The Aging Movie Star in the Horror and Sci-Fi Genres

A recurring theme of the horror/sci-fi film genre is the figure of the old and wise character who is often performed by the aging star actor. This character is typically a doctor or scientist, and holds knowledge of the monster, alien, and/or of character's superpowers. These characters are often highly educated, speak very intelligently, dress professionally, and have a calming presence for spectators. They often arrive in the narrative with pivotal information that motivates and drives the plot forward.
 
Consider the movie Them! (1954) one of the first atomic-age monster films, which casts aging star Edmund Gwenn as Doctor Harold Medford, an entomologist, who discovers that the mutant ants are powerless without their antennae. Even though the scientific discourse in the film seems be a bit obvious, the knowledge of the mutant has to pass through Medford as the figure of knowledge to legitimatize it's narrative exposition.

In the 1970s and 1980s, there seemed to be a plethora of horror/sci-fi films with the aging star as the figure of knowledge and reason. For example, John Carpenter's Halloween (1978) starred Donald Pleasence as Dr. Samuel Loomis, Michael Myers' psychiatrist. It is Dr. Loomis who knows Michael's condition and intentions that he will kill his sister and believes he is the only one knows how to stop him.

 

In Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (1980), it is the Overlook Hotel's chef, Dick Hallorann (played by Scatman Crothers), who discloses to Danny's that they both have the gift of "shining," the power to telepathically read each others thoughts as well as seeing premonitions. In this case, Hallorann is not a scientist or doctor, but the figure who has a direct pipeline to the Overlook hotel's past. 

 

In David Cronenberg's The Dead Zone (1983), Herbert Lom plays neurologist Dr. Sam Weizak as the figure of the older erudite man who provides knowledge to viewers about Johnny Smith's (Christopher Walken) power of seeing a person's future through physical contact. 

As a side note: The Dead Zone has a fantastic and creepy opening credit sequence where the lettering of the title's typography slowly appears on the screen over images of the town of Castle Rock, Maine. Here the title sequence emphasize the letters' negative space, which reflects the concept of "the dead zone," a void in the future that Johnny cannot predict-such as the ending of the film. 
 
We also find the casting of the aging actor as the conveyer of knowledge in fantasy/science fiction films. Most famous is the casting of Sir Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi in Star Wars (1977). Ben plays the figure of the aging Jedi Knight who explains to young Luke about Darth Vader and the Clone Wars.

Even the political sci-fi thriller Children of Men (2006) casts Michael Caine as an aging hippie cartoonist, Jasper Palmer.  Palmer as the conveyer of knowledge and comic relief helps propose the plan for Kee (Clare-Hope Ashitey) and Theo Faron's (Clive Barker) escape.

As such, the icon of the aging star plays an important function in the sci-fi, fantasy, and horror genres as the communicator of knowledge, wisdom and reason.

The role of the aging star actor also raises the question of science fiction and horror films as occupying a B-film status. Certainly many sci-fi, superhero and horror films are produced with high quality, especially given the power of today's special effects. And many of these fables and story worlds are well written, and inform us about our own experiences of everyday life on planet earth.

But given that the overall body of work of these older actors is not often associated with fantasy and horror films suggests how the presence of an aging star can help legitimize a film's exploration of topics such as mutant bugs, telepathy, monsters, and other forces beyond the everyday world.

The Velocity of the Long Take

This paper will be presented at the Society for Cinema and Media Studies Conference on Sunday, March 13 at 8:00am in New Orleans Feel free to leave comments or post questions.

As early cinema developed out of the period of the actuality film and cinema of attractions, and into a narrator system linked to the emerging Hollywood studio, we begin to see the structuring and standardization of filmic space and temporality. This unification of cinematic time and space, according to the research done by Bordwell, Staiger and Thompson came about through the melding of various modes of practices such as division of labor and agreed upon set of stylistic norms on how movies should properly tell a story. In their research, shot duration, in particular, plays an important role in sustaining the realist illusion of narrative time and space. Bordwell et al. note that the majority of Hollywood films (during the classical period) did not exploit short or long takes as a means of narration in order to prevent viewer from becoming aware of the film’s construction of time and space.

But if the management of shot length is to prevent viewers from becoming aware of the apparatuses that create a film’s virtual world, how do we account for the long take that evokes a sense of speed and can even further the experience of narrative immersion? Using the long take as a form of speed, I argue that there is no necessary correspondence or a strict one to one relationship between shot duration, viewership and the concealment of the construction of filmic time and space. This is not to suggest that long takes are not used to disrupt or engage with temporal and spatial continuity in order to evoke perceptions of slowness or contemplation. This style of filmmaking is evident in the works of Gus Van Sant, Bela Tarr and Michelangelo Antonioni, who employ long takes as a means to create a cinema of duration and stillness alternative to traditional narratives.

What I am arguing is that the economic and/or technological mode of production cannot be the single determinant in how meaning is produced from a cultural artifact such as cinema.  As I hope to show in the examples that follow, these filmmakers take technology into their own hands and re-purpose it to meet their artistic vision. I add that the negotiation of the elements which create a film’s story world (such as shot duration) can potentially have a strong impact on a film’s rhythm and speed and overall narrative experience.

The first half of this presentation, I will show some examples of the long take as a form of speed and how these directors and their production crew negotiate and push the limits of the latest technologies to meet their visions. And the second half of the presentation will tackle the theoretical question of shot duration in regards to defining the essence of cinema.

I would like to begin with an example from Joseph H. Lewis’ crime drama, Gun Crazy (1950). The long take we are seeing involves a bank heist, which takes place from the point of view of outlaw and thieves Bart and Annie played by John Dall and Peggy Cummins. To create the sequence, Lewis used a stretch Cadillac and removed all the seats to fit the camera operator and a bare bones production crew.  Instead of following the script, Lewis had both actors Dahl and Cummins improvise their dialogue to enhance the suspense and realism of the scene. 

Lewis stated that the scene was so real that “Off-screen there were people that yelled, ‘They held up the bank, they held up the bank,’ … none of the bystanders [of the town] knew what we were doing. We had no extras except the people the policeman directed. Everything—cars, people—was there on the street” (47). Thus, the Hampton robbery scene illustrates that the long take not only can be re-purposed to create a feeling of immersion and suspense, but also can invoke a sense of speed and velocity.

The desire to move the camera and to create a dynamic cinematic space can be traced back to the silent film period. In Lotte Eisner’s book on German film director and expressionistic pioneer F.W. Murnau, she refers to notes typed by Murnau in which he expresses a wish from “Father Christmas [to create] a camera that can move freely in space” (84). Murnau’s wish would practically come true in the 1970s with Garrett Brown’s invention of the steadicam. Handheld photography had already established itself as a style employed by narrative filmmakers and documentarians. But the Steadicam not only can track its subject with fluidity, but it also run within the profilmic space without the camera obtrusively bouncing up and down. Let’s take a look at the Steadicam in action.

Here, we see Brown sitting in the wheelchair with the steadicam on the set of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980). Similarly, as we saw with Lewis’ rigging of the stretched Cadillac in Gun Crazy, the wheelchair has been turned into a movable camera support. Even though the Steadicam offered more flexibility in moving the camera through pro-filmic space, Kubrick and his production crew still had to pool their resources in order to build a moving device to capture his vision of fluid moving images in the labyrinth hallways of the Overlook hotel.  

Today, with the emergence of state of the art simulation technologies, films now can incorporate many layers blended together within the frame such as virtual actors, crowd sequences and matted paintings with live action recording. More so, as Lev Manovich notes, “Digital compositing does represent a new step in the history of visual simulation because it allows the creation of moving images of non-existent worlds” (153 Authors emphasis).

Thus, new digital technologies not only allow one to create new and imaginative virtual worlds, but also can be mobile within those specific dimensions. Let’s take a look at the making of the long shot from Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds (2005).

The use of CGI effects become so life-like that the long take in this scene not only gives a sense of urgency and speed, but shows how these special effects conceals the film’s apparatus. This is what Manovich refers to as synthetic realism through the creation of synthetic 3-D images. In the example of the long take in War of the Worlds, special effects are blended with live action to continue Hollywood’s long tradition of narrative realism.

Conversely, the impression of slowness or fastness does not always have to entail long takes.  Films that use the standard methods of editing can also disrupt the transparency and unity of cinematic time and space through the elements within the frame itself.

The next example is from David Lynch’s Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992). What we are seeing is the pink room sequence where Laura Palmer and Donna Hayward go out with Jacques Renault and his buddies to party. 

 

 

 

To create this effect of an alternate plane of reality, Lynch architects a dreamlike atmosphere using loud trance-like music and the disorientating effect of a strobe light.  To further the feeling of drug-induced and surreal state of mind, the characters’ lethargic body gestures and delayed dialogue deliberately slow down the pace of the scene, thus creating a meditative or even out of body experience as if time no longer exists.  Moreover, the scene itself goes on for a long period of time, which alters the pace of the entire film. This sequence is an example of a scene that does not employ overtly long takes, but is still able to slowdown the time and speed of the film by using the elements within the frame itself.
 

As stated earlier, if the management of shot length is to prevent viewers from becoming aware of the construction of filmic time and space, how do we account for the long take that evokes a sense of speed? Moreover, how do we account for films that employ normal shot duration that derail cinematic time and space such as Lynch’s Twin Peaks?

As it is known in classical film theory, one of the central debates in regards to editing versus shot duration is Sergei Eisenstein’s formalist theory of dialectical montage, and Andre Bazin’s accounts of cinematic realism and mise en scene. These two canonical arguments address the question on how is meaning generated in cinema. Is it editing or is it mise en scene that names cinema’s essence? Although Eisenstein and Bazin’s theories make up a major component of classical film theory, the question of film’s essence or ontology continues to be addressed today.

For example, Lev Manovich considers Eisenstein’s technique of montage used in simulation technologies. Eisenstein’s theory of dialectical montage is the collision of shots and the image it creates within the viewer’s mind.  For example, the juxtaposition of cattle being slaughtered and the rounding up of factory workers at the end of Strike and its metaphor or illusion to capitalism. Manovich, however, notes that the virtual image is there for us on the screen, but the modes of production that create the reality (that is, the processes behind the scenes) are synthesizes via the computer to offer us the illusion of a seamless reality.  In other words, simulation technology arranges the components within a shot and renders them in montage like fashion to create a transparent film image as we saw in the long take in War of the Worlds.

D. N. Rodowick makes a similar argument in his critique of Russian Ark (2002), a film shot in one long take using digital technologies.  He notes “The key to resolving the discrepancy between Russian Ark’s self-presentation and its ontological expression as digital cinema is to understand that it is a montage work, no less complex in this respect than Sergei Eisenstein’s 1927 film October” (165). 

 

Rodowick notes a contradiction in Russian Ark’s (2002) experiment of the long take because it relies primarily on many digital events which he notes are digital capturing, synthesis and compositing. In other words, the long take in Russian Arc is rendered mathematically via the binary code of computer language; where as traditional photography capture light as it comes through the lens and penetrates the emulsion of the film, leaving a physical trace of reality.

What I think it is important to point out in these theoretical debates in regards to editing and shot duration is not who has the stronger or better argument in terms of defining the essence of cinema, but the tension that has emerged in regards to its very definition. Here, I draw upon Stuart Hall’s model of articulation which entails how the production and consumption of cultural objects are represented and negotiated within the lived practices of every day life.  

Articulation is an operation of meaning-making that does not have any necessary correspondence or a direct one to one relationship between social practices and processes of production. For Hall, articulation is not universally fixed across various discourses. Therefore texts can become a site of a struggle where groups contest and can potentially transform a leading cultural force or dominant ideology.

For example, we can see how the long take creates a cinema of duration, engaging with filmic time and space counter to the dominant mode of classical narration. And, in other instances, the long take is articulated as a form a speed and velocity that attempts to do what Jean Mitry phrases as “forgetting of the frame.” 

 

But Hall points out that articulation cannot all simply be differences or free floating. We need a system or “fixing” to connect to grids of knowledge. What is contingent is how each prior set of signifying practices can influence the process of encoding and decoding of a text such as cinema or television. Using Hall’s notion of articulation, we can conclude that there is no necessary belongingness or a fixed universal essence in regards to shot duration and editing.  But what is consistent is the tension that emerges in its very definition. And that the struggle in defining cinema’s essence will generate different interpretations as in the case of using digital technologies versus traditional film photography.

To conclude, as I hope to have shown, the ordering of cinematic time and space is not directly tied to a hegemonic mode of production, or linked to a grand essence of cinema. In these examples, we have seen how artists mold the current film technologies to meet their story visions. And we have also seen how the orchestration of the elements within the frame can distort normal pictorial time and space as was the case with Lynch’s Fire Walk with Me. Thus, these examples provide a glimpse into how much information is at work in creating a film’s story world (whether its traditional film photography or digital technologies), and how they can potentially create impressions of speed in relation to the construction of cinematic time and space.

The Workings of Time and Space in the Paintings of Archibald Motley

I found some short essays I wrote for a graduate Jazz course I took at The University of Vermont - taught by jazz scholar John Gennari. Since I have not posted anything to my blog in a while, I thought this would be fun.

Archibald F. Motley’s painting After Fiesta, Remorse, Siesta, is a beautiful visualization of jazz.  

 

It is a painting that reflects jazz culture while speaking to the lonely figure. At first glance, the blue tones empower the entire painting, creating a feeling of melancholy. But the eye then notices pink/reddish tones, such as the naked woman’s reddish colored jacket resting on a chair, and her red shoes on the floor. 

Motley uses dichotomies within this painting to create an ethereal feeling For example, he contrasts the woman at the piano with a portrait on the wall of a matador fighting a bull—suggesting a masculine/feminine dichotomy. In the background, a couple is embracing by a street lamp. In the far corners of the lamp post are the dangerous cactus and the soothing palm tree, adding to the abstract and surreal feeling of the image. 

The crowding of images in the foreground while leaving open space in the background is another motif of Motley’s work. Motley positions the patrons who are having a good time in the foreground, very close to one another. The lonely or aloof figures are positioned in the background.

For example, in the painting Barbecue, the patrons are having a good time at the tables in the foreground. In the background, the space is more open and only a few patrons dance.  Also framed near the fence in the far distance is a man, alone, looking down with his hands in his pocket.

 
Motley positions the aloof characters so it takes time for the eye to recognize them in the painting's space. Because the eye is not quickly drawn to the lonely man in Barbecue, the painting suggests that the patrons do not recognize this man. The man is not only absent from their enjoyment, but seems to be unstuck from the painting's time and space.

Similarly, in After Fiesta, Remorse, Siesta unexpectedly to the right center is a man asleep with his head in his hands. Once the eye catches this man, one has to rethink the time and space of the painting. Did this mysterious man’s attempt to meet a woman prove futile? Or are what we are seeing in the painting is his actual dream?

Movie Posters Better Than The Actual Movie

How many times have we said.... "I wish the movie was as good as the poster?"

A View To A Kill (1985). A common complaint was that Roger Moore (57 at the time) was too old to play the character of James Bond. Did his age really make a difference in Octopussy, which came out two years earlier? To be honest, I really enjoy watching this one. Love the Duran Duran song!

Detroit Rock City.  I did not have to pay to see this in 1998 because I was an employee at the movie theater. I was so hoping this movie would be good.

Bride of the Monster (1955).  I love Ed Wood films. But this poster is way too good for an Ed Wood movie!

Star Trek V:  The Final Frontier (1989). "What does God need with a space ship?"  Probably the greatest and worse line of scripted dialogue of the 20th century. 

And finally.....

  

Ronald D. Moore - The Bonding

I recently watched a Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG) episode called The Bonding, which was penned by Battlestar Galactica (2004 series) creator Ronald D. Moore. "The Bonding" was Moore's spec script he wrote in 1988. The history behind the script is that Moore was on tour of the Paramount studio where they filmed Star Trek. Moore showed the script to the show's creator Gene Roddenbery's assistant, who liked it and was able to get Moore an agent.

"The Bonding" eventually made its way to Michael Piller (who had been promoted to lead writer of the third season). Piller purchased the script and the episode aired during the show's third season on October 23, 1989. I believe that Moore's introduction into Star Trek not only helped the show's transformation, but is an example of fandom writing that finds its way into prime time TV. Moreover, "The Bonding" is an early example of what is now commonly referred to as the re-imagining of a previous TV show or movie.

Before Piller was promoted to lead writer, the original ST and the first two seasons of TNG were primarily "alien of the week" situations. Though many of the "alien of the week" scenarios were great episodes, TNG, arguably, had no clear identity. During the third season, however, the themes of the episodes gradually turned inward, developing deeper characterization to reflect the inner-selves of the crew of the Enterprise. During the third season would begin to form TNG's identity. "The Bonding" would play an important role in the series transformation. 

The episode centers on the story of a young boy named Jeremy Aster, who's mother (Lt. Marsah Aster) is unexpectedly killed on a scientific mission. Worf, who was apart of the mission, is upset about Marsha's death because it reminds him of the passing of his own parents. Jeremy and Worf come together through a Klingon ritual called the R'uustai - a bonding where the two become brothers.

In certain ways, "The Bonding" contains the ethos of fandom writing that media theorist Henry Jenkins describes (borrowing from Michel de Certeau) as textual poaching. Jenkins' study on fandom explores how fans are able to re-create and re-imagine their favorite story world. For example, fans can appropriate uncharted character traits by creating their own stories and filling in missing gaps.

One can think of textual poaching as readers who rent spaces, but never fixed in one location. But whereas de Certau sees poaching as a tacit and lone process of appropriation, Jenkins extends the concept of textual poaching into the world of fandom, where fans' expression is outwardly projected such as attending conferences or sharing information on the web. 

 

The story of "The Bonding" retains the integrity and history of the Star Trek series as well as re-imagining new ideas within that world. That is, Moore expands and renews the traits and identities of characters already established by previous ST writers while giving them more depth and complexity. For example, Moore creates a character arc for Worf by introducing the backstory of Worf''s father's honor who had been rejected by the Klingon's. A story that would further develop in the 4th and 5th season. Moreover, "The Bonding" contains themes that  Moore would fully explore in Battlestar Galatica such as honor, loyalty and solidarity. 

Battlestar Galactica is arguably one of the best re-imaging of a prior show of this past decade.  I believe Battlestar Galatica laid groundwork in terms of re-imagining a story world that both respects the intellect of the viewer as well as the story's origin. The new Star Trek movie and Batman series have already proved this to be.

My Odyssey in The World of Digital Media

"My Odyssey In The World of Digital Media" tells my digtal story as a DIY filmmaker and about the website I created to promote my films and bands I had played for in the past. It is a project I made for a graduate course on Visual Research Methodologies at Claremont Graduate University.

The main point I wanted to stress in my story was how the new digital medium of cinema that occurred at the beginning of the millennium encouraged me to shoot a feature film. In fact, in June of 2004, a few weeks before I began shooting Strangers In The Night, I attended the Lake Placid Film Festival to see Jon Favreau interview Martin Scorsese for an episode of Dinner With Five to be aired on IFC. I remember Favreau talking about digital cinema and how it was ready to explode.   

I believe that the increase in digital filmmaking has to do with accessibly, affordability and image quality, which brings up the issue of scalability and spectacle, which I talk about in the video.  

For me, one of the components of digital cinema has to do with better image quality in the three chip digital camcorders.  An important component of the three CCD is it provides better screen resolution than the older analogue video cameras.  However, depth of field is still limited, which I quickly learned when I projected my film on a large movie screen.  Deep focus photography, for instance, shot on 16mm and 35mm film, will have higher resolution than a three CCD. 

Spectacle was also a concern shooting Strangers In The Night.  When writing the screenplay, I was conscious of my limited resources, which I worked into the story.  I knew I could not shoot something "larger than life," so I placed a tremendous amount of emphasis on dialogue and character development. This is one element that my professor John Koshel at CW Post taught me when making No Deposit, No Return - be aware of your resources in relation to your story.  The other element Koshel stressed to me was to write a story that is personal and reflects an aspect of your own life.

Another issued raised in my digital story is the notion of the expert in regards to my website.  I believe the unexpected response I received from friends when I created a web page for all of the Hudson Valley bands I played for, put me in the position of an authority figure or expert - whether I knew it or not.  As I point out in the video, All Out War, the band I helped to form and play drums for, put the Hudson Valley on the map in terms of the underground music scene. When I started receiving emails from friends about the web site, I was taken back by how happy they were to read my stories.  In fact, some friends provided additional information that I missed or forgotten which I was then able to add back into the narrative.  


Having the skills to create a web page/Myspace page and owning the raw materials from the bands I played for (such as videos, flyers and photos) gave me the authority to document and frame my bands' history, providing information that would be hard to find in mainstream magazines.  Back in the early 1990s , fanzines were the main source of learning about hardcore bands.  Thus, the technology of the Internet has now helped to visualize the underground scene and enable bands to quickly circulate information on shows and recording updates.  And I believe it is important that I keep my website as an archive available for those who seek to know about the Hudson Valley hardcore scene in the late 1980s and 1990s.  

Initially, when I began my digital storytelling project, I wrote a very lengthy narrative of my experience as a filmmaker.  Within my story, I talked about mumblecore cinema, new digital technologies, and debates on what constituted professional versus amateur filmmaking. 

But out of nowhere, I decided to scrap my project and digitally record my story.  What was hard for me, at first, was getting the nerve to openly speak about myself.  But I am glad I did. After completing the film version of my digital narrative, I felt I was able to visually convey more information than simply displaying texts and pictures on my blog.

American Movie: The Odyssey of Mark Borchardt

In 1999, the Sundance film festival premiered The Blair Witch Project, a fake documentary, independent horror film shot on digital video and 16mm for a supposed budget of $20,000 to $25,000. The Blair Witch Project is widely recognized as the first film to use the Internet as a vehicle for promoting and marketing the film’s release that following summer. The film would go on to make over $248 million dollars world wide box office sales. The Blair Witch Project clearly marked itself as one of the first films to popularize the do-it-yourself  (DIY) method of filmmaking in the emerging age of the Internet.

Concurrently, there was also another film at the festival that was gaining attention for its unique subject matter. Similar to The Blair Witch Project, the film was also about DIY low budget horror filmmaking. The film, directed by Chris Smith and produced by Sarah Price was called American Movie, and it had won the Grand Jury prize documentary at Sundance that year. 

American Movie focuses on independent filmmaker and horror film buff Mark Borchardt, a working class man from Milwaukee. It tells the story of Mark’s trials and errors as he attempts to finish a short horror film entitled Coven. Mark’s motivation for completing Coven is to raise enough money from sales of that film to produce a feature film called Northwestern. The film captures Mark over a two-year journey as viewers learn about his life, his coterie of friends, and the struggles he faced growing up as a working-class youth in Milwaukee. Moreover, the documentary provides a close up view of the process of filmmaking from the lens of a working-class artist.

This essay examines American Movie and complex ways in which Chris Smith works with the observational and participatory modes of documentary filmmaking.  Smith’s employment of the observational method allows Mark to speak in his own words, capturing the emotional and financial situations that he battles in his odyssey to complete Coven. And, at the same time, Smith enters into the film through the participatory mode in order to engage with Mark’s friends and family. The participatory method creates another line of narrative that provides Smith access into Mark’s life from the perspective of his friends and family. I argue that these two modes are in dialogue with each other throughout the film, which then merges into a harmonious ending with Mark’s screening of Coven for his friends, family and the community.

ORIGINS

The origins of American Movie came when Smith had a chance encounter with Mark at the University of Wisconsin. In 1995, Smith was in Iowa completing a film called American Job, which would later premiere at the Sundance Film Festival in 1996. Smith had just graduated college, and was still using the University’s equipment to complete the film. When summer rolled around, the university shut down the film department, leaving Smith with no place to finish his film. A friend informed him that Milwaukee was a great place to work and that he should come for a visit.  Smith left Iowa and headed to the University of Wisconsin where he would later complete his film.  While editing American Job, he came across Mark, who at the time was editing Coven.  Smith met Mark on the steps of the University’s building, and the two struck up a conversation about Mark’s feature film project called Northwestern. Smith states that "He [Mark] had this passion and enthusiasm for the film that just seemed so rare. You see people with a passion to become independent filmmakers, but the way he articulated his vision for what Northwestern would be was just completely intriguing to me." Mark planned to attend the Toronto Film Festival to raise money for Northwestern and hopefully meet film critic Roger Ebert. Their discussion of the film intrigued Smith so intensely that he decided to make a short documentary about Mark’s weekend in Toronto.  The weekend project of a short film turned into a feature length documentary, which consisted over two years of filming Mark as he pursed his dream to make Northwestern. 

NARRATIVE of AMERICAN MOVIE

The narrative of American Movie begins in the fall of 1995 with Mark starting pre-production on Northwestern, but quickly realizing he does not have enough funding to produce the project nor enough time to organize the project to start filming.   Mark comes up with an alternative plan and decides to complete Coven (a short film he had started in 1994) with the intention to sell 3000 copies at $14.95, which will provide him with enough funds to produce Northwestern, and to pay back his Uncle Bill, who has loaned him $3000.

The various representations of Mark on his journey to obtain the American dream raises questions of visuality and ways in which culture learns to see the world.  W.J.T. Mitchell notes, "[V]ision is never a one way street, but a multiple intersection teeming with dialectic images….(97)"  It is easy, as Mitchell notes, to fall into the naturalism category when consuming images on television or cinema.  Naturalism or mythmaking is a process in which the producers of visuality attempt to veil the construction of the image. Roland Barthes makes a similar point in Mythologies, which describes the process of masking the connotative code as a way to create a naturalistic illusion. Barthes notes, "Myth hides nothing and flaunts nothing: it distorts; myth is neither a lie nor a confession: it’s an inflexion…. [The] very principle of myth [is] to transform history into nature" (129). We can see myth making, for example, in many traditional Hollywood films where the producers of the film attempts to place the viewer in the middle of the action without being conscious of how the image is being produced.

VISUALITY and OBSERVATIONAL MODE

Questions of visuality and representation are important concepts for ethnographic and documentary filmmakers.  In Colin Young’s article "Observational Cinema," he points out how visual representations of culture began to move away from telling audiences what they are seeing and towards a showing mechanism—or what is called "direct cinema." That is, the traditional "voice of God" is removed from describing the events within in the documentary, which in turn lets the images and subjects speak for themselves.  Early examples of direct cinema can be seen in the Maysles brothers’ documentaries Salesman (1968) and Grey Gardens (1975).  In both films, the subjects talks directly to the filmmakers off-screen, but viewers never see the Maysles brothers.

But, as Young stresses, observational cinema cannot simply be a replacement for the anthropologist’s method of note takings. Young notes, "[If] you distinguish between using the camera as a surveyor’s instrument and as a method of examining human behavior and human relationships in detail, you cannot afford in the latter case to stand back and get distant panoramas of human behavior—you have to be close to it and follow it intimately" (101).    Even though the filmmaker’s presence remains veiled, he or she must be close to its subject. The proximity of the filmmaker emerges in the ways the subject or culture is photographed such as situating the camera closer to the subject as opposed to zooming into the space where an event is occurring.  It is what ethnographer filmmaker Jean Rouch terms "cine-trance." As Rouch notes, it [cine-trance] is where the filmmaker "adapts himself to the action as a function of space, to generate reality rather than leave it simply unfold before the viewer" (89). The filmmaker’s closeness can be felt in the process of editing and arrangement of the footage.  And, most importantly, the director of observational cinema does not pretend that he or she is objectively distanced from its subject(s), which is a key distinction from traditional anthropology filmmakers.

Smith breaks away from the traditional anthropological approach by allowing Mark to speak in his own words about his struggles as an independent filmmaker. At the start of the film, Mark drives through the streets of Milwaukee at twilight as the acoustic song of "Mr. Bojangles" is heard.  In Mark’s voice over, he acknowledges that he has to confront his failures of the past in order to obtain the American dream in the future.  Mark tells us: "I was a failure, I was failure and I get sad and depressed about it and I can’t be that no more.  I really feel that I betrayed myself big time.  I know when I was growing up I had all the potential in the world.  Now I am being back to Mark who has a beer in his hand and is thinking of the great American script and the great American movie, and this time I cannot fail… I won’t fail… it’s not in me.  You don’t get second chances and mess them up… you’d be a fool to…."

Examining the scene closely, we can feel Smith’s presence close to Mark through the form of the film. For example, the images of Mark traversing the city at twilight not only provide viewers with a sense of space, but it also captures him at a liminal point in his life. That is, Mark has reached a crossroad in his existence, and he wants to push forward to complete his dream.  It is striking then that the first image viewers encounters in the film is blackness, continued by an upward shot of street lights in order to present an image of re-birth—that of a new beginning in Mark’s life. In Mark’s words, "This time I am not going to fail… this time it’s most important not to fail, not to drink and dream, but rather to create and to complete." The use of "Mr. Bojangles," which tells the story of the street man in a jail cell that could dance, is a possible a reference to Mark’s social and economic situation.  Viewers learn throughout the film that Mark battles with bills, alcoholism, child support and the fear of living a life as a factory worker.  But even more so, the song "Mr. Bojangles" connects viewers to the cinema of the street.  Of course, this is one of Italian Neo-realism well-know tenet of film making, by photographing their subject in real locations. From the start of the documentary, Mark’s desire to fulfill his dream as a filmmaker is not going to contain the glamorous images of Hollywood.  The choice of filming Mark at the twilight hour and using "Mr. Bojangles" are examples of the observational mode where the filmmaker’s physical presence is absent, but is still in close proximity to its subject through form and technique.

PARTICIPATORY MODE

Participatory mode of filmmaking, however, is where one does see and hear the filmmakers, where he or she enters into in the space of the subject’s world.  David MacDougall’s essay "Beyond Observational Cinema," argues that "The main achievement of observational cinema is that it has once again taught the camera how to watch.... Beyond observational cinema lies in the possibility of participatory cinema, bearing witness to the 'event' of the film and making its strengths of what most films are at pains to conceal" (125). Unlike observational filmmaking, the filmmaker’s physical presence enters into the world he or she is documenting in order to amplify the quality of his or her materials.  As MacDougall puts it, "By entering actively in the world of his subjects, he can provoke a greater flow of information about them" (125). 

But MacDougall points out in the 1994 postscript to his essay that the influence of postmodernism has greatly complicated the distinction between observational and participatory modes. MacDougall writes, "The borderline of between observational and participatory cinema … now appears blurred" (128).  The recording of "Mr. Bojangles," for instance, is performed by Mark’s childhood friend Mike Schank, who is also featured in the documentary.  Smith also has Mike perform other songs for the film such as an acoustic version of Metallica’s "Fight Fire with Fire" and Randy Rhodes' classic "Dee." Mike is not only as a subject that further explains Mark’s back story, but is also enhances the documentary by using his musical talents as a participating force of the film.

As noted earlier, Smith employs the participatory mode to create a second narrative line that involves Mark’s friends and family as they describe their personal history growing up with Mark. When interviewing his subjects, Smith’s voice can be heard off-screen as he asks them specific questions.  For example, the second scene of the documentary begins with Smith interviewing Tom Schimmels, one of the main actors in Coven. Off screen, we hear Smith asking when, how and why he got involved with Mark. Schimmels tells him that he first worked with Mark on a radio show, which begins the time line of the documentary.  The first segment of the narrative’s time line shows Mark working on the script for his Halloween radio show “The Creeps” as we hear Tom speaking about Mark. The narrative quickly jumps ahead to Mark (now back in the observational mode) as he is driving in his car, delivering newspapers.  Mark tells us that he was drinking and smoking marijuana during the recording, and was not even directing his actors. Mark admits that he has to corner his drinking problem in order to make Northwestern. 

Thus, Smith’s employment of the participatory mode lets viewers hear his voice when interviewing his subjects, which in turn enhances the value of his material.  By allowing these two methods of filmmaking to co-exist with one another (the observational mode, which captures Mark’s journey towards completing Coven, and the participatory mode,  interviewing Mark’s friends and family member, Smith creates two narratives side by side, presenting viewers with a multi-facet portrait of Mark and his social conditions.  It lets Mark speak in his own words, while at the same time allows Smith and viewers learn about Mark’s upbringing through the eyes of his friends and family. 

THE MERGING of OBSERVATIONAL and PARTICIPATORY MODES

Toward the end of the film, when Mark finally completes Coven and screens the film to the community, the dialect between the observational and participatory folds into a harmonious synthesis. It is a striking moment within the film because viewers are finally able to see scenes from Coven. It is here where American Movie and Coven co-exist side by side.

During the ending credits of American Movie, a website is listed where viewers can purchase video copies of Coven. I began this paper by addressing the financial success of The Blair Witch Project and its connection to the Internet and other new forms of media platforms. The Blair Witch Project is typically recognized as the first film to utilize the notion of media convergence where viewers can pull information from a variety of media platforms to learn about their favorite films.  How does this connect to American Movie? The Internet involvement in movie promotion was practically non-existent during the time Mark was making Coven. And furthermore, the new technology of DVDs was not even on the market. Mark’s source of generating capital for his feature film was through the sales of video cassettes.

But how would he advertise Coven to sell 3000 copies? As just noted, at the end of the credits of American Movie, a web site is provided where viewers can purchase Coven. However, documentaries and independent films are not mass marketed like commercially made cinema. American Movie was released into the theaters on November 5, 1999 and ran until April 27, 2000, and its total domestic gross was $1,165,795. The film only opened on 13 screens, ending its run on 29 screens. But by the time American Movie was released on home video in 2000, DVDs and the Internet were popular media technologies, and then very influential in the publicity and sales of Coven.  In fact, one of the supplements on the DVD contains Coven in its entirety. In an interview with Mark, he stated that he already reached his quota of 3000 copies.  We can postulate that these new media technologies and digital platforms made a significant impact not only for promoting American Movie, but for generating publicity for Mark and his short film.

To conclude, American Movie provides a glimpse into the world of DIY filmmaking at the end of the millennium. American Movie reveals the complex problems that independent filmmakers face, as well as visually demonstrating how discourses and social conditions play a major role in the process of filmmaking outside of the Hollywood system. More so, the film depicts the challenges of 16mm and 35mm filmmaker as digital cinema was slowly gaining attention. Chris Smith’s methodological approach is the blending of observational and participatory modes. His research follows Mark as he struggles to overcome his past demons and existential crisis in order to finish Coven. American Movie addresses the concern of visuality and questioning of the image production through its attempt to make visible Mark’s external and internal struggles in his odyssey to complete Coven. Thus, Mark’s journey in making Coven takes what is invisible (or what has been mythologized) and visualizes it for viewers as a way to evoke a dialogue of what it means to be an independent filmmaker through the lens of a working-class artist. Lastly, American Movie can be lyrically viewed as a visual extension of Smith and Mark's continuing the conversation they began on the steps at the University of Wisconsin in the summer of 1995.

References:

Barthes, Roland.  Mythologies. Trans. Annette Lavers. New York:  Hill and Wang, 1979. 

MacDougall, David. "Beyond Observational Cinema." Principles of Visual Anthropology.  Ed. Paul Hockings. New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 2003.

Mitchell, W.J.T. "Showing Seeing: A Critique of Visual Culture." The Visual Culture Reader.  Ed. Nicholas Mirzoeff. New York: Routledge, 2002. 

Rouch, Jean. "The Camera and Man." Principles of Visual Anthropology.  Ed. Paul Hockings. New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 2003. 

Young, Colin. "Observational Cinema." Principles of Visual Anthropology.  Ed. Paul Hockings. New York: Mouton de Gruyter, 2003.