{"id":2927,"date":"2008-10-24T11:14:05","date_gmt":"2008-10-24T16:14:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/?p=2927"},"modified":"2010-07-23T12:22:13","modified_gmt":"2010-07-23T17:22:13","slug":"categorical-coherence-a-closer-look-at-character-subjectivity","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/2008\/10\/24\/categorical-coherence-a-closer-look-at-character-subjectivity\/","title":{"rendered":"Categorical coherence: A closer look at character subjectivity"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Subjective<\/p>\n

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[NOTE: There are some spoilers here, though I\u2019ve tried to avoid giving away the ends of the films I mention. Teachers who show clips in class would probably want to do the same. Some of the films mentioned here would be good choices to show in their entirety to classes when they study Chapter 3 of Film Art<\/em>.]<\/p>\n

Kristin here\u2014<\/p>\n

We have had occasion to mention the Filmies list-serve of the Department of Communication Arts\u2019 Film Studies area here at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Current and past students and faculty, sometimes known as the \u201cBadger squad,\u201d share news, links, and requests for information. Once in a while a topic is raised for discussion. These exchanges are usually fascinating, and when we have felt that they might be of interest to a general audience, we have used them as the basis for blog entries. (See here<\/a> and here<\/a>.)<\/p>\n

Another occasion arose recently, one which relates to the teaching of Film Art: An Introduction<\/em>. Matthew Bernstein, of Emory University, queried the group about suggestions for teaching a section of the third chapters, \u201cNarrative as a Formal System.\u201d He found that the section, \u201cDepth of Story Information,\u201d gives some students trouble. They can\u2019t grasp the distinction we make between perceptual and mental subjectivity.<\/p>\n

Our definitions of the terms go like this. Perceptual subjectivity is when we get \u201caccess to what characters see and hear.\u201d Examples are point-of-view shots and soft noises suggesting that the source is distant from the character\u2019s ear. In contrast, \u201cWe might hear an internal voice reporting the character\u2019s thoughts, or we might see the character\u2019s inner images, representing memory, fantasy, dreams, or hallucinations. This can be termed mental subjectivity<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

We then go on to give a few examples. The Big Sleep<\/em> has little perceptual subjectivity, while The Birth of a Nation<\/em> contains numerous POV shots. We see the heroine\u2019s memories in Hiroshima<\/em> mon amour<\/em> and the hero\u2019s fantasies in 8 \u00bd<\/em>. Filmmakers can use such devices in complex ways, as when in Sansho the Bailiff<\/em>, the mother\u2019s memory ends not by returning to her in the present, but to her son, apparently thinking of the same things at the same time.<\/p>\n

Yeah, but what about …?<\/strong><\/p>\n

Filmmakers don\u2019t always use these categories in straightforward ways. They may oscillate between perceptual and mental representations and events. Films may present narrative events that make the distinction between characters\u2019 perceptions and their mental events ambiguous. That\u2019s why in introducing the concepts, we stress that \u201cJust as there is a spectrum between restricted and unrestricted narration, there is a continuum between objectivity and subjectivity.<\/p>\n

Easy to say, but not necessarily so easy to grasp for a student who\u2019s trying to understand these categories. They need to start with simple examples to familiarize themselves with the basic distinction before going on to what the likes of Resnais, Fellini, and Mizoguchi can throw at them. But some students immediately proffering exceptions. As Charlie Keil, of the University of Toronto, put it in his post on the subject, \u201cI hardly need add that students, even the least analytically astute, border on the brilliant when it comes to suggesting examples that provide challenges to categorical coherence.\u201d<\/p>\n

Looking over the one and a half pages of the textbook that we devoted to depth of narration, you might find it fairly straightforward. Once you start looking for ways to teach the concepts without bogging down in too many nuances and subcategories, though, the passage does seem challenging. What follows is a suggestion about how someone might go about explaining and utilizing examples. It also points up some ways we might revise this passage of the book for its next edition.<\/p>\n

What it\u2019s not<\/strong><\/p>\n

One obstacle that Matthew has found is that students are used to thinking of \u201csubjective\u201d as meaning something like \u201cbiased,\u201d as in \u201chere\u2019s my subjective opinion on that.\u201d It might be useful to point out that this is only one meaning of the word. The dictionary definition that comes closest to the way we use it in Film Art<\/em> is this: \u201crelating to properties or specific conditions of the mind as distinguished from general or universal experience.\u201d For film, we specify that \u201csubjective\u201d means either sharing the characters\u2019 eyes and ears (properties) or getting right inside his or her mind (conditions).<\/p>\n

Another misconception comes when students assume that the facial expressions, vocal tones, and gestures used by actors are subjective because they convey the characters\u2019 feelings. Again, best to scotch that notion up front. Those techniques are projected outward from the character, and we observe them. Cinematic subjectivity goes inward.<\/p>\n

One step at a time<\/strong><\/p>\n

Another distinction to stress early on is the basic one we make between film technique and function. There are a myriad of film techniques that could be used in either objective or subjective ways. To take a simple example, a low camera angle might indicate the POV of a character lying down and looking up at something; that\u2019s perceptual subjectivity. A low angle of a skyscraper in an establishing shot might simply be the objective narration\u2019s way of showing where a new scene will occur.<\/p>\n

In contrast, indicating perceptual and mental subjectivity are two specific kinds of functions. Filmmakers can call upon whatever cinematic techniques they choose, and historically the more imaginative ones have shown immense creativity in trying to convey what characters see and think.<\/p>\n

Some films depend heavily upon subjectivity, but objective narration is more common. There are many films that give us little access to characters\u2019 perceptual and mental activities. Apart from The Big Sleep<\/em>, there are films like Anatomy of a Murder<\/em>, or virtually anything by Preminger. Most films use subjectivity sparingly. So let\u2019s assume the students can tell that objective narration is the default.<\/p>\n

With that out of the way, we can go back to basics. Both perceptual and mental subjectivity depend on being \u201cwith\u201d the character in a strong way, as opposed to observing him or her as we would see another person in real life.<\/p>\n

Perceptual subjectivity is fairly simple. The camera is in the character\u2019s place, showing what he or she sees. The microphone acts as the character\u2019s ears. Other characters present in the scene could step into the same vantage point and observe the same things.<\/p>\n

So the test could run like this: As a viewer, when we see something in a film, is it really present within the scene? Could someone else in the same position see and hear the same things? Or is it a purely mental event, something no one else could see and hear, even if they stood beside the character or stepped into the place where that character had been standing?<\/p>\n

If I were teaching the concept of narrational subjectivity as Film Art<\/em> defines it, I would stress the notion of a continuum. After starting with very clear examples of both perceptual and mental subjectivity, I would progress to more ambiguous, mixed, or tricky instances.<\/p>\n

Contributing to this discussion on the Filmies list, Chris Sieving, of the University of Georgia, says he shows a \"\"<\/a>clip from Lady in the Lake<\/em>, the film noir where the camera always shows the POV of the detective protagonist. As Chris says, \u201cIt seems to effectively get across what perceptual subjectivity means (and how awkward it is in large doses), as well as what is meant by a (highly) restricted range of narration (as is the case with most whodunits).\u201d As Chris also says, Lady in the Lake<\/em> is a sort of limit case, a film that depends as much on perceptual subjectivity as it\u2019s possible to do. (That’s “our” hand taking the paper in the shot at the right.) One could show several minutes from any section of the film and make the point thoroughly.<\/p>\n

There are other films that contain a lot of POV shots but intersperse them with objective ones. Rear Window<\/em> is an obvious case. When Jefferies is alone, we see the courtyard events from his POV, a fact which is stressed by his use of binoculars and his long camera lenses to spy on his neighbors. This is clearly perceptual rather than mental. We never doubt that what we see through the hero\u2019s eyes is real; we don\u2019t believe that he\u2019s making things up to entertain himself or because his mind is unbalanced. For one thing, there are two other characters who visit at intervals and see the same things that he does. We and they might question whether Jefferies\u2019 interpretation<\/em> of what he sees is correct, but we assume that the story\u2019s real events have been conveyed to us through his eyes and ears. Only if we saw something like his fantasy of how he imagines his neighbor might have killed his wife would we move into the mental realm.<\/p>\n

These two films foreground their use of POV. Usually, though POV shots are slipped into the flow of the action smoothly. Scenes of characters looking at small objects or reading letters often cut to a POV shot to help us get a look at an important plot element. At intervals during Back to the Future<\/em>, Marty looks at a picture of himself and his siblings, gradually fading away to indicate that the three of them might never be born if he doesn\u2019t succeed in bringing their parents together. It’s a simple way of reminding us what’s at stake and that Marty’s time to solve the problem is running out.<\/p>\n

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The Silence of the Lambs<\/em> uses many POV shots and provides an excellent case of narration switching frequently and seamlessly between objective and subjective. <\/span>Most of the POV views are seen through Clarice\u2019s eyes, but sometimes through those of other characters. The first view of Lecter is a handheld tracking shot clearly established as what she sees as she walks along the corridor in front of the row of cells.<\/p>\n

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The scenes of Clarice conversing with Lecter develop from conventional over-the-shoulder shot\/ reverse shot to POV shot\/ reverse shot as both characters stare directly into the lens. (In Film Art<\/em>, we use this device as an example of how style can shape the narrative progression of a scene [p. 307, 8th<\/sup> edition]). Other characters have POV shots as well, most noticeably, when Buffalo Bill twice dons night-vision goggles and we briefly see the world as he does.<\/p>\n

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Occasionally we see the POV of even minor characters, as when Lecter\u2019s attack on his guard is rendered with a quick POV shot of Lecter lunging open-mouthed at the camera and then an objective shot of him grabbing the guard.<\/p>\n

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In their minds<\/strong><\/p>\n

Let\u2019s jump to the other end of the continuum. Here we find a clear-cut use of mental subjectivity for fantasies, hallucinations, and the like. Obviously no one else present, unless he or she is posited as having special telepathic abilities, can see and hear what takes place only in a character\u2019s mind.<\/p>\n

Such fantasies are a running gag on The Simpsons<\/em>, where Homer\u2019s misinterpretations, distractions, and visions of grandeur are shown either in a thought balloon or superimposed on his skull. In the example above, he abruptly starts \u201cwatching\u201d a little cartoon after assuring Lisa that she has his complete attention. No one could mistakenly assume that these exist anywhere but in Homer\u2019s imagination.<\/p>\n

In Buster Keaton\u2019s Our Hospitality<\/em>, the hero receives a letter telling him he has inherited a Southern home. After an image of him thinking there is a dissolve to a view of a large, pillared house. Later, when he arrives at his small, ramshackle house, he stands staring in a similar situation, and here there is a fade-out to his dream house, which abruptly blows up. The humor in the second scene would be impossible to grasp if we didn\u2019t easily understand that the shot of the house exists only in his mind.<\/p>\n

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Whole films can be built around fantasies. A large central section of Preston Sturges\u2019 black comedy Unfaithfully Yours<\/em> consists of a husband envisioning three different ways he might kill his supposedly cheating wife, all set to the musical pieces he is conducting at a concert. Fellini\u2019s 8 \u00bd<\/em> is only the most obvious example of how the art cinema often brings in fantasies. Other examples include Jaco van Dormael\u2019s Toto le h\u00e9ros<\/em> or Bergman\u2019s Persona<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Once students have grasped the basic distinction between perceptual and mental subjectivity, it might be useful to emphasize the continuum by moving directly to its center, where the two types coexist.<\/p>\n

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The middle of the continuum: Ambiguity and simultaneity<\/strong><\/p>\n

Right in the middle of the continuum between the pure cases we find ambiguous cases. Filmmakers can create deliberate, complex, and important effects by keeping it unclear whether what we see is a character\u2019s perception of reality or his\/her imaginings.<\/p>\n

1961 was a big year for ambiguous subjectivity, with two of the purest cases appearing. One was a genre picture, the other a controversial art film.<\/p>\n

The first is the British horror film, The Innocents<\/em>, directed by Jack Clayton and based on Henry James\u2019s novella, The Turn of the Screw<\/em>. In several scenes, a new governess at a country estate sees frightening figures whom she takes to be ghosts haunting the two children entrusted to her. We see these figures as she does, but we never see them except when she does. The children behave very oddly in ways that might be consistent with her belief, yet they deny seeing any ghosts. Finally the governess tries to force the little girl to admit that she also sees the silent female figure standing in the reeds across the water. Does the child\u2019s horrified expression reflect her realization that the governess knows about her secret relationship with the ghosts? Or is she simply baffled and frightened by the governess\u2019s increasingly frantic demands that she confess to seeing something that in fact she can\u2019t see?<\/p>\n

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From the first appearance of the eery figures, the question arises as to whether the governess is imagining the ghosts or they are real, controlling the children, who try to keep them secret. There are apparent clues for either answer. By the end, we arguably are no closer to knowing whether the ghosts are real or figments of the heroine\u2019s imagination.<\/p>\n

Since Last Year at Marienbad<\/em> appeared, critics have spilled gallons of ink trying to fathom its symbolism and sort out the \u201creal\u201d story that it tells. Clearly there are contradictions in events, settings, and voiceover narration. The second of the three accompanying images depicts the heroine as the hero\u2019s voiceover describes their first meeting. They talked about the statue that stands beside her, seen against the formal garden of walks lined with pyramid-shaped shrubs. Yet another version of the first meeting starts, this time with the characters and the same statue against a background of a large pool. Later scenes in these locales display the same inconsistencies.<\/p>\n

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Are such contradictions the result of one character\u2019s fantasies or of the conflicting memories that two characters have of the same event? Or are the contradictions not the products of subjectivity at all but just the playfulness of an objective, impersonal narration, manipulating characters like game pieces to challenge the viewer? (Our analysis of Last Year at Marienbad<\/em> is available here <\/a>on David\u2019s website. It and all the Sample Analyses that have been eliminated from Film Art<\/em> to make room for new essays are available here as pdf\u2019s; the index to them is here<\/a>, about halfway down the page.)<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not a good example of subjectivity to show students, but just as an aside, the screwball comedy Harvey<\/em> is an interesting case, a sort of reversal of the Innocents<\/em> situation. The narration withholds a character\u2019s perceptual and mental events. Elwood P. Dowd describes what he sees and hears: a six-foot talking rabbit invisible to us and to all the other characters. The story concerns whether Dowd\u2019s relatives will institutionalize him for insanity, and we assume along with them Harvey is a mere delusion. Thus the narration seems to be objective\u2014or, the ending asks, has it been very uncommunicative, withholding something that the hero really does see and hear? True, throughout the film the framing leaves room for Harvey, as if he were there. One could argue, though, that these framings simply emphasize that the giant rabbit isn\u2019t visible to us or the other characters and hence isn\u2019t likely to really exist.<\/p>\n

A film can easily present both perceptual and mental subjectivity at the same time. A POV shot may be accompanied a character\u2019s voice describing his or her thoughts and feelings. Matthew shows his class part of the opening section of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly<\/em>, where a stroke victim\u2019s extremely limited sight and hearing are rendered in juxtaposition with his voice telling of his reactions to his new situation. It is one of the most extensive and successful uses of such a combination in recent cinema, and it might be very effective in differentiating the two for introductory students.<\/p>\n

A scene can also move rapidly back and forth between a character\u2019s perceptions and his or her thoughts. Charlie writes that he shows his students the scenes of Marion Crane driving in Psycho<\/em>. While the car is moving, almost every alternating shot is a POV framing of the rearview mirror or through the windshield. At that same time, we hear the voices of her lover, her boss, her fellow secretary, and the rich man whose money she has stolen while she imagines how they would react to her crime.<\/p>\n

Showing scenes like these, where both types of subjectivity are used and clearly distinguishable might be more useful for students than showing several scenes that contain only one or the other.<\/p>\n

Flashbacks, Voiceovers, and Altered States<\/strong><\/p>\n

In his original query to the Filmies, Matthew also said that students have problems with flashbacks: \u201cParticularly, they resist the idea that a flashback is an example of subjective depth in general, even if the flashback unfolds objectively.\u201d I can think of two ways to explain this.<\/p>\n

First, classical films tend not to have flashbacks that just start on their own. To be sure, some do: a track-in to an important object and a dissolve can signal the start of a passage from the past, without a character being there. But more often a character is used to motivate the move into the past. A thoughtful look may do it, or a character may describe the past to someone else. In either case, the flashback is coming \u201cfrom\u201d the character and is assumed to show approximately what<\/em> he or she is remembering. Occasionally the flashback may be a lie rather than objective truth, as we know from Hitchcock\u2019s Stage Fright<\/em>, The Usual Suspects<\/em>, and a few other films.<\/p>\n

In Poetics of Cinema<\/em>\u2019s third essay, David argues that most flashbacks in films are motivated as a character\u2019s memory, but what is shown often strays from what he or she knew or could have known. He suggests that the prime purposes of most flashbacks is to rearrange the order of story events, and the character recalling or recounting simply provides an alibi for the time shift.<\/p>\n

So we might think of character-motivated flashbacks as subjective frameworks that also contain objectively conveyed narrative information.<\/p>\n

Second, the fact that flashbacks slip in objective information into characters\u2019 memories is a convention. It\u2019s a widely used method for presenting us with two things at once: first, a character\u2019s memories and second, some story information that the viewer needs to have\u2014even if the character couldn\u2019t know about it. As we watch movies, we frequently accept conventions for the sake of being entertained. Beings that travel to Earth from distant galaxies speak English, high school kids can put together shows that wind up triumphing on Broadway, and people who drive up to buildings in crowded cities always find perfect parking spots. In a similar way, implausible mixtures of subjectivity and objectivity in flashbacks is just something we have to accept.<\/p>\n

There are two other techniques that didn\u2019t get mentioned during the discussion but that might confuse students.<\/p>\n

What about shots showing the vision of a character who is drunk, dizzy, drugged, or otherwise unable to see straight? The most common convention is to include a POV shot that\u2019s out of focus, perhaps accompanied by a bobbing handheld camera. Other characters in the scene, assuming they are not similarly impaired, would not see the surroundings in the same way.<\/p>\n

Still, I think the same perceptual\/mental distinction holds for such moments. The fuzziness and the lack of coordination are physical effects that are not being imagined by the character. They remain in the perceptual realm. Mental effects of impairment would be dreams or hallucinations. Some examples: the \u201cPink Elephants on Parade\u201d sequence in Dumbo<\/em> and the DTs vision of the protagonist of Wilder\u2019s The Lost Weekend<\/em>. As the title suggests, Altered States<\/em> takes such mental activities as its subject matter and has many scenes that represent them.<\/p>\n

A harder case is voiceover. Are all cases of voiceover subjective? Clearly not. If we have a situation where a character tells a story to a group and his or her voice continues over a flashback, the narration remains objective. We assume that the group can still hear the storyteller. Cases where the voice exists only in the mind, as when a character speaks to himself or herself, but not aloud, are mental subjectivity.<\/p>\n

That said, there are many unclear cases. Just what is the status of the narration in Jerry Maguire<\/em>? Jerry seems to speak directly to us, pointing out things that happen during the action, yet clearly there is no suggestion that he made the film we are watching. The problem is compounded in Sunset Boulevard<\/em>, where the protagonist not only implicitly addresses us but is also dead. In many cases when a character\u2019s voice is heard over a scene, it might occur to audience members to wonder where the character is or was when speaking these words. And does a character\u2019s voice describing his or her feelings constitute objective or subjective narration? Probably we would want to say that only when the voice is posited as strictly an internal voice, audible only to the character, would we want to dub it subjective.<\/p>\n

The problem with voiceovers arises, I think, because it\u2019s such a slippery technique to begin with, and therefore often hard to categorize. Is a character speaking narration over events that happened in the past diegetic sound or nondiegetic? If there\u2019s never an establishment of where and when that character does the narrating, he or she exists in a sort of limbo in between the two states: diegetic because he or she is a character, nondiegetic because he or she is in some ineffable way removed from the story world.<\/p>\n

For voiceovers, then, I think it\u2019s best simply to categorize the ones that obviously are straightforwardly objective or subjective. In tricky cases, we just have to admit that not all uses of film technique are easy to pin labels on. But the point of having categories like these isn\u2019t to pin labels. In part knowing them allows us simply to notice things in films that might otherwise remain a part of an undifferentiated flow of images. They enable us to see underlying principles that make films into dynamic systems rather than collections of techniques. They give us ways to organize our thoughts about films and convey them to others. And, though students may doubt this, watching for such things becomes automatic and effortless once we have understood such categories and watched a lot of films. As a child, I don\u2019t think I knew about the concept of editing or ever really noticed cuts. Now I\u2019m aware of every cut in every film I see, and I notice continuity errors and graphic matches and other related techniques, all automatically, without that awareness impinging in the least on my following the story and being entertained. Learning the categories is only the beginning.<\/p>\n

Playing with subjectivity<\/strong><\/p>\n

Once students have seen some clear cases of each type of cinematic subjectivity and understand the difference, the teacher could move on to emphasize that filmmakers can play with both in original ways. It\u2019s not really possible in an introductory textbook to discuss all the possibilities\u2014and probably not possible to come up with a typology that would cover every example of subjectivity that could exist across that continuum we mentioned. Imaginative filmmakers will always find new variants on how to use techniques for this purpose. But here are a few intriguing cases.<\/p>\n

In his class, Chris shows the scene in Hannah and Her Sisters<\/em> where the Woody Allen character, a hypochondriac, visits a doctor for some hearing tests. Initially the doctor comes into the room and gives a dire diagnosis of inoperable cancer. After Mickey has reacted to that, a cut takes us back to an identical shot of the doctor entering, but this time he gives Mickey a clean bill of health. The first part of the scene is retroactively revealed to have been a mental event, Mickey\u2019s pessimistic fantasy.<\/p>\n

The same sort of thing happens in a more extended way with the familiar \u201cit was only a dream\u201d revelations that make the audience realize that a major part of the plot has been subjective. In a more sophisticated way, as Chris points out, other sorts of mental subjectivity, usually lies or extended fantasies, can be revealed retrospectively, as in The Usual Suspects<\/em>, Mulholland Drive<\/em>, and Fight Club<\/em>.<\/p>\n

A flashback from one character\u2019s viewpoint may reveal something new about an earlier scene. In Ford\u2019s The Man who Shot Liberty Valance<\/em>, the shootout is initially shown through objective narration. Only later in the plot does another character reveals that, unbeknownst to us or the other people present, he had also been present at the shootout. The flashback to his account reveals that the shootout happened very differently from the way we had assumed when first seeing it.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll close with an example from The Silence of the Lambs<\/em>. This shows how subtle and effective a play with perceptual and mental narration can be. In the scene at the funeral home where a recently discovered body of a murder victim is to be examined, Clarice is left waiting in the midst of a group of state troopers who stare at her. To get out of the situation, she turns and looks into the chapel, where a funeral is taking place. We see her face and then her POV as she surveys the room. A cut shows Clarice suddenly within the chapel, moving forward toward the camera and staring straight into the lens. We will only realize retrospectively that this image begins a fantasy that leads quickly into a memory. Clarice has not actually left her previous position just outside the door.<\/p>\n

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The next shot is a track forward through the center aisle toward the casket. Since Clarice had been walking in that direction before the cut, we recognize this as a POV and assume that Clarice is continuing to walk. Yet the man in the casket, as we soon will learn, is Clarice\u2019s father. The shot represents a different funeral, one in the past which she has been triggered to remember by her glance into the chapel. The fantasy has become a flashback. A second, similar view of Clarice\u2019s face returns us to her fantasizing adult self, the one remembering this scene but not the one still standing outside the door. A closer view of the father\u2019s casket shows it from a lower vantage-point, as if that of a child.<\/p>\n

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The reason for the change becomes apparent from a radical change at the next cut, so that the camera is on the far side of the casket, filming from a low angle. The sudden shift moves us away from the adult Clarice in order to show her as a child approaching her father and leaning down to kiss him. A noise pulls Clarice out of her memory, and a cut back to the hallway shows her turning away from the chapel. (As often happens, sound, and particularly music, helps guide us through the scene, marking the beginning and ending of the fantasy\/flashback.)<\/p>\n

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The most experienced film specialist could not track all the rapidly shifting levels of subjectivity in this scene on first viewing. Still, later analysis using some categories of subjective narration can help us appreciate how Demme has woven them into a scene that helps explain Clarice\u2019s motives in becoming an FBI agent and her determination in pursuing her first case.<\/p>\n

Categories matter<\/strong><\/p>\n

To some students, the categories I\u2019ve just discussed may seem like trivial distinctions. They\u2019re not. The use of subjective narration is one of the key ways the filmmaker has to engage our thoughts and emotions with the characters. In Psycho<\/em>, we become involved in Marion Crane\u2019s life in a remarkably short time, partly because of her situation but also partly because Hitchcock keeps us so close to her once she prepares to steal the money. The camera not only frames her closely, but to a considerable degree we see and imagine what she does: her fearful forebodings of how her rash act will turn out. Much the same thing happens with Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs<\/em>, though there our emotional involvement lasts throughout the film, and we are given glimpses of Clarice\u2019s memories.<\/p>\n

Perhaps choosing a scene or two from such films and going through them with the students, trying to imagine what it would be like without the POV shots and the imaginings and the memories, would convince them of the value of learning these categories. After all, the exceptions they find are only exceptional because they play in a zone defined by solid concepts.<\/p>\n

[Note added October 24: I should have referred back as well to David’s entry “Three Nights of a Dreamer,”<\/a> largely on POV.]<\/p>\n

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

Objective<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Subjective [NOTE: There are some spoilers here, though I\u2019ve tried to avoid giving away the ends of the films I mention. Teachers who show clips in class would probably want to do the same. Some of the films mentioned here would be good choices to show in their entirety to classes when they study Chapter […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,74,60,58,91,51,54,11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2927","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-film-comments","category-film-criticism","category-technique-cinematography","category-technique-editing","category-film-technique-sound","category-film-theory","category-narrative-strategies","category-readers-favorite-entries"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2927","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2927"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2927\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3362,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2927\/revisions\/3362"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2927"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2927"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.davidbordwell.net\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2927"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}