End of Semester Summary

Blancanieves: 8/10
Blancanieves is probably my favorite film that we watched and discussed this semester, alongside Del Toro's El espinazo del diablo. Immaculately directed, Blancanieves shows there is still space for the art of silent film in contemporary cinema. The Andalusian spin on Snow White also breathes new life into a beloved, classic fairy tale.

Zero Dark Thirty: 5/10
I must admit that I was bored by Kathryn Bigelow's Zero Dark Thirty, but this doesn't surprise me. I was similarly bored by The Hurt Locker. I can appreciate that the film was well crafted, but this particular genre of film does nothing for me.

The Devil's Backbone: 7.5/10
I am a big fan of New Mexican Cinema. Guillermo del Toro's El espinazo del diablo is a fantastic film that brings a melancholy human side to the horror genre. While it may not compare to El laberinto del fauno, del Toro's most famous work, this film still has much to offer.

The Piano: 5/10
I appreciated the roles that colonialism, gender, and race played in this film. However, I am not always a big fan of period dramas. This film had a lot of symbolism and a really unique plot, so it's definitely worth watching at least once, but I don't think I'll revisit it after this class.

Do the Right Thing: 7/10
Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing is stylistically beautiful, but the pacing is a little off. It starts off incredibly slow, but it definitely ends with a bang.

El Topo: 3/10
I guess you could say that I just didn't "get" this movie. I am not an easily shocked or offended person, but I was a little taken aback by some of the visuals!

Seconds: 6/10
I'm a big fan of dystopian stories, so I thought Frankenheimer's Seconds was a decent film. It has a very intriguing plot and serves as a great social commentary for its time.

The Hitch Hiker: 5/10
If you take the film at face value, there is not much to it and it just gradually goes along just like the men in the car. When you observe all the different gender and sociocultural complexities, the film becomes a lot more interesting. Film noir with a twist.

Double Indemnity: 7/10
Double Indemnity is a classic film noir tale. I love the character of Phyllis Dietrichson – mostly because, for some reason, I am really drawn to evil women in movies.

M: 7/10
I'm not sure what did it for me, but I really enjoyed Fritz Lang's M. I thought it was interesting to see the criminal underworld go after the serial killer to keep the police and detectives away from their work.

Sherlock, Jr.: 5/10
I'm not a big fan of early cinema or slapstick comedy, but Buster Keaton's Sherlock, Jr. was surprisingly enjoyable.

Blancanieves

If it hadn't been for Michel Hazanavicius’ outstanding, award-dominating 2011 film The Artist, perhaps Pablo Berger's Blancanieves (2012) would have received more of the attention it deserves. The film earned critical acclaim, winning the Special Jury Prize at the San Sebastián International Film Festival and ten Goya Awards, the Spanish equivalent to the Oscars. Despite being Spain's 85th Academy Awards official submission to Best Foreign Language category, Blancanieves failed to be shortlisted. The film, based on the Brothers Grimm's classic fairy tale "Snow White," is genuinely enjoyable. Considering silent film is somewhat of a dead art, in the way that Sanskrit and Latin are dead languages, Blancanieves is a surprisingly brilliant film. Though there is no dialogue, the actors’ emotive faces are just as telling as words. There are occasional intertitles to express dialogue, but they’re few and far between. The fact that Blancanieves is so stimulating is a testament to the craft of director Pablo Berger, as well as the cast and crew. Despite harking back to a bygone era of film, Blancanieves turns out to be a simple yet remarkably great story even in 2013, a time in which most movies are filled to the brim with special effects and viewed with 3-D glasses. Blancanieves returns the audience to the nostalgia of truly going to the cinema.

Unlike the tale of Snow White that most audiences have become familiar with, Blancanieves allows us even greater insight into the titular character, otherwise known as Carmen (Macarena García). Her mother, Carmen de Triana (Inma Cuesta), died in labor. Her father Antonio Villalta (Daniel Giménez Cacho) is a famous torero who was left crippled after being mauled by a bull in the film's opening scenes. Carmen was raised by her grandmother (Ángela Molina) until her death. She is sent to live with her father and his wife at their grand estate. Maribel Verdú, known for her roles in Y tu mamá támbien (Alfonso Cuarón, 2001) and El laberinto del fauno (Guillermo del Toro, 2006), makes for a great wicked stepmother, this film's take on the evil queen. Encarna is ruthless; in one scene, she serves Carmen her pet chicken Pepe. She also has quirks of her own. Carmen spies Encarna and the butler Genaro engaged in some light sadomasochism. He is the one directed to have Carmen killed upon Villalta's death. Carmen later meets "los enanitos toreros" – the dwarf bullfighters – and becomes a bullfighting star of her own, but not before Encarna can intervene. The film ends on a more somber note than, for example, the Disney film Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937).

The Spanish setting of Blancanieves gives the tale a unique and refreshing spin. Set in 1920s Andalusia, the autonomous community of Spain in which bullfighting is still most popular, the film takes on all sorts of possibilities. This, of course, brings the torero motif into the picture, but also everything that comes with that. Carmen herself is the embodiment of Andalusian culture. There is the high-class nobility of bullfighting in her blood, as well as the Romani infuences of her mother. Not only is Carmen inspired by her father's legacy, but she is inspired by a single her mother recorded that has gypsy guitars, fingersnapping, handclapping, and a dance. This Spanish-flavored take on "Snow White" is a lot more pleasing than other remakes that came out in the same year, such as the Julia Roberts film Mirror, Mirror (Tarsem Singh, 2012) or the Kristen Stewart-starring Snow White and the Huntsman (Rupert Sanders, 2012) – although Charlize Theron made a great Evil Queen. Blancanieves is funny and sad, light-hearted and deep, a comedy and a drama that will win over both hopeless romantics and passionate cinephiles.

Female, but not Feminist: Gender in "Zero Dark Thirty"

While gender is not directly at the center of the 2012 motion picture Zero Dark Thirty, it plays an integral role in analysis of the film. The controversial film was directed by Kathryn Bigelow, whose other credits include 2009's The Hurt Locker. This film was lauded by contemporary critics and received a number of awards and nominations, including the Academy Award for Best Picture. Bigelow became the first and only female to receive an award for Best Director, ironically beating her ex-husband James Cameron (Titanic, Avatar). Much of the attention given to the film stemmed from the fact that it was a war film helmed by a female director, a rarity in Hollywood (not to discredit Bigelow's work).

Zero Dark Thirty recreates, or at least attempts to recreate, much of this success. Like The Hurt Locker, the film focuses on U.S. military operations. With Zero Dark Thirty, Bigelow controversially focuses on the 10-year manhunt for Osama bin Laden. The film was No. 1 at the Box Office and received five Academy Award nominations. Zero Dark Thirty is an example of a film with a "reverse gaze." That is, the movie does not employ the "male gaze," which puts the audience into the point of view of a straight male. Unlike The Hurt Locker, Zero Dark Thirty is not just directed by a woman, but it also places a woman at the forefront of its plot.

Maya, portrayed by Academy Award nominee and Golden Globe winner Jessica Chastain, is an outstanding CIA analyst who is surrounding by alpha males. Maya seems uncomfortable with the film's initial scenes of intense torture during interrogation. Despite her soft-spoken, delicate voice and feminine demeanor, Maya is described as a "killer." Still, her colleagues refer to her as a "girl" and seem reluctant to give Maya the responsibility that she needs to carry out her mission. It is not until Maya aggressively demands it that she is given full responsibility.

I would not describe Zero Dark Thirty as a feminist film simply because it has a female protagonist. Maya must assert her own "masculinity" in order to get what she wants. However, this is potentially realistic for many women in patriarchal environments. For Bigelow, this may be a reflection of her position in the male-dominated film industry. Based on my own conversations with females and LGBTQ-identified individuals in the military, it holds true for the armed forces. Kristin Beck, a Navy SEAL and a member of the elite SEAL Team 6 that captured bin Laden, later came out as transgender and wrote about her experiences about the military in a memoir entitled Warrior Princess.

More than Horror in "The Devil's Backbone"

While El espinazo del diablo (Guillermo del Toro, 2001) is often placed under the "horror" genre, to label it as such feels misleading. When I think of the horror genre, I think of slasher films and possessed children. While children are at the core of El espinazo del diablo , there are many layers within the film that make it much more than simply a horror film. Emotion permeates at the core of El espinazo del diablo. In addition to its thriller nature, the film, set in the midst of the Spanish Civil War, is both historical and melancholic.

El espinazo del diablo is in many ways a poignant film. The story unfolds at a corrupt and remote orphanage. Carlos (Fernando Tielve), the orphanage's most recent addition, is innocence personified. As Enrique Ajuria Ibarra suggests in his analysis of the film, the ghost is emblematic for the national trauma that Spain faced in the 1930s. Carlos is haunted by the apparition of a ghost, but he does not understand what he is seeing. In many shots, the ghost is in the same place as the deactivated bomb that looms over the orphanage from the courtyard. Carlos understands neither the ghost nor the war, both of which are silenced. The tragedies that affect the orphanage are sad and understated, a subtlety often lost in the horror genre.

The ghost in El espinazo del diablo is not a typically grotesque ghost that would be found in many horror films. The ghost is the apparition of Santi, a young boy that disappeared from the orphanage a year prior to Carlos' arrival. Santi is still very human and simply aims to bring light to his death. He leads Carlos to the answers that surround his mysterious disappearance, simultaneously shedding light on a number of horrors committed by the living.

It would be foolish to suggest that there are not elements of horror in del Toro's El espinazo del diablo, but it would be equally foolish to deny that the film is much more than horror as mainstream America has come to understand it. The horrors in El espinazo del diablo are not particularly gruesome or shocking to the eye, but they get the viewer at the heart and mind.

Ada and Baines in The Piano

The relationship between Ada and Baines in Jane Campion's The Piano (1993) is a peculiar one with blurred lines of consent. While Ada grows to love Baines, their initial relationship is perhaps more unsettling. Ada, a mute Scotswoman, is sold into marriage by her father to a New Zealand man named Alistair, but his friend Baines is drawn to her and her piano playing. He keeps her piano, which had been stranded on the beach, at his home, even retuning it for her.

Baines tells Ada that she will let her buy the piano back one key at a time if she lets him do "things he likes" while she plays. Ada renegotiates, allowing him to do these things in exchange for the black keys. If rape is defined as "any act of sexual intercourse that is forced upon a person," then surely Baines' coercion and manipulation could be classified as rape. Their sexual relations were not born out of love or even lust, but out of Ada's deep necessity for her piano, the only way she can audibly express herself. Ada could have said no, but Baines is fully aware that playing the piano is the most important thing to her. He preys upon this need.

After a while, Baines decides that these interactions are turning him "wretched" and Ada into a "whore" (essentially, he is slut-shaming the woman he coerced into engaging in sexual relations with him). Ada later realizes she cares about Baines and misses him watching her play the piano. She returns to his home and makes love to Baines. By the end of the film, Ada starts a new life with Baines and her daughter Flora elsewhere in New Zealand. Ada and Baines are obviously in love at this point and their later relations are consensual, but does that make their earlier interactions any less manipulative or emblematic of rape?

Scene Analysis: 'El Topo' (1970)

Two of the defining features of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s El Topo (1970) are its graphic, often shocking imagery and wacky characters, encapsulated by this screenshot. In the film’s opening scene, an entire town has been slaughtered – blood fills the desert ground in puddles, human bodies are strewn everywhere, and animal corpses lay twisted and disemboweled. The perpetrators of this horrific act are a group of bizarre, hedonistic men led by an overweight Colonel.

In this particular scene, about fifteen minutes into the film, these men harass and torture a group of four monks. One of the men lets out a disturbing hyena-like laugh. Another man rips a page out of the Bible, wiping his face with it and then crumpling it up and tossing it behind him. The four men play a record on a gramophone they retrieved, walking slowly and menacingly towards the monks, who are at this point tied up. The men use their swords to sever the ties binding the monks. 

The monks are visibly frightened as the men take off their hats, bow, and point their guns. Medium shots and wide shots are used to show the variety of characters and their body language towards one another. The monks are then forced to dance with the men. An establishing shot is used to showcase the setting of the settlement’s mission. The men further ridicule the monks – one man embraces the monk; another kisses a monk on the hand; another sensually bites the monk’s chin and nose; finally, one man gazes longingly at the monk’s lips and kisses him on the mouth.

A monk is stripped down, shown nude from behind. A blanket or some article of clothing is wrapped around his waist; he is draped in a throw, giving him the appearance of the Virgin Mary. One of the antagonizing men cuts his finger, wiping the blood across the monk’s lips to make them appear more feminine. In the final segment of this scene, the now-naked monks are thrown over the shoulders of the men and then spanked with paddles, leaving their bare butts bloody.

This entire scene, particularly the desecration of the image of the Virgin Mary, is a testament to the men’s hedonism as they engage in sacrilegious acts and debauchery. It slightly reminds me of Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971). This act of disrespect for the monks most likely reflects a disregard for the Christianity that was thrust upon Latin America during its colonization. While I personally identify as an atheist, this scene did make me feel uncomfortable as did many of the other incredibly graphic, violent scenes in El Topo.

Comparing the Dystopias of Seconds and Children of Men

Much like in literature, dystopia has long been a theme in film. Writers and directors often use dystopian themes as social commentary, emphasizing a future or reality that is fearsome and undesirable. John Frankenheimer’s Seconds (1966) is a sci-fi thriller with elements of neo-noir and a social commentary that leans towards dystopian themes. In the 21^st century, dystopian films have become increasingly more common, reflecting political unrest, environmental concerns, poverty and so on. Alfonso Cuarón, a pioneer of New Mexican Cinema, explored dystopian themes in his 2006 English-language film Children of Men, much more outwardly than Frankenheimer did with Seconds.

While Seconds is more concerned with the self in relation to the rest of society, Children of Men depicts an entire world collapsing. Frankenheimer’s protagonist, Arthur Hamilton (John Rudolph), is unsatisfied with his tepid and tedious daily life. Seconds focuses on the convolution of American ideals, a society that has become monotonous and ridden with gluttony thanks to commercialization.  On the contrary, Cuarón’s protagonist, Theo Faron (Clive Owen), is more disgruntled with society and the world around him. In the year 2027, humans have struggled with infertility for two decades, throwing society into chaos. He must guide a young West African refugee named Kee to safety – she is the first woman to be pregnant since infertility struck. Children of Men mirrors the growing concerns of humanity in the years since Seconds was released exactly forty years prior – immigration and oppression. While the cause of mass infertility is never fully explained, it is reasonable to assume this biological catastrophe is the result of widespread environmental or health problems.

One of the clearest differences between the dystopian themes of Seconds and Children of Men is the element of hope. This can best be explored through the closing scenes of each film. In Seconds, Arthur/Tony attempts to get a second chance at being “reborn” with the Company, but he realizes much too late that he is being wheeled off to his death – to become one of the cadavers that the Company uses to stage deaths. This embodies the despair and hopelessness that is woven throughout much of Seconds. Cuarón opts for a far more hopeful approach. Instead of the ominous Company, Theo is in search of the Human Project, a scientific research group working in the Azores to cure infertility. The group is almost fabled. In the final scene, Theo and Kee escape for the Azores via boat. Theo, who had been shot beforehand, dies, but Kee and her baby son Dylan are an embodiment of hope in the same way that the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ were in Christianity.

Queer Subtext in The Hitch-Hiker

Living life with a queer lens, it’s hard not to wonder about a queer subtext in Ida Lupino’s The Hitch-Hiker (1953). Lupino’s subtly feminist portrayal of masculinity allowed the motion picture to stand apart from other male-directed film noirs. The two protagonists of the film, Gil and Roy, are leaving their wives and families behind for a fishing trip, which is very Brokeback Mountain (2005) to begin with. This act could be seen not just as escapism, but also as a yearning for masculinity and homosocial bonding. 

Gil and Roy are very protective of one another. Gil in particular takes care of Roy when his ankle is injured. He goes so far as to knock Roy out to shut him up and save him from being killed by Emmett Myers, the murderous hitchhiker. It’s interesting to point out that Gil is a draughtsman and Roy is a mechanic, to which Myers suggests makes Gil smarter. Gil is portrayed as the masculine hero of the film, whereas Roy struggles with his masculinity, perhaps due to a bicurious, heteroflexible, or gay inclination.

It may be a stretch to suggest that there is a sure queer text to The Hitch-Hiker, but taking into account Lupino's feminist critique, subversion of masculinity, and understated commentary on gender roles, would it really be that out of the question?

The Misogynistic Representation of Women in 'Double Indemnity'

The representation of women in Billy Wilder’s Double Indemnity (1944) is, like many femme fatale archetypes, misogynistic in nature. The femme fatale is a defining feature of film noir, and Phyllis Dietrichson is no exception. A common critique of the femme fatale is that it is derived from the fear of feminism and plays into the same age-old hysteria as witch trials. An independent woman is seen as a danger, using sex and womanhood to manipulate men.

In Double Indemnity, Phyllis is portrayed as a villainous yet sensual woman who stops at nothing to get what she wants from a man. She seduces Neff, an insurance agent, and convinces him to help her kill her husband – so she can gain the “double-indemnity” clause from the insurance policy. She potentially could have killed her husband’s late wife, and she plots to kill his daughter Lola.

In this sense, women are misrepresented in Double Indemnity and other film noirs. If a woman is not portrayed as a submissive housewife, she is portrayed as an emasculating villainess. A common theme in 19^th and 20^th century literature is the independence of women who are breaking free from the restraints of their patriarchal husbands and male-dominated society. In the male-dominated world of film noir, however, there is only a “good” girl who stays in line or a femme fatale who will use the power of seduction to make you kill her husband.

M is for Melodrama

While many could argue for a number of genres when classifying Fritz Lang’s 1931 classic M, I think that the film would best be defined as a melodrama. Although there are certainly elements of crime and horror in the movie, the film’s subtle cinematography, uses of sound, and approach to the subject matter make M more of a melodrama than a thriller.

For one, despite the film being about the pursuit of a serial child killer, none of these murders are shown. Only one murder is alluded to in the film, and it is done in a manner that is very subtle and poignant. The rolling away of the ball and the floating upwards of the balloon signifies the murder of the little girl.

The use of sound in the film also creates a more melodramatic ambience as opposed to a horror feel. Lang uses a lot of diegetic sound to add an additional sense of realism to the film, furthering its emotional pull with the audience. The use of the murderer’s whistling as a leitmotif also leaves viewers with a sense of melancholy.

Instead of being a film about the murders of a serial killer or the psyche behind it, the film is about the pursuit of the killer. However, this is not approached in a crime-thriller sense. M creates numerous parallels between the criminal underworld and the police force, exploring political allegories and creating social commentary. This sort of subject matter is more appropriate for a drama as opposed to a horror.

Overall, M is more about the mothers, the criminals, and the police than it is about the serial killer or his victims, which gives the film a more melodramatic resonance rather than leaving the viewer with fear-induced adrenaline.

Self-Reflexivity in Buster Keaton's "Sherlock Jr." (1924)

Considered one of the great actors and filmmakers of the silent film era, Buster Keaton is a beloved figure for cinephiles. In his 1924 film Sherlock Jr., Keaton became one of the first filmmakers to explore the idea of a film within a film, something he achieved with his self-reflexive technique. 

Keaton stars as a movie theater projectionist who tries to win the heart of a girl with a $1 box of chocolates. The "local sheik" steals the pocket watch of the girl's father and pawns it, using the money to buy the girl an even better box of chocolates. He then slips the pawn shop receipt into the projectionist's pocket.

The example of self-reflexivity that is most obvious begins 17 minutes into the movie, as the projectionist falls asleep on the job. In a dream state, he imagines himself in the movie, while the other actors are counterparts to the girl, the sheik, the girl's father, and the father's hired work.

The dreaming movie theater employee's astral projection spots the sheik and the girl in the movie – he is the villain, who later steals her pearl necklace much like he stole the pocket watch in real life. The projectionist puts on his hat and walks up to the screen and into the movie, but he is thrown out by the villain. He returns to the movie, but is continuously shocked and thrown back by changes in the movie's scenes. The projectionist's sleeping body twitches to the cymbal heard in the real movie's music. This continues to play out for much of the movie. In the end, the girl realizes who the in-real-life culprit is and forgives Keaton.

Keaton's self-reflexive techniques are especially effective. The viewpoint of the audience is within the audience in the movie theater that the projectionist works at, furthering the "film within a film" concept. While the overall movie is not as compelling in 2013 due to its lack of modernity, Sherlock Jr. is cleverly constructed and consciously self-reflexive.

Introduction

I am Ben Kitchen, a 4th-year University of Cincinnati student in my third year of the Electronic Media program. I am hoping to graduate in December 2014 with a Journalism certificate and Spanish minor. 

I am taking Going to the Movies: 20th Century Classics for a few reasons: 1) It's an Electronic Media elective, so there's that; 2) I love movies; and 3) I love writing. In high school, I took a similar class called Intro to Film, where we discussed and wrote about films such as Casablanca and Blade Runner. I'm looking forward to taking a similar class in a collegiate setting.

Some of my personal favorite movies are Clueless, Heathers, Welcome to the Dollhouse, Donnie Darko, and The Graduate. I enjoy vapid romantic movies like The Notebook (although I firmly believe that Nicholas Sparks is an awful writer and all of his other books-to-movies are horrible). I also like foreign films, such as the French-Canadian film C.R.A.Z.Y. and Pedro Almodóvar's La mala educación. Almodóvar is one of my favorite directors. I'm a big fan of Gael Garcia Bernal as an actor as well, and I really appreciate New Mexican Cinema.

–Ben