Friday, February 20, 2009
2 or 3 Things on 2 Or 3 Things I Know About Her (TFR Article)
(Link to IFC Daily's mention about the article)
by Meseret Haddis
Looking back at Godard’s career, 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her comes at a pivotal transitional period for the filmmaker. The film follows a Parisian woman, Juliette, as she works as a prostitute and mother over the course of a day. Godard’s previous two films (Made in U.S.A. and Masculine Feminin) as well as those that followed (La Chinoise and Weekend) moved away from the “theatrics” of Pierrot Le Fou and towards political theater, which absorbed his later work. In certain points in Godard’s career, he is able to show that political and philosophical understanding almost have no differences, as they are linked toward social and emotional progress.
Alienation of Character and Content
The alienation effect is a tool pioneered by the German playwright Bertolt Brecht to insure that the audience doesn’t relate or empathize with a play’s characters. This can be achieved through disjointed scenes, self-aware characters and broken fourth walls. The audience is drawn away from a sense of emotional investment and, instead, focuses on the ideas being expressed in the play. Godard, a self-proclaimed student of Brecht, uses many of the playwright’s techniques in achieving this effect.
As the film begins, Juliette (Marina Vlady) is introduced. The woman is first described as Marina and then as Juliette; this break of the fourth wall continues throughout the film, as Juliette narrates her emotions and thoughts, often in the midst of conversation with another person. There isn’t much room for the audience to identify with Juliette, often because she seems cold and mechanical (a result, she admits, of the life she lives).
Other characters share the self-awareness that Juliette expresses, as well. During certain points in Juliette’s day, a store clerk or a bar fly will look into the camera and say two or three things about her self (“I come to the city twice a month,” “I have hazel eyes,” etc). As we follow Juliette, we are reminded of the invisible wall that separates her and us, and when we look to other characters we hope to find a connection or situation that is able to help us fall into the fantasy of the film, but it’s never there.
There seems to be a consistent attempt by Godard to keep the viewer aware, at all times, of his film’s fabrication, to continue to look critically at the expanding city of Paris that is being quietly destroyed by capitalism. Godard whispers in the final scene, “Thanks to Esso, I drive safely to the land of my dreams and I forget the rest. I forget Hiroshima, I forget Auschwitz, I forget Budapest, I forget Vietnam, I forget the S.M.I.G., I forget the housing shortage, I forget the famine in India. I’ve forgotten everything except that, as I’m going back to zero, I’ll have to use that as my point of departure.” Godard is warning us of the intended effects of a capitalist society, something that he mocks unabashedly later in the film Weekend. The quite citizen is what they want and their control has become so great that Godard himself has to whisper his thoughts to the audience, because what he is saying is creating new consciousness, new beginnings, essentially; destroying the old.
Modernization: Creating New Consciousness
2 or 3 Things is littered with shots of a growing “Paris Region,” as it is referred to in the film. Transition scenes are cut with shots of cranes and trucks at constructions sites, over which Godard’s narration is heard, attempting to draw connections between Juliette and the city’s modernization.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Brecht’s alienation technique and Marx’s theory of alienated labor are similar in what they express. They both speak to the disconnection between product and production. With Brecht, we are shown the idea or meaning behind the dialogue separating the audience from the play or film; with Marx, we are shown the consequences of capitalism as workers becomes disconnected with the objects he’s producing. Marx explains, “The externalization of the worker in his product means not only that his work becomes an object, an external existence, but also that it exists outside him independently, alien, an autonomous power, opposed to him. The life he has give to the object confronts him as hostile and alien.”[1]
Juliette is a character who’s aware of this disconnection, but seems incapable of doing anything about it. In one of the last scenes, she asks her husband, Robert, about their evening plans:
Robert: We’ll sleep… What’s the matter with you?
Juliette: And after that?
Robert: We’ll wake up.
Juliette: And after that?
Robert: The same. All over again. We’ll work. We’ll eat.
Juliette: And after that?
Robert: I don’t know. We’ll die.
Juliette: And after that?
Godard is making the point clear and how this can be related to a factory worker, of this disconnection from what we are doing. Juliette is aware of the monotony, but Robert is not. He’s confused as to why she would ask him these questions in the first place. Juliette later states, “I’ve changed and yet I’ve gone back to being myself, so what does that mean?” Whether or not this means that she’s done commodifying herself to her husband and other men is unclear, but the statement is posed to the audience. Will you make the change? Or have you not even realized the situation you are in?
[1] From Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844
“Language alone cannot accurately define an image,” Godard proclaims. But it’s also clear that both are being pushed together in our society. As Godard adds, “Words and images intermingle constantly. You can almost say that living in today’s world is rather like living in the middle of a big comic strip.” Godard continues to examine the scenes and questions if they’re being described effectively and accurately with images.
Godard wants to show the audience that a new language has to be created, that our language has a set of limitations. Even in 2 or 3 Things I Know About Her, we must be wary of words, particularly so when they come from Juliette (“Words never say what I’m really saying”). In one scene Juliette is getting her nails and hair done, and she’s being asked questions by the woman doing her nails, but before Juliette answer the questions she makes a comment for the audience (that the woman doesn’t hear) and then answers the question. At one point when she’s asked about her kids she says, “Words never say what I’m really saying.” And answers the woman by saying their fine, but very naughty, you know.” Godard continues this expression of what we say can’t always capture what we mean, that (as it is said in Le Petit Soldat) the only truth is photography.
By the end, as the title perhaps alludes to, the film feels intentionally incomplete. You can’t whittle down a woman to two or three things, because more is required to complete the picture. Godard isolates information and asks that we use it to better understand the picture and, more importantly, to change it. For the people of Paris to change the bad things that were happening they had to understand modernization, what its effect is on the people, economically and psychologically and by examining two or three things is a great way to get started.
2 Or 3 Things I Know About Her is playing at the Film Forum until February 24th.
Nicolas Roeg: An Auteur’s Visual Journey (TFR Article)
by Meseret Haddis
In examining Nicolas Roeg’s early films, it’s not surprising that the filmmaker officially broke into his career as a camera operator and cinematographer. There’s something extremely distinct in his films, especially the first two, Performance and Walkabout, wherein he functioned both as director and cinematographer. An arresting visual style, matched with simple performances and montage editing, helped to create a fevered, dream-like experience of images and sound.
Sound vs. Images
At many points in Roeg’s early films, there seems to be a conflicting motive between what we are seeing and what we are hearing. A great example of this type of juxtaposition is in Walkabout, where two children are stranded in the Australian Outback after their father kills himself, forced to find civilization under the guidance of an aborigine boy doing his walkabout (a journey of survival and an initiation into manhood). As the opening credits begin, we hear the scrambled noises that fall in between radio stations; the children later use the radio as a means of comfort. Treading along in this new environment and trying to survive in a desolate land, they cling to the one artifact that reminds them of their home.
After the credits end, a red brick wall fills the screen. The camera slowly tracks rightward as music from the aborigine instrument, the didgeridoo, is heard. Behind the brick wall, we see a cityscape of Sydney. As the shots of the city and people compile together, there are shorter, rightward tracking shots of the same brick wall, although the Australian Outback is now revealed in place of the city. The viewer transitions from one jungle to the next.
In the film Performance, Chaz – a thug on the getaway for disregarding his boss’ orders - hides in a retired musicians’ commune until he leave the country. Music is an important element in the film. In fact, here’s where the struggle between image and sound becomes clear: one must dominate the other. This relationship mirrors the conflict between the two main characters (Chaz and Turner), wherein one has to dominate the other. Mr. Turner’s struggle is an internal one, represented by the sound of the Moog synthesizer, while Chaz’s is a struggle of getting out of the country.
The Sun and the Lens Flare
While lens flare was once considered a clichéd indicator of amateur cinematography, Roeg uses it as an effective cinematic device. In Don’t Look Now, for instance - a story about a couple’s life after the death of their daughter – the wife, Laura, meets a blind psychic who views her daughter. At one point, the psychic warns Laura that her husband is in danger. Her husband, John, who is renovating a church, receives some mosaic pieces from the bishop and wants to compare them to the original. But as he steps onto the ladder, the camera is pointed directly at a floodlight. As he climbs past the camera, the lens flared, melded with an image of the psychic and giving an ominous premonition to John’s fate.
In Walkabout, the sun is constantly shown alongside the vast landscape of the Outback. It’s not odd that the sun’s appearance throughout the film mirrors the daunting feeling that the two children are experiencing while traveling in the wasteland. The constant barrage of heat also contributes to the mindset of these characters, becoming increasingly primal as the films progresses. After the children meet the aborigine boy, a montage of images of the sun leaves the viewer a little dry-mouthed and warm.
Blending and the Illusion of Continuity
Dissolves were a technique used during the early days of cinema that lead viewers from one image to another without losing the audience’s train of thought. The logic, thus, was to ease the viewers into scenes without startling them by a cut. However, if executed properly, viewers can certainly follow a story that is cut and mangled. On example is in Bad Timing, where a young woman and a doctor have a relationship that goes terribly wrong. The film opens with the young woman is in the hospital, and we watch as a doctor dances around the questions posed by the police. During this sequence, the doctor remembers aspects of his relationship with the young woman; a fight, a look, them having sex, etc. By the end of the film, we can piece together what happened to this young woman; although it feels disjointed and erratic, it’s actually quite logical. Roeg pointed out that the film is constructed according to the shape of human memory and, thus, doesn’t develop as one complete story but, rather, in pieces.
Order is something that Roeg likes to play with frequently, especially the flash-forward. In Performance, Mr. Turner is shown early in the film, long before he’s introduced. We don’t hear any dialogue, nor do we encounter any other significant information about him. But a connection is being created here between Turned and Chaz. Roeg uses the flash-forward in a way to temporarily disrupt continuity, or to give the illusion that things are out of sync when, in actuality, they aren’t.
There’s a particular scene in Don’t Look Now where John and Luara are having sex, but while they having sex the continuity is intercut with them dressing right after and it goes from them having sex to each of them dressing and back and forth until both acts are completed. Here, the illusion of time is suspended between the couple having sex and then re-dressing, but the cutting blends together the time of the couple having sex and of them dressing into one time frame, comparing the routine of their having sex with getting dressed.
There’s a definite arc to Roeg’s early films - from a visual director who captured counter-culture and beatniks in Performance, to a director who blended images and content to convey story and emotion in Walkabout, and to a complete dismantling of how continuity works in relation to what we are seeing. Roeg’s early work is a testament to a strong visual story and the progression of someone who wants to astound the audience by making them not want to look away from what they are seeing.
Samuel Fuller: 3 Films, 1 Sound (TFR Article)
By Meseret Haddis
I recently watched Samuel Fuller’s first three films, I Shot Jesse James, The Baron of Arizona and The Steel Helmet. Like Rossellini and Hitchcock, Fuller’s early films show a director in control of the frame, with a remarkable vision capable of capturing an audience through images. However, it was Fuller’s control of sound and music that I responded the strongest to.
A great example would be from The Baron of Arizona. In the film, James Reavis (Vincent Price) is on a mission to make an orphan girl, Sophia (Ellen Drew), the inheritor of Arizona. His quest takes him to a monastery in Spain where he has to forge the land rights that the King of Spain gave to the fictitious Baron of Arizona in an ancient book guarded by the monks of the monastery. James has spent years in the monastery until he is finally able to gain access into the library, where he can forge the claim. But before he is able to do that, another monk informs James that there is another copy of the King’s land rights at an official’s house in Madrid. By itself, the information doesn’t seem that devastating, but Fuller is able to build the importance and gravity of the James’s reaction with sound. At that moment of realization, James’ look is accompanied by a crash of noise that devolves into music.
Fuller through these three films is able to marry sound and image to create profound moments of sympathy, realization and anger. In I Shot Jesse James, music and sound are used to underscore a certain mood. The first time we see Bob Ford’s chance to kill Jesse is underscored with a spark of music. Here, the camera assumes Bob’ point of view, looking at the back of Jesse, suggesting his vulnerability as a character. But it isn’t until the sudden appearance of music that we fully realize the threat to Jesse’s life. The shot’s composition and angle alone couldn’t have conveyed this feeling; the music assists us.
The Steel Helmet provides another example. The film concerns Sgt. Zack (Gene Evans), a soldier fighting in the Korean War and the sole survivor of his company. In the first sequence, we see Sgt. Zack with his arms tied behind his back, crawling through the grass with the dead bodies of his company strewn about. The music coveys the physical struggle Zack is going through, contributing to a sense of anxiety within the audience. As he continues to struggle, we see a low angle shot of a gun pointed to the ground. Zack stops struggling and plays dead until caught by a Korean soldier. As the shots cut together between the soldier and Zack, the music and tension build. Similarly, when Zach is finally unbound, our anxiety lessens alongside the music.
In these three films, sound and image are often used in a way to build tension only to a point, so that only silence can alleviate or elevate a conflict. Take this clip from I Shot Jesse James, where a singer joins Bob Ford inside a bar and eventually plays a popular tune (which turns out to be a song about Jesse James). At a certain point, the singer remarks that Robert Ford is a dirty little coward, although Ford forces him to finish the song. At this point, Bob is grappling with what he has done to his friend, Jesse. Fuller adds no music to soften the blow of the look or the mood in the bar.
Fuller’s control of sound shows how effective it can be to convey a certain look or feeling with a soft tune or a loud noise. In these three films, Fuller understands the implication of what certain music or sounds have when married or juxtaposed to an image. He places such an importance on the music and sound in the beginning of these films that you can’t help but pay attention and notice when the sound is saying something that the images can’t express. Fuller understands that emotions can be told through looks, but that a look can have such a greater impact, if it’s accompanied by the right sound.
Sincerely, Not Surprised (TFR Article)
To The Academy,
The very fact that I am writing to you forgoes the fact that I don’t believe in you. By putting the delusional perception that you exist within an objective, artistic world aside, I want to talk to you about, well, you. I was not surprised by your nominations this year. Deep down in the crevasses of your psyche, I’m sure that you hoped to shake-up the business a little with a few glaring omissions and well, who cares about them anyways, right?
This, I’m only assuming, is how you went about your nominations:
Academy Member 1: “I’ve been seeing a lot of ads for ________ lately.”
Academy Member 2: “I know. It’s been making a lot of money, too.”
Academy Member 1: “Yeah. We don’t want to have any trouble with the industry by not forgetting to nominate ________.”
Academy Member 2: (Rubbing his beard) “Well let’s call ________ and see what he thinks.”
Academy Member 3: (On the phone) “I just got done having lunch with the producer of _______ and he thinks a nomination will do even more to bolster box office numbers.”
Academy Member 1: “Well I guess we can’t escape it now. Let’s give _______ a best picture nomination.”
(10 minutes later)
Academy Member 2: “Well that’s all the nominations.”
Academy Member 1: “Are we forgetting something?”
Academy Member 2: “If we did, it must not have been a very memorable film.”
Academy Member 1: “It’s a good thing we got ________ a nomination this year. Last year his film ________ was such a piece of shit.”
Academy Member 2: “That was his film? How did I miss that?”
Academy Member 1: “It was released earlier in the year.”
Academy Member 2: “That makes sense. I don’t really watch films before November. I mean, do you know how many films come out in a year?”
Academy Member 1: “A lot, I know. I’m just glad they release all the good ones near the time when we have to vote, so it makes it easier to do our jobs.”
Academy Member 2: “Yeah, you can knock out a few nominees in an afternoon.”
Academy Member 1: “So do you want to go get a bite to eat?”
Academy Member 2: “Sorry, I can’t. I got to meet _______ over at ________ so he can give me a lot of money for his nomination.”
Academy Member 1: “Good luck with that.”
Now I’m sure I’m not doing justice to the Academy by playing out this scene. Clearly, not all of the Academy Members are this nice and sincere.
What boggles my mind about your organization is this idea that you exist independent of the industry, picking films that truly represent our time and advancements in the art of film. But you know, and I know, that that is a load of bull. Slumdog Millionaire nominated for best picture? What are you, the Hollywood Foreign Press?
I’m a filmmaker for the people and I’m not in it for the awards or for the money. Down the line, if I ever were to make a film that garners the attention of the Academy for Best Direction or Best Picture, I would stop making films. Because that kind of praise isn’t worth sacrificing your artistic soul.
For me, to list a number of films and artists that you forgot to include in your nominations seems arbitrary because I don’t need a list of films to show proof of my convictions. To be honest, I haven’t seen any of the films that have been nominated, because, frankly, modern cinema is dead.
Sincerely,
Don’t Care About the Oscars
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