One of the ostensible differences between the Lolita film version and Nabokov’s novel is that Humbert’s predilection for nymphs is not present in the film; in Kubrick’s version Humbert loves Lolita and Lolita only. One would think that if Kubrick removed this key aspect of the story for his adaptation, the whole structure of the work would collapse. However, Kubrick’s Lolita is a very interesting case of censorship, because rather than wallowing away in conventionality, Kubrick used the constraints of the production code to make a comment on censorship; ironically enough this actually relates to Nabokov’s themes in his novel. What makes the film interesting is that one can’t catch the inherent link between both book and film unless they pay close attention to the offhand moments and comments—the moments of double entendre.
Obviously, the book doesn’t need to use the device of double entendre in order to hint at moments of unconventional sexual promiscuity; the sexuality is right out in the open. Yet, the book still deals with the oppression of sexual freedom. (Ch. 5.) The movie doesn’t; Humbert can’t be shown as a pedophile because of the limitations of the production code. Therefore, the movie deals with something completely different and that is oppression of artistic expression. As time would tell in the case of A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick was certainly a director who believed in the director having complete artistic control of their film, no matter how reprehensible the subject matter may be. Kubrick’s Lolita deals with the horrible pat quality of 60’s culture, particularly in relation to art. It’s almost as if Kubrick felt so dissatisfied with film censorship and the general state of the culture at the time, that he felt that he should make a satire out of the whole situation; the statement that I got upon viewing the film is that, “Look how ludicrous it is to make a Lolita in the era of the 60’s. How can one make a tame version of one of the most risqué books ever written?” Unconventional sexual promiscuity was becoming quite prevalent at that time, in the culture opposed to the counterculture no less, and yet here’s a censored Lolita of all stories. I think Kubrick wouldn’t have it any other way—the difference between Kubrick and Nabokov is that Kubrick sees the hilarity in censorship, while Nobakov sees the torment and longing and frustration that eventually lead to Humbert’s madness because of sexual taboos. Kubrick is in some ways a satirist (especially considering that this film was made in his Dr. Strangelove Peter Sellers period.) He wants to make a Lolita in the most difficult period possible in which to tell that story, (the early Sixities being a time of copious amounts of film censorship being performed,) in order to make a comment on that period-why else does the story take place in the period that its set in, if only to show that the 60’s is in some ways a more conservative time period than the 20’s, in terms of the whitewashing of the sexual truth. It’s this form of frustration that leads to Humbert’s madness in the film.
In the hotel scene, there’s so much double entendre. For example, when Quilty is talking to George swine (an ironic name if ever there was one) the way they talk to each other is highly flirtatious. At one point Swine asks Quilty what he does with his excess energy. Quilty describes what his wife does to him in vague terms when they practice martial arts; he says that, “I sort of lay there in pain, but I love it.” When Humbert asks about the bed situation, Swine says that the double bed is very accommodating; “One night we had three ladies resting in one.” What everyone in that hotel alludes to is so obvious that this makes using double entendre rather ridiculous. However, Kubrick had no choice in the matter because of the censorship edicts of the time. Therefore, Kubrick is making a comment of how ridiculous it is to whitewash the sexual truth, especially in the counterculture era of the 60’s.
Actually, Quilty’s weapon of choice against Humbert is the whitewashing of the sexual truth. When Quilty speaks to Humbert in the guise of the police man, Kubrick has arranged the actors so that Humbert can’t see who’s talking to him. In this scene, as in all the scenes with both Sellers and Mason, Humbert is in such contrast to Quilty; Humbert is stiff while Quilty is very relaxed. In this scene Quilty represents the “official” world that constricts Humbert sexually. Yet, Quilty is the most reprehensible figure imaginable. This is Kubrick’s metaphor for how the whitewashing of the sexual truth and censorship is a joke because the people who do such a thing are far worse than the people being censored or restricted; censorship probably exists in order to make people who do not subscribe to the censorship code (which is a joke as this film clearly shows) look morally reprehensible Metaphorically, Kubrick composes a composition that represents this idea; it’s the close up over the shoulder shot of Quilty and his wife as they are hiding behind the newspaper from Humbert, who is in the background. They and their treacherous ways hide while Humbert is clearly visible. It’s ironic that James Mason is so courtly a gentleman and speaks with great enunciation, and yet he’s the one that’s ostracized from society; whereas Quilty is known by everyone to be a “genius.”
It’s the authoritative figure that Quilty is playing that makes Humbert paranoid; surely Humbert knows in the back of his mind that this man is more reprehensible than he is. It’s this nagging truth that results in his paranoia that his Lolita will be taken from him; in the book the reverse occurs—in the book Humbert is paranoid about what he will do on his own volition to the woman. In fact, the Humbert of the film played by James Mason, is very sympathetic not just because of the performer, but the fact that in the film Humbert loves Lolita and Lolita only. There is no mention of Humbert’s plan to one day have little nymphets with his Lolita for his sexual predilection, as there is in the book. Humbert’s being more sympathetic in the film actually enhances the idea that he’s very much unaware of how dangerous and perverse the real world is. This is felt in the shot where Quilty’s poster is hanging behind Humbert while he’s crying his eyes out in lolita’s room; he’s unawares at the fact that Quilty is Lolita’s true love. In the film, Quilty represents that subterranean reality that is going to take Humbert’s Lolita unawares away from him. Quilty gets away with this because he has been disguised to appear like a normal upstanding citizen. It’s the contrived play that basically kills two birds with one stone by taking Lolita away from Humbert while making him mad in the process-in effect making him look like the social undesirable pervert that Quilty really is. A person like Dolores never will realize this sad fact because she believes in whitewashing the sexual truth as well; this is what makes her death a truly tragic one. You don’t have any of this criticism of society in the book because Humbert truly is that social undesirable pervert.
Quilty is simply not as prominent a character in the book, and when he is the reader may not even be aware of his presence (it seems that the reverse occurs in the film with Peter Sellers great performance. In the film, his wild improvisatory scenes are not censored, while the sexuality in the film is.) The Quilty in the film is so despicable that he actually makes Humbert come off rather well in the film. What ends up happening in Kubrick’s version is that Humbert ends up becoming a tragic character who has been ostracized by society, opposed to snide and repulsive as he is in the book. The Humbert characteristics in the book are actually attributed more towards Quilty in the film. Kubrick’s vision of Lolita is that society allows it for a man like Quilty to get away scot free. (I don’t think the Quilty of the novel really has that much power.) I think it’s this sad fact that gives the film a real emotional substance that bypasses the hip satire elements, as in the scene when Humbert tries to take Lolita out of the hospital but is disallowed by the “official” security officers. Kubrick continually tries to criticize society opposed to criticizing Humbert, and he does this through clever means. In the scene, Humbert is the one who is given close ups that can’t help but build empathy for him, while the security guards are shot in long shot. They are not individualized in anyway. They are the faceless censoring threat of Humbert’s passion. In the book, it’s Humbert Humbert who is the hip satirist with no emotion in him. In the novel, Humbert is the one who condescends towards Lolita’s intelligence (pg. 117), opposed to James Mason’s Humbert who is interested in educating Lolita of the ways of the world, like in the scene where he reads her poetry. It helps that Humbert rarely is the narrator of the film, because we don’t see his view of how everyone is not as perceptive about the ways of the world as he is.
One of the main differences between the two versions is that they are created by artists in two different mediums. In the novel, the reader can’t help but feel a cold antipathy towards Humbert when he makes a comment like, “there she was with her ruined looks and her adult, rope-veined narrow hands and her unkempt armpits, there she was (my Lolita!), hopelessly worn at seventeen, with the baby, dreaming already in her of becoming a big shot and retiring around 2020 A.D…” (pg. 277.) In the last scene in the film, the audience feels sympathy for Humbert because they are not hearing his narration. Without the distraction of the narration, the audience pays more attention to what Humbert is saying in this scene; when he says to Lolita that, “I’m not making fun of you,” it appears as if he means it because he does not make a witty retort in his mind to undercut the sentiment, like in the novel. For what is the primary basis of the narration, but an undercutting of sentiment for defense mechanism purposes? Humbert refuses to show his emotions like someone like Dolores in that last scene in the novel; whereas in the film I for one was not thinking about Dolores in that last scene. I was thinking about how sad and depressing it is that of all people, Humbert is the one that gets short changed by society. Without the narration and the idea of Humbert being a nymphomaniac, Lolita appears very crass when she says, “stop crying,” to Humbert in the last scene; that stop crying is basically society’s reprimand of Humbert showing any uncensored emotion. One begins to lose sympathy for Lolita in the film because she begins to resemble everyone else; she’s simply part of the censoring body known as society.
What’s interesting about the film is that the untrustworthy narrator aspect of the story is not present (Robert Stam article); how could it be considering that Kubrick was not writing a novel? However, this does not necessarily mean that Kubrick’s film is a weak adaptation. Because of the constraits put upon him, Kubrick had an intriguing idea in regards to censorship and stylistic constraint and what it does to an audience’s perception of a person like Humbert. Consequently, the film is completely different from Nobakov’s book, because Nobakov didn’t have to face such considerations.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Garbage Dreams-blurb published in Cineaste magazine
Mai Iskander’s documentary Garbage Dreams shows how the Zaballeen, a lower class peasant group in the outskirts of Cairo, struggle to survive amid the globalization of their one form of income, garbage disposal. Unfortunately, Iskander’s focus on depicting the Zaballeen’s inability to do anything about their situation and his obsession with making the audience feel his subjects’ sense of exhaustion have the opposite effect: the film feels dull and disassociated. However, one can glimpse certain potentials. There is a moment when one of the teenagers featured in the film, Osama, who has had enough of living in such poor conditions and of being invisible in the eyes of other Egyptians, decides to go to work for the foreign, hi-tech garbage company brought in by Cairo’s city council. When his friends learn that he is holding this job, they “innocently” rough house with him. The audience can see the tension between ambition and loyalty, which is here recast as one between globalization and traditionalism. The film’s point suddenly becomes clear, only to be lost once again when the scene abruptly ends. The experience is akin to skimming a newspaper article on a tragic situation in a foreign land and failing to become incensed enough to do anything about that situation. The main problem with Garbage Dreams is that Iskander fails to make the audience truly indignant at the Zaballeen’s plight. One sees, but doesn’t feel, what is at stake. This is ironic, considering that the filmmaker is so intent on showing the audience the lower classes’ predicament in Cairo.
Censorship as a Dangerous Form of Constriction
One of the most dangerous aspects of the 20th century was how the National Board of Censorship and the Catholic Legion of Decency got away with heavily censoring films. Both bodies appeared to be trying to help filmgoers in terms of not being corrupted by what they watched. However, it’s this form of “moralism” that allows organizations to have more power than should be allotted them. The real question that has to be asked is what was the real rationale for why these organizations did what they did? What effect did their actions have of the filmmaking industry? What effect their restraint had on the artists in that industry?
One of my main problems with self censorship is the arbitrary decision of who are the “up-standing citizens” who should be censoring films. The leading member of the National Board of Censorship (a body run by film distributors in order to not have the government dictate what state their films should appear in), Dr. Oberholtzer, felt that the people who comprise the Board that had complete control over whether or not a film could be censored, was any person who was not a criminal or illicit person and not a politician (Saylor, 146). That’s a very generalized group of people. Therefore, say someone feels the need to censor a given movie, that arbitrary person gets power over someone who may actually know what they are doing. That person on the board may simply not like a given scene because they don’t politically agree with it, ect. Therefore, they’ll censor that given movie. The fact that the artist who actually created the product had no say in the matter during the National Board of Censorship’s reign, over an arbitrary person who is dictating the outcome of what happens to the film, is completely anti-Democratic and illogical. Self-censorship was a fake form of Democracy, that was simply window dressing over the fact that censorship itself is an anti-Democratic principle that takes all the power away from the artist. For what is an artist but a symbol of freedom of speech?
The criteria that the Board used during its reign made no sense either. Even though the first two edicts were typical censorship ideology, (films should be censored for their, “obscenity, indecency and inhumanity” and for their “sacrilegious character”) the criteria also included, “Their tendency to present crime in an informatory way” and “Their incitement to riot and attacks upon public order” (Saylor, pg. 146.) Now, these last two edicts are silly, and also indicative of how condescending the censorship board was towards the public populace that went to the movies. The censorship board’s main aim, in my opinion, was to simply dumb down the movies. The third criteria basically shows that the censorship board wanted to take out any form of reality out of a given movie because of fear that the young would be highly influenced by viewing illicitness in movies. The censorship board is basically stating here that movies are entertainment and entertainment only; they should never have the power to show the workings of the real world, because audiences wouldn’t be able to handle this. This doesn’t make any sense, considering that the news certainly shows readers and viewers what the real world is really like. As if simply showing crime in a movie would create an illicit reaction out of someone. Modern audiences see crime all the time in a given movie, and they haven’t rioted the streets. The censorship board during their reign basically stated that audiences couldn’t handle the documentary field in anyway. This censored view of life is a fake blasé view, and many older films during the censorship board’s reign can attest to this. What were the censorship board trying to do? Were they trying to police a world’s populace by trying to show them a fake view of the world, in film? What does this say about the censorship board’s view of the intelligence of the standard film audience; that they were dumb and simply deserved sub-standard entertainment that didn’t make them think a little? The ramifications of the censorship board’s actions were extreme because they limited artistic freedom, thus limiting the potentialities of the film medium.
The shocking edict of that time was that movies were simply entertainment and were sub-standard in importance towards theater, painting, novels, music, ect. Really, what the censorship board’s prime aim was to make cinema the sub-standard art form that they initially felt it always was. Mature themes like violence are an important part of an artist’s vision. If Dostoyevsky were censored there would never be masterpieces of literature like Crime and Punishment and Notes from the Underground. They would be highly botched works, and more importantly they wouldn’t make any sense, had they been censored. They might even have been withdrawn had they existed under conditions like the censorship board. Dostoyevsky’s never got to exist during the early half of the 20th century in film because of self censorship. Yes, there are filmmakers out there who use violence tastelessly and ill morally in their films. However, should their bad judgment be used against filmmakers of exquisite taste? Well, that’s what happened under the censorship board’s reign. They basically used film as instructive moral doctrine for audiences, which is in itself a form of usury. Is it any wonder that the Catholic Church had leeway over filmmaker’s rights?
When the pact between both the National Board of Censorship and the Catholic Legion of Decency occurred, ironies ensued because of the vast differences between both organizations. When Elia Kazan reached a disagreement with the the National Board of Censorship on the rape scene at the end of A Streetcar Named Desire, his reasoning was that, “The rape of Blanche is a pivotal, integral truth in the play, without which the play loses its meaning, which is the ravishment of the tender, the sensitive, the delicate, by the savage and brutal forces of modern society. It is a poetic plea for comprehension” (Brook, 348.) By this time, in my opinion the times were changing and the Board realized that they had to move with the mandate of the times. It’s with A Streetcar Named Desire that the Board finally realized the transgression of their ways, and permitted the rape to be subtly hinted at, for the sake of the initial message that the filmmakers were trying to come through with. They finally realized that moments such as the one with Blanche shouldn’t be censored or else the meaning of the film would be lost; the filmmakers were not trying to sneak pornographic material in the film just for the thrill of it; the illicit material had meaning behind it. Unfortunately, almost as a haunting reminder of the stupid decisions that the Board had pulled in the past for the sake of “morality”, the Catholic Legion of Decency, with the clout that the Board gave them in the past, had final cut over A Streetcar Named Desire. (Brook, 349.)
Naturally, Kazan was outraged. The fact that a filmmaker even has to deal with a Religious body is ludicrous; Tennessee Williams and Catholicism should not be uttered in the same sentence (Brook, 349.) Just as there should be a separation of church and state, there should be a separation of church and art. As mentioned before, what appears illicit may not be merely illicit, if handled by an artist. Well, a body primarily concentrating on simply what is or appears moral doesn’t care about those considerations. If anything, it’s more political than that. The person being affected by this the most, of course, speaks the most eloquently about the situation, because they are experiencing the situation firsthand. Here’s Elia Kazan: “They didn’t give a damn about the beauty or artistic value of the picture. To them it was just a piece of entertainment. It was business, not art. They wanted to get the entire family to see the picture. They didn’t want anything that might keep anyone away. At the same time they wanted it to be dirty enough to pull people in. The whole business was rather an outrage” (Brook, 349). If one didn’t know better they may think that Kazan was describing the National Board of Censorship.
Even though the National Board of Censorship’s intentions were sound, the idea being that self-censorship is the best alternative opposed to government censorship for the sake of the integrity of the artist, they missed the fact the censorship simply shouldn’t exist. The idea that they or the Catholic Legion of Decency had the right to take over an artist’s vision by censoring it is far more immoral than any illicit behavior depicted in the films being censored, as the National Board of Censorship found out, only to late. They were being made irrelevant by an organization that they themselves gave power to. This is the inherent problem when organizations go mad with the idea that they and they alone can enforce morality; they begin to dupe themselves.
One of my main problems with self censorship is the arbitrary decision of who are the “up-standing citizens” who should be censoring films. The leading member of the National Board of Censorship (a body run by film distributors in order to not have the government dictate what state their films should appear in), Dr. Oberholtzer, felt that the people who comprise the Board that had complete control over whether or not a film could be censored, was any person who was not a criminal or illicit person and not a politician (Saylor, 146). That’s a very generalized group of people. Therefore, say someone feels the need to censor a given movie, that arbitrary person gets power over someone who may actually know what they are doing. That person on the board may simply not like a given scene because they don’t politically agree with it, ect. Therefore, they’ll censor that given movie. The fact that the artist who actually created the product had no say in the matter during the National Board of Censorship’s reign, over an arbitrary person who is dictating the outcome of what happens to the film, is completely anti-Democratic and illogical. Self-censorship was a fake form of Democracy, that was simply window dressing over the fact that censorship itself is an anti-Democratic principle that takes all the power away from the artist. For what is an artist but a symbol of freedom of speech?
The criteria that the Board used during its reign made no sense either. Even though the first two edicts were typical censorship ideology, (films should be censored for their, “obscenity, indecency and inhumanity” and for their “sacrilegious character”) the criteria also included, “Their tendency to present crime in an informatory way” and “Their incitement to riot and attacks upon public order” (Saylor, pg. 146.) Now, these last two edicts are silly, and also indicative of how condescending the censorship board was towards the public populace that went to the movies. The censorship board’s main aim, in my opinion, was to simply dumb down the movies. The third criteria basically shows that the censorship board wanted to take out any form of reality out of a given movie because of fear that the young would be highly influenced by viewing illicitness in movies. The censorship board is basically stating here that movies are entertainment and entertainment only; they should never have the power to show the workings of the real world, because audiences wouldn’t be able to handle this. This doesn’t make any sense, considering that the news certainly shows readers and viewers what the real world is really like. As if simply showing crime in a movie would create an illicit reaction out of someone. Modern audiences see crime all the time in a given movie, and they haven’t rioted the streets. The censorship board during their reign basically stated that audiences couldn’t handle the documentary field in anyway. This censored view of life is a fake blasé view, and many older films during the censorship board’s reign can attest to this. What were the censorship board trying to do? Were they trying to police a world’s populace by trying to show them a fake view of the world, in film? What does this say about the censorship board’s view of the intelligence of the standard film audience; that they were dumb and simply deserved sub-standard entertainment that didn’t make them think a little? The ramifications of the censorship board’s actions were extreme because they limited artistic freedom, thus limiting the potentialities of the film medium.
The shocking edict of that time was that movies were simply entertainment and were sub-standard in importance towards theater, painting, novels, music, ect. Really, what the censorship board’s prime aim was to make cinema the sub-standard art form that they initially felt it always was. Mature themes like violence are an important part of an artist’s vision. If Dostoyevsky were censored there would never be masterpieces of literature like Crime and Punishment and Notes from the Underground. They would be highly botched works, and more importantly they wouldn’t make any sense, had they been censored. They might even have been withdrawn had they existed under conditions like the censorship board. Dostoyevsky’s never got to exist during the early half of the 20th century in film because of self censorship. Yes, there are filmmakers out there who use violence tastelessly and ill morally in their films. However, should their bad judgment be used against filmmakers of exquisite taste? Well, that’s what happened under the censorship board’s reign. They basically used film as instructive moral doctrine for audiences, which is in itself a form of usury. Is it any wonder that the Catholic Church had leeway over filmmaker’s rights?
When the pact between both the National Board of Censorship and the Catholic Legion of Decency occurred, ironies ensued because of the vast differences between both organizations. When Elia Kazan reached a disagreement with the the National Board of Censorship on the rape scene at the end of A Streetcar Named Desire, his reasoning was that, “The rape of Blanche is a pivotal, integral truth in the play, without which the play loses its meaning, which is the ravishment of the tender, the sensitive, the delicate, by the savage and brutal forces of modern society. It is a poetic plea for comprehension” (Brook, 348.) By this time, in my opinion the times were changing and the Board realized that they had to move with the mandate of the times. It’s with A Streetcar Named Desire that the Board finally realized the transgression of their ways, and permitted the rape to be subtly hinted at, for the sake of the initial message that the filmmakers were trying to come through with. They finally realized that moments such as the one with Blanche shouldn’t be censored or else the meaning of the film would be lost; the filmmakers were not trying to sneak pornographic material in the film just for the thrill of it; the illicit material had meaning behind it. Unfortunately, almost as a haunting reminder of the stupid decisions that the Board had pulled in the past for the sake of “morality”, the Catholic Legion of Decency, with the clout that the Board gave them in the past, had final cut over A Streetcar Named Desire. (Brook, 349.)
Naturally, Kazan was outraged. The fact that a filmmaker even has to deal with a Religious body is ludicrous; Tennessee Williams and Catholicism should not be uttered in the same sentence (Brook, 349.) Just as there should be a separation of church and state, there should be a separation of church and art. As mentioned before, what appears illicit may not be merely illicit, if handled by an artist. Well, a body primarily concentrating on simply what is or appears moral doesn’t care about those considerations. If anything, it’s more political than that. The person being affected by this the most, of course, speaks the most eloquently about the situation, because they are experiencing the situation firsthand. Here’s Elia Kazan: “They didn’t give a damn about the beauty or artistic value of the picture. To them it was just a piece of entertainment. It was business, not art. They wanted to get the entire family to see the picture. They didn’t want anything that might keep anyone away. At the same time they wanted it to be dirty enough to pull people in. The whole business was rather an outrage” (Brook, 349). If one didn’t know better they may think that Kazan was describing the National Board of Censorship.
Even though the National Board of Censorship’s intentions were sound, the idea being that self-censorship is the best alternative opposed to government censorship for the sake of the integrity of the artist, they missed the fact the censorship simply shouldn’t exist. The idea that they or the Catholic Legion of Decency had the right to take over an artist’s vision by censoring it is far more immoral than any illicit behavior depicted in the films being censored, as the National Board of Censorship found out, only to late. They were being made irrelevant by an organization that they themselves gave power to. This is the inherent problem when organizations go mad with the idea that they and they alone can enforce morality; they begin to dupe themselves.
Monday, September 14, 2009
It’s all in the subtleties—A teacher’s manual that is trying to make a difference: A review of the new book Teaching Generation M by a member of Gen M
The editors (Vibiana Bowman Cvetkovic and Robert J. Lackie) and writers (they are too numerous to cite) of Teaching Generation M: A Handbook for Librarians and Educators had the insight to not make this book a compilation of vastly discerning 
viewpoints. Yes, some of the viewpoints are somewhat different, but this book does not seem to be an academic boxing match in any way and that’s because there’s no time for academic fist fighting when one has to facilitate a better library and classroom environment. The editors of this book had the good sense to know that this digital debate is not about personal preferences in regards to how to teach (the Kindle or no Kindle question is blasé). Rather, the debate revolves around the passionate belief on the librarian’s and educator’s part concerning how to best serve their students’ needs. These educators have good reason to argue. In a sense, Teaching Generation M deals first and foremost with closing the gap, and one can’t do that by getting in a tizzy over the situation.
This book very cogently states the problems inherent in the digital divide without pointing any fingers at anyone, and that’s because it’s a twofold problem. The older generation’s assumption that Gen M consists of “computer wizards” does pose as a falsity, and yet it’s not the complete part of the problem—it more is the starting off point. Once that assumption has been set in the people who constitute Gen M’s minds, they don’t actively try to learn more in the way of better critical media skills, because they are so confident of their skills, which ultimately results in their writing poor papers. Therefore, both parties are wrong in how they conduct their business, hence the digital divide. This is a brilliant point made by most of the writers of this book—there are a few stragglers, but that’s OK.
However, there’s an interesting paradox to that argument that I think the writers of this book know is present, and it’s their saving grace: It’s highly ironic that Gen M doesn’t nearly know as much as older individuals think—and I include myself in that group, as a member of Gen M(edia), or the Millennial Generation, myself. This may sound like a double-sided criticism addressed to both parties. But the reason why I think the writers of Teaching Generation M realize the contradiction is because, throughout the book, they subtly posit that idea in the readers’ heads without belaboring the point. Therefore, the book remains non-judgmental.
I really found this book to be so lucid that is was refreshing. Who would have thought that a handbook or manual for librarians and teachers (and anyone else who deals with Gen M) could be so entertaining to read from the layman’s perspective? On a simple, primal level, what makes the book so exciting to me is simply having the pleasure to read what is on librarians’ and/or teachers’ minds. These educators merely appear recitative, but when they cut loose, they do they have things to say! The book doesn’t really have so much to do with extolling or decrying the growing adherence to technology, especially with regard to doing research. Rather, Teaching Generation M has to do with how to properly facilitate learning in a technological digital age. That’s why it’s a fantastic book for everyone concerned.
Writers such as Patricia H. Dawson, Diane K. Cambell, and Mitch Fontenot, and Robert Lackie, have the good sense to know that technology is here, and one has to simply properly deal with this new situation. It is amusing how some academics act almost as if Wikipedia and Google have just arrived on the scene, so everyone should cower in their seats over this dangerous new way of doing research. They talk about these research tools almost as if they were weapons of mass destruction, and writer Mitch Fontenot sees the hilarity in the situation, without being mean-spirited in any way. You cannot properly facilitate learning when you are angry at the same people that you as an educator are also criticizing. Well, certain academics seem to be acting that way—my opinion. I believe that as a teacher, librarian, trainer, or supervisor, you have to figure out how the relationship between student and teacher has changed, first and foremost, before even setting foot in that library or classroom setting. That form of teaching would subsequently help encourage students to enhance their critical skills, especially in terms of surveying digital information.
Really, even though the young person’s critical thinking and research skills are constantly changing, when one comes right down to it, those skills are still the same primary learning skills, just as no matter how much teenagers change, they still remain teenagers. The philosophical notion behind this book is that no matter how much the classroom’s format changes, it basically still remains a classroom. Therefore, all educators should not worry over the superficial changes that are occurring in terms of how a student conducts research. That’s a very even-balanced argument on the writers’ part. The argument becomes even stronger once the reader realizes that these points are not made from some essayist completely separated from the situation, but rather, it is coming from educators and librarians who see the situation firsthand.
Again, I like the fact that the book is in the guise of just a teacher’s manual or handbook, mainly because I believe this type of format allows the writers of Teaching Generation M to administer a calming even-handed non-argumentative approach to the points that they make throughout the book, and they do it without being condescending. Therefore, any reader can believe in what he or she is reading about, and there are a plethora of points being made that will assist anyone who teaches or works with Gen M students.
However, I think there is a double-layered meaning to this published work. If the book was only a teacher’s manual, than it might have a prosaic tone, which means that the common reader would be turned off. However, I think that Teaching Generation M: A Handbook for Librarians and Educators is exciting because it is subtly addressed to all readers, including members of Generation Media, like myself, which is just another form of bridging the gap. Well done all!
- David A. Brown, Rider University English major, with a concentration in Cinema Studies; and
Editorial Intern for Cineaste Magazine: America’s Leading Magazine on the Art and Politics of the Cinema, and a proud member of Generation M(edia).
viewpoints. Yes, some of the viewpoints are somewhat different, but this book does not seem to be an academic boxing match in any way and that’s because there’s no time for academic fist fighting when one has to facilitate a better library and classroom environment. The editors of this book had the good sense to know that this digital debate is not about personal preferences in regards to how to teach (the Kindle or no Kindle question is blasé). Rather, the debate revolves around the passionate belief on the librarian’s and educator’s part concerning how to best serve their students’ needs. These educators have good reason to argue. In a sense, Teaching Generation M deals first and foremost with closing the gap, and one can’t do that by getting in a tizzy over the situation.This book very cogently states the problems inherent in the digital divide without pointing any fingers at anyone, and that’s because it’s a twofold problem. The older generation’s assumption that Gen M consists of “computer wizards” does pose as a falsity, and yet it’s not the complete part of the problem—it more is the starting off point. Once that assumption has been set in the people who constitute Gen M’s minds, they don’t actively try to learn more in the way of better critical media skills, because they are so confident of their skills, which ultimately results in their writing poor papers. Therefore, both parties are wrong in how they conduct their business, hence the digital divide. This is a brilliant point made by most of the writers of this book—there are a few stragglers, but that’s OK.
However, there’s an interesting paradox to that argument that I think the writers of this book know is present, and it’s their saving grace: It’s highly ironic that Gen M doesn’t nearly know as much as older individuals think—and I include myself in that group, as a member of Gen M(edia), or the Millennial Generation, myself. This may sound like a double-sided criticism addressed to both parties. But the reason why I think the writers of Teaching Generation M realize the contradiction is because, throughout the book, they subtly posit that idea in the readers’ heads without belaboring the point. Therefore, the book remains non-judgmental.
I really found this book to be so lucid that is was refreshing. Who would have thought that a handbook or manual for librarians and teachers (and anyone else who deals with Gen M) could be so entertaining to read from the layman’s perspective? On a simple, primal level, what makes the book so exciting to me is simply having the pleasure to read what is on librarians’ and/or teachers’ minds. These educators merely appear recitative, but when they cut loose, they do they have things to say! The book doesn’t really have so much to do with extolling or decrying the growing adherence to technology, especially with regard to doing research. Rather, Teaching Generation M has to do with how to properly facilitate learning in a technological digital age. That’s why it’s a fantastic book for everyone concerned.
Writers such as Patricia H. Dawson, Diane K. Cambell, and Mitch Fontenot, and Robert Lackie, have the good sense to know that technology is here, and one has to simply properly deal with this new situation. It is amusing how some academics act almost as if Wikipedia and Google have just arrived on the scene, so everyone should cower in their seats over this dangerous new way of doing research. They talk about these research tools almost as if they were weapons of mass destruction, and writer Mitch Fontenot sees the hilarity in the situation, without being mean-spirited in any way. You cannot properly facilitate learning when you are angry at the same people that you as an educator are also criticizing. Well, certain academics seem to be acting that way—my opinion. I believe that as a teacher, librarian, trainer, or supervisor, you have to figure out how the relationship between student and teacher has changed, first and foremost, before even setting foot in that library or classroom setting. That form of teaching would subsequently help encourage students to enhance their critical skills, especially in terms of surveying digital information.
Really, even though the young person’s critical thinking and research skills are constantly changing, when one comes right down to it, those skills are still the same primary learning skills, just as no matter how much teenagers change, they still remain teenagers. The philosophical notion behind this book is that no matter how much the classroom’s format changes, it basically still remains a classroom. Therefore, all educators should not worry over the superficial changes that are occurring in terms of how a student conducts research. That’s a very even-balanced argument on the writers’ part. The argument becomes even stronger once the reader realizes that these points are not made from some essayist completely separated from the situation, but rather, it is coming from educators and librarians who see the situation firsthand.
Again, I like the fact that the book is in the guise of just a teacher’s manual or handbook, mainly because I believe this type of format allows the writers of Teaching Generation M to administer a calming even-handed non-argumentative approach to the points that they make throughout the book, and they do it without being condescending. Therefore, any reader can believe in what he or she is reading about, and there are a plethora of points being made that will assist anyone who teaches or works with Gen M students.
However, I think there is a double-layered meaning to this published work. If the book was only a teacher’s manual, than it might have a prosaic tone, which means that the common reader would be turned off. However, I think that Teaching Generation M: A Handbook for Librarians and Educators is exciting because it is subtly addressed to all readers, including members of Generation Media, like myself, which is just another form of bridging the gap. Well done all!
- David A. Brown, Rider University English major, with a concentration in Cinema Studies; and
Editorial Intern for Cineaste Magazine: America’s Leading Magazine on the Art and Politics of the Cinema, and a proud member of Generation M(edia).
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Contempt
Contempt-“A Cloud of Unawareness” David Brown
4/21/09
Seminar in Cin.
In the film Contempt, it seems that the love triangle between Camille (Brigitte Bardot) Paul (Michel Piccoli) and Jeremy (Jack Palance) is a subtle metaphor for the decaying film industry. In this film Godard equates failed filmmaking with a failed relationship. He also notes how the two inevitably intercede to destroy one another. It’s almost as if Godard is stating to the audience that films are so contemptible because no one examines in close detail the production aspects that mare a production; just as no one learns from past filmmaker’s mistakes. Godard’s critical stance against passive audiences who merely are indifferent is that they should be indignant towards flawed filmmaking. His feeling is that audiences, and filmmakers, have to study why a production went wrong in much the same way that relationships go wrong. If people are so hungry for the latest tabloid gossip, in terms of what infidelities are going on in the film world, surely they can be as interested on how these celebrities affect the productions that they are in; many times by the infidelities that they are having. (The casting of Brigitte Bardot is perfect, because at that time she was the tabloid goddess.)
Godard’s study of why a production falters stems from the confines of Jeremy’s (the producer’s) way of making a movie, which involves usury and lying. The great amounts of usury and lying on Jeremy’s part actually makes everyone who has to be intrinsically involved with his production have a mistaken view of reality, which ultimately makes that individual lose their integrity. This process begins with Paul’s being bind to the production by signing a contract to do the film; any protestation on Paul’s part will be flawed and illogical because he’s binded by the contract. When Lang, the personal artist, mentions the importance of culture, Jeremy states: “When I deal with culture I get out my checkbook.” Jeremy’s checkbook is his way of eradicating personal vision. Once Jeremy writes out that check, it becomes much easier for Paul to follow Jeremy’s orders.
Jeremy’s rationale for hiring Paul is so he can obtain his wife from him. Really, that is Paul’s job on this movie; no wonder he loses his integrity. He begins to lose his artistic creativity and begins to get distracted. Camille talks about this in a digression about the man who got distracted by an ass; this is in reference to Paul’s being distracted by his suspicions that Camille is sleeping with another man. This is all Jeremy’s fault, which is just another representation of Jeremy’s power in destroying artistic creativity/relationships.
It seems that Godard is arguing that the main creators on the film sets involved with big productions always intrinsically lose their personal vision because they try to mimic, in order to impress, the big hotshot producer producing the international enterprise. It’s almost as if Paul is not consciously aware that he slowly is resembling Jeremy more and more. He’s becoming the vulgar creative male personality, and this is represented by his wearing of that hat throughout the film, and by how he treats women. The audience is aware that this man used to have integrity. Yet, the audience never sees the true Paul in this film. In some strange way, Godard (and Camille) are criticizing Paul more than anyone else in this film because he is the French artist with integrity that sells out. At least Jeremy is consistent in his vulgarity.
There really is no basis on the producer’s part for making a solid production of the story of Odysseus; it might as well be titled what Camille calls it: the movie about the guy that swims. Camille should not be criticized for her indifference to art. After all, Paul’s definition of art is looking at old artwork and finding the nudity stimulating. He trashes antiquity by hitting the ancient nude female object in the flat in the private parts. This is a metaphor for the old dying way for making movies being destroyed by artist’s distraction with mundane sexual affairs. It’s almost as if the artist becoming a crass individual (Paul becoming Jeremy) destroys a filmmaker like Lang’s control over his personal vision.
Camille wants to escape from this barbarity by becoming indifferent to the processes of art. In one scene in a movie theatre, Jeremy finds it intriguing that Camille has no opinion on what should be done about the production. The camera then pans over to Camille’s face as she indifferently watches the screen with the rest of the audience. She wants nothing to do with this production; hence, she has an indifference towards movies and moviemaking.
Camille is a tragic character because she can’t love Paul anymore. She’s well aware that Paul is losing his independence and whoring for the industry. She’s also well aware that he’s the ultimate hypocrite because he wants Camille to remain the way she was, i.e., in love with him. However, he’s not the same man anymore. Camille has an indifference to filmmaking not because she’s vain or lacks integrity, but because the process is so destructive towards relationships. Camille could very well be a metaphor for the indifferent film audience that Godard has empathy with yet criticizes. He has empathy for Camille/the indifferent film audience because they are powerless, yet he also criticizes them because they don’t properly get out of their situation. In a scene in the flat, Camille deplores to Paul that she won’t go meet him and Jeremy (at this point in the film the two sexist prigs); yet she moves around in circles and keeps repeating the line, almost as if she were trapped. She eventually does go meet them.
This sense of constrictedness (and of the main characters being trapped in the confines of Jeremy’s will) is felt in the tiny flats in the film. I find it ironic and humorous that these “fancy” flats that everyone sells their souls to live in are so constricting and unpleasant. This is a representation of Jeremy’s deceitful nature. It appears to these characters that once they sell their soul to Jeremy they will have free will over their lives; that selling their soul is all in the name of making a movie. A perfect representation of this: When Paul is typing away at the script, Camille walks under a ladder, which is a symbol of bad luck.
The way in which the camera constantly moves horizontally from left to right or right to left resembles, in many ways, a tennis match between the figures in the frame. It’s ironic that the people involved in a big production like this can never connect; how are they supposed to have their film connect with their audience in anyway? Their situation is so deplorable that all they can do is fight at one another. Camille’s going with Jeremy at the end of the film is her way of escaping from this constricting area, where everyone’s losing their integrity and individuality.
In the next to final scene in the movie, Godard continues to employ his visual indication of the contradictory nature of Camille. Jeremy’s vulgar red car color matches his sweater perfectly. This man will never change in anyway. Yet, Camille’s sweater in the scene is blue. The color contrasts against Jeremy’s vulgarity; yet Camille is losing her will against this man. Once the truck hits the car and kills the two, their bodies are facing against one another. If these two had not had the language barrier to obstruct conversation, they would have been the ones arguing in the film. Yet, on a multinational production such as this, it’s the people who speak the same language that have contempt for one another. This is the ultimate tragedy in Godard’s eyes. His feeling is that similar cultures (represented by Camille and Paul) should band together (or in Camille and Paul’s case, stay in their relationship), and make films together (like the New Wave group) and not lose their vision just to receive a higher budget for their production. (In the case of Camille and Paul, they should have never been won over by Jeremy.)
Camille’s only escape from Jeremy’s will (almost as if he were an evil creature out of Greek myth) is through death. The shot before the accident, showing Jeremy’s driving very rapidly from the left side of the frame to the right side of the frame, is very similar to the shot where Paul violently pulls Camille, once they have left Jeremy’s villa. Paul’s violent movement, in order to get him and Camille out of the presence of Jeremy and his production, is an example of Paul’s violent protestation against Jeremy’s way of making movies. Yet, Paul’s movement is ultimately rapt, and intense to the point of dissipation. The same sorts of movements happen when Paul becomes violent towards Camille, in the flat. Camille’s rapt decision to leave Paul also ends through violence. These protestations of Jeremy’s way of doing business are faulty, because once Paul signs that contract to write the script for the film (just as Camille decides to get in that car with Jeremy), both of them are ensnared in the confines of Jeremy’s will; escaping that will ultimately proves fatal for both of them. The rapid escape that both characters try to attempt in this movie is the delusion from the truth that Lang (the old pro who’s used to this way of making movies) does not believe in. Lang’s sentiment is felt in one of his last lines at the end of the film: “One has to begin what one starts.”It’s interesting that Contempt was the only high budget multinational film that Godard ever made, and yet this is the film that represents his stance against high budget multinational filmmaking. Perhaps Godard’s reflexive way in which to tell a story is the best way in which to write a critique against the film industry, because it allowed him to experience the situation firsthand. The fact that Godard kept his integrity throughout the filming of Contempt was his way of signaling to other filmmaker’s that there is indeed hope in the film industry; one has to be merely wary of the situation and not give in easily.
4/21/09
Seminar in Cin.
In the film Contempt, it seems that the love triangle between Camille (Brigitte Bardot) Paul (Michel Piccoli) and Jeremy (Jack Palance) is a subtle metaphor for the decaying film industry. In this film Godard equates failed filmmaking with a failed relationship. He also notes how the two inevitably intercede to destroy one another. It’s almost as if Godard is stating to the audience that films are so contemptible because no one examines in close detail the production aspects that mare a production; just as no one learns from past filmmaker’s mistakes. Godard’s critical stance against passive audiences who merely are indifferent is that they should be indignant towards flawed filmmaking. His feeling is that audiences, and filmmakers, have to study why a production went wrong in much the same way that relationships go wrong. If people are so hungry for the latest tabloid gossip, in terms of what infidelities are going on in the film world, surely they can be as interested on how these celebrities affect the productions that they are in; many times by the infidelities that they are having. (The casting of Brigitte Bardot is perfect, because at that time she was the tabloid goddess.)
Godard’s study of why a production falters stems from the confines of Jeremy’s (the producer’s) way of making a movie, which involves usury and lying. The great amounts of usury and lying on Jeremy’s part actually makes everyone who has to be intrinsically involved with his production have a mistaken view of reality, which ultimately makes that individual lose their integrity. This process begins with Paul’s being bind to the production by signing a contract to do the film; any protestation on Paul’s part will be flawed and illogical because he’s binded by the contract. When Lang, the personal artist, mentions the importance of culture, Jeremy states: “When I deal with culture I get out my checkbook.” Jeremy’s checkbook is his way of eradicating personal vision. Once Jeremy writes out that check, it becomes much easier for Paul to follow Jeremy’s orders.
Jeremy’s rationale for hiring Paul is so he can obtain his wife from him. Really, that is Paul’s job on this movie; no wonder he loses his integrity. He begins to lose his artistic creativity and begins to get distracted. Camille talks about this in a digression about the man who got distracted by an ass; this is in reference to Paul’s being distracted by his suspicions that Camille is sleeping with another man. This is all Jeremy’s fault, which is just another representation of Jeremy’s power in destroying artistic creativity/relationships.
It seems that Godard is arguing that the main creators on the film sets involved with big productions always intrinsically lose their personal vision because they try to mimic, in order to impress, the big hotshot producer producing the international enterprise. It’s almost as if Paul is not consciously aware that he slowly is resembling Jeremy more and more. He’s becoming the vulgar creative male personality, and this is represented by his wearing of that hat throughout the film, and by how he treats women. The audience is aware that this man used to have integrity. Yet, the audience never sees the true Paul in this film. In some strange way, Godard (and Camille) are criticizing Paul more than anyone else in this film because he is the French artist with integrity that sells out. At least Jeremy is consistent in his vulgarity.
There really is no basis on the producer’s part for making a solid production of the story of Odysseus; it might as well be titled what Camille calls it: the movie about the guy that swims. Camille should not be criticized for her indifference to art. After all, Paul’s definition of art is looking at old artwork and finding the nudity stimulating. He trashes antiquity by hitting the ancient nude female object in the flat in the private parts. This is a metaphor for the old dying way for making movies being destroyed by artist’s distraction with mundane sexual affairs. It’s almost as if the artist becoming a crass individual (Paul becoming Jeremy) destroys a filmmaker like Lang’s control over his personal vision.
Camille wants to escape from this barbarity by becoming indifferent to the processes of art. In one scene in a movie theatre, Jeremy finds it intriguing that Camille has no opinion on what should be done about the production. The camera then pans over to Camille’s face as she indifferently watches the screen with the rest of the audience. She wants nothing to do with this production; hence, she has an indifference towards movies and moviemaking.
Camille is a tragic character because she can’t love Paul anymore. She’s well aware that Paul is losing his independence and whoring for the industry. She’s also well aware that he’s the ultimate hypocrite because he wants Camille to remain the way she was, i.e., in love with him. However, he’s not the same man anymore. Camille has an indifference to filmmaking not because she’s vain or lacks integrity, but because the process is so destructive towards relationships. Camille could very well be a metaphor for the indifferent film audience that Godard has empathy with yet criticizes. He has empathy for Camille/the indifferent film audience because they are powerless, yet he also criticizes them because they don’t properly get out of their situation. In a scene in the flat, Camille deplores to Paul that she won’t go meet him and Jeremy (at this point in the film the two sexist prigs); yet she moves around in circles and keeps repeating the line, almost as if she were trapped. She eventually does go meet them.
This sense of constrictedness (and of the main characters being trapped in the confines of Jeremy’s will) is felt in the tiny flats in the film. I find it ironic and humorous that these “fancy” flats that everyone sells their souls to live in are so constricting and unpleasant. This is a representation of Jeremy’s deceitful nature. It appears to these characters that once they sell their soul to Jeremy they will have free will over their lives; that selling their soul is all in the name of making a movie. A perfect representation of this: When Paul is typing away at the script, Camille walks under a ladder, which is a symbol of bad luck.
The way in which the camera constantly moves horizontally from left to right or right to left resembles, in many ways, a tennis match between the figures in the frame. It’s ironic that the people involved in a big production like this can never connect; how are they supposed to have their film connect with their audience in anyway? Their situation is so deplorable that all they can do is fight at one another. Camille’s going with Jeremy at the end of the film is her way of escaping from this constricting area, where everyone’s losing their integrity and individuality.
In the next to final scene in the movie, Godard continues to employ his visual indication of the contradictory nature of Camille. Jeremy’s vulgar red car color matches his sweater perfectly. This man will never change in anyway. Yet, Camille’s sweater in the scene is blue. The color contrasts against Jeremy’s vulgarity; yet Camille is losing her will against this man. Once the truck hits the car and kills the two, their bodies are facing against one another. If these two had not had the language barrier to obstruct conversation, they would have been the ones arguing in the film. Yet, on a multinational production such as this, it’s the people who speak the same language that have contempt for one another. This is the ultimate tragedy in Godard’s eyes. His feeling is that similar cultures (represented by Camille and Paul) should band together (or in Camille and Paul’s case, stay in their relationship), and make films together (like the New Wave group) and not lose their vision just to receive a higher budget for their production. (In the case of Camille and Paul, they should have never been won over by Jeremy.)
Camille’s only escape from Jeremy’s will (almost as if he were an evil creature out of Greek myth) is through death. The shot before the accident, showing Jeremy’s driving very rapidly from the left side of the frame to the right side of the frame, is very similar to the shot where Paul violently pulls Camille, once they have left Jeremy’s villa. Paul’s violent movement, in order to get him and Camille out of the presence of Jeremy and his production, is an example of Paul’s violent protestation against Jeremy’s way of making movies. Yet, Paul’s movement is ultimately rapt, and intense to the point of dissipation. The same sorts of movements happen when Paul becomes violent towards Camille, in the flat. Camille’s rapt decision to leave Paul also ends through violence. These protestations of Jeremy’s way of doing business are faulty, because once Paul signs that contract to write the script for the film (just as Camille decides to get in that car with Jeremy), both of them are ensnared in the confines of Jeremy’s will; escaping that will ultimately proves fatal for both of them. The rapid escape that both characters try to attempt in this movie is the delusion from the truth that Lang (the old pro who’s used to this way of making movies) does not believe in. Lang’s sentiment is felt in one of his last lines at the end of the film: “One has to begin what one starts.”It’s interesting that Contempt was the only high budget multinational film that Godard ever made, and yet this is the film that represents his stance against high budget multinational filmmaking. Perhaps Godard’s reflexive way in which to tell a story is the best way in which to write a critique against the film industry, because it allowed him to experience the situation firsthand. The fact that Godard kept his integrity throughout the filming of Contempt was his way of signaling to other filmmaker’s that there is indeed hope in the film industry; one has to be merely wary of the situation and not give in easily.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The Simplest Means
David Brown
3/24/09
Seminar in Cinema Studies
Surrealism is one of the most interesting qualities inherently used to great effect in certain films. It’s that slightly off feeling in a Lynch film or a Bunel film that gives an audience member a sense that they have been witnessing a strange view of reality; an almost dream like view that lacks conventional dramatic structure and logic. Perhaps these filmmakers learned a thing or two from one of the greatest surreal directors: Jean Cocteau. Cocteau was a playwright, and therefore knew more about dramatic structure than Bunel or Lynch. However, this didn’t mean that his films were not unconventional. I’d argue that the best way to depart from convention is to first know how to properly tell a conventional story, and then completely imbue that story with unconventional traits. These traits would not seem arbitrary in the slightest, because they would naturally be contingent upon the story being told on screen. For instance, in Jean Cocteau’s Orpheus (1949), even though it doesn’t necessarily make conventional sense that Orphee (Jean Marais) can’t look at his wife Eurydice (Marie Dea) or else she will die, it seems to not be an arbitrary element in anyway extrinsic from the story either. I can’t think of many other filmmakers who posses that quality of surrealism. It’s no wonder that Cocteau is termed a classical avant-gardist.
Possibly, the elements in Orpheus fit so well in place because the movie is based on the classic Greek myth of Orpheus, and how he lost Eurydice. However, Cocteau has elaborated on that myth in adding the final section involving Orphee’s second chance at getting Eurydice back from the dead. The one stipulation is that Orphee is not allowed to look at her ever again; if he does she dies for good. Cocteau takes this dramatic scenario that should be depressing, and makes it comic. This is highly strange thematically for a dramatist to do, because it’s not the normal route for a story like this to take. It’s comic because both parties decide to continue to live with one another. It gets to the point where Heurtebise (Francois Périer), death’s chauffeur of all people, has to constantly remind Orphee to be careful about staring into the mirror, for fear that he will see his wife. (This could be construed as a metaphor for a marriage falling apart, considering that Orphee is falling in love with Death (María Casares).) However, all of this is made comic rather than tragic, and this is an example of Cocteau’s genius. As a filmmaker, he takes his pretentious artistic ideas and magically makes them unpretentious. This feat is a major moment in art. It’s almost as if a Bohemian avant garde artist finally figured out dramatic construction and consequently had no more stumbling blocks in which to trip over.
At some moments, Orpheus resembles a surreal marital comedy. I think the juxtaposition of these elements works because the film has a structure in which to base its wild ramblings on. I’m sure Cocteau wanted to experiment with juxtapositions of surrealism and normality or banality for this film. In order to do that successfully, Cocteau had to have some kind of structure for his dream like film, or else it wouldn’t make any sense to an audience; and what better structure is there other than the Greek myths?
I think the other element that makes Orpheus such an effective surreal film is the fact that it has such a low budget. Usually, one would presume that a low budget would limit a filmmaker from being creative, particularly if their film has many special effects in it. It appears that nothing daunted Cocteau. If anything, he was probably spurred on by having a limited budget. The constrictions probably allowed Cocteau to experiment in highly unconventional ways, and this fit his unconventional avant garde style. For instance, no filmmaker would ever think of showing the entrance to another dimension by simply putting two people in reverse when they walk. However, this effect works, particularly since it’s in slow motion. This effect is what makes the film dream like; it’s not simply an effect because its adds to the movie’s premise. The same could be said for showing Orphee leap into and out of the mirror in order to get to the other dimension, or the way in which he enters through the mirror (Cocteau uses a water effect.) There’s a statement being made in that special effect, and that is that one doesn’t know which side of the mirror is more real. We all could be living in a non-real universe, and the reflection of that reality could be the real reality. (It seems that The Matrix used this idea as well.) Thank heavens Cocteau doesn’t state this pretentious idea outright; it’s merely hidden in the film. It’s this element of grace and ease with which Cocteau presents his ideas, almost as if they were hidden away in special effects, that is truly commendable. He makes the artistic process look as easy as a skip and a frolic, and this is what is lacking from a Lynch or a Bunel.
There’s a line in Orpheus where at the beginning of the film, Orphee says to Heurtebise, “Astonish me!” That’s Cocteau’s way of showing the relationship between the artist and his audience, and how an artist first and foremost is a type of ring master, and not a deep intellectual thinker. (That part for Cocteau came second.) An artist, in Cocteau’s estimation had to truly pleasure an audience, and he correctly learned that one doesn’t do this by simply making deep statements about society. Doing so would show one’s limitations, particularly one’s lack of a budget. Rather, Cocteau felt that filmmaker’s have to primarily dazzle their audience, especially visually. This working method is an example of what separates Cocteau from other low budget filmmaker’s and artists with lack of funds. Cocteau felt that one has to find a way to make their audience enthralled, or else there is no point in showing their vision to an audience. In other words, he felt that an artist should not be daunted in anyway; if an artist is talented he can accomplish anything. This is the magic element of Cocteau’s working process. He makes everything he does look so effortless. His film Orpheus is an example of pulling a rabbit out of the hat. Transposing a Greek myth to French Parisian life in the 40’s is a daunting task enough. However, doing this on a limited budget is even more daunting, and yet Cocteau pulls off the miracle.
3/24/09
Seminar in Cinema Studies
Surrealism is one of the most interesting qualities inherently used to great effect in certain films. It’s that slightly off feeling in a Lynch film or a Bunel film that gives an audience member a sense that they have been witnessing a strange view of reality; an almost dream like view that lacks conventional dramatic structure and logic. Perhaps these filmmakers learned a thing or two from one of the greatest surreal directors: Jean Cocteau. Cocteau was a playwright, and therefore knew more about dramatic structure than Bunel or Lynch. However, this didn’t mean that his films were not unconventional. I’d argue that the best way to depart from convention is to first know how to properly tell a conventional story, and then completely imbue that story with unconventional traits. These traits would not seem arbitrary in the slightest, because they would naturally be contingent upon the story being told on screen. For instance, in Jean Cocteau’s Orpheus (1949), even though it doesn’t necessarily make conventional sense that Orphee (Jean Marais) can’t look at his wife Eurydice (Marie Dea) or else she will die, it seems to not be an arbitrary element in anyway extrinsic from the story either. I can’t think of many other filmmakers who posses that quality of surrealism. It’s no wonder that Cocteau is termed a classical avant-gardist.
Possibly, the elements in Orpheus fit so well in place because the movie is based on the classic Greek myth of Orpheus, and how he lost Eurydice. However, Cocteau has elaborated on that myth in adding the final section involving Orphee’s second chance at getting Eurydice back from the dead. The one stipulation is that Orphee is not allowed to look at her ever again; if he does she dies for good. Cocteau takes this dramatic scenario that should be depressing, and makes it comic. This is highly strange thematically for a dramatist to do, because it’s not the normal route for a story like this to take. It’s comic because both parties decide to continue to live with one another. It gets to the point where Heurtebise (Francois Périer), death’s chauffeur of all people, has to constantly remind Orphee to be careful about staring into the mirror, for fear that he will see his wife. (This could be construed as a metaphor for a marriage falling apart, considering that Orphee is falling in love with Death (María Casares).) However, all of this is made comic rather than tragic, and this is an example of Cocteau’s genius. As a filmmaker, he takes his pretentious artistic ideas and magically makes them unpretentious. This feat is a major moment in art. It’s almost as if a Bohemian avant garde artist finally figured out dramatic construction and consequently had no more stumbling blocks in which to trip over.
At some moments, Orpheus resembles a surreal marital comedy. I think the juxtaposition of these elements works because the film has a structure in which to base its wild ramblings on. I’m sure Cocteau wanted to experiment with juxtapositions of surrealism and normality or banality for this film. In order to do that successfully, Cocteau had to have some kind of structure for his dream like film, or else it wouldn’t make any sense to an audience; and what better structure is there other than the Greek myths?
I think the other element that makes Orpheus such an effective surreal film is the fact that it has such a low budget. Usually, one would presume that a low budget would limit a filmmaker from being creative, particularly if their film has many special effects in it. It appears that nothing daunted Cocteau. If anything, he was probably spurred on by having a limited budget. The constrictions probably allowed Cocteau to experiment in highly unconventional ways, and this fit his unconventional avant garde style. For instance, no filmmaker would ever think of showing the entrance to another dimension by simply putting two people in reverse when they walk. However, this effect works, particularly since it’s in slow motion. This effect is what makes the film dream like; it’s not simply an effect because its adds to the movie’s premise. The same could be said for showing Orphee leap into and out of the mirror in order to get to the other dimension, or the way in which he enters through the mirror (Cocteau uses a water effect.) There’s a statement being made in that special effect, and that is that one doesn’t know which side of the mirror is more real. We all could be living in a non-real universe, and the reflection of that reality could be the real reality. (It seems that The Matrix used this idea as well.) Thank heavens Cocteau doesn’t state this pretentious idea outright; it’s merely hidden in the film. It’s this element of grace and ease with which Cocteau presents his ideas, almost as if they were hidden away in special effects, that is truly commendable. He makes the artistic process look as easy as a skip and a frolic, and this is what is lacking from a Lynch or a Bunel.
There’s a line in Orpheus where at the beginning of the film, Orphee says to Heurtebise, “Astonish me!” That’s Cocteau’s way of showing the relationship between the artist and his audience, and how an artist first and foremost is a type of ring master, and not a deep intellectual thinker. (That part for Cocteau came second.) An artist, in Cocteau’s estimation had to truly pleasure an audience, and he correctly learned that one doesn’t do this by simply making deep statements about society. Doing so would show one’s limitations, particularly one’s lack of a budget. Rather, Cocteau felt that filmmaker’s have to primarily dazzle their audience, especially visually. This working method is an example of what separates Cocteau from other low budget filmmaker’s and artists with lack of funds. Cocteau felt that one has to find a way to make their audience enthralled, or else there is no point in showing their vision to an audience. In other words, he felt that an artist should not be daunted in anyway; if an artist is talented he can accomplish anything. This is the magic element of Cocteau’s working process. He makes everything he does look so effortless. His film Orpheus is an example of pulling a rabbit out of the hat. Transposing a Greek myth to French Parisian life in the 40’s is a daunting task enough. However, doing this on a limited budget is even more daunting, and yet Cocteau pulls off the miracle.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Night Of the Living Dead
I love George Romero's Horror films. Here's a director that not only has great talent at scaring an audience, but also is very politically oriented in the Horror visions that he's showing an audience. What Romero depicts in his films is his prescient fears concerning the direction that this country is headed in. What better way to show those fears then in a Horror film? The Horror framework allows Romero to make his political statements acute to an audience.
His films are not didactic in anyway. Rather, Romero’s films serve as great entertainment. His films are successful attempts at properly scaring an audience, and then making that audience think for a change. It's the interim moments of making an audience squirm where Romero utilizes his social commentary on a given situation. He has a given system of shocking an audience into expectancy and then sharing his criticisms of American existence to that audience. Romero has been well aware since he made his first film The Night of the Living Dead, that the Horror framework hooks an audience member towards the director's argument. An audience member is never bored in a Romero film upon seeing acts of American consumerism, or American sexism, ect. Rather, the audience is experiencing the director's thesis viscerally.
Night of the Living Dead is a masterful Horror film because of the simplicity in which events occur in the movie. For instance, the plot of the film falls into place very easily, which ultimately makes the implications of the film very realistic. The movie doesn’t announce itself in anyway like most Horror films. It begins very innocently, and then thematically becomes more terrifying as day turns into night and more and more zombies start appearing. This structure is highly realistic for a Horror film mainly because so little happens. There isn’t much of a plot or explanation as to why the dead are coming back to life. The television broadcasters are as befuddled as the characters trapped in the house. This attitude of confusion creates a realistic sense of a panic stricken culture. Usually in Horror films, even after the main characters learn why something is the way it is, they still are panicking. In Night of The Living Dead, no one has any answers. This is what makes the film have an authentic sense of dread.
Romero’s political statements in this film are actually very general. Yes, of course, the film deals with the concept of racism. However, the overall arching question that Romero posits to the audience is, what leads to racism? Romero’s answer is a nervous culture. Acute nervousness, in Romero’s eyes, leads to ineffectualness and mental lack of clarity. This is no more apparent then in the actions of Harry Cooper (Karl Hardman), who gets many of the main characters killed in the film. He is so wound up by the onslaught of the zombies outside that he becomes the metaphor for the crazed alarmist culture that Romero fears American citizens are becoming. (The informative tv doesn’t help his state in anyway.) In the movie, he constantly berates Ben (Duane Jones), and yet Ben is right in stating that no one should hide in the basement. Cooper’s lack of mental clarity is what is making him make all the wrong selfish decisions. It’s ironic, and somewhat humorous, that Cooper is trying to protect his daughter, and yet she is a zombie. The zombie metaphor is Romero’s way of addressing his concerns over society’s becoming a brainless culture.
Really, Night of the Living Dead is the ultimate example of the effectiveness of nondescriptness; of having a low budget and using unknown actors. These elements simply make the film creepier. As stated before, the film doesn’t announce itself like other Horror films. It doesn’t initially appear phantasmagorical in terms of its look. Rather, the film has a realistic appearance of nondescriptness; especially the opening cemetery scene. The Horror elements, like the sociological elements, creep up on the audience. The setting of Pittsburgh helps. Here’s a sleepy city basically reawakened by zombies. It’s a city rarely shown in movies; an unknown territory that makes the film have a more original look. If only young Horror filmmakers learned Romero’s attributes! They should try their hand at black and white sometime. Young Horror filmmakers should also come up with original ideas that have something to do with their feelings on society. The Horror framework, as evidenced by Night of the Living Dead, is the perfect framework in which to do so. These young filmmaker’s wouldn’t even have to switch genres in order to make more “serious” socially conscious “message” movies.It’s amazing to consider that Romero already established his directorial style in his first film. For instance, when Ben (Duane Jones) relates to Barbara (Judith O’Dea) about how he felt terrified and powerless upon first encountering the zombies, his soliloquy, as it were, is being told to her just after a frightening moment occurred in the film. Ben’s soliloquy is political in nature. The zombies that Ben mentions are representations of white racist men who set out to kill black men. I feel that the implications that these zombies are brainless individuals, is a statement on Romero’s part, in relation to how murdering racists are not intelligent individuals. Is it a coincidence that the human pact that “accidentally” kills Ben at the end of the film, for fear that he’s a zombie, resembles the zombies in the movie? I think not. It’s Romero’s depiction of human hatred guised in human carelessness that makes Night of the Living Dead a truly terrifying movie.
His films are not didactic in anyway. Rather, Romero’s films serve as great entertainment. His films are successful attempts at properly scaring an audience, and then making that audience think for a change. It's the interim moments of making an audience squirm where Romero utilizes his social commentary on a given situation. He has a given system of shocking an audience into expectancy and then sharing his criticisms of American existence to that audience. Romero has been well aware since he made his first film The Night of the Living Dead, that the Horror framework hooks an audience member towards the director's argument. An audience member is never bored in a Romero film upon seeing acts of American consumerism, or American sexism, ect. Rather, the audience is experiencing the director's thesis viscerally.
Night of the Living Dead is a masterful Horror film because of the simplicity in which events occur in the movie. For instance, the plot of the film falls into place very easily, which ultimately makes the implications of the film very realistic. The movie doesn’t announce itself in anyway like most Horror films. It begins very innocently, and then thematically becomes more terrifying as day turns into night and more and more zombies start appearing. This structure is highly realistic for a Horror film mainly because so little happens. There isn’t much of a plot or explanation as to why the dead are coming back to life. The television broadcasters are as befuddled as the characters trapped in the house. This attitude of confusion creates a realistic sense of a panic stricken culture. Usually in Horror films, even after the main characters learn why something is the way it is, they still are panicking. In Night of The Living Dead, no one has any answers. This is what makes the film have an authentic sense of dread.
Romero’s political statements in this film are actually very general. Yes, of course, the film deals with the concept of racism. However, the overall arching question that Romero posits to the audience is, what leads to racism? Romero’s answer is a nervous culture. Acute nervousness, in Romero’s eyes, leads to ineffectualness and mental lack of clarity. This is no more apparent then in the actions of Harry Cooper (Karl Hardman), who gets many of the main characters killed in the film. He is so wound up by the onslaught of the zombies outside that he becomes the metaphor for the crazed alarmist culture that Romero fears American citizens are becoming. (The informative tv doesn’t help his state in anyway.) In the movie, he constantly berates Ben (Duane Jones), and yet Ben is right in stating that no one should hide in the basement. Cooper’s lack of mental clarity is what is making him make all the wrong selfish decisions. It’s ironic, and somewhat humorous, that Cooper is trying to protect his daughter, and yet she is a zombie. The zombie metaphor is Romero’s way of addressing his concerns over society’s becoming a brainless culture.
Really, Night of the Living Dead is the ultimate example of the effectiveness of nondescriptness; of having a low budget and using unknown actors. These elements simply make the film creepier. As stated before, the film doesn’t announce itself like other Horror films. It doesn’t initially appear phantasmagorical in terms of its look. Rather, the film has a realistic appearance of nondescriptness; especially the opening cemetery scene. The Horror elements, like the sociological elements, creep up on the audience. The setting of Pittsburgh helps. Here’s a sleepy city basically reawakened by zombies. It’s a city rarely shown in movies; an unknown territory that makes the film have a more original look. If only young Horror filmmakers learned Romero’s attributes! They should try their hand at black and white sometime. Young Horror filmmakers should also come up with original ideas that have something to do with their feelings on society. The Horror framework, as evidenced by Night of the Living Dead, is the perfect framework in which to do so. These young filmmaker’s wouldn’t even have to switch genres in order to make more “serious” socially conscious “message” movies.It’s amazing to consider that Romero already established his directorial style in his first film. For instance, when Ben (Duane Jones) relates to Barbara (Judith O’Dea) about how he felt terrified and powerless upon first encountering the zombies, his soliloquy, as it were, is being told to her just after a frightening moment occurred in the film. Ben’s soliloquy is political in nature. The zombies that Ben mentions are representations of white racist men who set out to kill black men. I feel that the implications that these zombies are brainless individuals, is a statement on Romero’s part, in relation to how murdering racists are not intelligent individuals. Is it a coincidence that the human pact that “accidentally” kills Ben at the end of the film, for fear that he’s a zombie, resembles the zombies in the movie? I think not. It’s Romero’s depiction of human hatred guised in human carelessness that makes Night of the Living Dead a truly terrifying movie.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
