Film "grey" or Film "off-white": Film Noir

As a new student of film, I have a confession to make: I had not heard of film noir until last week. Embarrassing? Yes. But there is no time to learn like the present.

You cannot talk about film noir without first talking about the idea of genre. Thomas Schatz defines genre in his article "Film Genres" as a type of tacit contract between filmmaker and audience that promises a certain type of plot, character, setting, style and so on. A genre film honors this contract and delivers to the audience the type of film they wanted and expected. Schatz delves deeper into the idea of genre and offers this keen observation: "The determining, identifying feature of a film genre is its cultural context, its community of interrelated character types whose attitudes, values, and action flesh out dramatic conflicts inherent within that community." The community is not a physical location on a map, but rather a "network of characters, actions, values, and attitudes." To sum this all up nicely, "A genre represents a range of expression for filmmakers and a range of experience for viewers." Genre provides a framework for both filmmakers and audiences to operate within.

With all that being said, Paul Schrader says in his article "Notes on Film Noir" that film noir is not a genre. "It is not defined...by conventions of setting and conflict but rather by the more subtle qualities of tone and mood...Film noir refers to those Hollywood films of the forties and early fifties that portrayed the world of dark, slick city streets, crime and corruption." I'm going to disagree with Schrader and his idea of film noir not being its own genre. Film noir is very much a product of its time; right after World War II and year of Allied propaganda, everyone was eager to take a less optimistic view of the American way of life. Throw in the red scare, impending Cold War and McCarthyism, and it is not hard to see why Hollywood took a turn for the darker side. This is the cultural context and "community" that film noir works within. It is the framework for the ranges of expression and experience for film noir filmmakers and audiences to work within.

Out of the Past (1947, directed by Jacques Tourneur) is a perfect embodiment of film noir. Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum) has settled into a small town out west as a gas station owner trying to avoid his past. One day, though, his old partner-in-crime Joe (Paul Valentine) tracks him down and orders him to go see the powerful gangster Whit Sterling (Kirk Douglas). Jeff had been on an assignment for Whit go so south and retrieve his mistress Kathie (Jane Greer), but Jeff ran off with Kathie, and Kathie ended up leaving Jeff. Jeff has been hiding ever since and retells the story of his past to his new love interest Ann (Virginia Huston) as he drives to meet Whit. Once he arrives, Whit gives him a new assignment that Jeff quickly realizes will catch him in a frame for murder. Crossing Whit again will not be so easy.

Out of the Past uses several conventions typical to its film noir genre throughout the movie. The main and most obvious one is its use of lighting. Expressionist lighting burst onto the scene in the film noir genre - gone is the brilliant glow around the protagonist from the 1930s and in its place are shadows. Schrader notes that the protagonist, instead of casting a shadow, is now in the shadows. The light affects more than just the characters in the scene-the lighting of the entire set is important as well. "Light enters the dingy rooms of film noir in such odd shapes-jagged trapezoids, obtuse triangles, vertical slits-that one suspects the windows were cut out with a pocketknife," Schrader says, This use of lighting helps to create the fatalistic, hopeless mood that film noir thrives on. For example, after the murder Whit desired had been completed, Kathie and Jeff appear to form an alliance and rekindle their love while trying to find out how to get themselves out of this tangled web. There is a close up of them kissing against the wall, but their faces are obscured by shadows. Kathie's face is completely cloaked in the shadows-the light shines past her but does not touch her face or lips. This could be foreshadowing for the remaining plot twists in this roller-coaster of deception.

As said before, film noir focuses more on expressionism of tone and mood, so it uses conventions such as interior monologues to properly set the scene. When Ann and Jeff are driving in the car, Jeff triggers a flashback to his first encounter and love affair with Kathie and narrates the whole series of events for us. We see action happening on screen-for instance, we see Jeff sitting in a bar in Mexico or walking around the hotel-but the real action is in the words he is saying. Another mood setting convention is the genre's use of music. The music crescendos in times of suspense and guides the way viewers should feel. For instance, when Kathie unexpectedly shoots one of Jeff's former partners, the music starts up instantly. And when Jeff later arrives at the building where the murder will take place, the camera zooms in on the man's name on the directory on the wall and the music simultaneously goes "da-da-da." (As a side note, this film’s use of music differs greatly from Caché and Cinema Paradiso’s use of music, two films I discussed in previous blog posts). Both the interior monologues and the music serve the same purpose-to convey the all-important expression of the mood of the film.

To close, I am going to quote Paul Schrader once again: "Perhaps the overriding theme noir theme: a passion for the past and present, but also a fear of the future. Noir heroes dread to look ahead, but instead try to survive by the day, and if unsuccessful at that , they retreat to the past. Film noir's techniques emphasize loss, nostalgia, lack of clear priorities, and insecurity, then submerge these self-doubts in mannerism and style." I look forward to more thoroughly exploring this genre in the week to come.

"From Rags to Riches, It is Your Destiny"

In a fairytale rise from the streets of India to atop a potential gold mine, Hollywood is injected with flairs of Bollywood in a clash of crime, drama and romance that blurs cultural lines in Slumdog Millionaire. Regardless of heritage or social status, all audiences can relate to this tale of redemption, complete with love, loss, despair and, above all, unflinching hope.

What if you were punished for doing everything right? This is the fate of Jamal Malik (Dev Patel), an Indian teen from the slums of Mumbai, who is one question away from taking home the 20 million rupees grand prize on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire? The police, however, arrest him under suspicion of cheating–how else could a tea server in a call center with no education advance farther than any doctor or lawyer? While the police are trying to torture the truth out of him, Jamal takes the audience back through his past with a series of flashbacks to show how he knew the answer to every single question. From his journey as an orphan relying on his somewhat untrustworthy older brother Salim (Madhur Mittal) to close encounters with local gangs and his first experience with love and heartbreak with a fellow orphan Latika (Freida Pinto), it becomes clear that it is fate that has landed Jamal in the hot seat, and this was all meant to be.

Slumdog is a turn to the (somewhat) lighter side for director Danny Boyle–the game show scenes in this non-linear plot bring a slight reprieve to the horrifying events of Jamal’s past. Mr. Boyle, most famous for his 1996 portrayal of heroin addicts in Trainspotting and for 2002’s science fiction horror hit, 28 Days Later, draws on his past work for influence. A revolting toilet scene from Trainspotting reappears, and gruesome acts committed by the gang leaders on the young orphans will remind audiences of the horror from 28 Days Later. The motif of extreme suffering exists across all three films, but where the other two leave doubts about the fate of the main characters, Slumdog ties up nicely and leaves the audience satisfied with the final scene.

From the very beginning of the film, the stakes are sky high. In the opening scene, a close up of Jamal against a red-and-orange hued background brings the audience in tight to the action. A puff of smoke is followed by a shockingly intense slap, and a gruff voice demands for a name before the screen cuts to black. The rest of the movie continues with this full-throttle intensity reminiscent of Jan de Bont’s 1994 action thriller Speed. You will not be able to tear your eyes away from the screen.

All the technical aspects of the film weave together to enhance the narrative’s meaning. Mr. Boyle and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle do a fantastic job of giving the audience a front row seat for all of the action with the way the camera frames each scene. In the beginning, right after the close-up-and-slap sequence, the camera alternates between Jamal and his interrogator to capture the interrogation in the clammy cramped police station. The camera shoots Jamal upside down and to an angle, giving the viewers a sense of his disorientation. Whenever there is a long take of a chase scene through the unpaved city streets (which happens frequently as young Jamal and Salim are constantly on the run), the camera bounces and shakes along with the running boys, making it seem as if the audience is running through the streets with them. All of the flashbacks open up with wide establishing shots to show the full layout of the area. The first flashback starts at street level and then keeps pulling further and further away to show just how far the slums reverberate from the city. The shots of the piles of rotting trash and dusty debris that populate the slums show rather than tell how rough Jamal had it growing up, and this is repeated once again when the mothers and children were doing their wash in the dirty river. The shots are so realistic you can almost smell the decaying filth the boys are forced to live in. By bringing the audience so close that they can feel the dirt and sweat sticking to the characters, Mr. Mantle brings the audience inside the film and provides the tools for the viewers to completely empathize with Jamal’s plight and live vicariously through him.

As with the camera, the color design compliments and strengthens the narrative’s main points. The color scheme of the costumes and sets reflect the state of urban India. Throughout most of the movie, all clothing, people, and places have muted tones, like they are covered with a layer of kicked-up street dust. What should be vibrant red and blue Sarees come off as pallid. Mr. Boyle even subdues the subtitles, replacing the typical harsh, white typecast found at the bottom of the screen with camouflaged words set against background colors displayed in a variety of locations on-screen that help integrate them into the action instead of distracting from it. In the film’s final scene, the switch to light vibrant colors gives a perfect contrast to the events of the past.

The list of strong elements in the film goes on and on. The Oscar-nominated music falls right into place, offering a great mix of mainstream American and traditional Indian. Sound Designer and Editor Glenn Freemantle hits each note perfectly, and the original Indian music composed by A.R. Rahman keeps the film true to its roots. The small details such as the Polaroid camera and the Coca-Cola bottles that fascinate the young children are the icing on the cake that speaks volumes about the quality of life. Every single element, thematic and technical, reaches out to each demographic in attempts to draw the entire audience into this fairytale story that reminds us that dreams can, in fact, come true.

Response to Wynn Hunter's film blog

For some reason, I am unable to comment below Wynn Hunter's blog post titled "007 and the Pleasure of the Male Gaze. I recommend reading it because it is very well written. Here is my response to it:

Your example clip for how the female body is fragmented in fetishized in parts is also a great example of voyeurism. The male in this scene is acting as a voyeur; Ursula does not know he is watching and is intensely startled when she realizes he is. Right up until this point in the scene, the audience has undoubtedly been identify with the male gaze (as you suggest they do) and was, in fact, using her as a fetish. But when the man surprisingly makes himself known, the audience is jolted right along with Ursula. Christian Metz expresses why the audience is jolted in his book, The Imaginary Signifier : In the theatre, as in domestic voyeurism, the passive actor (the one seen), simply because he is bodily present, because he does not go away, is presumed to consent, to cooperate deliberately." But since Ursula is not actually present (only her picture is on the screen), we do not have her consent to be watching. Therefore, because we are sewn into the film, we are jolted when she notices us gazing. According to Metz, "in order to understand the film (at all), I must perceive the photographed object as absent, its photograph as present, and the presence of the absence as signifying. It does not matter that the actual women (and not just her picture) has caught us gazing, being voyeurs. The signifying photo of her presence is all the film needs to operate as a "pseudo-real" life occurrence.