I drew from the FTC essay “Film Genre and the Genre Film” by Thomas Schatz he talks about the idea of a genre film as a “defined amalgam of actions and attitudes, of characters and locales”. This idea of what a genre is, especially concerning westerns, or musicals, or the gangster film, was applied by the Coen brothers to Miller’s Crossing as a gangster film with very interesting results.

 
On page 693, Schatz writes: “we might think of the film genre as a specific grammar or system of rules of expression and construction and the individual genre films as a manifestation of these rules”. This idea of the genre film, or in Miller’s Crossing, the gangster film, where the movie becomes a manifestation of pre-existing rules made by constructions of expression in other films, can be seen in the opening scene. One can certainly see an obvious reference to the Godfather, at the very beginning of the first scene, setting the precedent for the entire movie. This model is then perpetuated throughout the film in the gangster style genre, just on the pretense of a series of shots. The reason one sees Miller’s Crossing immediately as a gangster film, as Schatz explains, on page 692, “…a genre can be studied, like a language, as a formalized sign system whose rules have been assimilated, consciously or otherwise, through cultural consensus.” Our culture, and in particular the previous genre films, have perpetuated certain characters and setting as well as other aspects of the film noir/gangster movie, like the Tommy gun, and dark grays and blacks permeating the visual color scheme. 

 
The opening scene both starts, ends, and is laced throughout with “ice” as a physical and metaphysical symbol, giving one a strong sense movie’s overall tone and also reminiscent of the steely, almost unemotional detective/gangster/noir hero. The sound of three ice cubes being picked out of what seems to be an ice box, opening with them being put into a whiskey tumbler. We hear Johnny Caspar’s voice. He is an antagonist to Tom, our “hero”, and a rival mob boss to Leo. Caspar, (played by Jon Polito, who gives a stellar performance) wants to kill Bernie Bernbaum, because he thinks he’s been selling tips on the way Caspar bets. Caspar is sitting in a chair, talking to Paul, who sits behind a desk, with the look of a man who has seen things. This set-up is brilliant in a number of ways. It sets up the “gangster feel” of the whole movie, because it is obviously paying homage to the Godfather, and it sets up most of the conflicts that occur, in one scene. One of the things that I found interesting was the fact that, while the camera was focused on Caspar for most of the opening shots, there is always this “clink” of ice in the background. The Coen brothers used the ice to show a little of Tom’s character, and to almost overshadow Caspar. The “clink” of the ice is to make sure you recognize Tom as the character in the movie; for he slouches nonchalantly behind Leo’s desk, sipping whiskey, loudly twirling ice, like he doesn’t even care what Caspar says, and he wants Caspar to know it, even if it is essentially the defining speech of Caspar’s life. 

 Now I’m going to talk about more character position in the scene. The Coen brothers use the gangster genre very much like the Godfather used Don Vito Corleone’s character. The overall presence and respect that people aught to have for Leo is very reminiscent of this genre. Leo is sitting behind his desk just like a mob boss-exuding a sense of respect and power, while Tom leans behind him, sipping his whiskey. Before Tom passes the camera, and we have the cut to behind Leo’s desk, we don’t see Leo at all. This is very important. Only when Tom joins Leo behind his desk do we see Leo. This shows that the real power behind Leo isn’t the position that he has built as a gangster behind his large desk; it’s when Tom is there to back him up. It’s almost as if Leo isn’t even that important, until Tom is with him. For he is obviously the man that Caspar is ranting to, and we only see a whiskey glass, some ice, a blurred Tom, and Johnny Caspar, giving his speech, until Tom enters the picture. This also sets the stage for the entire movie, Tom proves himself, time and time again, to be the real muscle behind Leo’s racket. It is also interesting to note, that when Tom moves from the bar to behind Leo’s desk, his shadow falls over, first, Johnny Caspar, who looks up at him (denoting his deference to Tom) and then it falls over Leo. The position of his shadow shows early on, the strength of his character in contrast to Leo and Caspar, and his general importance throughout the movie. Caspar, on the other hand, is sitting angrily erect in his chair, with one of the most sinister villains, Eddie “The Dane” looming, in all black, behind him. “The Dane’s” position to Caspar, or more importantly, their position together in one particular shot, creates an image like that of a two-headed monster. “The Dane” covers the frame from top to bottom, and Caspar’s head is set against that dark overcoat. In this instance, we see not two people, but one sleeping giant waiting to be roused. Leo rouses that giant by refusing to allow him to kill Bernie Bernbaum, and the mob conflict between two gang bosses in Miller’s Crossing is set.

 The most important aspect of this scene is the dialogue. The gangster genre is also perpetuated in the mob lingo, with things like “the vig” and “dives”, and although it is a little tough for me to grasp, the message is still apparent. Caspar starts talking to Leo, off-screen while the whiskey is being poured: “I’m talkin’ about friendship.  I’m talkin’ about character.  I’m talkin’ about–hell, Leo, I aint embarrassed to use the word–I’m talkin’ about ethics”. He then complains to Leo that when he fixes a fight, and lays a bet with Bernie Bernbaum, “before I know it the odds is even up–or worse, I’m betting the short money”. Here begins the major conflict in the film. It is this meeting that the entire movie is based upon—the exposition. Here is one of the great ironies in the film. Casper tells Leo that “It’s gettin’ so a businessman can’t expect no return from a fixed fight. Now if you can’t trust a fix, what can you trust?  For a good return you gotta go bettin’ on chance, and then you’re back with anarchy. Right back inna jungle”. Here is a mob boss, talking about ethics. He’s talking about ethics in regards to a fixed fight. He says, “if you can’t trust a fix, what can you trust”? The Coen brothers have made a great commentary on gangster films; where the only law is the mob, and conventional ethics don’t apply. So what gives Caspar the right to judge anyone about their ethics? Caspar says “The Motzah Kid.’Cause ethically, he’s kinda shaky.” That’s the only explanation Johnny Caspar gives, and the pretense in the mob genre, is that that’s all you ever need. But at this point, Leo points out the flaw in his “logic”: “You know Bernie’s chiseling you because he’s a chiseler. And you know he’s a chiseler because he’s chiseling you.” And Caspar replies “Sometimes you just know”. So now Leo knows Caspar wants to kill Bernie Bernbaum. As soon as Leo realizes this, he turns to Tom, almost interrogatively, as if to ask “what do you think?” and Tom gives an almost imperceptible shrug, and we hear the ice cubes in his glass “clink”. Leo then turns back to Caspar, and informs him that he won’t let Caspar kill Bernie, because he pays for protection. Tom doesn’t entirely conceal his surprise, and Caspar can’t believe what he just heard. Here is, I think the most important sequence in the movie; when Leo disagrees with Tom, who is already shown to be the dominant character and the power behind Leo’s “throne”. By giving Caspar the “high hat” and more importantly, disagreeing with Tom, Leo has effectively set events into motion that could end up with him dead (and almost do, but it seems that the old man can still tango with a Tommy gun).

Ordinarily, in the gangster genre, when the mob boss says something, you obey, or, usually, you die. Schatz  points out that even though there are certain things a genre film must have, “genres evolve…But whether this evolution represents mere cosmetic changes in the surface structure (equivalent to fashionable clichés or idioms in the verbal language) or whether it reflects substantial changes in the deep structure…will remain, at least for now, an open question”. Although much of Miller’s Crossing is drawn from Dashiell Hammett’s The Glass Key and therefore shouldn’t be considered to be revolutionary in the gangster/noir genre, I believe that over time, the perception of a genre will change, like Schatz says, it will “evolve”. Nowadays, when you ask someone about a gangster film they have seen, they will almost inevitably site The Godfather, not the film The Glass Key. Therefore, we see in the first scene (and maybe I’m stretching Schatz’s argument) not an evolution, but almost a de-evolution of genre. Johnny Caspar thinks he’s as big as Leo, and thinks that Leo knows that he’s as big as Leo. When Caspar asks Leo “so it’s clear what I’m sayin’?” Leo replies “as mud”. Leo’s reply barely fazes Caspar, showing that Caspar doesn’t’ really value Leo’s opinion, which is why he is telling him “out of professional courtesy” that he is going to kill Bernie Bernbaum. When he finds out that Leo is apparently ignorant to this fact, he lets Leo know who he is dealing with: “You think I’m some guinea fresh off the boat and you think you can kick me.  But I’m too big for that now. I’m sick-of takin’ the strap from you, Leo.  I’m sick a marchin’ down to this goddamn office to kiss your Irish ass and I’M SICK A THE HIGH HAT!” Here we see how the Coen brothers rearrange the genre, where Tom, not Leo is the dominant character, and Caspar is allowed to have his outburst against the “godfather”, where he insults him (“youse fancy pants”) and Leo actually takes it, only furthering his naiveté by telling Caspar that he is still a small fish, when he’s not. Schatz comments on this aspect where “a genre film represents an effort to reorganize a familiar, meaningful system in an original way”.

 Miller’s Crossing continues building up Tom, instead of Leo, as essentially the power behind the “godfather”, when Leo tries to tie up Tom’s gambling problem. Tom tells Leo he made a bad play, turning away Caspar, and Leo doesn’t really listen, brushing his criticism off as “getting up on the wrong side”. Also, Tom walks over to Leo’s desk and corrects his French, Leo says “well look, if you’re gonna laugh at me, the hell with ya” and Tom responds “the hell wit you”. Again, showing how much of an influence Tom has over Leo.

 The scene ends with Tom telling Leo that he should think about what he’s doing: “Think about what protecting Bernie gets us. Think about what offending Caspar loses us.” Not only does this gangster have great influence over the “godfather”, but it also shows him to be a hero. This supports the idea of this film being an accumulation of previous gangster/noir film. Tom is shown to be one of the most complex, and powerful characters that I have seen on screen. Right before he shuts the door to Leo’s office, at the end of the scene, Leo says he doesn’t like to think, and Tom replies: “Yeah. Well, think about whether you should start”. Tom has the brains, and he’s trying to get Leo to use his. That last line basically told Leo, that if he doesn’t start to use his brain, he’s going to end up dead, or worse, Tom’s going to leave (which he does) because he can’t deal with Leo anymore. In my mind, Tom’s response is as cold as the ice which he swirls in his whiskey glass.

The blog, i’m always home, I’m uncool, identifies the gangster genre for what it is: “It’s full of gangsters with Tommy Guns, friends and lovers turning on one another, sex, violent riots, the mayor and chief of police being wrapped about your little finger, hangovers, and seeing dead bodies decomposing.” Yes. This is exactly what i think the Coen brothers wanted to show through Miller’s Crossing. Certainly, not the only thing, but as obvious aspects of the genre go, no gangster film would be complete without all of those things. Another point what I would like to bring up, is that these “symbols” of certain genres, are perpetuated by the evolution of the gangster/western/musicals. In some of the first gangster/noir films that were made like The Glass Key (I know it wasn’t the first, but it’s still a great example of classic film noir) there weren’t and dead bodies decomposing, or gratuitous sex scenes (I’m not counting the homosexual encounters with William Bendix). But now, since gratuitous sex and violence are an integral part of any gangster genre film, one sees evidence for Schatz’s theory on the evolution of genre. 

 In Nathan’s blog, he points out an important aspect of genre films: “So yes, I do believe that SOME genre films have value; either those that are extremely well done or those that tweak the traditional formula. But there is a large category of films that are pure forgettable junk pumped out solely as a product”. I believe that many films are, in fact Hollywood junk films pumped out to produce a profit, but for every couple of those that are made, we have a genre film, like Miller’s Crossing which is very self-aware. It knows it is a genre film, and pays homage to other classic gangster/noir films, like The Godfather, and The Glass Key. Miller’s Crossing also tweaks that formula I think, where Tom’s character is concerned, in the opening scene. Again, Tom is the dominant character, who seems to know everything that is going on, knows every solution, and everyone respects him. He is also a very complex character. He’s not just some thug who wields a Tommy gun and goes around like a vigilante killing other mob members, because “it’s the right thing to do” even though he’s a gangster himself. It seems to me that Tom is all brains and no heart. Although he displays great loyalty to Leo, in the end, he leaves. He realizes that he is the only one in this mob world with enough sense to know what to do when he/Leo gets in a fix. When Tom shoes his clear astonishment that Leo would go against his advice, he tells Leo to “think”. That’s all he asks him to do. And when Leo obviously doesn’t think the consequences of what protecting Bernie gains him and what offending Caspar loses him, Tom shows how he really feels at the very end of the movie: “. . . Jesus, Tom!  I’d give anything if you’d work for me again!  I know I’ve made some bonehead plays!  I know I can be pig-headed but, dammit, so can you!  I need your help, and things can be like they were, I know it!  I just know it!  As for you and Verna–well I understand, you’re both young, and–well, dammit, Tom, I forgive you!” Tom’s only response was: “I didn’t ask for that, and I don’t want it”.

In Robyn’s blog, she talks about what Tom said to Verna as a major theme in Miller’s Crossing : “One which struck me as particularly relevant was the theme that was repeated throughout that ‘You never know anybody.  Not that well.’  A lot of the movie seemed to support the idea that no matter how much you think you know about a person or a situation, you might be completely wrong.” Tom’s character goes beyond just being smart, and an almost constant display of loyalty; he displays a nonchalant attitude that just screams “get me out of this town”. Tom’s response “nobody knows anybody—not that well” to Verna’s statement “Come on, Tom, you know me a little” makes me think about Tom’s motives for, really anything that he does. Leo thinks he knows Tom, he thinks Tom stays with him out of loyalty. He thinks Tom stays because he is Leo’s friend. But like Tom said, you can’t know anyone “that well”. Throughout the whole movie, Leo is wrong about Tom. He thinks he double-crossed Leo, but he was wrong. Leo thinks Tom is his friend, but he was wrong. He thinks Tom will stay and help him, but he was wrong—and after all, can anyone really know anyone “that well”?

I mean, I can see where you are coming from, saying all the dialogue is cliché, but those stereotypes of “machismo and honor and glory” are exactly what the Spartan culture was about—so you’re essentially saying that the Spartan’s, and the battle of Thermopylae were a cliché. Now perhaps this modern interpretation of what (I guess the Spartans were all about the machismo, but how could a society based upon war not be?) honor and glory meant to Sparta didn’t appeal to you, but in my opinion, that is the epitome of what it means to be a hero—dying, so that others may live—which is how they gained glory to begin with. But how could you say that the battle of Thermopylae was trite and contrived with clichéd notions of honor and glory? I guess you think the sacrifice they made (along with other Greeks) was exactly that—right, giving up your life so that others may live is a very contrived notion and utterly trite and clichéd. Those Spartans should be sorry they ever fought for something they believed in. But honestly, there is no such thing as a cliché, because there is nothing truly original anymore.

And the plot was predictable? Like you said, it’s based on a true story that many people know so what you’re saying is that, because you knew the history of Thermopylae, it was predictable? Of course it was, (I’m not saying it’s historically accurate by any means) but, in regards to the big picture, like other movies based on famous historical events, like Titanic—when the ship sinks, you’re not going to be surprised.  So because you knew what was going to happen beforehand, it was predictable…?                                           I’m not sure what you’re trying to say about this.

“In my humble opinion, 300 is a thinly veiled propaganda film” I’ve heard that before, and sure, the Iranians are none to happy about it (to say the least) but the graphic novel was written before 9/11 (first printed in 1998). Now I admit, I’m not that much into politics, or Iraq or whatever, and maybe there is something here I’m not seeing, but by your logic, anything that shows people killing middle-easterners is propaganda. I mean just because it takes place near the middle-east, against middle-easterners, doesn’t mean it has anything to do with the present. Zach Snyder said that he did not, in any way, intend this to be propaganda. So, you’re saying that the battle for Thermopylae was just a propaganda ploy to do whatever it is you think Hollywood wants us to do in the Iraq war? I guess by that logic, Frank Miller was a soothsayer at heart, and foresaw the invasion of Iraq and said, “Oh boy, I have to write a comic book about the battle of Thermopylae so that people will hate Iranians” What actually happened, (from imdb) is he was inspired by the movie “The 300 Spartans” as a child, and from that, his perception of the ‘hero’ changed dramatically, so he decided to make it into a graphic novel. That’s it. This is one of those cases of people reading too far into the movie, and trying to make it something it clearly isn’t. For me, there is no labeling of “Persians are bad and Spartans are good”, this event happened 2500 years ago, the Greeks will surely have a skewed version of the truth, and for the comic book, which is written through the viewpoint of the Spartan, Dilios the storyteller, is obviously going to have a very biased and negative view of the Persians, after all, they are trying to destroy all of Greece….

“All I got out of this movie was ‘war is cool and stuff and killing people rocks.’” I’m sorry you didn’t get more out of this movie, because the CGI visuals and stylized gore weren’t the point (well, only to make money, I mean, it does look cool). This movie may seem oversimplified because you’re not looking at what the director, Zach Snyder and Frank Miller were actually trying to accomplish. And in response to other critics (like Daniel Newman of the Richmond Times) who say “the filmmaker’s need a history lesson”, this is a story based on a graphic novel, based on another movie, based on historical events almost 2500 years old (many facts of which are debatable). It is a hyper-stylized, ultra-violent modern inspiration of actual events. Sure, there isn’t much plot, some guys go to this pass, fight a while, get betrayed, and die. But that’s what happened. I mean, that’s fine if the battle of Thermopylae wasn’t interesting enough, and there wasn’t enough going on (actually I’m surprised Synder put the queen Gorgo bit in there at all, since it wasn’t in the novel, and think about how deserted the plot would’ve been if it hadn’t! OH NO!!) I’m sure we could just go tell the Spartans “hey, your battle isn’t interesting enough, how about you guys have other things going on, like a hair braiding competition, you know, to spice things up a bit” Again, not to say that 300 is what happened, it’s just that the only thing kept historically intact was the big picture.

What I think Zach Snyder and Frank Miller (who worked with each other) were trying to say and accomplish, aside from making it look cool, was exactly the message the Spartans’ wanted to give, and did. The epitaph to the Spartans at Thermopylae saying: “Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, that here, obedient to their laws, we lie”. It’s a message about what it means to be heroic. All the spectacular visuals and sound were just another way to interpret that epitaph (and just in case you didn’t get it, they read from it in the movie). Again, all of those cool CGI effects didn’t mean anything in the big picture. Everything but the legacy of the Spartans was essentially meaningless. The underlying point of this film, isn’t to be cool, it’s to show people what a hero is, and what it means to be honorable; to show the Spartan sacrifice at Thermopylae for what it really was—the story of what a handful of men could do against—and for—so many.

     He arrives on that western-style empty street a purely physical, almost indomitable presence- and hearing of the rival gangs, begins to position himself at the center of Ushitora’s and Seibei’s little, pathetic world. Sanjuro’s purpose in the town, at first, is purely for his own amusement; he is “the bodyguard who kills the bodies he’s hired to guard”-(Pauline Kael). In a way, he is almost like a child; molding the gangs as if they were clay, and as soon as his sculpture is complete (or lack thereof), he will move on and throw his fortune to the wind, literally. Besides saving the family, and becoming a purging fire that cleanses the town, its just the way Mifune carries himself that impresses me. Mentally, physically (although “Kannuki the giant” is…well…a giant) and while not being the portrait of a saint, morally superior to the gangs, Sanjuro wins our admiration. The way he shrugs his shoulders, scratches his chin and head, and chews on that toothpick shows his nonchalant attitude towards the “deadly criminals”. With no loyalty to either side–a mercenary–it is very peculiar when he deviates from his own amusement; when we see his compassionate, more human side through saving the family, and almost condemning himself. We never see Sanjuro display this selflessness anywhere else in the film. Perhaps, in the family, he found something in the town he hadn’t counted on or experienced before; and perhaps too, something about himself.

    In the scene where, Sanjuro sits grinning atop the bell “tower” and watches as the gangs are slowly drawn to fighting each other below him, you can almost imagine the strings coming off of Ushitora and Seibei, being manipulated by the ronin-turned puppet-master. He is the supremely confident Samurai, peerless and masterless, who doesn’t take shit from anyone. And isn’t it funny, how he begins in the same way he ends– with a little luck.