Cinematic Modernism

Ozu and Yates

2009-06-04T06:18:00.000-07:00

While watching Ozu’s Tokyo Story, there were two main points that intrigued me. The slow pace of the film was in stark contrast to many of the films we have viewed this semester. Previous weeks shocked us with the roar of trains and people and even King Kong himself. The tranquility of Tokyo Story brought us something quite opposite of the worlds we have been presented with over the course of the semester.

Tokyo Story is different in a variety of ways. Aside from the change in pace, this film also brings us directly into the domestic, personal sphere. Most of the film is shot with low angles, orienting us to the inner workings of the lives of the main characters. One of my favourite scenes was when the father came into the kitchen and went to go sit at what appeared to be a kitchen table. It wasn’t until he actually crossed his legs and sat on the floor that I realised the use of low angles had tricked my eyes in an ingenious way.

Thinking about Tokyo Story in terms of a foray into the private, domestic world struck me as similar to the 1950s suburbia in America. I recently read Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road (no, I haven’t seen the movie yet… despite your thoughts on the film, I highly recommend the novel) and although the plotlines between these two pieces are polar opposites, I still could not help but draw similarities between them.

In the world of Revolutionary Road, Yates draws us into the world of suburbia in the outskirts of New York City and focuses on the lives of a couple. The novel is written with beautiful eloquence, describing in details the landscape and private space in which the novel’s primary focus, the Wheelers, live. Yates’ fluently written novel gives the reader great visual depth and allows them to see a side of modernity that until this point in time has often been hidden from the outsider.

Throughout the course we have discussed the idea of the screen in-depth. Both Revolutionary Road and Tokyo Story use the concept of a screen in that these works allow us to see right through this screen, into their windows and see the private aspects of their lives that are otherwise hidden from the public eye. This view inside their private world really gives the audience the capability of understanding the characters completely.

Furthermore, the pace of both Tokyo Story and Revolutionary Road share a similarity in my eyes. For a good portion of both works, the plot move slowly forward, inching towards the climax as opposed to racing down the train tracks. In one of my favorite lines of the novel, Yates writes, “our ability to measure and apportion time affords an almost endless source of comfort” (213). Although the pace of these works is not alarming, I feel that this only adds to the intensity. It leaves you with the feeling that something could happen at any moment or that each moment is contingent on the next one. For me, Tokyo Story was able to tell its tale through the slowing down time. Who says that all films need to be rushed? I think it says a little bit about life. I think if you’re constantly rushing and take in moments without concentrating on what they mean, you lose an important aspect of life. Perhaps that is what Ozu is trying to comment on this film. Perhaps he wants people to think about looking at life from a slow perspective and really seeing life when you’re not whizzing through it.

And for good measure:
Yates, Richard. Revolutionary Road. London: Vintage Books, 2007

Ayn Rand and Jonah Lehrer

2009-05-18T21:32:00.000-07:00

Sitting in class today, I could not help but be fascinated by the ideals and theories put forth by Ayn Rand. As I so eloquently stated, the only opinion I have ever received about her work is this author is a “political nut.” But as I’ve read parts of the The Fountainhead, viewed parts of the movie, and researched her works and philosophies on Wikipedia and other sites, I have become much more aware of the intricacy involved in the work she has created.

In one of her most famous novels, Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand writes, "my philosophy, in essence, is the concept of man as a heroic being, with his own happiness as the moral purpose of his life, with productive achievement as his noblest activity, and reason as his only absolute." The theory of Objectivism, which she expresses in both The Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged, consists of the notion that reality exists exclusively from consciousness and the purpose of life is based on an individual's happiness and self-interest; nothing is more important than what is desired by a particular individual. Objectivism seeks is ascertain the importance of individualism.

As I read further on into the theory of Rand, I was reminded of an author I recently discovered named Jonah Lehrer. Lehrer is an American author who recently published the book How We Decide which focuses on the decision making process and the intertwining of rational and emotional thought. While Rand believes that reason and logic are they key to surviving the world in which we live, Lehrer takes a different approach. He sees the connection between the rational and emotional brain and how difficult it can be to separate these two. Making decisions is not based solely off of rational thought -- emotions almost always come into play, whether we are conscious on the effect they have us or not.

In his interview on the consistently funny Colbert Report, Lehrer discusses how emotions commonly affect rational thought. He uses the example of the pilot who recently managed to crash land a plane full of people into the Hudson River and survive the incident with zero fatalities. Lehrer points out that if he had let his fear make his decisions than the "miracle" on the Hudson would have had a much more disastrous outcome. Learning to control our emotions is a pinnacle part of making rational decisions, but controlling the ones located in our unconscious proves to be chronically difficult.

Becoming the purely rational man that Rand advocates would be extremely hard. I cannot help but think if everyone were to act only for their own best interests, this world would internally combust. There are more reasons for performing certain actions than because it's what you want. The people that are important to our lives have to come into the equation sometimes. I'm not saying that we should only do what others want, but I firmly believe that a person cannot survive by being concerned with themselves and no one else.

Ever since I discovered the work of Lehrer literally 48 hours ago, I've been researching his views and scouring over old entries from his blog. I just stumbled upon an entry which contemplates the process of watching a movie, a topic I automatically connected back to this class. While he focuses more on recent films, such as Pulp Fiction, which offer a distorted, incoherent take on film making, I couldn't help but laugh when he writes, "this, after all, is why people go to the movie theater: for release, for a 120 minutes of cognitive vacation." If anything, Cinematic Modernism has not been a cognitive vacation. Many people watch movies simply for the pleasure aspect, but we've managed to analyse and pick apart films until they're merely bones. We're doing our best to act as Rand wanted us to and strictly use the rational sides of our brains to determine what these films are trying to say. But it's hard to look at these films from an objective viewpoint -- almost all films will elicit some kind of emotional response that will affect our response and interpretation of what's occurring on the screen.

For more from Jonah Lehrer, who I love for his scientific insight, his simple eloquence, and the fact that he has a pretty sweet name, you can visit his blog The Frontal Cortex. Even if you are not in love with all things psychology like I am, I think there's something on there for all to enjoy. Thanks for reading!

Valencia and Joseph Cornell

2009-04-07T04:01:00.000-07:00

This may be a little backwards, but for my next blog entry I’ve decided to talk about Rose Hobart and the discussion that ensued about fan videos. If they are being honest with themselves, everyone can say there is someone that they idolise. They memorise their birthday, collect pictures of them, and dedicate their desktop background to them. Okay, maybe not everyone is to that point of “obsession,” but the point is that people do feel personal connections to certain people in the media. For me, it’s a small pop punk band from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania named Valencia. I was introduced to their music last year and fell in love instantly. Their immense talent and passion for music is something that I am constantly seeking, and I feel a connection to their music and the message they aim display. I have been to several of their shows and met them on a couple occasions, but they still hold this ethereal quality. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed, just that I have a strong penchant for the music they produce and are willing to express it to anyone who asks.

Reading that over, it all sounds so creepy. What would they think if they saw this blog entry? The eerie notion is, in retrospect, the reason fan videos have gained such a bad reputation. The taboo of voyeurism is heavily prevalent in today’s society and most people are perpetually frightened by the idea of being obsessed over or stalked. Even this week’s edition of The Bull has an article about “the relationship between fans, celebrities, and fansites.” The article is accompanied by “The Bull’s Top 3 Wackiest Fan Stories,” which tells hilarious tales of what lengths some fans will go to in order to be recognized or appreciated by their object of their affection. But the truth is most fans are harmless. They just feel a passion about something – movies, music, art – and want to create something in tribute to the very thing that is the source of such a strong emotional reaction.

Joseph Cornell is no exception. He was a man who tended to isolate himself from other people. His intense shyness made it impossible for him to carry on any type of romantic relationship, although he was attractive to women. Instead of maintaining relationships, he used his creative instincts to express himself. Although his creation of Rose Hobart could be construed as over the top, it was his creative outlet for expressing the love he had for this actress and the work she did. I cannot say for sure, but I interpret Cornell’s creation of Rose Hobart as a strong tribute to the work of an actress he greatly appreciated.

Our class discussion revolving around fan videos kept reminding me of a recently developing phenomenon in the social sciences known as “parasocial relationships.” With the expansion of media, from television to the internet, this phenomenon has become increasingly popular since the mid-20th century. Some people develop “friendships” based on the illusory interaction they share with people they see on television, such as celebrities and fictitious characters. The viewer creates a one-way bond with these people and feels as if they truly know them. The growing popularity of this concept may have contributed the bad reputation given to fans everywhere. There are obviously extreme cases – as there are in any situation – but fans in general should still be appreciated for the things they do and create as a tribute to the people they admire. Some legitimacy still exists between fans and they things they do, say, and create otherwise, why would Joseph Cornell’s Rose Hobart have been deemed, “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant by the US National Film Registry in 2001? He had to have done something right.

Rutmann and Maslow

2009-04-07T03:06:00.001-07:00

So this is my first entry for the Cinematic Modernism blog. Before I start, I want to let you guys in on a little secret: at heart, I’m a huge psychology nerd. Discussion of behaviourism and fixed ratio reinforcement schedules makes me happy. Although some people think psychology is a load of crap, I find it’s one of the best ways to explain the behaviour of the confusing and intricate species called humans. You may wonder why I’m bothering to tell you this, but I figure (1) you should know a little something about me and (2) you need to understand where I’m coming from. Many of my blog entries may allude to some psychological theory and I want you to know that I just can’t help it; My dominant response is to analyse.

Anyways, now that I’m done rambling I guess I should discuss what I came here to do. Although I love watching movies, I have a tendency to miss out on many movies that are deemed “important” by the rest of the world. For example, for a girl who goes to school thirty minutes North of Boston, Massachusetts, most people are appalled that I have yet to view The Departed (oh yeah, did I mention I’m from the States?).

This class is giving me a taste of a movie genre I’m definitely not familiar with. While I love older films, such as Charade and Double Indemnity, I am at a loss when it comes to modernist, silent films. So far, the movies have been intriguing. When viewing Berlin, Symphony of a City, I was struck by the banality depicted. To me, the anthology of events displayed throughout this film could be thrown into any city, during any time period, and be accepted as typical.

The act that struck me the most was Act 4, with the beginning of the lunch hour. There is approximately two minutes of scenes depicting people from all walks of life consuming lunch. Again, I couldn’t help but notice how prosaic of a task this was. We all eat lunch, every day; who cares to see a bunch of people doing the same thing we are so intimately familiar with? I figured there had to be a much bigger picture that I was missing out on with my first interpretation of this scene of the film.

In my typical psychological mindset, the first thing that came to my mind was Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The first step of this pyramid focuses on the physiological needs of humans such as food, water, shelter, and clothing. Maslow’s idea is that without fulfilling this first tier, humans have no hope of living a fulfilled, or actualized, life. So by displaying the consumption of food in this film, Rutmann is fulfilling that need. I get the impression that by adding in this scene, Rutmann is giving the subjects of the film, though they remain nameless and anonymous, the ability to become self-actualized. This may be of a stretch… but it makes sense in my head.

But as I made my way up Maslow’s pyramid, I realized that after steps one and two, two being the need for social security, this lunch scene pretty much filters away from the rest of the steps. Billy Stevenson in his notes on the film writes that there is a “common denominator of isolation” in this section of the film. Most characters during this film are alone, quickly eating their meal so they can get back to work on time. Going back to Maslow’s pyramid, all the people involved in this part of Act 4 fail to come close to fulfilling their need for long and belonging. Any sort of companionship displayed seems to be one of convenience, not one that displays appreciation or belonging. Perhaps we become so focused on fulfilling our most basic, physiological need that we lose the opportunity to take this lunch break as a time for socialisation, enjoyment, and relaxation.

Berlin, Symphony of a City is an intriguing film that properly displays the triteness of every day life. On further inspection, I’ve found that although I cannot be sure, it appears that Rutmann is trying to make the point that maybe the key to life is finding the good and surprising moments within the banality of life. If we all succumb to the daily routine of life and focus solely on our basic needs, what is the point of living? Perhaps the message behind this film is to open our eyes and look for those things that make each day unique.