Retro Review: The Birth of a Nation

 Truth be told, I've only seen D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation once. I may have even slept through parts of it, to be even more honest. I saw the three hour plus film in an Introduction to Cinema class my freshman year of college, along with Top Hat, Citizen Kane, The General, Casablanca, City Lights, The Graduate, and Do the Right Thing (all of which I had, shamefully, not seen prior to that point). Appropriately, I've seen all of those films again since that class, but somehow never got around to reliving the glory of the KKK.

 The Birth of a Nation was early in the curriculum, as it was taught chronologically, so it was a warm September afternoon (after lunch, at that), when I meandered into class and plopped down for a 187 minute silent film - a silent film that did, admittedly, make serious strides towards changing the way movies were made - about the South during Reconstruction. I should have known we were in trouble when Griffith portrays the first freed-slaves-turned-Congressmen as lazy degenerates lazily sprawled around Washington, D.C., but I had no idea how much worse it would get.

 I gather that most people who never took a film course have been spared The Birth of a Nation and only know it by reputation, much of which is well deserved. As you've probably heard, the Klan are the heroes, saving South Carolina's Cameron family from the hands of a "rogue black man" named Gus. Meanwhile, lascivious mulatto named Silas Lynch is supposed to be rallying the black vote in the south, but instead he has eyes on a pretty white aristocrat. I nodded out for parts of the film, but what I saw really stuck with me.

 The story is supposed to be about the Camerons and the Stonemans, two Southern families with sons on either side of the Civil War. The sons, Ben Cameron and Phil Stoneman, are friends, and not even fighting against each other can diminish that. After Lincoln is assassinated, the young men return home where Reconstruction is running wild in Piedmont, South Carolina. Newly liberated slaves are taking advantage of their freedom, drinking and gambling and lusting after pretty Southern belles. These are the sorts of things you remember, even when I had to look up the names of the two sons in the film.

 The Birth of a Nation is unabashed in its racial stereotypes, ones that echoed throughout every Stepin Fetchit appearance of episode of Amos 'n Andy. African Americans freed from slavery aren't humans, they're animals, ready to take advantage of any opportunity given to them in this film. D.W. Griffith indulges in the worst stereotypes, and in the meantime treats a KKK raid at the end of the film with heroic flourishes - they sweep in to save the heroine from the evil Negro, and then are included in a montage that implies both Abraham Lincoln and Jesus Christ approve of their actions.

 Look, I'm all for movies that push buttons, and The Birth of a Nation certainly pushed its fair share for the past 96 years, but no amount of camerwork and editing techniques can overcome the ugliness that is Griffith's film. I hesitated even reviewing it - limited memories notwithstanding - because I have no idea who would come looking for a write up of this films. Film history texts do a better job of contextualizing Griffith and the film and of giving the due credit for its technial innovations, but what I'm left with consistently is how one-sided the film is and how wrongheaded its protagonists seem in the cold light of history - especially the Klan of the 1950s and 60s. Every time I think about looking at The Birth of a Nation or Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will, I think twice. I'm not so sure that's a bad thing.

Troncanny

This may feel like an insubstantial post, for which I offer no real defense, but after seeing a trailer for Tron Legacy in front of Faster (a trailer that, strangely, followed True Grit), I was overcome with an uncanny feeling from staring at the digitally young-ified Jeff Bridges as CLU. Before I go any further, it might be best to show you what I'm talking about:


It's Jeff Bridges... but it isn't. Something is "off": his skin is a little too smooth, his features seem to be painted on. Which they are. Jeff Bridges - as he appears in Tron Legacy (as Flynn) - has roughly the same features from the nose upward, but graying hair and a beard, better defined wrinkles on his forehead, accurately replicating what Bridges looks like now. This is what he looked like in Tron:


So on a cognitive level, I understand that the effects crew on Tron Legacy couldn't make Jeff Bridges look like he did almost thirty years ago. I get that, and I understand that effects can accomplish the de-aging process (see the X-Men 3 or Wolverine), but it doesn't prevent me from having the visceral reaction of a Bridges that is simultaneously real and unreal (which is the case considering that he filmed the CLU performance). How do I reconcile this cognitive dissonance?

Okay, if you aren't interested in reading Freud's entire essay breaking down "the uncanny," the working definition that most people know is a sensation of something familiar and yet unfamiliar simultaneously, creating unease that is often difficult to describe. Following the first Tron Legacy trailer to show the completely de-aged Flynn, I had such a sensation and failed to articulate it in a way that registered beyond "weird."

I had a similar reaction to Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but for no particular reasons I never connected the waxy, slightly unrealistic yet hyper-realistic digital versions of actors with the uncanny situation I studied (and, in fact, lectured on during a class about German literature). Other than feeling a bit embarrassed to let a bit of scholarly knowledge fall by the wayside, my reaction is to feel a bit more comfortable in reacting to faux-Bridges and reconciling what I know and my visceral response to seeing something so familiar and yet so alien on TV and projected in theatres.

Whether this affects my ability to watch Tron Legacy remains to be seen, because knowing the root cause of this uncanny reaction doesn't necessarily diminish its impact. I'm working on that, but it's tricky.

Plans for the Year(s) to Come

As promised last week, here is an excerpt from my "personal statement" designed to lay out some research plans for the future. Additionally (and because you're such nice people), I'm going to include some extra "deleted" ideas, along with plans for the Blogorium in the coming year:

Intertextuality in film has always fascinated me; following the connective tissue from one film to another - homage, imitation, discursive elements, or direct references – I followed the influences of Fritz Lang on Ridley Scott or of Preston Sturges on Joel and Ethan Coen, developing a lexicon to express trends apparent in my research. Accordingly, I consider furthering the development of intertextuality in film history to be a crucial component in my graduate studies.

I am also interested in pursuing research into theories of authorship, particularly in the “post-auteur” and “anti-auteur” positions taken by filmmakers like Steven Soderbergh and the Coen brothers. The development of the term auteur and its subsequent backlash is a movement within film theory that is fascinating to me, and exploring the usefulness of “director as author” in a contemporary setting - one removed from “auteur” as catch-all phrase in the 1980s – seems to have been largely abandoned in the twenty-first century. Is the auteur theory still valid? Has the term lost all meaning, or has its mutation rendered directors afraid of being “branded” the author of their films? Alternately, there are a number of “authorless” or minimized directorial presences in cinematic “mash-ups” like Miike’s Sukiyaki Western Django.

One field of research that appeals to me is the idea of artistic repetition; this is not limited to direct remakes (although the trend towards those merits investigation), but also the presence of virtually identical stories that appear persistently over a period of time – Yojimbo / Fistful of Dollars / The Warrior and the Sorceress / Last Man Standing – and the differences between recurring themes in literature and film compared to direct repetition of title, plot, and marketing. For example, how is does the 2009 remake of The Last House on the Left differ from the intertextual relationship between The Virgin Spring and Wes Craven’s The Last House on the Left?

The horror genre, which is often considered a barren field for critical study, remains a point of focus I hope to expand on during my studies. Over the last five years, I made a concerted effort to collect and research the various theoretical approaches to horror, from Carol Clover to David Skal to Robin Wood and Barbara Creed. I am particularly interested in the way that gender and violence are portrayed in horror, from the “slasher” era to the present, with particular focus on the way that “Final Girl” variations are portrayed in French horror films like High Tension, Martyrs, Them, and Frontier(s).

Horror films are often undervalued in critical theory because the volume of low quality releases often overwhelms films with something to say. Does a high profile flop like Cursed overshadow a feminist reinterpretation of werewolves like Ginger Snaps? In order to combat the assertion the genre is “lacking,” I have hosted annual horror festivals in the summer and autumn to expose audiences to films lost in the “white noise” of aggressive marketing for sequels, remakes, and gimmick releases.

With regards to film history as a social movement, I have a long-standing desire to pursue the history of independent cinema from the 1950s to the 1980s through the venue of the Drive-In, where distributors showcased non-studio pictures outside of major cities. Until the advent of home video effectively killed the Drive-In, I suspect one can trace the movement of independent cinema from smaller territories across the U.S. by following Drive-In “culture,” despite James Naremore’s doubts that such a thing ever existed (based on a passage in More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts).

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Meanwhile, as the blogorium moves into year three on Blogspot, I've been making plans to improve on the existing weekly layout. It's becoming increasingly obvious to the Cap'n that I'm running out of "readable" posts for the "From the Vaults" on Tuesdays. Starting in January, I'm planning on replacing that feature with alternating "Four Reasons" and "Five Movies" posts in order to incorporate their presence back into rotation. I'll also open up Tuesdays to what I call "retro reviews," based on films I've seen in the past but never reviewed, or expansions on existing reviews from the Myspace era*.

I'd also like to invite readers to help pick a section tentatively called "Best of the Blogorium," built from your suggestions, votes, and picks for favorite reviews, features, essays, and other random posts. The "Best of the Blogorium" would then appear as a tab on the right side of the screen, allowing new readers to see the Cap'n at his best without being overwhelmed by the sheer number of posts to wade through.

Down the line, I might consider adding direct links to help readers find copies of Thankskilling, Coen brothers text books, and other horror films featured during Horror and Summer Fest, but that's a bit off yet.

That's what I've been working on, and hopefully the first signs of new directions in the Blogorium will appear in the coming months and years. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing.

* It turns out that most of the "reviews" in the old Blogorium were barely a paragraph and only gave the tiniest amount of information possible, something I feel I can adjust.

A Series of Modest Proposals

(or, a nice way of saying "While it's sitting in the PS3, I still haven't watched Harry Brown yet and therefore can't review it.")

Hello, dear readers. The Cap'n has two things going on this week that contributed to a lack of blogging yesterday and (almost) not one today: 1) I'm feeling a bit under the weather, 2) I've been working on applications for graduate school, which are time consuming and while technically "film" related (being those are specifically the programs the Cap'n is applying to), they don't translate to compelling blogorium material. Perhaps, once I'm positive that they have or will not be looking at the blogorium, I'll share with you my "personal statement," which lays out a number of topics I'm looking to expand on here and in an academic setting.

In fact, if I don't actually post the statement itself, I will happily share the topics of study at a point in time other than today. Today I'd like to pose a series of proposals that you may feel free to answer, not answer, or dismiss and answer some question not posed by the Cap'n but you feel I should know anyway. Is it "lazy" blogging? Oh, almost certainly, but the outcome of several of the answers will directly influence future reviews, commentary, news, and pieces like "Five Movies" and "Four Reasons."

Without further ado:

1. While I am on the record that I have no interest in seeing Avatar, I remain on the fence about Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. As you may remember, I was, perhaps, rude (to understate it) to fans of the film during its theatrical showing, mostly as a result of their very public outcry against movies people were seeing not called "Scott Pilgrim vs. the World." That being said, I remain a fan of Edgar Wright and have, with a few small exceptions, not heard many bad reviews. I'd like for someone to give me a measured reaction, if possible, and to sell me or not sell me on the film. What works? What doesn't?

2. As I always am, the Cap'n is fishing for recommendations. While I regularly visit DVD review websites in search of something I've never heard of (and have found quite a few that I'll be looking into soon), I also like to turn to the readers and ask them what they've seen lately that they think I should check out. Just because I make it a mission in life to expose others to films they haven't seen before doesn't mean that I have my finger on the pulse of under-watched cinema at all times. Help a Cap'n out, folks.


3. I have seriously been toying with the idea of recordinging and hosting downloadable "rogue" commentary tracks for films that don't have one. While the model is similar to RiffTracks, I don't intend for them to always be comedic. Whenever possible, I'd like to bring in other people who can speak authoritatively about the film or add a perspective on the movie that would be interesting for audiences. If you'd like to see (or hear this) and, more importantly, would like to be a part of this, let me know. I have the initiative, but lack certain key ingredients (like recording equipment).


4. Finally, I'm still looking for a really good title for December's mini-horror fest. Merry Mayhem is the only one I've come up with so far, and I'm not really in love with it. Don't make me turn this into a contest, folks! There could be a prize in it for you!

Help a Cap'n Out...

"Hey Cap'n, didn't you say that you would be writing about Inception yesterday? I can't find that entry."

I did say that, and there's no such entry to be found. The reason is twofold: 1) the Cap'n was busy most of Thursday with travel-related concerns (which should not interrupt the blogorium next week, hopefully), and 2) after a cursory glance at readings, theories, and dissections of Inception online, I decided that there was nothing to add that hasn't been covered ad nauseum to this point.

That's actually fine with me; when the Cap'n can enter the words "inception theories" and get nearly 6 million results, I think we can do without another take. I will say that I still think Mal is the weakest part of the film in part because it's an easy out when Nolan needs to create tension between Cobb and the rest of the team (if they exist) and that it falters the most when Ariadne enters Cobb's dream with the way too literal "elevator to deeper levels of the mind" memory sequence. I'd also like to add that people criticizing the film for not being "dreamlike" should refer themselves to the "con" aspect of the film, and the advice given to Ariadne that the mark shouldn't know they're dreaming.

And that's probably enough. It's been covered more eruditely and more scholarly elsewhere, so I'll leave it to those wiser and with more free time than the Cap'n.

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In other news, I've been trying to come up with something interesting to fill the oft-neglected "Critical Essays" tag. I've been reading other blogs, many from people I know or had classes with, and I can't decide whether some of the negative reactions I've been having are due to disagreeing with some of the assertions made, a reliance on "academic friendly" terminology, or just that I feel like my writing has been slipping since leaving school.

To put it another way, at least twice a day people from all around the world seem to find the blogorium based on doing Google or Blogspot searches related to the Coen Brothers (and specifically the series of essays from the final or the sequence analysis of No Country for Old Men). I think it's great that people find that useful, and I certainly hope that the .edu addresses are citing those essays. The difficulty is that I don't feel myself writing anything like that anymore, or even feeling compelled to write them.

This troubles me, since I haven't been especially happy with the last few reviews (Dinner for Schmucks or The Informant!), but at the same time can't quite find topics that are very exciting to devote some serious time to. I also don't want to bore people with hoity toity analysis or drop five dollar words because that's how one is taken "seriously," and yet that's exactly the field I'm still looking into joining in graduate school.

In short, there's a tricky balance in trying to be insightful and entertaining. I don't want to bore you because it bores me too, but anybody can go to the newspaper and find something like that Dinner for Schmucks review. Rather than challenging myself with non-traditional fare, the Cap'n has taken time out to watch TV shows that readers have been on him about for years (or new stuff like FX's excellent Louie).

I could have seen Cyrus shortly after moving here, but instead saw Predators again*. Earlier tonight, I could have watched any number of the Criterion Blu-Rays in house (which include, but are not limited to The Red Shoes, Close Up, Everlasting Memories, Black Narcissus, The Leopard, Mystery Train, and Red Desert), but instead put on Dirty Harry. Not that there's anything wrong with Dirty Harry, but I'm not exactly going to be turning you folks on to something new when that and Fistful of Dollars get a juxtaposition down the line.

As the Cap'n, I feel like I can be doing better. Right now it seems like I'm coasting, and I'm open to suggestions how to adjust that.




* I didn't review it again because the only thing I really felt like adding is that on second viewing I was free to follow Royce (Adrien Brody)'s strategy more carefully from beginning to end, which does actually make him a little more impressive than Arnold's Dutch.

Coen Brothers Final Day Three: The Man Who Wasn't There

(note: this might be a reprint, but since he borrowed my paper topic for the final, I'm re-posting it with the question I'm not allowed to answer again...)

3. Discuss The Man Who Wasn't There as the Coens' attempt to recreate or recapture the experience of classic, historical film noir. In what ways do they achieve this recreation? In what ways do they elaborate the genre of film noir, by adding a new element or recognizing a neglected aspect and amplifying it?

More than Noir:

The Man Who Wasn’t There and Critical Approaches to Film Noir

Film noir has a rather unique place in film history, and a role we may consider to be trans-genre(ic). In his exploration of noir More Than Night, James Naremore lays out the particular problem of conceptualizing this amorphous term:

There is in fact no completely satisfactory way to organize the category; and despite scores of books and essays that have been written about it, nobody is sure whether the films in question constitute a period, a genre, a cycle, a style, or simply a ‘phenomenon’. (9)

For Naremore, “film noir is an unusually baggy concept, elaborated largely after the fact of the films themselves” (5). There is a unifying theory of film noir, based largely on a set of “markers”: black and white photography, a flashback structure, existential themes, urban settings, an affinity for water, the “femme fatale”, high contrast lighting, location shooting, chiaroscuro, voice-over narration, and stories borrowed from hard-boiled detective fiction. However, few films that can be characterized as “film noir” have all of these characteristics. In fact, several of them – Laura, for example – have very few of the “accepted” descriptors.

In the introduction to More Than Night, Naremore proposes we set these contradictory elements aside, suggesting that “no matter what modifier we attach to a category, we can never establish clear boundaries and uniform traits. Nor can we have a ‘right’ definition – only a series of more or less interesting uses” (6). Joel and Ethan Coen, however, have other plans with their homage to film noir, The Man Who Wasn’t There.

The film is both an encapsulation of and a commentary on noir, not merely as a style, but as a concept. By sidestepping specific references (although there are many direct references to Double Indemnity, The Asphalt Jungle, and The Postman Always Rings Twice), the Coen brothers instead make The Man Who Wasn’t There embody film noir as it was embraced – and arguably invented - ex post facto by the French critical circle of the 1950s.

The Man Who Wasn’t There is an anomaly for 2001 (when it was made): the black and white film relies heavily on narration from Ed Crane (Billy Bob Thornton), a character who otherwise says almost nothing to anyone else. Speaking directly to the audience, Crane makes the viewer aware of a James M. Cain (author of Double Indemnity)-esque crime involving adultery, blackmail, murder… and dry cleaning. Almost immediately, the Coen brothers begin to alternately recreate “period” film noir and to deconstruct it.

For example, most Film Noir uses some variation on Jazz as its musical accompaniment, along with a score that emphasizes the impending doom of its protagonist for effect. In The Man Who Wasn't There, virtually all musical cues are attributed to Beethoven, with some accompaniment by Carter Burwell. Rather than include music of the period, the Coen brothers revise film noir based on the existential dread of the future. If the characters are consistently looking to the past and away from the future, it stands to reason that conceptual film noir would do the same with its music. Accordingly, all traces of contemporaneous music (i.e. Jazz) would – and should – be removed in favor for the ultimate reminder of the past: Classical compositions.

Elsewhere, The Man Who Wasn’t There includes incongruous references to UFO imagery, part of a late move in neo-noir that includes films like Blade Runner and Dark City. While this iconography appears to have no place – and no referent – in “classic” film noir, it is nevertheless a component of Naremore’s More Than Night and, accordingly, would fit into the Coen brothers’ abstract recreation of the genre. This deconstruction leaves viewers with a sense of both “authentic” and “revisionist” noir simultaneously.

The Coen brothers set out to replicate film noir in an all-encompassing fashion, including as many possible elements from the “baggy concept” into one film. Simultaneously, The Man Who Wasn’t There is both “film noir” embodied in one movie and a commentary on the way the term was constructed. This hybrid status affords Joel and Ethan Coen the ability to do more than freely adapt film noir; they are also allowed to comment on its critical development intertextually and discursively. The revisionist elements seem to reflect shifts and contradictions within the critical community to “noir” as a concept, making The Man Who Wasn’t There both noir and “more than noir” at the same time.