Final Paper - Ideological Analysis of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Point blank: anarchy is not the answer. Over time, civilizations subject themselves to the domination of a system of institutions in order to regulate and protect their existence. Considering the innately selfish nature of humans, the presence of these systems inevitably clashes with free will of the individuals that compose them. The ideological conflict that arises has become a theme that is consistently addressed by commercial cinema. In one such film, Milos Forman’s critically acclaimed One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), a psychiatric hospital houses a standard set of mental patients whose fate is determined by their corrupt nurses. The infiltration of a questionably insane felon shakes up the hospital’s rigid system, paralleling the plight of individual rights within the authority of an establishment. Forman’s feat derives in the film’s ability to express sympathy for the convict while simultaneously upholding the prevailing side of the ideological argument. Thus, the film grimly accepts and submits to the reality that institutions ultimately triumph. To accomplish all of this, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest enunciates the ideological conflict through both story and discourse. The harmony of form and content to exert a unified message is exhibited in a shot sequence selected from the plotline’s climax. The dynamic editing of the sequence echoes the discord between the individual and the institution occurring on narrative level. Moreover, the use of conventional filmic techniques conveys a decisive adherence to the dominant ideology, also agreeing with the story’s ending.

Relating the ideology of a film’s message to the story and discourse that compose it is central to the ideas of many film theorists. In Comolli and Narboni’s “Cinema/Ideology/Criticism,” they outline that “the tools and techniques of filmmaking are a part of ‘reality’ themselves, and furthermore ‘reality’ is nothing but an expression of the prevailing ideology” (Comolli 689). In depicting the reality, the narrative within the film is just as important as the way it is presented. They also claimed that every film is political and provided a classification system for if and how it is connected to its ideological function. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest arguably fits into the type (e) films that “throw up obstacles in the way of the ideology, causing it to swerve and get off course.” Comolli and Narboni go on to describe how “the cinematic framework lets us see it, but also shows it up and denounces it” (Comolli 691). Evidence for this is found through the film when the convict attempts to bring simple pleasures to the hospitals’ hostages, steadily questioning the dominance and righteousness of the institution. The film creates the reality of a mental hospital and proceeds to criticize it from within the conventions of the system.

This concept of revealing counterarguments to the ideology is also supported by a section of Graeme Turner’s Film as a Social Practice IV where he discusses conflicting approaches to an ideology within the text of a film. Turner explains, “This competition usually results in a victory for the culture’s dominant positions, but not without leaving cracks or divisions through which we can see the consensualizing work of ideology.” Following this, he elaborates, “That through such cracks, ideological analysis provides the point of entry to an understanding of the film’s formal process of construction” (Turner 198). In One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Forman’s sympathy to the individual through both the narrative and the filmic techniques offers cracks in the dominant ideology supporting the social structures. Without being entirely antiestablishment, the film provides a basis for exploring all elements that contribute to the prevailing position on the matter. Turner’s scheme can be applied to a shot sequence by means of thorough analysis.

The sequence in question takes place from 2:01:17 to 2:01:41 in the film, and from 2:07 to 2:31 in the clip above. It occurs near the end of the film and consists of seven shots. The fight between two main characters in the segment reflects the symbolic struggle between the individual and the institution. Developed through the film as the rebel leader of the innocent patients, Jack Nicholson’s character, R.P. McMurphy embodies the free will and the spontaneity of individual. His symbolic counterpart is the totalitarian chief nurse, Nurse Ratched, played by Louise Fletcher, who personifies the authority of the institution through the relentless command she holds over his life. The character development is key to understanding how this segment relates to the ideological analysis. The building tension between them peaks the morning after McMurphy completely breaches the rules by bringing in young women and alcohol into the hospital. When Nurse Ratched threatens one of the young patients, Billy Bibbit, to suicide after finding him naked with one of the women, McMurphy purely acts on his feelings for her. The subsequent series of seven shots provide a basis for a thorough ideological analysis of the film.

The beginning of the segment provides a premise for the ensuing violence. After the initial sight of Billy Bibbit’s dead body has shocked the patients and the hospital staff, Shot one shows a close up of McMurphy’s face in the doorway grimacing in disgust. Nurse Ratched enters the frame out of focus yelling at the patients to get out of the room. Clearly infuriated, McMurphy’s eyeline stays affixed on Nurse Ratched. His black robber hat characterizes his actions from the night before and hints at his aggression. Cutting to Shot two, the first transition is motivated by Nurse Ratched’s movement through the doorway. Shot two backs out to a mid-range shot of the other side of the door with the nurses physically pushing around all of the patients. Everybody’s expressions are in focus, but McMurphy’s face cannot be seen. As the focal point of the action, Nurse Ratched’s roughhousing has a rippling effect extending out through the others. The square framing simply cuts into this focal point to transition to Shot three, which is a waist-up shot of Ratched, with the others less focused. The camera pans left slightly to follow her motions. She shuts the door, signaling a loud timely bang, and repeats for everyone to calm down. Indicating she is anything but calm, Ratched has trouble maintaining eye contact with anyone she is ordering around. Her voice serves as a sound bridge to the Shot Four, which reveals the people she is addressing. The clean-cut form and content of the first three shots help to establish the mounting tension between parties and to portray the instability of the hospital during this scene.

The next four shots in the sequence utilize more dynamic, yet still conventional, techniques to present the brawl as an intense and meaningful moment. Shot four begins with an over-the-shoulder shot of McMurphy that also contains an unfocused part of Ratched’s face from behind her. The concentration of the shot is on the brimming fury visible in McMurphy’s under-bite and brow furrow. Entirely overwhelmed, he lunges toward her, his hands reaching for her neck, and the shot pans left to show both of them at a crooked angle. Although both of them can be seen, the focus is clearly on McMurphy’s face. Quickly cutting to the reverse shot of Shot four, the camera takes another perspective in Shot five. The reverse shot is positioned from behind McMurphy as he is strangling her. Ratched’s deeply pained facial expressions are in focus and both of their bodies thrash in and out the frame. An unidentified voice calls from off camera and the next cut is provoked by the sound bridge to Shot six that shows the owner of the voice. It is close-up of another patient yelling at McMurphy to stop that pans across him back up from the skirmish. Shot seven then cuts back to the same frame as Shot five with the focus again on Ratched as McMurphy wrestles her to the ground. The camera pans right and then angles down on the action, accompanied by sounds of exasperated grunting and feet shuffling. These seven shots do not reveal the outcome of the McMurphy’s attack but they work as a solid base for both technical and narrative analysis in relation to the film’s ideology.

The meaning derived through these seven shots applicable to the ideological dilemma can be dissolved to the means through which it exhibits sympathy to the individual as contrasted with how it acknowledges the commercially accepted attitude. As the film takes on an omniscient perspective, Forman uses short takes, edited so there are multiple points of view in each scene. In the time before the sequence, the film’s mise-en-scéne develops the environment of the hospital and the operation of the patients within the institution. The white starched enclosure of the hospital reflects the severity of the institution and how it contrasts with the humanity of its occupants. Also contributing to the aura of the hospital, the film uses shots of locked doors and fences to highlight the patients’ physical and emotional separation from the realities of the outside world. These elements, along with the characterizations, have been established and should also be taken into account in reading the shot sequence for meaning.

To start with, the segment contains conventional editing techniques that favor the humanity of the souls restricted by the implementations of the system. These include the use of uncomfortable close-ups, strategic depth of field in wider shots, and disframing. In Shots one and four, the close-ups fill the screen with the emotions of McMurphy to emphasize the magnitude to which he is pained by Billy’s death. In Shot six, the close-up of another patient draws to the effects of McMurphy on the patients individually. By controlling the characters are in and out of focus within all of the shot frames, both McMurphy’s passion and Ratched’s fear are highlighted. Disframing, where the action shifts beyond the bounds of the frame, allows the strangling of Ratched in Shots five and seven to appear unsettling and chaotic. These techniques, paired with the literally physical conflict in the narrative, convey a controversial anti-conformist perspective that is juxtaposed with the typical view on social structures.

Specifically, the use of close-ups in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest has a deeply powerful effect that is encouraging of individualism. In Balasz’s analysis, “The Close-Up”, he enforces Forman’s techniques saying, “Close-ups are the pictures expressing the poetic sensibility of the director.” He continues with the idea that “they show the faces of things and those expression on them which are significant because they are reflected expressions of our own subconscious feeling,” supporting the meaning derived from the close-ups in the shot sequence (Balasz 274). Another film critic, Biolostocki notes in her analysis, “Forman’s Cuckoo’s Nest, Its Composition and Symbolism,” about the impact of the close-ups: “Those faces, on which a life of psyche not submitted to any norms is engraved, fill up the screen for two hours” (Biolostocki 159). It is clear that the close-ups play into the ideological message and are a marked feature of the film as a whole.

At the end of the film, Nurse Ratched triumphs in her punishment McMurphy by turning him into a mindless “vegetable,” submitting to the workings of the institution she represents and altering the overall message of the film. This submission is echoed during the film in multiple ways and can also be pulled out from the shot-by-shot analysis. In service to the dominant ideology, the conventional techniques – shot-reverse-shot, panning, and sounds bridges – uphold the stability of the film’s form, and thereby affect the overall enunciation of its message. Although does not contain verbal dialogue, the shot-reverse-shot sequence in Shots four and five is a practical procedure for portraying the interaction between two characters. The camera panning in Shots three, four, six and seven, allow for the action to be captured in a way that is visually accessible – another process conventional to commercial cinema. The sound bridges used in the transitions between Shots three and four and between Shots five and six are another example of standard film techniques that the streamline the conflict. Reinforced by these stabilizing techniques, the narrative ending ultimately provides a wholesome view on why society interaction with social structure is so controversial despite the prevailing ideology.

With all of these observations and references are considered, the film’s stance on the ideology of the establishment is clarified. Forman attempts to make some noble points about refusing to surrender oneself to the system and he succeeds in his adaption of the story to its filmic counterpart. Nonetheless, the question of power has no definitive answer in the reality defined by the film or the reality of humanity at large. In One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Forman provides an instance that questions the path that modern society has chosen. Critic Bialostocki’s concurs:

The weak borderline between freedom and anarchy becomes impossible to maintain. Societies oscillate between chaos and dictatorship and the passive human mass, following the slogans of an insubordinated individual, is able to achieve greatness, but also – destruction and self-annihilation (Bialotocki 160).

Her insight can be applied directly to the message of the film and the foundation of the ideological struggle it concerns.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest enunciation regards this struggle with a viewpoint relatable to the masses. The compilation of form and content harness the reality of the conflict by drawing in the audience with sentimental close-ups and asking them to question the morality of the treatments in the mental hospital. Provoking the matter, the film brings dynamic tension between the humanity of an individual and the institution’s installment of conformity to life. Presented through character development and strategic editing, Milos Forman’s critically acclaimed film, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest relays a widespread resentment towards the prevailing ideology. In doing so, he fights the man, or more appropriately in the case, the woman.

Works Cited

Balasz, Bela. “The Close-Up.” Film Theory and Criticism. ed. Leo Braudy, Marshall Cohen. (2009), pp. 273-275. Oxford University Press: New York.

Bialostocki, Jan. “Forman’s Cuckoo’s Nest, Its Composition and Symbolism.” Artibus et Historiae, Vol. 2, No. 3 (1981), pp. 159-162. Published by: IRSA s.c. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1483109>

Comolli, Jean-Luc and Jean Narboni. “Cinema/Ideology/Criticim.” Film Theory and Criticism. ed. Leo Braudy, Marshall Cohen. (2009), pp. 686-693. Oxford University Press: New York.

Turner, Graeme. Film as a Social Practice (Fourth Edition). Routledge: New York.

Shot by Shot Analysis Paper - One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Shot Sequence
In film 28:13 to 28:41
In clip below 2:40 to 3:08

In the 1970s, there was a cultural fascination with the rise of the individual against the communal structure. In establishing the overarching theme of the oppression of humanity by institutions, Milos Forman's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975) relies strongly on the power of character development through filmic techniques. In the stark environment of a psychiatric hospital, the film presents a standard set of mental patients whose fate is determined by their corrupt nurses. The infiltration of a questionably insane felon shakes up the hospital’s rigid system and showcases the irrationality of societal expectations. During a short sequence of the film, the interaction between an unconventional mental patient, Harding who is played by William Redfield, and Jack Nicolson’s character, the new rebel patient R.P. McMurphy, provides a basis for character analysis. The segment uses both narrative and filmic techniques to reveal characterizations that oppose the roles society has placed them into, building an anomaly that raises criticism for the institution.

The sequence in question takes place from 28:13 to 28:41 in the film and consists of four shots. Before the sequence with Harding, McMurphy develops his role as resident rebel by undermining the nurses’ power by entering their office to turn the music down. His conversation with Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher) about why the music must stay at a constant volume for the well being of all patients draws on the absurdity of the scope of her authority. Engaging in a passive aggressive argument about the pill he must take, McMurphy acts on his disrespect for their orders by pretending to take it and mocking them in the process. The sequence continues from this point in a series of four shots and gives a glimpse of the problems with the workings of the institution.

Shot 1

Within the narrative of the film, the four shots in question present a situation where Harding concedes to the orders and McMurphy defies them. During Shot 1, Harding moves up to the nurses’ medicine station, preoccupied by his observation of McMurphy and is politely drawn to attention by the nurses. He obediently takes his prescribed pills and moves on with a twang of sarcasm. While McMurphy has just challenged the effort to make him take the pill, Harding uses French, saying “merci” to actually thank the nurses for his medicine. In comparison to the other patients, Harding seems to possess a much more intellectual and articulate demeanor. At this point in the movie, there is no prominent evidence of his insanity and he serves as the ideal patient for the nurses. From his carefree interactions with the people in the ward, its clear that Harding used to be the leader of the patients before McMurphy arrived on the scene. He exists under utter control of the nurses’ rules and exhibits no fear of McMurphy. This characterization demonstrates that Harding represents the stability of the institution before the onset of McMurphy’s vivacity.

Shot 2

Shot 2 shows the hospital room and how the return of McMurphy and Harding to a card table elicits another patient, Martini (Danny DeVito) to get up and move to another seat. The shot emphasizes the hierarchy among patients. Billy Bibbit, who is seated on the other side of the table waiting for the leaders’ arrival, shows full interest in McMurphy and only takes his eyes off him for a moment to glance at Harding. The two patients who are standing behind the chairs in guard-like poses give the impression that they would not dare an attempt to take seats of the others patients. This reveals the expectations their lesser rank within the hospital. Although according to the hospital it is medication time, the shot demonstrates that the people in the room are much more concerned with what McMurphy is doing then what the nurses have planned. McMurphy’s role as a leader of men in the community and as a distraction from the establishment lends to the empowerment of the individual.

Shot 3

With Shot 3, Harding turns to McMurphy and asks him why he didn’t verbally defy the nurses. His curiosity is marked by a playful interest and candid tone. Because he has lost his position amongst patients, he now exists independent of the tension between the nurses and McMurphy. The mental hospital is keeping him as a patient, yet he seems entirely rational and fully capable, divulging an apparent discrepancy to the righteousness of the institution.

Shot 4

In Shot 4, McMurphy puts a hand on Harding’s back, displays the horse pill still in his mouth, and spits it out in response to his questioning. Without words, McMurphy looks directly into Harding’s eyes provides a bold reply, while physically asserting his authority. In comparison to Harding’s placement in the mental hospital, McMurphy’s presence there seems much more reasonable. He is rash, unpredictable, and clearly not suited for world beyond the white walls of the hospital. Ironically, his presence there is due to a strategic avoidance of jail time and a fake illness. The backwards treatment of their “disorders” manifests the perception of the institution as illogical and unfit to care for their actual shortcomings.

The meanings derived from this segment can be enhanced through the examination of how each shot in the sequence was filmed. As the film takes on an omniscient perspective, Forman uses short takes, edited so there are multiple points of view in each scene. In the time before the sequence, the film’s mise-en-scéne develops the environment of the hospital and the operation of the patients within the institution. The white starched enclosure of the hospital reflects the severity of the institution and how it contrasts with the humanity of its occupants. Also contributing to the aura of the hospital, the film uses shots of locked doors and fences to highlight the patients’ physical and emotional separation from the realities of the outside world. The background music playing throughout the sequence is monotonous and melodious and louder than expected to reinforce McMurphy’s logical problem with it hindering their conversations.

In Shot 1, an extreme close-up of Harding’s face with an unfocused background stresses his eyes and expressions. His eyeline match directed at the nurses behind the counter implies that the shot is warranted from their view. With glasses and mustache in the close-up, Harding appears dignified and sophisticated and thus unfit for such a habitat. The transition to Shot 2 is a match-on-action motivated by the motion of Harding’s arm. As an establishing shot, the next long shot showing large portion of the hospital room changes the view to a more encompassing perspective. The overall color composition adds to the concept of the installed hierarchy. The nurses wear only white, claiming their alleged decency, while beige overwhelms the majority of the walls, table, and patients’ scrubs, creating an atmosphere of conformity. By critical exception, McMurphy’s regular clothes in bold colors and Harding’s plaid robe stand out, as they attempt to resist the submission that the institution assigns. The camera pans down slightly and cuts to a Shot 3 by motivation of the turning heads.

Shot 3 is an over-the-shoulder close-up that offers another defining shot of Harding’s character as the first shot in a shot-reverse shot dialogue. McMurphy’s point of view leads to the dialogue cut that will come with the transition to the reverse shot. Arguably, Shot 3 and the transitions surrounding it are very typical of editing procedure and are used by the director as a standard film technique. These filmic strategies reflect Harding’s character and enhance his image as a straight-laced and stable personality in the setting of the mental hospital. The pace of the editing seems to agree with that of the music playing. On the other hand, Shot 4’s reverse over-the-shoulder close-up of McMurphy allows for both the pill and proximity between the two characters to be seen. The shot-reverse shots are directly on eye level to emphasize the realism of their conversation through a camera. In comparison to Shot 3 and Harding’s characterization, the different nature of Shot 4’s transition parallels McMurphy’s character. After Shot 4, the quick match cut occurs before the pill is spit out and reverts back to the establishing shot of the room to make the effect obvious. This sudden switch comes across as a disruption, corresponding well to the spontaneity and humanity of McMurphy’s character. The technical interpretation of this sequence expresses similar ideas derived from the purely narrative analysis.

This segment depicts clear characterizations and provides evidence for the thematic development of the rise of humanity against the illogical institution through both filmic and narrative elements. The concept that the filming should be reflective of narrative resonates one of the themes presented in Comolli and Narboni’s “Cinema/Ideology/Criticism.” In explaining how cinema is the product of its era, “The film would unveil everything that has been integrated into it,” they agree that One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest makes a statement according to the prevalent ideology of the time. They also argued that all elements of the film should be considered: “Of course all the film expresses is the film, but it expresses all the film.” Ultimately, evaluating the story, enunciation, and conventions used in editing is crucial in determining the ideology of a film, or in this case, a mere sequence of one.

As every piece contributes to the overall effect of the whole, a short sequence of a film can illustrate a prevailing view of the era’s ideology. Presented through character development and continuity editing, Milos Forman’s critically acclaimed film, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest relays a widespread resentment characteristic of the 1970s and of mankind at large. The elicited ideology stems from the dynamic tension between the humanity of an individual and the institution’s installment of conformity.

Story, Enunciation, and Citizen Kane

I found myself really drawn into the ideas presented in the he readings we did on the concept of cinema as an ideology as described by Camolli and Narboni and narrative enunciation by Metz. In my opinion he readings seemed dense and repetitive when I read them through the first time with little knowledge of what the cinema scholars were referring to. After lecture when Negar cleared some of the overwhelming material and helped us focus on the main points, I developed a much better idea of their arguments and I have decided to devote this blog entry to sharing what I learned and how we can apply it to our study of Citizen Kane.

Like just about everything else worth analyzing, movies develop meaning on multiple levels. Art is a product of people. And people are products of their era. Thus, art, namely films, carry a weight of their time whether the moviemakers intend for it or not. Films are categorized by through ideologies derived from their story’s meaning as well as the discourse theories. In the reading, Camolli and Narboni explain how films had become an issue of politics in both story and discourse. They weighed their critique of them based on the ideologies presented in both contexts. Good films were counter-ideological in both story and discourse.

Metz’s argument is drawn from the linguist Emile Benveniste. Although it seems much more complex, his concepts are very similar. The reading indicates that Metz believe film interacted with society in two modes of communication. His terminology referred to story as narrative and discourse as enunciation. Beyond their narrative stories, generally the part on which people focus, movies also possess enunciation of cultural codes and conventions. He found that the audience’s primary identification is with the level of production and that the narrative was the secondary mode of identification. He presented the idea that the impersonal enunciation of film is the marker of reflexivity, as on this level, the film reflects on itself and its time of production. With enunciation, the film carries information about the industry, technology of production, screenwriters, etc.

Using Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane to demonstrate these ideas, we can see that the goodness of the film thrives from being counter-ideological in both its story and discourse. The film was extremely innovative and for its time and self-reflective on many accounts. This is demonstrated in the stories ability to show the passage of time using stage make-up and set designs. The cinematography of Citizen Kane brings to life the enunciation of the cultural context of the film. Many scenes reveal the states of political affairs and corruption in the era without trying to. Below is the sequence from the film that contains examples of these theories.



People watch movies for many reasons, but as students of film, I think it is important for us to see movies in the context of their time of release and political or cultural message in addition to their narratives.

The Female Spectator

For the last week or so, we’ve spent a lot of time talking about the male gaze and the male spectatorship that films appeal to, especially in the visual sense. During our discussion on Wednesday, we happened upon the idea of the female spectator. I wonder why it is not addressed as often because I think there is a lot to be said on the female perspective. In this blog entry I will discuss ideas of the female spectator through the class texts and Hitchcock’s films.

In Graeme Turner’s Film as Social Practice IV, Chapter 5 outlines Mulvey’s argument that much of mainstream cinema is constructed for the male gaze. The female in the film serves as the object of desire, but the female spectator is unlikely to identify with the voyeurism of the male protagonist. Feminist film theory attempts to revolutionize the acceptance of the dominant male gaze. In trying to model a “female gaze,” Modleski and other critics resist the idea that all women can be generalized to one perspective. This also makes me wonder how all the articles we’ve read can so unrealistically characterize all male viewers to have the same psychoanalytic complex. Subconscious processes do not determine the theoretical female gaze as much as the cultural and historical perspective they’ve gained from being active women in the realm of society. I think that women find pleasure in the nonsexual relationships they form with the characters on screen.

I think its fair to say that the women of Hitchcock’s era identified with the females in Suspicion and Rear Window. The fear of domestic violence is widespread and the women characters in the film are representative of the same fear. Lina’s character responds to the clues of Johnnie’s threats in the same way many of the women in the audience can see themselves reacting. Although they cannot identify with the male gaze of Lina as a spectacle to be looked at, they can connect with her emotionally in a way that the male gaze cannot. Lisa stands as an powerful character who takes the action where Jeffries can not, thereby connecting with the empowering emotions of the female spectators who like to see themselves as doing the same. Hitchcock presents the females as spectacles, but not to the likes of older movies we watched. His films don’t compare to those with Marilyn Monroe who is presently merely as a object of sexual pressure.

Another idea addressed by Turner is the female obsessions with actors and actresses beyond the stories of the films. Moviemakers must appeal to the likes of the female spectatorship because they are the ones who comprise the market of fandom. It seems that in the realm of cinema, the male gaze might dominate the perspectives on screen, but off screen, the cultural effect rings with the female population just the same. The women in the audience don’t need a cut-up male body shots to drool at to find pleasure in a film.

Summer Love Really Does Fade Fast

Shilpi Kumar
Summer Love Really Does Fade Fast
An unconventional and compelling story about love, (500) Days of Summer blends the charming lives of two young adults caught in the inevitable tribulations of love. Tom Hansen, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, portrays a protagonist plagued by his idealistic view of romance and perpetual underdog status. The object of his affections, the quirky Summer Finn, played by actress Zooey Deschanel, yearns for a spontaneous life, clean of any suffocating commitments. Although this construct sounds vaguely similar to many of the all-too-cliché “rom-coms,” (500) Days of Summer breaks the mold with an inventive take on a recurrent problem – the inherently unreciprocated nature of many potential relationships. While the film seduces viewers with a realistic spin on love, it fails to effectively ignite a convincing rebuttal to the norm it attempts to challenge.
Distancing itself from the typical romantic comedy, the film utilizes the thematic schemes of Peter Chelsom’s Serendipity, with a free editing style similar to that of Richard Linklater’s Waking Life. One of the most gripping aspects of (500) Days of Summer is its ability to captivate the audience with the façade of Tom and Summer’s true love. Directed by Marc Webb, (500) Days of Summer delights with a combination of fantastical elements, light humor, and pop-culture references interwoven in a web of enchanting romance. The omniscient narration, paired with numerous dream-sequences and editorial additions, enhance the film’s entertainment value.
As the story rebounds between the good and bad days, the dynamics of the style parallels the sentiments. Initially, Webb uses these tools to overtly project optimistic overtones upon the audience. The uplifting soundtrack complements the overall mood of the narrative, while the comic interjections from supporting characters add to the deliberately light-hearted flow. With the second half of the story, Webb redefines the audience’s perception with similar strategies. A cynical ambiance results from the culmination of altered set designs, lighting, and music. These shifts in misé-en-scene rework the visage of the film and evoke a powerful emotional response from the audience. Similar to the experience with many other romantic comedies, the bond formed between the audience and the main characters becomes a force of its own pretenses.
Far from predictable, (500) Days of Summer seems to possess all the intentions of a breakout indie film. The haphazard and unconventional storyline creates an awkward misunderstanding with the audience. The layout of the film, as prefaced by the title, explores the ups-and-downs of Tom and Summer’s relations through snapshots of the days they spent together. As viewers attempt to grasp the characters from the scattered visions offered, they are met with deceptive evidence that seems almost too calculated. The presentation of their relationship effectively draws the attentive crowd into a spell of predetermined perceptions. The semi-anticipated break in their love story leaves an obviously strange tension. The real-life portrayal almost starts to seem unbelievable due to the convincing foundation laid beforehand. The moviemakers excel in wafting the moviegoers in the love potions and depressants of emotional attachments. The audience, unbeknownst to their intoxication, either drowns in empathy and hope or wallows with skeptical disappointment of the relationship at hand.
It seems as if (500) Days of Summer brought on the task of attending to two agendas, that of a pleasant chick flick, as well as that of an off-beat indie. And although it succeeds on integrating parts of both, the missing pieces from each undertaking subtract from its overall triumph. Nonetheless, for those who want a scoop of alluring romance added on top of some indie creativity, (500) Days of Summer is the ultimate charmer.

Classic Hollywood Spectators

Through the years, Classical Hollywood Cinema has made a name for themselves by establishing a standard for the type of movie people want to see. David Bordwell and his article “Classical Hollywood Cinema: Narrational Principles and Procedures” have been the topic of our class blog entries and discussion for the past week. I feel that we’ve mostly analyzed Bordwell’s list of the elements that characterize classic Hollywood films, specifically the dual plot lines. I wanted to look at another aspect that Bordwell brought to my attention, the idea of classical spectatorship, specifically in Nora Ephron’s 1993 American romantic comedy, Sleepless in Seattle.

I think we talk about spectatorship a lot more than we realize. The effect of film on an audience is essentially what drives the whole industry. When I think about spectatorship, I consider the sappy emotional women of the world, and what exactly drives us to laugh hysterically and cry uncontrollably through every movie we see. Really, it’s a bizarre concept: a moving picture, completely void of reality, causes us to react like we’re living the lives of the characters we’ve met. This doesn’t just happen by chance. Every amateur film director longs to pull at the heartstrings and jerk some tears out of their viewers. But what exactly separates those in the DVD collection from those other forgettable flicks?

According to Bordwell, the logic of classical spectatorship relies on “a series of particular schemata, hypotheses, and inferences” (28). He finds that cinema depends on spectator’s previous knowledge and expectations to determine their film experience. As they are exposed to the narrative and effect of the film, the reaction they have is mostly controlled by the hypothesis formed and either confirmed or denied. We feel that we learn the character well enough to predict what they are going to do, or that we have followed the director’s style enough to anticipate what’s coming. In fact, we’re usually pretty accurate, which makes us happy. Bordwell believes that spectatorship thrives from the validated hypotheses, especially in classical Hollywood cinema.

When looking at Sleepless in Seattle with all this in mind, the spectator’s emotional saga makes so much sense. As we are introduced to Sam and Annie, we predict that they will get together because of our premise to the notion that they are perfectly compatible and the idea that love can heal all wounds. In reality, we are convinced of these due to our societal expectations of romance, as well that the film techniques Ephron uses to match Sam and Annie as an ideal couple in our heads. I think that the culmination of the characters’ hardships and our expectation of a classical romance lead us to the seemingly inevitable catharsis of tears. When the timing and coincidences finally line up and Sam and Annie meet on the top of the Empire State Building, the spectators feel like they’ve won. Through the magic of cinema, we manage to get sucked to the passions of those we’ve never met. I may just be a hopeless romantic, but I definitely think Bordwell’s onto something.

Indecisive

In the first week of Introduction to Film Studies, we have watched two films and read an article. Walter Benjamin wrote “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” in 1936 when humanity was still growing accustomed to industrialization. Although Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amelie (2001) and David Fincher’s Fight Club (1999) were released to a much more modern era, the ideas Benjamin raises about the interplay between art of society also apply to these films. The question we face is if the promotion of narrative as the essence of film proves to be a “criminal error” due to the transforming effects film technology allows.

Before the screening of Amelie, we were told to take careful notice of details. Through the film, I realized how many instances of close-up shots and slow motion sequences were used to tell Amelie’s story. The narrative heeds to the film’s ability to overwhelm the senses and capture the minutiae of daily life. With Amelie, reality is reworked and presented back as an enhanced work of art. This concept is in accordance with Walter Benjamin’s observation that “with close-up, space expands; with slow motion, movement is extended.” The question isn’t whether or not the Amelie’s narrative is compelling, but rather if the narrative strikes the audience the same way the film’s artistry does. In my opinion, with Amelie, the camera reveals a new understanding of the world and of relationships. One scene that stood out to me takes place when Amelie creates an explanation Nino’s lateness that includes fantastical elements that would seem completely unreal, yet in the context of the film are not so farfetched. Film technology’s formation of an optical unconscious provides for a deeper aesthetic and emotional experience than would have been found with pure narrative.

After reading and discussing Benjamin’s article, I expected to notice the same level of visual dynamics in during the screening of Fight Club. Surprisingly, the narrative was the dominant, or arguably equal, source of the shock value I received from the film. Although the lighting and close-ups set the mood, I would not have been convinced of the bizarre situations taking place without the role of the narrative. With Fight Club, I think film technology helps enhance the surreal appearances of the fights and explosions, but the most influential elements of the film stem from the narrative. I think that the shocking revelations paired with Tyler Durden’s quotable statements produce the essence of the well- renowned film. When Tyler Durden says, “It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything,” the impact hits harder than any slow-motion shot of an explosive’s timer or close-up of a bloody punch. So in the case of Fight Club, I think the so-called “criminal error” does not exist in the same magnitude as it does with Amelie.

Considering the polar reactions I had to the two films on the basis of this question, I must say that there isn’t one answer. Every piece of art should be considered in its own right. Both sides can be supported and refuted depended on the viewer and the work at hand. I think that the beauty of any art is that it affects every person in a different way. A dialectical thinker, Benjamin formed a similar conclusion about the mechanical reproductions of art. He understood that society could benefit from technology’s ability to transform the senses of the masses but also that the “auratic relationship” is consequentially lost from art’s ritual context. I think I can see both sides of the value of the narrative and the effects of film on society after being exposed to these three works.