Dancing Bread Rolls

What’s at the root of this whole manipulation thing? Do we view everything sentimental as manipulative? In that case, how do you account for the popularity of movies like “It’s A Wonderful Life”? Or perhaps we forgive films like these because of other redeeming characteristics.

Or maybe we want to be manipulated occasionally. Remember, to some degree you have to allow yourself to be manipulated by a film. You have to allow yourself to be sucked in by it. Manipulation demands a greater degree of audience involvement. So could it follow that successfully manipulative films are, in fact, great? They handle their audiences more skillfully, which isn’t an easy feat.

Do we resent the obviously manipulative films more than the subtly manipulative ones because we can spot it more easily? Or do we resent the subtle movies for their quiet deception?

Maybe I’m just a sucker, but I kind-of enjoy being manipulated by films if it’s done well. Isn’t that the point of watching a movie? We rarely watch anything without some kind of emotional response, whether it’s sadness, revulsion, amusement, happiness, sympathy, or fear. The emotional response is not always a comfortable one (see Queen Margot), nor a cheerful one (how about Grave of the Fireflies), but it’s always going to be part of a film-viewing experience. And I think we all secretly love it.

Just wanted to throw a couple ideas out here.

First, Morris’ use of Dutch angle shots was mentioned in class. We discussed their technicality and meaning, but not the main purpose. I believe that Morris included so many Dutch angle shots and extreme close-ups for the same reason. It prevents you from immediately focusing on what you’re seeing. In the case of Dutch angle shots, Morris is forcing his audience to pay MORE attention to exactly what is in the frame rather than taking it for granted and perhaps overlooking important details. We’re more careful about sorting out exactly what we’re looking at if it’s initially more difficult to comprehend. As for the extreme close-ups, it’s very hard to focus on the speaker’s face when the camera is that close. Therefore, we have to focus on what he is saying instead. Basically, Morris uses Dutch angle shots when he wants us to pay attention to what we’re looking at, and extreme close-ups when he wants us to pay attention to what we’re hearing. I think that’s a pretty cool stylistic parallel.

Never let it be said that Morris doesn’t give us any direction. This is the equivalent of going through his own film with a highlighter.

BELOW: A Dutch angle shot from The Matrix and an extreme close-up from the beginning of Little Miss Sunshine. (What do these shots tell you about what is going on in the film? What kind of effect are they trying to produce in the audience?)

What if we selected tiny parts of “Fast, Cheap & Out of Control” to apply to our lives, rather than the whole thing, and interpret each of those in any way that makes sense? Perhaps what makes this film so unique is that there are endless possibilities for such interpretation. The concepts presented are so much fun to toy with. Perhaps if I just keep musing in subsequent blog posts I’ll eventually say everything I want to about this….but it may take the rest of my life. I think I’m in love with this movie.

Thanks to a late night conversation with Tyler, I now have something to blog about. Which am I? The lion in a cage, thinking that the outside world is the true cage? The robot, merely the next step in evolution? How about a naked mole rat, working blindly towards a greater societal benefit? Or perhaps a plant sculpture, battered by the elements and always trying to break free of the mold, barely kept in line by an aging gardener?

My first answer, and the one I’m going to stick with for now, is that I’m a headless giraffe-shaped shrubbery. Broken by a storm, it will take me years to grow back, and in the meantime my gardener will fade away, leaving me entirely alone. Actually, that is incredibly depressing. But are the alternatives much better? Perhaps I’d rather be damaged than deceived, like the lions, mindless like the mole rats, or transient like the robots. Am I a stepping stone for the future, a part of a greater whole, an oblivious prisoner? I think I’d much rather be a force of nature, even undergoing the initial trimming for a chance for the real freedom that each of the others lacks.

Now, if Tyler is right about each one representing a model of God, where does this view of myself fit in? The lion tamer represents organized religion. Yep, staying well away from that. The mole rat guy toys with his beloved pets a little, but mostly enjoys observing them. An unintrusive but loving God? The robot man deciding that humans are just a step between past and future evolutions…science? That last one feels both depressing and hopeful at the same time. We’re just here for a little while and aren’t particularly important. But look what may come next! There’s always going to be something better.

But I still prefer my lovely old gardener, diligently trimming topiary but knowing that he won’t be doing it forever. There isn’t anyone to come after him. All the plants want to grow in their own natural directions, and one day they will. They only need him for a little while, until they’re ready to be themselves. Though I’m not religious at all, I quite like that idea. Perhaps religion is best when it serves as an initial shaper for civilization, then fades quietly away once we’re ready to take our fates into our own hands.

Nothing lasts forever. Mole rats die, humans are replaced, nature takes its course. The only model that’s fighting this is the lion tamer. He’s trying so desperately to keep the lions and tigers under control in that cage. Every once and a while they lash out, not completely fooled. He tries to make everything last forever. When he realizes that he won’t, just as his predecessor didn’t, he finds and trains a replacement. He reassures himself that she will be all right. Everything will stay under control. He fights change. Fear is his emotion.

No, I’d much rather be in an overgrown, neglected, storm-battered garden. No cages, no carefully constructed habitats, and no terrifyingly foreign outer reaches of space. Moving in my own direction–not the tamer’s, not the watcher’s, and not the scientist’s. I’m not interested in being enclosed, even if I don’t notice it. I don’t want to exist as amusement for a greater power. And I especially don’t want to be a mere evolutionary phase.

So I am a headless giraffe-shaped shrubbery, ready to grow back in whatever direction feels right.

Normally I’d leap headlong into a philosophical debate, but I’m with Leighton on this one. I feel the same way about our debate over “truth” as I do about “good vs. I like it”. I personally think truth is important, but I’m not going to demand that everyone attach the same value, or even view it the same way. I think one of the things that makes life so interesting is the vast array of varying opinions on nearly every topic imaginable.

I’d like to remind you that the point of a philosophical debate, whether stated or not, is to explore ideas rather than to reach a conclusion. If questions like this COULD be answered, then nobody would be interested anymore. So I’m perfectly content to just sit back and listen to everything. Perhaps someone will say something that will make me think in a slightly different way, or make a refreshingly unique point. But as for truth, why does it matter? So I’ll just be sitting here, waiting for someone to convince me to care about this a little more. But don’t worry–I’m still listening :)

As I’m still recovering from my Friday night of amazing Milton-ness, I can’t guarantee coherence. But then, when do I ever?

I’ve noticed that–while meaning is often extracted from screenshots–nobody ever bothers to analyze movie posters. This could be because movie posters aren’t all that important, but I choose to believe it’s because nobody really takes them serious. Which is a shame, because design of movie posters is such an intentional thing. Just think–a poster, like a preview, must summarize the film in a way that will attract potential viewers while staying true to its essence. That’s not an easy thing to do in a 2 x 4 foot image. Thus, they deserve attention. On to the Morris posters!

This poster of Morris’ first film has a very unique composition. Almost half of it is black. This emphasizes the slightly ambiguous phrase at the top, and the lower half is simply an image of two of the characters in the film. It imparts no information whatsoever about the movie and is very simplistic. We’re essentially being told to just go see it if we want any real information about the film. Morris obviously isn’t concerned about attracting the general public. This poster contains nothing to ‘hook’ viewers, except perhaps its complete ambiguity.

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Aha! The whole canvas is used this time. Unlike the poster for Gates of Heaven, the image matches the title of the film, giving viewers a slightly bigger clue. Also, this poster has a very obvious hook: a recommendation from a prominent critic (Ebert) in a place where it will attract the most attention. Morris is still saying, through this poster, “Just go see it if you want to know”, but he’s ALSO saying “It will be worth it.” This is a change from the previous poster, which pretty much says “I don’t much care if you see this film or not. Either way.” (Not that Morris doesn’t care if people don’t see his film, but he is actively trying to attract audiences with this second poster.)

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Wow! What a difference. First thing you see? “ONE OF THE YEAR’S TEN BEST FILMS.” And then? “Based on the best-selling book.” Implication: The book is great and this movie will be too! The following questions pull the viewer further in, until arriving at the final line of text: “An Errol Morris Film”. Ah. At this point Morris is counting on his own growing popularity to promote his film, and it works. The design of this poster is much more dynamic than the first two, which also grabs the viewer’s attention. Bright colors and memorable images. Ok, now Morris is telling us to drop everything and run and see his spectacular film. That’s a pretty big change.

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The first thing apparent in this poster is the way the four men seem to be almost caricatures of themselves. This is obviously intentional. The colors are bright, but chosen primarily to accent the men. At this point, Morris is banking on the fact that audiences are familiar with his work, so he’s using an image that suggests that this film will be in a similar vein to his former ones. This time, the choices in text are reassuring, rather than insistent. Yes, it’s that guy Errol Morris again. Yes, Ebert liked it again. It’s a pretty safe bet.

“Even the way you lie tells the truth about who you are.”

I’ve given this statement a lot of thought, and I think I can only partially agree with it. It depends entirely upon the who the person doing the lying is and who the observer is. Not everyone is equally transparent, just as not everyone is equally discerning. For the people in the movie, this statement works fine, but it doesn’t hold up universally. If you’re trying to convince yourself that a lie is true, then of course it’s fairly easy for an outside observer to see the real situation, but what if you believe that lie completely?  Then it starts to depend on the lie itself. Is it something outrageous and easily detectable, or is it something so subtle that it might as well be true? We constantly lie to others and ourselves, even if we don’t realize we’re doing it. Lies consist of not only spoken assertions, but behavior patterns, elaborate mental states, and ways that we interact with each other. What if you’re in a work situation and you don’t particularly care for your boss? You still behave as if you’re ok with this person, or even pretend to like them. This is a lie. Or how about convincing yourself that you no longer care for someone?

I guess my point is that there are many kinds of lies and not all of them necessarily reveal truth. One of the things that we’re best–and worst–at is lying.

I wonder what the distinction is between a “documentary” and a “non-fiction feature film”. I think Leighton was on to something in her post (that is Leighton’s blog, isn’t it?), but rather than trying to classify a film by what occurs in it and its style, perhaps we should examine purpose. How does Gates of Heaven differ from, for example, a documentary about whales? I could make the argument that the primary purpose of the documentary about whales is to educate its audience, but isn’t that also what Gates of Heaven is doing, in a way? But what about other traditional films? Some of them also educate viewers in the same way that Gates of Heaven does, but they’re not non-fictional.

Then I suppose you could get into the question of whether any ‘non-fiction’ film is truly non-fictional. Truth, in this case, is only what is presented to the audience and what is there is only what the directer wanted included. This doesn’t change between genres.

But back to the “non-fiction feature film” in question. I think I’m going to say that what makes it different from a documentary is both intent and subject matter. You could never make a traditional documentary about all of the themes that Gates of Heaven explores. (It would be a disorganized, incomprehensible mess.) But you can make a non-fictional film and accomplish this. If it doesn’t claim to be a documentary, audiences don’t compare it with their preconceived ideas of what a film of this type should be about, and therefore are more open to secondary messages within the film.

After all this extensive discussion on the “is it good” question, I feel as if one question needs to be asked: Is it really that important? Don’t get me wrong–this distinction is a very important one for me, but it seems that this is not a universal feeling. What if you don’t care whether a film you’re watching is ‘good’ or not, as long as you like it? And what if you’d rather not even make that distinction–you’re happier just accepting each film in terms of the enjoyment it brings you? While I disagree with this perspective personally, I think I’d feel very snobbish if I told someone not to think that way. As Stephanie points out, “a movie’s worth is in the eye of the beholder”. No arguments there. People will always disagree–not only about films but about books, scientific theories, philosophy…pretty much everything, actually. Everyone has their individual reasons for liking films, and it’s unfair to say that one person’s reason is less valid than another’s. If people went to movies with exactly the same purposes and expectations, it would be different. But we aren’t all looking for the exact same thing in movies. In fact, it even varies by individual film.

If you feel as if it’s important to make the distinction and be able to identify the difference, do that! (As I’ve said, that’s where I fall, personally.) But if it’s not all that important to you, don’t let other people’s opinions lessen your own film experience.

I was trying to keep nice and quiet down in the front row today while the massive debate over ‘masculine’ films raged all around. Both sides had valid points (yes, that does sound like a cop-out, doesn’t it), but I was having a pretty hard time with them. While it is true that a film may appeal mainly to a certain gender, I completely disagree with the idea that this is due to the unwillingness of women to expose themselves to violence, gore, sex, etc.

This question is a tricky one because any side of the debate is forced to generalize about a huge number of people. However, taking into account that there will be numerous individual exceptions, I think that it is unfair to suggest that women avoid films like 300 (I haven’t seen it yet, so I’m completely objective–probably) primarily because of elements which are traditionally unappealing to women, or at least society’s concept of what women should take interest in. I agree that there are certain films that just hold more attraction for men, but I think that the real answer to this is so simple that we missed it entirely.

Consider three films: 300, Fight Club, and Casino Royale. From personal observation, the people who are really passionate about these films are nearly all male. Perhaps there is something about these that appeals to men and their ideas of masculinity. But it’s certainly not the violence and gore. (The news hasn’t been labeled ‘masculine’, despite its profuse amounts of both of the aforementioned elements, has it?) I wish I could confidently and conclusively state exactly what makes these movies so appealing to men, but there are so many factors that could be a part of it that it’s difficult to prove causation. However, in all three movies the main male characters are strong, confident, and brutal. (Not to mention simply dripping with testosterone.) Perhaps this appeals to men who are growing increasingly dismayed with the portrayal of men in recent films. Think about the feminization of Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean. Traditionally (and historically–mostly), pirates have been a pretty securely masculine symbol. Lots of ‘aargh’ing, hoisting sails with bulging biceps, and brutally slaughtering all who resist. Then in waltzes Johnny Depp (who I have absolutely nothing against, by the way) with massive amounts of eye makeup and a wholly unmanly swagger. Thus, pirates are ruined forever for male viewers as symbols of their masculinity. Super-heroes are out now too, because assumptions are made about men in spandex. (They’ve become either un-masculine or painfully unfashionable. Or both.) Pierce Brosnan’s suave James Bond was hugely popular with women, but not as much with male audiences. It has been conjectured that the return to raw masculinity and brutality is what attracts so many men and so few women to the new Bond movie. To [loosely] quote my best friend’s mother (who makes the most amazing tuna casserole, by the way), “The new Bond represents the male idea of what women want, rather than what actually appeals to women.” I’m going to take this even further and suggest that the new James Bond (and characters in the other movies mentioned above) may also represent what men WANT women to want. In a time when women are more empowered than they’ve ever been and new ideas of masculinity are emerging, maybe it’s nice to have something more traditional to cling to. Not because they necessarily believe that it’s what masculinity is truly about, but because they miss the old concept a little.

I realize that’s a pretty bold statement to make, especially since I know nothing about being a man. But it seems fairly likely that it could be a factor, at least. Am I onto something, or am I just guessing poorly? Guys, please let me know what you think of this idea. I’m very curious.

And finally, I want to dispute the statement that female critics didn’t like 300 because it objectifies women. Pause for a moment to consider the history of the film industry. Movies have been objectifying women for years. Not all movies, just certain types of movies in which feminism isn’t intended to play an important role. This hasn’t changed. A film should not be rejected on ideological or political grounds. It should be examined for things like quality of screenplay, acting, cinematography, cohesiveness, and impact, to name a few. And any respectable film critic will do just that, calling only upon opinions that are relevant to film analysis. In fact, it goes back to what Dr. Campbell was saying about being able to distinguish between “I like it” and “it’s good”. Because that’s incredibly important.