Dancing Bread Rolls

It’s Friday night, I’m done with my blog post of doom, and somehow I find myself in front of my computer wanting to write another film blog post. For my international cinema class, we watched Fallen Angels on Wednesday afternoon. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Every time I clear my head of everything else that’s going on, this film creeps in. I’m writing about it, but I don’t quite know where to start. I know that not all the students in my class had such a passionate reaction to it, so I’m recommending it with the disclaimer that it’s not for everyone.

TRAILER

Fallen Angels (a Chinese film directed by Kar Wai Wong) is spectacular. Stylistically, it is completely breathtaking. Thematically, it’s incredibly powerful. I don’t have any criticisms, which is rare. I have never seen anything quite like it.

So please, please see it. I don’t think it’s too difficult to find. Dr. Campbell, this means you. And Stephanie. And Ben. And everyone, really. I said that I’ve been thinking about this movie for the past three days, but I still haven’t even begun to explore everything I’d like to. I don’t even know if I have the right to try to approach it until I’ve seen it again.

Just…there are no words. (Still.) Perhaps I’ll think of some, but don’t hold your breath. I think I’m in love.

Alas, my only blog about Vertigo was cut cruelly short due to a sudden strike of inspiration. But fear not! For now all shall be revealed. Hopefully.

Read the rest of this entry »

Carmen, I’d like to apologize for any confusion I may have caused with my discussion of the Vagina Dentata theory. I have not been saying that I believe this theory, or that it’s psychologically/socially valid, just that it’s an interesting viewpoint to examine. I believe that it is very important to examine different perspectives, especially when I don’t necessarily agree with them. This is a psychoanalytical film theory, and not even a very widely supported one, as is plainly stated in Freeland’s essay. But this doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t consider it. If we don’t think about it, how can we discredit it?

I was not in anyway attempting to undermine feminism, motherhood, or devalue life. Nor was I trying to degrade vaginas. I think vaginas are wonderful! In fact, I happen to have one.

Dr. Campbell, you should be absolutely thrilled, because–finally–I am going to talk about Vertigo. But just a little, for now. I figure it’s best if I deal with little chunks of the film at a time, because I want to be thorough. In fact, this entire post is going to cover just one scene. Ready?

THE GRAVEYARD SCENE:

First, let’s examine the way in which Madeleine is framed in each of the P.O.V. shots.

Notice any similarities? In nearly every single shot, she is in the exact center of the frame. What message is Hitchcock trying to communicate through this, what effect does it have on us, and what does it tell us about Scottie? In this scene, he is following her through the graveyard, so every shot of her is from his point of view. This means that Madeleine is always in the center of Scottie’s focus. This ties back to the very centrally-focused opening credits. (The Punisher discusses this very well, so I’m not going to go into it further here.) However, going through this scene, I also noticed an interesting use of both color and architecture to create certain effects. Notice the orange flowers in the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 9th, and 10th shots above. Now how about these?

Yes, it is possible that there is simply a large quantity of orange flowers in this garden. But Hitchcock didn’t have to frame his shots in this particular way; these must have been included intentionally. I’ve been sitting here for the past half hour, trying to figure out what the orange flowers represent, but maybe this is just one of those realizations that will come once I stop thinking about it, probably in the middle of my sociology class.

So there was going to be a whole lot more here, but as I got more involved in analyzing certain aspects of this film, I hit upon a spectacular idea for my final paper. I feel like I’m cutting this entry short, but I can’t let myself go any further in this direction until I do my final blog ;)

P.S. I figured out the orange. Bwahaha! Oh, and Stephanie Breijo, you’re my favorite. Thanks for lending me the DVD! (Yay, screenshots!)

Yeah, yeah. I know I promised two posts ago to get serious about Vertigo, but…aahh! Sharks! This is what I do in place of sleep, apparently. I realize that I’m going really crazy with this sharks + YouTube thing, but I’ve noticed so many fascinating connections! Anyway, here are lovely trailers for the Jaws movies. It’s interesting to see how they change between films, and the affect that time has had on them, especially the more recent ad for Jaws, redone in a fairly comical way.

And these last three…well, they’re just here because I couldn’t resist. The final death scene in each Jaws movie, excluding Jaws 3. (Warning: spoilers) (Like you’re actually going to watch any of the Jaws sequels.) (I think I’m the only one that ridiculous.)

I’ll leave you with the following links, just in case you’re not all sharked out yet ;)

• highest grossing shark movies
  
• a thorough list of shark films, complete with descriptions
• a discussion of the decline of the shark movie
• and, of course, one of my favorite childhood picture books

I know I’ve done a lot of joking about shark movies in relation to the ‘toothed vagina’ theory (which, as Dr. Campbell pointed out, is actually an established psychological theory called Vagina Dentata that the author of my FTC essay was apparently unfamiliar with), but as a long-standing fan of ridiculously bad shark movies, I think they raise many important questions. Our society is fascinated by sharks. Why? Is it just the thrill of fear and the unknown? Or is it something more than that? The media have certainly capitalized on this love of sharks and shark movies. I succumbed to the infinite wonders of YouTube yet again this afternoon and discovered a treasure trove (haha) of shark-related videos. My apologies in advance for this huge string of clips, but they’re all so wonderful that I felt the need to share them with you. All nine are television commercials of some sort that use the stigma/popularity of sharks as a central selling point.

So I was wasting spending my morning on YouTube, on a quest for clips from shark movies. And found, instead, this amusing trio of TV commercials:

These are splendid, but wait! There’s more! I found another video along the same vein as the Hitchcock version of It’s A Wonderful Life shown in class by Megs…”Must Love Jaws”. As if we needed more reasons to love YouTube.

And finally, for those of you curious about Jaws: The Revenge, watch this. Please. It is lovely.

P.S. The following is an “I told you so”:

• Jaws…1975
  
• Jaws 2…1978
• Jaws 3/Jaws 3-D…1983
• Jaws: The Revenge…1987

So you see, Jaws: The Revenge is, in fact, the 4th and final Jaws film.

This isn’t directly related to what we’re discussing in class, but I find myself very intrigued by this ongoing blog discussion about art and its value. After this post, I’ll give my full attention to Vertigo.

Call me morbid, but ever since I first glimpsed the painting “Watson and the Shark” (by John Singleton Copley) when I was about 6 years old, I’ve been in love with it. I don’t even know why, but perhaps this is a good opportunity to explore the effect it has on me, and on others in the class. I feel that in many ways, it’s a very conflicted painting, for reasons that I will try to explain. (It’s morning and I’m running on very little sleep and food, so we’ll see.) This may even prove to be a nice little introduction to my FTC presentation today. Anyway, here it is:

There is no doubt that this painting is, of course, extremely emotionally charged. (Though the subjects are human, I think even Carmen will agree that this produces quite a strong emotional response.) This is expressed through both the facial expressions of the characters and the sense of motion captured in the painting. The shark is intentionally depicted as having definite evil intent, perhaps to simplify the situation for the audience and eliminate any superficial ambiguity. Despite the seeming inevitability of impending disaster depicted, this painting raises a significant number of questions for me. This painting is anything but clear-cut.

First of all, why is Watson naked? Perhaps I’m just weird, but this is honestly the first thing that I noticed about the painting. The boy is naked. I think it makes the impending shark attack seem just that much scarier, but I still want to know why he’s not wearing any clothes. Under what circumstances would that occur?

How did he get in the water? Ok, so he could have fallen in. But naked? The fact that Watson is naked makes his presence in the water slightly less logical.
What about that guy at the back of the boat, peering between the harpoonist’s legs? Why isn’t he upset? What kind of emotion is he feeling? He definitely has an “Oh, hey, it’s a shark. Hm.” kind of expression. Did he push the boy in? He doesn’t seem affected at all by the situation. What effect do each of the characters produce on the audience? They have varying degrees of emotion and desperation, and, if you look closely, each one is dealing with the situation in a different way. I think that they represent the assortment of universal human reactions to crisis. The two at the front are leaning out to help Watson back into the boat, ignoring possible danger to themselves. They’re focused on fixing the situation. In contrast, the man with the harpoon is focused on preventing the situation by aiming for the shark. He has given up the idea of rescue and is going for the source of the problem. The man in between the first two and the harpoonist is helping in a fairly superficial way by holding them in the boat, but is too distracted by the appearance of the shark to be any real use in the rescue effort. The man above him is holding a rope that has been tossed out to the boy in the water, but he seems a little unsure of what to do next. The two to his left are rowing the boat. They’re clearly upset, but they’ve decided that what they’re doing is more important at the moment. And the man on the far left is taking in the whole situation. He’s not working towards a solution, but he fully comprehends everything that’s occurring, and it is affecting him the most out of all of them. He seems resigned to the fact that things will end badly, but is so affected emotionally that he can’t bring himself to even try to help.

And let’s not forget the background. This huge drama is unfolding in the foreground, but meanwhile, the sun is shining on the town and ships in the background. Everything is so calm and beautiful there. Did the artist do this only to create contrast, or is he trying to tell us something about our own insignificance?

I think this painting is so compelling because it exposes important aspects of human nature. We have seven different reactions to crisis or tragedy.

1. The men leaning out: The immediate urge to help, without thought for personal well-being. Trying to fix a situation that has already gone wrong.

2. The harpoonist: Attempting to prevent the tragedy from occurring, but also much more concerned with identifying whatever is responsible for the problem.

3. The man with the rope: Wants to help and begins to do so, but isn’t quite sure how far to go or what to do beyond an initial effort.

4. The rowing men: Affected by the tragedy, but deciding that life needs to go on.

5. Man on the far left: Emotionally affected by the situation to such a degree that any action is just not possible. The degree of shock and sorrow prevents any constructive action or thought. Fatalistic.
6. The man glancing through the harpoonist’s legs: Not really affected by the situation. Too far away or detached from it, perhaps. Indifference prevents action.

I wasn’t going to mention VA Tech, but this painting makes me think of the reactions I’ve seen around me, and in my friends there. I’d venture to say that we’ve all dealt with this in one (or more) of these 6 ways.
These questions are important to raise in films too, especially with a movie as complex as Vertigo. The painting toys with the idea of not taking anything at its face value, and, as Dr. Campbell discussed in class, this isn’t at all about what it appears to be. Not only does it play with the idea of uncertainty (is the shark going to get him or will he be rescued in time?), but–I would argue–it’s not even really about the boy and his impending fate. It’s about the men in the boat.

Just something to think about.

P.S. Here’s the real story, according to the National Gallery of Art. If you’d rather imagine your own story, don’t read this :)

“John Singleton Copley’s Watson and the Shark was inspired by an event that took place in Havana, Cuba, in 1749. Fourteen-year-old Brook Watson, an orphan serving as a crew member on a trading ship, was attacked by a shark while swimming alone in the harbor. His shipmates, who had been waiting on board to escort their captain ashore, launched a valiant rescue effort.”

Beth’s post got me thinking about art again, and I’d like to explore, briefly, the connection between happiness and quality or depth of art. It was mentioned that artists rarely seem to be happy, and the more tortured they are, the greater or more intense their work is. But the more important question to ask is “Do we tend to view more serious artwork as ‘greater’ simply because it has more depth and intensity?” Are we trivializing ‘happy art’ just because we have decided that it cannot possibly be taken seriously? Isn’t there the possibility that artwork that is cheerful can also be deep? Happy art does not have to be superficial art. I think we view serious art as ‘greater’ because it affects us in a certain way emotionally. Perhaps we find the more negative feelings created more memorable than the lighter, more uplifting ones. But this shouldn’t affect the way we view art. Depressing artwork can be incredibly shallow. And who are we to say that one thing is ‘true art’ while another is not? A judgment we can make individually is whether art is ‘good’ or not, but even this is subjective. But we shouldn’t go so far as to deny its status as art altogether. If all bad art were proclaimed non-art, then what would we have left to compare with? I consider myself an artist, but I don’t claim to be a good one. There is a difference. I think perhaps classification as an ‘artist’ has more to do with what the individual is trying to achieve, rather than his or her final accomplishment.

Do you think this painting is ’superficial’ just because it doesn’t seem emotionally charged?

The debate in class today affected me far more than I expected it to. The discussion of ‘true love’ almost brought me to tears, something that is generally extremely rare. I felt so emotionally invested in the exchange that I simply couldn’t handle participating directly in it. Many issues were raised and discussed, some of which I agree with but most of which made me realize how much I truly dislike the characters in this book. Also how incredibly cynical I’m becoming, but that’s a separate issue. I ended up scribbling down two full pages of angry notes to myself during class in response to everything that was being said. You won’t like it, and you probably won’t even agree with me. It’s ok. I’m not offended. This is going to be a long, rambling blog post, so I figure I’ll just start with two important questions.

What does Eben love about Jennie? She makes him feel wanted. She’s mysterious. She represents variation and excitement in the monotony and misery of his daily life. Does he really know her? I don’t think so.
And what does Jennie love about Eben? He’s her anchor. As she says, she’s lost, and he keeps her grounded.

Eben and Jennie are not soul mates. Let’s put aside the more obvious factors discussed in class (time difference, waiting, etc.) because all this is simply the superficial structure suggesting commitment. There is no real basis for their romance. They have no reason to love each other. Their love is not true. On Eben’s part, it’s the idea of it and on Jennie’s side…who knows? They’re both completely in love with the idea of love and the security and comfort of it.

It doesn’t even matter if she’s a figment of his imagination or not. Everything she is to him is fabricated, invented. She may be real, but their love isn’t.

A comment was made in class that Jennie exists just for Eben. That they are destined to be together and her strange passage through time is indicative of this. However, what if she’s just traveling through time in this manner anyway, and finds him along the way, something to cling to? Something to make her feel less lost.

This brings me to my greater point. Both characters are incredibly selfish. Eben is a frustrated artist. He has no inspiration. He’s washed up. Jennie is his crutch. Does Eben paint anything worthwhile during the times when Jennie is gone? Does he even try??

Jennie is lost, traveling towards an inevitable fate she already anticipates. She’s trying to hold on. She wants him to keep her back. She’s afraid.

They’re both so afraid that it leads them to believe they need– love– each other. They aren’t strong enough to fend for themselves, and if they were, they wouldn’t even try.

On to my second topic of discussion, the love-art-time triangle. We stated in class that “great art transcends time” and “great love transcends time.”

But time defines what we view as “great” and therefore time transcends both by constantly changing our perceptions of them. If these things are no longer “great”, then they lose their ability to transcend time.

Time negates everything eventually. Love and art lack this power. ART is not great. LOVE is not great. TIME is not equal to these two–it is superior. The triangle is flawed.

But if, based on this, we take the view that art doesn’t matter and love doesn’t matter, we wouldn’t get any enjoyment out of life. So we decide instead that TIME doesn’t matter. And this is exactly what Eben and Jennie do.

This is why Jennie has to die at the end. To show them both that time really does trump art and love.

The story isn’t just a “Portrait of Jennie”. Try these:

• “Portrait of Denial”
• “Portrait of Delusion”
• “Portrait of Need”
• “Portrait of Loss”
• “Portrait of Escape”

Yes, I know that’s terrible of me. But I realized something important in class. I hate Eben. I hate Jennie. They’re real, and weak. (And yes, we’re all weak. As it is so beautifully stated in The Philadelphia Story, “You’ll never be a first class human being or a first class woman until you’ve learned to have some regard for human frailty.” That’s my reminder to myself that I’m being incredibly harsh on these characters and everyone else, at the moment.) Don’t worry–I wouldn’t judge them on this alone. But the way Eben and Jennie deal with their respective problems is what really gets to me. Denial, lack of effort, and using each other. Does it really help either one in the long term? To me, they are completely ridiculous characters wholly unworthy of admiration. They are not wise, they are not instructive, they are not even laughable. They would be tragic if they weren’t each so completely self-absorbed, but I find it difficult to have any sympathy for them.

An artist who uses another person as an excuse to not even make an effort to work at his art isn’t truly an artist. And a girl who latches onto someone because she’s afraid is definitely not in love. They are not doomed lovers, they are not tragic heroes. They are irresponsible, simple, hurtful, and selfish. And I really cannot admire anything about them or their story.