Working Draft: Vectors and Asymmetry November 12, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedEmmanuel Elpenord
Prof. L. Quinby
*I apologize for the missing images; I’ll figure it out later.
Position Paper:
Working Draft
The adage “time is money” is doubly true in the world of filmmaking. What makes a high-budget film a high-budget film is not only the special effects added in post-production, or the salary promised in the actors’ contracts pre-production, but also the time spent in filming during in-production. A higher budget means more money to pay the cast and crew to shoot for longer. Time in filmmaking allows for multiple takes and allows for shooting a scene from different angles.
At the same time, “time is money,” so the less time spent getting a shot in the can, the better. This is why there are storyboards, and why the specificity of shots and shot angles are so pertinent in the question of how the cinematography and construction of vigilante and lawmen characters affect how viewers perceive them.
One part of screen composition is the vector, the graphic vector, the index, and the motion vector, in order from weakest to strongest. A graphic vector is one “created by lines or stationary elements arranged in such a way as to suggest a line.” They don’t imply a specific direction on screen but do indicate a “directional tendency, such as horizontal, vertical, or curved.” A good example of a graphic vector is a landscape shot of horizon. An index vector is one that is “created by something that points unquestionably in a specific direction.” A good example of this would be the nose on someone’s face, or a samurai sword, or a pointing finger. A motion vector is created by an object actually moving in a specific direction or is perceived as moving on screen. A moving train or automobile on screen would be a motion vector. (Zettl 366-9)
Another important part of dynamic screen composition is the asymmetry of the frame. A subject on the right side of the screen is viewed as more dominant or important than one on the left side of the screen. Talk shows and other such programming take advantage of this phenomenon; to counter-balance the clout of a celebrity guest, the host of a talk show or roundtable discussion program is usually screen-right to maintain dominance and importance on screen. If two subjects were shaking hands on screen, the subject screen-left would be viewed as approaching the subject screen-right, a literal left-to-right inclination.
The natural flow of motion on screen is from screen-left to screen-right. This direction is viewed as the positive in an equation, while the opposite direction is seen as a negative, gaining versus losing. The primary reason for this phenomenon is that most languages are written and read from left to right. This phenomenon can be applied to Japanese film considering that, after World War 2, the right-to-left writing direction in the Japanese writing system was more or less replaced by left-to-right writing, and the Kurosawa films to be discussed were produced post-World War 2. A motion vector moving along an angle on screen, literally, or being perceived as such because of camera positioning, is affected by this directional partiality as well.
Suppose a camera is situated as such that the profile of an empty suburban street runs on a slant from upper-screen-left to lower-screen-right. A car moving from screen-left to right along this asymmetrical graphic vector would be perceived as barreling downhill on the road since it is moving in the natural flow of screen motion. A garbage truck going in the opposite direction in this composition, screen-right to screen-left, would be perceived as crawling uphill along the slant since it is moving against the grain.
Suppose the diagonal traveled from upper-screen-right down to lower-screen left. A dog-sitter chasing a loose hound from screen-right to left, down the incline in this asymmetry, would be considered hopeless and doomed to failure since he would be viewed as both moving downhill and against the natural motion of the screen. Conversely but similarly, when the dog-sitter, in hot-pursuit of the pooch, runs back across the incline, screen-left to right, he’ll be viewed as gaining on the dog because of the motion vector’s positive direction, yes, but still struggling and facing hardship because of the asymmetry of the screen, the uphill climb. This latter effect is used in a very strong way in the well-known running montage from the film “Rocky.” Towards the end of the montage, when Rocky climbs up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, he does so in a tracking long shot where he is moving screen-left to right on an asymmetry from lower-screen-left to mid-screen-right. The effect, in running with his character, portrays him as the underdog on his way up.
This concept translates to much more than making cars look speedy, or dog chase scenes. It can be used to show dominance and rank between two characters, and, more importantly, can foreshadow the outcome of a confrontation between vigilante and lawmen characters by implying one gesture is more powerful than the other.
In Sanjuro, the relationship between the nine young samurai and Sanjuro is established early on using this screen-left/screen-right concept. In the very first scene of the film, we meet the nine young samurai in a temple. The shots in this sequence consist mainly of medium-long shots with the chamberlain’s nephew seated in the center of the shot facing the camera and four samurai seated on either side of him with their backs to the camera facing the chamberlain’s nephew. The four samurai on either side of the nephew, while facing him, also face inward to the vertical centerline of the screen, in profile essentially. Altogether, these shots form a horizontal graphic vector that suggests balance and stability, which speaks to the squeaky clean, clean-cut nature of the young samurai. At the same time, this graphic vector is composed of index vectors, the eight other samurai’s noses and faces, which point inward at the nephew, giving him more dominance and focus on screen. This composition confirms him as the leader of the nine. Whenever this composition is not the case, the shots used are medium-close shots of a few or several of the other eight samurai in profile as index vectors, pointing screen-right to the off-screen nephew.
Plot-wise, during this scene, the chamberlain’s nephew is explaining what happened when he voiced his concerns of corruption among the elders and junior chamberlains; the chamberlain himself was “unreasonable” while the superintendent agreed to have a meeting with the young samurai. During the nine young samurai’s rejoicing at this success, Sanjuro, with his five o’clock shadow and unkempt clothes and hair, emerges yawning from the darkness of the inner sanctum of the temple. The next shot of Sanjuro is a medium shot with him as a motion vector going screen-left to right, hinting at his gaining authority, a higher status in the future. When Sanjuro reaches the right side of the screen, the next shot shunts him back to screen-left as the nine young samurai, righteous and steadfast, ready their swords from screen-right. [1]
Because of their subscription to a code, to a set of significations, they mistrust the one man who can help them. The fact that Sanjuro is a ronin, an unattached Samurai, disturbs the young Samurai’s sense of order. Further, he is dirty, grubby, ill-mannered, and gruff. This, too, goes against their sense of order. They see his clothes and apparent attitude as an objective correlative, which it indeed is, but his actions do not correlate to what they infer. (Desser 106)
Sanjuro, barely glancing at them, verbally disarms the young men and the camera tracks-right on him, that is to say the camera follows him as he moves rightward so that he remains on the left side of the screen. During this tracking, the more down-screen men of the nine young samurai slightly adjust themselves so that by the end of the track Sanjuro is screen-left while the chamberlain’s nephew, previously established as the leader of the nine is screen-right. After a prompt from the nephew, Sanjuro explains he’s there for the “free room overnight,” then confesses to overhearing what they were talking about and gives his two cents, seeing as “outsiders can be good judges.”
The speech that follows where Sanjuro postulates that the chamberlain is ugly but “is a great man,” and the superintendent is “good-looking” but “no good,” begins with him walking “continuously” screen-right on a slow pan-right. Whenever he’s arrived at the right end of the screen, he’ll move toward or away from the camera along the z-axis as a new shot is established where he continues walking rightward gaining steam and building a more convincing argument. The last thing he says before an outburst from one of the samurai is, “people aren’t what they seem,” the thesis statement of the film. Sanjuro sits down center-screen with the samurai split on either side of him upon saying this. On this action, the shot switches to a low angle, medium shot of three of the samurai towering over Sanjuro. Since the three samurai are standing over Sanjuro, “higher” and more rightward in the shot, it shows he still has a long way to go in justifying himself to the nine young men.[2]
After Sanjuro supposes the superintendent’s plan, which is dangerously close to the reality of things, the nine young samurai seat themselves by Sanjuro and finally start to heed him. The same three young men who towered over Sanjuro in the previous low angle medium shot are now below the horizontal centerline of the screen, “below” Sanjuro, when they profess that they have arranged to see the superintendent there that night. The next shot is a long shot of Sanjuro prowling clockwise, screen-right that is, with the young men in medium shot in the foreground. He moves around the temple, peeking out of windows and chinks in the walls to find that the superintendent’s men are slowly approaching. This clockwise, rightward movement but clinches his level of competence and aptitude, despite his dishonorable appearance. After divulging his discovery, he has to stop the nine from dashing out of the temple like lambs to the slaughter and tells them to “leave it to him.”
In the next scene, the superintendent’s men, in the several dozens, surround the entrance of the temple, from screen-right, demanding surrender. At this point, the mob of men is in control, in power, the authority figure, as their screen-right position implies. After a few moments, Sanjuro flings open the temple doors, stands in the threshold, sheathed sword in hand, and from screen-right of his own medium-long shot asks, “What do you want?” The head of the throng silently commands a handful of men to inspect the temple; they rush up the stairs past Sanjuro on the screen-left side, as he eyeballs them reproachfully. He follows close beside the second batch of men to enter in a medium, track-left shot where Sanjuro is screen-left. This apparent demotion of screen position is immediately followed by Sanjuro single-handedly shoving the second batch of men with a high-magnitude screen-right motion vector amplified by the natural left-to-right flow of the screen. The following shot, a medium-long shot, that comes in as the second batch of men are falling backwards along the z-axis, towards the camera, adds to the initial shoving motion vector as well. Sanjuro and the camera handle the first trio of men, now deeper into the room, in a similar manner. However, the shoving screen-right motion vector is prolonged this time into a push that ends with several of the men collapsed on the temple steps, scrambling to their feet, and readying their swords for a fight.
Sanjuro’s next shot is almost identical to his first shot in the scene; he is screen-right in a medium shot where he officially challenges the horde of men. One man rushes up the steps during this shot, interrupting Sanjuro, and with three slashes the challenger goes writhing down the steps screen-right. Sanjuro then marches toward the camera, right down the z-axis, which becomes a screen-right march in the following shot where he deftly dismisses nearly a dozen men with his sword, advancing rightward in each subsequent shots. This brief march works in the same way as the aforementioned shoves; the momentum of a z-axis motion vector works like a running start when the vector is continued into the next shot. The superintendent’s second in command, Hanbei Muroto, finally calls the brawling to an end, and approaches Sanjuro. The next shot where he invites Sanjuro to work for him after complimenting his swordsmanship is one where Hanbei is screen-left and Sanjuro, retracting warily, is lower screen-right. The henchmen all disperse up-screen and the camera wipe-cuts to the next scene. [3]
The very things that the young Samurai mistrust about Sanjuro endear him to the henchman [Hanbei Muroto]. Just as the Samurai misjudge Sanjuro because of their institutionalized codes, the henchman thinks he has Sanjuro figured out via his own (different) set of codes. Bad attracts bad, he thinks, and it is this belief that proves ultimately to be his undoing. (Desser 107)
Sanjuro shuts the temple doors from within in the continuing scene and turns to center of the room saying, “It’s safe now. Come out,” which is following by a high-angle, medium-close-up of the nine young men poking their heads out one by one from under the floorboards of the temple. Another wipe-cut is used here, as a sort of punctuation mark, a punch-line tool. This film, as Kurosawa does with many of his films, uses wipe-cuts in various places as a cap on a joke or for comic relief.
The very next scene is the grand finale of this bit of evidence; the next shot is long shot where Sanjuro sits concretely glued the screen-right side of the screen while the samurai, in a pair of staggered rows stretching across the screen, bow deeply to the ronin. When the chamberlain’s nephew says he doesn’t know how to thank him. Sanjuro says there’s no need to thank him, just give him money. [4]
When he asks them for money following the rescue of them from the magistrate’s henchman, their mistrust of him is complete. Bushido does not allow for the pursuit of money; a Samurai, even a ronin, cannot accept payment for his services. Most of the young Samurai are therefore not able to trust him because he does not appear to subscribe to their codes. (Desser 106)
Mifune surprises them again by not taking the whole thing, but merely as much as he needs. They quite obviously expect people to be completely virtuous (to refuse all money) or completely bad (to take it all). The first are obviously like themselves (all of whom would die before accepting, much less demanding money); the second are (equally obviously) like the corrupt junior chamberlains whom they are attempting to expose—or the superintendent himself, who has recently been revealed as their real adversary. For them, the world is a very simple place, made up of the black and white, the bad and the good. (Richie 156)
Sanjuro takes what he needs from the nephew’s money pouch and without so much as crossing the vertical centerline, maintaining his screen-right dominance, he gets up and continues moving rightward in the next shot. As Mifune bids them farewell and steps out the door, the camera goes to a medium, ground shot of Mifune’s feet and lower legs, again screen-right, with the nine young men bowing deeply in the background. If the shot is flattened, it puts the young samurai literally bowing at Mifune’s feet in gratitude without them actually doing so. The flip in status prevalent in this shot and developed throughout this first scene establishes their relationship for the remainder of the film. [5]
* * *
In Yojimbo, this screen-right/screen-left technique is used in a very sly, sarcastic way for a very strong comedic effect; motion vectors are used to lose dominance on screen. Yojimbo happens upon a town where there are two warring families. Yojimbo in an effort to get the families to kill each other off, he decides to be a bodyguard for one of the families (and alternately the other). After he proves himself by killing two and maiming one of the enemy family’s gang members in three slashes total, he strides away nonchalantly with his musical signature playing underneath. He pauses briefly, as does his theme, and says to the coffin maker of the village, “Cooper. Two coffins…No, maybe three,” and his music picks back up as he continues right on to the first family’s abode. Needless to say, after this snarky remark the camera wipe-cuts to the scene in question.
The next scene opens with Yojimbo and Tokuemon, the town’s sake brewer, in a medium-long shot, where Yojimbo is screen-right and Tokuemon is serving him sake from screen-left. The action of the screen and the composition of its subjects coincide very well in this case; Tokuemon needs Yojimbo more than Yojimbo need him, and his screen-left position suggests he’s the one doing the approaching in this business transaction even though Yojimbo is the one who availed himself. The first words in this scene are from Yojimbo, “Name me a price.” After Tokuemon offers a measly three ryo, the camera goes into a medium-close-up, over-the-shoulder shot over Tokuemon of Yojimbo screen-right giving him a comical, sideways look before getting up and saying aloud that Ushitora, the head of the rival family, might pay more—and hilarity ensues.[6]
Yojimbo gets up and crosses screen-right to left between Tokuemon and the camera to exit the room, going into the hallway; Tokuemon also gets up and follows, but not before throwing out another offer of four ryo. In the next shot, Yojimbo continues down the hallway silently, screen-right to left, with Tokuemon close behind him making more offers incrementally higher than the one before it. In this sequence, the use of motion vectors show dejection and desperation on the part of Yojimbo and Tokuemon, respectively. Tokuemon’s first priority is to get Yojimbo and his side and to keep him happy there, hence, the scene opening with him screen-left to Yojimbo’s screen-right. As soon as he makes the insulting offer of three ryo, Yojimbo relinquishes his sway over Tokuemon by moving screen-left, giving up the dominance, the power, that Tokuemon is giving him. Yojimbo continues leftward and descends the stairs to
put on his shoes in the vestibule. The subjects coming down the stairs in addition to moving leftward across the screen increases Tokuemon’s anxiety, which may or may not be why the stair descent is when the, as of yet, largest jump in offer occurs. The next shot places Tokuemon at the far right side of the screen, at the base of the stairs and Yojimbo at the far left side of the screen by the front door of the house—the ball is in Tokuemon’s court. [7]
This shot uses a concept called the magnetism of the frame to expand the distance between Yojimbo and Tokuemon on-screen. When a subject is framed with the top of his head inches from the top of the frame the subject will look elongated and glued to the roof of the shot. A Krazy Glue advertisement campaign made use of this very concept in their advertisements, where a construction worker wore a hard hat “krazy-glued” to an I-beam. The construction worker is framed in an extreme-long-shot with very little headroom to emphasize the strength of their product using the magnetism of the top of the frame.
The large distance between Yojimbo and Tokuemon elicits the largest jump in offer from 35 ryo to 50 ryo. Tokuemon frantically makes this final offer after jetting screen-left after Yojimbo and situating himself screen-left to Yojimbo’s screen-right, which is the first time he is screen-right since Tokuemon made his first lame offer. Yojimbo finally pauses, much to Tokuemon’s astonishment, returns passive-aggressively to screen-left for a drink of water, and stipulates a “half-now and half-later” arrangement while Tokuemon plops down on a seat behind him and the scenes ends with a wipe-cut. [8]
[1] Image Source: Sanjuro; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[2] Image Source: Sanjuro; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[3] Image Source: Sanjuro; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[4] Image source: Sanjuro; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[5] Image source: Sanjuro; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[6] Image Source: Yojimbo, Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[7] Image source: Yojimbo; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
[8] Image Source: Yojimbo; Akira Kurosawa, Dir.
Annotated Bibliography November 2, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedEmmanuel Elpenord
Prof. L. Quinby
Annotated Bibliography:
Kurosawa and Cop-Drama Films
Desser, David. The Samurai Films of Akira Kurosawa. Ann Arbor, Michigan: UMI Research Press, c1983.
PN1995.9.S24 D47 1983
This book analyzes Kurosawa’s use of genre and American film motifs; “if Kurosawa utilizes Western motifs and makes them his own…what is the nature of the themes, techniques, the codes in fact that Kurosawa adapts and transforms…when they are adopted, what is the significance of the resultant expression” are the thesis questions the book answers. (Desser 6-8)
The book presents a breakdown of the samurai genre into its different kinds and how they evolved from each other as time progressed. It also lays out an enumerated narrative sequence of samurai films; “(1) A scene of violence is underway… (2) The hero is identified… (3) The hero’s circumstances are detailed… (4) The victim is introduced…” This passage will be infinitely useful when drawing connections between both my samurai film sources and cop-drama films to samurai films. (Desser 48)
This book also has individual chapters devoted to Kurosawa’s samurai films, Seven Samurai, The Hidden Fortress, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, and Kagemusha, where Desser delves, in a clear, textbook-like fashion, into the visual, cinematic features of the pieces. He also discusses the dynamics between the characters in individual films.
Goodwin, James. Akira Kurosawa and Intertextual Cinema. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, c1994.
PN1998.3.K87 G66 1994
This book discusses Kurosawa’s films from an intertextual standpoint, looking at films like Rashomon and Ran, which were originally short stories and a book, respectively. The book argues that these mediums consist of “codes of communication” and “form[s]” different from that of film. “Cinema resembles so many other arts. If cinema has very literary characteristics, it also has theatrical characteristics…attributes of painting and sculpture and musical elements.” (Goodwin 11)
A majority of the text is spent connecting literature and other art forms to film and cinema, Kurosawa’s films primarily among others. This majority of the text is of little direct use to me, though it may potentially give me another perspective from which to view my chosen films. Regardless, the chapter on Rashomon and the wipe-cut, a camera technique ubiquitous in Kurosawa films, is shrewd and much more informative and useful. The wipe-cut is a transitional cut where a new image rolls over the old, usually in a horizontal direction. The wipe cut chapter references Donald Richie’s view on the wipe-cut as a “punctuation mark,” and how it most frequently “gives an impression of the elapse of time usually a short period of time.” (Goodwin 145)
Johnstone, Keith. “Status.” Impro: Improvisation and the Theatre. London: Faber and Faber Ltd, 1979.
This book is directed more towards actors and performing artists; it provides exercises for strengthening spontaneity and improvisational skills. A series of thesis questions the book addresses are, “What is story? What makes people laugh? What relationships hold an audience’s interest, and why? How does an improviser come up with what comes next? Is conflict dramatically necessary? (the answer is No).” The tone of the piece is anecdotal and very personal.
This book has no direct connection to the films I will be viewing and dissecting, but the chapter “Status” is greatly informing how I view and interpret the performance choices of actors onscreen in my film sources. Status, for lack of better words, is the relationship of a person to a “thing,” be it another person or an inanimate object. This status could be high or low, and some signifiers of high status can be used to portray low status and vice versa. These ideas and concepts will be crucial in examining the relationships between vigilante characters and lawmen characters. I also hope to use the concepts from status to classify camera motion; a high angle shot of a subject, pointing down at him, would usually be a lowering in status, but there are many exceptions to that rule as it is with most status signifiers.
Kurosawa, Akira. “Rashomon.” Rashomon. Richie, Donald ed. New Brunswick [N.J.]: Rutgers University Press, c1987.
PN1997.R244 R37 1987
This source, a primary source, contains the continuity script for Rashomon and an introduction to the script, which is essentially the Rashomon chapter from editor Richie’s “The Films of Akira Kurosawa.” The script translation is based on the original text written by Kurosawa and Shinobu Hashimoto; it is authentic and truthful to the production. The organization of the script is optimal for my purposes. It’s not by dialogue like in a screenplay, but by shot and shot number, in camerawork shorthand.
The source also contains reviews and commentaries on Rashomon. Some of them are in ardent praise of the film, “Its greatest novelty is its story, which is non-national, timeless, and universal,” written by Richard Griffith (The Saturday Review 1952; 131). Others deplore it, “I feel I must tell you that Rashomon is a lot more simpleminded than any product of the mysterious East has any right to be,” written by John McCarten (The New Yorker 1951, 135). This section is even keeled and represents both sides of the fence.
Kurosawa, Akira. Seven Samurai and Other Screenplays. London: Faber and Faber, 1992.
PN1997 .K84513 1992
This book, a primary source, contains the screenplays for Throne of Blood, translated by Hisae Niki, and Ikiru and Seven Samurai, both translated by Donald Richie, the latter of which I am most concerned. The Seven Samurai chapter is preceded by an introduction, which is essentially the Seven Samurai chapter from Richie’s “The Films of Akira Kurosawa.”
Compared to the subtitles in the film, Richie’s translation is quite accurate, but still a bit off, a bit odd; it’s more literary than it is cinematic. The translation, however, is not for what I’ll be using this source; I’ll being using it for organizing and identifying shots and sequences. Once again, even this facet is more literary than cinematic, as it is written in long form and subjectively as opposed to shorthand and tersely as in the Rashomon continuity script I’ve found. This isn’t altogether a bad thing since the shot descriptions are more colorful and memorable. Another fault is that the script is for the 160-minute theatrical release version of the film and not the original 200-minute version I will be studying.
Mellen, Joan. Seven Samurai. London: BFI Pub., 2002.
PN1997 .S4726 M44 2002
This source is a potent one despite its length, 77 pages. It refers to many different authors and books, the lion’s share of which I have, including Richie, Prince, Desser, and Goodwin, mostly for support and preludes to arguments. This source doesn’t lay out a thesis plainly, or have an overarching argument, but concentrates strongly on the film of its namesake. It refers to other directors, Kurosawa’s colleagues and contemporaries, briefly to present the effect of Kurosawa’s work on other directors and the Japanese film industry. Unlike other sources that pile on the background information and context, it does so sparsely, sparingly and in a more appetizing way—honey with the bitter medicine.
This piece places the film in a historical, cultural context, but doesn’t make that perspective a priority. More of the text focuses on the narrative of the film, analyzing it in a clear, chronological fashion. The character study this source provides is very insightful and thought provoking: “In, Seven Samurai, [Kikuchiyo] he develops from being an aimless drifter, alcoholic, and and roughly aggressive, to becoming a dedicated member of a group with a strong sense of honour.” (Mellen 30)
Though this source doesn’t have any continuity script excerpts, it discusses cinematographic themes and recurring shot sequences in the film with great detail and piercing analysis.
Prince, Stephen. The Warrior’s Camera: the Cinema of Akira Kurosawa. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, c1991.
PN1998.3.K87 P75 1991
Because of its title, I was expecting this source to focus more on the cinematography of Kurosaa’s samurai films, but the majority of the book is spent looking at his films in a historical and societal context. The thesis of the source asks why is it, “that a director of Kurosawa’s status has been infrequently studied. First published more than [forty] years ago, Donald Richie’s The Films of Akira Kurosawa has remained the only full-length English –language study of Kurosawa’s entire body of work” (Prince, xvi). If I were studying how history and political circumstances affected Kurosawa’s work this piece would be a godsend, but I’m not, and it isn’t. When examining Kurosawa’s films Prince, instead of a chronological ordering, groups the films topically or by the “cultural issues they address,” which makes sense for his purposes, but makes it hard for me to nail down prevalent information I may need.
The text also provides a different perspective in interpreting performance choices in Kurosawa’s Samurai films: “the Noh has the mask, and while staring at it, the actor becomes the man whom the mask represents. The performance also has a defined style, and in devoting himself to it faithfully, the actor becomes possessed.” Johnstone’s “Impro” has a chapter, “Mask and trance,” which discusses in depth this style of acting and improvisation. Neither author references the other, however.
Richie, Donald. The Films of Akira Kurosawa. Berkeley, California: University of California Press, 1996.
PN1998 .3 .K87 R5 1996
This text, in short, is ubiquitous in Kurosawa film study. It has, nearly without fail, been mentioned, or quoted, or referenced in every Kurosawa source I’ve read so far. However, not every reference to this work has been favorable; a significant amount of the references I’ve encountered criticize Richie’s blatant, unabashed dismissal of Kurosawa’s later films as over-sentimental drivel, and under-appreciating and pigeon-holing Kurosawa’s less popular films. With that said, this source has much versatility; many other sources use this piece as a jumping off point either as a stepladder of support in an argument or a stepping-stone of rebuttal.
The rather voluminous text is gives each of Kurosawa’s films its own chapter, in which he very thoroughly covers a range of aspects like story, treatment, production, et cetera, without becoming tedious or convoluted. Richie on Hidden Fortress: “Villains and heroes are, as always in a Kurosawa picture, equated. All three men are bad…[they] must be judged to be bad but when the majority is bad, something happens: the balance must be readjusted. Any majority adjusts the norm and it was our morality that was at fault at the beginning…” (Richie 136).
Films:
Kurosawa, Akira, dir. Rashomon. Perfs. Toshiro Mifune, Masayuki Mori. Daiei Motion Picture Company, 1950.
This film, a primary source based on two short stories by Akutagawa: “Rashomon” and “In a Grove,” is a story within a story. The outer story is of three men, a woodcutter, a priest, and a commoner that joins the former two under the gate of a destroyed temple to get out of a heavy rainstorm. The priest and woodcutter are in much grief and lamentation, and when the commoner inquires why, the two continue to explain the inner story of a rape and murder that occurs in the woods and the police investigation that follows. Testimony from the woodcutter and priest are heard, as well as from the police agent, who catches the bandit that raped the wife and killed the husband. The bandit also submits testimony, as do the wife and the husband, now dead, through a medium. This makes for seven different, and ultimately conflicting, versions of one story. “Five people interpret an action and each interpretation is different because, the telling and retelling, the people reveal not the action but themselves” (Richie 75).
The several different testimonies aren’t delivered to a “judge” character, but are delivered to the camera, breaking the fourth wall, sucking the viewer into the narrative, and, by the end of the film, put the weight of the judgment of the shoulders of the viewer. This device works all too perfectly with my argument of how viewers see vigilante and lawmen characters.
In this way, a theme/thesis in this source is “the truth is subjective.” The way “truth” is presented cinematically in each character’s testimony is ripe for dissection. The low angle and high angle shots in the scene where the sleeping bandit catches a glimpse of the wife on horse back works well in visually establishing the status of the two characters. The triangular screen composition of the priest, woodcutter, and commoner characters in the outer story of the film throughout the piece shifts and does so purposefully mirroring the confliction in the inner story.
Kurosawa, Akira, dir. Sanjuro. Perfs. Toshiro Mifune, Tatsuya Nakadai, Keiju Kobayashi. Toho Company, 1962.
In this film, a primary source, nine young samurai, clean-cut and steadfast, the leader of which is the nephew of the homely chamberlain, are suspicious of corruption among the clan elders and junior chamberlains. They get help from Tsubaki Sanjuro, Toshiro Mifune, a rude, disheveled samurai in need of a shave, when they discover the “good-looking” superintendent is the one behind the fraud. The young samurai’s gung-ho, sword slashing plans fall flat on their face as Sanjuro predicts, and conversely, Sanjuro’s plans are constantly foiled by the young samurai’s interference, stemming from their mistrust of him due to his shady appearance. In the end, they rescue the chamberlain from the clutches of the superintendent with a plan involving Sanjuro being captured and tricking the superintendent and his men into signaling for their own capture by sending tons of tsubaki, camellias, downstream to the neighboring backyard where the nine youth were waiting.
The driving theme/thesis of this source fits beautifully with my research topic: “illusion versus reality: things as they seem, things as they are and the muddle that comes from confusing [the two]” (Richie, 157). The belying appearances and the true natures of the characters are revealed through shots and camera angles in this film.
Early in the film, after Mifune conceals the young samurai from the ambush the superintendent prepared for them there is a beautiful shot that send chills up my spine. As Mifune bids them farewell and steps out the door, the camera goes to a medium, ground shot of Mifune’s feet and lower legs with the nine young men bowing deeply in the background. If the shot is flattened, it puts the young samurai literally bowing at Mifune’s feet in gratitude without them actually doing so. This flip in status establishes their relationship for the remainder of the film.
Kurosawa, Akira, dir. Seven Samurai. Perfs. Toshiro Mifune, Masayuki Mori. Toho Company, 1954.
This film, a primary source, is a about a village of farmers that gets ransacked and pillaged regularly by a group of forty bandits. The farmers decide to hire samurai for protection, and after obtaining the altruistic help of an older, well-traveled samurai, Kambei, another six follow. Each of the seven having a distinct persona that represents a “facet of samurai virtue;” the leader, Kambei brings “integrity and patriarchal selflessness,” Gorobei, his counterpart and intellectual, Shichiroji, loyalty, Heihachi, “open-hearted generosity,” Kyuzo, master swordsmanship, Katsushiro, youthful enthusiasm, and Kikuchiyo, “passion, energy, and intensity.” (Mellen, 7)
A subtle but startling question asked by this film is “what is the difference between samurai, and bandits,” or vigilantes and lawmen, in my research’s context. In a speech Mifune’s character makes after uncovering the allegedly poor farmers’ stash of weapons and armor, and rice and sake, he blames the samurai’s fighting for forcing the farmers to those lengths.
“From the onset, Kurosawa reveals what will be the dominant shot composition of Seven Samurai: the situating of men in groups. At moments host will contain only smaurai, at other, farmers… in defense of the village class distinctions must be put aside—farmers and samurai occupy the same shot. The fate of one is tied always to the fate of many…” (Mellen 34)
O’Connor, Gavin, dir. Pride and Glory. Perfs. Colin Farrel, Edward Norton, Jon Voight. New Line Cinema, 2008.
This film, a primary source, opens on an NYPD night football game with Colin Farrel’s character on the field, and his family with a legacy of police officers in the stands. The next scene is the gory aftermath of an ambush where four police officers have been slain. Edward Norton’s character, who moved to the “missing persons” department after being coerced to lie regarding a police cover-up, is put on the case by his father, played by John Voight, only to find that his brother-in-law, Farrel, is the leader of a group of corrupt officers, one which, played by John Ortiz, leaked the information that led to the police ambush.
Norton is then torn between allegiance to his badge, his role as a “lawman,” and loyalty to his family, his role as “vigilante,” when the weight of solving the case is on his shoulders. This film doesn’t strike new ground as far as plot, and critics certainly let that be known, however, the cinematography and visual aesthetic of the film has been duly noted, and will be dissected in my research.
One of the more gut-wrenching scenes in the film is when Farrel’s character, accompanied by another officer, barges into the apartment of a drug leader’s second in command and threatens his family. As the officers enter, the young children and old women flee to screen-right to a small kitchen, a position of weakness and submission, where they stay composition-wise whenever they’re onscreen. A parallel can be found when Farrel bashes in the face of the lieutenant, and the lieutenant, after spitting out some teeth, begs Farrel, from a lower-screen-right, high-angle shot, to unhand his baby. The composition here puts the second in command man low status to Farrel. Farrel at the climax of the scene lays the lieutenant’s baby down on an ironing board, a screen-left-to-right, horizontal index vector, and holds a steaming iron over the child in a high magnitude screen-up-to-down, vertical motion vector, juxtaposing the calmness and balance of the horizontal vector and the dynamism of the vertical vector for a more dramatic, galvanizing effect.
Sorcese, Martin, dir. The Departed. Perfs. Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2006.
This film, a primary source, is about two police academy students in Boston, Massachusetts, one of whom, Damon’s character, grows up to be a state police officer that feeds information to Nicholson’s character. The other, DiCaprio’s character, is held back from joining because of his questionable family and background, but is enlisted as an undercover agent pretending to be a criminal to get info from Nicholson’s character regarding the illegal trade of state-of-the-art electronics. By the end, we discover many secondary characters, and Nicholson’s character himself, are double agents. The cinematography throughout the film foreshadows this big reveal.
During the first scenes and sequences, introducing Nicholson’s character, his face is in very dim, low-key lighting, obscuring his face, while his surroundings are well to evenly lit. The first time Nicholson is in high-key lighting is after a smash cut to him on a beach burying a bullet in someone’s head. The gunshot is shot in an asymmetrical screen-left-to-right index vector of the gun, and “motion vector” of the bullet and victim’s head. This sequence could be a foreshadowing to Nicholson’s crime lord act being a façade, where his true identity is hidden.
This source will serve greatly in a character study of vigilante versus lawman in cinematography and performance choice. Since DiCaprio’s vigilante character is disguised as a criminal and Damon’s lawman character actually is one, the cinematographic choices made very much inform the reception of the characters.
Revised Focused Topic Paper: Kurosawa and Cop-Drama Films October 8, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedEmmanuel Elpenord
Focused Topic:
Kurosawa and Cop-Drama Films
Main Claim:
Cla. The construction of vigilante-guardian characters and law enforcing characters in Director Akira Kurosawa’s Samurai films and contemporary Cop-Drama films comes from more than plot or dialogue; casting, performance choices, and cinematography are all tools crucial in sculpting these characters. If the former components are the bricks of a wall in character construction, what the character is made of, then the latter components are the mortar, giving the blocks form and function, shaping and informing the relationship a viewer creates with the protagonists and antagonists of a film.
Rea. However well-written a script is, and however well-developed a character my be on paper, the casting and cinematography of a film is a major deciding factor in how a viewer will perceive a character on screen. Film is intrinsically a visual medium, and the manipulation of those visuals make or break its production. The written word can be a powerful evocative medium, but the full construction of a character in a film depends on much more than the ink on the page.
Warr. “All films are ‘propaganda.’” There is not a single aspect in a film that is not included purposefully and well thought-out in advance, subliminally informing the viewer. Whether one is passively or actively watching a film, the director, and cinematographer, et al, have implanted a message or meaning behind the films visual-auditory components for the viewer to decipher.
Evi. The relationships between the protagonist, vigilante, and antagonist, the lawman; the protagonist and his “community;” or multiple protagonists and antagonists in films where they exchange or are brought to the same levels of authority in policing society will show how the casting and cinematography of those films affect how viewers deify and demonize protagonists and antagonists, respectively and commonly. “The Departed,” “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” “Yojimbo,” “Three Bad Men in a Hidden Fortress,” “Seven Samurai,” “Rashomon,” and “Sanjuro” are such films.
A ‘Working’ Claim:
Cla. The aesthetics of a vigilante or lawman character on screen, their facial features, voice, costume, acting style, do not directly correlate with their relationship to policing society.
Rea. As actions speak louder than words, what a character ultimately does, and how the camera captures what they do decides how a viewer will deconstruct them and their behavior.
Evi. In the film “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” the character of “Ugly” is disheveled and raggedy in dress. He has a rat-like face with a big, honking nose, beady eyes, and prominent upper front teeth. He is made to look deceitful and untrustworthy; those associations go with a moniker like “the rat.” The character of “the Good” has somewhat of a lupine-canine look, a prominent jaw line, a svelte greyhound-like physique, and the ubiquitous Eastwood sneer, like a growling dog; the look suggests a loyal, steadfast individual. “The Good” is first presented as a bounty hunter that has captured “the Ugly,” who is wanted for a catalog of crimes and misdeeds in a particular town. A few moments later, we see “The Good” training his crosshairs on the rope of the noose from which “the Ugly” is hanging. After shooting him free, and skipping town together, “The Good” splits up the reward money with “the Ugly.” Despite their contrasting appearances, the both of them are swindlers.
Method of Research:
In the course of my research, I plan to organize my findings as character-to-character relationships, and parallels of those relationships between particular films. Those findings will again be rearranged by scene and shot sequence parallels between particular films. From there, I will dissect the cinematic properties of said scenes and shots with secondary sources as guides for what others have taken note of in a scene or shot at which I’m looking.
I have accessed the continuity scripts, which, using film terminology and shorthand, describe each shot in which respective dialogue is spoken, for a few of the films I am viewing and that makes it easier to follow and break down how the film was shot; with any luck, I’ll be able to locate more of those. Also, right now, I am less concerned with comparing cinematography and finding parallels than I am in actually dissecting scenes and shot sequences, categorizing them.
Many contemporary films use a vigilante-lawman dynamic, where the power of an institutionalized authority is commandeered by a zealous crime fighter or even an unwitting mercenary, as a conflict, as the driving force of a plot. Such films are often the most riveting and galvanizing pieces. With that in mind, the analysis of how the cinematography of such films affect a viewer’s attraction, repulsion, envy, pity, sympathy, and empathy to, from, or with these characters on screen may be fascinating to some, like filmmakers, and movie buffs, or simply informative to others, like curious movie-goers. On the other hand, my research may go over the heads of younger audiences, general audiences, and the “college comedy” (for example) demographic.
Position Paper: Kurosawa and Cop-Drama Films September 18, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedKurosawa and Cop-Drama Films:
Tentatively articulated, the elevator story for my thesis topic is, “I am studying the cinematography and “screen presence” in contemporary cop-drama films and Akira Kurosawa Samurai films because I want to find out what shooting techniques and acting choices are used in the two genres in order to analyze how morality is represented cinematically in the two genres and across time.”
The particular target of my research has altered and shifted after a sit-down with my advisor, Dr. Irina Patkanian. I was looking to focus solely on the screen image of the film in terms of composition and framing, but was enlightened to the idea of the subject on the screen—bringing my interest in acting into the fold. The discussion traveled into the realm of not only how and why a shot is composed the way it is, but how and why a particular actor is cast in a role, how the facial structure and physical build of an actor relates to how he is perceived on screen, good or evil, truthful or deceitful. Overall, I will argue that the way morality as stated above is represented cinematically through composition and framing, and casting and acting choices has changed over time.
Towards the end of our discussion, I received some “food for thought”—a banquet is more like it. Paraphrasing, in the times of Dostoyevsky, it was said that literature should be the new religion and writers their practitioners, as writers are gifted with vivid storytelling abilities and can craft narratives far more evocative than that of the clergy. They write of life and death, love and hatred, morality and immorality to the point that they should be instructing mankind how to live their lives. Furthermore, in our generation, very few people actually read the bible or turn to religious texts for moral guidance. Instead, films, television, and broadcast media are where the youth learn their morals. This point, whether I know it or not, may be the anchoring point of my primal interest in this topic and will always be in the back of my head during my research.
Sources:
Kurosawa, Akira, dir. Rashomon. Perfs. Toshiro Mifune, Masayuki Mori. Daiei, 1950.
Kurosawa, Akira. “Rashomon.” Rashomon. Richie, Donald ed. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, c1987. P.33-96.
PN1997.R244 R37 1987
Richie, Donald. “Rashomon.” The films of Akira Kurosawa. Berkeley, California: University of California Press, 1996. P.70-80.
PN1998 .3 .K87 R5 1996
The first listing is a Kurosawa samurai film and a primary source, the second is the continuity script of the film, also a primary source, and the third listing is a secondary source that discusses the film from several different perspectives. The first and second listing work beautifully with each other because the continuity script organizes the film and written dialogue by shot and shot number. Each shot number comes with a description of each shot and it’s framing. Sources like this will make my life much easier when it comes time to reference shots from films and the subsequent specificities that entails. The third listing will prove to be and invaluable source as it has a detailed breakdown and analysis of Kurosawa’s entire film catalogue (from what it seems). It covers over 25 titles.
The film is based two short stories by Akutagawa: “Rashomon” and “In a Grove.” The film’s plot, simplified, is a story within a story. The outer story is of three men, a woodcutter, a priest, and a commoner that joins the former two under the gate of a destroyed temple to get out of a heavy rainstorm. The priest and woodcutter are in much grief and lamentation, and when the commoner inquires why, the two continue to explain the inner story of a rape and murder that occurs in the woods and the police investigation that follows. Testimony from the woodcutter and priest are heard, as well as from the police agent, who catches the bandit that raped the wife and killed the husband. The bandit also submits testimony, as do the wife and the husband, now dead, through a medium. This makes for seven different, and ultimately conflicting, versions of one story.
As for Richie’s analysis of Rashomon what stuck out for me is what related to my thesis topic, “how morality is cinematically represented.” Richie breaks down the testimony of each of the characters and lays out why and in what way they are lying or telling the truth, as well as the truthfulness of the priest and woodcutter in their retelling of the proceedings to the commoner in the outer story.
Goodwin, James. “The Wipe Cut.” Akira Kurosawa and intertextual cinema. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, c1994. P. 141-147.
PN1998.3.K87 G66 1994
This short chapter in this book was about a camera technique, the “wipe cut,” that Kurosawa is known for using regularly, and where he may’ve discovered the technique and why and how he chose to use it. It makes it known that it is in Roshomon that he first uses this technique.
Aside from the thorough explanation of terminology and techniques, and providing a few film titles to look at in terms of the history of the wipe cut, this source also put it into my head how to focus on something specific for my thesis. Perhaps devoting a thesis paper to one camera move wouldn’t work, but it in a similar way finding one connecting aspect of all of the thought bubbles of acting, cinematography, samurai film, cop-drama films, et cetera will propel this paper to where it needs to be.
If Thine Senior Thesis Topic Doth Offend Thee… September 16, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedPluck it out and cast it from thyself; for ’tis better to enter the Kingdom of SCP 85 with a late topic than to suffer an eternity (two semesters) with a topic strange to thee.
The Proposed “Elevator Story:”
I am studying the cinematography of contemporary cop-drama films and Akira Kurosawa samurai films because I want to compare the shooting techniques and acting choices of the two genres in order to analyze how the morality is represented cinematically in the two genres and across time.
New Page: Autobiographical Statement September 9, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedI’ve posted a new page: Autobiographical Statement. In it, I explain my academic history, career track, and my topic idea.
Autobiographical Statement September 9, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , 2commentsAutobiographical Statement: Emmanuel Elpenord
I entered Brooklyn College in the Fall of 2006 not completely sure what I wanted to do with my life. The pressure of being an artistically inclined person in the Scholar’s Academy weighed heavy on me when it came time to choose a major—a career path, essentially. The last extracurricular activity I was involved in, in high school, was an acting club that produced original stage plays. My first endeavor with an actual stage production was with that club. It was a wonderful experience that left me wondering if there was more to my charismatic nature than a quipping sense of humor. Long before that, I was in the drama program of my junior high school, but didn’t have any career foresight at that point.
With all that in mind, I took the introductory acting courses Brooklyn College offered, and discovered, according to my peers and instructors, that I had a fair amount of potential in this field and should seriously consider continuing coursework with the Theater department. In the meantime, I explored my other artistic passion, creative writing, with the English department and later took Television and Radio courses, as screen acting was my main interest as an actor.
Three years later, in March 2009, I auditioned for the Baccalaureate of Fine Arts in Acting program at Brooklyn College and was among the twelve accepted into the three-year program. Currently, I’m a triple major pursuing a BA in Television and Radio, a BFA in Acting, and a BFA in Creative Writing.
Anyone aware of my research topic may or may not be asking themselves, “Why on Earth is he researching animal conservation in Tasmania?” It was certainly a question asked when I supposed the topic during group discussion. The answer, simply, would be: when I first entered high school, it was under the Pre-Veterinary Science Program. On my wall at home, I have hanging a gold bordered certificate for “Academic Excellence and Successful Completion” of the program. I studied to be a Veterinarian there for three years and with each passing year grew fonder and fonder of animals, from the cuddly to the creepy-crawly. The program gave form and structure to my innate love of animals. I ran the gamut of small pets during my childhood and early adolescence, from tons of fish, to a cat, a few generations of gerbils and hamsters, a turtle, snails, anoles (small camouflaging lizards), a garter snake, and hermit crabs. To this day, I still stop in my tracks if a pigeon, or a rock dove as I’ve learned to call them, catches my eye. Aside from eyeballing street animals, I’m a member of wildlife organizations like the WWF, ASPCA, NWF and the Nature Conservancy. Even though I’m no longer pursuing animal sciences as a career, wildlife conservation and animals in general is still and always will be one of my interests.
I first heard of the Devil Facial Tumor Disease crisis when searching for a research topic in my English 2 course. I’ve decided to revisit the situation three years later in this SCP 85 course, and ask of the reader and of myself to think more philosophically this time when considering the delicate situation in Tasmania. I’ll be considering, and challenging, the purpose of wildlife conservation, and more specifically animal conservation in response to pathological crisis as opposed to human imposition on natural habitats.
In reference to the ‘knowing your reader’ assessment at the end of Chapter 2 in the text, I will be writing this research paper under the assumption that the reader is of a general audience that knows little to nothing about animal conservation in Australia. As the writer, I plan to present my data, my evidence as entertainment in the same way television programming on Animal Planet might with factual, statistical information interspersed between interesting facts about the animal, and it’s taxonomical history. I also hope to “help the reader understand something better,” that something being animal conservation in Australia and conservation theory in general. Thirdly, and most poignantly, the problem I will be discussing is one I will discuss under the assumption that the reader does not take the problem seriously and “I must convince them that it matters.”
About ‘KCDF’ September 4, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , add a comment::Under Construction::
This Eportifolio is for tracking and recording my research of the cinematography of and the ‘screen presence’ of the actors in contemporary cop-drama films and Kurosawa samurai films in order to analyze how morality, good and evil, truth and deceit, are represented cinematically.
The First of Many September 4, 2009
Posted by Emmanuel Elpenord in : Uncategorized , comments closedWelcome to Devil Facial Tumor Disease, an Eportfolio exploring the Conservation Crisis in Tasmania. This site is part of a larger group from the Honors Thesis Colloquium 2009-10 site
