Bear's Film Journal

Words and images with a focus on cinema.
July 14, 2008

Ingmar Bergman and European Cinema

Ingmar Bergman is not only one of Sweden’s most famous and critically acclaimed directors, he is also a distinguished and immortalised film auteur. His films are a reflection of himself; they are highly personal, emotional and affecting. They deal with existential questions of faith, morality and loneliness. Bergman’s films are all undoubtedly European in nature. As David Bordwell writes, “whereas the stylistics devices and thematic motifs may differ from director to director, the overall functions of style and theme remain remarkably constant in the art cinema as a whole” (2002). Art films function at a cerebral level. Bergman’s films are known to challenge the viewer, to make them think and feel like they never have before. He is adept at studying the human condition with a camera and creating compelling images that never fade from memory. Throughout his career he was worked together with many talented individuals and each have left a personal touch on his films.

European art cinema is a category that cannot be defined by its own qualities. It must be looked at in opposition to the other dominant forms of cinema in the world. One of the most powerful comparisons is seen when European art films are juxtaposed against the films produced in the Hollywood studio system. On an economic level art films do not seek big returns at the box office; they do not aim to appeal to a mass audience. Instead art films are more inclined to push the boundaries of established cinema while breaking taboos and acting as social commentary. They wish to get inside the minds of the audience and show them something special, something intimate, to get them to question their own beliefs and opinions. In America art films are generally confined to art house theatres; they rarely make it into the mainstream. Hollywood monopolises the film going population of America and caters to them with big budget special effects and recycled, clichéd storylines. In order to reap the benefits of watching an art film the viewer must give themselves up to the screen. They must surrender their personal confines and look within to find answers. This process is one that the typical Hollywood patron is not interested in and certainly not willing to indulge in. It is because of this discrepancy in audience motivations and rituals that a rift exists between art films and Hollywood films. To say a film is distinctly European is in some sense to say it is an expression of the director. Art films are more than just escapism and entertainment; they are vessels in which one can explore the deepest and darkest regions of the human psyche.

One of the most important aspects of an art film is the role of the auteur. An auteur is more than just the director. An auteur is the person who has full creative control over the. Ingmar Bergman fits this role classically as every one of his films is linked not just by their style but also by similar subject matter, theme, scope and approach. His films are a product of himself, “Bergman wrote the majority of his screenplays alone, and at the height of his career experienced an unparalleled creative freedom” (Ford, 2002). Each of his films carry with them a distinguishable style, tone and sentiment that immediately indicates to an educated viewer that they were written and directed by Ingmar Bergman. All of his films have a message, though that message is often shrouded in symbolism and metaphor. This creates an intellectual challenge for the viewer and asks them to think long and hard about what they are watching. Coercing the audience into actively thinking is one of the richest and most valued qualities about European art films. Perhaps the greatest example of this from Bergman’s filmography is the 1966 film Persona. Persona is surreal, ambiguous and endlessly compelling. It tells the story of a nurse, Alma (Bibi Andersson), who is assigned to care for an actress, Elisabeth (Liv Ullmann), who has stopped talking. The film quietly turns itself around as Alma seemingly becomes the patient. This is suggested as she is revealing her most private details to Elisabeth, who is now seen to be playing the role of a psychiatrist. Things become increasingly more dramatic and tense when Alma finds a letter written by Elisabeth that suggests she thinks Alma is amusingly pathetic. The film features several dream sequences which can garner any number of different interpretations depending on the viewer. The last act of Persona is dominated by a long monologue by Alma which has her analysing and critiquing Elisabeth’s life and morals. As the monologue is finishing, after being repeated, close-ups of Alma and Elisabeth are placed next to one another with each character’s face taking up half of the screen and merging together to form a single face. This famous and unforgettable image sends the viewer into a frenzy of questioning and is designed to leave them pondering the very nature of personal identity and existence. Though it can also have the opposite effect, as Lloyd Michaels writes, “Persona is bound to trouble, perplex, and frustrate most filmgoers” (2000). It is for this exact reason that Persona is distinctly European. It ignores Hollywood conventions and practises and instead seeks not to please a mass audience but to explore an aspect of the human condition as director Ingmar Bergman himself sees it. Audiences that are not trained to watch art films will struggle with Bergman’s work as the aesthetic, the codes and the conventions are all different to what they are used to.

Bergman’s first fifteen feature films, which he directed between 1945 and 1954, were met with varied reactions. They were viewed as being overly pessimistic and nervous. Strangely his career took a turn for the best with the 1955 comedy, Smiles of a Summer Night. This film earned him International success but would serve as little indication of the kind of films he would make over the next twenty years. As a child Bergman was surrounded by religion and this is analysed in depth in a number of his films. Through a Glass Darkly (1961) is titled after a passage from the bible and is the first film in a loose trilogy dealing with issues of spirituality. The films in this trilogy are very much about Bergman coming to terms with his own lack of belief in religion. The Seventh Seal (1957), his best known film, also deals directly with faith, although in a different way. It is iconic for the premise of a knight playing chess with Death himself. The film is rich with symbolism and represents varying views of religion. The notion of a man playing chess with Death is enough on its own to provoke one into questioning their own religion. Bergman’s ability to tackle a heavy topic such as life and death while still remaining clinically detached and observant is a testament to his skill as both a writer and director.

Bergman had a tough childhood and was frequently locked in dark closets for punishment. This period of his life would later serve as inspiration for his five hour masterpiece, Fanny and Alexander (1982). “Set in 1910, Fanny and Alexander has some autobiographical base in the filmmaker’s own childhood, with its twelve-year-old protagonist, Alexander, in certain ways representing Bergman” (Vermilye, 2002). Bergman’s ability to write of his own accord and draw from his own experiences gives his films a feeling of brutal honesty which helps them to pierce into the soul of the viewer. Jesse Kalin describes Bergman very astutely:

“Bergman’s subject is not being as such but the moral world – ourselves as human beings in the twentieth century: what is deepest and most true and essential about us, and what meaning we can find for our lives in the face of this truth. His goal is an essential portrait, an image of human being with its heart exposed and beating, a picture of what we each look like without our protective illusions, evasions, and lies. Such reduction to essentials provides a mirror in which we can see ourselves as we truly are, face to face” (2003).

This mirror is of course the silver screen. The face plays an important role in all of Bergman’s films and frequently occupies the entire frame in close-up. It is encouraging the audience to look not just inside the character but inside themselves as individuals.

Throughout his career Bergman worked with many of Sweden’s greatest film stars, though his most notable recurring collaboration is with cinematographer Sven Nykvist. Together they crafted one of Bergman’s most notable traits, the use of the close-up, which is put to enormous use in many of his films, especially Persona. Much of Bergman’s distinctive style is owed to the work of Nykvist, who is well known for his ability to frame a shot very quickly and effectively, therefore putting less strain on Bergman as director. This suited Bergman well as his films were always relatively low budget affairs and Nykvist was able to work with anything. Both Nykvist and Bergman shared a similar approach to filmmaking which was to keep it simple while still remaining innovative. As far as actors go there are several that Bergman employed multiple times across a range of different films. Max von Sydow plays a leading role in a number of Bergman’s films and is almost like a voice which Bergman himself can use to speak his ideas. However it is Liv Ullmann that is most representative of Bergman’s career. Her talent as an actress is a key factor in the success of many of his films as the roles often call for extreme intensity, commitment and vulnerability, which she is able to deliver like no other. As Bergman’s career went on, he began to grow such a strong connection to many of his actors that he would frequently let them improvise their own lines. Some of his later films were made entirely without written dialogue in the script as Bergman would let the actors come up with it on their own. This kind of freeform approach to intellectual film making is a distinct trait of European art cinema. It is daring and honest and adds a whole new level to the psychology of his films. It also shows a glaring disparity between art cinema and Hollywood, as Hollywood is almost always highly scripted and unwilling to experiment in this fashion.

Ingmar Bergman is almost uncontested as Sweden’s greatest auteur. The extent and quality of his career is hard to match and even harder to surpass. His films tackle important existential issues that continue to challenge audiences to this day. He has influenced cinema in profound ways and will remain a landmark director for all time. Not concerned with mass appeal or box office success, Bergman’s films are personal and intimate. They are a far stretch from Hollywood not just in their style and subject matter but also in their conception and willingness to experiment. He is a director who is distinctive both visually because of his simple yet innovative style, and also in a narrative sense, as his films all share similar topics and modes of approach. He is one of cinema’s most gifted filmmakers and his films will remain forever as challenging and engulfing as the day they were released.

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July 14, 2008

Film Noir Conventions in The Big Sleep

The Big Sleep (Howard Hawks, 1946) begins with an entirely classic film noir thrust. An unseen guest, soon to be revealed as the film’s protagonist, Humphrey Bogart, is greeted by a butler at the front door of a mansion. “My name is Marlowe. General Sternwood wanted to see me.” Immediately the audience is attached to Detective Philip Marlowe and for the rest of the film will ride alongside him into the dark and mysterious underbelly of crime that he ambles into. Born out of the anxiety caused by World War II, film noir is an interesting genre in that

“it is impossible to locate either in the films themselves or in the critical discourse surrounding them a set of consistent features usually attributed to the “classical” phase of noir: the hapless private investigator, femme fatale, gritty urban setting, convoluted story structures.” (Arthur, 2001).

It seems that it is much more a ‘sense’ of noir that one feels when watching that is requisite to recognising the conventions of the genre. The Big Sleep transcends to an even higher level of intricacy through the way it plays with and denies many of the established film noir visual, narrative and representational conventions.

Film noir is visually one of the most complex and identifiable film genres. It lurks in the absence of light, the dark of night, and the shadows of society. The Big Sleep utilises a number of the conventions that embedded themselves under the title of film noir during the 40s and 50s. However, it is important to note that the majority of the visual techniques used in film noirs are borrowed and are not enough on their own to categorise a film as a noir. Firstly, on the absolute surface, is the fact that The Big Sleep was filmed in black and white. Though shooting in black and white would have been an obvious choice at the time, it was still a key element in the films construction, and there are clear indicators that it was used to deliberate effect. Filming in black and white by itself is a very stylistic exercise. It forces heavy contrast where normal colour photography would have far less. It emphasises objects in the light and buries everything else in the shadows. On a metaphorical level, low-key lighting works to show how the truth is being kept shrouded in darkness, as this is parallel to the narrative mystery in The Big Sleep and also the recurring theme in film noirs of moral ambiguity. Obviously the power to manipulate light in this manner is vital when trying to tell the type of dark stylized stories that film noirs frequently revolve around.

Black and white costuming can also be used symbolically to represent the traits or allegiances of a character. In The Big Sleep Lauren Bacall’s character Vivian is initially dressed in white colours. This represents her purity, her innocence; it tells the audience that she is to be viewed as being on the side of good. In contrast to this is Geiger’s bookstore assistant, Agnes. She is visibly portrayed as being on the side of evil as she is adorned entirely in black. This is also done after Vivian double-crosses Marlowe and she now also appears dressed in black. At times the colours of black and white are put side-by-side. In The Big Sleep this is achieved through the use of venetian blinds. The slatted nature of venetian blinds creates an even share between light and dark as it spills across a room. This suggests that despite how clear some aspects of the mystery may seem to Marlowe, there is still much he has yet to find out that remains cloaked in darkness and a victim to ambiguity.

Much of the camera work in film noirs is not particularly distinctive, at least not across a range of directors. The Big Sleep “creates its night-world of rain, mist, and smoke entirely within a studio, with the camera always at eye level” (Naremore, 1998). This approach to studio filming may seem unadventurous, but it does have a few merits, the main benefit being the viable creation of artistic sets. The Big Sleep has a distinct flavour from set to set, and each work in a way that maximizes on the contrast between light and dark.

“Film noir is a genre identified by a variety of stylistic conventions: unsettling or otherwise odd camera angles, the dramatic use of shadow and light, hard-boiled dialogue, settings that emphasize isolation and loneliness” (Conard, 2006: 41).

As Marlowe chases Carol Lundgren (Tommy Rafferty) down a flight of stairs there are exaggerated shadows of both Marlowe and the banister that creep up against a wall. This effect was engineered to give the setting an ominous feeling of paranoia and movement. The use of overbearing shadows is one of film noirs greatest conventions for creating the ‘isolation and loneliness’ mentioned above. At the final location of The Big Sleep the mist is low and thick in the outdoor scenes. This invokes a dreadfully eerie feeling during a gunfight, and alludes to the difficulty of not being able to see objects in the distance when they are veiled under fog.

On a narrative level, The Big Sleep is a hard film to follow. It is convoluted and filled to the brim with extraneous dialogue and unexplained occurrences. There are a number of double and even triple crosses throughout the film. Halfway in the story suddenly changes directions and switches to the mystery surrounding Sean Regan, leaving the previous ‘gambling debts’ storyline in the dust. Even more baffling is the death of the Sternwood’s chauffeur Owen Taylor, which is left entirely unexplained. These inconsistencies and blank areas are common place in film noir narrative. “Hollywood movies are frequently accused of being formulaic. A marginally less hostile way of making the same point is to say that they are conventional.” (Maltby, 2003). The Big Sleep is in many ways exceedingly formulaic. The narrative has a number of standard twists and turns, double crosses and dramatic confrontations. The final outcome with Marlowe and Vivian together, although not entirely conventional for a film noir, is a tested and proven audience pleaser. The film’s approach to violence is characteristic of the hardboiled crime dramas of which it is a part. We repeatedly see people shot and wounded and women dragged around and slapped. Marlowe is put in the centre of this violence and can change in an instant from handing out punches to being on the receiving end of a beating.

Metaphors and symbolism factor heavily into film noirs. Females are not simply female because of their anatomy; they are representations of different personas inside a patriarchal society. The world is a cynical and pessimistic place in The Big Sleep. Marlowe traverses this rocky moral plane without a care for the lives or fates of others. The private eye lifestyle is represented with a degree of glamour, but also gangsterism. Marlowe dresses well, he wears a typical detective trench coat and hat and he smokes constantly. He is free to threaten and exploit people to his every whim. However, The Big Sleep does deny a common narrative convention of the film noir genre by allowing the story to conclude with the flourishing relationship between Marlowe and Vivian. “Marlowe’s misogynistic streak is replaced by a cynicism which erodes as the developing romance with Vivian consolidates. In a typical film noir, male/female relationships are doomed” (Tomlinson, 2000). This romance also brings about character development in Marlowe that is generally absent in the protagonist of many film noirs.

After the private detective, the most prominent archetype in a film noir is usually the femme fatale. A femme fatale is a woman who “refuses to play the role of devoted wife and loving mother that mainstream society prescribes for women. She finds marriage to be confining, loveless, sexless, and dull, and she uses all of her cunning and sexual attractiveness to gain her independence” (Blaser, 1996). The Big Sleep starts out with the introduction of two potential femme fatales, the sisters Carmen (Martha Vickers) and Vivian Sternwood. Vivian’s character is interesting in that she denies many stereotypical conventions of the femme fatale. “Her costuming is a subtle denial of another stylistic convention of the film noir genre: the sinister allure of the femme fatale – Vivian wears not passive and seductive whites, but active and assertive jackets and collars” (Slattery, 2001). Dressing her in such a way evokes power in her character which allows her to go toe to toe with Marlowe in their conversations. She does not rely on her physical attributes to seduce him and as such their relationship feels more genuine than that formed with a typical noir female. Carmen however is a far less pure character. She uses sex profusely as a means to getting what she desires, although Marlowe is able to resist her flirting.

It is not surprising, considering the nature of film noir, that the institution of the family is represented in such a negative light. “In the film noir thrillers the family often operates as a metaphor for social discontent” (Krutnik, 1990). The Big Sleep centres on the Sternwood family and their various ties and relations to outsiders. The family has no mother present, and the two daughters are both wild and free from their father. Gen. Sternwood (Charles Waldron) is both literally and figuratively crippled. He is limited to his wheelchair and this is representative of his detachment from and lack of understanding of his daughters. The only thing that indicates that the Sternwood’s are even a family at all is that they all live inside the same house. That house, however, is a giant, cold, clinical, empty mausoleum. It reflects on both the daughters and their father. For Gen. Sternwood it is the embodiment of his entrapment. He cannot move either physically or emotionally and this is shown by how he keeps himself tucked away in a separate wing of the house from his offspring. In contrast to this we have Carmen. Her character is in stern opposition to the residence and she wishes to break free from its confines. Her behaviour and attitude are reckless and irresponsible, not ordered or tidy like the interior of the Sternwood home.

When one looks at each location throughout The Big Sleep a trend emerges. On the interior the walls are high and angular and houses look overly decorated and flashy. This crowded sense of space feels duplicitous and authoritative. Staircases are often seen leading to places the audience has no knowledge of, heightening the already ever-present sense of mystery. Certain locations are given visual tagging, such as a street sign appearing on screen, or Geiger’s letterbox which is visible each time an establishing shot of his house is shown. This is common in film noir and allows easy identification when a location is revisited multiple times. It creates a spatial understanding of the scope of the mystery and also reminds the audience how close by danger can lurk. In a way it harks back to the intricate use of sets in the German expressionist films of the 1920s, where the locations were used to calculated effect and to manipulate audience emotions and understanding.

In The Big Sleep Howard Hawks challenges multiple film noir conventions while still managing to stay true to the genre as a whole. The film draws much of its power from the screen chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. The superfluous dialogue held between these two characters moulds perfectly into the intricate and inexplicable plot line. Key visual features create metaphor and meaning while the studio made sets encroach with claustrophobia and paranoia around the characters. Shadows creep out from every possible angle and mist and rain echoes across the urban jungle-like streets. Marlowe is a traditional representation of a private detective that lives in violence and falls in love; he dresses sharp and talks sharper. The women are beautiful and idolised as sex objects by men; they use their charms to get things done but succumb to the male dominance in the end.

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