Film Essays
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With All Due Respect to Memory: An Analysis of Sarah Polly’s Stories We Tell
February 22, 2023
Sarah Polly’s Stories We Tell is a film that questions the conventions of documentary as a medium of truth, being in itself a commentary on the biased and selective nature of memory that alters how we tell stories on a personal level and inevitably in presenting truthful documentary. In this essay, I will analyze the techniques and observations Sarah Polly utilizes in her film in order to unravel this dual nature of truth and deceit in documentary despite its reputation as a factual medium.
The film begins as a memoir for the director’s mother, Diane. The mother’s family and friends are asked questions regarding what they recall of her, providing information that enable the viewer to perceive the essence of her personality. To anchor all these disparate voices along a single narrative, it’s important to note that it all follows the structure of Micheal’s short story of Diane, of which he is tasked to narrate in a sound studio in front of Sarah Polly. His account acts as the vehicle that pushes the narrative forward along a straighter path instead of losing focus from all the various voices giving opinions on who Diane was. Along with these accounts, the use of archival footage and images that show a young Diane and Micheal successfully allow Polly to be able to paint an informed image of her mother to the audience. In a way, we are looking back at the past with Polly herself as we look at these archives. In showing these moments in the documentary, it appears we are given the same amount of access to memory as Polly must have selectively seen as important and thus notably remembered for herself. Old 16mm archival film of Diane and her family playing on the sandy beach, in a party or swimming in a pool allow Polly to re-awaken the image of Diane for the audience as Sarah Polly sees it. Diane can be envisioned visually and descriptively as a loud, energetic and charismatic woman despite the fact that she had passed away years prior. In terms of audio, Polly’s family share very specific and distinct memories, such as Diane’s penchant for loud steps or being the center of parties. The archival nature of the various media together evoke a sense of nostalgia that aids in establishing the film as a recollection of the past, of which it certainly attempts to emulate.
While the film describes Diane quite effectively, it must also be stressed that the interviewees likewise provide contradictory answers to a variety of Polly’s questions regarding her mother as well. Michael and Harry for instance offer contrasting thoughts on what Diane may have been thinking during certain past events throughout the film. When asked if Diane knew she was going to die of cancer leading up to her diagnosis, Michael refused to believe this while Harry believed otherwise. In another instance, Micheal described himself as a husband that readily helped around the house, whilst his children’s responses were scattered and ranged from becoming very responsible when he started having children to always being completely incapable of helping around the house. The dissonance of memory being shown here is not unintentional by Polly. The inaccurate responses to these answers not only give narrative amusement, but in showing this, Polly also emphasizes the selective nature of memory and how it can differ from person to person. In a way, how we remember things shapes the person themselves, or alternatively reveals who we actually are from what we choose to remember. This is observed when looking back at the intro of the film. Polly shows pre-interview moments of her family, which was when they appear most candid and off-guard, as the camera isn’t officially rolling. These scenes make more sense on a second viewing, because you understand their behaviour and reactions more based on their interviews that follow the scene and make the film. It seems tangible that what each interviewee remembers and how they respond reveals something about the identity of the interviewees themselves, as if in searching for the memory of their mother, they are remembering the specific moments that shaped them. In effect, when they talk about Diane, it’s unavoidable that they all also reveal something about themselves and their unique personalities. In adding those candid scenes, she purposefully brings to the audience’s attention the effects of the inconsistencies of truth and the vagaries present surrounding it to our own behaviours.
Through these opposing opinions, she also attempts to make known the impossibility in providing a complete accurate representation of a person, whether from an intimate individual, a collective group, or inevitably through documentary. It can be argued then, that the documentary as a whole is in itself actually a subliminal interview of Sarah Polly the director, which carries all the inconsistencies of memory that come along with it. What she chooses to select in the documentary works in the same way we select what memory to share, and what she selects to be seen is what is ultimately shared with the viewer. In following this interpretation, Sarah Polly does beg one to ask the question of how truthful a documentary can actually be if its production relies on the biased memory of the filmmakers themselves. They select the truth from what they choose to shoot and have on a final edit, making film such as documentary just as selective as the memory of those they are interviewing regardless of the intent to remain truthful. Likewise, it is only through this repository of scattered and opposing memories that Polly can construct her truth with regards to who her mother actually was and in turn, herself and the audience.
The shift from a memoir of Diane into the more reflexive nature of the film that ruminates on these contrasting stories of her mother stemming from ephemeral memory is achieved quite seamlessly. This is done by shifting narrative focus from Diane, to Polly, and then ultimately to that abstract theme of memory which encompasses the whole story and all subjects. The film’s focus from Diane to Sarah Polly becomes sensible when Polly asks the question of who her father really is. They all answer it was Diane’s co-actor Jeff Bowes, but it appears they’re all wrong as it’s actually revealed to be Harry Gulkin. With respect to documentary, this is another testament to memory and its infinite grey area that muddles truth. What may be construed as true to all— which effectively does convince an audience in a documentary unless proven otherwise in most cases— may be false in reality. The scene also shifts the narrative focus away from Diane. By making the documentary personal, it allows Polly to approach the film in more dimensions that eventually reflect on this investigation of memory. The introduction of this intriguing plot enables the film to morph from its original depiction as a memoir to a self-reflexive auto-biography as Polly realizes that in searching for her mother then father, she is actually searching for herself. In an e-mail correspondence with her father/step-father Polly directly admits that the film has changed into “a search for the vagaries of truth, and the unreliability of memory rather than a search for a father.” To Polly then, in attempting that initial narrative intention of creating a complete figure of her mother and her real father was the journey that led her to investigate the nature of the formation of stories and its reliance on memory. Sarah Polly’s story along with her mother are at this point acting as conduits (albeit emotionally charged ones) that allow her to investigate this larger reflection on memory.
Aside from narrative elements to shift thematic focus in the film, visual and audio cues also facilitate this change in subject less jarringly. To do this smoothly and without surprising the audience from this switch, Polly purposefully involves herself as a character early in the film. Even when it appears that the film would concentrate on her mother as the film begins, the interviewees openly acknowledge the director behind the camera and Polly is visibly present throughout the film. She audibly instructs Micheal to re-read lines of his story. In another scene her brother directly asks her a question that was originally meant for him. These are not coincidental accidents left in the film but intentional selections by Polly to be included within the film early. In doing so, the audience becomes subconsciously aware of Polly’s presence from the film’s beginning despite not being the overwhelming physical present within it. This is important as it allows the film to recognize Polly before she becomes central to the film. One is not caught off guard that Polly takes the role of protagonist halfway.
Of note as well is the fact that the filmmaking set around the interviewees are not concealed as they usually are in films. Micheal questions the camera set-up in the sound studio. Microphones and film lighting equipment protrude within the frame in scenes involving Sarah Polly interviewing her siblings. Questions from the interviewees are directed to Polly behind the camera. In doing this she is making the audience aware of the filmmaking process and how constructed it is behind the scenes. She allows the audience to see what is usually hidden in films, and breaks down the constructed reality usually depicted within documentary and in films as a whole. In giving the audience this awareness, she allows them to question how much truth and reality we are actually witnessing and hearing considering the obtrusive nature of the camera present. This blurring of truth is further pushed by Polly from her reveal much later in the film that the archival footage is a fabrication. The footage of Diane in Montreal preparing for a play or of the whole family eating on the dinner table among others were all fake for example. In using old 16mm film, actors resembling her parents, shaky camera operation as well location and art direction that reflects the fashion and architecture of the time, she is able to convince the audience that the archival footage is real. Moreover, in interspersing these scenes with authentic archival footage and narration from firsthand sources deceives the audience into believing the footage to be true from assuming truthful association between images. This manufactured truth is however extinguished in a single scene that shows Polly filming the party celebration sequence that was previously shown earlier in the film as authentic.
The reveal of the presence of filmmaking and the act of deception employed by Polly creates a meta-documentary scenario. By having her presence within the film being felt throughout and in emphasizing her act of filmmaking as well as its deceptions, Stories We Tell can be described as a reflexive documentary. She engages the audience through her act of filmmaking to consider how memory flits between the false and true. In revealing the actual nature of the faux-archival footage, Polly raises the issue of the unreliable nature of memory on two levels: the personal and the documentary. By not revealing to the audience that the footage is a reenactment sooner speaks to the questionable reality of our own memories and in turn of any documentary film. In both, we only believe what our eyes see or what our eyes are directed to. Moreover, the building of a documentary relies on the memory of those making it, which includes those being interviewed as much as the filmmakers themselves. While this fabrication of truth is clearly acknowledged in the film, the audience is still led to believe it as truth up to that point and probably would continue to do so if it was never acknowledged. Furthermore as the storyteller and director of this film she had to piece together fragments of all these memories that invariably contradict each other. It begs to ask the question that if we can’t rely on our own memories for the truth, what difference does it really make in documentary if a scene is a reenactment or real?
Perhaps to Polly falseness and truth are blurred within memory and by extension also unavoidable in documentary no matter how truthful it attempts to be. What is clear, however, is that the film establishes that what actually holds significance to Polly is not the accuracy of truth in documentary, but actually more about the stories we tell. Stories are what build who we are irrespective of the reality and truth behind them after all. Hence, the name of the film and its respect—or lack thereof— when it comes to memory.
Vagabond Revisited
November 27, 2023Agnes Varda’s Vagabond (1985) is a film about a young woman, Mona, who actively chooses to live the life of a hitchhiking drifter over her previously secure preoccupation as a shorthand-typist. The film follows accounts that lay out a depiction of her encounters with people on the road over the last winter that precedes her death. Using techniques employed by Italian neorealists that bleed into the essence of this film, I will argue Vagabond (1985) provides a scathing social and political commentary on poverty, disenfranchised youth and housing conditions, all filtered through the lens of female inequality as witnessed around the experiences of Mona. Furthermore, I will also show how Italian neorealist film techniques in and of itself mirror the Vagabond protagonist, forming a functional duality in addition to the initial significance of what Varda narratively conveys through its usage.
The film opens with a wide shot over a barren field. In this opening shot, the influence of Italian neorealism is prominent in its use of scenery and environment on location as an embodiment of the inner social and political turmoil of the character (Kovács, 2008). The barren field in the background allegorically reflects on a lack of opportunity, harvest, and abundance for the future and current impoverished generation. The fields presumably once ripe with harvest have been stripped completely as if there is a refusal to share this accumulated wealth. Mona is thus left to wander on without much meaning or success. Historically speaking, this malaise, disenfranchisement and alienation of Mona as vagabond is possibly referring to the social situation of France in the late 1960’s, which marked the end of the French New Wave period in film that witnessed an increase in France’s social stratification (Neupert, 2007). Public education at this time enforced divergent paths of early education which separated students into intellectual and practical tracks and limited upwards mobility for the latter. Similarly, Fabe (2014) describes that “[t]he problems and conflicts of neorealist protagonists derive less from inner psychological turmoil than from external social conditions.” In this way, it can be said Mona was betrayed by her environment that relates to this social stratification. Instead of nourishing her, these fields provide her with more hunger and discontent. Moreover, in the film Mona embarrassingly reveals that she herself graduated from vocational school as a practical shorthand-typist to none other than an intellectual university professor: her contrasting track. The stratification between them is palpable onscreen as the professor has a respectable job, possesses mobility in the form of her own car, and an appearance that is aesthetically opposite to the ragged and destitute Mona.
Going back to the use of environments on location, this observation is intensified by the many elements made visible in this shot though another Italian Neorealist technique of employing a wide depth of field (Fabe, 2014). As if observing a painting, the background and foreground of the shot become loaded with meaning from the events unfolding on each layer. In the background that contains the barren field, there is a singular tractor, which emphasizes the shift towards technological machinery over mass human employment. The foreground of the opening shot portrays a similar poetic vision in line with that motif. There are two trees adjacent to one another in the foreground: a large healthy tree and a stunted dwarf tree. It appears that the large healthy tree has sucked all the nutrients and opportunity for growth away from the adjacent stunted tree. Varda could be said to relate this relationship between the trees onto the stratified nature of youthful poverty against the established wealth. Under the shade of the dominant society, the impoverished youth have nothing to grow on. This is elaborated by Kovács (2008), who describes neorealist technique to follow that “The environment does not exist outside the character, and vice versa, the character is always depicted in relation to his environment.” Despite the absence of the protagonist in this opening frame, we are nonetheless exemplifying her situation through the environment and the elements within it. Following this logic, can it not then be said that this technique of environment embodying the character in the absence of the character doesn’t in and of itself also embody the disenfranchised youth: the vagabond who is usually absent and hidden from public visibility as they wander? If they are indeed seen, how often is it simply met with a blind eye that similarly renders them invisible within the environment? Gone in the mind’s eye indeed, but like feelings conveyed in viewing the barren field and stunted tree, nonetheless still vaguely present.
The narrative significance of trees persists in the film through its implicit presence in dialogue and characters. Mona meets and hitches a ride with a professor who researches on diseased trees. It is explained in the film that French Plane trees are dying from a fungus originating from infected US Plane tree crates carrying weapons cargo. Varda could possibly be insinuating American ideologies infecting French society, foregrounding the emergence of disenfranchised youth like Mona. Likewise, the allegorical nature of trees is further emphasized in the dialogue between the professor and her research associate. She refers to Mona as “taken root in her car,” to which her research associate responds, “Shall I show her how we uproot sick trees?” This conversation all but confirms Mona’s allegorical connection to trees, and in this case it is stressed that she is being compared to one of the infected ones.
By the film’s end, it becomes obvious that Mona is killed by the environment she inhabits quite literally as represented by anthropomorphized trees. She stumbles upon a village that is celebrating the festival of Pailhasses, wherein men in grotesque tree costumes throw wine on random people in what is described as “a free expression of chaos, destruction and sexual freedom” (Peixoto, 2019). It can be said that these properties of corruption marked on the vagabond finally caught up with Mona, as she ends up covered in wine as if soaked in her own drawn blood. Moreover the environment, which explicitly includes grape vineyards that she had often wandered, toiled and resided in throughout the film, had finally caught up with her as an unsustainable lifestyle. The grotesque tree monsters become a literal form of her usual environment, to the effect that Mona is being attacked by the environment she typically inhabits. Being herself compared to as a tree previously, it can also be said that she is also killing herself. It is directly after this scene that she falls into a ditch and motionlessly passes away. Conversely, in the opening sequences of the film, accounts of her death were interspersed with a cleansing of the wine stained town, as if conveying Mona being washed away from life. To add to the Neorealist bent of Vagabond further, this end of Varda’s film mirrors the conclusion of Neorealist films, which “also tend to end abruptly, without closure… and problems unresolved” (Fabe, 2014). In the same way, Mona’s death is abrupt and provides no closure that solves her problem or that lingering in society. In this way, Varda not only constructs an opening scene in itself that is loaded with thematic symbolism such as that suggested by the trees, but is furthermore supported by narrative plot points to undeniably add weight to be taken as cinematically significant beyond sensational aesthetics.
It must not be underemphasized either that this on location barren field environment, along with others that evoke similar social and political significance, is repeatedly featured by Varda throughout the film. This repetition of appearance of these environments adds significance to the implicit meaning as to why they are being shown. Barren fields are featured multiple times throughout the film as Mona wanders past them. The thematic power evoked by the environment of abandoned houses are similarly featured throughout the film. Various scenes in Vagabond randomly feature the full facade of abandoned houses on their own, despite adding no face value to the protagonist’s own narrative. Dialogue however substantiates the significance of this particular environment to the film, as witnessed through a conversation between Mona and a truck driver talking about the housing crisis. The truck driver explains ”Ninety thousand [occupied beds] in the summer. Only three thousand in winter,” to which Mona responds, “That leaves eighty seven thousand empty beds!” The housing problem is thus stressed through articulating an obscene abundance of the housing available against its unavailability for the smaller homeless population who need it. Through Varda’s dialogue, the sociological context of the film regarding an abundance of wealth inaccessible to the young that are in desperate need of it becomes increasingly clear, and so does the allegorical significance of the abandoned house motif.
Aside from the clear social commentary on poverty and housing, the abandoned house could also be said to represent Mona herself. She is likewise someone abandoned by her family. At one point of the film, Mona inhabits an abandoned Chateau as if occupying the Chateau’s character. The Chateau itself, which one could perceive to be once full of promise and potential, is now destitute, squalid and in disrepair. Just like the barren field, it is in this sense that she inhabits the abandoned mansion as if they are one and the same. Mona, once probably vibrant and youthful, is herself now caked in dirt and dressed in coarse clothes, which reflects the degeneration of these houses featured in the film. Conversely it can be said that Varda makes use of the environment as an extension of the psychological and physiological nature of Mona, who in turn is a reflection of the oppressed French youth.
The environment of walls is also very heavily present in the film. These are prominently featured in several dolly shots that are almost oblivious to Mona’s presence as she walks past these flat barriers. Like Mona, the walls are cracked, worn down, and at times crumbling to the point of lost functionality. The walls in itself could represent barriers that are present to people in poverty, having no way beyond it. The dolly shots all begin with the same discordant music, with Mona either initially present in the frame or entering the frame as it follows her walking along it. However, Varda takes a very intriguing turn from the Hollywood convention of maintaining the prominence of protagonist presence as she ends these dolly shots abandoning Mona from the frame as if ignoring her presence. Kovács (2008) similarly sees this technique used by the Italian Neorealists in that “[w]hen Antonioni turns his camera away, it is to show the indifference of the environment and to maintain the atmosphere of isolation or alienation.” The camera walks past her as if she was insignificant. Conversely, it can be said that Hollywood convention was abandoned to prove a point. Varda is calling attention to how French youth are seen but ultimately ignored and not heard. The environment is indifferent. We see them, ambivalently follow them with our eyes, but eventually all end up ignoring their pitiful form and avert our gaze like the camera does.
Along with shooting on location, Varda follows the Italian Neorealist method of a story seemingly centred on aimless wandering (Kovács, 2008). The word vagabond in itself means wanderer, and thus undoubtably embodies this neorealist technique. For the entirety of the film, there is no goal that provides the narrative or the protagonist agency. Mona, is simply wandering through France and faces what Varda constructs as random encounters that end in her death. She interacts with truck drivers, car repair workers, goat farmers, immigrant pickers: all men employed and housed while she remains untethered to any home. Particular mention needs to be stressed on the women she encounters. While the men all push her away eventually, making her move on from one place to the next, Varda designates the women in the film to take a special desire in Mona’s situation despite the reality of it. The maid Yolande speaks directly to the camera audience as she voices her envy of Mona’s freedom. Another woman who provides her with water is speaking to her parents as she declares her yearning to live like Mona. She complains while being served, “At times it is better not to eat. I’d like to be free.” In each case, women are grounded and are not afforded the same mobility as males, who are free to do what they want without consequence. Yolande constantly serves her partner, who often takes her money and plans heists for instance. Mona however, walks in the domain of men and faces severe consequences for doing so. Men that Mona encounters constantly desire to exchange their favours for sex. Mona at one point is even raped by a man in the forest, ending in a dolly shot that again concludes by pulling them away from the frame, as if relieving the man of punishment or guilt. This patriarchal disparity in each case is very evident in the dynamics presented. Man gets away with crime and misdemeanour, while as we see with Mona in the beginning and conclusion of the film, women who are as liberated are met with their untimely demise.
Bibliography
Fabe, M. (2014) Italian Neorealism: Vittorio De Sica’s The Bicycle Thief. In: Closely Watched Films. Berkeley, University of California Press. pp. 99–119. doi:10.1525/9780520937291-009.
Kovács, A. B. (2008) An Alternative to the Classical Form: Neorealism an Modernism.Screening Modernism: European Art Cinema, 1950-1980. University of Chicago Press. pp. 217-237. http://ebookcentral.com/lib/ual/detsil.action?docID-408453.
Kovács, A. B. (2008) Critical Reflexivity or the Birth of the Auteur. Screening Modernism: European Art Cinema, 1950-1980. University of Chicago Press. pp. 253-271. http:// ebookcentral.com/lib/ual/detsil.action?docID-408453.
Neupert, R. J. (2007) A History of the French New Wave Cinema. University of Wisconsin Press. pp. 3-44. http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/ual/detail.action?docID=3444956.
Peixoto, M. (2019). The Festival That Celebrates the Arrival of Spring with Violence, Dirt and Booze. Vice. Weblog. https://www.vice.com/en/article/bjqag3/the-festival-that- celebrates-the-arrival-of-spring-with-violence-dirt-and-booze [Accessed 29th November 2022].
Shiel, M. (2006). Italian Neorealism: Rebuilding the Cinematic City. Columbia University Press. pp. 1-16.
Tomasulo, F. P. (1982). “Bicycle Thieves”: A Re-Reading. Cinema Journal. 21(2), 2–13. https:// doi.org/10.2307/1225033.
Vagabond. (1985) [Film] Directed by: Agnes Varda. France, MK2 Diffusion.
For the Love of Jeanne Dielman
December 15, 2020
Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels, is a film that challenges one’s patience but in doing so challenged my own thoughts on how film can express itself. The film centres on the life of a widow, painstakingly detailing her mechanical routine and the repetition of it in the two days that follow. Being almost exclusively shot within Jeanne’s (the widow’s) apartment as she performs her daily chores, the shots are indescribably long and repetitive, while the setting itself is small and drab. Action consists mainly of cleaning and cooking. Dialogue is sparse, and Jeanne’s singular presence completely dominates the almost three and a half hour screen time. Contrary to what one may believe however, it’s for these exact reasons that make the film so brilliant.
Akerman’s use of these so-called flaws are deliberate and are commentary in itself for Jeanne. It creates an inner dialogue to Jeanne’s character that would have paled through dialogue alone. Unlike conventional film, this resulting silence casts an even wider net around Jeanne’s own personalization through Akerman’s deliberate choreography direction and awareness of time. Through these decisions, Akerman creates a colourful tapestry of the ordinary. She exhausts the film elements at her disposal masterfully in order to characterize Jeanne. Not only does Akerman succeed in creating this effect, but effectively shoves it down one’s throat because she knows it’s only in this way that one would understand the film’s message. It’s only when we suffer with Jeanne herself that we obtain a grasp of the realness of her situation (woman’s societal plight and ennui as patriarchal caregivers). Hence the flaws: repetition, drabness, routine and all. We have to suffer with Jeanne through these visual and temporal “flaws” in film to appreciate the banality of life; to realize the beauty that lies within its appreciation. Akerman was aware that sacrificing conventional filmmaking was necessary to capture the disregarded, and it is in this accurate reflection of real life that we are compelled to continue watching.
As a filmmaker, one makes films for the sake of the film itself; to sacrifice film —and all the vanities attached to it— for the story. Akerman similarly takes this plunge because she knew there was more at stake than catering to the audiences. She casts herself aside in order to accept film as simply a vehicle for the story that must be told, and as a result the film blossoms. While there is merit in creating a film for the viewer’s entertainment, Akerman certainly establishes another dimension of what film can represent. She gives herself up to confront its soul.
Likewise, we must realize we’re not similarly bound to convention, but more to the story and message the film begs to convey— as was the case in Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Brussels. The story takes precedence over its style. Only then can we test the boundaries of what film can be— to dance around and tinker with its limitless elements, ruthlessly and compassionately— and transcend what it already is.
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers: An Unconventional Noir Drama
April 8, 2020
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, released in 1946, is a Noir Drama that breaks from many of its conventions as it redefines the typical personas of central noir characters and discreetly lends from central motifs more associated with westerns and melodramas. In this way, I argue that “The Strange Love of Martha Ivers” is a subtle genre chameleon that is able to blend in with other noirs stylistically, while still maintaining a shape that shares the influences of other genres.
To appreciate the film’s modularity in genre, we must first acknowledge its’ predominant Noir conventions. Noir films usually concern themselves with everyman Americans, who work blue collar jobs and are often portrayed as someone who has been raised by the streets (Konecny 145-148). Sam Masterson embodies this archetype, as he is depicted as a former tough army man whose main income is through gambling. The noir lead is usually portrayed as a rough and tumble guy, which is further exemplified in the former army man Sam when he admirably holds his own against the mob fights he finds himself involved in throughout the film. This accentuates his credibility as a rugged everyday American and reinforces the type of character that noir films usually associate with their leads. The femme fatale is another prominent noir motif used in this film. Martha Ivers is the former childhood sweetheart of Sam, who is embroiled in the killing of her aunt. Through her sexual charm and power from her wealth, she attempts to seduce Sam away from his current love interest, Toni. She temporarily succeeds in stealing Sam away and nearly convinces Sam to kill her own husband for her. This embodies the femme fatale’s power over the male noir protagonist as a negative influence that drives him to commit actions that fulfill her own desires (Grossman 19). Being so corrupt and evil, the femme fatale usually represented what was frowned upon concerning women in society, and typically was killed off by the end of the film (Bronfen 107). Martha, likewise, succumbs to her own death by the hands of her own husband.
In terms of the stylistic elements of the film, the aesthetic noir conventions are evident throughout its lighting and location choices. Low key lighting is prominent in various scenes and observed throughout the film to give the film a darker and muggier feel to it. This weighs down the viewer down to the depressive nature that Noirs usually aim to elicit as a result of the general uneasiness World War II inspired within society (Dussere 18). Moreover, the settings that the film takes place in are usually met with the absence of natural or artificial light. In observing the two main locations of the film’s settings, Martha’s mansion is often observed in darkness, while Sam’s hotel room is usually met with the presence of only a few light sources. This made sense given the context of the scenes. The darkness in Martha’s mansion expresses an appropriate mood that resonates with the importance it is given as the place where Martha’s aunt was murdered. The dark hotel room on the other hand spoke to the secret and intimate nature of Sam’s relationship with Toni. Furthermore, it does not look coincidental that most of the film takes place in the gloom of the night. This absence of natural or artificial light in the film gives it an ominous and hazy atmosphere that acts as a foreshadowing backdrop for the typical dreary noir story plot ahead. The only occasions that the typical three star lighting typical of classical Hollywood is encountered are when Toni or Martha are introduced by the camera.
While apparent in its noir influences, the film does not shy away from breaking off of these thematic and stylistic conventions. Unlike most noirs, this film addresses the changing gender social dynamics observed during and after WWII in a more direct way. While men were enlisted in the war and had a difficult time reintegrating into society afterwards, women emerged as the main breadwinners for their respective families as they took the jobs that were left vacant (Walker-Morrison 26). With this said, Noir films reflect this social development by typically having a femme fatale hold a power over the male protagonist in the form of her seductive magnetism against the male protagonist (Walker-Morrison 25). In this film however, the femme fatale Martha is not only a totem for seduction, but also the wealthiest independent owner of the largest operation in Iverstown. She uses her wealth to get her way with Walter, her husband, and to a certain extent, Sam. Her husband’s prominence and standing in the town’s politics is entirely dependent on Martha’s wealth and influence, essentially making Walter entirely reliant on what she provides him. Sam, on the other hand, is also tempted by her wealth as he lives as a washed up gambler and is given the opportunity to partake in this wealth by fulfilling Martha’s devious desires. Taking this into account, the film acknowledges the usual subtext associated with the femme fatale’s overused sexually driven power over men with a more direct representation. It goes straight to the point in addressing it by depicting Martha as the sole maker of her own wealth, effectively and literally embodying the woman’s rise to more prominence within society and family at this juncture in history as a result of their newfound independent wealth. In this way, the film depicts this changing social landscape with the use of a more direct and realistic interpretation beyond the sexualized woman. In fact, this dominant power dynamic that women now had over men was established in the film from its very beginning. The intro of the film starts off with a young Martha and her aunt as matriarchs over men (Walter and Walter’s father) as a result of their wealth. Martha, even as a child, is already shown to be in control of Walter and his father. Walter witnesses Martha murdering her Aunt, but keeps silent because Martha commands it. Likewise, Walter’s father also keeps silent in order to keep in good graces with Martha and her incoming inheritance. Martha’s aunt was also able to control Walter’s father, because she held the wealth and security that would support him and his child. In this way, the femme fatale is given a new meaning in that the woman’s seductive nature and equally her wealth were making them a dangerous force in the Noir and beyond.
Unlike most noirs, the film also does not kill off the lead, but brings fair justice to both the protagonists and antagonists. By the conclusion of the film, Sam ends up alive and well as he drives west with Toni without any lingering repercussions. This positive outcome that Sam benefits from speaks to his uncharacteristically heroic actions that he partakes in during the film. Usually depicted as depraved of moral character, the Noir lead is barely described as heroic and is usually defeated by his enemies by the end of the film to ultimately succumb to his death or an equally unhappy fate (Belton 210). He splits with Martha (along with the money and power associated with her), when he realizes that he does not love her as amicably as he can and without any strings attached. He also refuses to murder Walter, who was knocked unconscious after falling a trip of stairs. In both cases, he would have been awarded with affection, power and money, but refuses to do so despite the magnitude of the temptations. He does not heedlessly commit any crime throughout the film, which shows his uncharacteristically moral character that the Noir lead usually is lacking in (Konecny 145-148). The film does admittedly paint him as a scoundrel that noirs usually associate with the lead, but these notable moral choices that Sam pursues establish him as a man with more principle than the usual noir protagonist. On the other hand, the malicious couple of Martha and Walter, who have gotten away with murder and also unjustly inflict harm onto Sam, suffer an uglier fatal fate. Martha is shot by her own husband, who then kills himself. With this said, this noir film brings a firm and fair judgement to its characters. Instead of the usual “narration from the grave” that the noir partakes in like Sunset boulevard, we see Sam justly rewarded for his heroic character that noir leads usually don’t possess or are rewarded for.
It is also notable to mention that the film can be said to borrow conventions from the Western genre. The protagonist Sam can be identified as a modern cowboy of the noir, who similarly represents a contemporary wilderness himself. Like a cowboy, he doesn’t play by the rules of society. He does not have a secure job, is trained to fight and to survive beyond the confines of society from being part of the army, and has no permanent home as he moves from place to place. He is detached from civilization and is as wild as one can be in such a modern setting, which appropriately evokes the essence of the western’s cowboy. Just like the cowboy, he also finds himself back in the society of Iverstown in the same way the cowboy stumbles back into civilization to deal with a force that is disturbing it (Matheson 898). Sam is thrusted back into the Iverstown society to deal with the injustices that Martha had spurred. In this way, the film contains the same central binary that Westerns usually hold between the wild and civilization of the wild and civilization (Coëgnaerts and Kravanja 30-32 ). Sam is the cowboy who represents the wild, while Iverstown (and by extension Martha and Walter), the town he originally grew up in, represents civilization. Like the cowboy, it is up to Sam to put Martha’s injustices in the Iverstown society right, despite being someone who represents its opposite. Also in line with western genre themes, Sam also explicitly shares the same desire found in the characters of westerns to head west into the frontier. He tells Toni of his intention to head further west, but his car broke down and needs to repair it. Sam looks west for more opportunity in the wilder world beyond Iverstown in the same way the myth of the frontier in the Western plays a role in the desire to explore and colonize the wild west for more opportunity and adventure (Carter 163). This reference to the Western genre is even evident in the overtly western dialogue, as Sam refers to his alcoholic father as getting himself drunk in saloons rather than a bar. Moreover, in the same way Westerns typically conclude with the protagonist cowboy once again retreating from the warmth of civilization and back into the wild (Matheson 898). By the end of the film, Sam does the same and once more leaves the town where he grew up, driving west with Toni for the opportunity and adventure that the frontier comparatively promised. Like the cowboy, Sam refuses join the civilized society of which he oppositely represents, despite the comforts and security it offers. Sam is too detached from society (a runaway child, gambler, former army man) to find himself reintegrated into it. The thematic representation of women in Westerns are also reflected in the women of this film. Women in Westerns represent agents of civilization and its comforts that keep the male protagonist from heading back into the wild (Matheson 902). The wealthy Martha Ivers acts as a contemporary parallel for this as she tempts Sam to stay in Iverstown with the promise of the comforts of civilization in the form of societal wealth, power, and recognition instead of going back on the road west.
Melodramatic elements in the film are also present primarily through the inclusion of Toni. Toni acts as the emotional force of the story, in which the use of mise-en-scene and sound are utilized to fully express the emotions she’s feeling throughout the film. Her gaze to the camera is often met with soft and bright lighting to highlight her features, and also met with darkness when she becomes aware of Sam’s affair with Martha. In line with melodramatic elements, her emotions, whether happy or sad, match the lighting presented upon her. Moreover, closeups are sparingly used on anyone but her in the film to fully capture the magnitude of the moment to her emotions. Sweeping romantic music is often played in her presence with Sam, which further emphasizes the emotions aroused with their use of mise-en-scene. Through these melodramatic elements in mise-en-scene and sound, their connection with one another is successfully suggested as more than platonic without the use of dialogue. In these aspects, the melodrama of the film feels organic through the inclusion of Toni. In changing the style of the lighting and music to highlight Toni’s emotion and situation, it allows for the film to exhibit melodramatic elements with Toni as its’ vessel despite its noir overtones.
Overall, an examination of this film shows an elegance in the way it discreetly integrates various new and old elements to redefine the Noir in a unique way. Whether intentional or not, it forms an entertaining product that seamlessly introduces new elements to it and makes use of themes usually prevalent in other genres to give it a distinct identity over the prototypical Noir film.
Bibliography
Belton, John. American cinema/American Culture. McGraw-Hill, New York, 2017.
Bronfen, Elisabeth. "Femme Fatale: Negotiations of Tragic Desire." New Literary History, vol. 35, no. 1, 2004, pp. 103-116.
Carter, Matthew. Myth of the Western: New Perspectives on Hollywood's Frontier Narrative. Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh, 2014, doi:10.3366/edinburgh/ 9780748685585.001.0001.
Coegnaerts, Maarten and Kravanja, Peter. “On the Embodiment of Binary Oppositions in Cinema: The Containment Schema in John Ford's Westerns.” Image and Narrative, vol. 15, no. 1, 2014, pp. 30-43.
Dussere, Erik. "Out of the Past, into the Supermarket: CONSUMING FILM NOIR." Film Quarterly, vol. 60, no. 1, 2006, pp. 16-27.
Grossman, Julie. "Film Noir's "Femme Fatales" Hard-Boiled Women: Moving Beyond Gender Fantasies." Quarterly Review of Film and Video, vol. 24, no. 1, 2007, pp. 19-30.
Konecny, Brandon. "Noir Protagonists and Conspiring Nightscapes." Film International, vol. 14, no. 1, 2016, pp. 145-150.
Matheson, Sue. "The West–Hardboiled: Adaptations of Film Noir Elements, Existentialism, and Ethics in John Wayne's Westerns." The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 38, no. 5, 2005, pp. 888-910.
Walker-Morrison, Deborah. "Sex Ratio, Socio-Sexuality, and the Emergence of the Femme Fatale in Classic French and American Film Noir." Film & History: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Film and Television, vol. 45, no. 1, 2015, pp. 25.
Analysis of Tout Va Bien as an Art Film
April 1, 2019Despite a contrasting difference between art and classical cinema in its elements, classical cinema was necessary for art cinema’s development through their historical connection and influence; Tout va Bien (Jean-Luc Godard, 1972) makes use of elements, such as contradiction and refraction to alienate audiences and project a film that reflects cinema in a more realistic light.
Positioning art cinema against classical cinema would mean the identification of narrative and stylistic elements that set the two modes of film practice apart from each other, and how these contrasts define art cinema in particular. According to Bordwell, art cinema separates itself most definitively through the conventional cause and effect linkage found in the narrative of classical films. He stresses how art cinema loosens itself from these causal relationships by straying from the conventional and linear cause and effect relationship that classical cinema embodies. As such, he credits realism and authorial expressivity as the main motivators for art cinema’s narrative instead of depending on a linear cause and effect pattern. Realism is described as the depiction of real locations and problems in the film, which revolve around central characters with personalities that lack desire or aims. Moreover, their unmotivated actions and choices may not lead to anything contextual to the film’s general plot, which would disrupt a linear cause and effect relationship from one scene to the next. In these ways, the characters realistically mimic life in that all our choices do not necessarily propel our lives in any clear direction. Likewise, we are not always individuals who constantly desire or aim for something as usually observed in the central characters of classical cinema. As to the other motivator of art cinema’s narrative, authorial expressivity refers to the stylistic signatures and choices determined by its director that define the film. In this way, the director is able to control what we see and shapes the narrative and stylistic elements as he sees fit.
Regardless of the contrasting stylistic and narrative choices employed between art and classical cinema, it would be wrong to say art cinema is wholly different from classical films. To understand this relationship of classical cinema and art cinema more comprehensively would mean a look back at their connection historically. According to Bordwell, Classical cinema was largely recognized as the distinct mode of film practiced before World War II, in which its aftermath ushered in art cinema as a distinct mode of film practice (56). During this time period, art cinema was also able to gain a foothold over classical Hollywood cinema due to its waning popularity with the changing attitudes of audiences (56). Moreover, with the US’s concentrated attention on World War II efforts, international foreign productions were more relied upon to produce films to compete against the rising popularity of the television (56). These foreign productions were not constrained by the limitations set by Hollywood studio productions, and allowed directors full control of what was displayed onscreen (56). As such, art cinema was able to flourish and develop into the distinct mode of film it is today. It can be surmised from this that the decline in interest for classical cinema was not coincidental with the rise of Art Cinema. Their intertwined history shows that the rise and fall of classical cinema was necessary for the emergence of the widely contrasting Art cinema as a mode of film practice. Art cinema can then be said to be a result of classical cinema through their relationship in the historical timeline. Likewise, a similar connection can also be observed in Tout Va Bien (Jean-Luc Godard, 1972) through the historical context of its narrative. Audiences in the aftermath of World War II could be said to be fed up with the conventions of classical cinema in the same way French students of 1968 were fed up with the ideological principles of the government in power. Likewise, this inspired French students to desire for change in government power in the same way conventional classical cinema was becoming less favoured over art cinema.
Aside from it’s historical connection, it can also be said that classical cinema and its associated stylistic and narrative patterns— which are very much influenced by the ideological product of the system in the name of capitalism— acted as the template for what the stylistic and narrative elements of Art Cinema would be against. According to Comolli and Narboni, the art cinema movement desired to produce films that were not governed by capitalist agenda or antiquated ideological conventions, and aimed for films to mimic the realism in life instead of how life should be as dictated by others (688). This would mean that classical cinema was completely necessary for the formation of art cinema to develop, as art cinema takes the shape of a protest towards the conventional classical cinema and what it represents. Without anything to protest against, there would be no stance for Art Cinema to truly form its identity. Consequently, classical cinema provided the basis for what Art cinema should be against, and is a direct result of the mounting displeasure towards classical cinema and the ideologies. This could also be applicable to Tout Va Bien, in which without the prevalent government ideologies in 1968 (Classical cinema), there would be no basis for their desire for change (Art cinema).
Additionally, we also see how art cinema is indebted to classical cinema through the thematic elements that Tout Va Bien explicitly recognizes. The movie’s opening shot concerns itself with two narrators who question what is necessary to make a film. They mention that a film calls for popular actors as central characters (Jane Fonda and Yves Montad), a need for a story, as well as romance as key elements to successfully produce an appropriately funded film. These described elements that were prominently made use of in the subsequent plot of Tout Va Bien — a prominent art film— are also elements that are very relevant in classical film. This could mean Godard recognizes that there are key thematic elements in classical cinema that art cinema, while reluctantly, need to rely on. Moreover, this scene also talks about the necessity of classical cinematic elements for the funding inevitably needed in the production of these art cinema films.
While there are some remaining elements of , there are some distinct elements present in Tout va Bien that could prove to alienate and frustrate audiences. In particular scenes that take place in the room adjacent to where the office manager is being held, the placement of the person talking in the frame goes against the conventional techniques of mise-en-scene. For instance, in one shot we see a protester that is speaking, but sequestered to the edge of the frame. Additionally, the speaking protester’s clothes match the color of the background, which makes it even harder to detect the man speaking. Conventional mise-en-scene would have placed the speaker in the centre of the frame, or wear contrasting clothing in order to draw more attention to the speaker. Also, no one else among the protesters present in the frame is looking at the man that is speaking, which further leads our eyes against him. In these ways, Godard’s application of mise-en-scene draws our attention away from what should be the focus of the scene, instead of its conventional use to draw attention towards what should have been the focus of the scene.
Moreover, Godard also organizes certain shots wherein the person that is talking in frame is blocked by another person in the frame. We see an example of this when Susan is interviewing the women protesters, and the interviewee that is speaking is clearly blocked by the other protesters. This is also seen in the shot where the male protester wearing a black sweater is speaking, but he is blocked in the shot by protesters on the foreground. In both cases, the person speaking is blocked and obscured, which could alienate the audience by removing focus toward what we should have our attention on: the speaker. We are therefore forced to look for the speaker in these shots, instead of having him or her front and center for the audience to easily focus on. In a way, these intentionally defiant decisions against conventional mise-en-scene used by Godard could also have represented how these protesters are misrepresented. Perhaps he wanted to highlight how these blue collar workers are not heard even when they do talk. You hear their voices, but we lose attention to their words as they are either taken aside, hidden from view, or obscured as a result of their social standing and reputation in French ideological society. In a way, this reflects Bordwell and Thompson’s principle of refraction (338), which is described as the events portrayed in the film having a deeper connotation beyond an initial stylistic observation of a scene. Likewise, one would think the blocking or obscuring of a character as that seen with the protesters as initially confusing and unnecessary. However, if we take into account the social standing of these individuals and its context to the historical events that transpired leading up to this film (1968 protests), these points could prove to justify the unconventional stylistic choices that Godard made use of in these scenes.
Furthermore, another instance wherein the audience could be alienated and frustrated can be seen in the shot of Susan when she is sitting by herself by the window of the manager’s office. In this shot, we hear the manager and the filmmaker arguing away from the frame. Susan then faces the camera and is heard talking while her mouth remains still in the same shot. Whether that sound was nonsimultaneous or internally diegetic remains ambiguous by Godard, but in both cases we see the use of sound going against the conventional use of synchronous and simultaneous sound normally observed in classical cinema. According to Bordwell and Thompson, this relates to a principle of separation of formal and stylistic elements in the form of a contradiction, which is said to occur when a film uses discontinuous cuts to form spatial and temporal contradictions (338). This essentially means that the time and space of this film are not linear due to how the film is edited, which may confuse the audience and further alienate them as they attempt to understand these unconventional choices. In the case of this particular scene in Tout Va Bien, the source of the sound and of. As such, Godard’s alienate the viewers in the same way. In another example of contradiction, manipulation of temporal frequency, wherein the actions in the event changes, is also used by Godard to alienate and frustrate the audience. This is observed in the second and third shot of the film when Susan and Jaques are walking across a field by a lake, in which the actions of Jaques and Susan are different in each shot, but still close enough to resemble the same scene taking place. We also see this near the end of the film, where either Jaques or Susan is sitting in a cafe and the other approaches the cafe and sits across them. As such, the frequency and slight difference in certain scenes could alienate the audience by questioning which event actually happened. Conventional cinema usually has a straight cause and effect relationship, but this technique used by Godard could prove to confuse an audience that are used to a linear narrative flow, thereby alienating them.
Additionally, the use of long takes also could prove to alienate and frustrate the audience. These are explicitly made use of in the monologues of the Manager of the sausage factory, the GST shop steward, and of Jaques the filmmaker. These monologues make use of long takes that give out an extensive amount of verbal information and very static action throughout the shot. This could alienate and frustrate the audience through testing their patience from the scene’s duration and overall lack of action, or simply from the overwhelming amount of verbal information being presented in one take. Likewise, the scene that follows the events in a supermarket also makes use of the long take and also could prove to alienate and frustrate the audience by it’s slow pace and through the audience’s attempt to understand the context of this information to the film’s narrative.
Overall, these elements make us question what cinema is by breaking the conventions set in place by the more dominant classical cinema. Instead of details being handed to you, art cinema relies on mise-en-scene and editing to alienate and frustrate audiences. Despite this, these elements of art cinema creates a film experience that behaves in a more realistic representation of life unbound by antiquated conventions and ideologies. As such, the viewer must be active with what is presented on screen in order to appreciate the nuanced and intentionally ambiguous performance that art cinema readily embraces.
Bibliography
Bordwell, David. "The Art Cinema as a Mode of Film Practice." Film Criticism, vol. 4, no. 1, 1979, pp. 56-64.
Bordwell, David, and Kristin, Thompson. “Tout va bien.” Film Art: An Introduction. Knopf, New York, NY, 1986, pp. 335-342.
Comolli, Jean-Luc, and Narboni, Jean. “Cinema/Ideology/Criticism (1969).” Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings . Oxford University Press, New York, NY, 2009, pp. 686-693.