The role of death in "Orpheus" struck me as downright morbid, which sounds like an obvious statement, but hear me out.
From early on, we get a sense that death is to be treated as a separate entity from life -- not the end of life, but the beginning to something else. This is portrayed by a series of signals. Early on with the death of Cegeste, I was immediately thrown. What caught me off guard was the way he was carried away, with no one supporting his sulking head. The gruesome way it bobbed reminded me that usually when a body is carried away, full support is given to the head. This alerted me that what I was watching was taking place in more than just the realm of life but the a realm of bizarre afterlife as well.
Death certainly serves as a character, not just literally, but as a prominent presence in the "Orpheus." I believe this to be linked to the idea of dreams, as we discussed in class, and I think the inconsistencies of afterlife in Orpheus, in both plot and and delivery -- "Death's" starkly shifting feelings toward Orhpeus, from hate to love, the inexplicable radio-voice of dead Cegeste that we hear while he is alive in the beginning of the film -- are meant to imitate the frequent inconsistencies of dreams.
As for the reading, I was intrigued by Naomi Greene's assertion that poets in "Cocteau's universe" have a power similar to homosexuals in Western society. That "he is a prodigous consumer of signs" and that "exclusion from the common code impels the frenzied quest" certainly relate to the poet who seeks greater meaning with words -- meaning of a different dimension even. "Orpheus" takes place in two dimensions, and we are left to interpret the signs of that bizzarre dimension as newcomers. This might be the reason why the meaning of "Orpheus" is said to really set in only after multiple views.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Psycho-thrilled
Vertigo the Thriller...it doesn't quite sound right. But add one word -- psychological -- and Vertigo has been properly described. A Psychological Thriller. There it is. So why does this work and not the other?
I do not come away from Vertigo feeling spooked, or exhilarated, or anything else that comes with the sensation of being thrilled. I do, however, come away feeling violated. My brain has been molested. Midge, when I saw your face painted onto the body of Carlotta, I felt betrayed. Vertigo is jarring in a way only a Thriller could be, but while the typical Thriller leaves me gasping for air, Vertigo had more of a dizzying effect. The former tries to surprise us, but we've signed up for this; in Vertigo, the elements of surprise work as unwanted invaders.
Laura Mulvey's explanation of the gazed-at woman in two other films can easily be applied to Madeleine in Vertigo: "She is isolated, glamourous, on display, sexualised. But as the narrative progresses she falls in love with the main male protagonist and becomes his property, losing her outward glamourous characteristics, her generalised sexuality, her show-girl connotations; her eroticim is subjected to the male star alone."
The conditions work exponentially; because she is isolated, she is his to behold. Scottie can have that creepy relationship with Madeleine/Judy, where every move she makes is for him to enjoy. If she were with others, especially another man, there would be too many distractions; his viewing would be diluted. In isolution, her glow brightens, she attains greater glamour, and she is certainly on display -- and eventually sexualized. When Judy actually falls in love with Scottie and the relationship is closer to mutual (though certainly still very unbalanced), he becomes even greedier towards her in an attempt to act on his sudden false sense of control. This is where things fall apart.
We expect so much. We expect the authorities to be running up the stairs of the church, when a nun is certainly the more practical option. Judy's reaction to the nun -- without ever seeing who is coming up the stairs she jumps to her death -- is bizarre. She was, of course, in a state of overwheliming shock, but why jump so prematurely? Even more bizarre, after witnessing the suicide, the nun makes a brief, snide remark before ringing the church bell -- business as usal.
Perhaps it's the shear mass of unexpected moments Hitchcock hands us, sometimes all at once, that make Vertigo more than just a Thriller. But it also seems that he has perfected the opposite. Whatever happens could not be farther away from what we expect. And that messes with out heads.
We expect so much. We expect the authorities to be running up the stairs of the church, when a nun is certainly the more practical option. Judy's reaction to the nun -- without ever seeing who is coming up the stairs she jumps to her death -- is bizarre. She was, of course, in a state of overwheliming shock, but why jump so prematurely? Even more bizarre, after witnessing the suicide, the nun makes a brief, snide remark before ringing the church bell -- business as usal.
Perhaps it's the shear mass of unexpected moments Hitchcock hands us, sometimes all at once, that make Vertigo more than just a Thriller. But it also seems that he has perfected the opposite. Whatever happens could not be farther away from what we expect. And that messes with out heads.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Harry Citrus
So we know how Harry Lime compares to Dracula, but here's a thought: How does Harry Lime compare to the Hairy Lemon? Narrative Film after 1940, I await your responses...
count-less thoughts on The Third Man
It wasn't until about 8:45 a.m. this morning that I realized I had forgotten to do this. So it's not in on time and this sadly doesn't "count" (get it? count-less?), but after seeing The Third Man I really did have a lot to say. While Sunday's distractions -- the Super Bowl and the Puppy Bowl -- may have slowed me down, today's the day I put that all behind me and write.
In class on Thursday we threw around questions of 'who are we supposed to like?' and 'is Harry Lime a hero? an anti-hero?' The film might lead us to like Harry Lime, or to want to like Harry Lime, but once I stepped away from it and considered the way he views his fellow man -- as ants -- I had no trouble hating the guy. Or, at least, knowing that I should.
I am sure that Carol Reed and Graham Greene meant for us to feel conflicted after watching this. Based on the setting of the film in post-WWII Vienna, I have a feeling this internal conflict was meant to inspire us to ask: Who do we follow? And should we?
These questions have everything in common with speculation that arose following WWII. While this will always be debated, one could say the Nazis went along with Hitler's plan to wipe out the Jewish people not because they themselves were evil, but because Hitler was a convincing leader. The Germans were desperate for new leadership to bring them out of economic recession and Hitler put on a show, offering strong promises of recovery they had trouble saying no to. This could have been Reed and Greene's way of looking at it, and The Third Man seems to remind and warn of us the dangers of having our minds tricked. To give in to our instinct to root for Lime based on how he looks to us, and how his character works within our expectations, might be easy enough, but this is only a temporary conviction for most due to the menacing nature of Harry Lime's actions -- few crimes are worse than intentionally killing sick children to turn a profit.
The deceptive theatrics are not limited to Harry Lime. In the scene when the Russian sector villagers think Holly is a killer, they are lead by not only their convictions, but a screaming infant. He chases after Lime at a slow, doddling pace -- the others could easily have surpassed the infant but the filmmakers choose to let him lead the pack. I believe this is to stress the idea that people will follow the most unreasonable leader, even one with a child's mind, if he's loud enough.
The Third Man presents our senses with a puzzling story. Reed and Greene put us in the passenger seat with a few crazed drivers at the wheel. One driver, Lime, crashes the car out of his own recklessness and dies, and as survivors we can't stop asking ourselves why we ever got in the car with him in the first place. Reed and Greene challenge us to look past the theatrics and consider a man's actions before setting foot in his car. At the same time, they remind us just how big a challenge that can be.
In class on Thursday we threw around questions of 'who are we supposed to like?' and 'is Harry Lime a hero? an anti-hero?' The film might lead us to like Harry Lime, or to want to like Harry Lime, but once I stepped away from it and considered the way he views his fellow man -- as ants -- I had no trouble hating the guy. Or, at least, knowing that I should.
I am sure that Carol Reed and Graham Greene meant for us to feel conflicted after watching this. Based on the setting of the film in post-WWII Vienna, I have a feeling this internal conflict was meant to inspire us to ask: Who do we follow? And should we?
These questions have everything in common with speculation that arose following WWII. While this will always be debated, one could say the Nazis went along with Hitler's plan to wipe out the Jewish people not because they themselves were evil, but because Hitler was a convincing leader. The Germans were desperate for new leadership to bring them out of economic recession and Hitler put on a show, offering strong promises of recovery they had trouble saying no to. This could have been Reed and Greene's way of looking at it, and The Third Man seems to remind and warn of us the dangers of having our minds tricked. To give in to our instinct to root for Lime based on how he looks to us, and how his character works within our expectations, might be easy enough, but this is only a temporary conviction for most due to the menacing nature of Harry Lime's actions -- few crimes are worse than intentionally killing sick children to turn a profit.
The deceptive theatrics are not limited to Harry Lime. In the scene when the Russian sector villagers think Holly is a killer, they are lead by not only their convictions, but a screaming infant. He chases after Lime at a slow, doddling pace -- the others could easily have surpassed the infant but the filmmakers choose to let him lead the pack. I believe this is to stress the idea that people will follow the most unreasonable leader, even one with a child's mind, if he's loud enough.
The Third Man presents our senses with a puzzling story. Reed and Greene put us in the passenger seat with a few crazed drivers at the wheel. One driver, Lime, crashes the car out of his own recklessness and dies, and as survivors we can't stop asking ourselves why we ever got in the car with him in the first place. Reed and Greene challenge us to look past the theatrics and consider a man's actions before setting foot in his car. At the same time, they remind us just how big a challenge that can be.
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