Let’s start a liveblog!
Emmys 2016
Unfortunately, because of a prior work engagement, I won’t be able to watch and liveblog the Emmys live tonight. I’ll be following along, however, and I’ll be posting who I thought should’ve won (and in most cases who should’ve been nominated) very soon.
Have a great Emmys, everyone!
filmaardvark
Manic Pixie Dream Girl or Manic Pixie Dream Boy (!?) in Bringing Up Baby
In 2007, AV Club writer and critic Nathan Rabin wrote about the concept of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. His description of the typically freakishly quirky girl designed solely to satisfy the needs of the head-in-the-clouds guy in search of the perfect mate captured the imaginations of the public, for multiple reasons. Some merely found the MPDG-archetype horribly annoying, while feminist media critics found her problematic because of how totally a male fantasy she was. Generally, however, it is agreed that the MPDG is quirky just for the sake of being quirky.
Which is why it is hard–almost impossible–to see the higher-than-thou spoiled brat Susan Vance be classified as a MPDG. She is considered to be “quirky” and generally fulfills the dreams of the main male character. (Sort of.) But Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) is not “quirky” for quirky’s sake. No, Susan Vance is the result of something more insidious than male wish fulfillment: an incredible dose of privilege, played dead-on by Katharine Hepburn.
From the moment she appears on screen, swinging her golf clubs and making everything about Susan Vance, Hepburn paints a portrait of an extremely spoiled heiress, used to material goodness in her life. This is in nice contrast to Cary Grant’s David, who is seemingly resigned to begging and scraping for any bit of funding he can get for his paleontology project.
The leopard is often cited as a sign of Susan’s “quirkiness,” but it is her aunt’s, not hers, and even though she consistently risks life and limb to keep the leopard safe, she seems to treat it as more of an inconvenience than anything else. Watch Hepburn’s posture towards the leopard in that climatic scene where she (unbeknownst to her) drags the wrong cat back to the station: this is not a woman delighted; this is a woman inconvenienced. Hepburn warbles through “I Can’t Get You Anything But Love,” with around the same amount of confidence as Grant. She may find the leopard amusing, but she seems to have difficultly raising enthusiasm.
No, the real key to the often frustrating character of Susan is her privilege. She is used to life being handed to her on a platter; and she wants David to be handed to her too. The world seems to revolve around her because it has revolved around her up until the point of the movie. If anything, she is looking for a Manic Pixie Dream Boy; and once she finds him, she captures him. After all, David has a head-in-the-clouds approach to life, is rather adorable and has an obsessive (dare we say “quirky”) project in the brontosaurus reconstruction.
Or maybe screwball is just screwball. Both of them are odd, bringing the oddities from their backgrounds. Susan is odd because of how oblivious she is to the way the world works; David is odd because his main of expertise has to do with beings that were alive billions of years ago. And that is why it is a screwball comedy.
Hollow Eyes, Pale Skin: The Fallen Youths’ Adventure with Caligari
Those pale, haunted faces filling the frame. Those eyes, wide open in horror, staring at the audience. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), through its character designs, harkens back to the events which occurred just before its production. That is, those of World War I.
The makeup used for the main characters is key here. During the majority of the film, the hero, Francis, is mostly pale, but he has more of an appearance of life than the other characters, such as Cesare and Jane, who are totally pale. This seems to suggest that he can still fight against the effects of World War I, against the forces of death, as he does against Caligari. However, by the end of the movie, when he is in the insane asylum, he takes on a distinctly paler, deader appearance. He too, has fallen.
Jane and Cesare are the characters with the most connotations of death. Jane is almost entirely pale; in the final asylum scene, she is entirely clad and white, wearing a crown. If the asylum represents life after death–Francis loses his sanity is doomed to the asylum; alternately, he loses his life and doomed to nothingness and failed attempts to avenge his life–then Jane could almost be perceived as an Angel of Death. If life, she is ineffectual; in death, she is unpassionate. Cesare, in addition to his defining characteristic as somnambulist, he also looks the part of a walking dead man. His sunken eyes, slack body language and tragic expression reminds one of T.S. Eliot’s Hollow Men: “We are the stuffed men/Leaning together/Headpiece filled with straw.” (Eliot, “The Hollow Men”) While the German aesthetic is much different than the British one, there is still a feeling of shared pain and loss. In the asylum scene, he is presented much the same, but now he does not give the appearance of total blank: he smiles, grimly, as if resigned to his new fate.
Dr. Caligari is also used here as a reference to World War I and the events that would come after. Initially, he is represented as a cliché mad scientist type, with his wild hair, broken top hat, shabby clothes and unattractive mole. He seems a great man unhinged by a lust for power; perhaps a reference to the leaders of Germany who helped initiate World War I, causing so much young death? And again, in the asylum scene, he is changed–now, he is no longer the raving mad man, but a distinguished master of the asylum–he has regained control of his kingdom, his country. This seems a reflection on the age-old cycle of those in power overreaching, provoking rebellion and being conquered, but only briefly, before coming into power again. Post-war sentiment may have been negative, but nationalism and traditional values would prevail.
Through the make-up, costuming and blocking of the characters, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari becomes a reflection of the shock of World War I and its consequences. Its characters, despite their over-the-top expressions, almost seem like ghosts in the frame. Through the character design, the blame for loss of young life during World War I is directly placed on the German authorities, in the figure of the mad Dr. Caligari.
The Artist; or The Artist and these Women
The Artist (2011) is old fashioned in more ways than one; specifically, in the way it portrays its women. Taken in with a cursory glance, the women of the film seem strong, feisty and independent–good female characters in a world where women’s portrayals on celluloid have nearly always suffered. However, once looked at closely, with a particular focus on their place in the frame, they become domineering, teaming up with the glorious era of sound to make poor George Valentin’s life hell. The fact that these women are taken from strong to domineering is disappointing to say the least.
The way Peppy is placed and framed makes her the most overt offender, ironically. For all that she takes Valentin in–saving his belongings, his career and most likely his life–she becomes a looming presence. At the beginning, it is innocent enough–she and Valentin share the frame, with the two of them usually giggling over something. However, she nearly always distracts him from something important: for example, in the scene where they are being filmed dancing, he is almost always drawn away from his focus by her. At first, it is merely her nervous energy that catches him off-guard; but then, just her presence alone encourages his distraction. She takes him away from the film, to the point where all of his attention is on her.
As the film progresses, she begins to be placed on a higher level than him within the frame. After Valentin’s angry visit to Zimmer, they meet. She is above him on the staircase, clad completely in white. He stares up at her, as if she is some form of an angel. He asks about the men with her and to reassure him, she calls them “Toys!” Then, moments later, she whistles to get his attention, as if he’s become her pet. He responds, of course; her domination of him has begun. In a later scene, as Valentin watches his dreams crumble at his movie’s premiere, she sits high above him once again in her own private box while he watches from the main floor. Finally, when she takes him into her home, he is confined to bed while she stands above him, totally in control–she is going to work, while he must stay at home. This could be considered a nightmare scenario, perhaps, for a macho man like Valentin.
There are two other women in the film: Valentin’s wife, Doris, who scowls over him and finally throws him out as everything in his life hits rock bottom; and Constance, the young starlet who squabbles with Valentin. Constance, notably, ushers in the sound era, the beginning of his downfall. Both women are portrayed as harpies, to some extent–Doris spends her free time insulting him, and Constance is portrayed as shrill and irritating. They are, however, strong figures. Doris does order him out of her life, and Constance holds her own.
But the most significant figure in all of this is Peppy–for it is she who is the “good” strong woman, the one we are supposed to root for–and she is the one who breaks Valentin down and places him under her control. In the last sequence, she gives him a career again–but at a cost. He must toss away his stance that silent film is the only true art in order to stand in the light again; he must toss away his heroic image–to be the second fiddle, to dance. While at the end, he may stand on equal footing with her in the frame, she is still the one with the control. She has made him great again; and she could probably take it all away if she felt like it.
Top Fifteen Non-2015 Films I Watched in 2015
Every year, I endeavor to watch as many movies as possible. There are a lot of movies, and most of the really great ones I watched this year came from a year other than 2015. One of the great strengths of films is that you can watch them no matter the year they were originally released and you can watch them again and again. They’re always there for you, whenever you’re ready. So here I reflect on the non-2015 films that blew me away for the first time this year. Spoilers, of course, although most of these films have been around for a while…
Anxious Earworms
“Scarborough Fair” is an earworm. “The Sound of Silence” is downright depressing. And these are the two songs that Mike Nichols uses to great effect repeatedly in The Graduate. The songs act as Benjamin’s internal soundtrack, suggesting the idea that Benjamin’s self-doubt, self-loathing and neuroses run in a constant cycle in his head. Not only does this further give meaning to Benjamin’s character, it also allows for those emotions to be transferred to the audience, turning what could be a simple sex comedy into a fully-fleshed out experience of another life.
“The Sound of Silence” is used to its greatest effect at two points: the first half of the montage that shows Benjamin’s and Mrs. Robinson’s affair; and in the final scene. In the affair montage, it plays as we see Benjamin stumble through the summer, letting Mrs. Robinson control him entirely. His haze is presented in every way–through the cinematography, the lighting, the acting–but the music is key. We hear nothing but the song, nothing but Benjamin’s internal muzak. In the second instance, it is used to show the pointlessness of Benjamin’s and Elaine’s actions; Benjamin’s neuroses have not stopped, and just as the cycle of music continues, so the cycle of Benjamin’s mistakes, influenced by those neuroses, will continue.
“Scarborough Fair” probably becomes an earworm because it is repeated so often. Nearly the entire second act, in fact, has it playing. But that makes sense–if “The Sound of Silence” is purely Benjamin’s anxiety playing, than “Scarborough Fair” is his languid depressing kind of romantic sense of living, as he pursues Elaine. Its constancy goes well with Benjamin’s attachment to her; because he obsesses over her, his mental soundtrack does the same. To an extent, “Scarborough Fair” also longs for more innocent time; so too must Benjamin, who likely wishes he had gone out with Elaine before all of this and avoided Mrs. Robinson entirely. “Scarborough Fair” shows how fixated Benjamin can get, while also hinting at his motivations.
The music in the film is iconic; really, if there is one thing to get out of The Graduate, it is the music stuck in your head. Some who have watched it have expressed that the film gives them a sense of anxiety and honestly, that makes sense. The music, as it is used in the film, places us in Benjamin’s head. Just as he stumbles through his life, so do we. These were songs played on repeat; and through them, we understand Benjamin.
Random Reviews I Found Saved On My Computer
So this is a thing now. Colin Firth edition, apparently.
The Beauty of Rome and the Devastation of Poverty
Bicycle Thieves presents an attractive view of poverty. From the handsome, if pathetic Antonio, played by Lamberto Maggiorani to the beautiful (despite being post-war) streets of Rome, the film seems to romanticize post-war poverty through its visuals and characterizations. Its story may be harsh, but any strong ideological traits are overwhelmed by its beauty.
Some of the film’s shots, if described in a novel, would be tragic; however, the film turns them into something beautiful. For example, the shot at the pawn shop of all the bundles of people’s linens should be heartbreaking–instead, it is grand. We are, for the most part, removed from those people, left to admire the single man as he climbs the tall structure–as he climbs a mountain. A mountain of crushed dreams, sure, but we are allowed to forget about that, as we tilt our heads back as the camera slowly rises. The shot immediately after correlates this moment with joy, too–Antonio is reunited with his bike, and there seems to be no looking back for him or his wife.
Another instance of this comes during the scene where the bike is stolen: we are given an exciting chase through the heart of the city of Rome, into a grand tunnel. We see Antonio wander through the city. He is devastated, but he is surrounded by beauty. At points during the scene, we cannot even see his devastation–we merely see him walking from a distance; our eyes are drawn to the scenic qualities of life in Rome.
The way people are presented is also of note. Bruno is presented as a healthy, adorable child; if one knew nothing of his circumstances, one could probably see him as an average kid, who goes to school and is relatively carefree. There are no hints in his physical appearance that he must work too: his face is clean, his clothes are in relatively good shape and he is quick to smile and appreciate joy. For the most part, he does not tire easily, and he treats his adventures with Antonio as adventures, not a distraction from work, at least until the end. In Bicycle Thieves’ romanticized view, innocence is untouched by war and poverty.
The film’s visual viewpoint takes away from its strong points about the devastation of poverty. Antonio may have lost everything by the end of the film, and Bruno’s view of the world is forever changed, but they are still, from all appearances, healthy and hale and living in a beautiful place. No matter what the story says, film is still a visual medium and the film seems to deny the poverty for beauty. It’s the 1940s equivalent of casting Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway to play starving French peasants, while using CGI to create a visual masterpieces which are supposed to represent cities of stark economic inequality. The visuals and the ideology become confused.
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