HopkinsCinemAddicts

Edward Scissorshands: The Meaning of Being Different (Yeirim)

When I tell people that I am a film major, one of the most frequently asked question is ‘what is your favorite film?’ The list of my favorite films changes from time to time, but at the very top of it always is Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorshands. To me, it is almost heartbreaking when someone so confidently says that Edward Scissorshands is a horror film. Well, it could be called a monster film, but surely not a horror film. A horror film generally makes use of the abnormality as a source of fear, but the abnormality in Edward Scissorshands is not necessarily something to fear. In fact, the film twists the meaning of ‘being different’ and tackle the concept itself: what is being ‘abnormal?’ How do we define it?

The fact that Edward is different from the people in the town is directly brought into play right away with his entrance to the story, but it is hinted from the very beginning of the film. The opening sequence of the film shows a series of images immersed in dark pale blue. These images which later are revealed to be components of Edward’s castle, are mostly eerie gothic figures such as a gargoyle statue and strange machines, or some things that are not actually eerie in their nature such as homemade cookies and human hands which appear distorted in the low-key lighting which emphasize the shadows and darkness greatly. After the opening sequence, we jump briefly into the warmly lit room of Kim who has now has become an old woman telling a story about Edward to her grand-daughter, but the overall atmosphere of the setting of the film at the moment is taken over by the dark, pale quality which stretches out from the previous images of the castle and returns to and ends at a shot of a window inside the hardly-lit castle, by which a man with pale skin, black hair and black cloth stands.

Therefore when the next shot immediately cuts to the sunlit town with houses painted in bright pastel colors standing on green lawn, a huge gap is automatically created between the world of darkness in which Edward stands, and the world of the town. Since the town is the environment where people are typically familiar with and since the town looks simply peaceful on the outside- the birds chirp and the people are leisurely doing simple tasks such as mowing the lawn, watering the grass, or fixing a roof- it may seem like a place that stays under the realm of ‘normal’. However, even though most of the story takes place in the town, the town is not necessarily described as a default normal setting of the film. As the townspeople are introduced more closely to the audience through the eyes of Peg, it is very much clearly suggested that the people of this town are not as normal as expected. A housewife who tries to seduce a plumber, a girl who tries every cosmetic on but actually does not even think of buying one, and a woman who is too absorbed in religion, all are not the kind of people who are categorized as ‘normal’ in our society. Such characters of the town therefore betray the seemingly happy and peaceful life of the town, and through them the film poses a question on the authenticity of the town as a normal setting. The fact that the dark, eerie world of Edward and his castle was in play from the very beginning of the film prior to the introduction of the town also casts a doubt about ‘what is the film’s true default setting?’

The main character, Edward heats up this debate about the concept of ‘being different’. When Peg first encounters him, Edward walks out of the shadow from the furthest corner of the attic, with his black outfit and hair completely merged into the shadow and only his blades from his scissorshands visible in a streak of light. In this very moment, his figure is very monstrous and horrific, but when Edward’s frightened face comes into the light and his fragile voice speaks two words, ‘Don’t go,’ his innocence and vulnerability that lies inside his terrifying appearance are revealed, just like his beautiful garden that lies inside the eerie exterior of the castle. With these two different setting, a seemingly ‘normal’ town with its people not very pleasant and a seemingly ‘abnormal’ castle with its owner not very terrifying or harmful, the film completely blurs the boundaries between the normal world and the abnormal world and tackles on the concept of abnormality itself.

Nonetheless, the film does not settle for blurring the concept of abnormality. It drives it further and asks what this abnormality means in the society we are living, and how the society treats the abnormality, or someone who is abnormal. Actually at first, the townspeople take Edward’s abnormality in, in a quite sensible way. They do not judge Edward by his appearance or by the fact that his hands are scissors from the first place. They first approach him with a careful curiosity, and then as they find out that Edward has remarkable ability with using his scissorshands, they all become greatly fond of him and treat him warm-heartedly as their good neighbor and friend. Upon this moment, Edward’s peculiarity is a gift and an object of admiration, which tells that the film is not simply complaining about ‘why can’t people admit someone who is different?’

The real issue that the film wants to talk about unveils when the problem starts to spur out as Edward gets blamed for trespassing instead of Jim. As soon as the news is heard, the people in the town begin to whisper about how Edward can be a possible danger to the neighborhood. They do not care for the real evidence, for Edward’s difference automatically becomes an evidence for them to believe that he is the evil one. At this point, Edward’s peculiarity immediately falls to the ground and becomes an object to be feared and to be destroyed. Nothing has changed inside Edward, but the altered point of view on him suddenly drags him down and all his actions are considered to be of evil intention. When Edward accidentally cuts Kim’s palm startled by Jim’s shout towards him, Jim accuses him of such action saying ‘now you’ve done it,’ implying that he is finally beginning to reveal his evil nature. Such blind accusation towards Edward accumulates and finally explodes within him. In the next shot, Edward walks down the neighborhood in extreme anger. He violently cuts all his clothes off in pieces which he has put on in order to be a part of the ‘normal’ people. As the torn pieces of clothes fall from him, Edward’s black, hard and rough armor-like outfit appears again. The townspeople who treated him as if he is a monster finally have brought his monstrosity to the surface. A great irony is created here as the pretty garden statues of the neighborhood are featured in the background all of which are the evidence of Edward’s favor for the people. Eventually, the townspeople have trampled his good nature down and raised his inner violence instead.

Finally, at the end of the film when Edward actually kills Jim by his own will, Edward eventually becomes a true monster to the townspeople. The change in the attitude of the townspeople not only made Edward possess the monstrous qualities such as anger, hatred, and violence, but at the same time also forced him to define himself as a dangerous monster which can even hurt his beloved one regardless of his intention. As soon as he realizes this, he says ‘goodbye’ to his most beloved, Kim, and for the rest of his lifetime, stays in his castle, completely isolating himself from the rest of the people. Through this heartbreaking story one who is ‘different’ had to go through, the film suggests that being different still is an object of great threat not because abnormality itself is dangerous, but because people so easily dismiss abnormality as monstrous. 

There's a light at the end of the tunnel (Janice)

So much has transpired since my last blog post. It’s hard to know where to begin.

Let’s begin here: Coincidentally after the many questions and concerns that I posted about the collaborative filmmaking process earlier this month, I was actually made the director of my group’s short film entitled Anniversary.

 In the first few weeks of making pre-production preparations, I quickly began to realize a lot of my strengths and weaknesses. I have great deal of patience and am very liberal when working with others. I like working with the members of my crew and agreeing upon our decisions collectively. I am not however very good at expressing my vision with other people. But with that said, I need to learn to step up and make executive decisions. Hopefully this project will prove to be a helpful exercise in expressing myself creatively.

The script that my group was given is a very emotional and inspiring one. It’s about a man who is grieving the absence of his deceased wife on their anniversary. The story is semi-autobiographical and is based on the life of the screenwriter’s great uncle. Knowing the background of the piece and seeing how much it has affected her family is inspiring in and of itself.

Casting has been quite an interesting experience. We’ve been getting a lot of great responses and have seen a lot of talent come forth. My favorite casting moment was when the screenwriter’s grandparents auditioned for our film. They are familiar with the script’s content in a way that I can never be. I was afraid that they were too close to the subject matter, but seeing tears build up in the grandmother’s eyes as she read over the script about her brother and his deceased was otherworldly. Here I am trying to create this fictitious emotional character driven piece, and this family is dedicating their beings to honoring a family member. And they did so honestly and completely. They got the parts immediately.

 We are almost done with casting and there are considerable changes being made to the script as I’m writing this, but we are making considerable headway.

 More to come… 

The Beautiful and the Sublime: a distinction revisited (Nour)

 Run Lola Run (Lola Rennt) is a Tom Tykwer film, produced in 1998 and released in the USA in 1999. Tykwer's film career is fascinating, yet, this post is concerned with only one of his earlier films, namely Run Lola Run. In doing this film, Tykwer was director, screenplay writer and composer. Needless to emphasis, he had a considerable degree of artistic freedom in relation to this project. A probable line of inquiry is perhaps to discover how the film relates to Tykwer as an artist, director, and generally as a thinker (he studied philosophy). His relation to the film can certainly propel a lot of insightful discussion, but is not the subject of this post. Instead, these following questions are the starting point: What is the role of pain, as an emotion, in this film? Is pain related to passivity in Run Lola Run?

 Manni, Lola's boyfriend, needs to find 100,000 DM in twenty minutes or else he might be killed. Lola is set on a run by a phone call at 11:40. She has till noon to find the money and deliver it to Manni. Lola has of course, as anybody who has watched the film would know, a striking appearance and an unusual physique. Her hair is flaming bright red, she is in army boots for most of the film, and although she is constantly running, rarely looks tired. Lola can also shatter glass with her scream, this is her most prominent superhuman physical quality. As she runs, the film reveals the anxieties and pains involved in running for survival. In fact, the pains caused by this running. It is significant to ask why Lola  runs, as opposed to ride a motorbike for example (although the plot gives reasons for this, one can question the filmmakers decision).

On the surface level, Lola runs to save Manni's life. However, one can also argue that it is, to a significant extent, her own life that she's attempting to salvage. When Lola  is dying in the very first chain of events, she remembers when she had told Manni that it is possible she would decide soon about their relationship—in other words, whether they would continue together or not. When she's about to die, she says "but I don't." The wish to have acted differently in the past, to have said something else, to have done something nicer to another human being, if allowed to dominate one's existence, becomes a life defeating force. The past, time in general, is oppressive in this sense—it is beyond our reach in its entirety.  Lola might be attempting to salvage her own existence by standing up against the most oppressive force—time. Lola is in a race against the clock.

This is an avant-garde film thus one cannot say it is concerned with a realistic representation.To put it differently, it is hard to claim that Run Lola Run belongs to realism (as a school of representation), but it has a relation to reality. It might be said to re-presentation that, which to its filmmaker, lies at the heart of human existence. Run Lola Run  features time, causality, a version of the infinite-recurrence in the Nietzscheian sense, and suffering. This last feature is perhaps the most important one if a claim about the relation of Run Lola Run to reality can ever be grounded. Just refer to, for example, the scene when the security guard tells Lola that all people have bad day as an attempt to comfort her. The expression on her face reveals a lot. At this point in the film she has just discovered that her father is not her biological father. Any human being put in this position, while on a time-bomb so to speak, could be reasonably assumed to have felt pain. He, on top of all this, refused to help her calling her a freak. Lola had to continue running though. The physical act of running eventually becomes a metaphor for pain and even suffering.

This is markedly a new attitude to past philosophical interpretations of pain. Pain  has often been associated with passivity—like for example when Lola receives the news about her real father—but in making running a metaphor for it, pain no longer signifies passivity. The consequences of this shift in perspective might be very profound. Because it takes-on complex questions about human existence, this film is multi-layered. It would not be surprising, as critics have often done in the past, to pose questions about reality, the construction of it, and the reality of this construction in relation to the film Run Lola Run. All this have been very meaningful lines of investigation.

One more idea can be added to the present thread. In a NYT article about Tom Tykwer, published in 2011, the author Dennis Lim states that Tykwer has previously emphasized the "value of distraction" in his work. Distraction implies a challenge to human perception. Run Lola Run  certainly causes an adrenaline rush, mostly because the film over-stimulates the sense: Lola with pounding boots, the images saturated with colors, Lola's flaming hair, and shattering scream. Pain and suffering as they bring us closer to our bodies and the physical, material, realm allow us to see differently. So does the over-stimulation of the senses in this film. The relation between the pain and suffering put on the screen, and their mode of representation in this avant-garde film allow for a claim like this one. When in pain we might not be as passive as once assumed because we can use pain to reinvent our world. Lola uses suffering as a motivation to run, and her running cases different chains of events--the world order thus changes.

In Restless Dreams, He Walks Alone (Natasha)

    Last month the Charles Theater had a revival of Mike Nichols's The Graduate, and I jumped at the chance to see this incredible film on a screen bigger than my television.  I greatly underestimated how powerful the quietly potent movie would become, once augmented, and I was completely bowled over. The concerted effort of 1967 Technicolor, Paul Simon's lyrics, the calculated composition of key shots and the constant sheen of drunk, nervous sweat on Mr. Robinson's (Murray Hamilton's) face create the dreamlike and slightly horrifying California through which Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) ambles, half-hearted yet brimming with vague passion.

    "Take my arms that I might reach you" seems a fitting lyric for Ben, whose unassailable post-graduate malaise makes human connection virtually unattainable--until it is thrust upon him on an arranged date with Elaine (Katharine Ross).  Daughter to Ben's purely and emphatically physical companion Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft), Elaine is smart and confident enough to be taken seriously, yet young enough to be lovely, a reminder of the collegiate realm Ben has only just left, but left forever.  The world Ben comes home to is populated by his parents' tan and decrepit, jewel-encrusted friends who spout aphorisms in between cocktails. (Mrs. Robinson is an obvious exception, for at age 35 Anne Bancroft is just tan and smokin'.)  Even the clandestine world Ben confines to the night and the Taft Hotel is beset by the chronic mistakes and crushing regret of lives lived the wrong way:  Mrs. Robinson plainly admits to Ben that she is an alcoholic, yet she drinks plenty throughout the movie; it takes only a little of Ben's nasal pushiness to eke out the secret of her shotgun wedding and the tragedy of the Robinsons' separate bedrooms.  

    Batting false eyelashes and flipping her bouncy hair, Elaine is an overwhelming picture of youth, freshness and a hopeful lightness of being (in spite of the perverse unhappiness of her parents' marriage, which must have left her somewhat jaded). She appeals to Ben not only for these more obvious reasons, but for their shared insatiable desire "to be rude all the time." Whether their satisfaction in being abrasive springs from the disillusionment of early adulthood or a need to feel more agency and less vulnerability in an inhospitable world that is supposed to be their oyster, Ben and Elaine understand each other. They talk more in one evening than Ben and Mrs. Robinson have in the course of months, and they talk about the future instead of the past. So it somehow seems justified that Ben would be so enamored of Elaine, because she is the only source of newness in the inescapably unchanging society of their parents.

    Then we remember that he and Elaine have been on only one date, and the depth of Ben's isolation and dissatisfaction becomes all too clear. He does not really drive up the coast, move into a most unwelcoming boarding house or follow her from the library to the zoo and back for love. He does so for reasons much more important to the 21-year-old graduate: It's something to do. It's something to give a damn about. It's a way for both of them to avoid the march towards becoming his parents, or worse, hers. More than love, more than passion, Ben needs entertainment and he needs purpose.

    "I want it to be different," Ben says of the rest of his life. He throws himself into the pursuit of Elaine Robinson because she is the first glimmer of difference on the horizon of his future. But if the movie's outstanding final scene tells us anything, as their smiles fade and "The Sound of Silence" drowns everything out, it is that this first endeavor at "different" is hardly Ben's last.

 

 

~ Natasha Hirschfeld

'Tis the opposite of The End (Janice)

I've decided to dedicate my first blog post to discussing my expectations of the Narrative Production course I am taking this semester. (Aside) It seems as though the first blog post is the most difficult to write. Here's to finding my blogger's voice:

As the first week of classes dwindles down, I find that I have a great deal of excitement, as well as apprehension, about the 6-credit JHU/MICA production course. This course is constructed to mimic the process of creating an independent film. And this will technically be my first collaborative cinematic effort, hence the apprehension.

In the 3.5 years that I've been studying Film and Media Studies, I've made four short films and the filmmaking process for each has been vastly different. So far I've created a found footage project about the human consequences of automation in American industry, a black and white silent film that shakes and distorts reality with mirror reflections, a color/black and white study of the deterioration of a relationship over time using 360 degree rotations to depict different stages of the break-up, and lastly a short film that I shot on my cell phone documenting a particular study abroad experience as though it were a dream.

I've written all of this to say that not only does the filmmaking process give me a great sense of fulfillment, but also this particular class has brought to my attention that I am not sure whether I know how to defer creative responsibilities to other team members. On each of my film projects, I have served as the director, the cinematographer, and the editor and I'm not sure I understand how to separate these identities just yet. In my mind, I have a difficult time picturing the director, cinematographer, and the editor existing as separate entities, although I know they must co-exist harmoniously (and usually separately) to ensure the quality of their film projects. 

I was reminded in class by one of our instructors, Matt Porterfield, that the writer creates the foundation of the film and the director takes that into his/her desired "direction", thus rewriting the film in a sense. This occurs again and again as the cinematographer and editor add visuals and rhythm into the mix. But I guess my specific question is how does the director communicate his/her vision with other vision driven artists? This may seem to be a silly question or concern, but it is my legitimate week one concern. I find that I grow to know my projects so well that I can't feasibly instruct someone else to execute and document MY vision because I vividly understand the way it looks, feels, and sounds.

But I'm excited to know what it means to collaboratively create a film. 

This class is bound to be an eye opening experience! Here goes nothing...

More to come. 

Écriture féminine or not really... (Nour)

    Ehky Ya Scheherazade (Youssry Nasrallah, 2009) is an Egyptian feature film which explores problems faced by women in contemporary Egypt. The title of the film makes an explicit reference to One Thousand and One Nights in which Scheherazade tells Shahryar, the king, stories in order to stay alive. Indeed, storytelling is a prominent narrative tool within the film. Even more, the connection to One Thousand and One Nights suggests that the women in the film had to tell their stories in order to stay alive. The film uses the talk show as a vehicle for women to publically discuss their concerns. Hebba—the lead character who is a TV hostess—invites a number of women to her show, all of whom with their particular stories to share. Stories about the search for a husband, women's sexual restraints, and the social traditions which propelled them to seek refuge in marriages they did not really desire, among other concerns.

    A reasonable question to ask at this point is: Does the film belong to women's cinema? Typically women's cinema is concerned with a set of problems and issues which help identify it as such. To this extent, the film is a women's film. It is concerned with problems similar to those picked up by the so called women's cinema. Nonetheless, only one thing is really certain about this film. Ehky Ya Scheherazade (Tell me a Story Scheherazade) has a dominantly female cast. Thus, an alternative way of approaching the connection to One Thousand and One Nights is to think of the film itself as a Scheherazade narrating in order to save the society it depicts from further damage. In this view, women are the boat-rockers. They, perhaps because of their status as shown by the film, are more likely to demand social change.

    Yet, what is the nature of their status?  In this article in Salon, Prof. David Jacobson, a sociologist from the University of South Florida, made a linked women's "sexual" struggles to the more encompassing struggle "over the nature of self." Women, as depicted in the film, seem to undergo a search for selfhood, or feel a need to recreate such self. In this light, the complexity of Ehky Ya Scheherezade is better understood. Through storytelling, these women search for who they are, and who they wish to be. As the narrators of their own stories, they have the freedom to rewrite the parts of their history that they wish to reinvent. The film is a universal journey toward self-discovery and freedom. The film starts inside Hebba's nightmare. She wakes up gasping for breath: "there are no doors" she says. She is trapped because, as the story progresses, it becomes clear that she is not offered the chance to recreate her past through the medium of storytelling. As the one who does not tell her own story until the very last scene in the film, she is given the least creative power. Her story is essentially told by the camera and not herself (the film even closes before Hebba tells her story).

    Hebba is hidden behind a glamorous façade. In a scene where her husband Kareem attempts to scare her away from visiting poor neighborhoods (ironically by citing rape) he is shown painting her lips with a bright red lipstick. He is maintaining the façade with which he is comfortable. Although it is true that Hebba sometimes uses this pretty façade to manipulate others, mostly her husband, it does not seem to be a philosophical choice. In other words, she is not intentionally thinking of her appearance as a means for achieving greater freedom (even if freedom just means achieving the ends she desire). Instead, Hebba is trying to maintain a particular appearance for reasons other than freedom. If I am to describe this appearance, I will say neat, tidy, well-kempt.

    Kareem—her husband—provides further insight. Kareem is a journalist who works in a daily newspaper. He is anticipating a promotion. More importantly, he thinks that the only way he would get the job he wants is by pleasing the "right people." Although Hebba does not seem to realize it, she is a lot like Kareem. They both feel a need to noticeably belong to one group and not the other(s). At a basic level, she maintains an image that separates her from a group(s) of people. The motivation behind this need to belong to one group and not another can only be explained through the benefits associated with belonging to either group. Without attempting to negotiate which groups Hebba aims to belong to, it is clear that such motivation to belong or not belong to any particular group is mediated by a clear recognition of social values and social value systems. Hebba, as is Kareem, does not seem to be able to construct a notion of self away from society, its traditions, norms, etc.              

    Expectedly enough, Hebba likes to be noticed. She dresses to be noticed. Thus far, she could be compared to the film itself. She is dependent on the act of looking—the observation of her audience, her fans, the lustful looks of her husband, and the disdainful looks of the poorer women on the subway. Like Hebba, some of the film's images seem too polished, neat, hyper aestheticized. Yet, in relation to Hebba this hyper aestheticization of the frames gains a greater meaning. In the case of Hebba, one can argue that she is maintaining a façade. In relation to the film, however, maintaining a facade becomes maintaining control over the images on the screen. This film is consciously a controlled environment. This control of the frames draws the viewers' attention to the boundaries within which the women--and men as well--search for their individual selves. Within this boundaries such search is not only acceptable, but also less disturbing to a watching audience.

    The film is a controlled unit where true freedom cannot really be achieved. "Gender war in Egypt: a film about women who fight back" states the film's poster, but what is the nature of this fighting back? Are women really boat-rockers or are they put in situations where even their "fighting back" is pre-mediated by society—controlled by social traditions, structures, norms and orders. Is their mode of resistance real fighting back? If this film is indeed showing a gender war, who has the upper hand ? The struggle seems to encompasses both genders, indeed all human beings in modern societies. The filmmakers chose to create a restricted space in which the stories told by the women do not upset the established order. Rather, these stories and their narrators all fall in place as calculated parts contributing to a greater whole that is restricting to all individuals within it.

   This film depicts a controlled struggle. Ehky Ya Scheherazade is a women's story, but one not told by the voice of women. It is told by the voice of that who/which controls women (and men for this matter). Order is created, maintained by and for the camera—not challenged by it. The camera moves from space to space showing individuals each carrying out his/her designated role. Even those who seem to rebel are playing out a role to which they've been assigned. The relation that this film has to women's cinema is not straight forward. Assuming that the film is a Scheherazade, the audience is the king. The film seems to negotiate the relation between the two. Even if by the end of the film the women do not seem to have fought back, the film (by offering a frustrating narrative) allows for a kind of resistance.