An Exhibition Epilogue: Bidding Adieu to BA Cinema

Here we are, you and me, on the last page. And thus, brings a close to this major project, and also to my time studying BA Cinema at the University of South Wales. As a way to send-off our time on this course, creating this project has been perhaps the strongest way to bring all of us together. It has allowed myself to work and collaborate with some of the great friends I have had the pleasure and privilege of making on this course.

In my last post, I discussed how, not only this project allowed me to work alongside these people that I have made strong connections with, but also how it enabled me to discover just where I wanted to take myself into the film industry. Through further work and through completing this project, such a newfound desire has only been strengthened. 

As a major part of the production team, I have continued to help to create the visual material for our project’s website. After completing the interviews, I was entrusted by our team leader Ryan to film a script reading of Olivia’s screenplay that she wrote for the screenwriting course. As a result, I was responsible for booking out rooms and equipment, corresponding with Olivia and others who were a part of the recording, plus managing and filming the overall reading. This gave me a further taste of what being a part of a set production could be like, and made me realise just how much it is something that I am desperate to be able to do in and for the foreseeable future. 

Recording Olivia’s script reading

As a part of this, we also recorded a brief interview section with Olivia in which she discusses and dissects her script writing process, as well as her own personal development as a screenwriter over the past three years on the course. Not only did this allow me to further collaborate with a close friend, but it also allowed us to create some visual material that further links into our project’s central ideas of growth and progression. Through recording this, I could see the growth of my friend’s time on the course, as well as my own by this marking a further realisation of how far my desires for the film industry have developed. As a result, our central goal for this project has not only been successfully reflected externally by the material we have produced, but also internally within each of us. 

Much of my work on the management team has continued along a similar trend as it did in my last post. I have acted as a correspondent between the management and production teams – keeping the former updated on the progress of the latter. I was also responsible for chasing up those who were showing pieces in our physical exhibition that would be too long to show, and asking if they had any other work to show instead. In doing so, I feel that my communicative skills have been able to develop and progress, as asking people to change their work is something that would instil me with overbearing anxiety in the past – however, this module has allowed me to harness my voice amongst a group working to the same goal.

Plus, working with the management team has been so rewarding due to who else is a part of it. As I briefly adhered to in my previous post, the three others on the management team are all those who I created my first ever group assignment on the course with – when we created a podcast entitled ‘Out of the Picture’. Thus, being able to work so closely with them again on our final group assignment has been quite cathartic and poetic, as my first real instance of partnering with people on this course also ends in a similar manner. Coincidence? Surely not. 

The management team

However, as wonderfully poetic as all this is – it is hard to shake the fact that all of this is coming to a close. All that is left is our physical exhibition, which fills me with a bittersweet feeling. While I feel that we have all achieved our goal and created a more than successful final project together, I still wish that there was more we could all do together. This is far from the last I will see of most of these people, but this is still the end of an era. Not just an era of academic work, but an era of friendship and connection. And, also, an era of me discovering so much about my own identity, especially my film identity. 

Everything ends, and that is always sad. But, so much is going to begin as well. So much that will be further surrounded by the great friends I have made on this course. And, amongst the feelings of sadness of all this ending, looking ahead only brings on the happiness. 

Once again, a lovely group of people

Making and Managing: An Exhibition Reflection

The prospect of a group project to create an exhibition of all our works was an intimidating, if not entirely terrifying, one at first. My mind ran through every conceivable worst-case scenario, struggling to find a route in which my input in such a project wouldn’t lead to disaster. However, the more we learned and understood surrounding the project, the more excited I became. Our group is already very tight-knit and radiates a sense of community. In that sense, the possibility to work and collaborate with every single one of them was something that I was eager to do, as well as work on something that would enhance my skills. 

For a long time, and even still to this day, I have found myself unsure of exactly what aspect of the film industry I want to find myself in. I love writing creatively, so writing around film would be something I would adore – but, would it be enough for me? I love being in and around sets, seeing how each film frame is designed and crafted. However, I cannot say I support my own technical skills enough to be an integral cog in the machine. Yet, when the prospect of a major production role within the exhibition became apparent, I found myself eager to snatch at my chance. A wealth of ideas swirled around my mind as to how I believed the exhibition could and, in my head, should look. Across this course, I have learned that my relationship with film is one connected with visual splendour. Aesthetically experimental filmmakers have always appealed to me – ones that find unique and fresh ways to film the simplest of shots, and so I hoped to use this production role to create a visually intriguing exhibition. While I was still unsure of how my practical ability would allow these ideas to become physically visualised, I knew I did not want to let them slip away. Once we figured out who would be team leader of the production team, who ended up being Ryan, I was pleased that he, myself and the rest of the production team all shared similar ideas – and that each of us were willing to listen to everyone else’s. The fact that we are all such a close group only helped with this also, as there was a mutual respect between us all that has made it a warm and friendly working environment.

The production team (minus Rhyd and Alex S)

Once the theme for the exhibition became more apparent, with our title being ‘Through the Reel’ and our wider idea emphasising ideas of growth and community, it gave us more to work with in terms of how we wanted to visualise the exhibition. For instance, we decided to create a group podcast that would reflect our three years on the course and act as an insight into what studying BA Cinema has been like. This was a podcast that I created questions and discussion points for and also ended up hosting. This was a very rewarding experience, as I learned even more about my fellow students, and we created a harmonious balance between the four of us, which led to a very entertaining podcast that I feel reflects the themes of the wider exhibition. We also created interviews for each student on our course, allowing us to get to know more about them and allowing them to reflect upon their time on the course – and so, in this sense, our aim to create a visualised feeling of communal growth is so far a rousing success!

Recording the podcast

Where the major role in production has allowed me to play to my creative thinking strengths, my minor role in management has allowed me to offer some critical thinking alongside it. Having this role has allowed me to act as a voice between the production and management teams, maintaining a dialogue to ensure things are ticking along at a steady rate. This too has been rewarding, partly due to it allowing me to work alongside some close friends on the course with whom I created my first group assignment back in my first year – which cyclically wraps much of this course in a nice bow. As someone who often finds themselves introverted, jumping outside my comfort zone to perform such a role that involves consistent communication has been rewarding and perhaps helped to provide me with some newfound confidence that was nonexistent beforehand.

As it turns out, my initial reservations have been proven to be dumbfounded. This project has so far been incredibly rewarding, not only in that I have developed and harnessed new skills and have learnt new things about myself and my abilities, but also that continuing to work closely with my good friends has been a delight. Our exhibition wants to reflect our communal growth, and I hope that this is evident not only in our work, but also within our friendships with one another. My roles in production and management have helped me to refine and sharpen my tools, some that hadn’t been in my hand until the beginning of this module. And, with my adoration for performing the practical side of the production work, maybe this module has helped me to find just where I want to find myself working in film.

A lovely group of friends

Three Lives Left – Run Lola Run and the synergy of film and video games

Even though film has had a longer lifespan than video games, the two art forms have still converged – with each borrowing different pieces of the other’s puzzles. Gretchen Papiza and Joseph Michael Sommers, in their book Game On, Hollywood!: Essays on the Intersection of Video Games and Cinema, discuss the intersection of film and video games through their narratives and aesthetics. One film that is a fantastic synergy of both film and video games is the fast-paced German thriller Run Lola Run (Tykwer, 1998). The film’s narrative structure and aesthetic choices make it a near-perfect example of how the mediums can merge.

Papiza and Sommers discuss how games are viewed, from the perspective of narratologists (who view video games as unique storytelling) and ludologists (who see games as interactive and don’t belong to art’s narrative realm), before deducing that “video games are… hybrid, both narrative and game” (2013, p. 10). This perspective of viewing video games as a hybrid of interactivity and narrative perfectly applies to Run Lola Run. The film’s structure is like-for-like of a video game – Lola has to get 100,000 DM to her boyfriend, Manni, within twenty minutes to save his life, however everytime it goes wrong she gets to restart (or ‘respawn’) and try again. This narrative structure is heavily reminiscent of video games, as, in most games, everytime you fail the mission you end up respawning and having to start over. This narrative technique supports Papiza and Sommers’ viewpoint, as Run Lola Run emphasises how a video game narrative can fit in as film narrative and be considered the same level of art. In the film, everytime Lola tries again she changes the world around her based on the smallest of decisions that she makes. For instance, as she is running to Manni she bumps into several minor characters, and a different future is shown for each character in the different scenarios (with some individual characters dying in a car accident in one scenario, but then are happily married in another). This narrative device opens up thematic ideas of determinism vs free will and philosophical theories such as chaos theory, showing how adopting a video game narrative can be rich in thematic depth.
To build on this same quote further, the question of interactivity in film is raised also through Run Lola Run. The appeal of video games is the fact that the player has control, and in many instances the choices a player makes in leads to different endings and consequences. Much of the games from Rockstar, Bethesda and Telltale contain multiple alternate endings based on the decisions of the player. Run Lola Run does exactly that and, while the viewer is not directly interacting with the film, the fact that Lola changes her choices based on what has happened to her in her previous “playthroughs” highlights how the viewer would change their own decisions too, adding a degree of interactivity to the viewing experience.

The aesthetics and presentation of Run Lola Run also highlight its synergy with video games. As Papiza and Sommers write, “the ways in which the two media take up, adapt, and/or play with conventions of the other… sometimes echo each other, sometimes harmonize” (2013, p. 11). While Run Lola Run isn’t a direct adaptation of a game, it’s an adaptation of the genre conventions. In terms of the visual presentation of the film, Lola’s appearance can easily be associated with character customisation options within games, as shown through her fluorescent bright red hair. Her costume itself is also partly reminiscent of Lara Croft’s. There is also a moment in the film where we are shown a split-screen showing the different perspectives of Lola and Manni. This links back to video game aesthetics also, given that when two players play together, they are given a split-screen in the game – meaning that Lola and Manni could both be seen as players in the game.

Papiza and Sommers build further later on in the book on how film and video games have converged with one another. For example, they state that “the interaction between film and video games takes the form of adapting video game stories to film… such as clear-the-level plot structures and try-die-try-again movement through the story” (2013, p. 10). This view of the adaptation of video game stories into film applies to Run Lola Run, as this try-die-try-again structure they discuss is the film’s whole basis.  The way Run Lola Run uses it to create a frenetic and fast-paced thriller is entirely encapsulating, highlighting how the video game structure can easily compliment that of film to provide thematic detail and a complete thrill-ride.  

Run Lola Run is a great example of how video games and film can synergise and converge. Film is constantly adapting video game conventions and vice versa. Both film and games are prevalent, significant art forms and when they converge they, if done right, can produce something fantastic.

Fact vs Fiction: The Social Network and the role of the biopic

The biopic is arguably Hollywood’s most contentious genre as many argue they’re too fictitious, formulaic and stale. Dennis Bingham, in his book Whose Lives are They Anyway?, argues their significance by discussing their history and characteristics. While I understand people’s disdain for the biopic, I feel biopics that reject tropes act as more thematically rich and insightful works. One example is The Social Network (Fincher, 2010), which could just be seen as the movie about Facebook, is really an investigative character piece focusing on Shakespearean themes of hubris, power, friendship and betrayal. The Social Network departs from the genre’s conventions, and stands head and shoulders above most biopics. 

Bingham starts off by discussing the conventions. Bingham highlights that ‘in good time, other tropes appear: the character of the sidekick… the mentor… and the patient helpmeet wife’ (2010, p. 4-5). In terms of The Social Network, Eduardo is the likely sidekick in this film, however Mark views Eduardo as simply a means of getting what he wants. It’s hard to say Eduardo is a conventional sidekick as Mark never shows any real kindness to him. This leads to them falling out completely and Eduardo suing Mark after being given a 0.03% share in Facebook. I think it’s too black and white to simply say that Eduardo is Mark’s sidekick, as their relationship is one sided from Eduardo’s perspective. Sean Parker is probably the obvious candidate to be the mentor, as he teaches Mark a lot about business and convinces Mark to drop the ‘The’ from ‘The Facebook’. However, Sean is arrested later in the film for being in possession of cocaine at a party, showing that Sean was never the right mentor for Mark. Therefore, it’s difficult to place him as the mentor. The patient helpmeet is an archetype not present within this film. While Erica is a love interest, she departs the norms of this archetype by rejecting Mark, with the opening scene showing this. The black and white examples of these character archetypes shows how The Social Network is a more rejected approach to the biopic and a more character and thematically driven film, highlighting Mark’s nature and how he gains pleasure by putting himself above others.

Bingham later highlights the nature of truth in biopics. Bingham argues that ‘what would be gained in terms of realism would surely be lost in interest’ (2010, p. 9). When relating this to The Social Network, many experts have claimed that 40% of the film is truthful. In the film, Mark’s main motivations in creating Facebook is to impress Erica and show his worth and success. This is untrue, as Mark didn’t have an aim to impress a girl in real life. However, I think this dimension compliments the film, especially through its paralleled beginning and ending. The film opens with Erica dumping Mark, and ends with Mark sending her a friend request on Facebook, showing how he regrets his actions and seeks redemption by forming a real relationship after pushing aside so many that he could have had. The Social Network therefore is not a biopic that conforms to conventions, as it’s not an insight into a public figure’s life, but is an intense character study with rich themes and a complete character arc, as Mark, a mostly irredeemable character, seeks his own redemption. 

In conclusion, The Social Network’s rejection of these tropes stop it from being a formulaic and stale biopic that everyone’s seen before. Instead, it is a film filled to the brink with important themes and a rich character study. It doesn’t matter how accurate it is, as the film’s main aim is to portray ideas of power and corruption while using Facebook as merely a backdrop. The biopic has been done to death, and so films like The Social Network that reject the norms and simply tell an exciting story are much more invigorating.

Truth and Lies: Applying Bill Nichols’ Documentary Modes to Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing (2012)

Documentary is arguably the most complex genre of filmmaking. Many film theorists have considered ways to categorise and define documentary, but the most widely recognised is Bill Nichols’ theory of the six documentary modes. In his book Introduction to Documentary, he describes six primary modes with specific techniques and qualities within them. While all these modes are precisely defined, it’s rare that a documentary will conform to just one of them, as any documentary can cross from one mode to the next.

A documentary that combines several of Nichols’ proposed documentary modes is The Act of Killing (2012), which focuses on killers who participated in the Indonesian mass killings in the 1960s, and shows them recreating many of their infamous murders. The documentary is a truly harrowing experience and is unlike anything I have ever seen before, as its director Joshua Oppenheimer asks you to question your own morals and think about whether someone who committed such heinous crimes can be forgiven.

One of The Act of Killing’s primary modes is the participatory mode. This mode involves an active role for the filmmaker, as they ask subjects questions and are more involved in their subject’s lives. There are several times in the film where Oppenheimer directs questions of morality towards subjects in order to gauge their feelings towards the crimes they’ve committed. A pivotal moment of this is when Oppenheimer and Adi are in the car together. Oppenheimer asks Adi whether or not he sees his actions as crimes, with Adi responding that he doesn’t and that he isn’t guilty of anything. Another example of this mode is when Anwar reflects on the footage of him playing a victim before asking himself whether the way he feels in the scene is how his victims felt, with Oppenheimer interjecting by saying that his victims would’ve felt far worse. This moment links with something Nichols mentions in Introduction to Documentary when he says ‘Anthropology has, in fact, consistently depended on this complex act of engagement and separation between two cultures’ (2001, p. 116). This links with Oppenheimer’s connection with these people and his detachment from them – as he has built such strong relationships with these people, but he is shocked by their pasts. Oppenheimer’s participation doesn’t only allow the subjects to offer greater insight and developed thoughts, but also emphasises the differing ways in which these people have come to terms with their pasts.

On occasion, this film sometimes also adheres to the observational mode. This mode focuses on a restricted role from the filmmaker, as this mode involves taking a step back and watching events unfold like a fly on the wall. When writing about the observational mode in Introduction to Documentary, Nichols notes that ‘documentary scenes represent the lived experience of actual people that we happen to witness’ (2001, p. 111), and in The Act of Killing there are several moments where we simply watch these people living or having a conversation. The scene where Anwar and Adi are discussing the differences between how they both view their past actions is relatively unedited, and Oppenheimer does not directly interfere – allowing Anwar to open up about his regrets, which is followed by Adi arguing against him and calling him weak minded, highlighting the key difference between these two and how they reflect upon their past.

The performative mode is also present within The Act of Killing, which heavily emphasises the subjective view of the filmmaker, as Nichols claims that ‘the filmmaker’s responsiveness seeks to animate our own’ (2001, p. 132). In this case, it’s clear that Oppenheimer’s personal beliefs are against the Indonesian government. He highlights a deep level of corruption within the government through the Pancasila Youth rally and the scene at the markets where the Paramilitary leader takes the hard-earned money of Chinese shopkeepers.

There’s also elements of the reflexive mode here, as much of the film is about the filmmaking process through the recreations of the kiillings, and Anwar’s portrayal of one of his victims causes him to regret his past, allowing questions to be asked of filmmakers and the role they play. This acknowledgement of the filmmaking process links with what Nichols says in Introduction to Documentary when he claims ‘reflexive documentaries ask us to see documentary for what it is: a construct or representation’ (2001, p. 125). These recreation scenes emphasise this idea, as we ask questions about where the line of reality and fiction is blurred through the terror that can be seen on the faces of the people involved. 

The Act of Killing shows that multiple of Nichols’ modes can be present in any given documentary. While this film is certainly more participatory than any of the other modes, the observational, performative and reflexive modes are all present here. Nichols’ modes should not necessarily be viewed as separating documentary, but instead they should highlight how this genre can take on many differing forms.

Music To My Ears: The Art of the Musical in Singin’ In The Rain and La La Land

Musicals are the marmite of film – some people adore them and some people despise them. I’m personally one of the former, as I love the joy and escapism they provide. Recently, I watched Singin’ In The Rain (1952) which I loved, as I was swept away by the pure joy of its musical sequences and fantasy elements. Watching it reminded me of modern musicals, namely La La Land, and how Singin’ In The Rain has clearly influenced them.

Whenever I watch a great musical, I love to be whisked away to a fantasy world where everyone is constantly singing and dancing and everything is joyous. This is the feeling I got with Singin’ In The Rain, I felt engrossed in this world of music and performance. Every musical sequence is choreographed to perfection, making everything feel like a pure fantasy and dream-like experience and making me feel pure joy for an hour and a half. On the other hand, La La Land is a more grounded approach musical. While it mostly focuses on two people falling in love, it’s mainly about how they can’t be together and how they must follow their dreams instead of each other – offering a more bittersweet finale and feeling.

What musicals offer that other genres don’t is how characters can reveal emotions. In dramas, thrillers and more serious films the way that a character feels is conveyed subtly through performance. With musicals, characters present emotions by singing and dancing – which is incredibly entertaining to watch. Both films present internal diegetic within their musical sequences (meaning that even though the music doesn’t have a direct and physical source within the scene, it exists within the character’s head and explains their feelings). The titular song in Singin’ In The Rain represents Don’s feelings as he’s falling in love with Kathy. Even though it’s pouring down, the rain can barely be heard diegetically as it’s drowned out by the music, emphasising his feelings and how he doesn’t care that it’s raining. The music in La La Land similarly gives insight into the characters’ feelings and aspirations – as the ‘Someone in the Crowd’ sequence is about how Mia wants to be noticed and how she’s struggling to make it as an actor. This use of internal diegetic is fantastic to watch, making everything feel like a fantasy that we are experiencing with these characters.

While there are these fantasy-like sequences within both films, they have a couple songs that are more grounded. In Singin’ In The Rain, the ‘Beautiful Girls’ sequence is a diegetic performance, offering context and emphasises what the world was like in the 1920s for women, and ridicules it to an extent. Similarly, La La Land has a diegetic song with ‘City of Stars’, acting as a leitmotif throughout the film emphasising the beauty of Los Angeles and the love between Seb and Mia. With the ‘City of Stars’ scene, this helps to make the two protagonists feel grounded, as they sing together with no grandiose orchestra to support them, instead being more restricted – helping to make their love feel real.

A lot of the actor’s performances and choreography in La La Land is reminiscent of that in Singin’ In The Rain. Gene Kelly’s feet move perfectly in time with the rhythm of the title song, adding to the joy of this musical number and making the performance more spectacular, as well as reinforcing it as internal diegetic as he’s aware of the song and its rhythm (it also certainly caused my feet to tap along too). Similarly, the ‘A Lovely Night’ sequence is staged around Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone dancing and moving their feet perfectly in time with the music, which builds into a full dance between the two characters side by side, similarly to the way that Don and Kathy begin to dance together in the ‘You Were Meant for Me’ number, another highly infectious sequence.

I think one way in which these two musicals differ is through their dialogue. The dialogue in Singin’ In The Rain is mostly for the central narrative, whereas the musical numbers provide emotional depth. For instance, the dialogue provides exposition in the film’s opening as Don describes how he got to where he is now, with the dialogue acting as a sound bridge over scenes showing him and Cosmo becoming successful. Whereas the musical numbers, namely the ‘You Were Meant for Me’ and ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ sequences, give insight into how Don feels. In contrast, I think La La Land centres the dialogue around the music, such as the dinner table argument scene which is purely dialogue and gives some of the deepest insight into the film’s characters.

This was my comparison of Singin’ In The Rain and La La Land. If you’d like more comparisons of classical Hollywood films with contemporary cinema then follow my blog for more posts.

The Art of the Musical: investigating music and sound in Singin’ In The Rain and La La Land

Musicals are the marmite of film – some people adore them and some people despise them. I’m personally in the middle of the spectrum: I fall in love with some musicals, such as La La Land and, surprisingly, last year’s sequel to Mamma Mia, but I can’t stand other musicals, such as the not so great The Greatest Showman. Recently, I watched Singin’ In The Rain, which is a film I can safely add to the list of musicals that I love. Watching it reminded me of modern musicals, namely La La Land, and how Singin’ In The Rain clearly influenced them.

One key thing to focus on when looking at sound in film is whether it has a diegetic or non-diegetic quality (meaning if the sound has a direct source within the scene). While there isn’t a full orchestra present in each musical number, the music could be internally diegetic, as it presents the emotions of the characters. The title song of Singin’ In The Rain represents Don’s feeling of falling in love with Kathy and his state of euphoria as a result. The rain is diegetic sound in this sequence, but the music drowns it out almost completely which emphasises how Don doesn’t care that it’s pouring down because of his happiness. ‘Make ’em Laugh’ works as an internal diegetic by representing Don’s, Cosmo’s and Hollywood’s feeling of needing to entertain its audience, and shows the changing nature of cinema at the time, as the film is set as the first ‘talkie’ film is released. La La Land also has similar music, as the song ‘Someone in the Crowd’ is about wanting to be noticed and the difficulties of making it in the film industry, offering insight and an internal diegetic into Mia’s goals and aspirations.

Despite most of the music in both films being presented through an internal diegetic or non-diegetic nature, both films have a song that is diegetically performed. For instance, in Singin’ In The Rain the ‘Beautiful Girls’ song is an actual performance, with its purpose to emphasise what the world was like in the 1920s for women, and perhaps ridicule it to an extent. Similarly, La La Land has a diegetic song with ‘City of Stars’ which acts as a leitmotif throughout the film, emphasising the beauty of Los Angeles and the love between Seb and Mia.

A lot of the actor’s performances and choreography in La La Land is very reminiscent of that in Singin’ In The Rain. For instance, Gene Kelly’s feet move perfectly in time with the rhythm of the title song, adding to the joy that this musical number presents and making the performance more spectacular, as well as reinforcing it as internal diegetic as he’s aware of the song and its rhythm. Similarly, the ‘A Lovely Night’ sequence is staged around Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone dancing and moving their feet perfectly in time with the music, which builds into a full dance between the two characters side by side. This reminds me of the way that Don and Kathy eventually begin to dance together in the ‘You Were Meant for Me’ sequence.

Another important part of sound is dialogue, as it can tell you who a character is. The use of dialogue in Singin’ In The Rain is mostly for the central narrative, whereas the musical numbers are what truly gives depth into each character’s emotions. For instance, the dialogue provides exposition in the film’s opening as Don describes how he got to where he is now, with the dialogue acting as a sound bridge over scenes showing him and Cosmo becoming successful and performing. Whereas the musical numbers, namely the ‘You Were Meant for Me’ and ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ sequences, give insight into how Don feels and what he wants. In contrast, I think La La Land centres the dialogue around the music, such as the dinner table argument scene which is purely dialogue and gives some of the deepest insight into the film’s characters.

When watching Singin’ In The Rain, it was clear that one of La La Land’s most significant inspirations from it is through the epilogue dream sequence, which is heavily reminiscent of the ‘Broadway Ballet’ sequence. Both sequences are very fantasy-like and are comprised of orchestral and piano music, which tell mini-stories in themselves. The epilogue of La La Land details what could have been between Seb and Mia and what their lives would have been like had their relationship not fallen apart, whereas, despite seeming like glorified filler upon my initial viewing, the ‘Broadway Ballet’ sequence details Don’s journey in the film industry and the problems he’s faced in becoming successful.

This was my comparison of Singin’ In The Rain and La La Land. If you’d like more comparisons of classical Hollywood films with contemporary cinema then follow my blog for more posts.

Putting Things in Perspective: Hitchcock’s use of Cinematography in Rear Window

Alfred Hitchcock is universally regarded as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time. Recently, I watched one of his most acclaimed films – Rear Window (1954). What stood out to me most in the film was the cinematography and camerawork, as Hitchcock masterfully crafts the film so that the viewer sees exactly what he wants them to, and forcing them to hold the same perspective as the film’s central character – L.B. Jefferies (played wonderfully by James Stewart).

The camerawork in the film’s opening provides lots of information and general setup. The camera shows a medium shot of Jefferies’ window in his apartment as the opening credits roll. After they’ve finished, the camera moves out of the window and cuts to a high-angle long shot of the courtyard. The camera pans up and left around the courtyard, showing everyone within the neighbourhood from the viewpoint of Jefferies’ apartment. We see everyone going about their day within their apartments, inviting the audience to embrace the voyeuristic attitudes of Jefferies (as who wouldn’t want to spy on all of their neighbours?). This also sets up the characters who have a major part to play in the story.

One interesting part of Rear Window’s cinematography is that the camera always stays within Jefferies’ apartment (of course except for when he is chucked out the window at the film’s climax), so everything shown in the film is only what he can see, making Jefferies the viewer’s guide and forces the audience to take Jefferies’ perspective, as we can only see what he can. This technique enables the viewer to connect with him as a character, as well as allowing them to feel as if they’re solving the mystery along with him. Another example of Hitchcock keeping the camera within a character’s personal setting is in the iconic shower scene in Psycho (1960), as the camera always stays within the shower, so that the audience is made to be positioned with Marion and fear for her when she’s brutally murdered.

POV shots are also a vital instrument of Rear Window’s cinematography. With this, Hithcock literally forces Jefferies’ perspectives on the audience, as we’re shown things out of his own eyes and viewpoint. For instance, whenever Jefferies watches Thorwald’s apartment with his camera, the film presents the POV shot with a vignette, in order to make the audience feel as if they are looking through the camera too. This also makes the audience get the impression that they’re solving the case along with Jefferies, allowing them to feel invested and involved within the story. It also enables the viewer to get a sense of Jefferies’ voyeuristic behaviour and question whether or not what he’s doing is morally right, as he so questions himself. Hitchcock’s use of POV shots are carried over in Psycho also, and also are featured within the shower scene. For example, as Norman stabs Marion, the audience sees a POV shot from Marion’s perspective, making it seem as if the knife is coming straight for the viewer, increasing the fear and tension within the scene as well frightening the audience themselves.

Hitchcock also does a lot with the lighting within Rear Window. For instance, whenever Jefferies is watching the neighbourhood late at night, the apartment is lit with low-key lighting. This creates dark shadows and helps to emphasise the danger and increases the tension, conveying to the viewer the risk of what Jefferies is doing, and how he can easily get into trouble.

Some of the themes in Rear Window are voyeurism and surveillance, which are emphasised by the POV shots, as Jefferies spends the whole film watching his neighbours from his apartment. Jefferies even asks himself in the film if what he’s doing is right, but argues that as long as he’s open to be viewed by his neighbours, then so are they. These themes and questions are seen in other films, such as The Truman Show (1998), which details a man who’s spent his whole life as the main character of a television show, which he thinks is reality. This also begs the questions of watching people, just like in reality television, and whether or not it’s moral to watch someone living their private lives. Another example is Terry Gilliam’s Brazil (1985), which is set in a dystopian society in which people are watched by the government profusely, similar to that of George Orwell’s 1984. This opens up discussion of surveillance and the ethics of watching people, as everyone deserves the right to their own private space, but to play devil’s advocate – there’s the old saying ‘if you’ve nothing to hide then you’ve nothing to fear’.

Anyway, this was my analysis on how Hithcock magnificently uses cinematography in his masterpiece Rear Window. If you enjoyed it, please follow my blog for more posts like this one.

The Film Critic: Opinionated Elitist or Helpful Guide?

Film, plain and simply, is an art form. It deserves to be analysed and critiqued as much as any other medium. This is where the importance of the film critic comes into play. I’ve wanted to pursue a career in film criticism for a while, as I’ve recently tried to develop my abilities to analyse and evaluate every film I see. Film is full of interpretations and meanings that each spectator can take away and contemplate. Film Critics often get a bad reputation as many audiences consider that ‘the critics were wrong’. However, at the end of the day, there’s no ‘wrong’ opinion – because that’s all this is, opinions. While not everyone’s opinions may fall in line with the general consensus of a film (even The Shining (1981) opened to lukewarm reviews), these consensuses act as a guide for general audiences. Whether it’s a film recommended by legendary critics such as Roger Ebert, or more contemporary ones like Mark Kermode, their ‘seal of approval’ is what can cause someone to want to see a film they previously didn’t. I remember being turned away by the trailers for The Lego Movie (2014), it seemed like a childish cash-grab and nothing more – however upon seeing glowing reviews I reluctantly went and saw it. Now, The Lego Movie is my favourite animated film, and I likely wouldn’t have seen it without hearing recommendations from some of my favourite critics. 

So, why do I want to be a film critic? Having discussions about films I’ve seen with my friends is one of my favourite things to do. I have so many memories of sitting down with my friends after going to the cinema, where we’d discuss and dissect the film we’d just seen. Discussing film is one of the things I most enjoy. I love hearing other people’s perceptions and takes on films, as well as offering mine to someone else. Film Critics are crucial in encouraging debate between viewers, as they show a need for films to be analysed which will incite others to follow. They also act as an education for many, as it teaches readers key film terminology and a greater understanding of what can make a film ‘work’. While it can be seen that critics are offering an objective view and not allowing audiences to form their own opinions, I think critics act as a public view of someone’s interpretation. It’s incredibly rare that a critic will say they’re always right because all they’re doing is offering their opinion. This is something I’m interested in – I thoroughly enjoy offering my interpretations of films as well as hearing those of others. I think film critics are one of the most important external roles within the film industry, as it can bring people insight into films, as well as playing a vital role in analysing film.

There are many skills needed to become a film critic. Firstly, the ability to write with a range of creative language and vocabulary is a must. Nobody wants to read a dull, uninspired review with the same adjectives and phrases repeated over and over again. The ability to change the way you use language is something all critics should have. It’s also essential to maintain a balance of appraisal and criticism, as there are even the slightest redeemable qualities to some truly terrible films. One other vital skill required is the ability to understand multiple points of view, as the way someone reads a film is subjective, and so someone reading your review could easily not be aligned with what  you’re arguing. For these skills to be developed, the best way is to keep writing reviews as well as reading others. I use the app Letterboxd in which I regularly post reviews of films I see, so I’ll definitely continue this in order to practice my reviewing style. I’ll also aim to read a range of different reviews on different films, rather than just paying attention to specific critics that I tend to focus on. YouTube is also a platform in which film criticism is incredibly popular – with many film related YouTube channels, such as Chris Stuckmann and RedLetterMedia, amassing millions of subscribers and followers. Therefore, this could be a useful platform to use, so I’m considering developing my skills by creating YouTube videos where I review films. I have also just begun my ‘journey’ as a University student at USW, where I study Cinema – and so I will be giving my absolute all in order to get a degree, which I can use in order to climb the ladder of the film industry.

Anyway, this was my ramble on the role of the film critic and how I believe it to be truly important for the film industry. If you like what you’ve read please follow my blog for more posts surrounding film and cinema.