of hope just as the boys get up from their desk to approach the front of the classroom. The camera moves with the two older boys as they move the books out from under the legs of the chalkboard and steadily moves up while simultaneously zooming in on the younger boy. The viewer and the younger boy together see that he now meets the height of the line. As the boy smiles, the music progressively builds positive momentum to match the emotion of the boy and the audience, the pinnacle of uplifting sound, on screen emotion, and a dosage of humor conclude the sequence.

The film follows classical continuous editing very well with proper spatial continuity and shot motivation throughout. Interestingly, within the properly orchestrated shot reverse shot (shots 3-5) the angles match supplementary to provide narrative context of the camera position. The 180-degree rule is followed and cuts follow traditional rules too; they are made on static camera movement to static camera movement in the next shot. But yet, it brings out old school in even more ways. The sequence would likely be considered “classical” according to some influential film critics. David Bordwell wrote in Classical Hollywood Cinema, “… classical (narration) is most concerned to motivate style compositionally, as a function of syuzhet (plot) patterning (26).” In The Tutor-Code of Classical Cinema, Dayan defines true origin as a representation of the cause of the image. This sequence reflects both as cuts come with clear motivation from shot to shot remains, thus making true origin consistent and enables the focus to be more on the plot and the characters rather than its production.

Detail serves an undermined role in the sequence and the film in its entirety too. In The Close Up, Balász emphasized the importance of close ups, stating, “ …a good film with its close-ups reveals the most hidden parts in our polyphonous life, and teaches us to see the intricate visual details of life as one reads an orchestral score.” In my mind, Wayne's close up and the sound orchestration in shot 7 define the sequence. This close up clearly reveals emotion and enables viewers to see Anderson breaking his typical tough character by feeling remorseful for a second. Wayne has numerous close ups throughout the film, all of which are integral pieces to the work by allowing audiences to see specific emotions of his character, which allow the audience to better relate to him.

Perhaps the most crucial aspect of all is the music. The legendary composer, John Williams, delivers flawless score in The Cowboys, thus enabling the classically edited film to thrive off its classical western music. The mood changes of the music are imperative to the analyzed sequence by providing significance and a way to foreshadow on screen actions, such as in shot ten as the boys approach the board. The music often mirrors the actions of Anderson throughout, for instance in shot 8. In reference to our class’s text, Alexandrov’s Statement on Sound reads, “… structuring a sound film not only does not weaken the international nature of cinema but gives to its meaning unparalleled strength and cultural heights (316).” That statement is evident throughout the sequence and movie as the sounds of the film provide an "unparalleled strength" by complimenting narrative and production.

When analyzing the film as whole in relation to its portrayed time period, it is evident the film illustrates cultural ideologies. The whole reason why young boys are called upon is because of the Gold Rush, which in its day did prove to hurt many businesses in the west as their employees quit. Thus, boys were needed in the workforce at a young age. The narrative thrives off this historical context. In the analyzed sequence and in the entire film it is clear throughout that there is so much respect for Anderson that the boys are nearly scared to death of the man. Anderson’s boss role is symbolic of the old saying: “Respect your elders.” Anderson is never questioned throughout and towards the end of the film the boys take it to another level. Also, the film in general has a very dominant male approach, in fact whenever women appear they are treated like second tier citizens; this is further illustrated in the The Cowboys as it fails to offer a romantic plotline. In fact, women are not much involved in the story at all, mostly due to the attempt to replicate society at a time in which women were treated inferiorly. The emphasis is solely on the boys and Anderson. This is another reflection of the time period’s cultural ideologies the story adopts to help suture viewers not only into the story but also the time in history.

Another influential factor to the work was the time period in which it was created. The late 1960s and 1970s were famous for producing some of the greatest Western films including The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), The Wild Bunch (1969), True Grit (1969), Jeremiah Johnson (1972), and The Shootist (1976). The Western genre was arguably at its pinnacle around this time period, and most of the films had common filmic styles; they rarely broke classical editing conventions, typically used drier on-screen colors, and thrived off true origins and music. These elements fused to together to create a traditional western mise en scene. So, in almost every way The Cowboys conforms to the genre's old customaries, only lacking a romantic plot line commonly seen.

Like the western genre, the actor himself, John Wayne, was also near the pinnacle of his acting career while in the midst of several lead western roles. John Wayne starred in several popular western films: The Searchers (1956), True Gritt (1969), The Cowboys (1972), Rooster Cogburn (1975), and The Shootist (1976). Interestingly, John Wayne became an icon for the genre after so many similar star roles. Graeme Turner refers to this point in Film As a Social Practice about Wayne specifically, “The casting of John Wayne was always determined by what he signified, the inscription of a particular version of Americanism.” Wayne holds even more of the spotlight throughout The Cowboys, as he is the main focus in almost every scene especially since this film does not offer a female partner and protagonist. In Wayne’s scenes rarely is there any discontinuous edits or any other film conventions that may distract the viewer during Wayne’s dialogue. Such as in shot 6, music often compliments the actions of Wayne. Rydell utilizes numerous close ups, classical editing codes, and music to further emphasize Wayne's character and his actions. Today, viewers watch Wayne's film and immediately associate the actor with the western genre.

Overall, the sequence and film illustrate pure continuous editing and ideally incorporate music to beautifully compliment on screen action, which allows the piece to follow a common style in the western genre. The film as whole highlights dominant cultural ideologies seen in the set time period such as a male dominant society, boys forced to join the western workforce younger due to the Gold Rush, and elderly respect; this enables a tactic for both suture and narrative context. Lastly, The Cowboys conforms to most of the western genre's common film codes and conventions, while putting extra emphasis on the genre's icon.

A Westernized Analysis

Based on the novel by William Dale Jennings, Mark Rydell delivers a timeless western classic: The Cowboys (1972). An old rugged cowboy, Wil Anderson (John Wayne), desperately hires a group of teenage boys to assist him on a 400-mile cattle drive from Montana to Belle Fourche, South Dakota. For the shot by shot critique, I have selected a key eight shot sequence (30:20-31:13) in the beginning of the film, which adequately utilizes traditional film techniques: spatial continuity, true origins, sound, and close ups. Furthermore, in my analysis I will synopsize the sequence and examine how these traditional film techniques embellish on-screen action and the mise en scène of the sequence.

Preceding the sequence for analysis, Anderson’s employees have abandoned him, opting to dig for gold instead. Anderson is left helpless for his upcoming cattle drive, which is imperative for his financial sake. In this scene, Anderson has offered the job to a group of teenage boys at the schoolhouse and is explaining the guidelines of the job.

Shot one of the sequence begins after Anderson’s proposal speech, and is a quick two-second over the shoulder (of the boy) shot at lower angle looking slightly up at Wil Anderson. By framing Anderson at an upward angle, it establishes an eye line camera match between with the boy and Anderson’s persona of the “boss” role. Within the shot, viewers clearly see the boy’s hand rise in the center of the frame, as well as the boy on his right.

Shot two is a shot reverse shot of shot 1, a shot from Anderson’s point of view. Interestingly, shot two’s angle is vertically opposite of shot one’s angle. Shot two looks down at the boy from Anderson’s perspective while maintaining the 180-degree rule and the eye line matches; this provides a unique narrative context by altering the vantage point between angles of the boy’s and Anderson’s. In shot two, the young boy is centered in the frame, and hesitantly asks his question to Anderson. Viewers further see the boy’s old books and clothes illuminating the time period. On-screen timing is perfect for the cut; after the youngest boy asks the question the boy sitting to his right turns his head and looks to Anderson. The boy to the right looks to Anderson, what he turns to look at triggers the motivation for a cut to shot three, this exemplifies the sequence’s true origin, the cause of the image.

Next in shot three, the viewer is back to the same angle seen in shot one. Notice the 180-degree rule is never broken through this quick shot reverse shot sequence. Shot three marks the first time the camera moves in the sequence, as the boy gets up the camera horizontally follows him to the left and then remains set. Now viewers see more of the traditional chalkboard, as the boy stands in front of Anderson. The boy stands as tall as Anderson’s belly, this framing used reemphasizes the drastically different characters (young/old and small/big). Anderson reaches out to grab the boy’s shoulders, which leads into the next shot.

A new angle is introduced in shot four and is framed differently. Here viewers are unable to see Anderson fully, but instead just a head shot of the boy against the chalkboard with Anderson’s hand drawing the chalk line. This particular framing allows for a more appropriate scale to see Anderson drawing the minimum height line above the boy’s head. As the boy nervously looks to the board, western harmonica based music is introduced (at 16 second mark) which compliments the feeling of the boy’s disappointment, the guilt of Anderson rejecting the boy, and the overall western mise en scène.

Anderson’s guilt is further built upon in shot five. Shot five is a close up clean single framing of Anderson who has a priceless look of guilt on his face. The hat enables portions of his face to be hidden through a shadow ring. Anderson quickly rids his culpable expression and puts on his game face as he turns and to escape the scene of the crime he’s just committed, in a sense. The music picks up with new instruments being introduced that additionally build upon the chagrin in the room.

The shot to shot motivation, or true origin, withholds as Anderson crosses the frame in shot five the angle changes to shot six. In shot six, viewers have a full room view of Anderson’s exit. This new angle provides a more complete perspective of the schoolhouse and the rest of the boys as Anderson trudges out the door. The music remains consistent with shot five’s. The big-boarded desks, the clothing of the boys, and the coats and hats in the back of the room combined with the music reiterate the western feel. As Anderson exists the room, many of the boys watch in surprise.

Shot seven, returns to a brief upper-body clean single from the waist up of the boy against the chalkboard still standing in misery after being denied a chance to become a real cowboy. Though it is off-screen, viewers hear Anderson slamming the door as he leaves. The boy looks down at the floor in shame. The music continues its negative but still western vibe.

The longest shot of the sequence, shot eight is another new angle, which focuses on the back of the classroom specifically two of the older boys in the class on the left side of the picture. As one of the older boys nudges the other and they get up, the music changes pace yet again (at 34 second mark), but this time the sound creates a sense of hope just as the boys get up from their desk to approach the front of the classroom. For the second time in the sequence, the camera noticeably moves with the boys’ movement and is shooting at angle slightly looking up at the two older boys walking towards the chalkboard. The camera continues to move down with the two older boys as they move the books out from under the legs of the chalkboard. The camera is likely on a dolly as it moves down to the bottom of the chalkboard and steadily moves up while simultaneously zooming in on the younger boy. The viewer and the younger boy together see that he now meets the height of the line. As the boy smiles, the music progressively builds positive momentum to match the emotion of the boy and the audience, the pinnacle of uplifting sound and on screen emotion conclude the sequence.

The piece follows classical continuous editing to perfection with ideal spatial continuity. Interestingly, within the properly done shot reverse shot (shots 1-3) the angles match supplementary to provide narrative context of the camera position. The 180-degree rule is always followed. Cuts follow traditional rules too; they are made on static camera movement to static camera movement in the next shot. But yet it brings out old school in even more ways. The sequence would likely be considered “classical” according to some influential film critics. David Bordwell wrote in Classical Hollywood Cinema, “… classical (narration) is most concerned to motivate style compositionally, as a function of syuzhet (plot) patterning (26).” In The Tutor-Code of Classical Cinema, Dayan defines true origin as a representation of the cause of the image. This sequence reflects both as cuts come with clear motivation from shot to shot remains, thus making true origin consistent.

But yet, detail serves an essential role in the sequence too. In The Close Up, Balász emphasized the importance of close ups, stating, “ …a good film with its close-ups reveals the most hidden parts in our polyphonous life, and teaches us to see the intricate visual details of life as one reads an orchestral score.” In my mind, two close ups and their sound orchestration really define the sequence: Anderson’s close up in shot five and the little boy’s close up in the end of shot eight. This duo of close ups clearly reveal emotions and enable viewers to see Anderson breaking his typical tough character by feeling remorseful for a second (shot 5) and the uplifting emotion of the young boy and viewers together seeing he meets the line mark (shot 8). These close ups are integral pieces to the work by allowing audiences to see specific emotions of characters, which allow the audience to better relate to the characters.

Even with a dominant standardized approach, the sequence has its own flair. The props, traditional lighting, and music fuse together to provide unique mise en scène, which allows the film to withhold its western roots. Viewers see many elements that create the old schoolhouse feel: the cone sitting on the chair (shot one), the chalkboard with traditional cursive, the characters clothes and old and entirely wood boarded walls and desks. Perhaps most crucial of all is the music. The classically edited film thrives off its classical western music. The mood changes of the music are imperative to the scene and without it the piece loses power and significance. Sound even foreshadows on screen actions, such as in shot eight as the boys approach the board.

On a side note, John Wayne does deserve some credit for his perfect tough cowboy charisma and making the piece powerful and unique. Overall, the sequence illustrates pure continuous editing and ideally incorporates music to beautifully compliment on screen action, which makes the piece a benchmark for classical film editing techniques and the western genre.

Noir and Chinatown

In Paul Schrader’s Notes on Film Noir, pessimism, cynicism, and darkness were the terms used to describe a new mood that had crept into American cinema in the late 1940s. This “tone” became quite popular during the time period, but yet Raymond Durgnat points out that “Film noir is not a genre.” Though subjective, I would argue that the noir was a specific kind of sub-genre of film in its own right and that noir cannot be replicated purely anymore.

The term genre is defined as a category of artistic composition, as in music, film, or literature, characterized by similarities in form, style, or subject matter. The definition is very loose in its interpretation. Most films today easily fall into one of the broad genres: comedy, horror, drama, action/adventure etc. Within these genres there are more specific labels for movies, which better describe films. For instance, today movies are specifically labeled romantic comedies, romantic dramas, etc. The drama genre is very broad. Noir is a form of drama having a unique, dark, pessimistic, and crime-based composition. So given the dictionary definition of genre it is fair to say that noir could at least be called a sub-genre. However, noir still separates itself.

Roman Polanski’s 1974 Chinatown does an exceptional job integrating noir elements. For the most part Chinatown has that dark pessimistic feel throughout. The shadows were always very noticeable, and the music was always eerie, dark, and suspenseful. A vast majority of the scenes take place at night. The film centers on the heated topic of water that dives into this mysterious investigation and involves crime and corruption. The topic of water is particularly interesting, giving its controversial and heated tension between opposing sides in the state of California. In the end, viewers are not left with a happy ending. All these components fall under noir.

So what is Chinatown lacking to be truly categorized as a noir film? Chinatown’s time period hinders it from truly being noir. Schrader states, “Film noir is an extremely unwieldy period.” In other words, noir’s same effects were very difficult to replicate or transfer in later time periods. The mentality of filmmakers and audiences in the noir period cannot be translated to the future. Because we as viewers are not in the immediate post World War II era we do not have the proper conditions or mind set to truly grasp the effects of a noir film. Watching noir films today does not give us the true taste the film had in its hay day. This time-correlated relationship between film and society in 1941-1953 cannot be duplicated.

Whether the noir is a subgenre or not is debatable. But, it can be more commonly agreed that noir cannot be purely replicated in present day form. Unlike broad genres, noir is directly time specific. Though elements of noir exist in some films today, its pure form and effects only existed in the 1940s and early 50s.

Dayan’s “True and False Origins”

Dayan wrote, “The true origin represents the cause of the image.” In other words, there is a reason/explanation/motivation/cause behind everything viewers see on screen. Pure forms of “true origin” can be illustrated in Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window

Rear Window takes place in city neighborhood, and primarily from the vantage point of crippled Jeff’s apartment. The movie does not change its setting. Furthermore, the camera’s angle is typically only in a few different positions. The causes and effects are explicitly basic and clear in nearly every aspect of the movie (e.g. Jeff spends all day in his home, so he starts spying on neighbors). One possible exception maybe the cause of how Jeff broke is leg in the first place (or maybe I just missed that detail).

Once the word murdered was uttered, the direction of the film was very clear. On a small shot to shot advancement scale, viewers were always able to see what Jeff was seeing. For instance, Jeff looks through his zoom camera lens to look at Thorwald and viewers then see what Jeff sees through the lens in the next shot. This allows viewers to follow Jeff’s thought process in predicting Thorwald to be a murderer. The logical progression is the true origin. Eventually all of the small series of cause and effect sequences (spy sequences) lead us to the climax, when Thorwald finally realizes he is being watched, which sparks the confrontation. These steps in shot progression assist in plot advancement, which further illuminate the true origin facet of film.

The true origin style can be predictable, which can be interpreted as good or bad depending upon the viewer. The form does allow films to be more focused and easier to follow. Intriguingly, Rear Window does not lose any thrill despite having true origins throughout.

Perhaps a better way to elucidate “true origin” is by contrasting it to “false origin”. A false origin does not offer viewers an explicit reason for actions seen on screen. Some prime examples of a “false origin” can be seen in certain scenes in Alfred Hitchcock’s Suspicion. For example, the scene in which the detectives are about to leave Lina’s home and Benson (one of the detectives) is lost gazing at a painting. The whole situation seems to lack purpose, in my opinion. It challenges viewers to derive a meaning from something that is unclear and does not seem to have a motivation for the actions taking place.

Another example is in the end when Johnny drives like a drunken mad man next to a cliff trying to kill Lina it seems, but afterwards he stops the car and tells Lina he loves her and everything appears fine(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOoaqbjDFnY 5:00- end). These actions cause the audience to ask themselves, “Why did Johnny do that?” That is the false origin. Johnny’s dishonest nature creates several false origins throughout the film. But, the false origins provide thrill. As a whole, Suspicion cannot truly be labeled with false origin because its story does have motivation through the plot. Instead it contains minor false origin sequences. A purely false origin film does not exist because there would be no purpose for story development and likely no chance of it becoming a film in the first place.

True and false origins are standard in film today. Both have serve discrete purposes. Hitchcock uses both in two films of the same genre, and does so effectively to create suspense and thrill.

Warning, do not be fooled by the title; it does hold true, but love maybe taking a backseat in this one.

Love Happens is a romantic drama, which centers on the famous author Dr. Burke Ryan (Aaron Eckhart). After the passing of his wife, he has since written a book, A-Okay, which helps readers move on after losing loved ones. Returning to his hometown Seattle, Ryan is on the verge of a mega-money marketing deal while he is teaching a weeklong, sold-out seminar based on his book at a hotel.

Despite the fame, Ryan lives a miserable life since the death of his wife three years prior. Hypocritically, he refuses to practice what he preaches and move on with his life. While at the hotel, Ryan unexpectedly bumps into a beautiful florist, Eloise Chandler (Jen Anniston), who has her own love problems. With the help of one another, the duo makes sense of their pasts and the direction of their futures.

The romance gets off to an odd start. Something about the beginning of the relationship did not quite click with me; maybe it was the nasty confrontation or awkward first date. Once settled, Aniston and Eckhart were a nice match; for the most part, the chemistry was solid. Aniston’s role was fairly simple, and very much like most of her previous movie characters. Eckhart’s performance in Love Happens is very impressive; he accurately plays the tall order of inspiration, sorrow, plus romance.

Perhaps the most powerful portion of the film is offered in a subplot. A troubled man named Walter (John Carroll Lynch) attends Ryan's seminar after losing his son in a construction accident a few years ago. Failing to get his life together since, Walter is frustrated with the seminar and nearly leaves. Convincing him to stay, Ryan helps Walter ‘take a step’ in the right direction in a moving series of events.

The supporting cast offers some brief, but essential light humor in the film. Dan Fogler plays Lane, who is Burke Ryan’s manager and publicist. Judy Greer plays the character Marty, an employee at Eloise’s flower shop.

Debuting director Brandon Camp structures the film to flow beautifully and even illuminates the beauty and gloom of Seattle. The rainy backdrop is very fitting, considering the theme of mourning in the story. The editing remains simple and appropriate through the story. The camera never seems to be out of place and moves smoothly throughout. I appreciated the unique camera angles he threw in from time to time. Camp does incorporate some noticeable product placement in the movie (Home Depot, Century Tel). The light narratives of Ryan in the beginning and end were suitable; they expose some of the detail in his book. Providing some Pacific Northwest local flavor, the master shots are beautiful throughout the film. The film even has a deadline, Walter Benjamin would be proud.

As a meticulous music critic, I admit the sounds in Love Happens compliment the scenes remarkably well. The soundtrack is mostly composed of contemporary hit artists: Rogue Wave, The Eels, Postal Service and more. The part that sticks out in my mind most is a powerful scene focused on Walter that is backed by the stunning instrumental services of Explosions in the Sky (heard in Friday Night Lights).

Love Happens does not quite reach the level of an instant classic; it had some minor faults. Certain dialogue could have been improved. It may have just been me, but something about the kickoff to their romance still bothers me. Lastly, a minor plot involving a parrot emerges in the end, which I felt was over hyped.

If you are looking for film solely based on uplifting romance, like the title suggests, this one may not be your style. Love Happens strays from its title by diving into the emotional topic of mourning, where uncomfortable subplots are unveiled. The movie gets intense during seminar scenes. I found drastically different feelings emerge while watching this movie, I was anywhere from rooting for a relationship to on the brink of tears. Camp provides a multifaceted feature by touching on fear, friendship, mourning, and love. The contrasts and shifts in focus may not be for everyone, but it did have my attention the whole time.

The film has some minor downfalls, but more positives. Gorgeously shot, Love Happens was an odd, but unique trio of sad, cute, and entertaining all at the same time. With a more intense approach, Love Happens offers a taste of originality to romance. Camp may have been a first time director, but the quality does not reflect that of a rookie. Bottom line: Love Happens is A-Okay.

“The Classic Hollywood” in Amelie, Fight Club and Cinema Paradiso

Movies are changing all the time, whether it is the acting, special effects, or storylines. However, they still seem to maintain at least some of those old-school principles of vintage Hollywood. In Classical Hollywood Cinema, David Bordwell analyzes narration, fabula, causality, syuzhet, and also more detailed aspects of “classical” film. Bordwell states the classical syuzhet usually offers two plot lines (heterosexual romance and a quest). Interestingly, he admits that classical film style has become “excessive.” After studying Amelie, Fight Club, and Cinema Paradiso one can find some “classical” flavor in each.

The first film we watched, Amelie, maybe the most simple and cliché Hollywood film. The main character, Amelie, is a very shy and lonely young girl who enjoys simple pleasures in life (e.g. hands in grain, skipping stones on water). One day she discovers a simple memorabilia and is then determined to return it to its owner. While attempting to return the item, Amelie falls in love with the stranger, and then puts him through a series of unconvential schemes.

Without the need for a PHD, one can guess how the story will end. Amelie follows the standard fubula and plot. I see the movie unfold through “act” narrative. The syuzhet follows Bordwell’s track. Bordwell’s dual plot line is more distinct; Amelie intertwines the two plot lines. Following “Classical Spectatorship,” “Schemata” allows a viewer to project presumable hypotheses.

David Fincher’s 1999 hit, Fight Club, is a story about a man living a troubled life and soon goes through life changing events by meeting Tyler Durden. Due to violence, and a dreary setting, Fight Club may seem to stray from the stereotypical Hollywood classic, but it does boast some similarities.

Fight Club fulfills two major components Bordwell lays out. In the end the protagonist gets the girl and overcomes his inner-conflict. So really the result is classical, but its approach getting there was not. The causality can often be complex, but in the end it comes full circle. The film offers a traditional climax, in which the narrator’s strife is overcome. Bordwell hits on the value of an epilogue and in my eyes Fight Club has a very simple, but yet appropriate end comment (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUNSTAf2Vho 29-35).

Fincher’s film still has oppositional cinema features. Fight Club’s plot format is contrasting to Bordwell’s plot formula (undisturbed stage, the disturbance, the struggle, and the elimination of the disturbance). To me the film is in a constant disturbance and struggle stage until the very end. The fact the movie is intended for older audiences plus the gore and language can hinder its true “classical” feel. The narrative can be labeled as all three of Bordwell’s narrative categories: representation, structure, and an act. Different viewers can argue the film to be any three of the narrative styles. The thrill of the movie is the difficulty for viewers to form hypotheses.

Eleven years prior to Fight Club, Giuseppe Tornatore released Cinemo Paradiso. The movie is about a trouble making young boy (Toto) who loves film. Under the guidance of his father figure Alfred, Toto works local theaters and falls in love while doing so. After many years of absence and change, he returns to his hometown as a successful movie producer to attend Alfred’s funeral and witness his old theater be destroyed.

The movie offers the widely seen Hollywood mechanism of flashbacks. I portrayed two kinds of love in the film: romance with another person, and having a passion for something. The causality is effective through the use of flashback. The narrative is much looser than the other two movies; to me it is an example of Bordwell’s “representation” narrative. The peculiar part of Cinema Paradiso is the end. Toto watches a montage of love clips in his theater while crying. I was predicting his former teenage flame would return to him at some point, but I was wrong.

“Classic Hollywood” may always be like those sneakers that never go out of style. Even as the content and production of film alters, there will usually be ties to the customary components that made America fall in love with film.

Error or Asset?

After reading The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction by Walter Benjamin and then watching Fight Club, a question came about that changed the way I analyzed film: “Is promoting narrative as the essence of film a criminal error?” In my eyes, the answer to this question can vary from one movie to the next and it also fluctuates with the kind of audience.

Unlike the simple rules of Fight Club itself, the essence of the film is more difficult to interpret. Factors such as the type of director, viewers and story all are crucial in the revelation of the plot. Having watched Fight Club on a few occasions I failed to realize just how key the actual narration was to the story. I had always been caught up in the actual blood and gore of the movie. This time around I realized the narrative is an essential in the story. David Fincher successfully utilizes narrative and ties it with more to make form his masterpiece: Fight Club.

The usage of narration accurately builds the drama in the mind-driven thriller by giving the audience an additional scope to channel the story; it also helps viewers become much closer to the main character. Without any narration, it would be much more difficult to understand the narrator and his predicament. Even though I never caught the actual name of the narrator (Tyler Durden’s alter ego), I still have an excellent understanding of the character and his situation through narrative. Also, it is humorous hearing the mind think out loud because it exposes comments that otherwise go unsaid, for instance, “Bob had b**** tits.” Putting the viewer inside the mind of the protagonist makes the work deeper and engaging. Granted, everything seems unclear and complex until the end. Finally, when the twist is finally unmasked all the questions are then answered and events are connected.

Advancements in technology and production have allowed for a more intimate perception of movies. A multitude of additional components blend in with the narrative to make Fight Club successful. The dark and dreary colors and setting throughout the film help set the tone. Details become clear, for example the gruesome blood and missing teeth during the fight scenes. Camera stability and angles are rapidly altering through the film. The speed of motion changes too. Fincher also provides unique and additional elements like the virtual layout of the narrator’s apartment in the beginning of the movie, and the odd scenes where the narrator is in the cave to help illustrate his story. Not to mention, the sound is a perfect fit for the film.

The usage of narrative depends upon many aspects, and whether it is a “criminal error” is solely up to the viewer. The answer will also weigh heavily upon the storyline itself. As for Fight Club, Fincher assembled a superb production through narrative and effects that was far from “criminal error.”