Because of time’s perpetual presence and abstract notion, it becomes “a new muse” (59) for the artist who believes, as Andrei Tarkovsky, that the purpose of his work is to find and communicate “the meaning of his existence” (36). For this reason, Tarkovsky’s Mirror seems to be such a sincere depiction of the author’s life with its singular mosaic quality. “The image makes palpable a unity in which manifold different elements are contiguous and reach over into each other” (38). In fact, the seemingly disjunctive scenes, which range from dreams, present time, newsreels, memory, flashbacks, and fantasy, talk to each other with an intangible dialogue that provides a coherent direction to the whole film.
Events that enclose entire populations, such as wars, are scaled down to the private lives of individuals whose mix of routine and sporadic events provide an accessible foundation to the idea of time circularity, duality, and infinity. For example, with the swift glimpse of a cat crossing the hallway while Ignat is talking on the phone, Tarkovsky provides a faint connection with Alexei’s summerhouse where he would play with his black cat while having breakfast. Further events mildly mirror past and present throughout the film. For instance, when Ignat helps his mother pick up the content of her purse from the floor, he mentions, “it’s like it all happened once. But I’ve never been here before.” This remark functions as a premonition for a later scene that is set in his father’s past: before stepping into a neighbor’s home, Alexei’s mother drops the jewelry she was trying to exchange for food. The visual correlation of these scenes cannot be disregarded even if the transmutation of events is far from literal or obvious. The spectator perceives such images in a subconscious way since they are never markedly brought to the foreground. Tarkovsky provides these kinds of cues in such an elegant manner that the spectator does not know exactly the reason why a scene echoes another one in an emotional level. Their resemblance is thus a barely perceptible whisper that caresses the viewer’s memory.
Nevertheless, Tarkovsky also explores dualities in a more candid manner by using the same actors to represent his mother and wife, as well as Alexei as a teenager and his son Ignat. This deliberate aesthetic choice emphasizes the inescapable relativism that lies in the eye of the beholder. The fact that everything which is set in the past was reassembled and projected through Tarkovsky’s eye, is explicitly explained by Alexei as he tells his wife “when I recall my childhood and Mother, somehow she always has your face.” This provides the tacit understanding that even flashbacks are the product of memory, and thus altered from the actual past. As he explains, “I see chronicle as the ultimate cinema; for me it is not a way of filming but a way of reconstructing, of recreating life” (65).
Such recreation of life, as Tarkovsky put it, is not exclusively about the director’s concerns but rather those shared by entire generations. In fact, one of the most gripping traits of film is its capacity to encapsulate the mindset and concerns of a precise period. Population’s scars are interpreted and revealed by the artist who is trying to come to terms with his own anxieties. Tarkovsky conciliated with his past by confronting it through the cinematic prism, which provided him the means to suture his personal wounds as well as those shared by his generation.
As the film unfolds, the political undertone never leaves the frame. However, it is sharply brought to the foreground in the flashback where Alexei’s mother evokes her job at the newspaper. This black and white sequence candidly conveys the deep angst and fear that the Soviet regime had generated across the population.
Even though Margarita Terekhova is a stellar actress who was able to trespass the screen by emotionally touching her viewers, Tarkovsky’s use of cinematic tools enhanced her performance and brought it to an even higher level. For example, as she runs under the rain in the beginning of this sequence, the camera gently floats as it follows her. The movement of the camera is synchronized with her heavy respiration. This overwhelming sound diffuses the tone of the suffocating regime, a period through which people had to grasp for air in order to survive. Such suggestive use of sound is furthered explored when Maroussia and Liza cross the printing office. Here, the methodical sound of printing machines invades the scene, overruling any adjacent sound and conversation. Such unstoppable pounding also alludes to the Soviet regime as it had suppressed the multiplicity of ideologies and viewpoints.
In addition to the sound, the mise-en-scéne of this sequence plays an important role to allude to the repressions and fears of the period. In particular, after Maroussia discovers there was no mistake in the special edition, she leaves the printing office to cross a white corridor as the camera, at a slight low angle, tracks backwards while she walks towards it. This striped and symmetric hallway resembles a hospital: it is white, sterile, and clear. Such metaphor unveils the idea that, just like a hospital, newspapers were an antiseptic institution meant to contain and eradicate the proliferation of different ideologies. Thus, they were a medium with spotless editions that covered up the stench of the fermenting death and terror caused by the regime.
As numerous other sequences, this scene’s closure is related to water: Maroussia enters into the communal bathroom to take a shower. However, this scene does not reach a state of complete placidity because the sound of dropping water hunts the frame. Once again, Tarkovsky’s elegance for intrinsic undertones is corroborated. The consecutive sound of water alludes to the famous Chinese psychological torture that aimed to drain sanity out of its targets.such soundtrack is a reminder of the Soviets in power and the unavoidable danger they represented.
In addition to evoking the Soviet’s presence, the perpetual sound of doping water connects this sequence with a previous black and white dream-scene: a nightmare composed by Alexei’s childhood fears and memories, namely the presence and absence of his father. This is the first time Alexei’s father is introduced. The camera captures a fleeting glimpse of his hunched and drizzled back while he pours warm water in Maroussi’s hair. The emotional damage done by Alexei’s father to Maroussi is projected in a literal representation. After he had poured the water on her head, she slowly raises, morphed into a marine monster, as her long and wet hair drapes and covers her face. Slow motion emphasizes the terror engraved in this scene as the mother flaps her hands, loosing all trade of her persona. However, from Alexei’s viewpoint, not only has his father intrinsically damaged his mother with the void left by his absence, but he also destroyed the whole family structure along with its safety. This is once again signified by a tangible metaphor: the house falls into pieces as water drips through the walls and ceiling. This scene exemplifies Tarkovsky as the poet of images, proving that he “has the imagination and psychology of a child, for his impressions of the world are immediate, however profound his ideals about the world may be” (41). He translated his childhood’s feelings and interpretations of the world around him with outstanding sincerity.
This dream-scene, which revolves around the destruction of a safe world by the irruption of water, transitions into Alexei’s present time through the mise-en-scéne: the paint in the walls is chipping off as a result of water infiltration. Tarkovsky’s floating camera wanders through the hallways while Alexei’s voice fills his visual absence. Because we are not presented with a person, a body, and a face to connect with Alexei’s voice, there is an unavoidable humanization of the insights of the home. The mise-en-scéne is thus scrutinized as if it were the body of Alexei and an insight to his subconscious. It becomes evident that the crumbling walls of his childhood have left visible marks in the walls of his adulthood like childhood traumas mark adults’ psyche. Therefore, the walls are not only walls but rather the pillars that safeguard his feelings and past, which have acquired a rotten quality due to water and childhood damages. The visible decay of the walls represents the childhood scars that were revealed in the previous scene, proving the dialogue established through the seemingly unrelated scenes of Mirror.
A Woman is a Woman is a great example of experimentation with sound editing. As Angela moves through the city, music jumps from being diegetic to non-diegetic. For example, every time she interacts with men in a flirty way, the music suddenly stops. Such changes of sound are made so obvious that destabilizes audience’s expectations of sound and music. In addition, Godard breaks the forth wall. The characters talk and sing directly into the camera, as if addressing the audiences. In addition, the mise-en-scenes tend to resemble theater productions. For example, when Angela tells Émile to put on a show, she is framed by the door of her house, which gives the illusion to be in a stage.
Therefore, the audience is forced to step out, watch from a distance, and analyze and question the film instead of submerging themselves into the story. As in Vertov’s Man with a Movie Camera, the audience is made aware of the medium and deceptive techniques used by the film industry.
It is evident that German expressionism and films from the Weimar period had a significant impact on Bergman when he made The Hour of the Wolf. The interest and fascination with psychology and the parallel worlds created by the mind were a concerned explored in German expressionism and revisited and re-explored by Bergman. The Hour of the Wolf seems to have a combination of elements from Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari because it intertwined concept of the supernatural with the interrogative of insanity and obsession.
In addition, the aesthetic choices made by Bergman are in alignment with German expressionism. There is an extensive use of chiaroscuro where darkness predominates the frames while white and light are rare and very suggestive. For instance, Alma tends to be illuminated while the people around her are under dark shadows. This evokes the idea that she is different, pure, and sane. In addition, the use of key light creates pockets of shadows, morphing people’s faces into malicious smiles or perilous ravens.
Even though this film would not be necessarily classified as a horror film, it is definitely unsettling. The use of fast editing choreographed with sudden high pitching was very effective. In fact, it made me jump off my seat more than a couple of times. This is mostly evident in the sequence where Johan (the husband) kills the young boy. Distorted close-ups of different angles of the fight between the boy and Johan are edited at a fast pace combined with hunting and uncomfortable music. In addition, once Johan has killed the boy he throws him into the water, which is pitch black and denser than it should be, resembling a puddle of blood.
Even though this film might be significantly different from the rest of Bergman’s films, it has in common the strong presence of touch. This is a theme that is elaborated throughout the whole film. For example, there is the constant refusal of Johan towards Alma’s touch, and a common desire of the women of the castle to be touched and have contact with Johan. However, this theme reaches its ecstatic point towards the end of the film when Johan finds the presumably dead body of his life long obsession, Veronica Vogler. Through a close-up, the camera moves along Veronica’s inert and naked body following Johan’s hand. The interesting fact is that his touch is what seems to bring her back to life, delving into the ideas of resurrection, deception, and madness.
War films are not my favorite kind of films. It is difficult for me to connect and relate with the characters usually because the extensive scenes of warfare and gunfire tend to alienate me. This is why I was surprised by the fact that I felt so much and connected in such a deep level with Rossellini’s Rome Open City. Even though Italian films of the 20’s are well known for their attempts to portrait the world as it was, Rome Open City was the first of this series of films in which I truly felt as if I was following and witnessing real lives, feeling, and events. It appears be a documentary without loosing the qualities of a feature film.
The acting took the film to a complete different level. You can feel the characters’ emotions pouring out of their faces with such naturalness and sincerity that is hard to imagine they are actually acting. Thus, the connection and sympathy created between the audience and characters makes it unavoidable to be completely submersed in their story.
Nevertheless, I have to confess that I might be significantly bias when analyzing this film. My grandfather was a journalist part of the Italian Resistance (Partigiani). He used to tell me plenty of stories about the quests he and his friends would go through to print articles and flyers denouncing their situation. In addition, he would never miss on telling us the time he was taken by the German army and was extremely close to be shoot with other prisoners. It might be true that because I had all these stories in the back of my mind I was able to relate deeply with the characters. For example, I still remember vividly the scene in which Pina is killed in front of her son. It might be because Rome Open City echoes all the stories I listened to when growing up. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that Rossellini mastered the editing, mise-en-scene, and acting.
In this film, Buñuel examines and criticizes, once again, the higher class of society by revealing the absurdities they engage in to maintain proper appearances and manners. He does so by using a surrealistic course of actions delineated by dreams within dreams.
The interaction of the bourgeoisie with other social strata is ridiculous, resulting on the opposite outcome the characters were trying to convey. The social class that is looked down becomes their own instead of the one they were criticizing and trying to ridicule. For example, after they explain the proper recipe and right ingredients to make a martini, they invite their driver to have a drink with them. They give him a martini and stare at him closely to point out how little class and education he has given the way he drank it. However, it is evident for everyone, except the bourgeois in the film, that the driver nervously drinks up his martini as fast as he can only because he wants to give an end to such an awkward situation. In this scene, the camera moves quickly into a close-up of the driver’s face, so the audience is able to scrutinize his actions like the rest of the people in the room. Because this camera movement places so much emphasis and focus on the martini, it presents with certainty the idea that he has been given poison instead of gin. Drinks and poison are recurrent themes in this film. Another example is the Bishop’s story about the death of his parents who were poisoned to death. In addition, one of the soldiers, that opens up and relates events of his childhood, confesses that he poisoned his father following the wishes of his mother’s ghost.
It is interesting how Buñuel shows the high levels of awkwardness and oddity when the bourgeois are invaded by human instincts which do not make concessions across social classes. In this case, he uses sexual impulses to show how incongruous this social class is. They look extremely awkward when trying to have sex: they cannot take off their clothes and do not really know what to do with the animal instincts that were invading their bodies. Such instincts were considered so extraneous to their social class that, in order to fulfill them, they go through the trouble of sneaking out of their own house to have sex in the garden so their guests would not notice what they were doing.
Another interesting point made about the dominant role and differences of social classes is conveyed by the use of sound. Traffic noise mists up important conversations regarding economics and politics. This is a sharp criticism to the social system because it implies that this kind of topics, which affect every strata of society, can only be heard and discussed by the affluent. The rest of the population is kept in the darkness of confusing noises so that they won’t learn about the actions these people engage in, such as transporting and selling cocaine.
I wanted to watch this film because I enjoyed a lot Hiroshima Mom Amour and I was curious to find differences and similarities between these two films. However, I was mostly attracted to Wild Grass to attempt to discover whether or not Resnais’ geniality to manipulate and experiment with cinema’s conventions and boundaries could still be considered prominent and transgressive.
If I had to describe my impression of Wild Grass in one word, it would be perplexity. I think this is one of those films that you have to watch a couple of times to truly understand it. I was allured by the impression I was getting the meaning of the film throughout its first half to realize, however, that my interpretations were far from the actual meaning of the story. For instance, I had initially thought that George’s wife was his daughter, which significantly changes the understanding of their relationship and course of actions.
On the other hand, I was pleased to see Hiroshima Mom Amour echoed throughout Wild Grass. For example, there is an extensive use of voice over and internal monologues. The effects of these monologues in the viewer resembles the waves of the sea: they take us extremely close to the characters by entering into their minds to then push us away and alienate us as we loose track of the central meaning and sense of their dialogues. In addition, as in Hiroshima Mom Amour the characters’ faces are not shown to the audience only after a significant long time.
An interesting, and arguably obvious, difference between Hiroshima Mom Amour and Wild Grass is Resnais’ play with color. I could not avoid wondering how he would have used color in Hiroshima Mom Amour given the fact that its use and manipulation was so obvious in Wild Grass. Neon lights are present in almost every scene, tinting the whole frame with green, red, blue, and yellow tonalities. Color is meticulously present not only in the choice of lighting, but also in every mise-en-scene. For example, the color blue plays an important role throughout the film. It represents the sky, the only place where Marguerite Muir is completely fulfilled, free, and happy. In addition, blue signifies beginnings and endings, death and birth. George’s and Marguerite’s relationship becomes tangible within the confines of a blue-glass building. However, this newly born relationship fades away and dies, along with their lives, in the plain accident (once again, they were confined by the color blue). The presence of blue as a signifier of death and endings can also be found in the fact that the first and only time when George complains about his wife, confessing the precarious state of their relationship, is when he is painting his house blue. On the other hand, red represents, as usual, passion and desire. Marguerite has a fluffy and lion-like red hair, symbolizing a forbidden fruit and object of desire.
In this film, Resnais seems to incorporate in a serious yet ironical degree, different genre and film conventions. For example, the sequence in which George decides to leave the wallet he had found at the police station, seems a tribute to film noir. The combination of low-key lighting with window blinds that create horizontal shades of light and shadow are very characteristic of this film genre. As to make such resemblance more prominent, there are deformed shadows of people reflected in a glass wall. Another film convention Resnais plays with is the over-imposition of imaginary actions as the characters meditate and decide on their course of action. Finally, it cannot be ignored the apparent end of the film in which George and Marguerite embrace with an over the top, old-Hollywood style kiss while the word “Fin” flashes by.
