{"id":18419,"date":"2012-06-27T11:12:21","date_gmt":"2012-06-27T16:12:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/?p=18419"},"modified":"2016-09-02T18:18:32","modified_gmt":"2016-09-02T23:18:32","slug":"you-the-filmmaker-control-choice-and-constraint","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/2012\/06\/27\/you-the-filmmaker-control-choice-and-constraint\/","title":{"rendered":"You the filmmaker: Control, choice, and constraint"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

DB here:<\/p>\n

The tenth edition of our textbook, Film Art: An Introduction<\/em><\/strong><\/a> will be available in early July. It has so many new features that it\u2019s our most extensive revision in at least a decade.<\/p>\n

Kristin has already written about<\/a> one of our major additions: supplemental film extracts from the Criterion Collection<\/a>, with voice-over commentary and other sorts of analysis. (Go here<\/a> for a sample.) These will be accessible to professors for incorporation into their syllabi. More of them may also become generally available on the Criterion website.<\/p>\n

The text has been\u00a0extensively rewritten, aiming at maximal clarity and freshness. There are many local changes too, with updated examples from a variety of films both old and new. Regular readers will notice that we have made two replacements: Koyaanisqatsi<\/em><\/a> is now our example of associational form, and \u0160vankmajer\u2019s Dimensions of Dialogue<\/em><\/a> is our example of experimental animation. Regretfully, we had to drop our earlier examples, Bruce Conner\u2019s A Movie<\/em> and Robert Breer\u2019s Fuji<\/em>, because they are available only in 16mm, and most teachers and readers don\u2019t have access to them. On the other hand, we enjoyed analyzing the new items and think that they serve their purpose very well.<\/p>\n

Today I\u2019m going to point out some of the broader changes, while also considering the book\u2019s overall approach.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Parts and wholes<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

When Film Art<\/em> appeared in 1979, it was the first textbook in English written by people who had received Ph.D.s in film studies. Specifically, FA<\/em> emerged from my teaching a lecture-and-discussion course called \u201cIntroduction to Film\u201d to several hundred students each semester for many years.<\/p>\n

In the mid-seventies, there were almost no film studies textbooks, and none of them seemed to us to reflect the directions of current research. As a result, the first edition of FA<\/em> included topics that were emerging in the field, such as narrative theory and conceptions of ideology. It also suggested a coherent, comprehensive view of cinematic art, from avant-garde and documentary cinema to mainstream film and \u201cart cinema.\u201d<\/p>\n

The book has changed since then, but its approach has remained consistent in two primary respects. For one thing, it tries to survey the basic techniques of the medium in a systematic fashion. Here the key word is \u201csystematic.\u201d It seemed to us that we might go beyond simple mentioning this or that technique\u2014editing, or acting, or sound\u2014and instead treat each technique in a more logical and thorough way. But film aesthetics wasn\u2019t yet conceived in this way, so to a considerable extent the textbook had to offer some original ideas.<\/p>\n

For example, most people thought of editing primarily as a means of advancing the film\u2019s story. That\u2019s certainly accurate up to a point, but we tried to go up a level of abstraction. We suggested that the change from shot to shot had implications for what was represented (the space shown in the shots, the time of the action presented), as well as for the sheer graphic and rhythmic qualities onscreen, independent of what was shown. That created four dimensions that the filmmaker could control, and we illustrated how Hitchcock shaped all of them in a sequence from The Birds<\/em><\/a>.<\/p>\n

Nobody before had surveyed editing\u2019s possibilities in this multidimensional way. The result was that we were able to trace out several expressive options. We analyzed the 180-degree system for presenting story space, and Film Art<\/em> became the first film appreciation textbook to explain this. We also laid out ways in which shots could manipulate the order, duration, and frequency of story action. We also considered sheerly graphic and rhythmic possibilities of editing, not all of which are tied to narrative purposes. Similarly, we tried to show that sound, another familiar technique, could be understood as a bundle of systematic options relating to sound quality, locations in space, relation to time, and other factors.<\/p>\n

In sum, very often the array technical options had an inner logic. This urge to cover all bases helped us notice options that usually escaped critics. So by concentrating on the graphic dimension of editing, we noticed that some filmmakers tried to create pictorial carryovers from shot to shot, a device we called the \u201cgraphic match.\u201d<\/p>\n

A second core principle of the book was the idea that we ought to think about films as wholes. There\u2019s a strong tendency in film criticism, in both print and the net, to fasten on memorable single sequences for study. There\u2019s nothing wrong with this, of course, but we think it needs to be balanced by considering how all the sequences in a film fit together. That led us to consider various types of large-scale form, both narrative and non-narrative.<\/p>\n

Again, this was new to the field. We showed students how to divide films into parts and then trace patterns of progression and coherence across them. This is a valuable skill for both intelligent viewers and people who might want to work in filmmaking. We showed how the distinction between story and plot could help explain large-scale narrative construction. We suggested that issues of point-of-view and range of character knowledge exemplified broader principles of narration, the ways films pass information along on a moment-by-moment basis. And although most film courses show narrative films (mine did too), we wanted students to think about other large-scale organizational principles too, such as rhetorical argument and associational form. Again, thinking about these more general possibilities led us to consider creative options that hadn\u2019t been the province of introductory texts, such as rhetorical documentary and poetic experimental cinema.<\/p>\n

These two efforts\u2014comprehensive study of techniques and a holistic emphasis on total form\u2014weren\u2019t FA<\/em>\u2019s only salient points. We tried to incorporate more familiar elements from genre studies and historical research. But they did set the book apart, and do still. I believe that we made contributions to our understanding of film aesthetics. One measure of these contributions is the extent to which FA<\/em> has been regarded as not only a textbook but an original contribution to film aesthetics. Another sign is the fact that other textbooks have relied, sometimes to a startling degree, upon FA<\/em> for concepts, organization, and examples.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Categories, categories<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Associational form: Koyaanisqatsi<\/strong>.<\/em><\/p>\n

Still, we did encounter objections.<\/p>\n

Some readers worried that FA<\/em>\u2019s layout of logical categories \u00a0took away some of the magic and mystery: Art dies under dissection. Some also protested that filmmakers didn\u2019t use the categories and terms we invoked. These concerns have, I think, waned a bit over the years, but I\u2019ll address them anyhow.<\/p>\n

First, as to the need for categories. As a genre, the textbook in art theory has a very old ancestry. Aristotle\u2019s Poetic<\/em>s, a survey of what we\u2019d now call literary art, bristles with categories\u2014drama vs. epic, comedy vs. tragedy, types of plots, etc. In the visual and musical arts, from the Middle Ages into the Renaissance, writers tried to systematically understand the principles of artists\u2019 practice.\u00a0Leon Battista Alberti\u2019s treatise on painting tried to show that as an activity, painting had many \u201cparts,\u201d such as drawing, color, and light.<\/p>\n

This classificatory urge continued through the centuries, and it continues today. Pick up a book on the visual arts today and you\u2019ll see chapters on composition, color, texture, and the like. The same goes for music; an introductory book will survey rhythm, harmony, melody, musical forms, and so on.\u00a0There\u2019s no escaping some sort of categorizing if we want to understand any subject, and this goes as well for art traditions.<\/p>\n

The categories governing centuries-old arts are largely taken for granted. But film is a newish medium, and film studies a still-young academic discipline, so there remains a lot of exploratory thinking to be done. In the late 1970s, Film Art<\/em> undertook some of that exploration.<\/p>\n

A lot of thinking about film employs categories that are very abstract and general (say, \u201crealism\u201d versus \u201cnon-realism\u201d). Our frame of reference tries to be more concrete, more fitted to the particularity of what films actually look and sound like. Whenever we could, we incorporated filmmakers\u2019 explicit concepts into our analyses. FA<\/em>, for instance, was the first appreciation textbook to introduce the principles of continuity editing that were craft routines among directors and cinematographers.<\/p>\n

At other times, we tried to synthesize ideas that were circulating in the filmmaking community. For example, for several decades filmmakers and critics have been saying that editing is getting faster, close-ups are getting more prominent, and camera movements are becoming more salient, even aggressive. From studying hundreds of films, we came to the conclusion that these trends are part of a new approach to film style, and we dubbed that\u00a0 \u201cintensified continuity.\u201d That term aims to capture the idea that for the most part these techniques are in accord with traditional continuity editing, but they sharpen and heighten its effect.<\/p>\n

Occasionally we tried to clarify concepts. Most notoriously, we borrowed from French film theory the distinction between \u201cdiegetic\u201d and \u201cnondiegetic\u201d sound because all the other terms (\u201csource music,\u201d \u201cnarrative music,\u201d etc.) seemed to us ambiguous or inexact. As with most categories, individual films can play with or override this distinction, but it\u2019s a plausible point of departure because traditionally the distinction is respected.<\/p>\n

Contrary to some objections, then, we often worked with ideas used by practicing filmmakers. Where traditional terminology seemed inadequate to those ideas, we created our own. And some effects we may notice in movies may have no currently accepted names. In some cases, as in the graphic match, the phenomenon may not even have been identified. We haven\u2019t tried to conjure up fancy labels; we\u2019ve just tried to point to the ways some films work. Anyhow, the term doesn\u2019t matter much, but the concept does.<\/p>\n

So one way to think about the categories of form and style in\u00a0FA<\/em>\u00a0is to see them as bringing out principles underlying filmmakers\u2019 practical decisions<\/em>. A director may choose to do something on the basis of intuition, but we can backtrack and reconstruct the choice situation she faced. If we want to survey the possibilities of the medium, one way to do it is to build categories that show the expressive options available, even if filmmakers don\u2019t sit down and brood on each one.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Thinking like a filmmaker<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Walt Disney\u2019s Taxi Driver<\/strong> (Bryan Boyce).<\/em><\/p>\n

Categories are inevitable, and they allow us to consider creative choices systematically. Making this second point explicit is the most important overall revision in the new version of Film Art<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Previous editions took the perspective of the film viewer. This is reasonable: Teachers want to enhance their students\u2019 skills in noticing and appreciating things in the movies. But from the start FA<\/em> also indicated that the things we discussed also mattered to filmmakers. As the years went by, we incorporated more comments and ideas from screenwriters, cinematographers, sound designers, directors, and other artisans\u2014often as marginal quotes that, we hoped, would reinforce or counter something in the main text.<\/p>\n

Now, though, we\u2019ve shifted the perspective more strongly toward the filmmaker\u2014or rather, toward getting the viewer to think like<\/em> a filmmaker.<\/p>\n

Until recently, most of our readers hadn\u2019t tried their hand at making movies. But with the rise of digital media, a great many young people have begun making their own films. Some of these are variants of home movies, records of concerts or parties or a night out. But many of these DIY films are more thoroughly worked over. They\u2019re planned, shot, and cut with considerable care. Posted on YouTube or Vimeo, they exist as creative efforts in cinema no less than the films that get released to theatres or TV. If you doubt it, look at\u00a0lipdubs<\/a>, or meticulous mashups\u00a0like Bryan Boyce\u2019s<\/a>.<\/p>\n

So, we thought, many students are now able to consider film art as practicing filmmakers. For one thing, that means they\u2019re more aware of the techniques we explain. (Probably nothing in Film Art<\/em> is as tough as mastering Final Cut Pro.) Moreover, the very act of making films has made students sensitive to alternative ways of doing anything. Accordingly, this edition emphasizes that the resources of the film medium that we survey constitute potential creative choices which yield different effects<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Take an example. We can explain the idea of restricted versus unrestricted narration abstractly. Restricted narration ties you to a limited range of knowledge about the story action; unrestricted narration expands that range, often presenting action that no single character could know about. Filmmakers intuitively make choices along this spectrum even if they don\u2019t use the terminology. Then again, sometimes they do. A while back<\/a> we quoted the director of Cloverfield<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

The point of view was so restricted, it felt really fresh. It was one of the things that attracted me [to this project]. You are with this group of people and then this event happens and they do their best to understand it and survive it, and that\u2019s all they know.<\/strong><\/p>\n

The ideas of restricted and unrestricted narration offer useful tools for film analysis; they help us explain why scenes and films affect the spectator in various ways. To make the idea concrete for readers, we can treat it as involving a choice<\/em> about how to present a particular story situation.<\/div>\n

In Stanley Kubrick\u2019s Spartacus<\/em><\/a>, the hero and three other captives are chosen to fight in the arena. They sit sealed in the holding pen while we hear Crassus and his elite colleagues chatting pleasantly about their trivial affairs.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

When the combat starts, we\u2019re still confined to the shed. Crixus and Galeno are summoned out, and the door slides shut, leaving Spartacus and Draba alone.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The director has already made several important choices, notably contrasting the carefree chatter of the rulers with the grim prospects of the gladiators (the latter underscored by relentless music). But now there\u2019s a big fork in the road: To show the first combat, or not?<\/p>\n

Kubrick chooses not to. We hear the call, \u201cThose who are about to die salute you!\u201d We hear swords clashing, and Spartacus peers outside through the slats. We see only what he sees.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Draba studies Spartacus, who closes his eyes to shut out the spectacle outside.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The two men share a look, but Spartacus turns his gaze away, as if unwilling to confront the cost of killing this man who has done him no harm.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

This stretch of the scene is too detailed and varied for me to replay in full, but it\u2019s all confined to the two men in the shed\u2014their reactions to what they hear and what Spartacus sees, and the development of a mix of wary appraisal and desperation. No words are spoken.<\/p>\n

The fight outside concludes, and at the climactic moment Kubrick cuts to a new angle that puts Draba and Spartacus in the same frame, realizing that their time has come. The door slides open again, and the men step out.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The exchange of glances has been just ambiguous enough to make us wonder whether the two will really try to kill one another. Restricting us to the holding pen gives us a moment to watch them pondering their fates and enhances the suspense about the outcome of their fight.<\/p>\n

Every instant presents the director with a choice that can shape the viewer\u2019s experience. When the men go out, Kubrick must decide on what to\u00a0show us next. Most daringly, he could keep us in the shed and let us glimpse the fight from there. But that would be a very unusual option in American commercial cinema. Instead, the next shots expand our range of knowledge by shifting us to a different character\u2019s reaction. Before showing us the arena, we get a shot of Virinia, the slave just bought by Crassus.\u00a0As a result, she is marked as important before we get a general shot of the arena.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Eventally, a master shot ties together all the characters before we move to the next phase of the scene.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

As Darba and Spartacus start their fight, you can argue that the effect of it is even stronger because we haven\u2019t seen the earlier match. Restricted presentation of the first combat, seen only through Spartacus\u2019s eyes, throws the emphasis on this one.<\/p>\n

By shifting our attention to filmmakers\u2019 areas of choice, we haven\u2019t really abandoned thinking from the standpoint of the spectator. The two views complement each other. In effect, we\u2019re reverse-engineering: thinking like a filmmaker sharpens our sense of how the spectator\u2019s experience can be shaped. From either perspective, we need concepts, categories, and terminology.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To futz or not to futz?<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Undercover Man<\/strong> (1949).<\/em><\/p>\n

Once we notice the concrete results of creative choices by director, cinematographer, editor, and others, we\u2019re inclined to compare\u00a0how filmmakers have pursued different options, and how these decisions yield different effects. So you might contrast Kubrick\u2019s treatment of the combat with the free-for-all in Ridley Scott\u2019s\u00a0Gladiator<\/em><\/a>. There the period of waiting is short, and all the emphasis is put on the bloody combat.<\/p>\n

Film Art<\/em> uses the comparative method often, again to illustrate the range of choice available to the filmmaker. Let\u2019s take some instances that have implications for both narration and sound.\u00a0Telephone conversations are a staple of filmic storytelling. In such a scene, you as a director face a decision tree. Whatever you choose leads to other choices.<\/p>\n

Should you show both characters in the conversation, or only one? A passage from The Big Clock<\/em><\/a> presents both options, one after the other.<\/p>\n