Royale With Cheese

Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo is a film about a ronin samurai who wanders into a town filled with chaos and corruption, and he soon feels he must find a way to clean up the place. This is a common theme in Western films; a man comes into town and shakes the place up until it looks the way he thinks it should. Now, while Yojimbo is not the typical Western movie, with a lot of guns and horses, it does have plenty of Western elements. Kurosawa has set the film in a dusty town, with one dirt road running through it, there is a bar where Sanjuro, the hero, hangs out at all there time, and everyone’s carrying a weapon at their hip. Also, when Sanjuro comes into town everyone is watching him from their windows and suddenly slam them shut; just as if a killer, looking for the sheriff, had just walking down the road. These are all common elements of the Western, and Robert Warshow gives a more in-depth analysis on what that entitles in his FTC essay “Movie Chronicle: The Westerner.”(703)

Warshow states, on page 703, that one of the “most successful creations of American movies” is “the Westerner.” Right away there is a contradiction with this article speaking about American movies, and Yojimbo being a Japanese samurai film. Kurosawa was incredibly fascinated with American Westerns and allowed that enjoyment to become projected across the screen; some of his movies were even to the point of being “too western.”

Anyway, Warshow goes on to state that “The Western hero…is a figure of repose.”(704) Repose meaning that the hero, a male, is at a state of peace. This is quite true of Sanjuro in the film; he is walking down dirt roads in Japan, traveling to an unknown destination. He is so at ease in life that when he reaches a point in the road where there is a three-way split, he tosses a stick into the air and whichever way the pointed end lands is the direction he shall take. Sanjuro’s tranquility is fully broken once he walks into the town, which will set the rest of the movie, and he sees a dog run by with a hand in its mouth. This truly creeps him out, and you can tell that by looking at his face. Now, Warshow states that the hero in Westerns are “lonely” and a little “melancholy.” But these two terms are not what they seem to be on the surface. Warshow explains that “his melancholy comes from the…recognition that life is unavoidably serious, not from disproportions of his own temperament (meaning his own emotions). And his loneliness is organic, not imposed on him by his situation but belonging to him intimately and testifying to his completeness.”(704) Sanjuro is a ronin, a wandering samurai with no master or lord; for that reason he is always alone. This samurai is also incredibly aware of the world around him, the corruption of it, that seriousness Warshow noted; and Sanjuro just doesn’t like what he sees in this small town.

Yojimbo’s leading man is fitting into the role of the Westerner quite nicely. Here’s another point from Warshow: “The Westerner is par excellence a man of leisure.” “Par excellence” means better or more than all others of the same kind. This is clearly true of Sanjuro skills, he can kill six guards in under fifteen seconds. The Westerner also seems to always look unemployed, even if he has a job. Most times he is “standing at a bar, or playing poker-a game which expresses perfectly his talent for remaining relaxed in the midst of tension.” (705) Sanjuro did not have a job, but he did reside in a bar; and instead of gambling with cards, he did so with his life.

One fact that really sets an American Western film and Yojimbo apart, is the fact that the latter had swords while the former has guns. Warshow states that “…guns constitute the visible moral center of the Western movie, suggesting continually the possibility of violence…”(705) Kurosawa just replaced the guns with swords, but those Western elements are still there. Violence is prone to happen in this town, and the fact that every individual who walks out into the street is carrying some sort of weapon only reinforces this point. The modern, 1996 version of Romeo and Juliet swapped swords with guns, and the movie was still seen as part of Shakespeare; the same thing happens in Yojimbo.

A few points that aren’t completely important to the comparison between Western films and Yojimbo, but are still kind of funny to think about; they’re even funnier because no one does think about these. Viewers never see where the hero sleeps at night, an interesting fact, the leading man never changes his clothing, and the Westerner looks for employment that is unproductive; all aspects of the character Sanjuro. He does take on jobs in the town, but he never does so for the reasons his employers believe he does.

An important question Warshow asks on page 706 is: “What does the Westerner fight for?” Justice and order? Warshow thinks so, but what about Sanjuro? He’s fighting for a better world; a cleaner, more pure place for people to live. After he trusted fate and followed the direction the stick pointed him in, Sanjuro soon came across a domestic crisis. A son wanted to go to the local town to gamble and make money rather than sit around as a farmer. Sanjuro watches the incident and the conversation between the mother and father carefully, and makes a few judgments of his own; this can be gathered from his facial expressions. He decides to take a look at this town that is spoken so lowly of.

There is corruption in Yojimbo’s town is due to an economic war taking place between the silk merchant and the sake dealer. On top of that two rival gangs have teamed up with each merchant and begin relentless fighting amongst each other. Essentially, what is happening here is Western influences have taken over this town. Instead of the town officials caring about the people, they only care about themselves. But more than anything else, they care about money and power. The most thriving job in town is that of the coffin maker, the Cooper; death has become a business for him. The Cooper is saddened after a massive slaughter has taken place, not on account of the lives that were lost, but because “When the fighting gets this bad, they don’t bother with coffins.”

But the vice does not start there, it has stretched from the top. Constable Hansuke, the peace officer of the small town, is the first to greet Sanjuro by asking him what side he wants to take in the economic war occurring in the town; the little man had already chosen his side. The bringer of peace is being paid to keep the fighting going.

The corruption has erupted into a matter that no one can handle and innocent civilians who don’t want anything to do with the the chaos are thrown into the mix. The only individuals who are not completely involved with the two competing groups are Gonji (the tavern keeper), the Cooper (coffin-maker), Kohei and his son (the wife/mother-less family) Nui (wife/mother/hostage), and of course Sanjuro. (There might have been one more person, but it is so hard to find a name to go with a face with these characters.) These individuals, excluding Sanjuro, have been forced to live in a town that promotes murder, gambling, deception, thievery, and kidnapping.

The crookedness of the town officials, and manufacturers leads to the corruption of the town’s people. This is not the fault of the citizens who live there, though; they are forced into this life of gambling simply to survive or at least get by. The first family we see in the film consists of a father and son arguing about going to town to live a better life. He wanted money and new clothes, precious items that could not be gained by working as a farmer; he eventually joins up with the pistol wielding Unosuke and his gang. Another example of the corruption this town emitted is the hopelessly sad father who appears with his son in Gonji’s tavern. He had lost a gambling match against Tokuemon, the sake brewer. As a result he lost his house and his wife, Nui (because of her beauty); she was taken to become Tokuemon’s personal sex slave. As if the mother wasn’t already having a hard enough time; she was dictated to work as a prostitute for Seibei at the brothel before she was forced back into the hands of sake brewer, Tokuemon.

Many times, the dishonorable men within the town are shown committing some horrible crime, and there will be fire around them to emphasize what they truly are, evil men. After Sanjuro kills the six guards, freeing the captive mother, Unosuke and the other members of the same gang burn the silk merchants house to the ground. Unosuke runs up toward the camera with a psychotic grin on his face, and of course his gun is poking out of his shirt, but his head is positioned right next to a window with flames pouring out. This image is reinforcing just how sinister this man really is. It happens again when Ushitora’s gang is burning more houses after Sanjuro’s escape from captivity. Ushitora and Unosuke stand there as a fire is leaping out of control behind them, reinforcing their villainy once again.

Once Sanjuro walks into the town, he wipes it clean of this corruption. By the end of the film there are only five people alive, Sanjuro, Gonji, the Cooper, Constable Hansuke and Tazaemon the silk merchant. Sanjuro is basically a warning to the entire world, that if corruption is not stopped then death will surely follow. The image of the aftermath of his own trickery is more than enough to explain that. Sanjuro’s sole purpose in this movie is to clean up the town; also a recurring theme in many Western films.

Another example of Western influence over the individuals in this film is Unosuke, the gunfighter. He comes onto the scene around the middle of the film. I don’t really know where he had come from, but his clothing and weapons produced some ideas.

Unosuke is the only character in the film to carry a pistol, and his clothes are unlike the rest of the casts’. His outfit (I can’t seem to find what it’s officially called) is designed with pin-stipes, which is not an item, along with the gun, that were bought in a small town like the one Yojimbo is set in. This hints at the fact that he has come from a Westernized region; a culture that has already felt American influence. Unosuke is trying to become the American cowboy, but in Japan.

Kurosawa’s use of music is very interesting to me. He tended to bring out the music when ever there was an action sequence coming, or when Sanjuro was moving around suspiciously; I just knew when terrible things were about to happen. When Ushitora is burning Seibei’s brothel, music began to play and suddenly Seibei’s men ran out swinging their swords; but their actions only end in their own deaths. The music many times was based around the actors movements or even their speech at times. He uses the Mickey Mousing technique with Ushitora is walking down the steps while Sanjuro is talking about being hired as a bodyguard.

Now, Yojimbo is an adaptation of The Glass Key, a novel by Dashiell Hammett. Many people would tie the film more to another Hammett novel Red Harvest, where a man comes into messed up town and plays two rival groups against each other; sounds pretty familiar. But there are aspects of this movie which pull it more toward a the later novel of The Glass Key, where, in a similar situation, a man named Ned Beaumont plays rival gangsters against each other.

The first, and most certainly memorable, example of the similarity between Yojimbo and The Glass Key is the scene where Sanjuro is beaten up by a couple of Ushitora’s henchmen. I feel like this scene from the novel was portrayed excellently in this adaptation of the film. This portion of the book was a bit lengthy while describing what Ned was going through and what he looked like. The 1942 film adaptation, also titled The Glass Key had a much shorter and less brutal scene of Ed, as he had his name changed for the film, was beaten up by Jeff. Kurosawa also tried to make a direct replica of Jeff in his film, and probably went farther than he needed to in casting the gigantic man with the wooded mallet. By simply looking at the two men, I think the comparison can be made fairly easily.

Secondly, Sanjuro is very much like Ned Beaumont, in that they are both wanderers who don’t really seem to belong anywhere. Since Sanjuro is a ronin, he literally has no where to be and is thus continuously drifting from place to place. He switched between the two competing gangs easily because of of his inability to fit in; one of the first thing that happens to Sanjuro once he enters the town is he’s confronted by one of the gangs. Similarly, Ned Beaumont was a transient individual in the novel. He never stayed in one place very long either, mainly because he did not belong to the gangster world he existed in. This is why it was so easy for him to move between the Paul Madvig and Shad O’Rory’s groups. Adding to the homelessness of Sanjuro, we never find out where he came from, or where he went after telling Gonji “See ya around.” He shows up walking down a dirt path, and leaves walking down the same one. Ned also doesn’t know where he is going at the end of the novel; he knew he was first going to New York, but not to stay there. Maybe Ned ended up in Yojimbo’s town and that was his hand the dog was carrying in the beginning. He was savagely bitten by O’Rory’s dog in the novel; maybe it happened again? Here’s a picture of the hand, maybe someone else down the road can tell if it’s Ladd’s or not.

A small resemblance, but a similarity none the less: There is a father and a son arguing about family issues in the beginning of the film. This part of the movie looks just like Taylor Henry and his father arguing in the novel The Glass Key. It is the scene we never saw in the book or the original adaptation.

A technique that both Hammett and Kurosawa used in creating their separate pieces is that instead of showing all of the brutality and death, many times we would only be allowed to see the aftermath. For instance, in both the novel and Yojimbo, the beating scenes for Sanjuro and Ned are not viewed in their entirety. We do view the protagonists being beaten at first, but these thrashings continued and we only see what the two men look like afterward, beaten and bloody. Usually, the viewers tend to see action sequences only when Sanjuro or Ned are around; this makes the viewer almost as if they and the protagonist are one in the same. They see what the hero sees and likewise for the opposite. In some scenes they are not watching the chaos outside; in the beating scene, they were unconscious (physically unable to see). Kurosawa plays with this throughout the film. While Gonji and the Cooper are carrying Sanjuro to the graveyard, he asks them to stop. They put the coffin down and he pops his head up. He can’t see anything, and neither can the audience; so Sanjuro is moved to a better spot, where he, and now the viewer, can see the fighting taking place.

Benjamin’s blog “Yojimbo and Ultra Violence” makes a great point in that this film is all about violence. Sanjuro came into this town for one reason, and one reason only…to kill everyone. And of course the Gonji, the old man, doesn’t get it; he never understands what is driving Sanjuro, at least until the end. I think Gonji might have figured out what Sanjuro was trying to accomplish, as lifeless bodies littered the street. The corrupt tyrants of the town had crumbled to the ground and now the village could be built back up to benefit the good of the world. This was, as I stated, the point of many Western films; a wandering man strolls into a debauched town and sets its leaders straight.

I also like where Mary-Carolyn was heading in her “Aesthetics” blog. She states that while The Glass Key is portrays the plot and its structure, while Yojimbo, being a self-conscious film, goes deeper into what’s underneath of the actions these protagonists take. I agree that The Glass Key adaptation doesn’t further the novel much more than other than showing a love story that was never even developed in the book. Yojimbo, on the other hand, digs deeper into heart of the matter of why Sanjuro takes on the world; because that is essentially what he is doing. The corruption of large industrial tycoons is stretching its green hand over everything it can reach. Sanjuro’s reasons for fighting back is to rid the town and, in a way, the world of evil. I wonder if that is the same thing (N)Ed is doing in The Glass Key novel and film. It’s a possibility, but only Dashielle Hammett, the one who started this whole thing, would know.

I believe Tyler and his title-that-says-it-all blog, “The old innkeeper: the decent human being” has got something good here. The old man is the voice of reason, although Sanjuro has his own reasons for doing things and Gonji is always left unheard. But he is the voice of the audience, telling Sanjuro what we would like to tell the wandering samurai. When Sanjuro is brutally beaten by Ushitora’s thugs, he crawls to Gonji’s tavern and the old man hides him and eventually takes him to safety. Through Gonji, we are essentially protecting Sanjuro while he’s in the most vulnerable state he has experienced thus far. We, the audience, want Sanjuro to be alright, since he is the one trying to preserve a better world for Gonji, and essentially all mankind, to live in. Gonji is the most human character in the film, and when he is captured, the entire world of good, reason, and innocence is put into danger. This is why Sanjuro comes back with the fury of millions; he is no longer a ronin wandering around. He had found his cause, even if was only temporary; Sanjuro was battling for the good of the world and his only true friend, Gonji. Gonji represented the world Sanjuro had apparently vowed to protect; and Sanjuro would have gone to the death for that man, because, at that point in time, Gonji was his master.

As soon as this group mentioned “The Glass Key,” I thought “Yeah, Veronica Lake was kind of a “bad girl” while playing Janet Henry. She was the individual writing notes to people about the murder of her brother. She was attempting the find out who the killer was, by her own means. Sounds like detective work to me; but unfortunately, due to the era of the early 20th Century, women were not doing any sort of police work. Being a detective was a male occupation, the occupation of Ed Beaumont. As the group pointed out the films of the 1940’s focused on the moral quest of men. Even though Janet was attempting to solve the case on her own and helped Ed discover who was really behind the murder of Taylor Henry, she did not solve the case in the end. Ed was the MAN who figured everything out. On numerous times, as well, Ed tried to leave town; but in the end he stayed to help solve the case because he found his own set of morals along the way. So, this “bad girl” posing as a good one ended up being pushed under the carpet. I would like to see some of these other films where, in the end, the women rise to the role of “Superfemales.”

For class on 4-25-2007.

I cannot see Vertigo as a film that is all about men possessing women. I see it as a film that is more about how men and women construct desires within each other. This idea was brought up in class, and after seeing a few clips I thought this idea fit the best.

Madeleine/Judy is the MacGuffin in the film; she pulls Scotty away from the real crime. Judy fell in live with Scotty who was following her. This adds to the whole fact that Judy just wanted to be seen and loved by Scotty. He saw her, but not the real woman underneath; only the woman Judy was dressed up as. Judy had tied an invisible rope around Scotty and, as we stated in class, she led him where she wanted him to go. Or rather, where she wanted to go with him.

Judy jumped into the river, and then Scotty pulled her out. “Madeleine” was not truly possessed by Carlotta; Judy was trying to get closer to Scotty. How much closer can you get than being underdressed by the man she loves, then lying naked in his bed. She felt bad about what she was doing, but the love she felt for Scotty was overpowering. Judy had constructed feelings inside of Scotty, and they overpowered him as well.

Once Judy’s desires could no longer be pursued, Scotty took on Judy’s former job. He had lost his love, Judy’s representation of Madeline. He had become obsessed with Madeleine, and began seeing women who looked like her everywhere. Finally we see the original MacGuffin herself, Judy. Scotty then goes on to not only to reconstruct his desires for the blond he once loved, but he also reconstructs Judy in the woman who was once Madeline.

There is a need to be seen, in Judy’s case, but also a need to see, for Scotty of course. That is why Scotty follows her everywhere, and I mean everywhere, she goes; and also why Judy just lets him do.

This is for class on 4-20-2007

I enjoyed the end of Freeland’s article, the area I presented on in class. (I was the last one to speak.) But she brought up a point that seemed a little far fetched. She pointed out that all of the dinosaurs in the film “Jurassic Park” were female. In addition to being female, they are also “huge and voracious; others (the raptors) are smaller, smarter, and vicious; and there were also large, gentle, cow-like beings vulnerable to indigestion or colds.”

Freeland feels that these “monsters” are not presented in an appealing light. They are all females which, in Freeland’s mind, means that this is making a comment on all women in general. Supposedly this film is commenting on how all women retain the description I have given above. Basically, the film presents women in an unappealing light.

I really don’t know how to take this. I feel like it is not all that relevant to the film; male dinosaurs were believed to be the same way, even though they’re not in the film. The reason all of the dinosaurs in “Jurassic Park” are female is because there was one mosquito that had bitten a female dinosaur, retained its blood and became encapsulated in Dominican amber. The workers behind Jurassic park cloned the dinosaurs which is how they made the new eggs. DNA from the dinosaur’s blood was taken from the mosquito and joined with frog DNA; this is essentially why all of the dinosaurs are female. The problem was that certain frogs, and I guess the ones they were using, can actually change their gender and reproduce on their own. (I’m pretty sure that’s how it works, but don’t quote me) It’s really an interesting concept; the frog becomes a male so that it can inseminate itself.

Freeland blames the film for presenting females in a bad light through only having female dinosaurs who are all large/vicious/cow-like in some way. It’s no the movie’s fault! It’s those frogs!

The females end up breeding though. It’s because some of the dinosaurs are able to change their sex or something like that. They are doing the same thing frogs would do. So, if I use Freeland’s argument that what the female dinosaurs do reflect on all women in the world, then I come up with two ideas of my own.

First of all, let’s say the females are basically reproducing on their own. So that means human women do not truly need men to survive. This presents women in a good light, they are independent and strong individuals. That fact that they can be aggressive is irrelevant since they are only trying to protect themselves (fighting predators) and preserve their own life (obtaining food).

The second is simple and short. If I’m wrong about what I said above (“the females are basically reproducing on their own”), then that means there are male dinosaurs on the island; which blows Freeland’s argument out of the water, or should I say off the island.

For the class on 4-18-2007

“Vertigo” was set up to be a MacGuffin, it just was. After seeing the film, I could fully understand what Professor Campbell meant when he used this term. Right from the beginning of the film Det. John ‘Scottie’ Ferguson (James Stewart) begins watching Madeleine Elster (Kim Novak), who is staring at a the “Portrait of Carlotta,” and he becomes intrigued by this piece of art. So he starts asking about it and learns more, while viewers are taking on for the ride. Movies are usually set up to have viewers follow one protagonistic character within, usually, a small group of people. Well, Scottie is exactly that, and he is thrown off in this direction by Elster’s; they’re playing a MacGuffin on him. He then, in turn, plays a MacGuffin on us, as viewers. But the one who started the whole ordeal ends up losing.

It’s an endless cycle, spiraling around just like the image in that woman’s eye through the introduction.

I don’t know if I would have followed the MacGuffin or not, because before I saw the movie I already had a pre-existing knowledge of the real focus of the film and of what a MacGuffin can do.

I found this site which has a ton of commercials for many different things, but each one of the videos are MacGuffins. Then I remember something. I made a MacGuffin commercial in high school. I was in a Computer Art class and one big project that spanned across the entire year was the creation of our own individual art museums (not a real one of course). We had to draw up blueprints for it, pick actual works of art that we would put in there and we give information on them as well. I think we also had to make a website for the museums as well. At the end the final piece was a commercial of some sort that would promote our fictional art galleries. We had a video camera, but I chose to make an animation on the computer. Basically, I had a guy jump out of a flying airplane (while he was falling, I switched to first person view so you could see him getting closer and closer to the museum), fall through a tube on top of a building (which was the art museum), he rides through the tube going deeper into the building, shoots out of the cylinder within the art gallery, he’s flying through the air, passing other works of art, and his head pops through the Mona Lisa, replacing her head with his. Then I wrote something like “Joey’s Art Museum” – (the slide changes) – “Drop in any time.”

I was really cool. But I thought that was what would sell. Give viewers a little something extra causing them do actually remember the commercial later on to tell to their friends. I didn’t say what the building was or what was in it or anything for that matter; my MacGuffin was just a guy falling through the air and into a building. The same type of thing happens in movies, and it is, indeed, working within “Vertigo.”

I didn’t even know there was a true name for it what I, or Hitchcock, were doing. I feel where he’s from from, though; not making any money off of it. I was given a low B on the assignment for not advertising my museum very well.

For the class on 4-16-2007.

I forgot to write a point in my last post so I’ll write it here; it was supposed to go at the end of the previous post. Arne is the example of not “playing the game” so to speak, and he has a major impact on Eben; but Jennie seems to prevail in this matter. Not fully mind you, because Eben still paints landscapes; but Jennie opened him up to new possibilities.

I believe Jennifer Jones was David O. Selznick’s Jennie. He actually goes on to marry her a year after the debut of the film. Selznick was madly in love Jones and I feel he might have been venting his feelings for her out across the screen.

I didn’t like the fact that we saw the portrait before Eben had finished it. Jennie’s arms were not there and maybe a few other little things. The majority of her body had been done, though, and when you see the final piece that really doesn’t seem to be much of a difference. When I saw the finished product later, I wasn’t as anxious because I had already seen it. When we watched the clip of Eben finishing the portrait, we didn’t even get to see it right away; Jennie and Eben have a conversation with each other first. But I wanted to see the portrait, I wanted to see what was so amazing about it. That moment in the film, unveiling the Portrait of Jennie for the first time, would have had this moment of awe, especially if viewers had seen the book’s cover and were hoping for something better. I just feel like that could have been an even greater moment in the film if I hadn’t seen the portrait earlier. Basically, they blew it.

I need to point out that while Eben is signing the portrait, with an incredibly silly look on his face, he looked like Stephen Baldwin; but the latter looks like that all the time, not just when sign things.

I see Eben as a lost soul in the world; he doesn’t really seem to belong. He paints landscapes that no one wants and tries to get by on nothing. Eben seemed very close to giving up on life, but suddenly he met Jennie. Soon after their first meeting Eben sketches a picture of Jennie, and that is the piece of art Mr. Mathews loves and buys. He goes on to tell him that this is the art that he should be making.

Jennie did inspire Eben to sketch/paint her, but more even than that she gave him a reason to live. He had someone or something to belong to, which is Jennie. She gave him a cause and reason to stay alive. Jennie kept telling Eben to wait, and that is exactly what he did. Eben worked on pieces of art that people would actually buy (flower pieces and more works with Jennie in them). And he survived in the world because of what Jennie made him feel and simply because she came into Eben’s life.

If you look at the novel and movie in this way, the reason Jennie is literally ripped away at the end, even though she had made it to the desired age to be with Eben, is because he had figured out how to survive in the world. Think back to Errol Morris with the way he made his films and received hardly any recognition. We said in class that if he would just “play the game,” then he might have been more widely appreciated. I must be honest though, I don’t really know what Errol Morris would have had to do to “play the game;” he’s sort of a special case. But now read the book and film in this way. If Eben would only “play the game” then he would be able to sell more art. People don’t want landscapes of things that will always be around or that anyone can find anywhere. They want art that presents life right now, portraits of people; especially women in the case of Mr. Mathews and the restaurant owner. Because of Jennie, Eben began to create pieces of art that people wanted; he also held to his own landscape preferences as well. Jennie allows Eben to realize what he must do in life, and her time and purpose in the world is up at that point.

The 1948 version of “Portrait of Jennie” has a few characteristics that strick me as odd. First, the film seems to take on the features of an old detective movie. Eben is sitting in a chair or starring out of a window into the night, a pondering look displayed across his face and then, finally, his voice is playing over the scene. Something like, “Who is this Jennie, and where could she come from. I find myself slipping into a fantastical world unknown to mankind.” Definitely similar old detective films! But Eben is indeed trying to figure out anything and everything he can about the Jennie; the one thing in life that is wonderful and all his, but he can never hang onto. So in a way Eben is a detective.

I also feel like actress playing Jennie captures the character from the novel, but at times she goes over board with it. Acting very strange and making weird noises.

Jennie also always seems to head toward a light when ever she leaves a scene. She also almost always has a light of some sort position behind her head resembling a halo, as if she is an angel, Eben’s guardian angel. She gives him the opportunity to prosper as an artist, and propells his career to a level unknown to him. Within in doing all of this, the film is continuing to imply that Jennie is a ghost/angel or just simply dead.

There is a ton of forshadowing within the film; maybe a little too much at that. Every time Jennie sees a portrait having to do with an ocean, she freaks out and becomes incredibly scared. Eben is also painting those pictures, landscapes of the place where he is caught in the hurricane (I think it’s the same place, but don’t quote me on that). Then Mr. Mathews walks his dog, who just happens to be SKIPPER (an allusion to a the sea, with the skipper=captain thing) and who just happens to run to Eben, the man who is fighting the sea in the end of the novel.

I just jotted down these things while watching the film and thought I would share.

For class on 4-9-2007

I’m having a hard time figuring out what Jennie was exactly. At first she seemed like a ghost, but Eben could touch her and everyone could see her as well; she even rode in Gus’s cab at one point. But she keeps going away and coming back a few weeks or months later looking much older and saying it had been years since she had seen him. Then she washed away by the hurricane, and a newspaper from the current day states that a Jennie Appleton had fallen overboard and was lost at sea during the storm. I’m a little weirded out by this. She seemed real but I was certain she was a ghost anyway. I agree with the idea that this book is a bit spooky, but not scary.

I think Jennie was trying to reach the same age as Eben, she might have even stated that that was what she wanted. But once Jennie reached that point in her life, when she and Eben could be together, she is killed. I feel that Jennie, at the point where she is climbing up the slippery hill, had actually taken her true existence where. She was not going to have to go away anymore, this was the point when she would be with Eben forever. Unfortunately, Jennie decided to come back to Eben during a terrible hurricane and was in turn killed. I just do not know what that girl was and it is bothering me. My theory of Jennie being a ghost could be wrong, since Robert Nathan became angry when the first film clearly portrayed Jennie as a ghost. So I’m as lost as Eben was through the whole novel.

As we watched the Dave Hoover walk toward the darkness and hold his gun up in the air, I believe that’s all he did. The gun did not look like it went off. It even sounded like the gun shot was added in later, maybe during editing. We speak in class about this being a key moment about Hoover’s thoughts on what/whoever is going to come after him, and he might not have shot the gun at all. I need to the scene a couple more times, but at the moment I think Morris could have added that significant noise a bit later. Talk about manipulation! We sat in class discussing what it means for Dave Hoover, the lion tamer, to shoot off his gun before walking into the darkness. The only thing I can’t figure out is why he would have lifted the gun if he was not going to shoot. But it just didn’t look like anything happened with the gun, so I’m at a bit of a dilemma. If he was shooting off the gun off, though the one thing that wasn’t mentioned about it is that it could have simply been out of anger; his anger and/or frustration about generations to come. He saw that his successor was good, but definitely needed more training. I bet she did not want his training though, because she was young and thought she new how to do her job the best. Maybe he was shooting off his gun because of that. Many times, people analyze so many things about a film, book, or anything that can be analyzed, and come out with amazing ideas and resolutions. But what about the simple aspects of it all, the ones that get overlooked because they are simple? Sometimes the most straightforward analyzations can be the answer to everything. Not always, but sometimes.