It’s been made very clear to us all (“us” being the general Arts population) that images in film, television and other media of the past and present can inform us on the acceptability of certain attitudes and how they are developed. I approached King Kong in the same fashion, viewing carefully with its pseudo-ethnographic nature, often overlooking it as a piece of cinema. However, thinking about King Kong under the light of Cinematic Modernism, I felt I was seeing something new.
I find our interpretations of images to be quite explicit: for instance, that Kong is representative of the other, and translates many associated feelings with the other. This, however, could be communicated through many texts, not film alone. I feel that film is often examined as evidence for racist attitudes, rather than a medium in which racism has been communicated specifically through cinematic means. What I started thinking about in watching King Kong was how I could identify how the film communicates racist ideals through cinema exclusively. The treatment of a group in film is not through narrative means alone, but also through the camera.
The filmmakers, Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack, utilised the conventions of the medium to communicate otherness. What has been captured within the shot, strengthened by sound, is an image particular to cinema. Images depicting the tribes-people suggest homogeneity through depiction of the people in mass. The camera is typically situated some distance away from the people shown on film, depicting large crowds. The audience hears chanting often – singing on mass – also suggestive of homogeneity.
By contrast, white characters receive close-ups and shots which single them out, providing details of their appearance, particularly their faces. It made me think that this was as though an image of many non-white people was of equal value (or ability to hold the attention of the audience) to that of a single white person. The camera only comes close when examining the detail of a religious ritual.
When the camera sits further away from a scene (in particular the scene when the crew first sights the tribe), the audience sees the people as a distant cluster, making part of the scenery. In this scene, they are shown to be filmed by the filmmaker character, as though to emphasise this. The group make a scene, rather than a depiction of a group made up of people.
King Kong was remade in 1976 and again in 2005 – at this rate of remaking, it seems that King Kong has a “quality” that is continually relevant to cinema audiences. I’ve not seen the 1976 version, but I did see Peter Jackson’s 2005 version. I do not recall if the treatment of non-white people by the camera in the film resembled that of the 1933 version, but I do remember feeling enormously uncomfortable with what I was seeing. Obviously, the images of the original had taken affect, resonating in the remake made in the past few years.
I think that this shows King Kong is significant in looking at approaches to the other through cinema, I think that is representative of many films of the time and how depicting otherness was further developed in films of the future.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Berlin, Symphony of a Great City
Like most of us, my view of films, not matter how seemingly sure, can be altered dramatically when I read about them. My focus, when watching Berlin, Symphony of a Great City, seemed very sturdy, that was until I read that the film was not the product of predominantly one creator, but rather was the product of three: an idea conceived by Carl Mayer, a candidly filmed record of the city by Karl Freund, edited by Walter Ruttmann.
Originally, I was absorbed by the occupation of space on screen: what shapes were depicted, how they were juxtaposed, how movement of these shapes on screen made an impression. However, my focus changed when I read that the film had been filmed and edited by two separate people, I then thought of the film as Ruttmann's creation, and the arrangement seemed much more pivotal than what was recorded. Berlin, Symphony of a Great City is a great example of how much of an influence editing has upon footage. Ruttmann has taken Freund's interpretation of the city and created something entirely new from it, to be, I speculate, its form as a symphony.
The film does not document the view of Berlin alone, but rather provides the audience with a series of moods, much like a symphony – even instrumental music has the ability to lift or dampen the state of the listener's mind, and the symphony, I imagine (I know very little about the conventions of music) gives the listener the experience a full range of emotions. I think that Berlin, Symphony of a City functions similarly to a piece of music: without narrative, the viewer's feelings shift from one sentiment to another.
Although music can change mood independently (without film), music in the film acts as just one element, rather than acting as the primary emotive force. By this, I mean that music can be manipulated to make the audience feel something that the original composer hadn't imagined. When the filmmaker arranges their film to music, the images seen by the audience will often change the meaning of the music. To use an outside example, "Singing in the Rain" meant something entirely new to audiences of A Clockwork Orange. In Berlin, Symphony of a Great City, music adds meaning to the image, but in film the images also give meaning to the score.
Music is not the only element of the film's “arrangement”. The arrangement of film, the edited product, or the montage, is the new meaning given in the presence of music. The film's images do not affect sentiment alone: montage was a technique created in propaganda films, and could be seen as quite manipulative, but is undoubtedly something that makes film into an art. Montage in this film is used to draw comparison between human, machine and animal, all three contrasted with each other.
Because of this technique, the film's effect is both emotive and intellectual, a series of ideas suggested to the audience. The presence of shapes and lines on screen are given meaning when contrasted by images to follow or be followed by, and is not simply the visual effect of occupation of space on screen.
Considering the film further, this space within the film, early on, is dominated by technology, architecture and waste, without any evidence of human life, is a bit like the film itself: for as many hands that were involved in its making, all we see is the product of incredible technology.
Originally, I was absorbed by the occupation of space on screen: what shapes were depicted, how they were juxtaposed, how movement of these shapes on screen made an impression. However, my focus changed when I read that the film had been filmed and edited by two separate people, I then thought of the film as Ruttmann's creation, and the arrangement seemed much more pivotal than what was recorded. Berlin, Symphony of a Great City is a great example of how much of an influence editing has upon footage. Ruttmann has taken Freund's interpretation of the city and created something entirely new from it, to be, I speculate, its form as a symphony.
The film does not document the view of Berlin alone, but rather provides the audience with a series of moods, much like a symphony – even instrumental music has the ability to lift or dampen the state of the listener's mind, and the symphony, I imagine (I know very little about the conventions of music) gives the listener the experience a full range of emotions. I think that Berlin, Symphony of a City functions similarly to a piece of music: without narrative, the viewer's feelings shift from one sentiment to another.
Although music can change mood independently (without film), music in the film acts as just one element, rather than acting as the primary emotive force. By this, I mean that music can be manipulated to make the audience feel something that the original composer hadn't imagined. When the filmmaker arranges their film to music, the images seen by the audience will often change the meaning of the music. To use an outside example, "Singing in the Rain" meant something entirely new to audiences of A Clockwork Orange. In Berlin, Symphony of a Great City, music adds meaning to the image, but in film the images also give meaning to the score.
Music is not the only element of the film's “arrangement”. The arrangement of film, the edited product, or the montage, is the new meaning given in the presence of music. The film's images do not affect sentiment alone: montage was a technique created in propaganda films, and could be seen as quite manipulative, but is undoubtedly something that makes film into an art. Montage in this film is used to draw comparison between human, machine and animal, all three contrasted with each other.
Because of this technique, the film's effect is both emotive and intellectual, a series of ideas suggested to the audience. The presence of shapes and lines on screen are given meaning when contrasted by images to follow or be followed by, and is not simply the visual effect of occupation of space on screen.
Considering the film further, this space within the film, early on, is dominated by technology, architecture and waste, without any evidence of human life, is a bit like the film itself: for as many hands that were involved in its making, all we see is the product of incredible technology.
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