"How Do You Like Them Apples?" Film Noir's Timeless Appeal

To put it delicately, I was not waiting with baited breath to see Out of the Past. I considered film noir to be a dated, often- parodied genre than one to be enjoyed seriously and/or academically. In the context of Rick Altman's article "A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre," the semantics of noir offered me a fragmented and fuzzy idea of what I was getting myself into: fedoras, check. cigarettes, check. femme fatale, check. All the elements were there and ready, but would any engaging whole arise from the parts? Suprisingly, I found the "syntax" of the genre to be the engaging factor. The standard themes including moral ambiguity of character, oscillating loyalty, and the role rotten luck and fate all appealed to some part of my character--maybe the seedier side. Thus, as this class progresses, I have discovered an affinity for classic movies that previously risked my prejudiced vote of "boring," such as Out of the Past by Jacques Tourneur and Roman Polansky's Chinatown. You could say that I have come to appreciate those of the film noir persuasion.

Firstly, I dig film noir's style. It elegantly manipulates light and shadow, lending a richer visual subtext to the mise-en-scene that underscores the thematic interaction between good and evil permeating the narrative. Out of the Past, in the black-and-white film typical of noir, masters this elegance, such as the scene between Jeff Bailey (Robert Mitchum) and Ann Miller (Virginia Huston) where the moonlight masterfully casts shadows from the tangled branches onto the faces of both actors, illustrating the ambiguity of their future together. Cinematographer Nicholas Musuraca, called "a master of shadow but also of light" by Roger Ebert, actually illuminates the space between the actors so that when they exhale from the omnipresent Cigarette, the smoke is a vivid miasma that adds mystery and some classic Hollywood glamour to the mise-en-scene. I tend to associate the faces of film-noir actors with either encasement/fragmentation by a clever play of shadow and light, or partial obscurity by a cloud of cigarette smoke. Either way, the effect helps construct the quintessential noir character. However, I will say that the lighting of some of the scenes indoors, such as Kathie's (Jane Greer) Mexican villa, seem to expose the seams of production by seeming more unnatural and garish than usual in order to cast hard shadows onto the walls. Yet I accepted this as a stylistic aspect, and given the great shadows it produced, didn't let it bother me too much during those scenes.

Secondly, after reading John G. Cawelti's article "Chinatown and Generic Transformation in Recent American FIlms," I realised that although I thoroughly enjoy this genre, I do so in a qualified way. I viewed Out of the Past in a specific historical context, a modern context, coloured by a retrospective tone and a bit of self-imposed parody. My background of film noir is based in parody, and while viewing Out of the Past, these past experiences informed my perspective--probably digesting the film in a different way than a viewer from the 1950's would. For one, I laughed more because the parodic elements seemed to present themselves more readily. For example, the one liners were humorously glib, such as Bailey's response to Kathie's plea that she doesn't want to die: "Neither do I, baby, but if I have to, I'm going to die last." Pure genius. I also love that Bailey (Mitchum) didn't break a sweat the entire time, or raise his voice. Yet I was inevitably removed, a constant (but amiable) smirk playing on my lips. My enjoyment of Tourneur's film seems to stem from what Cawelti calls "the burlesque," or the "breaking of convention by the intrusion of reality and the inversion of expected implications." Although the film itself is not a parody, the intrusion of my own modern reality and expectation coloured my viewing of the film. Therefore, an interaction of removed amusement and engagement in the narrative, for me, produced a dynamic that I really enjoyed; a dynamic similar to my favourite subtle parody films such as Shaun of the Dead (zombie movies) or Hot Fuzz (cop movies).




Polansky's Chinatown is a bit of a different story, literally. Cawelti states that this film deviates from the typical film noir genre structure, through the less-glib Jack Nicholson, the less-independent Faye Dunaway, and a resolution that doesn't culminate in vigilante justice. Chinatown instead places the noir tradition in a nostalgic context, against issues whose evils permeate a society and surpass the fathomability or solvability by one vigilante individual. While the movie was well-produced and engaging, its obvious deviation from noir --the use of colour, kind of threw me off after just viewing the quintessential noir in class the previous day. The classic glamour was just not there (although the cigarettes were), and the parodic elements not as readily available. The narrative itself was engaging, and the mysterious female character a nod to the genre, yet overall I felt it was a modern film consciously masquerading as a film noir via zoot suits and fedoras. Yet the more profound themes still appealed to me, such as the web of deceit and the plight of a man on the edge of the law to seek justice while balancing the love of a potentially dangerous woman.

In both films, the generic aspects of film noir that I mention above appealed to me in a way that I never would have expected of any movie created before 1981. Yet, the 1947 Out of the Past with its wonderful cinematography and classic-Hollywood smoothness and the 1974 Chinatown with its modern spin on the genre both expanded my perspective of time and genre and have me waiting, with baited breath, for the Coen Brothers to create the next great neo- noir film.

Cache: Lost In Translation

This past Wednesday we screened the film Cache in our film studies class. I braced myself for disappointment, because Professor Mottahedeh had forewarned us of its disaffecting style of editing. I however, enjoyed the film and found myself utterly absorbed by director Michael Haneke's vision--more so than many Hollywood blockbusters.

In what ways, exactly, was this film unconventional? And why was I so absorbed despite it all? First,Cache disregards the shot/reverse shot system and thus, does not attempt to reconstruct off-camera space. The "absent one," as film theorist Daniel Dayan calls it, remains concealed, an identity to which we are not privy. Second, as our eyes and ears, the camera never identifies with a character who is engaging in dialogue, and thus we remain suspended and excluded from any subjective meaning arising from the montage of shots. Lastly, many of the shots are long, static and uninterrupted, with a minimalist mise-en-scene that re-emphasizes our position as viewer instead of participant. The combination of these unusual methods positions us as an objective observer, to the point of intrusion, of the lives' of these characters. Thus, it is easy to see how the film could get lost in translation vis-a-vis the standard "language" of film, leaving the viewer alienated and un-"sutured."

So yes, Cache's persistence of off-screen space excludes us from the typical movie-going identification with narrative . Yes, the shot composition is jarring. Yet I argue that the film's meaning manifests not from the relationship between shots, as is classically argued by Sergei Einstein and other formalists, but through the very absence of inter-shot discourse and the eery, omni-presence of off-screen space. In a paradoxical dynamic similar to that of Fight Club, Cache's isolating effect actually "sutures" us completely and discreetly into the narrative for us to construct a meaning that parallels the characters' emotional states of mind.

Let me elaborate on this dynamic. I mention above that the specific editing methods used position us, through the vehicle of the camera, as intruders. Fittingly enough, the central conflict of the film centers on the presence of an intruder in the lives of Georges and Anne Laurent. He (or she) sends anonymous and videotapes (vaguely threatening in their omnipresence) to the Laurents house. The videos turn the family's life upside down by opening a Pandora's box full of tension, isolation, guilt, and paranoia. If Haneke had utilized the standard "grammar" of filmic language, such as shot/reverse shot, Cache would have constructed a moderately entertaining and engaging reality--but one that was typical. However, by maintaining a jarringly static camera and maintaining an intangible off-screen space , the film constructed its own meaning. Not only do we further identify with the emotions of the characters, but we are also reminded of our position behind the lens of the camera (in this case, video). Thus, we also identify with the omnipresent, yet anonymous, stalker of the Laurents whose disembodied character develops the narrative.

For example, throughout the initial scene of this film in which Georges and Annes watch the anonymous surveillance tape of their house, I found myself embodying emotions empathetic to those of the characters. As a viewer I felt tense, isolated and paranoid of what of what lurked in the off-screen space, and what was to come. In this way, I connected with the characters and the narrative on a more profound level.


In another example, we watch Georges eat his dinner and converse with his wife from just one objective, static establishing shot of the dining room. We never see his wife's face, even when she engages in dialogue with her husband. When watching this scene, I felt like an outsider, aware of the lens through which this scene was taking place. Again, I assumed the identity of an intruder, who, in his or her absence, comprises the signifying role in the film.


A final poignant example of this occurs when "Georges" and "Anne Laurent" get into their car following their visit to the police station. If operating within the standard grammatical framework, the camera view would shift to either the back seat, or a shot-reverse-shot between passenger and driver seat. As viewers, we would be part of the conversation, identifying with either character or an actively subjective listener in the back. However, the camera remains outside of the car and the sound is muffled, and this position reinforces the fact that we are notpart of their lives.

Thus, through its rejection of the shot/reverse shot method and the absence of physical character identification, Cache's meaning is generated not despite, but because of, the disconnect between shots. As viewers we experience similar emotions of discomfort and disconnect, and we also assume the identity of the elusive character from whom the plot develops. This film stands as a rebuttal to to the argument of Dayan, who in his article, "The Tutor-Code of Classical Cinema,"posits that a film's meaning manifests through the "suturing" effect of the shot/reverse shot. According to Dayan, the first shot opens a hole in our ideological relationship with the film through the presence of the unknown, a hole that the reverse shot "sutures" by replacing the "glance of a nobody" into a glance of a somebody. (116) In this way, film "speaks" and creates meaning through the ideological relationship between these shots---a meaning that we as viewers "actively interpret." (92) However, Cachestands as an exception to Dayan's theory. The long, uninterrupted shots, in their re-enforcement of the "nobody," in fact sutures us further into the film's central theme of alienation and intrusion that the film explores. The peripheral entity functions as character in itself, a paradox whose presence arises from its absence.


Dayan isn't the only theorist that this film counters. Graeme Turner, is his book "Film as Social Practice," presents film as a cultural agent with its own language, in which we can combine certain standards and codes in order to generate meaning. In addition to Dayan, Turner states that meaning arises from the relationship within and between shots. In general, this is an accurate statement. For example, in a Hitchcock clip we watched in class, he spoke of the importance of editing in generating meeting, specifically with the insert shot. An older man stares of into the distance, and his lips slowly curl into a smile. Cut to a baby, then back to the man. What Sergei Einstein calls the "montage," the juxtaposition of these two shots presents the potential meaning of an amiable old man. Now switch the baby shot with that of a scantily-clad young woman, and an entirely new meaning is generated. In this way, according to both Turner and Dayan the language of film is generated.

However, Cache, in an engaging stroke of risky technical genius, constructed meaning through the very persistence of the unknown.