Don't Be A Stranger: SCANNERS (1981)

The way in which David Cronenberg employs the thematic of social isolation in his 1981 film Scanners is subtle but effective: By making each of his main characters deal with varying degrees of social isolation, he is able to demonstrate its effects on people. This allows him to put forth very clearly his argument that being highly isolated from other people not only takes a psychological toll on the one who is isolated, but also turns that person into a potentially dangerous threat to the few people that they do encounter. After close study of the numerous cinematic and narrative techniques that Cronenberg employs to state his case about the dangers of social isolation, such as preventing audience alignment by carefully restricting the actors' performances and sexual proclivities, repeatedly tying the characters' status as a scanner and, consequently, as a social misfit, to their careless and aggressively violent behavior, and, most importantly, giving one of the characters the story arc of gradual progression from being a societal derelict who attacks unwitting people in public to a good-intentioned, relatively ethically upstanding person, one begins to recognize that social isolation itself is the primary antagonist of Scanners.

The opening shot of David Cronenberg's Scanners depicts a man entering food court through bright red doors with the words “EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY” scrawled across their length—thus, Cronenberg wastes no time in conveying the message to the audience that something is not quite right about the film's protagonist, Cameron Vale. As the eerily droning score continues to escalate, the ensuing shots reveal Cameron to be wearing a stocking cap and a trench coat, on which he aptly wipes his hand after sneezing. It would not be wholly unreasonable to think that he is perhaps homeless, and he sticks out like a sore thumb. He is seen snatching a cigarette and various food items from unsuspecting patrons' tables until he finally sits at a table where someone has left an unfinished hot dog, across from two women who look at him with contempt.

To further set Cameron apart from all of the other, normal people in the scene, he very noticeable only encounters groups of people sitting at tables as opposed to coming across anyone eating alone in the food court, which suggests that being by oneself in a public space is odd and negative in and of itself. For any audience members who has trouble picking up on subtleties, Cronenberg provides a point-of-view shot from one of the women's perspective accompanied by clearly audible dialogue between the two that consists entirely of statements about how awful and despicable Cameron is for merely being present nearby them—all of which can be read as the Cronenberg directly telling the audience how to feel about the protagonist. As the scene climaxes, Cameron scans one of the women who then falls to the floor, convulsing, and Cronenberg not only fulfills his duty as a horror director to scare the audience—which is enhanced by the striking, bright red ceiling of the food court as well as the escalator and staircase supports of similar hue that are seen in the background of every shot of Cameron—but he also establishes his intention to prevent character attachment so firmly that it is unmistakable.

Stephen Lack's portrayal of Cameron Vale is almost laughably flat, and while his lack of vocal intonation and frequently blank face may seem silly at first, when one takes a second look at what, exactly, Cronenberg is trying to achieve with the character, Lack's choice to play Cameron in such a lifeless manner makes quite a lot of sense. Cameron is unable to emote and this not only complicates the audience's emotional relationship with him on a basic level, but also isolates the character from the viewer because he has such a dry, uninteresting personality. As Kim Obrist says directly to Cameron later in the film, he seems “barely human.”

Cronenberg goes the extra mile in subverting the Hollywood standards of likeable main characters and readily accessible emotional engagement by including absolutely no sexuality in Scanners. This is actually a bit odd for Cronenberg who, in his films that came before and after Scanners, relied heavily on sexuality to express his ideas about technology and society, among other things. While this decision disallowed Cronenberg from startling his audience with his signature bizarre sexual imagery—say, some sort of inter-scanner mindsex—it serves the dual purpose of undermining the audience's desire for sex in their movie-going experiences and by, again, making its main characters seem all the more isolated by denying them the opportunity to take part in an act that is considered normal among the average, productive citizen in today's society.

On a surface-level reading of Scanners, Darryl Revok is the antagonist, and he is certainly the closest thing to a protagonist that takes a physical form. Encounters with Darryl throughout the film are, not incidentally, some of the more disturbing scenes of the film. For example, the audience's introduction to the character is in a scene in which, with his mind, he makes a man's head explode. That scene comes very early in the film, however, and because of the nonchalant way in which he pulls it off, the audience may be reluctant to identify him as the morally bankrupt being that he is later revealed to be. Darryl shows off his off his true colors in the sequential scene, however, both when he subtly forces the doctor to inject himself with the anti-scanning medication Ephemerol and when he causes the death of five more men by crashing a car using his mind and then forcing one of the men who was supposed to be detaining him to shoot his colleagues.

Between the actions of Cameron and Darryl at this point in the film, the audience has been presented a handful of haunting sequences that all revolve around the violent action of scanners so it would be within reason to assume that being a scanner—or a “telepathic curiosity,” as Dr. Ruth terms it—in and of itself necessarily makes one a dangerous and despicable human being. However, yet again, Cronenberg refuses to make things that clear cut.

The existence of Kim Obrist and the group of scanners that she associates with and collectively scans with serves as a perfect counterexample to this sentiment. And the most important aspect of this group is the sole fact that they are a group. Their ways of life are differentiated from those of Cameron and Revok because they generally avoid violent public displays of psychic dominance but, more significantly, that they seem to be constantly surrounded by other scanners. The fact that they congregate regularly helps them maintain their status as ordinary individuals within society and this is what prevents them from lashing out and at unsuspecting strangers.

This point may be more understated than the notion that scanners have the potential for great danger that is established very early on in the film (and continually re-established repeatedly throughout the film's running length) but it is undoubtedly of more import because, when one boils down the sources of good and ill will on both sides of the coin, it becomes clear that isolation is the deciding factor and the actual antagonist of the film. Unfortunately for Kim and company, after the isolated-from-birth Cameron enters the picture, everyone but Kim herself is eventually brutally murdered by Darryl's men. Just before he himself is shot, one of Kim's friends says to Cameron, “Everywhere you go, somebody dies,” and rightly so.

The looming fear throughout Scanners is that Darryl is forming a united army of scanners that will eventually rule the world, and, particularly by the end of the film, this fear turns out to be grounded in reality. However, throughout the movie, there is little evidence that is presented to suggest that any army of substance actually exists; sure, there are numerous heavily armed assassins dispatched by Darryl to dispose of certain people standing in his way, but none of them seem to be actual scanners, or, if they are, then they are highly ineffective at wielding their telepathic weapons. Most importantly, Darryl is never seen physically associating with these thugs, and they are presumably just hired muscle.

Judging by the sheer number of scanners that Darryl kills or has killed throughout the narrative, he seems to be relying very heavily on the future generation of scanners that he has been planting inside the wombs of unsuspecting women. The problem is that Darryl has apparently not taken into account the fact that he will have to interact on a human level with these new scanners in order to convince them to join his cause, and the reason that is a problem is that his social skills leave something to be desired, more than likely due to his limited social interaction over many years, along with the possibility that surrounding himself with so many people of his own kind just might soften him up slightly, and that could potentially put a damper on his motivation to take over the world.

One can assume this based on the character arc of Cameron that, although seemingly negligible, definitely exists. In the beginning of the film, Cameron is presented as a dangerous character when he causes a rude woman to fall onto the ground in a convulsive fit. However, the fact Cameron himself seems as surprised by his own actions as the people who witness the event sets the stage for his confused intentions perfectly. Past the opening scene, virtually all of the instances of Cameron's use of his scanning powers are either in self-defense (e.g. when he fends off Darryl's armed assassins inside of Benjamin Pierce's house) or situations that are seemingly justified by the pursuit of the greater good (e.g. when he kills at least one person and destroys a great deal of property by attempting to hack Darryl's computer systems via telephone). The primary exception to this comes about a half hour into the film, when Cameron demonstrates his powers against the old “yoga master” Dieter Tautz.

Dieter is presented as a mentally strong but somewhat physically frail person who elicits a fair deal of pathos when he is utterly dominated by Cameron's scan. The way the scan ends is the most important aspect, however: after Cameron brings Dieter's heart rate up to dangerous levels (or at least levels too high for Dieter to deal with), Dr. Ruth verbally commands Cameron to end his scan multiple times, but Cameron does not, either because he is cruel or because he is helplessly entranced by this display of his own power. It all comes down to one look on Cameron's face right after he eventually ends his scan. Granted, there are many odd facial expressions throughout Scanners (especially when someone is either scanning or being scanned) but this one look alone holds thematic and narrative significance, despite its extreme subtlety.

When it seems to Dr. Ruth that Cameron has no intention of complying with his pleas to let up on the struggling Dieter, he pulls out a syringe and a bottle of Ephemerol and, just before he injects it into Cameron's hand, Cameron grabs his hand to stop him from following through. Perhaps he simply did not want to experience the poke of the needle, but Cameron would have been able to see Dr. Ruth only out of his peripheral vision, and if he was truly in a telepathic trance, then he would likely not have been so quick to react to Dr. Ruth's movements. Also, the expression of simple acknowledgment on Cameron's face just thereafter strongly suggests that he was, in fact, fully cognizant of his actions the entire time and was intentionally causing harm to Dieter. Cameron seems content with himself after he sees what he has done, as he matter-of-factly affirms, “You were right, Dr. Ruth; it was easy.”

It is important to remember that, in this instance, Cameron was still recovering from roughly 35 years of intense isolation, having been discovered by Dr. Ruth mere days prior. This detail validates the idea that Cameron becomes a less broadly aggressive and more morally upright person as he begins to integrate himself within society. And this strengthens the notion that, more than anything else, the degree to which one is socially isolated is the ultimate determiner of that person's capacity for violence and aggression, as well as that person's ethical fortitude, at least according to Cronenberg.

David Cronenberg deals with isolation and its negative effects on people in several of his works, including two of his more notable films that followed Scanners: those who isolate themselves in 1983's Videodrome and rely solely on their television set to keep them company run the risk of encountering something as dangerous as the Videodrome program are liable to experience hallucinations and have massive, wildly-growing tumors in their heads; and surely the characterization of Seth Brundle in 1986's The Fly as a loner who meddles with mysterious new technology and makes the fatal mistake of teleporting himself while a fly is stuck in his telepod while he is desperate and lonely speaks quite strongly of Cronenberg's convictions regarding the dangers of social isolation. And while Scanners may press more heavily on this issue than most of his other films, the fact that it is continually weaved throughout many (if not all) of his works is a testament to just how fascinated, and possibly genuinely concerned Cronenberg seems to be with the motif of social isolation and its accompanying treachery and perilousness.

Spider-Man (2002)

[Note: I'm not entirely proud of this essay, but I'm too lazy to fix it.]

Spider-Man, the 2002 film based on characters created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko, and directed by Sam Raimi, is about the pains of growing up in terms of both chronological age and general maturity. In telling the tale of a young man named Peter Parker who must decide what type of life he will lead given an extraordinary set of powers, the story depicts universal struggles in an unconventional manner. What results is an exciting morsel of escapist cinema that audience members of all ages can enjoy—and at roughly equal levels of cognition.

Near the beginning of Spider-Man, Peter Parker is at a science museum on a field trip with his fellow senior classmates. After his best friend, Harry Osborn, boldly strikes up a conversation with his longtime crush and next-door neighbor Mary Jane Watson, Peter is inspired to make a similar move. It is at this point that Mary Jane finally directly acknowledges his existence, as he takes picture after picture of her posing nearby an exhibit of experimental genetically modified spiders. By no coincidence, Peter is bitten on the hand by a spider of just this type as his encounter with the object of his infatuation comes to an end. Although he has presumably been experiencing—or perhaps already experienced puberty in years prior, most of the effects of the spider bite are conspicuously similar to those found in pubescent males. While enhanced vision and growth of hair on one's fingertips are certainly not recorded in medical texts, drastic changes in muscular and overall body tone (not to mention growth of hair in other previously hairless portions of the body) are trademarks of adolescence, and Peter's reaction as he admires his brawny physique and impressive abdominals in the mirror is an obvious indicator that these are not attributes that he is accustomed to.

The allegorization of Peter's transformation into Spider-Man as the transformation every male experiences as he reaches sexual maturity is further substantiated by the nearly subtle reference to penile growth when he tells his Aunt May that there is a “big change” in how he feels compared to the day before, while peering directly down at the affected area. Indubitably the least subdued physical change effected by the spider bite is Peter's ability to sling web. While it may seem juvenile to relate the sticky, white material that he can spray at will using his hands to the similarly viscous, opaque fluid produced by a young male who is experimenting with a newfound power (and using the same tools to do so), it is absolutely appropriate when framing his transformation into Spider-Man as an allegory for puberty. One scene in particular supports this: Peter is practicing his web-shooting aim in his room, accidentally flinging the matter all over his bedroom and loudly damaging several possessions, when Aunt May arrives outside his door and inquires with regard to the source of the all the noise. As if this rather glaring masturbation reference does not suffice, Peter's Uncle Ben comments shortly thereafter about how he is a teenager with “raging hormones.” The purpose of that statement is twofold: first, it creates humor, by presenting the irony of Uncle Ben's belief that Peter really is experiencing puberty; and, second, it encourages the viewer to not only consider but also give credence to above mentioned analogy.

However, an immensely profound difference between puberty and the transformation that Peter Parker experiences is that the former necessarily brings one into the world of adulthood in society, while the latter brings one to the point of decision—obviously one that but a small percentage of people in the real world actually faces: what to do when one stumbles upon an unprecedented amount of power. Uncle Ben famously utters the aphorism, “With great power comes great responsibility,” but its initial appearance is preceded by an arguably more poignant statement: “These are the years when a man changes into the man he is going to become the rest of his life; just be careful who you change into.” Perhaps this sentiment may have been a bit more effective had it been delivered to Peter a few hours prior, but because he is already annoyed by his uncle's sudden propensity for prying into his personal life, he disregards it and shuts the old man down.

The significance of the phrase lies in Peter's character development and motivations, as well as a major theme of the film as a whole. Shortly after Peter gains his superpowers, he has a heartfelt conversation with Mary Jane in their respective backyards—a conversation which concludes only when her boyfriend pulls up outside of her house in his new, expensive car. Thus arrives Peter's first opportunity to intentionally use his abilities for personal gain. He decides he will try his luck in an amateur wrestling ring to raise funds for the purchase of a nice car of his own. After the wrestling promoter refuses to pay more than a fraction of his due prize money, Peter purposefully allows a robber to escape with said promoter's cash, and glibly dismisses him in what seems to be an attempt to enforce karma. It is not until this robber fatally wounds Uncle Ben while carjacking him that the levity of Ben's aforementioned expression comes to fruition. At this point, Peter decides that he will use his powers for the purposes of fighting crime and the promotion of general goodness in the world.

While other films might assume the notion that the universe is cruel and random, which is perpetuated by incredible and unfortunate coincidences such as having the opportunity prevent both a small crime and the loss of a dearly loved father figure and missing it completely, Spider-Man takes a decidedly more optimistic route. Peter Parker does not want to become an adult, because most of the adults (particularly those who are middle-aged) in his world are horrible, or, at the very least, unlikeable people: Norman Osborn; the man who murdered Uncle Ben; the wrestling promoter; Mr. Jameson, the editor of The Daily Bugle, and so on. His foray into normal adulthood resulted in the death of his uncle and an accompanying incredible sense of guilt and regret, so he opts for the life of a hero. What makes Spider-Man such a fantastical film is that Peter's boyishly idealistic belief that he can effect substantial positive change in the world is entirely affirmed by his overcoming the initially negative public response to his vigilantism after saving numerous innocent civilians and the woman of his dreams, and, most importantly, his defeat of his nemesis, the Green Goblin. The fact that most of the last half-dozen or so Illinois governors have been or still are incarcerated is proof enough that the world in which Peter lives is rather remote from reality. Surely Spider-Man's unabating sense of duty and insatiable appetite for doing good make him more of a superhero than does his ability to sling web.

More important than the film's inherent lack of realism, though, is the effect of such a quixotic story on its audience. Spider-Man being the good-natured protagonist of the film automatically encourages attachment, as does use of point-of-view shots when Peter is taking photographs at the museum, just before he is bitten. Being incessantly bullied only to exact revenge upon his large and aggressively mean peers certainly encourages sympathy, and, though the previously mentioned motivation to act virtuously may repudiate his status as a mature adult, it also makes him extremely likeable. The list of positive attributes goes on and on, because Peter is an entirely good character. In the same regard, most of the characters in Spider-Man avoid any and all ambivalence as they are each either wholly good or wholly bad. This setup of numerous binary oppositions makes for straightforward character attachment as well as simplistic and predictable conflicts, the most dominant of which are intergenerational.

Three disparate groups are represented in Spider-Man: young adults of questionable maturity, evil middle-aged adults, and sage senior citizens. Peter and his friends and peers of course comprise the first group: they are all intrinsically good people who possess some degree of naïveté and ignorance. Even the massive guys who torment Peter and Harry seem to be doing so mostly out of immaturity rather than out of hatred, let alone out of sheer evil. Greatly separated from the young adults by age but tied closely in virtue are the sage senior citizens. Aunt May and Uncle Ben are model examples, with May's saccharine sentimentalism, and Ben's bountiful maxims. This group is also embodied by Norman Osborn's older associate who vocally doubts Norman's ethics and scientific integrity and is murdered as a result.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben find themselves in similar conflicts with Norman Osborn—who personifies the group of evil middle-aged adults, along with the man who murders Ben, the wrestling promoter, Mary Jane's father, and Mr. Jameson, among others. Early in the film, Uncle Ben laments his unemployment and the dominance of computer-related job opportunities for which he is unqualified, which is contrasted by Norman Osborn, who works on the cutting edge of technological and scientific developments. Though they never directly influence each other, the world seems more apt for the success of a Norman Osborn than that of an Uncle Ben, as indicated by the early (in regard to the narrative) demise of the latter.

Aunt May, on the other hand, has a much more direct, physical, and prolonged confrontation with Norman. The Thanksgiving dinner scene (or, at least, the several minutes leading up to the actual dinner) late in the film in which Peter, Mary Jane, Harry, Norman, and Aunt May come together is important on multiple levels. Not only is Peter nearly spotted in his Spider-Man get-up by the others, but Norman's suspicions of his double identity arise and then crest as he is moved to leave the dinner table after a gash in Peter's arm confirms it. This gives Norman an enormous upper hand in gaining leverage with Spider-Man because he knows how to, as he himself puts it, “Attack the heart.” Norman's abrupt departure also results in a confrontation between him and Harry and, in turn, between Harry and Mary Jane, which permanently damages their relationship.

The most foreboding element of the scene, however, is the tension between Aunt May and Norman. Norman's descent into madness, seemingly dictated by the Green Goblin mask, has slowly stripped away his social skills, as earlier evinced by the creepy looks he directs toward Mary Jane. This culminates in Norman sticking his index finger into a dish of food before grace is said, for which he is reprimanded by Aunt May. The tension between the two is heavily emphasized by the editing and the soundtrack in this sequence; brisk shot reverse shot of their respective faces, staring each other down, all over a low, unsettling tone that confirms in the minds of the audience members that the two will certainly meet again in the near future.

And meet again they do: with his new knowledge of the identity of Spider-Man, Norman attempts to manipulate him by attacking Aunt May. It just so happens that she is kneeling at her bed, praying the Our Father when he bursts through her window. In a manner highly reminiscent of the first instance of conflict between the two, Norman points at Aunt May and forces her to shout the final line of the prayer, “And deliver us from evil” while she is essentially staring evil in the face. Aunt May manages to survive her encounter with Norman and, though she is hospitalized for some time afterward, she ultimately outlasts Norman, as Spider-Man takes care of him in the end, yet again depicting the miraculous triumph of good over evil.

The commercial success of Sam Raimi's Spider-Man in 2002 was both unprecedented and unsurprising. After all, it has massive appeal: famous and attractive actors and actresses, impressive special effects, the portrayal of a common struggle told in a unique way, a happy ending, and the championing of childhood starry-eyed wonderment. It may seem odd that adults would pay money to see themselves demonized at 24 frames-per-second, but the fact that they do just that, time and time again, perhaps legitimizes the tendency of the Hollywood blockbuster to treat them like children.

The Wrong Man (1956)

Alfred Hitchcock's 1956 film The Wrong Man is ultimately about how the universe is governed by the orders of neither justice nor reason. By telling the true story of a man who, by sheer chance, is charged with a crime that he did not commit, and the prolonged state of mental illness that the helplessness of the whole situation inflicts upon his wife, the film presents the argument that the realization of this knowledge can be equally as harmful to unsuspecting people as the randomness of life itself. Hitchcock constructs an ending in which a happy resolution is but an endnote, and by doing so, places a significant emphasis on the profundity of this truth, which is reinforced by the many aspects of the film that produce a strong sense of realism. The result is easily one of the most strikingly demoralizing pictures in Hitchcock's filmography.

Several elements that are found in most of Hitchcock's films are present in The Wrong Man. Surely the most prevalent is the idea of a single, arbitrary incident happening to an ordinary person, and that person's life being overtaken by the consequences of such event, which is seen in Manny's being mistaken for an actual criminal, and the debacle that ensues as a result of the shoddy investigative work done by a slew of incompetent police officers—yet another Hitchcock trademark. As is generally the case, these aspects effect a great deal of increased unease among the audience as the occurrences portrayed on-screen become all the more plausible in the real world. Even Hitchcock's signature cameo—a brief but pronounced materialization in silhouette before even the opening credits, accompanied by the acknowledgement that the story that is about to be presented is entirely true—works to the end of producing a heightened sense of realism that makes The Wrong Man more intensely disconcerting, both by what he says and by the absence of his potentially distracting appearance at some other point throughout the film.

To further put-off his audience, Hitchcock tones down two other hallmarks of his films: the use of point-of-view camera shots in an attempt to attach viewers to one or more characters, and the intense Bernard Herrmann score. While both of these are undeniably present—shots from the point-of-view of Manny are used several times, especially during key moments such as when he is being fingerprinted at the police station and when a witness points him out for the jury at trial; and the score kicks in immediately at the start of the opening credits—neither are used as intrusively as is commonplace Hitchcock's films. Because Manny is a double bassist at the Stork Club, Herrmann's mostly subdued jazzy compositions feel appropriate to the film and the audience is not likely to be distracted by them. In all of these cases, Hitchcock clearly takes a step back and lets the narrative play out unvarnished.

The Hitchcockian motif of mirrors also has its place within The Wrong Man, and with multiple purposes. As tensions arise between Rose and Manny, elevated by the former's suggesting that the latter might, in fact, be guilty of the crimes he is charged with, Rose picks up a hairbrush and strikes Manny on the forehead with it. During the scuffle, the mirror on the table next to them cracks roughly down the middle and there is a briefly sustained shot of Manny's reaction, split into two by the broken mirror. In this instance, the mirror reinforces the apparent conflict between the two that has just reached its climax. However, the broken mirror finds another meaning behind yet another Hitchcock favorite: the use of doubles. The audience sees the two separate halves of Manny's face, which signifies his relation to the actual robber who is not revealed until later in the film, but who is assumed to present a similar appearance to Manny himself.

The revelation of what the robber really does look like occurs within another cinematic sequence of note. Manny slowly starts falling into the dangerous, psychotic path set by Rose, as he loses his temper with his mother, who insists that he pray more. When he does so, an exceptionally lengthy fade begins, with Manny's face superimposed over the image of a man dressed in a long overcoat and a hat (just as Manny is seen earlier in the film) walking down the sidewalk at night. The unknown man continues toward the camera as Manny continues praying, until finally their faces match-up in size and placement, and the image of Manny's face disappears completely. This technique is another example of doubles and the problems that they can cause. However, the use of this long fade also provides the audience with a very clear comparison between the two men, and it is plain to see that, though they are relatively similar in appearance, they are also not identical and are easily distinguishable, which adds to the feeling that the entire fiasco is even more random and even less warranted.

The flailing sense of order that Manny experiences is conveyed through possibly the most expressionist element of The Wrong Man: the wild movements of the camera when he is first placed inside a jail cell. The sequence comes just after the detectives have convinced themselves that Manny is guilty based on questionable evidence. As evinced by the use of Hitchcock's characteristic bird's-eye view shot, heralding the “point of no return” in the plot, Manny's fate is taking a turn for the worse as the police no longer claim to be overseeing his case objectively. At the moment that Manny is taken to his cell, his face communicates a sense of shock, disbelief, and utter dismay; his typical upbeat disposition is no longer present. Shots of his nervous feet are interlaced with those of his distressed face as he paces back-and-forth across his cell with overwhelming anxiety. This continues for a moment until he stops pacing and leans his body and the back of his head against the wall. He closes his eyes slowly and the camera then begins moving in an irregular sphere with increasing rapidity. Because Manny's eyes are closed, the shot could not be taken from his point-of-view, but it may as well have been, as this sickening, thrashing motion is certainly what he sees and feels when he closes his eyes.

Beyond physical terms, the extreme kinetic movement of the camera also expresses just how chaotic the world around Manny is, in which a man can do nothing wrong, tell only the truth, and still be wrongly accused by supposedly helpful authority figures. Though he never exactly held the reins of his detainment, he has now indubitably lost control of his situation, and is unable to stop even his own mind from spinning, as the levity of his predicament gets the best of him. Manny's realization that he no longer has authority over his own fate is accompanied by the recognition that he has never really had such power. While the method here does not necessarily culminate in spectator sympathy with Manny, it strongly encourages it.

Hitchcock also hopes to attach the audience to Manny and incite maximum emotional investment in his outcome by making his character quite possibly one of the nicest, most genuine, and most likeable figures in cinema history. He is hard-working, honest, optimistic, kind, and he loves his family dearly, and knowing that effects a very deep sense of sorrow within the audience as he struggles through this difficult time in his life. It also makes the ending of The Wrong Man especially unnerving. Because moviegoers are accustomed to the definitely positive outcome of most motion pictures, it is hard to help but think that the news of Manny's being cleared by the police will be the sure cure for Rose's depressive state. When this assumption does not come to fruition, the viewer is neither rewarded nor satisfied. In this way, Hitchcock in manipulating audience expectations, as he is prone to do in his works.

Though the ending of The Wrong Man is ultimately a positive one, in that the text that appears on the screen just before the credits roll announces that Rose was eventually cured and that the Balestrero family lives happily in Florida, the manner in which this resolution is presented is not in a way that an audience finds gratifying. The aforementioned text appears on the screen for no more than mere seconds, while several minutes are spent dwelling upon Rose's resilience to hope and her rejection of Manny after his release. The reason Hitchcock chooses to use such means of depicting the story's resolution is not only to tamper with audience assumptions, but also to hammer home the fact that the Balestrero family remained in this fractured state for two full years—years that are important in the development of their two children—before Rose escaped from the grips of the nightmare in which she was living. The cinematic attention paid to Rose's miserable condition also highlights the lasting emotional and psychological effects that are often manifested when one comes to the true—however unfortunate and disheartening—realization that so severely paralyzed her with fear: that she, along with everyone else, is simply at the mercy of the universe.

The 1956 feature The Wrong Man finds Hitchcock making several departures from his usual modus operandi. While it does include several of the motifs that are found throughout his body of work, even those are applied differently and, in some cases, for slightly different effect. As he directly states in his cameo at the very beginning of the film, the notion of dramatically reproducing a true story is also a new concept. Most importantly, though, The Wrong Man shows Hitchcock truly pushing the envelope of audience manipulation: he takes this true story that eventually resolved positively and presents it in a manner that not only plays on the audience's expectations of how narratives are supposed to work, but also creates a rather unsatisfying and wholly unsettling conclusion so tangible and plausible that The Wrong Man becomes truly one of his most frightening films.

The Wire (TV) (2002-2008)

The Wire was a television program broadcast on HBO from 2002 to 2008 (“The Wire” n.d.). It chronicled the lives of about 65 key characters in Baltimore, Maryland . These characters included detectives, sergeants, commissioners and more members of the Baltimore Police Department; political figures such as aldermen, councilmen, and mayors in Baltimore; drug dealers at all levels within multiple large crime organizations, and many others. Due to the expansive story lines involving such a great number of characters, it is difficult to succinctly summarize the show as a whole or even by each season. However, each season had an overarching target: the first highlighted the drug trade; the second, the port system and labor unions; the third, government bureaucracy, inefficiency, and corruption at the city level; the fourth, the failings of the public school system; and the fifth, journalism and print media.

The Wire was created primarily by David Simon, with help from Ed Burns (“The Wire” n.d.). David Simon worked as a reporter at The Baltimore Sun for thirteen years, most of which was spent writing about crime (“David Simon” n.d.). While working for the Sun, Simon befriended Ed Burns, who was a city homicide detective for twenty years in Baltimore, and often used him as a source for leads and information (“Ed Burns” n.d.). After they left their respective day jobs, they created The Wire for HBO, which featured stories and characters from Simon's book Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets as well as from Burns' real-life experience in the police department.

As already mentioned, the first season of The Wire deals primarily with the illegal drug trade, however this theme is present in the the majority of the series as a whole. The reason David Simon chose to focus so much on this issue is to showcase for a national audience the futility of the war on drugs (Chadda, Wilson, and Venkatesh 2008). The police in the show spend what amounts to multiple years and multiple million dollars on one specific drug case, and, yet, due to government bureaucracy, politics within the police department, limited resources, and human error, they have a difficult time convicting any of the drug dealers of anything worthwhile. The other issues covered in the subsequent seasons do not take this exact form, but they do generally result in the same conclusion: things need to change. In fact, that was David Simon's intended message of the series: to depict the socioeconomic inequality present in urban areas in hopes that it would spark pushes for reform (Atlas and Dreier 2008).

This is one of the aspects of The Wire that sets it apart from the average, formulaic cop dramas on television, in which an episode centers around one case which is solved within a 60-minute timeframe, allowing for a happy resolution. The Wire is quite bleak in outlook, and its creators viewed the political system as incapable of reform in its current state. Another aspect of The Wire that separates it from not only other cop dramas, but from most television shows in general, is its predominantly African American, highly developed and multi-dimensional cast, which is representative of the 63% African American population of Baltimore (“Baltimore city QuickFacts n.d.). Then again, The Wire is not purely a cop show as it has generally been considered to be. As Simon himself put it, it is a “a political tract masquerading as a cop show” (Atlas and Dreier 2009). He also said that “[The Wire] is really about the American city and how we try to live together” (Tyree 2008).

Due to the credibility of the creators and the extent to which they based content on real-life experience, The Wire is considered by many to be the most realistic cop show of all time (“The Wire” n.d.). Most of the characters in the series were based on actual people and many of those characters maintained the names of their real-life counterparts and, in fact, dozens of those real-life people auditioned to portray themselves in the show, most of which were re-cast as different characters (“The Wire” n.d.). Also contributing to the realism of the show was its brutally gritty depiction of urban life, which commonly had the effect of making the viewer uncomfortable. This, combined with the very minimal use of both non-diegetic music and stylistic flares, as well as the believable vernacular used by the characters, truly set The Wire apart from virtually everything else on television in terms of realism, including so-called “reality” television. The context of The Wire is post-September 11, 2001 is reflected in the police department's relationship with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The police reach out to the FBI in order to help them solve large cases and prosecute most effectively, but the FBI is generally unwilling or unable to help because they are required to focus all of their time on their counter-terrorism efforts.

Another interesting aspect of The Wire that, again, makes it unique, is the moral ambiguity of nearly all of its characters (Atlas and Dreier 2009). Contrary to what is typically portrayed in film and television, there were no absolutely good nor any absolutely evil characters; most of the murderers have more moral fortitude than the drunk-driving cops that are trying to enforce the law upon them; the head of a massive drug dealing organization must payoff a state representative in order to get the license to start a legitimate business. The closest thing to a savior in the show is a character who robs drug dealers and murders people with a sawed-off shotgun. Besides making the show more intriguing, this also conveys a message about differences, primarily in regards to class. While the government officials might make more money than the detectives or the drug dealers, they are on no moral high ground; they are all human beings.

Film and television often depict a clashing of different cultures any time diversity is present. Yet again, The Wire is an exceptional case. Though there is much conflict between people of different races in The Wire, race is hardly ever the basis of those conflicts. The characters in the show are interacting as human beings, not as two different “races” of people, and this reflects the previously mentioned prominence of the equality that humans share.

Also worth noting is the fact that The Wire is considering by many critics to be the greatest television series of all time (Carey 2007; Goodman 2003; Miller and Traister 2007; Shelley 2005; Weisberg 2006; Wilde 2007), and yet it was never received impressive ratings (“The Wire” n.d.). It also was nominated for very few awards and never really won any major awards, perhaps reflecting the interest lacking in Americans to face the unpleasant and unfortunate facts of life.

References

Atlas, J. and Dreier, P. (2008). Is The Wire Too Cynical? [Electronic version]. Dissent, 55, 79-82.

Atlas, J. and Dreier, P. (2009). The Wire – Bush-Era Fable about America's Urban Poor? [Electronic version]. City & Community, 8, 329-340.

“Baltimore city QuickFacts.” (n.d.). U.S. Census Bureau. Retrieved from http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/24/24510.html

Carey, K. (2007). A show of honesty. Guardian.co.uk. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2007/feb/13/thewire

Chaddha, A., Wilson, W. J., and Venkatesh, S. A. (2008). [Electronic version]. Dissent, 55, 83- 86.

“David Simon.” (n.d.). Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0800108/

“Ed Burns.” (n.d.). Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0122654/

Goodman, T. (2003). HBO scores again with a stellar second season of 'The Wire'. SFGate. Retrieved from http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi? f=/c/a/2003/05/30/DD157653.DTL

Miller, L., and Traister, R. (2007). The best TV show of all time. Salon.com Retrieved from http://www.salon.com/entertainment/tv/feature/2007/09/15/best_show

Shelley, J. (2005). Call the cops. Guardian.co.uk. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2005/aug/06/tvandradio.guide2

“The Wire.” (n.d.) Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0122654/

Tyree, J.M. (2008). The Wire: The Complete Fourth Season [Electronic version]. Film Quarterly, 61, 32-38.

Weisberg, J. (2006). The Wire on Fire. Slate. Retrieved from http://www.slate.com/id/2149566/

Wilde, J. (2007). The Wire is unmissable television. Guardian.co.uk. Retrieved from http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/tvandradioblog/2007/jul/21/thewireisunmissabletelevis

The Blind Side (2009)

For a sports-themed film, The Blind Side was a surprisingly polarizing film upon its release in 2009. Many people saw it as a simple, straightforward, uplifting and inspiring film about human connections, while a seemingly equal amount of people saw aspects of it as racist, classist, and generally offensive. Regardless of one's opinion on the film, it is hard to disagree with the fact that it is a movie that gets people talking.

The Blind Side centers around the true-story of the wealthy Tuohy family in Tennessee who took in a young African American man named Michael Oher. The family, consisting of the mother, Leigh Anne; the father Sean; the daughter, Collins; and the son S.J., spot Michael for the first time outside of the high school that Collins attends (which Michael also attends), standing outside in the rain, wearing nothing but shorts and a t-shirt. Therefore, one could say that the family initially brought Michael into their home out of pity. But after spending some time getting to know Michael, the family develops a strong relationship with him, practically—and eventually, legally—making him a part of their family. Despite that fact that—according to the film, anyway—the concept of football is completely foreign to Michael, he joins the high school football team. After a rough start, Leigh Anne is able to figure out exactly how to motivate Michael to perform well. Lo and behold, Michael's contributions are enough to essentially carry the football team and they are hugely successful. After working hard to keep his GPA afloat, Michael is able to accept an offer to play football at the University of Mississippi. The real-life Michael Oher went on to be drafted by the Baltimore Ravens in 2009. (“The Blind Side” n.d.)

In his essay “Across the Great Divide – Class,” Cunningham (2004) discusses the class differences between journalists and other media figures and those who consume the news that they convey. Essentially, journalists—consciously or not—will distort or misrepresent news stories because they relate to it differently than the general population. While Cunningham specifically refers to journalism and news media, the general idea of his writing can also be applied to film. It is interesting to compare Lee Daniels' film Precious:Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire to John Lee Hancock's The Blind Side. While anyone who has seen these films will likely be baffled by this comparison initially, but, with some consideration, it is logical: the protagonists of both are large, but amiable young African Americans who have been failed by the education system and whose home lives are abusive and/or negligent. The reason that this comparison relates to Cunningham's essay is that there is an enormous difference between the tone and overall message of each film, and that likely stems from the comparable difference between the backgrounds of each respective director. Lee Daniels came from a household of physical, emotional, and psychological abuse, and has struggled for years on end to reach the level of Hollywood at which directors and producers can easily receive funding from major studios to make the films they want to make (“Lee Daniels” n.d.). John Lee Hancock, on the other hand, seemingly came from a relatively positive background and decided to pursue filmmaking only after graduating from law school and practicing his craft for two years (“John Lee Hancock” n.d.). It is fairly plain to see that this contrast is reflected in the sharp contrast of their cinematic styles. Daniels' Precious is dark in terms of content, gritty in terms of style, and bleak in terms of outlook. It realistically represents the struggle that many African Americans, including Daniels himself, weather in order to survive. It is not a pleasant movie-going experience. Hancock's The Blind Side, however, is light, bright, fluffy, and positive. With those crowd-pleasing factors, though, The Blind Side sacrifices realism, while still under the guise of depicting a true story.

There are several aspects of The Blind Side that make it unrealistic and almost manipulatively positive. The most glaring example is when Leigh Anne approaches Michael's old friends and ends up threatening one of them with a gun that she is carrying. The specific lines and the manner in which they are delivered make this scene almost embarrassingly silly and awful. Another aspect is the frequent use of quick one-liners at the end of scenes, which leave the audience with the impression that whatever just happened in that scene was positive, even if the majority of it was tragic. Non-diegetic music is almost constantly used in the film and it is cliché in every way. Scenes that are supposed to emotional and dramatic use slow, melancholy music, while uplifting or generally positive scenes feature prominent use of happy, upbeat music. The general feel-good tone of the film, achieved via careful manipulation of mise-en-scène (e.g. using bright, warm, glowing colors and comfortable settings). In regards to cinematography, many low-angle shots are used on Michael in order to emphasize his large size and physical dominance over most people.

In her essay “My Left Tackle” (2007), Rachel Toor explains how the concept of the left tackle position and the responsibilities with which it is associated can be applied to many real-life scenarios. The article is compelling because it indirectly hits on one of the few positive techniques of the film The Blind Side, which is its analogous use of the left tackle position. In football, the left tackle's primary job is to protect a right-handed quarterback from being tackled by someone who is not within his field of vision—or, within his “blind side.” This protection allows said quarterback to concentrate solely on the play he is running, and it also greatly reduces the chances of being seriously injured, thereby allowing the quarterback to more successfully fulfill his duty. In the sense of the film, Michael Oher is a left tackle on the field, but Leigh Anne becomes the guardian of his blind side in his life. Although the Michael's helplessness seems exaggerated in the film, the Tuohy family undoubtedly gave him an opportunity that he likely would not have come by had they not reached out to him.

In the article “White Middle-Class Privilege: Social Class Bias and Implications for Training and Practice,” (2007) Ivey, Liu, and Pickett, Jr. thoroughly discuss the great divide present between white middle-class Americans and all of the lower-class minorities who often serve them on a daily basis. The Tuohy family, at least based on their portrayal in The Blind Side seems to actually be more upper-class than anything, but that only heightens the aforementioned divide. More than anything else, the prevailing theme of The Blind Side is class. Michael is depicted as fairly dumb and completely lacking in agency, and it seems as though he never would have survived in the world had the Tuohy family not reached out to him. But this simply reinforces the stereotype that all people in the lower class are destitute and always need other people's help. The whole tone of the film seems rather condescending toward poor people—stating, in a way, that people who are not born into privilege can only hope to be lucky enough to be handed a “golden ticket” of sorts to go live with the white folks way up in their mansion in the sky.

References

Cherner, R. (2009). More Sides to 'The Blind Side' [Electronic version]. 1 December 2009. USA Today, 3c.

Cunningham, B. (2004). Across The Great Divide – Class [Electronic version]. Columbia Journalism Review, 43, 31-38.

Deacon, A. (2010). 'The Blind Side' and Putting Care into Action [Electronic version]. 5 February 2010. Christian Science Monitor, n.p.

Ivey, A.E., Pickett, Jr., T., and Liu, W.M. (2007). White Middle-Class Privilege: Social Class Bias and Implications for Training and Practice [Electronic version]. Journal of Multicultural Counseling & Development, 35, 194-206.

“John Lee Hancock”. (n.d.). Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0359387/

“Lee Daniels”. (n.d.). Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0200005/

Persall, S. (2009). It's Heartwarming, Okay? [Electronic version]. 19 November 2009. St. Petersburg Times, 5W.

Puig, C. (2009). 'Blind Side' Sidesteps Issues [Electronic version]. 20 November 2009. USA Today, 4d.

Scott, A.O. (2009). Two films swing into view from different corners of the movie cosmos;
'Precious' and 'Blind Side' engage, sort of, in a U.S. conversation on race [Electronic version]. 23 November 2009. The International Herald Tribune, 11.

“The Blind Side”. (n.d.). Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0878804/

Toor, R. (2007). My Left Tackle [Electronic version]. The Chronicle of Higher Education, 53.47.

Zelkithi, T. (2009). Are movies Blind Side and Precious simply two versions of the same story? [Electronic version]. The Jacksonville Free Press, 23, 9.

Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire (2009)

Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire turned out to be the little film that could, although it almost never came to be. Even though the man behind the wheel of its production—Lee Daniels—was a producer and “co-direct[or]” (Hirschberg 2009) of the first film to garner an Academy Award win for an African-American actress, Halle Berry in Monster's Ball (Mask 2004), he could not get any studio support for Precious. For perhaps a number of reasons, nobody in the film industry seemed to have faith in the project. I think anyone can agree that Precious does not exactly provide a pleasant movie-going experience, and unpleasantness does not sell tickets at the box office. People go to the movie theater to escape from real life, not to be smacked square in the face with the injustices and tragedies of modern life. Due to the refusal to budge on the studios' parts, Daniels suddenly became a fundraiser. He around to friends and family, asking for financial support for the film, and eventually, Daniels acquired the backing he needed from an unlikely source—a wealthy suburban couple in Denver who admired his work (Hirschberg 2009).

Financial woes is not the only adversity that both Lee Daniels and the title character of Precious have faced in common: Daniels was also physically and mentally abused by a parent figure (In his case, his father beat him because he exhibited feminine qualities and his father believed that physical dominance would solve the problem.) (Hirschberg 2009). Another key player in the making of Precious came from a similar background of abuse: Mo'Nique. She had a brother who abused her starting at a very young age, and she harnessed the monster that she recognized in her brother in order to bring forth the wickedness of her character, Mary Jones (Hirschberg 2009). As indicated by the research conducted in the article “Priming Mammies, Jezebels, and Other Controlling Images: An Examination of the Influence of Mediated Stereotypes on Perceptions of an African American Woman” by Givens and Monahan, negative depictions of African-American women in media results in a negative attitude toward all African-American women in the consumer (Brown Givens and Monahan 2005). Such criticism has been drawn in regards to Precious, especially in regard to Mo'Nique's character, which Lee Daniels warned the actress of beforehand. However, the two decided that it was more important to depict reality as they have experienced it and not in a way that would simply please critics (Hirschberg 2009). It is also necessary to recognize that the character of Precious does no just stand for African-American teenagers who are raped by their father and assaulted by their mother in Harlem in 1987; rather instead, “Precious is a stand-in for anyone -- black, white, male, female -- who has ever been devalued or underestimated” (Hirschberg 2009).

Precious is fairly unique in that it includes African-American women who are physically and sexually assaulted without diminishing the seriousness of the acts nor faulting the victims themselves for the attacks. In the article “African American Women and Violence: Gender, Race, and Class in the News,” Marian Meyers discusses the news coverage of a spring break event in Atlanta, Georgia during which there are many instances of violence, sexual assault, and rape. Often times the news coverage of these events implies in one way or another that the victims themselves are responsible for acting in such a provocative manner that would entice the perpetrator to act out. While this article is about local news coverage of one specific event, it can also be applied to media in any form. While Precious does not specifically feature any Jezebels—or, African-American females who are portrayed as sexual objects whose “lewd behavior provoke[s] assault (Meyers 2004)—it does depict violence among African-American women in such a way that might be considered over-the-top (i.e., dropping a TV on someone who is holding an infant) to some viewers, which could lead said viewers to underestimate the seriousness of the acts.

Another way in which Precious is unique is that it features a predominantly female, African-American cast. Even if it is not entirely unique, it is compared to all other Academy Award-nominated films. According to Mia Mask, in her article on Monster's Ball, there is a generally scarcity of dramatic African-American female lead roles in cinema today due to “Hollywood’s continual unwillingness to invest in films depicting black women as more than sexual objects and romantic partners” (Mask 2004). However, Mask argues, the existence of a market for such films is exemplified in the success—both critically and financially—of the 2001 film Monster's Ball (also produced by Lee Daniels). Though the fact that an African-American woman was never awarded a Best Actress Oscar until 2001 is bothersome enough, it is even more incredible that “the roles for which black actors have won Oscars have something in common: all depict isolated African- American characters as beholden to the beneficence of white philanthropy, or, at least, humbled by the moral rectitude of white paternalism” (Mask 2004).

When it comes to film form, Precious is a very impressive film. Lee Daniels undoubtedly wanted to make the audience a bit uncomfortable, using both intense violence and unappealing imagery, especially involving food, to accomplish that. Multiple shots of greasy food cooking on the stove in Precious' home, paired with the amplified sounds of gurgling liquids made for an unappetizing display. Daniels also attempted to establish a “shifting tone... Not just through the dialogue, but through editing and the music” (Stevens 2010). He achieved this tone though use of quick cuts between scenes as well as between segments of reality and segments of fantasy, as well as through use of both soulful R&B in the movie's soundtrack along with vulgar hip-hop music. Also noticeable throughout the film is the lighting differences—an aspect of mise-en-scène—between scenes that add hopefulness to the story and those that diminish optimism. An example would include very dark lighting and lots of shadows in Precious' home, especially during conflicts with her mother, compared to the fully illuminated school Precious attends through most of the film, as well as the hospital in which she delivers her second child. The dark lighting clearly signifies sinister and evil persons, as in the case of Precious' mother, while bright light stands for hope. Lastly, Daniels' choice of camera angles and framing throughout the film helps decide our perspective of events in the story. When Precious is outdoors, the use of loose framing represents her freedom as compared to the tight framing and close-ups used in Precious' home, which suggests a psychological tension in the scene. One sequence in particular—when Precious is rushing down the stairs with her new child after engaging in a violent scuffle with her mother—demonstrates clever use of high and low angle shots; the former on Precious as she descends the stairs and has not a clue that her mother is about to drop a TV on her head, and the former on Precious' mother as she glares down at Precious. The high angle shot invokes a sense of vulnerability in the character being featured, while low angle shot does just the opposite.

References

Brown Givens, S., and Monahan, J. (2005). Priming Mammies, Jezebels, and Other Controlling Images: An Examination of the Influence of Mediated Stereotypes on Perceptions of an African American Woman [Electronic version]. Media Psychology, 7, 87-106.

Hirschberg, L. (2009). The Audacity of 'Precious' [Electronic version]. The New York Times Magazine, 68, 28-37.

Mask, M. (2004). Monster's Ball [Electronic version]. Film Quarterly, 58, 44-55.

Meyers, M. (2004). African American Women and Violence: Gender, Race, and Class in the News [Electronic version]. Critical Studies in Media Communication, 21, 95-118.

Stevens, I. (2010). The value of 'Precious' [Electronic version]. Sight & Sound, 20, 11.

Our Family Wedding (2010)

Rick Famuyiwa's Our Family Wedding is a comedy about a Mexican-American woman and an African American man who decide to get married. Unfortunately, their parents do not take to the news kindly and much wackiness ensues. The young woman is played by America Ferrara, whose parents are played by Carlos Mencia and Diana Maria Riva, and the young man is played by Lance Gross, whose father is played by Forest Whitaker (“Our Family Wedding” n.d.). Once the families comically work out their differences, all is well and they live happily ever after.

The primary character development found in the film is found in the characters of the fathers of the couple-to-be. They are initially very repellant of each other, and can hardly stand in the same room together without arguing. Before the end of the film, however, they realize that the marriage which they are trying to arrange is not about them, but rather instead, it is about their children, and that that is what matters. Upon this realization, they are able to bond over the strange feeling of “giving up” their first-borns to someone else's child, among other things.

There is also some character development in the bride and groom, though it is less pronounced. In the beginning of the film, they are both deathly afraid of coming clean with their parents about their plans, due to their uncertainty as to how their parents will react. In fact, the bride does not even reveal the side fact that she has dropped out of law school until later in the film when she practically mentions it by accident in a heated argument with her parents. This reluctance to be open and honest with their parents reflects the slight immaturity of both of the young people. But there is irony in the fact that the young people are still more mature than their fathers, whose every encounter ends up in a repartee of racial slurs.

The most obvious theme in Our Family Wedding is one of racial differences. According to the film, people of different races are crippled by their racism, rendering them almost completely incapable of communicating with one another. This is one of the more ridiculous aspects of the film, perhaps upstaged only by a goat on Viagra, but it is intended to create nearly all of the humor in most of the film. Unfortunately, this humor is very trying almost immediately, and it becomes entirely arduous for the remaining duration. Not only are the jokes incredibly silly and stupid, but they are unfunny, and, sometimes, lifted from another film. One such example is the joke of Carlos Mencia's character attempting to slide into first base during a softball match, but coming several feet short; this gag was done more effectively over twenty years ago in David Ward's Major League, and it is more likely that a 2010 family comedy stole the joke rather than paid homage to a 1989 farcical professional baseball comedy. In regards to the aforementioned goat-on-Viagra scenario: it is not crazy enough to make the scene surrealistically funny nor is it plausible enough to be relatable, and it therefore ends up falling flat.

Although the racial clashing in the film is outlandish enough to be considered solely for comedic effect, some of the other depictions do not receive the same treatment. For example, the mother (in the case of the bride) and the mother figure (in the case of the groom) are remarkably flat and one-dimensional. Both of them have their feelings greatly hurt by their children and/or partner and yet they are willing to forgive and forget over very simplistic signs of condolence: the bride's mother is cheered up by sitting in a car that takes her back to her younger days, and the groom's mother figure bizarrely falls back in love with the groom's father after he forces her to dance with him. This depiction of women as shallow in the media is very common and was plain to see in Our Family Wedding.

What stereotypes the father figures do not allude to in their verbal sparring are eventually reinforced in a dramatic fashion. One such is the buffoon stereotype of men. The best example is found in the failure of the fathers to complete the simple task of hiring a disc jockey for the wedding: they are unable to do so because they cannot control themselves and quickly begin drinking heavily at a club. Fortunately for the plotline, their partners are rather inclined to brush this off as “guys will be guys.” This sort of incompetence found in the fathers requires the mother figures to pick up much of the slack of planning and executing the wedding ceremony. Oddly, little of their work is shown on-screen, and the audience feels safe in assuming that everyone involved did their fair share of work in putting things together. Incredibly, this is actually common in real life (Sniezek 2005).

In Our Family Wedding, there is a scene in the families get together to decide who they will seat where during the ceremony. This sequence contains some of the most cliché humor of the film, including references to all of the “crazy” aunts, uncles, and cousins everyone has. But what is most striking about this scene is that the bride and groom have considerably small input on the decisions being made. This is their wedding and yet they are not necessarily allowed to choose who will come and who will not, and who will sit by whom. Though this is viewed as typical in cinema, it does reflect quite accurately what occurs in actual wedding planning (Castrén and Maillochon 2009). Between this and the aforementioned unequal distribution of labor, Our Family Wedding is surprisingly realistic in regards to some aspects of wedding planning, whether intentional or not.

One of the few relatively poignant points made in Our Family Wedding is delivered by Carlos Mencia's character when he says that the secret to raising children is lying. This is one of the most genuine moments of the film and it unfortunately is placed so poorly in the film that it is likely to be looked over by the audience. Most people can relate to the concept of being told to act or think one way by their parents and yet their parents seem to be incapable of acting or thinking that way themselves, as depicted in the film. It is the golden rule that many people try, and fail, to live by. Unsurprisingly, this notion of “parenting by lying” has been supported by studies such as the one completed by Heyman, Lee, and Luu (Heyman, Lee, and Luu 2009). Ironically, many people who preach the golden rule do not actually live by it.

References

Angelo, M. (2010, March 7). Wedding Plan: Jump a Broom or Eat a Goat [Electronic version]. New York Times, p. 14.

Breznican, A. (2010, January 7). Race and family head to the Altar [Electronic version]. USA Today, p. 1d.

Castrén, A. and Maillochon, F. (2009). Who Chooses the Wedding Guests, the Couple or the Family? [Electronic version]. European Societies, 11, 369-389.

Catsoulis, J. (2010, March 12). Untitled [Electronic version]. New York Times, p. 10.

Heyman, G. D., Lee, K., and Luu, D. H. (2009). Parenting by lying [Electronic version]. Journal of Moral Education, 38, 353-369.

“Our Family Wedding”. (n.d.). Internet Movie Database. Retrieved from http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1305583/

Sniezek, T. (2005). Is It Our Day or the Bride’s Day? The Division of Wedding Labor and Its Meaning for Couples [Electronic version]. Qualitative Sociology, 28, 215-234.