After a twenty-year absence from filmmaking, Terrence Malick returned in 1998 with The Thin Red Line. Released the same year as the hugely popular Saving Private Ryan, Malick’s film is a non-linear war epic that is more philosophy than big budget action movie. Malick subverts the genre conventions and expectations in order to create a film that deals more with abstract ideas and emotions.

The soundtrack (50s pop and rock & roll records), the props (vintage cars) and the locations (the city streets, Mel’s Diner) are all incredibly important elements of the mise en scène of American Graffiti. The attention given to these details gives the film part of its charm, and should come as no surprise from George Lucas, the filmmaker behind the “worldizing” of the Star Wars franchise.

Director/co-writer George Lucas and producer Francis Ford Coppola were both film students, and their filmic knowledge (shared by the French New Wave) is demonstrated with the inclusion of “Rock Around the Clock” over the opening credits. The song was famously used in the film Blackboard Jungle to make the film appeal to a younger teenage audience, so using it in a film in which the soundtrack itself is so important is fitting. The use of popular songs in place of a traditional film score recalls Easy Rider and The Graduate.

Compared to the other films we’ve watched in class, American Graffiti is relatively tame and optimistic. The lightly humorous tone and upbeat songs give the film a positive feel. In a period in which many of the films being made were the opposite, American Graffiti‘s nostalgia seems to be a form of escapism from the contemporary political climate. That being said, the epilogue, in which the fates of the four male leads are revealed, is rather sobering. John ends up dead, Terry is presumed dead, Steve winds up with a monotonous and boring job, and Curt leaves the country. This ending expresses how the late 60s and early 70s had failed to deliver on the promises of that generation’s teenage years.

Observation

I really enjoy this film, from its soundtrack to its humor to its nature as an ensemble piece. One of my favorite aspects of the film is the role that Wolfman Jack plays. Wolfman is this almost mythical figure that unites the town with his mischief and his control of the music. His reputation (he broadcasts from an airplane or from Mexico; his voice sounds inhuman) elevates him from a radio jockey to a symbol of the youthful rebellion. At the end, when Wolfman hides his identity from Curt, it is because no man could live up to the reputation that Wolfman had built. But the ironic twist is that Wolfman was a real life DJ and his identity is revealed in the film, killing some of his real life aura. Overall, I think the film is incredibly successful because it remains contemporary and relatable to me (born in 1990) even though it is a love letter to the early 1960s.

From the opening montage, Dog Day Afternoon emphasizes a dichotomy among the people of Brooklyn. The opening shots contrast images of wealth and people relaxing with images of the hard working lower class. These contrasts expose the gap between the haves and the have-nots. Sonny is a member of the have-nots, a lower class man with a wife and two kids and a boyfriend on the side.

Sonny’s lifestyle and economic troubles lead him to rob a bank in order to pay for his boyfriend’s sex change operation. In a scene about midway through the film, Sonny explains his predicament: if you want a job you have to belong to a union, and non-union jobs don’t pay well. With economic situations like this, it’s hard to provide for oneself and one’s family.

Later in the film, Sonny’s mother tells him that he was such a beautiful baby (reminiscent of the homeless man in The Conversation?). The implication is that the world has turned Sonny into a criminal. The optimism of the American dream is no more.

The film also presages a new American dream – that of the notion of celebrity, or 15 minutes of fame. Sonny is greeted with cheers each time he exits the bank. He even begins to embrace the fame in the scenes where he screams “Attica!” at the surrounding police or plays Robin Hood and throws money to the crowds. Even the pizza delivery boy finds brief fame as he opens the door for Sonny. With the cameras trained on him, he jumps in the air and screams, “I’m a fucking star!” 

Observation

What struck me most about the film since the last time I saw it was how funny it is. Wikipedia describes it as a “crime drama” but I think a more accurate description would be “black comedy.” The humor contributes to the realism, whether it’s Sonny fumbling with the box as he pulls his gun from it or when Sylvia needs to use the bathroom. I also find Pacino’s performance incredible; he manages to balance the humorous with the dramatic while maintaining a firm grasp of his character. Dede Allen’s editing also creates unease in scenes like when Sal points his gun at the girls or when the cops try to come in the back of the bank. Allen’s cuts are so quick that perceiving each shot individually is difficult; leaving the viewer confused and on edge, just like the characters.

parts of this were written with fellow Towson University student Elena Fialkoff

Prior to the New Hollywood, there was very little feminism in film and a great deal of masculinity. Women were subservient to men and needed to be protected or saved from danger. Even the female protagonists of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, who are very strong and independent, spend the entire film searching for men who can financially support them. And despite starring the beautiful and sexy Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, the film avoids the topic of sex itself. This is typical of the films of Classical Hollywood.

The nearly ubiquitous image of women during this period is that of the doting housewife. She wears a pearl necklace and an apron; she stays at home and cooks, and she is obedient to her husband. But this conservative image clashes with the reality of women’s sexuality in the 1950s. The arrival of Elvis and the Beatles caused teenage girls everywhere to scream and obsess over the young men. These girls were not only captivated by the music but also by the looks of the Beatles and the dancing of Elvis (Inglis 60). Their desire was a sexual one, enlightening men to the notion that women have sexual wants just like men. 

While this knowledge may not have transferred into film right away, the New Hollywood was more liberal and revisionist, and its films delved deeper into themes regarding sex and sexuality. Two films from this era, Bob Fosse’s Cabaret (1972) and Hal Ashby’s Shampoo (1975), explore blurring gender roles and images of masculinity and femininity that mirror the sexual revolution of the late 1960s and 1970s.

Mike Nichols’ 1971 film Carnal Knowledge follows two lifelong friends, Jonathan and Sandy, from their college years to middle age and details their sex lives. Jonathan is aggressive and highly sexual, Sandy is passive and more sensitive. The first third of the film shows their relationship with Susan, who is dating Sandy and sleeping with Jonathan. The two men represent the paradoxical portrayal of what Hollywood says women are attracted to (the loud, violent and masculine action heroes and the quiet, passionate men of romantic comedies).

Nichols relies heavily on the medium close up in the film, and he uses it to turn dialogues into soliloquies. By framing the characters this way, and having them look directly into the camera, Nichols gives the scenes an interview or confessional feel. This is fitting, because the content of what they are talking about is always highly personal, like when Jonathan speaks about his problems achieving an erection.

While this technique provides a direct link of communication between the characters and audience, Nichols also subverts the technique to show a lack of communication among the characters within the story. On at least two occasions (the tennis scene with Cindy, and the camping scene with Jonathan) Nichols frames a character that has no dialogue. The dialogue occurs off-screen, and continually refers to the character onscreen but they do not respond or acknowledge it. These scenes show the characters’ inability or unwillingness to connect with each other.

Observation

I really liked how the film confronted how differently men and women see things. Jonathan and Bobbie’s living arrangement reveals what both of them want in a romantic partner. Bobbie wants to be loved, and in order to be loved is willing to be the provider. Jonathan isn’t interested in love; he just wants to be mothered. Like George in Shampoo, Jonathan comes to represent the ways in which men abuse women. When Jonathan runs out of beer, he says, “It’s my fault. I knew I should have reminded you [to pick up beer] when I called.” Jonathan’s passive-aggressive blame on Bobbie represents the respective social positions of men and women.

Like Taxi Driver, Mean Streets deals with a man’s obsession with purifying filth and sin. Travis Bickle sees filth in the city around him. He is a disturbed individual, and takes it upon himself to set out to clean the filth. The result is a grisly shootout that ends in the murder of three thugs. Charlie from Mean Streets sees filth and sin within himself, a product of his involvement with the mafia and several loan sharks. Charlie is Catholic, and cannot find solace in the Hail Marys he is given after confession. He instead opts for a more visceral method of cleansing – holding his hand or arm out over an open flame, a reminder of the flames of Hell and the eternal damnation that awaits him.

In terms of de-mystifying the American Dream, Mean Streets does this through the Italian-American’s views of other cultures. The United States is often billed as the land of opportunities, but when Italians reached Ellis Island they were met with xenophobia and misunderstanding. Italians attempted to realize the American Dream through hard work and individualism, rarely receiving help from outsiders. This lead to a closed-minded perception of the world, which Scorsese reflects in Mean Streets. Charlie is afraid of his friends seeing him out with a black woman, so he stands up Diane on their date. All of the friends throw the gay men out of their car (though the man senses their discomfort and puts on an aggressive, over-the-top act). And Johnny Boy and Charlie’s uncle look upon Teresa’s epilepsy as a mental disease and weakness. Essentially, if you are different, then you are not liked or trusted. It is an unfortunate result of the distorted American Dream.

Observation

Mean Streets is even more expressionistic than Taxi Driver. The scenes inside of Tony’s bar are washed in shades of red, equating the bar with blood and sin and Hell (Ebert 2003). Scorsese also uses popular music to create ironic counterpoints. The music is often innocent (pop music) and beautiful (opera) and juxtaposed with violence, like in the extended pool hall fight scene. In the credit sequence, The Ronettes’ “Be My Baby” plays as home movies roll. But in the next scene, a man is violently kicked out of Tony’s for shooting up in the bathroom. This dismisses the prosperity, happiness and cheer seen in the opening credits as fake.

Reference List

Ebert, Roger. (December 31, 2003). Mean Streets (1973). Roger Ebert. Retrieved May 09, 2012, from http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/ article?AID=/20031231/REVIEWS08/401010340/1023

One of the key experiences of Italian culture during the 20th century is fascism, a political movement that arrived in Italy early in the 20th century. Fascism’s lasting impact on Italian culture can be seen abundantly in the post-World War II films of Italy. One of the most disturbing Italian films regarding fascism is Liliana Cavani’s 1974 film The Night Porter. The film handles themes of sadomasochism and other forms of perverse sexuality, and its characters struggle to rid themselves of their tortured pasts. This struggle, this discomfort with the past, is Cavani’s way of visualizing fascism as a shameful past that cannot be ignored or forgotten. With this depiction, Cavani also appears to be attempting to reconcile her country’s ties to fascism. 

Gordon Parks’ 1971 film Shaft is most interesting for its developments with the image of the Black man in contemporary cinema. Shaft is one of the seminal films of the blaxploitation genre known for its sexuality, violence and the aggressiveness of its lead Black characters. As Mia Mask says in American Cinema of the 1970s: Themes and Variations, “Shaft and Sweet Sweetback exemplify blaxploitation’s replacement of the myth of Black male inferiority with counter-myths of African American masculine potency in the face of white supremacy” (59).

The character John Shaft is a more defiant and aggressive version of Virgil Tibbs from In the Heat of the Night. From the opening scene, the film utilizes the Isaac Hayes score and Shaft’s disregard of authority (flipping off the racist taxi, dismissing the watch peddler) to make him look very cool and likable. But unlike Tibbs who is rather straight-laced, Shaft speaks slang and is highly sexual – he has sex with both a Black woman and a White woman in the film. These developments came “after years of watching elegant, well-spoken Sidney Poitier endure insults from racist white cops [when] African Americans were ready to see someone respond to…cinematic police brutality” (57). Shaft, as both a character and a film, not only builds upon ideas from In the Heat of the Night, but also changes some of the perspectives on race presented in it.

The film also tries to negate preconceived notions of race. There are both White and Black protagonists and White and Black antagonists. Even though Lt. Androzzi is Shaft’s boss, nearly every scene between the two plays out to the contrary, with Shaft forcing Androzzi to comply with his own demands. There is one exchange between the two in which Androzzi compares Shaft to a pen and says, “You ain’t so black” and Shaft replies by comparing Androzzi to a coffee mug (“You ain’t so white”). The scene boils down to representing how judging by (skin) color can be inaccurate and misleading.

Observation

I somewhat enjoyed Shaft. Although I can appreciate the film for its social importance, much of the dialogue, fashion and music have aged poorly. The result is more of a curious artifact of the late 60s and early 70s than a work that can relate to contemporary society. I did like the climactic scene however, in which a group of dedicated, organized and knowledgeable Black men are able to band together with one objective in mind. This seemed like an appropriate metaphor for the Civil rights movement.

Works Cited

Mask, Mia. “Black Heroes: Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song and Shaft.” American Cinema of the 1970s: Themes and Variations. Ed. Lester D. Friedman. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 2007.