Final Paper: Requiem for a Dream and the Drug User as Victim

Requiem for a Dream is a film with a fairly standard plotline, however it presents it in a way that is anything but standard. By presenting several simultaneous plots at once, and by breaking many of the conventions of continuity editing, Aronofsky forces us to look at the subject matter presented in the film from a new perspective, and in doing so forces us to challenge the view commonly held by society that drug addicts are bad people without morals or value.

Aronofsky uses a very interesting film technique in order to draw viewers into the world of the drug addicts. This technique, which Aronofsky himself pioneered with his film Pi, is called a “hip-hop montage.” Hip-hop montages consist of incredibly short shots cut together and matched with a mixture of diegetic and non diegetic sounds. In Requiem for a Dream, Aronofsky uses the technique of a hip hop montage in order to create a frenetic and dangerous feel to the movie, drawing the viewers into the shady underground world of the drug addicts that the movie follows. By mixing different types of shots, as well as by using a soundtrack that utilizes both sounds from the environment of the movie as well as sounds that are entirely non-diegetic, the audience has a sense of confusion and danger forced upon them. It seems that with this, Aronofsky is trying to show the audience that the characters themselves, by making a simple choice (similar to the choice the audience has made to watch this film) have had the same sense of confusion and danger thrust upon them. This removes the sense of responsibility that society often imposes upon drug addicts, instead forcing the audience to sympathize with them, and realize that they are more victims than perpetrators.

Another important thing to look at when considering Aronofsky's intent to portray the drug-addicted characters in a more positive light is to look at the term “Hip-hop montage” itself. This term was coined by Aronofsky himself, and by using the term “hip-hop,” he purposefully invokes many images and ideas in the collective conscience of American moviegoers. For instance, most people when they hear the term “hip-hop” instantly think of music produced in gritty, urban conditions. Most people associate hip hop with the urban ghetto, which is often a dangerous and unsafe environment. One usually does not imagine the production of art in conditions like this, however hip-hop has become a huge cultural phenomenon. By associating his form of montage with hip-hop music, Aronofsky seems to be speaking to the possibility that beauty (in the form of artistic expression) can still be born of unfortunate circumstances. The characters in Requiem for a Dream are certainly faced with incredibly unfortunate circumstances in terms of their poverty and drug addiction, however their individual stories still posses all of the beauty of every other human life.

The montage technique that Aronofsky employs relates to hip hop in another way as well: its sense of rhythm. Rather than cutting for action or emotion in these hectic and confused sequences, all of the cuts between shots seem to be made for rhythmic purposes. The collection of shots follows a well-defined “beat,” which allows the audience to still be immersed in the film, even though it doesn't conform to the standard ideas of continuity editing in order to create a seamless world in which events are taking place. The soundtrack during these montages works to the same effect, with each individual sound effect being repeated on cue, becoming almost musical as the montage goes on.

It is with the evocation of the idea of “hip-hop” that Requiem borrows heavily from a film genre that might not seem obvious at first: the noir. In his “Notes on Film Noir,” Paul Schrader discusses how in noir films the environment in which the dramatic action of the film is often given as much weight in the story as the characters themselves. In his article, Schrader states that this is usually accomplished via lighting techniques that highlight both the background and the actor in front of it. While the lighting in Requiem for a Dream doesn't necessarily accomplish this, the montage technique that Aronofsky employs certainly does. In the hip-hop montages in the film, the sounds often relate to the environment itself, and serve to make the gritty underworld through which the characters move almost seem alive. This is another important aspect of Aronofsky's attempt to remove the guilt from the main characters, as it places much of the blame for their misfortune and downward-spiraling struggles with addiction on their environment rather than on the characters themselves. In the film, it seems that the end that each character meets (none of which are particularly pleasant) is an inescapable consequence of the environment in which they live, rather than the direct consequence of any of their individual actions.

In order to illustrate the way that Aronofsky employs the hip-hop montage, and to show the effects that it has upon an audience, I have chosen a small section of one of the many hip hop montages that occur throughout the film. The clip (30:50 to 30:57 screen time) is part of a longer hip-hop montage, depicting the main characters cutting and selling heroin on the streets in order to make money, as well as purchasing store space for one of the characters (an aspiring designer.) This section is interesting both visually and aurally, but also illustrates one of David Bordwell's main points about classical Hollywood cinema: the presence of parallel plot lines. While Requiem for a Dream by no means conforms to all of the standards set forth by Bordwell, it does at least possess one of the narrative guidelines that he put forth. It is however, interesting to note that even the stranger films produced in our times can possess what are considered to be the the defining elements of “classical Hollywood cinema.”

The first shot of this montage is of the three main characters, Harry, Marion, and Ty, cutting up the heroin they've purchased in order to sell it on the streets for a profit. The camera is placed above the table, looking directly down at it, and the shot is framed so that all we can see of the characters are their arms as they go about the business of cutting up the heroin. All of the action is seen in fast motion, causing the hands of the characters to become a blur. Like most of the shots involving drug use in Requiem for a Dream, this first shot draws the focus to the drug itself, with the characters being pushed out to the periphery, and even then showing nothing that really serves to identify them. Buy doing this, Aronofsky seems to be emphasizing the loss of identity that inevitably comes with drug addiction. The three characters in the film all eventually lose a part of themselves to their addiction (all of the characters suffer the loss of their hopes and ambitions. Harry also literally loses a part of himself as his arm is amputated due to an infected injection site.) The framing also serves to give a hint at the mindset of an addict by drawing focus first and foremost to the drug itself, rather than the people physically handling it. Further drawing viewer focus to the drug is the fact that it is an intensely white powder set against a dull table top. The heroin therefore stands out far more than anything else in this shot. The sound in this shot is similar to that of bees buzzing, which further heightens the sense of urgency hinted at by the fast motion.

Shot two is of Harry, one of the main characters, standing near a closed-up boardwalk stand, looking for clients to purchase his heroin. The shot is a medium shot, pulled back so that all of Harry's body fits in the frame. Harry is wearing a nondescript gray jumpsuit, a small detail that furthers the idea of his loss of identity, as his clothes possess no evidence of individual taste or expression. The sound in this shot is diegetic, as it is the sound of the buzzing fluorescent lights lining the boardwalk. The sound is similar to that of the buzzing bees in shot one, and gives an angry, dangerous sense to the environment itself. This shot is shorter than the last, and for most of it Harry's face is turned away from the camera, which has the effect of making him seem less like a true character and more like just another sketchy drug dealer. This shot is filmed in regular motion, which causes it to stand out from the previous shot of the three main characters cutting up the heroin. The main effect of this shot is to draw the viewer into the seedy world of the drug market, with the background of the boarded-up boutique being the most notable feature onscreen.

Shot three is a closeup of a packet of heroin being handed off from the dealer to the customer. This shot, like the one before it, occurs in real-time, as opposed to the first shot of this sequence. The shot is accompanied by the sound of a record scratch, a sound that becomes important to the establishment of rhythm in the full version of this montage, as it is repeated many times. The shot is an extreme close-up, and is framed so that only the hands of the two people are visible against the dark background. The lighting is bleak and inexpressive, seeming to only serve the purpose of making the hands of the two people involved visible. Like in the first shot, by not showing anything but a small portion of the characters onscreen, Aronofsky emphasizes the shadiness and anonymity of the world of drug addicts.

Shot four shows the hand of the drug dealer as he pockets the money given to him by his customer. The cut to this shot is extremely abrupt and jarring, as well as the clip itself. This whole series in fact is incredibly abrupt, lending it that furious and frenetic feel. This shot is accompanied by the sound of a cash register, another sound that is repeated often and important to the establishment of the sense of rhythm and music that accompanies this and the other hip-hop montages in the film. It is here that this style of montage's relation to the cultural idea of “hip-hop” becomes evident, as it drives home the sense of rhythm and pacing as well as its ties to gritty urban life. This shot is very similar to the previous shot in both length and framing, as it's incredibly brief and shows only the hand of the drug dealer. Like the previous shot, its main purpose seems to be to drive home the gritty, dirty feeling of the drug market.

The cut to shot five is also very rapid, and it is to a close up of a hem being sewn on a sewing machine. The difference to the previous shot is incredibly jarring, as this shot exhibits few of the elements of the previous four. It is not darkly lit, it is not accompanied by any non-diegetic sounds, and by itself this shot is not particularly menacing, dangerous, or frenetic. The transition to this shot relies on the overall sense of rhythm and pacing in order to work, as it breaks all traditions of continuity editing. The sound in this shot is, unlike that of the previous two shots, diegetic, as the sound of the sewing machine itself is very prominent. This shot is an interesting break from the previous two. It still upholds the same tight framing of the last two, but doesn't retain the same gritty feel. It also depicts an entirely non-self-destructive act, another thing that sets it apart from the other shots in this montage. It is in this shot that we see Bordwell's idea of parallel narratives coming into play. Up to this point in the montage we've been seeing the realization of Harry and Tyler's goal, which is to earn enough money by selling heroin on the streets to buy a pound of pure cocaine. This shot however, shows us the advancement of Marion's goal, which is to eventually become a famous fashion designer. Even though these two goals are separate things, this shot serves to link them, by showing the means by which Marion's quest to become a designer is being funded.

Shot six jumps right back into the gritty underground of the back alley drug market. Again, like all of the other shots in this sequence, it is a very tightly framed extreme close up, showing only two hands. One of the hands is Tyler's, while the other belongs to the person to whom he is selling the heroin. The sound here is a voice-over of Tyler saying “Naturally,” though it is unclear whether it is meant to be diegetic or not. It is possible that this audio clip comes from earlier in the film, when Tyler says the same thing to Harry when they first get the heroin in order to sell. Harry warns Tyler that they shouldn't start using themselves, or all of their plans will fail. This is of course foreshadowing the fact that all of the main characters do in fact start using their drugs, and that all of their plans and dreams do in fact fail, The voice over provides a strange contrast to the image onscreen, as Tyler's voice sounds warm and friendly, two things not normally associated with underground drug deals. The goal in this shot is the same as in the others in this montage, which is to provide a dirty, dark feeling to the audience.

Shot seven is one of the more interesting in the montage, showing an extreme close up of two people kissing. The people are assumed to be Marion and Harry, and it is here that we are given a glimpse at another of the movie's parallel story lines, which is that of Marion and Harry's relationship. The lighting of this shot is very similar to the shots in this montage, in that it seems to be dictated solely by the necessity to show the action onstage. It only highlights the faces of the two characters, and provides no hint as to what the background might be. The sound in this shot is entirely diegetic, but in the overall montage seems somehow out of place. It is still important to the establishment of rhythm and pacing, but it is a much more organic and natural sound than any of the others. This shot is framed in the same way as the others in this montage, showing nothing but Marion and Harry's lips, further driving home the idea of the loss of self. This shot stands out as it depicts something other than a shady drug deal (something that in fact seems remarkably wholesome for this movie) in the same way that it depicts the drug deals, which serves to foreshadow the fate of Marion and Harry's relationship.

Shot eight is a polaroid photo of the character Harry standing in newly rented store space, accompanied by the sound of a flashbulb going off. It is a medium shot, pulled back to show the entirety of both character's bodies. Unlike in any of the other shots in this montage, one of the character's faces is visible, which seems to imply that this activity is not as dark and dangerous as the others depicted, which is true. The lighting is uncharacteristically bright, illuminating the entire scene, making every inch of the store space bright and visible. This shot again takes a break from detailing the Harry and Tyler's attempt to earn money by selling heroin in order to show a development in Marion's quest to become a designer. Again, it seems to suggest a link between the selling of drugs and the financing of Marion's attempts to become a designer.

Shot nine, the last shot in the section I have chosen is a repetition of the first shot in the sequence, so formally it is no different. However, by showing this shot twice, Aronofsky hints at the circular nature of the process of trying to earn money by selling drugs, which becomes even more apparent later in the film when, after earning a large amount of money, the characters are eventually reduced back to having nothing after spending it all to fuel their own addictions. Showing this shot twice is also key in the development of rhythm, as one could now relate this entire sequence to a bar of music, one that is repeated many times throughout an entire song. With this repetition, the idea of “hip-hop” through a film montage becomes very salient.

By using the hip hop montage technique and compressing many shots into a small amount of time (nine shots in seven seconds), Aronofsky successfully conveys the frantic, hurried, dark, shady, and dangerous feel of the underground drug market to the audience. The furious pacing creates an uneasy sensation to those watching, while the strange mix of diegetic and non-diegetic sound creates an unstable and confused atmosphere. This sense of pace, and the further sense of danger and chaos it creates, is something not often seen in film, and pulls the audience inescapably into the world of the onscreen characters, seeming to link the audience's sense of well being as well as their emotions to those of the characters. By doing this, Aronofsky forces the audience to examine themselves in the context of the dramatic action before passing judgment on the characters.

By depicting what is otherwise a fairly standard Hollywood plot (a plot which even conforms slightly to the narrative guidelines set forth by Bordwell) in a manner than is anything less than standard, Aronofsky forces the audience to reconsider their opinions on the matter of drug addiction and the people that fall victim to it. By invoking the societal meme of “hip-hop” culture and everything associated with it, the film is firmly grounded in a dangerous, gritty, urban world, and in borrowing from the noir genre, Aronofsky successfully places most of the blame for the troubles that befall the characters on the environment in which they live. Even though on a basic level everything that happens to the characters is a result of the choices they make throughout the film, Aronofsky presents the film in a way that makes it seem as though the characters' “choices” weren't really choices at all, but rather an inevitability of the world in which they live.

Sources:

Bordwell, David. "Classical Hollywood Cinema: Narrational Principles and Procedures."

Schrader, Paul. "Notes on Film Noir."

Requiem for a Dream and the Hip-Hop Montage

Much of Darren Aronofsky's film, Requiem for a Dream, is characterized by his use of a technique called the “hip-hop montage.” A hip-hop montage is a rapid series of actions depicted in fast motion to the accompaniment of non-diegetic sound. Used mainly to depict drug use in Requiem for a Dream, these hip-hop montages serve to give the film, or at least the portions involving drug use, a wild, frenetic feel, drawing the audience more firmly into the world of the characters.

The section of Requiem for a Dream that I have chosen to examine (30:50 to 30:57 screen time) is part of a longer hip-hop montage, depicting the main characters cutting and selling heroin on the streets in order to make money, as well as purchasing store space for one of the characters (an aspiring designer.) This section is interesting both visually and aurally, but also illustrates one of David Bordwell's main points about classical Hollywood cinema: the presence of parallel plot lines. While Requiem for a Dream by no means conforms to all of the standards set forth by Bordwell, it does at least possess one of the narrative guidelines that he put forth. It is however, interesting to note that even the stranger films produced in our times can possess what are considered to be the the defining elements of “classical Hollywood cinema.”

The first shot of this montage is of the three main characters, Seymour, Marion, and Ty, cutting up the heroin they've purchased in order to sell it on the streets for a profit. The camera is placed above the table, looking directly down at it, and the shot is framed so that all we can see of the characters are their arms as they go about the business of cutting up the heroin. All of the action is seen in fast motion, causing the hands of the characters to become a blur. Like most of the shots involving drug use in Requiem for a Dream, this first shot draws the focus to the drug itself, with the characters being pushed out to the periphery, and even then showing nothing that really serves to identify them. Buy doing this, Aronofsky seems to be emphasizing the loss of identity that inevitably comes with drug addiction. The three characters in the film all eventually lose a part of themselves to their addiction (all of the characters suffer the loss of their hopes and ambitions. Seymour also literally loses a part of himself as his arm is amputated due to an infected injection site.) The framing also serves to give a hint at the mindset of an addict by drawing focus first and foremost to the drug itself, rather than the people physically handling it. The sound in this shot is similar to that of bees buzzing, which further heightens the sense of urgency hinted at by the fast motion.

The next shot is of Seymour, one of the main characters, standing near a closed-up boardwalk stand, looking for clients to purchase his heroin. The sound in this shot is diegetic, as it is the sound of the buzzing fluorescent lights lining the boardwalk. This shot is shorter than the last, and for most of it Seymour's face is turned away from the camera, which has the effect of making him seem less like a true character and more like just another sketchy drug dealer. This shot is filmed in regular motion, which causes it to stand out from the previous shot of the three main characters cutting up the heroin. The main effect of this shot is to draw the viewer into the seedy world of the drug market, with the background of the boarded-up boutique being the most notable feature onscreen.

The next shot is a closeup of a packet of heroin being handed off from the dealer to the customer. This shot, like the one before it, occurs in real-time, as opposed to the first shot of this sequence. The shot is accompanied by the sound of a record scratch, and it is framed so that only the hands of the two people are visible against the dark background. Like in the first shot, by not showing anything but a small portion of the characters onscreen, Aronofsky emphasizes the shadiness and anonymity of the world of drug addicts.

The cut to the next shot is abrupt, as is the shot itself. The next thing shown onscreen is the hand of the drug dealer as he pockets the money given to him by his customer. This shot is accompanied by the sound of a cash register. It's very similar to the previous shot in both length and framing, as it's incredibly brief and shows only the hand of the drug dealer. Like the previous shot, its main purpose seems to be to drive home the gritty, dirty feeling of the drug market.

The next cut is also very rapid, and it is to a close up of a hem being sewn on a sewing machine. The sound in this shot is, unlike that of the previous two shots, diegetic, as the sound of the sewing machine itself is very prominent. This shot is an interesting break from the previous two. It still upholds the same tight framing of the last two, but doesn't retain the same gritty feel. It also depicts an entirely non-self-destructive act, another thing that sets it apart from the other shots in this montage. It is in this shot that we see Bordwell's idea of parallel narratives coming into play. Up to this point in the montage we've been seeing the realization of Seymour and Tyler's goal, which is to earn enough money by selling heroin on the streets to buy a pound of pure cocaine. This shot however, shows us the advancement of Marion's goal, which is to eventually become a famous fashion designer. Even though these two goals are separate things, this shot serves to link them, buy showing the means by which Marion's quest to become a designer is being funded.

The next shot jumps right back into the gritty underground of the back alley drug market. Again, like all of the other shots in this sequence, it is very tightly framed, showing only two hands. One of the hands is Tyler's, while the other belongs to the person to whom he is selling the heroin. The sound here is a voice-over of Tyler saying “Naturally,” though it is unclear whether it is meant to be diegetic or not. The voice over provides a strange contrast to the image onscreen, as Tyler's voice sounds warm and friendly, two things not normally associated with underground drug deals. The goal in this shot is the same as in the others in this montage, which is to provide a dirty, dark feeling to the audience.

The next shot is one of the more interesting in the montage, showing an extreme close up of two people kissing. The people are assumed to be Marion and Seymour, and it is here that we are given a glimpse at another of the movie's parallel story lines, which is that of Marion and Seymour's relationship. The sound in this shot is entirely diegetic, and it is framed in the same way as the others in this montage, showing nothing but Marion and Seymour's lips. This shot stands out as it depicts something other than a shady drug deal (something that in fact seems remarkably wholesome for this movie) in the same way that it depicts the drug deals, which serves to foreshadow the fate of Marion and Seymour's relationship.

The next shot is a polaroid photo of the character Seymour standing in newly rented store space, accompanied by the sound of a flashbulb going off. This shot again takes a break from detailing the Seymour and Tyler's attempt to earn money by selling heroin in order to show a development in Marion's quest to become a designer. Again, it seems to suggest a link between the selling of drugs and the financing of Marion's attempts to become a designer.

The last shot in the section I have chosen is a repetition of the first shot in the sequence, so formally it is no different. However, by showing this shot twice, Aronofsky hints at the circular nature of the process of trying to earn money by selling drugs, which becomes even more apparent later in the film when, after earning a large amount of money, the characters are eventually reduced back to having nothing after spending it all to fuel their own addictions.

By using the hip hop montage technique and compressing many shots into a small amount of time (nine shots in seven seconds), Aronofsky successfully conveys the frantic, hurried, dark, shady, and dangerous feel of the underground drug market to the audience. The furious pacing creates an uneasy sensation to those watching, while the strange mix of diegetic and non-diegetic sound creates an unstable and confused atmosphere. Finally, Aronofsky also uses this technique as a way to simultaneously advance the numerous parallel story lines that occur in this film and provide a causal link between seemingly unrelated events that happen.

Man with a Movie Camera & Triumph of the Will

In this post I would like to discuss the two films Man with a Movie Camera and Triumph of the Will. Both of these films are extremely documentary in nature, and both attempt to glorify the political system under which they were created. By viewing them, one can see the ways in which the reigning political systems in Germany and Russia at the time (Fascism and Communism) differ, as manifest in the techniques used to create the film.

For example, Triumph of the Will is a film that was created to glorify the fascist Nazi regime, and therefore focuses on glorifying Adolf Hitler, as he is the "fatherly" figure under which Germany is being united. The film employs clever editing and camera techniques to imply that Hitler is a warm, magnanimous figure that is uniting all of Germany under the ideal of national pride. Man with a Movie Camera, however, does not focus on or glorify one person at all, instead focusing on hundreds of different people, giving all of them comparable amounts of screen time. It does not attempt to give any more meaning to the people shown other than what is presented to the camera. It is in this respect that these two films show a key difference between the political ideologies under which they were created: Fascism's self-importance and the emphasis it places on the aesthetic value of politics versus Communism's emphasis on it's people: the everyday working class.

Next, these films both differ in the way they try to hide (or not hid) their means of production. In Triumph of the Will, all of the camera crews are outfitted in Nazi uniforms so as to blend into the crowds, while other cameras were cleverly hidden on flagpoles. The film tries very hard to never show a camera or production crew to the audience. This contrasts with Man with a Movie Camera, whose very title implies the means of production. Throughout the film we constantly see the man with the camera, a reminder that this film is the product of human ingenuity and effort. Here then, is another difference between Communism and Fascism. In a Fascist system, the end result is what's celebrated. The importance is placed on the final aesthetic value of the film. In a Communist system, the emphasis is placed on the people, the human machinery responsible for the production of the product.

Finally, the way in which people are depicted in each of the films is different. In Triumph of the Will we very rarely see anything other than huge masses of people, all dressed alike in uniform. This implies a sameness to the people, appropriate in a country whose political system stressed the dominance of the Aryan "master race" and ruthlessly weeded out anyone that didn't conform to this ideal. In Man with a Movie Camera we see shots of individual people, all usually working-class. The movie does not seek to imply a sameness in the people at all, but rather seems to focus on people because they stand out or are visually interesting. This then, is another way in which these films show the differences between Communism and Fascism.

While both of these movies are similar in cinematic style, they are each the product of a radically different political system, and by comparing them, one can examine the differences in the political systems under which they were created.

Haneke, Cache, and Voyeurism.

In many of the films we’ve watched in this class, particularly in the three Hitchcock films we’ve watched, the scopophilic tendencies of the viewer seem to be pandered to in the composition of the film. However, in one film we watched, Haneke’s Cache, the director seems to accuse the viewer for his scopophilia, making the audience wonder why exactly it is that they watch movies in the first place.

In all three of the Hitchcock films we’ve examined, every character is tailored to be looked at. The men are strong and exert their influence over the course of the film, while the women are attractive, and ultimately deferential to the men. However, in Haneke’s Cache, the characters are much more normal, with none of the usual character embellishments found in film. This alone gives Haneke’s film a weird atmosphere, as the viewer, instead of feeling like their watching some great drama unfolding, instead feels as though they’re examining a normal family.

Haneke further forces audiences to examine their own scopophilic and voyeuristic tendencies with the plot device of the videotapes in Cache. The opening shot of the movie, which is held for an abnormally long amount of time, turns out to be a videotape of the Laurent household that the family is watching in their living room. This technique of confusing the video tapes in the movie with the actual film is repeated several times, and gives the impression that the audience is somehow involved in this voyeurism of the Laurent family.

Furthermore, when the identity of the person sending the tapes to the Laurent family is never discovered, and a few clues are given that the tapes are actually coming from beyond the fourth wall of the screen, Haneke seems to be making a definite statement about the perverseness of the idea of going to a cinema to see a group of people playing out their personal lies. Haneke forces the audience to think about exactly what it is they enjoy about the movies.

Haneke does the same thing in another of his films, Funny Games. Funny Games concerns a pair of serial killers who terrorize a normal family on vacation, but Haneke intentionally refuses to directly show any of the acts of violence committed against the family on screen. This initially seems frustrating at first but begins to make the audience wonder why it is that they want to see all of these horrible things happening to the family.

We’ve discussed the voyeuristic aspect of watching a film, as well as read several articles discussing it, but Haneke is the first filmmaker we’ve examined who seems to directly address this aspect of film in his movies and imply a certain amount of guilt on the viewer’s part.

District 9 Review

Sci Fi fans rejoice: Neil Blomkamp’s District 9 is here, and it’s amazing. In an age where sequels with budgets in the hundreds of millions of dollars dominate box offices, District 9 dares to try something different. District 9 tells the story of an alien race that crash lands in South Africa, and are immediately quarantined in a holding zone designated District 9 by the human population of South Africa. The movie follows Wikas Van De Merwe, who, through a bizarre accident, begins to transform into one of the aliens. All of a sudden Van De Merwe is hunted by the people he worked for, and is forced to form an allegiance with the aliens he had been working to contain. Very much a metaphor for apartheid, the movie forces us to examine issues of race relations and human (or alien) rights. In fact, many of the interview segments are of real people who suffered under apartheid, and these segments blend brilliantly into the movie.

The cast of District 9 is conspicuously absent of the big names we have come to expect from Hollywood blockbuster’s, a choice that I found to be incredibly refreshing. When a cast consists of mostly unknown talent, we are freed from preconceptions about particular actors, allowing the world created by the film to become that much more real. Sharlto Copley’s performance as the protagonist Wikas Van De Merwe is very solid. He creates a character that is strongly sympathetic, and all of his line delivery is spot-on. Barring Copley, there really aren’t any stand-out performances, but there isn’t a single actor that made me feel let-down by with their performance. The cast of District 9 proves that big names are not at all necessary to create a successful film. In fact, one of the films charms is that all of the characters seem new and fresh as they aren’t portrayed by any big names, who more and more seem to portray the same character film after film.


District 9 also manages to impress on a technical front, with special effects that are impressive, without being too in-your-face or overwhelming. The aliens are all impressively rendered, which is important because they have a large amount of screen-time. The fact that the special effects are so well put together becomes even more impressive when one considers the fact that the entire movie was made on a budget of only 30 million dollars. Compare that to Spiderman 3, which had an enormous budget of 250 million dollars. District 9 proves that a massive budget is not necessary in order to create an enjoyable movie, and I sincerely hope that more movies will begin to cut down their budgets. Because Hollywood budgets have become so inflated, filmmakers take fewer risks, leading to sequel after sequel, and recycled plots that quickly become stale. I sincerely hope that more filmmakers will follow Neil Blomkamp’s example and begin making fresh, interesting films.

One of the most striking segments of the film is the first ten or fifteen minutes of exposition. Presented in a documentary style, the opening minutes of the movie introduce the characters, explain the existence of the alien race, and detail the process of quarantining them in District 9. By presenting this expositional information in such a matter-of-fact way the film instantly draws the audience in. I found myself giving in willingly to the fiction created on screen, something that I haven’t experienced with a major Hollywood release in a long time.

District 9 also defied my expectations in a lot of ways. I went in to the theater expecting a simple sci-fi action flick, full of bizarre alien weaponry, explosions, and flying limbs. While there were plenty of all three of those things, the film also tackled serious issues that are rarely examined in a film of that type. At the beginning of District 9, the audience member is led to sympathize with the humans as the stranded alien race is portrayed as violent, unruly, and unpredictable. However, once Wikas Van De Merwe begins his transformation and is forced to embed himself among the alien population, this perception gradually begins to change as well. We as an audience see that in fact it is the humans who are violent and unpredictable, and that the aliens are merely trying to make a place for themselves in a strange new place. It is interesting to me that a movie about aliens could say so much about the human race’s relation to itself.


All in all I found District 9 to be an incredibly enjoyable film, mainly because it managed to create a world that was so refreshingly genuine that I couldn’t help but be drawn in. This is a movie that Sci-Fi fans cannot miss, and I heartily recommend that everyone give it a chance, if for no other reason than to support a move away from the recycled Hollywood blockbuster of today.

Sleepless in Seattle: Formulaic to a Fault

I should preface this post by saying that chick flicks are not my thing in any way, shape, or form, and that I frequently can't sit all the way through them. Sorry if I sound unfairly harsh towards Sleepless in Seattle.

We've been discussing Bordwell's definition of classical Hollywood cinema and how it relates to the movies we've seen for a while now, and I feel it's safe to say that with every film there has been some (at least slight) differentiation from the formula presented by Bordwell. However, this is not the case with Sleepless in Seattle, a movie that follows Bordwell's criteria to a fault.

In his article, Bordwell presents the idea of a story that follows the "calm, disturbance, resolution, impact" formula. It is no stretch to apply this formula to Sleepless in Seattle. The story begins with an obvious disturbance: the death of Sam Baldwin's (Tom Hanks) wife. Immediately following this, we see the beginnings of a resolution forming as Sam's story is broadcast over the radio and Annie (Meg Ryan) hears the broadcast and begins to fall for Sam. The movie ends with a clear resolution to the problems of the characters, as Sam (presumably) finds love again while Annie finds someone who she is not just settling for. Bordwell also states that in classical Hollywood cinema the plot should be essentially goal-oriented. There is no question that a definite series of goals is presented in Sleepless in Seattle. Annie wants to meet Sam, Sam wants to get over the loss of his wife, and Jonah wants his father to date Annie. All of these goals are clearly presented, and all of these goals are eventually met. This strict adherence to the basic classical Hollywood plot makes the movie incredibly predictable, which, for me, made it entirely uninteresting.

Sleepless in Seattle also conforms to the idea that a classical Hollywood film should present dual plotlines, both of which eventually converge and are resolved together. Nora Ephron presents Sam and Annie's stories simultaneously, while having them converge in a joint resolution at the end of the movie. Unlike the movie's strict adherence to the classical Hollywood plot structure however, this didn't detract from the movie's entertainment value. Rather, it seemed to enhance it, as it allowed the viewer a certain amount of dramatic irony as they were able to make connections between Annie and Sam that neither of those characters was able to.

While it was an interesting experience to watch a movie that could so easily be related to Bordwell's article, I don't think that such strict adherence makes for a particularly good movie. At least not in today's market which is saturated with this kind of movie. By following the formula so exactly, Sleepless in Seattle became predictable to the point where I knew what was going to happen within 10 minutes. For me, much of the excitement of movie-watching comes from not knowing what's going to happen next, and Sleepless in Seattle completely took that away. I think that there are certain things to be said for the classical formula laid out by Bordwell, but that following it exactly makes for a bland and uninteresting film, as Sleepless in Seattle showed.

Amelie, Fight Club, and the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

The question of whether focusing on narrative in a film is a "criminal error" is an interesting one, especially in today's climate of Hollywood blockbusters in which narrative has been pushed to the forefront. Although films such as Len Lye's Free Radicals and David Brook's Member (both experimental films without any form of narrative structure) prove that films do not need a narrative to be meaningful, it is hard to argue that all films should conform to their standard. In the end it seems the key is to be able to present a narrative while still taking advantage of the benefits of the film medium in order to make that narrative stronger. After all, if one simply intends to present a narrative, the novel is a much better medium in which to do it.

One of these advantages is, as Walter Benjamin says, the ability to "[extend] our comprehension of the necessities which rule our lives." Benjamin presents the idea that one of the key benefits of film is its ability to slow down reality, allowing for closer examination. So while having a narrative in a film in itself is not a criminal error, giving up the benefits of film in favor of narrative might be.

One can examine this concept in the context of Amelie and Fight Club. In Amelie, Jean-Pierre Jeunet takes advantage of the benefits of film in order to highlight and make fantastic the elements of Amelie's life that would otherwise seem mundane. In this way, the benefits of the film medium are used to supplement and add depth to the narrative by drawing into focus aspects of the world created within the narrative that might not otherwise have been evident. In a story that focuses so much on finding the fantastic within the ordinary, it is important that the cinematography mirrors this idea in order to fully draw the viewer in. In my opinion, Amelie is a movie that succeeds in not only presenting a narrative, but also in using the benefits that film offers in order to make the narrative stronger.

Fight Club, I think, also succeeds in this sense. Through visual cues (such as having one frame of Tyler Durden spliced into the beginning of the film), the narrator’s sub-conscious is drawn into focus in a way that would not have been possible in a medium other than film. While Amelie brought into focus the fantastic elements of reality, Fight Club instead reveals the self-destructive and violent tendencies of the human sub-conscious. Like Amelie, Fight Club successfully exploits the benefits of film in order to make the narrative have a deeper and stronger impact on the viewer.

There are many examples of successful films with and without narratives, and both are fully capable of having a meaningful impact on their viewers. It would be ridiculous to say that film must not have a narrative or, vice versa, that it must have a narrative to be successful. However, the films that have always seemed the most complete to me are those that are able to use all the benefits of film technology in order to further develop and support their narrative.