When people find out I'm a film major, they normally do one of two things: they either feign excitement and say something thinly veiled like "Oh, that's cool" or fill my head with a list of movie recommendations.

Actual questions addressed to me once people found out I study film:

"Have you seen Ninja Assassin?"

"You haven't seen the Harry Potter movies? But you're a film major!!"

No, I have not seen any of the Harry Potter movies. And no, I have not seen fucking Ninja Assassin.

But I go around, every day, with my elitist attitude, shoving my artistic tastes and preferences down other people's throats. I cavort that my taste is the best and you are beneath me if you haven’t seen The Virgin Spring.

But what is the point of continually recommending movies and music to your friends if you do not trust their own tastes? Am I merely trying to make them more like me? That would be terrifying, an entire horde of Jeff Millers running around out there yelling at girls who like Animal Collective.

So as to be fair and balanced, and to broaden my appreciation, I have decided to take some people up on their recommendations. The first recommendation I’ve taken up is the 1989 movie Road House, starring Patrick Swayze and directed by Rowdy Herrington.

Ridley Scott’s 1982 science fiction film Blade Runner is a rich visual experience that rewards repeat viewings. The film’s thematic material has been discussed endlessly in literature, with aspects of discussion ranging from Deckard’s true nature to the way in which the portrayal of futuristic Los Angeles closely resembles modern Tokyo. However, the film’s success should not only be attributed to the acting or set design, but also to the filmmakers for their great use of aesthetic concepts in manipulating the audience’s perception of the film’s events. These basic concepts help to enrich and enhance the experience of watching the film, and are one of the many reasons Blade Runner is still highly regarded nearly thirty years after its initial release.

Federico Fellini’s films are known for bypassing traditional, objective realism for a more subjective form of realism. The reality of the mind and what goes on inside it is much more important. Relying on memories, dreams, fantasies and fears, Fellini’s films offer biographical insight into the director’s mind. Perhaps the most famous and most illustrative example of this is 8 ½.

Every country that has a film industry eventually has a movement in which younger filmmakers inject a new vitality into the country’s cinema. Experimental techniques or narratives thrive, and new or controversial subject matter is addressed. if…. is a 1968 British film directed by Lindsay Anderson and written by David Sherwin about a few rebellious students in a British public (read American private) school. Like the Czech films Loves of a Blonde and Closely Watched Trains, the film showcases young characters battling with authority. Like Antonioni’s Blow Up (and the earlier films of the British New Wave) the film embraces sexuality, even going a step further in portraying homosexuality. Like Fellini’s films, it relies on subjective realism for some of its most important sequences. And like the films of François Truffaut, it includes many autobiographical details.

Lindsay Anderson was one of the founders of the documentary movement in England known as “Free Cinema.” A manifesto released by the main proponents of the movement stated that their aim was “making films which share an attitude: a belief in freedom, in the importance of the individual, and the significance of the everyday” (Cowie 52). Many of the leaders of the Free Cinema movement would go on to become important players in the British New Wave, which continued to champion the individual and the clashes with authority. Though if…. was made and released after these movements had lost much of their momentum, it still shares much of their spirit.

The Conversation excellently balances themes of paranoia and privacy with the political climate of Watergate. Coppola uses a moving camera to establish a watchful eye over his characters. In the opening scene, a long zoom takes an extreme wide shot of a busy outdoor court into a medium shot, in the process eliminating the notion of privacy. In a later scene inside of Harry Caul’s apartment, Harry seems to be attempting to avoid the camera’s gaze as he makes a phone call, but the camera moves and follows him. A third (and perhaps the most damning instance) is the final shot of the film. As Harry Caul sits in his torn apartment, the camera pans repeatedly from the right to the left from a high angle, imitating a security camera. Harry has torn his apartment apart trying to find the bug, but he still cannot escape the camera’s eye. Privacy is impossible.

The film is also full of allusions to the political climate of the 1960s and 70s. In the opening scene, a man sits on a ledge with a long scope, spying on the people below. Though he is only recording audio, he resembles a sniper, which recalls political assassinations. Bernie Moran, Caul’s rival bugger, talks about bugging a presidential candidate and how it ended in his opponent getting elected President. Of course the current President is Nixon, which screams of political conspiracy. And then later during the murder scene Harry Caul turns on the TV to mask the screams coming from the adjoining room. News regarding President Nixon is on the TV, further associating the President and politics with unsavory things like murder and conspiracy.  In this way, The Conversation is similar to Chinatown.  Chinatown can be considered a response to the Watergate scandal and deals with the same themes of conspiracy and paranoia.

Observation

I really enjoyed The Conversation. This was the second time I saw it and this time I appreciated the aesthetic choices in camera movement and audio. Something I found interesting is that in the scenes in which Harry is listening to the audio of the couple, Coppola uses cutaways that include the audio and picture. Of course these cutaways are probably psychological and in Harry’s mind, as evidenced by the changing of the phrase “He’d kill us if he got the chance,” (which is what Harry imagines) to its true form, “He’d kill us if he got the chance.” A subtle change which makes all the difference.

Sidney Lumet’s Network is a masterpiece of social satire. The film tells the story of a declining television network that stumbles upon success when one of their anchors goes crazy on the air. The network executives exploit his deepening madness in order to boost ratings.

Like Lumet’s previous film, Dog Day Afternoon, Network draws on real-world events as inspiration. In Dog Day Afternoon, that event is a bank robbery that goes awry. Much of that film’s events are based on the story of John Wojtowicz and Salvatore Naturile. Network also parodies real life – Mary Ann Gifford, the kidnapped heiress involved in a bank robbery with the Ecumenical Liberation Army is reminiscent of Patty Hearst and her involvement with the Symbionese Liberation Army (Hearst is even mentioned in the film). The on-air death of Howard Beale at the end of the film may have been inspired by the then-recent death of Christine Chubbuck, who committed suicide during a live television broadcast (Christine Chubbuck, 2012).

Part of the focus of Dog Day Afternoon is the ensuing media circus that results from the bank robbery. Network, on the other hand, is one prolonged media circus. It is even more critical of media and its effect on society. Part of Network’s success is owed to the growing disillusion felt by the public towards the media. The New Hollywood had already depicted mistrust towards the military (M*A*S*H), the law (Chinatown and In the Heat of the Night) and the American Dream (Easy Rider and Midnight Cowboy). By the middle of the 1970s, the public had become as cynical about the media as it was about the government (Cook, 2000, p. 201).

The French New Wave is a film movement that began in the late 1950s when a number of young French film critics put down their pens and picked up their cameras. Their films were vastly different from contemporary films, and their impact on cinema has been a lasting one. Some of the characteristics of the movement include spontaneity, the director as the “author” of the film, experimentation with editing and camera styles, attempts to dissolve the line between documentary and fiction, and an adoration of cinema and its history. Two of the quintessential auteurs of the movement are François Truffaut and Jean-Luc Godard. Their films Jules et Jim and Pierrot le Fou exhibit many of the above traits of the New Wave.

The King of Marvin Gardens is a meditation on the emptiness of life and the desire for connection and fulfillment. The filmmakers communicate this through the idiosyncratic actions of the characters and the production and set design.

One of the most noticeable aspects of the film is its giant, spacious sets and locations. The empty beach, the deserted boardwalk, the vacant auditorium and the lobby of the Essex Carlton are all massive, dwarfing the characters in them. The small graphic weight the characters hold does not suggest their insignificance. Rather, the emptiness of the hollow surroundings seems to be suffocating them.

The sets and locations are filled with objects taunting the characters. Billboards leer over the boardwalk, ornate houses rise just off the beach, and marble columns line the lobby of the Essex Carlton. The elegance of the interior of the Essex Carlton or the consumerism of the Coppertone billboards mocks the character’s situations. Sally tries to escape some of this consumerism by burning her makeup collection; but in reality it has no effect on her happiness.

One of the most depressing scenes in the entire film is the faux Miss America pageant. The theatricality of a beauty pageant with only one contestant and no audience in a vast, abandoned space is sad enough. But the low-key lighting and premature ending (they can’t even get the gaffer to stick around) make the situation unbearable. The characters go from sorry to pitiful.

Another scene that demonstrates the emptiness of life and lack of fulfillment is the scene after Sally murders Jason. Sally immediately walks into the bathroom and tries to turn off the shower. The act is devoid of meaning; Sally is just trying to do something. Similar to Joe from Midnight Cowboy and Bobby from Five Easy Pieces, Sally is doomed to wandering aimlessly.

Observation

I found this film rather hard to analyze. Part of the reason is because I see Ellen Burstyn’s character Sally as the true emotional center of the film, being dragged around aimlessly by the other characters. Her only dream is that of affection, but the other characters continually put their own desires ahead of hers. She almost has no will of her own. I was also left slightly confused by the opening and closing monologues to the film. If the opening one was a fabrication by David, then isn’t it possible that the events of the film are the content of his radio show that ends the film? If nothing else, it would explain the presence of some of the more surreal scenes.

Italy’s rich cinematic tradition can be traced to Italian filmmakers’ use of both interior and exterior methods of characterization and theme. The filmmakers do not simply rely on dialogue or actions to tell their audience a character’s motivation or how he feels. Rather they reinforce these messages with the use of techniques involving cinematic space. Two of the most famous Italian films, (and both remarkable for their use of cinematic space) are Bernardo Bertolucci’s Il Conformista and Federico Fellini’s 8 ½.

Joe is very much a film defined by the era in which it was made. The characters, music, plot and themes are all issues concerning the counterculture movement of the late 1960s. The film centers on the generation gap between the hippie culture and their parents, but manages to be sympathetic to both sides. In the film Bill Compton accidentally kills the drug dealer boyfriend of his daughter, and he teams up with Joe Curran to search New York to find his runaway daughter.

The pair meets at the American Bar & Grill, where Bill is drawn to Joe because of the anti-hippie tirade he is giving. This scene illustrates the types of beliefs the older generation in the 1960s held. While it is easy to dismiss Joe and Bill as closed-minded racists, this type of thinking was actually fairly common during the time period, and the film does not try to paint them as bad guys, despite their actions.