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.

Knife in the Water (1962)

Along with Orson Welles' Citizen Kane, David Lynch's Eraserhead, and Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs, Roman Polanski's 1962 film Knife in the Water is considered one of the greatest directorial debuts of all time. Though the story is straightforward enough, the film contains some seemingly peculiar stylistic choices. While not all of these aspects are necessarily expressive in nature (though most of them are) because they deviate from the classical Hollywood narrative, but are likely just the product of a different culture—in this case, Polish culture in the early 1960's. Even with these non-traditional elements (or perhaps even because of them), Polanski is very effective in telling his story.

Knife in the Water tells a fairly simple tale. A married couple, Andrzej and Krystyna are driving out to a lake for a relaxing time in their sailboat when they nearly strike a young man who is hitchhiking in the middle of the road. Immediately, Andrzej's temper flares at the young man's insolence, which certainly foreshadows the tantrums thrown by both of the men later in the film. The couple invites the young man to sail with them, and after spending a stormy night in the cabin of the boat, the two men begin taunting each other when the young man's coveted knife—the knife that seems to be his only possession—is accidentally tossed into the lake where it never be recovered. A scuffle ensues and the young man ends up falling into the water. After the couple does not see him resurface, they assume he has drowned and begin arguing amongst themselves. As Andrzej swims off in anger, the young man returns to the boat and he and the woman copulate. The film closes with the woman trying to convince her husband of her affair with the young man, and his refusing to believe her.

The narrative of Knife in the Water is similar to those of classical Hollywood in that it is simple, but it differs in that there is no clearly defined antagonist or protagonist. Throughout the film, both Andrzej and the young man are capable of filling either role. Also atypical is that the true motives of each of the characters are uncertain, to say the least, which makes the film less predictable and more suspenseful overall. The setting of Knife in the Water is also anything but standard in that it not only takes place almost entirely in one location, but also because that location is a sailboat in the middle of a lake. The isolation of the characters from the rest of society that results from this adds a subtle tension to the story because one gets the sense that anything can happen on this boat and that those on the boat will not necessarily be held legally or socially responsible for their actions. This single setting reflects the minimalistic style of the film, which is also found in many other aspects. One example includes its use of subtitles. There are noticeable gaps in the subtitles wherein whatever the character is saying is presumably supposed to be implied or unimportant enough to garner translation. The non-diegetic music in Knife in the Water is not minimalistic in frequency of use, however it seems to consist solely of a short bit of blaring, saxophone-heavy jazz music that is recycled repeatedly, and in this way its soundtrack as a whole is rather minimalistic.

The camerawork in Knife in the Water is surely its most expressive aspect. Right out of the gate, odd camera angles are noticeably prevalent, such as a shot from behind a person, through their legs, and a shot that seems to be setup on a character's shoulder. Though they are not the same angles that are generally used for this purpose, those shots seem to be a means of expressing Andrzej's psychological strength and overall confidence and the young man's contrasting vulnerability, respectively. Another expressive use of camerawork exists in the somewhat frequent use of a shaky camera, particularly while depicting events on the sailboat. By replicating the effect of being on the boat with the characters, this technique enhances tension by reinforcing the feeling of chaos created by the uncertainty of the characters' motives and intentions. Countering this expressivism but adding to the suspense is Polanski's use of long takes, which convey a sense of real time and space.

While the story of Roman Polanski's 1962 film Knife in the Water takes no genius to comprehend, its departure from the classical Hollywood narrative is found in subtle features such as ambiguous characters and their ambiguous motives, and, really, an ambiguous conclusion. Many stylistic features of the film, particularly expressive camerawork, contribute to its deviation from the norm and reinforce the overall suspense and tension of the film. Without question, Polanski effectively tells his story without resorting to the cliché and stale filmmaking methods of classical Hollywood.

Sequence analysis: Fargo (1996)

In his 1996 film Fargo, director Joel Coen's overall style is predominantly realistic, though, as with most of his films, it also contains expressionistic elements. Virtually every aspect of the film, from shot composition to editing to sound use, conveys a sense of realism, which is clearly what Coen was attempting to create. The few expressionistic elements of the film are quite subtle and might be overlooked with attentive viewing.

The sequence in Fargo in which Police Chief Marge Gunderson's investigation begins occurs relatively near the start of the film. A large portion of the action of the film takes place before this sequence, however, and this action is the reason that Marge is brought into the story in the first place. Before this sequence, William H. Macy's character, Jerry Lundegaard, is seen making a deal with two shady men (played by Steve Buscemi and Peter Stormare) in which they will kidnap his wife in exchange for a car. Shortly after this, the two men follow through with this task, and on their way out of town, the men are confronted by a cop, whom they end up killing, along with two men in another car who witness the ordeal. The firstly mentioned sequence follows, and the rest of the film chronicles Marge's laborious piecing together of the crime.

The sequence featuring the beginning of Marge Gunderson's investigation has many functions, including one that is quite crucial. Narrative-wise—and the most important function of the sequence in general—is the introduction of the character of Marge Gunderson. Whether the audience realizes it at the time or not, Marge is not only one of, if not the main character of the film, but also becomes the primary antagonist in the story, hindering the success of Jerry Lundegaard in reaching his goal of making enough money to buy some land, as well as that of the two kidnappers (and eventual murderers).

The primary function of this sequence, however, is one of characterization. Not only does it introduce the character of Marge Gunderson, but it also tells us a few things about her. First, that she is dedicated to her job, as indicated by her willingness to hop out of bed very early in the morning after being called into work. This also shows that there are few others who share her job in the area, which means that she works in a small town. Second, that the job to which she shows dedication is one as a police officer, or, more specifically, a police chief. This is determined by the police uniform she wears, as well the fact that she is investigating a crime scene. Third, that she is pregnant. The shot of her getting out of bed and walking toward the camera, as well the shot of her standing up and walking away from the kitchen table both make this fact very plain. However, if a viewer failed to recognize this from those shots, he or she would then realize it when a wave of morning sickness overcomes Marge while she examines the crime scene.

The sequence also characterizes Marge's husband, Norm, as well as her partner, Lou, to some degree. Norm is seen as very loving of his wife as well as fairly selfless, in that he is willing to wake up when his wife does in order to make her breakfast. Based on the duck carvings and paintings that open the scene, as well as Norm's seeming lack of intent to get out of the house, it is possible to induce that he is some sort of artist who works from home. The sequence also establishes the motif of Norm and Marge's fondness of eating together and lying in bed together, one of which they are doing in every single scene of which they are both a part. As for Lou, though his character is not especially developed or round, the thoughts that he expresses in this sequence portray him as a man of questionable intelligence, which provides a nice contrast to Marge, and emphasizes her smarts.

The mise-en-scène of Fargo—and that of the sequence in which Marge Gunderson begins her investigation—obviously plays a very large role in establishing its realism. The film was shot entirely on location, and this is not difficult to notice with the seemingly endless snow-covered landscape that surrounds every part of the action of the film. In fact, it could be argued that this snow plays at least some role in the development of the plot, as the two men in the car who witness the crime scene of the murder of the police officer likely would not have lost control of their car under normal conditions. Had this been the case, they could very well have reached the police in town before the murderers escaped, and a different story might have developed.

Also in regards to the mise-en-scène of this sequence is the expressions on the actors' faces, particularly those of Marge and Lou. Both are notably deadpan, especially the latter, while the former also communicates a bit more emotion. The props in the scene mostly exist in the Gunderson household, which seems nice enough, though reasonably modest. The props are what one might expect to see in the household of a working-class couple, under which wildlife painters and small-town police chiefs would certainly exist. The costumes that are worn In this sequence are of the same ilk. The fur-lined trooper hats sported by Marge and Lou are sensible, (and, in fact, these hats have gone on to be marketed as Fargo hats) and their preference of economy over convention is pragmatic and therefore it, along with the aforementioned props convey, perhaps even subconsciously, a sense deeper sense of realism.

Another aspect of Fargo that points it in the direction of realism is its extensive use of natural lighting in outdoor scenes and low-key lighting in most indoor scenes. In the sequence in which Marge Gunderson is introduced, the first two scenes, which take place in the Gunderson household, feature fairly dim key-lighting, which reminds the audience that they take place very early in the morning. They both feature use of one or two lightbulbs, and this is a reflection of the (perhaps exaggeratedly) simplistic life that the Gundersons lead. The very next shot is almost blinding compared to the light in their house. From this point on, the lighting in the remainder of the sequence is all natural. Joel Coen needed not to reflect the light of the sun to equally illuminate the scene, because the pervasive snow does the trick. While this use of natural light would be considered realistic, in this case, it could also be perceived as slightly expressionistic in that its extreme brightness and the resulting contrast are symbolic of the innocence of the small town of Brainerd, in which the crimes take place. In fact, upon viewing the murder victims, Marge Gunderson herself states that she would be “very surprised if [the] suspect was from Brainerd.”

This sequence also features one of the very few uses of non-diegetic music in the film. The minute or so of music at the very beginning of the sequence is a reprise from the film's theme, and mostly serves as an aid in the transition from the ghastly murders committed just prior to the warm, pleasant bedroom of the Gundersons. Beyond this, the sound in the remainder of the scene is all diegetic and realistic, consisting primarily of dialogue, as well as some on-screen sound effects, such as a closing door or a speeding car. The first shot of the police car driving down the long stretch of highway as well as the similar last shot of the sequence would be opportune moments to include some upbeat pop/rock songs, and if Fargo was the product of one of many directors who is not Joel Coen, those opportunities may very well have been seized. Luckily, Coen did not add distracting music to these shots, which significantly contributes to the realism of the sequence, along with the film as a whole.

The editing in this sequence of Fargo featuring the introduction of Marge Gunderson is yet another realistic aspect. As is typical with most of the Coen brothers' films, Fargo features predominantly minimalistic editing. The first two shots of the sequence, the first in the Gundersons' bedroom and the second in their kitchen, each consist of a single, long shot with a small amount of camera movement. These long, unobtrusive shots gives the audience a sense of real time and space within the scene. As the sequence progresses, there is a fair amount of shot/reverse shot while Marge and Lou investigate the crime scene, and while they drive away in the police car. However, this is done very tactfully and still in a minimalistic way. The cuts are made only when absolutely necessary, such as when one person in a conversation is too far away to be heard clearly unless a cut is made to a closer shot of them. These two types of shots pretty much entail the variety of different shots in the entire sequence. All of this once again reinforces the realism of the film. Another notable aspect related to the editing in this sequence of Fargo the graphic relationship formed between the very end of the bedroom shot, which is essentially a close-up of Marge's pregnant belly, and the very beginning of the kitchen shot, which ties together Marge's pregnant state and her affinity for eating (which is assumed to be the result the fact that she is with child).

One of the most memorable features of Fargo is the heavy Minnesotan accent that most of the characters possess. While Joel Coen, and his brother Ethan Coen, who co-wrote and produced Fargo, would certainly have the knowledge to make the accent realistic, as they were born and raised in Minnesota, it is generally accepted that the accent is at least slightly exaggerated. The Coen brothers have been criticized for the decision to portray Minnesotans in this manner, but they clearly have a reason for doing so. One simple reason is for comedic effect. The repeated uses of “yeah” pronounced like “yah,” as in “Yahweh,” is funny in a silly way. But the accent could also be considered one of the most expressionistic aspects of the film, albeit a very subtle expressionistic aspect. The seemingly limited vocabulary of those from Brainerd, the fact that those people are always upbeat, and the simple manner in which they speak reflects the simple and somewhat unusual lives that they appear to lead.

Although Joel Coen's 1996 film Fargo is, by most contemporary judgments, a bit strange, it is truly grounded more deeply in reality that most modern films have the courage to be. With almost every aspect of it being overwhelmingly realistic, and a few subtle expressionistic elements scattered throughout, it is not hard to say that Coen's overall style is one of realism, and that it is an especially remarkable film not only due to its quirky and incredibly well-developed characters, but also because of this realism.

Citizen Kane (1941) and There Will Be Blood (2007)

The pursuit of the American Dream (and the cost that accompanies achieving it) has been a theme in many of the greatest works of art of all time, and film is not an exception. While Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood and Orson Welles's Citizen Kane have this exact theme in common, they both convey it in different ways, often using contrasting techniques. One is revered among nearly everyone involved in the production and academia of film, and the other is hardly debated among those crowds today, three years after its release. Surely, though, there is much to both of these films that is worthy of analysis and appreciation.

When Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood was first released in December of 2007, several critics immediately compared it to Orson Welles' 1941 directorial debut, Citizen Kane. Of course, the link between the films to which nearly all of the critics pointed is the similarities between the stories of each film's respective protagonists, Daniel Plainview and Charles Foster Kane. Perhaps the most obvious similarity between the two protagonists is that they represent what can happen when anyone achieves great success, wealth, and influence (i.e., the American Dream): downfall of the soul and total isolation; at the end of There Will Be Blood, Plainview sits in the private bowling alley of his expansive, empty mansion, with blood on his hands and vodka on his breath, and nobody but his butler to hear his utterance of the film's last words: “I'm finished”; at the end of Kane's life, he too is alone in a similarly massive home, sharing his last breath of “Rosebud...” with just his butler (though news of it would quickly spread throughout the land).

There Will Be Blood's Daniel Plainview (played by Daniel Day-Lewis) and Citizen Kane's Charles Foster Kane (played by Orson Welles) essentially fall into their fields of business by luck, mostly. Plainview sets out to be a silver miner but suddenly becomes a self-proclaimed oilman after he accidentally strikes oil. Do not be fooled, though: Plainview works very, very hard to make his eventual fortune, but that luck is what he owes his wealth to, as one can only do so much to increase one's odds of finding silver or oil. Kane is lucky in that he is adopted into money. Of course, once he establishes his place as publisher of the New York Inquirer, he then works hard to gain influence and respect in the community and across the country. Once Plainview and Kane settle into their respective occupations, they both put in an immense amount of effort to escalate to the top of their fields.

The stories of Plainview and Kane are paralleled yet again in that they both make promises to the communities in which they establish themselves. Plainview promises the residents of Little Boston a plethora of improvements to the town that would result from the placement of an oil well there (e.g., schools, roads, irrigation systems, etc.). Kane goes so far as to write out his promises and publish them in his first issue of the Inquirer, under the headline of “Declaration of Principles”. Outside of the stories, the characters of Plainview and Kane share another similarity: they are both loosely based on one or more historical figures. There Will Be Blood is loosely based on the novel Oil! by Upton Sinclair, which is loosely based on the life of oil tycoon Edward Doheny; in a roundabout way, Daniel Plainview is loosely based on the life of the aforementioned Mr. Doheny. The character of Charles Foster Kane, though, is a much more direct representation of the famed newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst. So direct, in fact, that Hearst was very bothered by the existence of Citizen Kane and attempted to block its release.

Ultimately, both Plainview and Kane fall victim to their undying ambitions. Surely this drive brings them their successes, but only because they would not let anything stand in their ways, resulting in many personal, physical, emotional, and psychological sacrifices. Plainview abandons his adopted son (though it is quite clear that his only reason for adopting the boy in the first place is for financial gain), kills the man who falsely claimed to be his brother (though Plainview had established a bond between the man while under the impression that the man was his real brother), succumbs to alcoholism and sheer madness, and generally pushes everyone around him away for reasons he makes very plain with the following line: “There are times when I look at people and I see nothing worth liking. I want to earn enough money that I can get away from everyone.” While Charles Foster Kane is by no means as plainly misanthropic as Daniel Plainview, he ends up in a similar position after his second wife leaves him due to his selfishness and controlling nature.

Without connecting the dots of similarities between Daniel Plainview and Charles Foster Kane, one might would have a difficult time relating There Will Be Blood to Citizen Kane. This is because, formalistically, many aspect of the two films are dissimilar. Ostensibly, Citizen Kane is much more expressionistic than There Will Be Blood, however, after consideration, it is becomes clear that both are more expressionistic than they are realistic, though they both have signficiant strains of realism present as well. Obviously There Will Be Blood is in color, while Citizen Kane is in black and white, but this is most likely due to the cinematic zeitgeist of the times in which each were made. Gregg Toland's cinematography in Citizen Kane was revolutionary at its time and has influenced innumerable films since. His use of deep focus was unparalleled at the time and it contributed significantly to the realism of the film, as it presented people and actions in the way that our eyes perceive people and actions. Another simple and realistic aspect of Citizen Kane is the inclusion of ceilings in the mise-en-scène—the first film to do so. Less innovative (though equally effective) camera angles were also used throughout Citizen Kane, such as low angle shots on Charles Foster Kane and high angle shots on Susan Alexander Kane while they argue about her singing career, making him appear more dominant and her appear more vulnerable and powerless. Shots in Citizen Kane are primarily tightly framed and a shadows are used remarkably well, particularly in scenes such as when Kane writes out his “Declaration of Principles”: Kane is in a shadow when he presents the document, foreshadowing his inevitable betrayal of those principles. Overall, Citizen Kane utilizes low key lighting to great effect.

While Robert Elswit's cinematography in There Will Be Blood might not be as innovative as that of Gregg Toland in Citizen Kane, it is still impressive. Surely the most stark contrast between its photography and that of Citizen Kane is the use of huge, open, widescreen shots that not only showcase the vast expanse of the American frontier, but also reinforce Daniel Plainview's sense of rugged individualism. These breathtaking shots give the film a sense of real space and time because they were clearly filmed on location, as opposed to on a set in a studio. Even in the last couple scenes, which take place in Plainview's massive mansion (a symbol of his great wealth), very wide and very long shots emphasize Plainview's loneliness and isolation within his enormous home. Also contributing to the realism of There Will Be Blood are the long tracking shots used throughout; for example, when the oil derrick gushes (and eventually catches fire), multiple tracking shots are employed to bring the viewer into the very intense and unsettling situation at hand.

Legendary composer Bernard Herrmann's score for Citizen Kane is effective in enhancing the drama in several scenes, including the tensional buildup in the opening sequence that leads to the extinguishment of the light in Charles Foster Kane's house, followed shortly by his utterance of “Rosebud...” and then by his death. Bernard Herrmann's score is also operative in setting and maintaining a perfect tone throughout the film. In general, all of this is achieved very subtly, as the score often goes unnoticed due to the engaging nature of the story unfolding onscreen. In terms of diegetic sound, Orson Welles uses overlapping dialogue very generously throughout the film, especially in scenes such as when Kane first arrives at the offices of the New York Inquirer and it seems as though Mr. Kane, Mr. Bernstein, Mr. Leland, and Mr. Carter are all talking at the same time for several minutes. This technique would eventually become a trademark of Welles's and though it is possibly played up for a slightly humorous end (such as in the aforementioned scene), it is very effective in producing a sense of the real world, in which people by no means take carefully measured turns in conversation.

The soundtrack of There Will Be Blood, composed by Jonny Greenwood, is quite far removed from that of Citizen Kane. Like Kane, though, Blood opens with a powerful and unsettling crescendo of noise in the very beginning of the film, though it is much louder and more noticeable in Blood. That phrase also applies to the respective scores in general, as Greenwood and Anderson clearly intended for the non-diegetic sound of There Will Be Blood to be as noticeable as possible. This is perfectly exemplified in the previously-alluded-to scene involving the oil well gush which deafens Daniel Plainview's son and the subsequent fire: the scene is very hectic and the extremely dissonant pounding of the score literally sounds like a group of people with no musical capability simply making as much noise as possible. In fact, there is an extended portion of the song during which it is very difficult to decipher any sort of tempo. This disconcerting, chaotic music fits well into the scene which involves several tensions (e.g., the audience's concern for Plainview's deafened son, everyone's concern over the fact that money is literally burning away, and Plainview's excitement in learning just how much oil there is under the ground on which he stands).

Yet another important innovation found in Orson Welles's Citizen Kane is the experimental use of montages. In sequences such as the parallel breakfast conversations between Charles Foster Kane and his first wife Emily, a montage is used to juxtapose the fading happiness of the married couple through time. This technique allows for the passing of several years in the story, reducing the film's running time, but without losing any of the significance of the decaying marriage. Welles also experimented with long takes, as seen in many scenes, including that in which Kane's parents sign him over to Mr. Thatcher. Along with the deep focus used in this scene, the long take undoubtedly creates a sense of real time and space.

In the same vein, There Will Be Blood also relies heavily on long takes. Long takes in scenes such as when Daniel Plainview gives his first proposal to the people of a small town, after which he leaves in disgust. The camera is on focused on Plainview's face for nearly the entire duration of the scene, which consists mostly of him talking. As in Citizen Kane, the use of long takes here and elsewhere throughout the film maintain a sense of real time and space passing in the story. Unlike Citizen Kane, however, when Anderson wishes to indicate that a great deal of time has passed in between segments of There Will Be Blood, he simply uses title cards to explicitly state in what year the subsequent scenes take place.

The narrative of Citizen Kane is somewhat complex in that it uses flashbacks to tell most of the story, whereas the narrative of There Will Be Blood is entirely chronological and very straightforward. These narrative techniques tie-in very well to the messages and purposes of each film. The jigsaw puzzles used by Susan Alexander Kane near the end of Citizen Kane are directly made into a metaphor in the last few minutes of the film in order to compare the knowledge of the significance of Charles Foster Kane's dying word as just another piece in the puzzle that comprised the man. Appropriately enough, the film's use of flashbacks not only tell the story effectively, but also take the form of a jigsaw puzzle for the audience in that viewers pick up little bits of information throughout the film, only to discover the final piece at the very end of the film. When the audience realizes how mundane Kane's last word is after nearly two hours of buildup, some might become disillusioned. However, the point of using such a simple, unimportant object such as a sled is stated directly by the reporter Thompson at the end of the film: “I don't think any word can explain a man's life.” Though the audience is taken from Kane's childhood through many parts of his adult life, there are surely aspects to him that cannot be expressed, and Welles is acknowledging just that with this line. Conversely, There Will Be Blood's straightforward tale reflects the unabashed nature of its protagonist, Daniel Plainview. Though the audience sees neither any portion of his childhood nor his death, ironically, more about his life is clear than that of Charles Foster Kane.

Though separated by over 65 years, Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood and Orson Welles's Citizen Kane have remarkably similar themes. While both films warn of the impending doom at the end of the overly ambitious, selfish, and greedy tunnel, they each effect this theme in different manners, and, ultimately, they hold different purposes. The legacy of one has been evident in filmmaking for centuries, while the other one has hardly been released for three years yet. How long will Citizen Kane remain the top choice for greatest film ever, time and time again? Will There Will Be Blood ever be fully appreciated? It is difficult to say. In the words of Daniel Plainview, though, one thing is certain: “I'm finished.”