Tuesday, February 12, 2019

The Innovation and Influence of Sam Peckinpah

Sam Peckinpah (1925-1984) was a Hollywood writer and director who lived a glamorous and traumatic life. He grew up in in the shadow of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, served in World War II, and started his entertainment career as a writer in the first Golden Age of Television. Transitioning from the studio era to the New Hollywood of the 1960s and '70s, Peckinpah often battled with producers and executives who didn't understand his non-conformist vision. A hard drinker and womanizer, Peckinpah had a combative reputation as legendary as his films. His creative output, however, still lingers in our cultural archive. He was the director of 14 feature films, all of which display cinematic innovation and insight into human struggles and moral dilemmas. His films are American stories about American characters. They uncover truths about our identities and failures, and reward the audience upon repeat viewings.

His exquisitely composed shots were edited with crashing speed to create a new cinematic language that remains influential to this day. He was a new Hitchcock for the new generation, crafting suspenseful thrillers that portrayed sex and violence with all its disgusting consequences. All his films feature intriguing characters with deep backstories. All his films feature layered performances on top of audio complexity. He was a man who burned out as hard as the 1960s idealism; both were obsolete by the dawn of the 1980s.
Sam Peckinpah's most recognized film is 1969's "The Wild Bunch." That film's themes of loyalty and redemption are repeated and re-examined in all his movies. His best are more artistically ambitious than almost every feature released today.

He made mature films for grown-up audiences, featuring deep dark themes examining human nature. How many filmmakers can say this today? His characters are real people, not super heroes or space travelers.  He aimed high and sometimes missed. He angered many audiences and reviewers. But he kept exploring, pushing, provoking. His movies are not for the faint of heart, yet they are mesmerizing.

Here is a closer look at some of his greatest:

Ride the High Country (1962)
A story of two aging outlaws who don't adapt to the not-so-wild west,  "Ride the High Country" is a quintessential Sam Peckinpah movie about the death of the American West. In the late 19th Century, after the Gold Rush, California was a tame frontier. The Railroad, Capitalism, law and order, and people continued to arrive in bunches. For some outliers, this was not welcome. "Ride the High Country" is a tale of two such partners - played by two aging Hollywood stars: Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott.
 
Having grown up in the High Sierras of Northern California, Sam Peckinpah witnessed the end of the West firsthand. His ancestors lived free in the great wide open. He saw ranches sold, nature tamed, and tough men struggling to change to a more civilized world. All these themes come to light as the plot follows former outlaw Steve Judd (McCrea) seeking redemption by accepting a "day job" from a bank to transport gold. He recruits his friend  (the aptly named Gil Westrum, played by Scott) on a journey that tests their friendship and challenges their values of old west versus new.
"All I want is to enter my house justified." So says Judd near the end of his journey. Westrum, on the other hand, knows how and when to bend the rules. Unlike Judd, he has no illusions of redemption. In a physical, mental, and ethical battle, the two men face their fate in a last chance effort to find value in a valueless world. The final gunfight is exquisitely framed, shot and edited in a rapid, unconventional approach that Sam Peckinpah would perfect in later films.

After several years writing and directing Westerns for television, Peckinpah transitioned to feature films in the early 1960s. "Ride the High Country" is his second feature, and was recognized for its unique, philosophical perspective in a genre that was slowly growing stale. The gorgeous on-location cinematography by Lucien Ballard showcases both the light and shadows of these characters' moral dilemmas. The film is loaded with outstanding supporting characters brought to life by frequent Peckinpah collaborators including the legendary Warren Oates and L.Q. Jones. All characters have the luxury of speaking authentic Western dialogue that was a hallmark of any Peckinpah production.  "Ride the High Country" is a perfect cinematic metaphor to transition from the safe, idealized Westerns of the 1950s into the brave new world of 1960s counterculture.

The Wild Bunch (1969)
"If they move, kill 'em." The opening line to Sam Peckinpah's signature film. It set the tone for this epic, and for the many cinematic innovations it was about to unleash. Released on June 18, 1969, "The Wild Bunch" remains one of the most influential films of all time. It is also one of the most controversial. This tale of morally ambiguous antiheroes engaged in stylized violence was not a success upon initial release. Yet it built a loyal following with critics and filmmakers. It improves with subsequent viewings and has aged very well over the past 50 years. I speak from my own experience that it took me multiple viewings over many years of my own maturity to appreciate the film's complex themes. Now, I don't just admire it - I would name it one of my all-time favorites.
The conventional wisdom of the Western is they are American allegories. But what makes "The Wild Bunch" so unique is that the story transcends the American West and becomes an insightful depiction of human nature. It is a timeless political fable of the consequences of war, and the loyalties and betrayals of men. All told with beautiful compositions and edited in a groundbreaking style. It is truly a work of art. Not surprisingly, "The Wild Bunch" is often called cinema's Moby-Dick.

The movie opens with a symbolic sequence of children gathered around a scorpion on top of an anthill. Audiences immediately realize this is not a typical John Wayne picture. Simultaneously, the gang of aging outlaws arrive in town, commit a robbery, and embark on a bloody shootout that was longer, louder and bloodier than any in cinematic history. Peckinpah's use of slow motion, alternate angles, and rapid cutting builds a brilliant sequence that directors have been imitating ever since.
The difference, however, is Peckinpah's deep dive into the characters. The Bunch are introduced and the viewer learns of their attempts at a moral code. The gang is led by Pike Bishop, played by William Holden in one of his last great performances. His world-weariness echoed the performer's real life struggles, whose Hollywood golden-boy days had abruptly passed. The Bunch's second in command is Dutch played by the inimitable Ernest Borgnine. Both actors were previous Oscar-winners, yet their work here is possibly their career pinnacle. Rounding out the Bunch are the film's tragic, sacrificial lamb character Angel, played by Jaime Sánchez, and the depraved and demented Gorch Brothers played by Ben Johnson and frequent Peckinpah collaborator Warren Oates. These characters are all faced with multiple decisions that question their values. Do they stay together and finish one last score? Do they help a friend who knowingly chose his own foolish fate? Do they take a stand for justice despite overwhelming odds?

The film covers many themes including the idea that "we all dream of being a child again. Even the worst of us." The recurring motif of children witnessing violence illustrates our collective history of murder, robbery and revenge. Similar to other Peckinpah films with religious overtones, this has the subtextual theme of "For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?" Pike Bishop wonders this; yet is it too late to change? This film explores the frailties of friendship. Not only is Pike's relationship with the bunch tested, but we learn of his past history to the bounty hunter Deke Thornton, played with equal weariness by the never-better Robert Ryan.
These are 19th Century Men at the dawn of the era of airplanes, automobiles, and machine guns. Rough, violent, scarred men who cannot be tamed by the 20th Century - yet struggling and failing to do the right thing. It's a parallel to Peckinpah's own life as well as his style of Hollywood filmmaking. The adult action movie with provocative themes, filmed on location with practical effects (actual bridges exploding!) would soon become as obsolete as the characters.

Very few films come close to this richness of psychological insight and creative filmmaking technique. The movie has influenced everything from the literature of Cormac McCarthy to the music of Jack White to the television series "Breaking Bad" to the films of Michael Mann, Edgar Wright, and Quentin Tarantino. In 1999 "The Wild Bunch's" place in history was secured when it was selected to the Library of Congress National Film Archive. 


The film ends with the quote "It ain't like it used to be, but it'll do." An optimistic elegy that reflects Peckinpah's view on America and Hollywood at the end of the 1960s.

The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970)
Released less than a year after "The Wild Bunch," this is Peckinpah's most complete work. It is a biblical allegory about a man finding his American Dream in the middle of the desert, just before progress brings an end to it all. It is very reminiscent of Paul Thomas Anderson's "There Will Be Blood," which no doubt took influence from this story about one man's discovery of water in the desert.

"I'm halfway to Hell and I'm looking for help," says Cable Hogue in an exceptional performance by Jason Robards. It is his story of redemption that carries the picture, with Robards's characterization fully-realized and tragically poignant. The story covers many of the essential Peckinpah themes: nature vs. commerce, the death of the west, religion, progress, and one man's search for salvation.  
Left for dead in the desert, Cable Hogue stumbles onto an oasis and builds a lucrative stop on the wagon trail heading West. When Cable meets the captivating Hildy (Stella Stevens) he must choose between his lonely, profitable life in the desert, or moving to the city with the woman he loves. A decision not as easy as it appears. Obsessed with vengeance and proving himself, Cable's journey as the American Adam is both unexpected and unavoidable. "Well I'm worth something, Ain't I?" Cable asks mid-way through the film, reflecting Peckinpah's belief in the indomitable human spirit.

This film is once again gorgeously photographed on-location by Lucien Ballard, and once again breaks convention with traditional westerns. This tone is comedic, romantic, and even musical - with the characters singing a love song in the midst of the story. Stella Stevens's Hildy is a vulnerable, moving portrait of feminine power. Cable's world cannot function without her; yet she alone is best equipped to handle the oncoming force of the Twentieth Century. 
Ultimately, "The Ballad of Cable Hogue" is a tale about the individual and the dissolution of the American Dream. It all comes to a poetic climax in the film's final scene, showing the convergence of progress, religion, nature and death in a very Peckinpah-esque comment on our culture and history. The final shot may be the only movie I've seen featuring a stagecoach and automobile in the same frame - the perfect symbol for a Peckinpah picture.  
This has always been an underrated film, and it's availability now on DVD, Blu-ray and streaming makes it essential viewing. 

Straw Dogs (1971)
"Straw Dogs" is Sam Peckinpah's most misunderstood movie. A tense, psychological picture about the consequences of violence, it is also the story of a failed marriage. Although the film is set in rural England, this disturbing, controversial film is a universal tale of human nature. Starring Dustin Hoffman in a brave, dark role, and the amazing Susan George as his traumatized wife, "Straw Dogs" continues to startle and provoke contemporary audiences and critics.
Hoffman plays David, an American intellectual who moves to a rural English farmhouse in his wife's home village. He's looking for peace and quiet to write a book on mathematics, but he also hints at escaping the social turmoil of late '60s America. His wife Amy has an equally mysterious backstory with the town, including a former love affair with the working-class Charlie Venner. The locals resent David's elitist arrogance, while simultaneously lusting after Amy.
Both tensions escalate when David is invited on a hunting expedition while Amy is left home alone. What follows is a brutal, shocking rape sequence that is every bit as controversial today as it was in 1971.

Peckinpah was often criticized as misogynist or even reactionary. He was actually a liberal Democratic supporter who despised Richard Nixon. Although his films are exclusively male-centric, it is the female characters that prove to be the shining lights, the role models, and even the adults. In "Straw Dogs" Amy is the protagonist, and all the men -- including Hoffman's David -- are the villains. Peckinpah said so himself in multiple letters in response to the film's negative criticism. 

We the audience feel Amy's suffering. The rape scene is filmed through Amy point-of-view; one of the few times that technique is employed in any Peckinpah film. The scene's blocking and compositions emphasize Amy's agony, showing her loss and devastation. The editing style, with flashes to her husband, link David as a co-accomplice in the attack. His neglect and emotional abuse are just as responsible as her actual assailant. 
The movie belongs to Amy, as she quietly absorbs the trauma. For the remainder of the film, she is the character who dramatically changes. At first she is powerless, reflecting the role of many women at that time in history. Yet by the end, she grows into a character who is strong, fearless, defiant, and ultimately vengeful.

The movie's climax involves one of the most tense, stressful sequences in film history. After a series of events following the rape (which Amy never reveals to David), the townsfolk surround the farmhouse and begin an aggressive, violent siege. Many viewers focus on Hoffman's transformation from intellectual pacifist to homestead defender -- but is he?
David fights but he's fighting for his own selfish survival. It was always there from the beginning, and he is not responding to Amy's assault. He shows little concern for her safety; he even subjects her to greater risk by provoking the attackers. By the end, David never even shoots a gun. It is Amy who fires the final shot to end the siege.
"Straw Dogs" is a complex, unsettling film. It needs to be seen by a mature audience, more than once to be fully understood. Some will see it as a masterpiece, others will find it revolting, but it is truly a work of art.

The movie is filmed and edited with taut precision. Peckinpah was working at the top of his game, and every composition has multiple layers. The film is loaded with symbolic images, and the authentic dialogue adds depth to each characterization.  

It is available on a deluxe Criterion Collection Blu-ray or DVD loaded with bonus features, and an insightful audio commentary that discusses the themes and controversies. "Straw Dogs" is Sam Peckinpah's only movie thus far given that royal honor from Criterion. It is an important, significant film worth seeing and debating.

Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974)
With one of the best titles in cinema history, "Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia" is Sam Peckinpah's last great masterpiece. It is an examination of a wasted life, featuring the themes of grief, rage and revenge. This brutal vision of self-destruction eerily foreshadowed the director's own personal and creative demise. He went on to direct only four more feature films, and none were as daring or personal as this one.
The film stars Warren Oates, in an excellent, yet all-too-rare leading-man role. He plays Benny, a man whose quest for fortune leads him on a downward spiral to his own destruction. In many ways the protagonist is a surrogate for Peckinpah himself. Similar to Pike Bishop in "The Wild Bunch" - he even looks like the director. Once again the biblical quote casts a shadow over this story: "For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?"

The setting is a rare present-day world for a Peckinpah film, yet the ageless past looms in every corner. It's essentially a Western, played out in the disillusioned Watergate era of 1970s Mexico.  Benny is an expatriate that finally found love but wants more. When he hears of a chance to score big, he sets off on a journey where he must confront shady businessmen, honorable families, and corrupt Latin American politicians. He needs proof of "Al's" death so he must steal the head of the late Alfredo Garcia. 
When tragedy strikes, Benny's mission becomes more than money -- he wants revenge. This is not the typical action-hero revenge flick of the 1980s, where Sylvester Stallone or Arnold Schwarzenegger embark on an honorable, glorious revenge mission. It is Peckinpah's world, where revenge comes with a price; vengeance is dangerous and obsessive. The mission doesn't end with revenge; vengeance requires redemption. 
This is dark, philosophical material - ideas seldom conveyed in a Hollywood picture.  It's a tough film; at times not easy to watch. Not because of the violence or gore, but because we see Benny sliding down into a phantasmagoric nightmare. His rush to redemption becomes a hallucinatory journey into a wasted life. It's not pretty, but Warren Oates's characterization is incredibly compelling. His Bogart-esque vulnerability is a brilliant piece of screen acting. If you've ever admired his fantastic supporting turns, and longed for a meatier role, this is the film to watch.
As usual, several of the climactic scenes are expertly staged, shot and edited. Peckinpah's painterly compositions explode with kinetic editing that keeps the action shocking As Benny's crisp white suit gets blacker and filthier, the movie slides from romance to tragedy. Will Benny finally do what's right and get away clean? Can anyone? It's fascinating to see these ideas from post-1960s idealism and 1970s distrust presented in a major Hollywood release. This film is not escapism. It's a provocative challenge for the adventurous viewer.
It's easy to see the parallels in Peckinpah's own life. His uncompromising battles with producers and executives cost him professionally; his battles with alcohol cost him personally. "Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia" is a film about self-destruction. Where the road to good intentions leads straight through hell. 

Monday, November 5, 2018

Alfred Hitchcock’s Three Modern and Influential Suspense Thrillers


Introduction
Alfred Hitchcock’s Rebecca, Suspicion, and Notorious each demonstrate a cinematic style archetypal to the suspense thriller genre. Through his mastery of point-of-view, tone, symbolic objects, and camera movement, Hitchcock creates influential and timeless films. These three movies and their unique cinematic qualities also influenced my thesis film: a suspense thriller entitled Magnolia Kane.

Rebecca
            “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” The famous opening line that begins the novel Rebecca also opens the film adaptation. Released in 1940, Rebecca is adapted from the best selling novel by Daphne Du Maurier. The movie is an influential thriller that remains popular today. The film’s point-of-view is not through Rebecca, but a character known only as Mrs. de Winter. Portrayed by emerging actress Joan Fontaine, her character arouses curiosity, terror, romance and aggression in a riveting, Oscar-nominated performance. 
Her point-of-view is introduced through the eyes of an insecure, awkward young woman employed as a personal assistant to a wealthy dowager vacationing in Monte Carlo. Fontaine brings a quiet innocence to the character, perfectly suited for these early scenes. When she meets the aristocratic, widowed Maxim de Winter (Laurence Olivier), she immediately falls in love despite their differences in age and class. As they become acquainted, her romantic optimism is counter-balanced by the darker murmurings she learns about Mr. de Winter and his late wife Rebecca. During a restless night’s sleep she imagines gossiping voices: “She was the beautiful Rebecca Hildreth, you know. They say he simply adored her. I suppose he just can’t get over his wife’s death. But he’s a broken man.” This plants the seeds of doubt within her mind and aligns her point-of-view with the audience. She may be in over her head, yet she also worries that Maxim de Winter is mentally unstable.
The tone in Rebecca’s thirty minute Act One is romantic despite the hints at darker themes. Hitchcock approached this first act with the intent of differentiating it from what follows. In Leonard J. Leff’s book Hitchcock and Selznick, the director addresses the establishing tone when he says, “I feel unless we do something like this our scenes in the house will not have the dramatic kicks that they should have, because visually we shall be unable to show any change in the girl.”[1]
The lighting, therefore, in the first act is much brighter, showcasing an optimistic tone. The characters’ wardrobe is also different. The future Mrs. de Winter wears white in almost every instance, emphasizing her character as the epitome of young and innocent. In the remainder of the film, taking place at the house known as Manderley, the tone darkens, as shadows and blacks dominate the color palette.
The tone shift begins in Act Two as the newly married Mr. and Mrs. de Winter arrive home to Manderley. The weather immediately changes to rain, setting the stage for darker events. The estate of Manderley is an imaginative display of expressive production design. With a brooding stone exterior of asymmetrical angles, the mansion is equally intimidating on the inside. Mrs. de Winter appears small and insignificant amidst the massive doors, staircases and cavernous rooms. In one symbolic composition she stands in front of an enormous fireplace that appears ready to swallow her whole.
This menacing tone continues when Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson) is introduced as the main antagonist to Mrs. de Winter, terrorizing her with constant comparisons to Rebecca. In one early scene, Mrs. Danvers presents Mrs. de Winter to Rebecca’s old bedroom. To emphasize the psychological haunting and trauma that Mrs. de Winter feels, Alfred Hitchcock creates an eerie atmosphere. Mrs. Danvers moves in and out of shafts of light cutting through the sheer curtains. She becomes a shadow, partially obscured in darkness – despite the action taking place in the middle of the day.
In one of his many interviews with the French director Francois Truffaut, Hitchcock discussed this moment. He said, “Mrs. Danvers was almost never seen walking and was rarely shown in motion. If she entered a room in which the heroine was, what happened is that the girl suddenly heard a sound and there was the ever-present Mrs. Danvers, standing perfectly still by her side. In this way the whole situation was projected from the heroine’s point of view; she never knew when Mrs. Danvers might turn up, and this, in itself, was terrifying. To have shown Mrs. Danvers walking about would have to humanize her.”[2]
Another striking display of tone occurs when Mr. and Mrs. de Winter watch home movies. With a film projector flickering images in the background, the room is cast in light and shadow. Even the soundtrack is grating, due to the projector’s repetitive sound. Mrs. de Winter, however, is more concerned with her husband. Feeling insecure amidst the looming presence of Rebecca, Mrs. de Winter changes her physical appearance. She coifs her hair and dons a more glamorous dress hoping to impress her husband. He does not notice. She feels helpless. She loses her grip on reality. She, and the audience, believes that Maxim is still in love with his dead wife Rebecca.
Hitchcock’s use of objects is an essential visual component throughout the film. The new Mrs. de Winter sees signs of Rebecca, the first Mrs. de Winter, everywhere throughout Manderley. Rebecca’s clothes still hang in her old closet. Rebecca’s monogrammed stationary and address book fill her old desk, emblazoned with the visually striking, scripted ‘R.’ When asked about Rebecca, the house manager describes her as “the most beautiful creature I ever saw.” Maxim de Winter attempts to move on with his new life and does not speak of Rebecca. The one character keeping Rebecca’s memory alive is the housekeeper Mrs. Danvers – a raven-clad figure of menace and intimidation.
The film concludes with a very dramatic and cinematic finale, highlighted by the importance of expressive objects. Upon learning the secret that Rebecca had cancer and took her own life, Mrs. Danvers loses all grip on reality. She decides to burn down Manderley and eradicate all memory of Rebecca. In a scene that prefigures a shot discussed below in Suspicion, Mrs. Danvers carries an illuminated candle through the dark house.  She uses the candle to start a raging fire that spreads across the estate and engulfs the mansion in flames. With fire burning all around, Hitchcock pushes in on Mrs. Danvers’s face displaying the countenance of an unhinged madwoman. In the film’s final shot, the camera tracks in on the flames to reveal one burning object: Rebecca’s distinctively scripted monogrammed ‘R.’ This shot will be echoed one year later at the conclusion of Citizen Kane, as that movie famously concludes with the burning of a single biographical heirloom.
Hitchcock’s many motivated camera movements equally establish Rebecca’s suspenseful style. Act One concludes with a scene where the future Mrs. de Winter reveals to her employer that she and Maxim are to be married. Hitchcock visually depicts her psychological state in a highly creative manner. In one of the movie’s first cinematic flourishes, the camera tracks away from her. She recedes in the frame, composed amongst the hotel room’s furnishings. Her image shrinks as she hears a warning about her new life. This transitional moment also serves as foreshadowing the difficulties of her new role in Manderley with the soon to be encountered Mrs. Danvers.
Is her paranoia justified? It is Hitchcock’s brilliant camera moves that keeps the viewer captivated. The film’s overall style darkens throughout Act Two and culminates in the fourteen-minute boathouse sequence between Mr. and Mrs. de Winter. On the surface, this Act Two Climax is a long dialogue scene featuring revelatory exposition. As Maxim tells the true story of Rebecca’s death, he also reveals his disdain for Rebecca. Hitchcock approaches this material in a unique fashion: neither showing a flashback, nor focusing on either character’s face. Instead, the camera drifts across the room. It pans to important symbols that subliminally recall the events of Maxim’s tale. Serving as a visual recreation of Rebecca’s final moments, this technique helps the audience believe Maxim’s story. It builds sympathy for him and liberates the new Mrs. de Winter from Rebecca’s ghost. Leonard Leff writes about this scene as a significant struggle Hitchcock encountered while adapting the source material to the big screen. He writes, “Hitchcock intended the effect to differ from the “old fashioned ‘flash back,’” and it does, for it dramatizes not the incident but a refraction of it in space and time. As scripted or even filmed, the scene might or might not have worked; it nonetheless represented Hitchcock’s attempt to advance beyond a conventional mise-en-scène in a work that appeared somewhat resistant to cinematic treatment.”[3]
Shortly following this confession, Act Two concludes with a vital exchange between Mr. and Mrs. de Winter. Flush with new knowledge about her husband’s true feelings, she is now older and wiser. She wears black, standing on equal footing with Maxim. Hitchcock uses a long take where Maxim acknowledges the new maturity in his wife. Finally, they kiss and the camera pulls back to show them locked together. This Act Two Climax differs greatly from the above mentioned Act One Climax where the camera pulls back to show Mrs. de Winter alone and isolated. She is no longer solitary or afraid. She has overcome her obstacles and has blossomed. 
Rebecca continues to influence many contemporary films. One recent example is Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan. Released in 2010, Black Swan features Natalie Portman in an Oscar-winning portrayal of an unhinged ballerina who or may or may not be terrorized by a rival dancer. Rebecca is also influential on my thesis film:  Magnolia Kane. The plot focuses on a character haunted by her lover’s previous wife. The style of several scenes will be replicated, including the use of sheer draperies to obscure characters. Similarly, the isolation of the protagonist within the frame, composing her to appear small and threatened within a large house will be a visual device employed throughout the film. Finally, the use of objects or “things” will be central to the story. As in many of Hitchcock’s films, objects play a central role within Rebecca. Leonard Leff refers to this when he says, “’Things’ still predominate, from the telephone in the cottage and the bones of a cold piece of chicken to Manderley itself. But unlike thirties Hitchcock, the Rebecca screenplay links the cool, stable surfaces of ‘things’ to the perturbed characters’ desires and fears.”[4] In Magnolia Kane, such “things” connected to characters’ motives include garden shears, a condiment knife, and an antique tea set.

Suspicion
            Suspicion is a classic thriller once again dominated by a captivating Joan Fontaine. Her performance this time, however, proved to be an Oscar-winner. Released one year after Rebecca, Suspicion tells a similar tale of a timid woman whose sensational imagination overpowers her reason. It is told through a subjective technique, where all scenes and actions are shown from the main character’s point-of-view.
            Hitchcock continuously embraced the subjective technique. He compared it with objective shooting in his 1972 interview with Charles Thomas Samuels. He said, “The objective treatment, however, is also used when necessary; but for me, the objective is merely an extension of the theater because you are a viewer of the events that take place in front of you, but you are not necessarily in the mind of the person. Subjective shooting puts the audience in the mind of the character.”[5]
Suspicion’s subjectivity centers on Lina Aysgarth, a woman who falls in love, marries, and soon fears a potentially murderous husband. Lina is introduced as an intelligent, independent woman. When she meets handsome playboy Johnnie Aysgarth (Cary Grant) she throws caution to the wind and begins a relationship with the charming, yet constantly broke Johnnie. Lina’s father depicts Johnnie as “wild” with a notorious reputation for cheating at cards. When Lina overhears her father describing her as having “intellect and fine-solid character,” Lina rebels and immediately kisses Johnnie after previously rejecting him. Lina succumbs to her passion rather than the common sense and wisdom of her family.
Much of Suspicion’s point-of-view is filtered through Lina’s overactive imagination. As the film progresses, Lina and Johnnie get married, yet his strange behavior continues. Lina at first ignores the compounding fears when Johnnie loses his job, lies about it, and amasses large gambling debts.  It becomes more certain, through facts and witnesses, that Johnnie is undeniably a broke gambling addict. Lina even decides to leave him and writes a farewell letter. Yet she still loves him and admits, “I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried.” Aside from the financial concerns, Johnnie does not threaten Lina in any dangerous way. She decides to stay by his side and help him persevere. The turning point occurs when Johnnie enters into a real estate development deal with his friend Beaky as a scheme to pay off his debts. Lina quickly sees Johnnie’s true intention, which prompts Johnnie to caution her to not meddle in his affairs. Lina’s imagination again becomes overactive and she continues suspecting Johnnie of wicked intentions. Ultimately, in the film’s final scene, Johnnie explains that he never wanted to hurt Lina and, if anything, would only harm himself. Whether he is to be believed or not, the movie ends with Lina’s point-of-view that all is well. They drive off together with Lina, and the audience, no longer suspicious of Johnnie.
The suspenseful and menacing tone is established early in the story. Lina and Johnnie’s first date is presented in a classic Hitchcockian fashion, framing the shot in a misleading composition where the viewer sees a potentially violent act. The couple stands atop a hill during a windy day. The music swells in a dramatic climax. The couple struggles. Their tussle is not violent, but rather Johnnie’s attempt at a kiss. Lina also suspects a nefarious motive as she fights off his advances. Johnnie replies with a telling line, reflecting the audience: “Now what did you think I was trying to do: kill you? Nothing less than murder could justify such violent self-defense.”  This sets the tone for the entire story where Lina never knows for certain about Johnnie’s true motivation.
Soon after this moment, Beaky is mysteriously killed. Lina considers Johnnie as the prime suspect. The tone turns darker as Lina believes Johnnie of not only murdering his friend, but also plotting her own murder. Lina learns that Johnnie inquired about her life insurance policy. This detail is open-ended, yet allows Lina to infer murderous intent.
This apprehensive tone is brilliantly illustrated through the mise-en-scène at a dinner party. Lina and Johnnie sit around a table with a famous mystery author, and Johnnie and Lina are framed on opposite ends. They discuss a novel where the murderer uses an untraceable poison. Johnnie shows avid interest in the topic, openly discussing poison and the possible happiness of murderers. This contributes to Lina’s deepening fear, which culminates in a subsequent conversation with the author. At this point, the author confides to Lina that Johnnie has been pestering the author for secrets about murders and motivations, most of which center on the untraceable poison.
Hitchcock employs many symbolic objects as visual clues that help Lina suspect Johnnie. In one pivotal scene during a game of Anagrams (Scrabble), Lina focuses on the tiles to construct the words “doubt” and “murder.” As Lina’s gaze drifts from her spelling of “murder” to Johnnie’s face to a picture of the cliff-side location of the real estate deal, Lina has her one and only hallucination. These objects trigger a vision of Johnnie murdering Beaky by pushing him off the cliff.  As she imagines Beaky falling to his death, Lina panics and faints.
            The film’s climax features one of Alfred Hitchcock’s most signature shots – which also involves a creative depiction of an everyday object. While Lina is sick in bed, Johnnie carries a glass of milk up to her room. Hitchcock creates the suspicion that the milk is poisoned. To draw attention to the glass, he devised an intricate visual trick. He told Truffaut, “I put a light right inside the glass because I wanted it to be luminous. Cary Grant’s walking up the stairs and everyone’s attention had to be focused on that glass.”[6] This object, lighted in a hyper-real style, adds a haunting, eerie presence that heightens the tension.
Suspicion’s important camera moves are reserved for the most climatic scenes. Once again, the moment Johnnie carries the glass of milk represents the story’s highest point of suspense. The camera sweeps up the stairs in an excellent use of motivated movement. As stated above, Johnnie is shrouded in darkness and the glass is illuminated in bright white light. This builds the suspense as the camera moves up the stairs with Johnnie. The viewer’s attention focuses on the milk, linking it to the untraceable poison mentioned earlier. At this moment Lina completely surrenders to the idea of her husband’s murderous intent. She refuses to touch the milk, and is never known for sure whether it was poisoned or not.
Suspicion has inspired countless wife-in-peril thrillers. A most recent example is David Fincher’s Gone Girl. Released in 2014, Gone Girl is lead by Rosamund Pike’s Oscar-nominated performance as the terrified yet deceptive wife. Her husband, played by Ben Affleck, is portrayed as a lying, cheating character most likely to have murdered his wife. The plot, however, spins a tangled web of surprises and deceptions. For Magnolia Kane, Suspicion is influential in many areas. The unreliable lover, framed in a dominating manner will plant doubt within the audience. The subjective point-of-view, showing each event through the protagonist’s perspective, is also Magnolia Kane’s point-of-view. Finally, the prominent use of “things” to link the psychological to the visual will once again be magnified. Unlike the glass of milk that proved to be harmless, the antiques in Magnolia Kane will be more impactful.

Notorious
            In Notorious, Ingrid Bergman’s portrayal of Alicia Huberman is a complex display of confidence and fear that remains mesmerizing after seventy years. Released in 1946, the movie is an intricate tapestry of undercover agents and sexual betrayal set in the period immediately following World War II. The film uses an objective point-of-view, yet the emphasis is Bergman’s Alicia. She is introduced as the American daughter of a German spy. Unlike the Joan Fontaine characters, Alicia is a confident socialite. A risk-taker with a penchant for men and drinking, Alicia is also a strong independent woman. Most significantly, she takes an anti-Nazi, patriotic stance against her own father. This builds sympathy and establishes her as the clear protagonist.
   The central plot begins almost exclusively through Alicia’s point-of-view when she meets the American government agent Devlin (Cary Grant). He recruits her to help infiltrate a ring of ex-Nazis regrouping in South America, but before the mission starts, Alicia and Devlin fall in love. Unfortunately, the blissful times end at the Act One climax when Devlin tells Alicia about her new assignment: she must use sex as a weapon to win the trust of Alexander Sebastian – a high-ranking ex-Nazi who happens to be Alicia’s former-lover. The plot shifts and Alicia must now play a new role. She needs to be a convincing actress on a high-stakes stage of international espionage. Alicia cannot raise suspicions as she needs to permanently stay in character. When Sebastian proposes marriage, Alicia first consults Devlin for one final appeal for his love.
Sebastian’s discovery that Alicia and Devlin are collaborating leads to a dramatic shift in the story, where the viewer now sees events from Sebastian’s point-of-view. Hitchcock focuses exclusively on Sebastian, telling the story through his actions. He faces an imperative decision: what to do with the woman he loves. The suspense builds as the audience learns that Sebastian suspects Alicia, yet she is unaware of his discovery. As Act Two reaches its climax, Alicia is not shown. She remains off-screen for nearly six-and-a-half minutes. To build tension, Hitchcock instead shows the antagonists plotting against her. Unlike Suspicion, the protagonist is actually poisoned. This results in an exciting Act Three where Alicia slowly descends into certain death. The perspective shifts several times throughout the final act as the viewer sees the story from Devlin, Alicia, and in the film’s thrilling finale, Sebastian as he meets his fate.
The tone in Act One is conveyed through sexually-charged scenes including an infamous moment between Alicia and Devlin that has been described as the longest kiss in screen history.  This climactic reveal is loaded with unspoken feelings between Alicia and Devlin as neither one admits the truth. Devlin will not confess his love for her, allowing Alicia to give herself to another man. Alicia does not refuse the mission, accepting the role of sexual-spy. Because neither character concedes their true feelings, they each wound the other, setting Alicia on a dangerous, life-threatening course.
The suspenseful tone builds as Devlin searches Sebastian’s house while he knows that he could be discovered. When Devlin explores the wine cellar, he slowly nudges a wine bottle. The audience sees a close-up of the bottle teetering near the shelf’s edge. It finally shatters in an explosive, cacophonous burst. This shock is not used for cheap surprise; it is a crucial plot point that all characters need to either discover or protect. Inside the bottle is not wine, but Uranium Ore – a Cold War threat that elevates Alicia’s mission to one of global importance.
As Sebastian decides to confess to his mother, Hitchcock composes a very similar shot from Suspicion. Sebastian’s shadow appears in a lighted doorway. He then enters and slowly ascends the grand staircase. This is virtually the identical shot from Suspicion when Johnnie carries the glass of milk; both shots set the atmospheric tone for the approaching climax.
Once again, Hitchcock emphasizes many symbolic objects throughout Notorious. Near the Act One climax, a champagne bottle represents the lost love between Alicia and Devlin. It is the physical representation of their affection. It is shown in a before-and-after moment when Devlin buys champagne for a special night, yet forgets it at the government office when his superiors recruit Alicia for the mission. In that instant their love is broken and the central plot’s stakes are raised.
Next, an important wine bottle contains Sebastian’s hidden Nazi secret. It is first introduced at a dinner party when one of Sebastian’s cohorts panics in its presence. That same bottle then reveals the secret that Alicia is risking her life to learn. When Sebastian discovers its shattered remains, he literally pieces together the clues about Alicia and Devlin. This leads to his decision to poison Alicia.
The wine cellar key is the central object throughout Act Two. It becomes Alicia’s focal point and the mechanism to transfer her allegiance from Sebastian to Devlin. By taking an enormous risk and stealing it from her husband to give to Devlin, she shows her inner strength and true character. When she fails to return it to Sebastian’s key ring before he notices, the key serves as the final linchpin for Sebastian to turn against her.  
After Sebastian decides to murder Alicia, a coffee cup becomes the main object of attention. The distinctive shape of the cup and saucer is shown in the foreground in several pivotal scenes representing the poison and Alicia’s slow death. Through framing and focus, the coffee cup repeatedly occupies a central place within the frame through the beginning of Act Three. Ultimately it is the coffee cup that reveals the poison to Alicia when Dr. Anderson almost drinks from her cup. Alicia notices as Sebastian and his mother overreact to stop him.
Each of these essential objects are photographed prominently in the frame, exaggerated and highlighted. Yet these objects and their appearance only support the story, which Hitchcock referred to as straightforward. He told Truffaut, “Notorious was simply the story of a man in love with a girl who, in the course of her official duties, had to go to bed with another man and even had to marry him. That’s the story.”[7]
Another stylistic breakthrough in Notorious is Alfred Hitchcock’s fluid camera movements. Trademarks throughout his early films, several long-takes are featured here to highlight significant dramatic shifts. First is the very critical marriage proposal scene, where he covers the action with two single shots between Alicia and Devlin – despite the presence of other characters. In his interview with Truffaut, Hitchcock highlighted the importance of showing only their dialogue and reaction, rather than building the suspense of whether she will say yes or no. He says, “It has nothing to do with the scene; the public can simply assume that the marriage will take place. I deliberately left what appears to be the important emotional factor aside. . .The thing that really matters is that, against all expectations, the man she’s spying on has just asked her to marry him.”[8] Thus the director frames both characters in isolation for the scene’s duration.
Next is the scene between Sebastian and his mother immediately following the marriage proposal. This long take is the first time Sebastian’s perspective is highlighted without Alicia.  In a low-angle two-shot, Sebastian attempts to convince his skeptical mother to trust Alicia. The camera follows the entire conversation as Sebastian starts at one end of the room, crosses over then exits, all while his mother remains seated in the foreground – foreshadowing the power she will ultimately wield over Alicia’s fate.
One of Notorious’s most brilliant sequences occurs at a party thrown by the newlyweds. Alicia uses this opportunity to invite Devlin into her home to uncover Sebastian’s secrets. This sets the stage for a crucial, pressure-packed exchange. Alicia has stolen the key to Sebastian’s wine cellar and plans to give it to Devlin. It begins with a high-angle, long swooping shot of the party taken from an upstairs vantage. The camera booms down into the crowd, onto Alicia and Sebastian, and continues into a close-up of the wine cellar key in Alicia’s hand. Hitchcock explains this scene’s significance to Truffaut: “There again we’ve substituted the language of the camera for dialogue. In Notorious that sweeping movement of the camera is making a statement. What it’s saying is: ‘There’s a large reception being held in this house, but there is a drama here which no one is aware of, and at the core of that drama is this tiny object, this key.’”[9]
The excellent use of camera movement continues in the final bedroom scene between Devlin and Alicia. As he saves her from poisoning, Devlin finally confesses his true love. In yet another “long kiss,” Hitchcock covers the three-and-a-half minutes in three long takes, always keeping both characters in frame within the shot – unlike the singles during the marriage proposal outlined above. At this climactic instance, Hitchcock moves the characters from the bed, across the room, and then out the door all within a series of fluid camera moves.
The final cinematic movement appropriately concludes the movie. It is a tense, suspenseful moment as Sebastian’s fate is sealed. Once again, the perspective has shifted back to Sebastian. Devlin and Alicia have driven away, and Sebastian is left to explain to his German partners. More importantly, he must suffer the consequences which are left to the viewer’s imagination. The shot begins with Sebastian standing in a close-up. As he slowly turns and walks away, the camera remains stationary. It then tracks behind him as he walks up the steps and back to his house. He disappears within. In a spectacular end to the film, the camera continues moving forward until the front door closes and the film ends. 
With its visual panache and psychosexual themes, Notorious has influenced many films including David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive. Released in 2001, it featured a star-making performance by Naomi Watts as a struggling actress caught in the deceptive and depraved underbelly of Hollywood. Instead of secret agents, the characters in Mulholland Drive deceive rivals through show business dreams and illusions. While misleading others, they find they are also deceiving themselves – a left-turn from Notorious where the characters’ deceptions redeem themselves. Notorious has inspired Magnolia Kane through several ways including the use of poison as the murder method. More significantly, the overall story’s depiction of a female protagonist acting a role in a dangerous high-stakes game. This theme was a considerable factor in the development of Magnolia Kane and it likewise attracted Hitchcock to the original material. Leonard Leff quotes Selznick International executive Margaret McDonell saying, “Hitchcock would ‘very much like to do a story about confidence tricks on a grand scale in which Ingrid could play the woman who is carefully trained and coached in a gigantic confidence trick which might involve her marrying some man. He is fascinated with the elaborateness with which these things are planned and rehearsed and I gather that his idea would be to have the major part of the picture with the planning and training and the denouement more or less as the tag.’”[10] This approach, bold for 1946, continues to fascinate. Magnolia Kane aims to delve into this psychological characterization, updated to a modern world.
Conclusion
In three landmark films released over seventy years ago, Alfred Hitchcock’s filmmaking style created the standard for the suspense thriller genre. His movies, along with the subsequent generation of influenced films, have inspired the thesis film Magnolia Kane. The title character of Magnolia is a spirited, yet delicate protagonist in the tradition of the thrillers listed above. In addition, the point-of-view, suspenseful tone, use of objects, and camera movements enhances her psychological characterization. Ultimately it is the high-stakes, cat-and-mouse deception of the film’s protagonist that commands the viewer’s attention, drives the story, and establishes an emotional connection with the audience.


BIBLIOGRAPHY
Leff, Leonard J. Hitchcock and Selznick. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987.
Samuels, Charles Thomas. Encountering Directors. New York: Capricorn Books, 1972.
Truffaut, Francois. Hitchcock/Truffaut. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983.


[1] Alfred Hitchcock quoted in Leonard J. Leff, Hitchcock and Selznick (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), 45.
[2] Hitchcock quoted in Francois Truffaut, Hitchcock/Truffaut (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1983), 129-130.
[3] Leff, 46.
[4] Leff, 54.
[5] Hitchcock quoted in Charles Thomas Samules, Encountering Directors (New York: Capricorn Books, 1972), 233.
[6] Hitchcock quoted in Truffaut, 143.
[7] Hitchcock quoted in Truffaut, 168-169.
[8] Hitchcock quoted in Truffaut, 170-171.
[9] Hitchcock quoted in Truffaut, 116.
[10] Margaret McDonell quoted in Leff, 175.

Monday, October 1, 2018

Charlie Chaplin's performance in "City Lights"


Charlie Chaplin's City Lights from 1931 is considered one of the most romantic movies of all-time. It is also one of the most visually inventive comedies of the silent era. Chaplin’s acting performance establishes a highpoint in physical comedy that anchors the entire movie. Both his facial expressions and physical body movement interact with the film’s cinematography to create visual surges that are both hilarious and cinematic. 
The best example is the “At the Club” scene. This initiates with the cigar lighting sequence where Chaplin utilizes the power of the close-up camera to read his face in a series of expressive tics and gestures. The scene begins with a visual sight gag: lighting his friend’s cigar by mistake. When it continues to be lit and re-lit, the gag turns into a long running and frustratingly repetitive joke. Chaplin’s eyebrows arch, his cheeks twitch, and his mustache dances from left to right as he reacts to relighting the cigar. It is a well-choreographed and extensively rehearsed sequence of pantomime representative of the purely visual tradition of early cinema.

This tradition, with emphasis on expressions, would soon disappear with the rise of sound pictures, thus giving this sequence an added significance. Jokes quickly shifted to more verbal, dialogue-driven telling. As a future example, the famous “Who’s on First?” joke by Abbot and Costello would take influence from this style of repetitious, frustrating humor. Chaplin’s lighting and relighting without a word spoken will be supplanted by a verbal pattern of retelling a single line for comedic effect.
 
Throughout Chaplin’s cigar lighting sequence the camera remains static. It is one long, continuous take, lasting for just under one minute. This is the second shot in the “At the Club” scene, following a conventional establishing master shot. For this second angle, the camera moves in closer, yet remains motionless for the duration of the joke. This enables both actors to express all the humor themselves, without having any attention drawn away by elaborate camera moves or even rapid cutting. As a result, the cinematography here is as crucial to the scene’s humor as any other visual element.
 
The second part that utilizes Chaplin’s physical humor is the scene’s final dancing sequence. Unlike the cigar lighting section, Chaplin utilizes his entire body from head to toe while executing several elaborate and hilarious dance moves. The first moment occurs when the woman begins shaking her body in front of Chaplin. His whole body reacts; not by moving, however, but by not moving. He completely freezes. This is a hilarious contrast to his previous toe-tapping, hands-thumping, rhythmical response to the upbeat band music. He looks the woman up and down as the audience can only imagine what he might be thinking or about to do. She is swept away by another dancer, yet the seeds of arousal have been planted. When the next dancer appears in front of him, Chaplin leaps up and grabs her. He swings her around the dance floor, twirling her away in a series of pirouettes that imitate an ice skating duo. This physicality is a very visual movement along the z-axis of the cinematic frame, which adds a level of physical dynamism to the scene in contrast to the previous moments at the stationary dinner table. Chaplin concludes the scene when his dancing partner is replaced by the waiter, and the mismatched pair spiral down to the floor.
 
Once again, the cinematography plays a crucial role in this portion of the scene. When the band strikes up its first rousing notes, the camera tracks backwards from the trombone player and continues through the middle of the crowded dance floor. This very elaborate camera move is followed by a second intricate tracking shot of the dancers’ feet across the floor, then landing on Chaplin’s tapping toes. The camera then tilts up to reveal Chaplin’s fully expressive posture. The two elements are subsequently joined at this moment combining for the perfect apex to the scene: Chaplin’s full-bodied physical performance along with the elaborate cinematography. This intricate visual series occurs at the perfect moment to provide a rich texture to the “At the Club” scene’s climax, which is a cinematic technique utilized by filmmakers to this day.