Screenshot: They Live (1988)

"'I was blind but now I see!'" - John 9:25

"You ain't the first son of a bitch to wake up out of their dream." - Nada

Those unfamiliar with John Carpenter’s paranoid satire They Live (1988), in which a hapless, unemployed alpha-male called Nada (played by alpha-male pro wrestler "Rowdy" Roddy Piper) stumbles upon a covert alien invasion with the help of truth revealing sunglasses may, after reading that last sentence, be even less likely to seek it out.

If you scratch beneath the surface, however, the film has much to say about Reagan Era politics, capitalism, racial tensions, police surveillance and material culture -- all hot topics that were fueling the creative fire of maverick directors like John Carpenter at a time when self-preservation and social status were the mantras of the political elite. The film, according to the director himself, is as relevant now as when it was first released back in 1988:

“Well, They Live was a primal scream against Reaganism of the ‘80s. And the ‘80s never went away. They’re still with us. That’s what makes They Live look so fresh - it’s a document of greed and insanity. It’s about life in the United States then and now. If anything, things have gotten worse.”

In essence, They Live is meant to act like a wake up call to apathetic America dulled into passive obedience through mass consumerism, lured in by an all pervasive marketing assault. There are screens everywhere in the film -- from the television screens that regurgitate inane branded fluff in a seemingly endless loop, to the advertising billboards plastered around the city. The vehicles and walls in the film also act as screens to transmit messages -- lo-fi alternative surfaces used for protest by the rebel minority against the unseen elite. The various slogans, such as "thought control" and "they live, we sleep," flicker past as if interrupting a broadcast -- evidence of dissention in the ranks.

The shot featured above occurs a third of the way into the film when our reluctant hero dons a pair of the aforementioned sunglasses -- referred to by the rebels as ‘Hoffman lenses’ -- revealing a monochromatic world of authoritarian slogans as if part of a city wide culture jam. The film has essentially been stripped of its color, and so have the city's billboards been stripped of their visual enticements, leaving us with a set of functional instructions; "Submit," "Stay Asleep," "Conform," "Watch TV."

In the same manner that Dorothy entered Oz or Neo opted for the red pill in The Matrix, things will never quite be the same for Nada, and his world quickly becomes that of stark opposites: good and evil, us and them, conform or resist. In some ways, this simplified reconfiguration suits both our hero’s limited skill set and our own expectations for action movies set in the 1980s, whereby meathead protagonists fare less well in the world of emotional grey areas than they do when given a recognizable bad guy to pummel along with the necessary hardware to do so. Nada simply appropriates the Alien newspeak to his own set of instructions; "Shoot," "Kill," "Kiss My Ass, "Fuck You."

This is cinematic wish fulfillment for those in the 1980s who felt disenfranchised and disempowered to the point of despair, and a stiff middle finger to "the man" seems in hindsight the appropriate gesture to an equally simplistic mantra of "submit" by those with the power to make it happen.

The use of large scale typographic sloganeering in the film directly references work by artists such as Jenny Holzer and Barbara Kruger, both of whom used strategies of mass media and advertising to comment on capitalist culture in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The typeface most often associated with Kruger’s "subvertising" work -- Futura Bold -- is also the same used by John Carpenter in the film, with slight variation.

It's nearly 30 years on and it’s interesting to note how the visual look of language in They Live has been co-opted by the commercial world it was so desperately looking to undermine. The assertion made in the film is that "there is a distance between the 'lies' of commercial-ideological speech and the coercive 'truths' smuggled inside it’ -- when really, the two co-exist with relative ease. In fact, a prime example of this is how street artist Shepard Fairey’s guerilla Obey campaign of the 1990s developed into a million dollar clothing brand and his Hope poster was condoned by the official Barrack Obama campaign prior to the 2008 US Presidential Election. The artistic interventions by Jenny Holzer and Barbara Kruger have by now lost their initial significance as they too have succumbed to the brand strategist retrofit -- their slogans such as "I Shop Therefore I Am" and "Protect Me From What I Want" appearing on t-shirts, mugs and perfume advertisements  -- social commentary, giving way to irony, giving way to ker-ching.

In fact, while protest movements will continue to use posters and banners as an effective weapon for change, their words and graphic imagery seem more likely now to end up as tomorrow’s marketing fodder, as the gap between dissent and commerce gets ever narrower.

Submit indeed.

Screenshot is an ongoing column from Gabriel Solomons, Senior Lecturer at the University of the West of England, Editor-in-Chief of The Big Picture magazine and Series Editor of The World Film Locations and Fan Phenomena book series. Screenshot examines a single shot from a film and presents an in-depth analysis.

Election (1999)

The narrative of Election (1999) intertwines the stories of three high school students -- overachiever Tracy Flick (Reese Witherspoon), secret lesbian Tammy Metzler (Jessica Campbell) and dumb jock Paul Metzler (Chris Klein) who all run for President during their school election.

The night before the elections, all three students pray in their rooms. These individual scenes are each photographed in a similar manner; starting with a close-up and pulling up high with a crane shot that showcases their surrounding space. It's interesting to note that the use of space in these scenes is greatly exaggerated; obviously filmed in a studio, Alexander Payne pulls the shot as high as possible, distorting the size of their walls, which results in an illogical use of space.

Tracy Flick is the hardest working student in her school; determined for greatness, she will climb the ladder as high as it'll take her, even sleeping with one of her teachers. This election means everything for her. It's an absolutely essential step for her, as far as her future is concerned. 

“Dear Lord Jesus, I do not often speak with you and ask for things, but now I really must insist that you help me win the election tomorrow because I deserve it and Paul Metzler doesn’t, as you well know. I realize that it was your divine hand that disqualified Tammy Metzler and now I’m asking that you go that one last mile and make sure to put me in office where I belong so that I may carry out your will on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.”

Tammy Metzler couldn't care less about winning; she joins the race as a way of getting back at her older brother. In her speech to the students, she claims she will do nothing if elected, which draws cheers from the entire school. 

“Dear God, I know I don’t believe in you, but since I’ll be starting catholic school soon, I though I should at least practice. Let’s see. What do I want? I want Lisa to realize what a bitch she is and feel really bad and apologize for how she hurt me and know how much I still love her. In spite of everything, I still want Paul to win the election tomorrow, not that cunt Tracy. Oh, and I also want a really expensive pair of leather pants and someday, I wanna be really good friends with Madonna. Love, Tammy. ”

Paul Metzler joins after being persuaded by his high school teacher, Jim McAllister (Matthew Broderick), who pushes him into running so he can defeat Tracy Flick.

“Dear God, thank you for all your blessings. You’ve given me so many things, like good health, nice parents, a nice truck, and what I’m told is a large penis, and I’m very grateful, but I sure am worried about Tammy. In my heart, I still can’t believe she tore down my posters, but sometimes, she does get so weird and angry. Please help her be a happier person because she’s so smart and sensitive and I love her so much. Also, I’m nervous about the election tomorrow and I guess I want to win and all, but I know that’s totally up to you. You’ll decide who the best person is and I’ll accept it. And forgive me for my sins, whatever they may be. Amen.”

The Deterioration of a Raging Bull

In the 1920s, German Expressionism films communicated the inner emotions and conflicts of characters with lighting and the design of sets. The visual design of these films expressed the inner thoughts of characters through minimal dialogue.

Martin Scorsese's Raging Bull (1980) is a biopic centering on boxing champion Jake La Motta (Robert De Niro) and his self-destructive behavior, which ultimately destroys both his personal and professional life. The film's use of stylized cinematography, lighting, and set design provide an in-depth understanding of Jake La Motta and his deterioration as a character. These techniques also demonstrate the internal life of its characters rather than their external façade. The design of the sets and its established atmosphere also express Jake La Motta’s diminishing stature and emphasize his obscure characteristics.

The use of black and white in the film allows for a focus on character. The lack of color causes the role of blood to be downplayed because its popping reds are never shown. This allows other parts of the visual design, including light and sets, to further communicate emotions and conflicts. In the course of the film, color makes its way into a single scene, a home video montage sequence of the title character's life outside of boxing with his family, along with his marriage to Vickie (Cathy Moriarty). This sequence provides a stark visual contrast from the rest of the film and exhibits realism in comparison to expressionism.

The choice of lighting in the film also allows a look inside the character’s psyche to better understand his mental state. In the third act of the film, Jake La Motta’s insecurities and jealousy drive him to physically harm his wife and brother, Joey (Joe Pesci). In a scene that follows, we see Jake La Motta sitting in front of a broken television. The television does not have a signal and is full of static and noise. This parallels his anger and frustration as he sits in darkness. The light from the television casts harsh shadows on his bruised face, which highlights his internal conflicts. The deep shadows suggest a darker personality and reveal the animal within him. The harsh shadows also represent his violent behavior and provide suggestions of guilt and regret as he sits in isolation. Jake La Motta's withdrawal from the outside world to the confines of his living room in complete darkness also demonstrates his unwillingness to overcome his madness; even when his rage is not being physically displayed on his family or during his fights, he conceals the fury within him. The lighting reflects his masked aggression which is buried within his soul. These are the characteristics and behavior traits that ultimately cause Jake La Motta’s downfall.

In the course of the film, both inside and outside of the ring, Jake La Motta is an animal. In his personal life, his anger causes him to lash out at his family. In his jail cell following his arrest, the lighting patterns illuminate certain parts of the room. This creates a zigzag effect on the screen, which causes a portion of the cell to be filled with light whereas the rest is in complete darkness. This establishes a sense of repulsion within the room and creates a bleak tone. Jake La Motta angrily beats his fits and head onto the wall then sits in agony. Jake La Motta thus "beats himself up" over his mistakes as the beast within him takes control. The lighting of the jail cell establishes the essential atmosphere to demonstrate his diminishment at the end of his career. In this scene, he is caged behind bars and attempts to release his aggression through physical harm. This also resembles his professional life and his confinement to the boxing ring where his physical strength was his sole escape. In other words, he is in the darkest point in his life and through his self-destructive behavior, he has reached complete isolation.

These inner conflicts are also paralleled through the set design and its connection to his life inside the ring. Martin Scorsese’s frequent use of Catholic imagery is seen clearly throughout the film. Jake La Motta takes Vickie to his father’s apartment after their first meeting. The kitchen, living room and bedroom consist of countless references to Catholicism, through the display of crosses and hangings on the wall of the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ. Their sexual scenes in the bedroom are also intercut between two fights, both against Sugar Ray Robinson in 1943. These references provide suggestions of guilt, sin and atonement for him as his marriage fails due to his affair and as his career worsens at the hands of Sugar Ray Robinson in the ring. The juxtaposition of fighting with love making also suggests his inability to differentiate between the two. Vickie ultimately becomes his life partner and Sugar Ray Robinson becomes a frequent rival of Jake La Motta's.

Jake La Motta’s deterioration both in his life and career becomes evident during his fight against Tony Janiro. Vickie’s innocent remark when she claims that his rival is “good looking” causes him to question his wife’s loyalty. In the fight between Tony Janiro and Jake La Motta, the boxing ring is relatively wider. This allows us to understand the condition of his behavior. The width of the ring allows Jake La Motta to demonstrate his wrath and aggressively move from one end to the other and pin his opponent. This maximizes the movement area and therefore emphasizes the action. The use of slow motion showcases his brutality, a behavior carried over from his personal life with his wife. The camera is also placed at a slightly lower angle, which emphasizes his domineering size. The use of close-ups adds intensity to the fighting techniques and shows his ferocity. The viciousness of the fight allows us to experience how his personal affairs from his family began causing his self-deterioration. Jake La Motta's insecurities over his wife had resulted in him taking out his anger on a fighter, and as a result, being incapable of finding balance between his career and personal life.

The visual design of Jake La Motta’s final fight against Sugar Ray Robinson also demonstrates his deterioration inside the ring. In their final meeting, the overall atmosphere during this particular fight is much more intense. The extensive use of slow motion editing allows us to feel the alienation within the ring. The fighters are also surrounded in dense smoke and the audience is almost never visible. This allows us to focus on the fighters, which feel separated from reality. This also adds to the notion of a jungle-like atmosphere within the ring. The impact of each punch is felt through the distortion in the sound, creating the impression that Jake La Motta is seriously injured. The noise of the audience is also muffled resembling his state of consciousness. In fact, even the cameras photographing the action appear louder and much more intensified, along with the brutal punches which are accompanied by animal shrieks. Jake La Motta’s beaten face becomes unrecognizable over the course of the fight. These elements of visual design create a distinct atmosphere which enhances the cruelty and intensity of the fight.

In this fight, his diminishing stature is also emphasized by the larger ring size and choice of camera. In his earlier fights, he was placed in a smaller ring which accentuated his physical size and strength. This larger boxing ring creates the impression that is role is decreasing and suggestions the deterioration of his strength. This also ties into his overwhelming feelings of insecurity, jealousy and inferiority that plague him throughout the rest of the film. These feelings ultimately alienate him from everyone, including his wife and brother. In the final series of brutal punches, we are able to get a glimpse of the domineering Sugar Ray Robinson. The camera focuses on him and tilts down, effectively lighting him from behind, thus making him appear larger and more separated from the background. This, in turn, causes a monstrous display of the victorious Sugar Ray Robinson. This lower angle emphasizes his position over Jake La Motta. Sugar Ray Robinson is intercut between images of his opponent, resting on the rope and his appearance in comparison to the diminishing Jake La Motta draws attention to his physical size. The camera placement and expressionism in this sequence allows us to feel the burden Jake La Motta feels during the match. In addition, through Jake La Motta’s subjective perspective, we also get a distorted view of reality that reflects his mind state. The blurry images and distorted sound are accompanied with the feeling that the boxing ring is off balance. This allows us to feel him weakening, both physically and emotionally.

It's through Expressionism techniques that Martin Scorsese emphasizes Jake La Motta’s deterioration both inside and outside the ring in Raging Bull. The choice of lighting helps emphasize the hidden characteristics in the personality that emotionally disturbed the title character. The visual design of the fights helps create an atmosphere that shows us his diminishment over the course of the film. These techniques help focus on the inner conflicts rather than the outward appearance of the character. Jake La Motta ultimately had to defend himself against his inner demons.

Rhythmic Timing: The Art of the Auteur

The main formative element of cinema, according to the great Andrei Tarkovsky, is rhythm. This sentiment is founded on the notion that films contain, within them, a particular sense of "rhythmic timing," a concept coined by the filmmaker in his book Sculpting in Time. The director's personal imprint, and that what defines them as an auteur, is an expression of the rhythm they impart to their work.

In Sculpting in Time, he writes that the filmgoer experiences a mosaic of time, and that the director's job is to sculpt time -- or rather, the images which exist within time -- into the mosaic that the audience experiences. In his opinion, rhythm or "rhythmic timing" is the "dominant, all-powerful factor of the film image, expressing the course of time within the frame." Andrei Tarkovsky also states the following:

“It is above all through sense of time, through rhythm, that the director reveals his individuality. rhythm colours a work with stylistic marks. It is not thought up, not composed on an arbitrary, theoretical basis, but comes into being spontaneously in a film, in response to the director’s innate awareness of life, his ‘search for Time.’”

In other words, he suggests that, while filming, a director immediately imbues within a film a particular sense of rhythm -- a unique mosaic of time. This sense of rhythm arises due to their instinctive appreciation of life; it could be said that this sense of rhythm is an immediate reflection of the filmmaker's natural sense of awareness -- how they direct their thoughts -- since thoughts similarly exist in the mind as a mosaic of time, expressing, in their course, a particular sense of rhythm most familiar to the thinker.

It's this spontaneous emergence of a particular sense of rhythm that seems to distinguish a director's work; their "innate awareness of life" is expressed within film -- not only within one of their films, but within each of them. It's for this reason that the auteur theory hold significance; a director's films may felicitously be associated and tied together due to their comparable sense of rhythm.

The veracity of a film's rhythm is sensed by the viewer's innate ability to associate the flow of time reproduced in the images with their own implicit awareness of the movement and rhythm of time within nature. The director's "rhythmic timing" or flow need not coincide with the nature of time itself; their rhythm may slow or speed up the life-process. In the case of Andrei Tarkovsky's cinema, the current or pressure of the images, their association with one another, and how the scenes flow tend to slow down the life process, effectively changing the course of time within the frame; as a result, the movement of time (within a film) takes on its own unique, poetic form. This is the rhythm of the film; as he states, "the distortion of time can be a means of giving it rhythmical expression."

The movement of time within a film is further made clear in the "characters' behaviour, the visual treatment (camera angles and movements, as well as elements of mise-en-scène) and the sound -- but these are all accompanying features, the absence of which, theoretically, would in no way affect the existence of the film. In some sense, one cannot conceive of a cinematic work with no sense of time passing through the shot, but one can easily imagine a film with no actors, music, décor, or even editing. It's commonplace to discuss editing techniques when describing an auteur's approach to filmmaking; however, as Andrei Tarkovsky explains, "time courses through the picture despite editing rather than because of it." In other words, although a director's style may be evident in their editing techniques, what truly distinguishes them as an auteur -- their sense of "rhythmic timing" -- exists within a film strip prior to its engagement in editing.

The auteur's distinctive style is not the product of editing techniques, as some might believe, but of the director's innate awareness of life, as expressed by their sense of "rhythmic timing" -- a sense of rhythm unique to an auteur, but for which certain directors may be associated with each other, white others are set apart. In fact, since personal veneration for works of art seems to indicate a connection between the mind of the artist and the beholder, an examination of the similar sensibilities between Andrei Tarkovsky and his greatest influence, Robert Bresson, offers additional insight into this discussion.

The most significant similarity between these respected auteurs is their poetic expression of time; each of them alter the movement of time (within a film). Their films exist in their own world, so to speak. In each of their films, time is slowed down -- perhaps even abandoned. This is done intentionally to give the film image an artistic, rather transcendental quality.

Robert Bresson, for instance, tends to film pauses within action; the result of this is a lingering movement of time. In Au Hasard Balthazar (1963), when Marie (Anne Wiazemsky) and Gérard (François Lafarge) sit in the car together, a minute long scene takes place where the actions might have only lasted a few seconds. The movements of the characters are exceedingly slowed down, while the camera pauses briefly on still images -- rendering the movement of time during these actions virtually still. The scene is shot in this way to accentuate details; it is minimalism at its finest. In its simplicity, the rhythm of the scene and the movement of time is slowed down so significantly that what might have been a ten second scene is explored in sixty. The viewer’s sense of time, as a result, is altered, or transcended, in order to fit with the nature of time expressed within the film.

In the documentary Directed by Andrei Tarkovsky (Michal Leszczylowski, 1988), Andrei Tarkovsky states that Robert Bresson captured an incredible "lightness" in his films, which is what influenced his own artistic direction. The sense of rhythm expressed in Andrei Tarkovsky’s work shares many similarities with Robert Bresson; in a similar manner, his films too alter the viewer’s sense of time. In Mirror (1975) -- a film so ethereal and outside of time that it is difficult to pin down -- poetically explores the existence of mankind and human relations, and does so by expressing a sense of eternal unity. The film loosely depicts the actions of several generations of mothers, fathers, and sons, visual images, in conjunction with audible poetry (spoken in voice-over), illustrate how they are innately, perhaps spiritually, connected to each other, and, by extension, to life itself. The images shift, and yet, while moving through time, they seem to exist within each other in some kind of perennial harmony -- the image of the child, the boy, and the man are, effectively,  the same, despite the necessary passing of time. This, coupled with the timeless poetry and fleeting style of continuity, inspire in the viewer a sense of eternity, in spite of the fact that the film itself exists within time; such a quality may rightly be considered transcendental. In this sense, it is reasonable to associate the films of Robert Bresson with those of Andrei Tarkovsky. Their innate sense of awareness of life and their "search for Time" was similar; consequently, their however unique senses of "rhythmic timing" have comparable qualities.

Alfred Hitchcock, on the contrary, an auteur in his own right, imparts within his films a sense of rhythm that expressively speeds up the life process. Rope (1948) appears as if in real-time; however, the one-and-a-half hour film depicts what would be several hours of interaction. The film appears as one continuous take -- in fact, it consists of eleven -- the viewer is given the impression that the gathering, drinks, dinner and aftermath altogether last under two hours. This, of course, does not coincide with the nature of reality; nonetheless, due to the continual sense of rhythm, the sped up movement of time feels natural. The viewer's sense of time is altered, as with the films of Andrei Tarkovsky and Robert Bresson, in order to fit with the nature of time expressed within the film. The veracity of the film’s rhythm takes form in the mind of the viewer, imprinting in their vision the artistic touch, and innate awareness of life, of the auteur at hand. In the case of Alfred Hitchcock, as opposed to Andrei Tarkovsky or Robert Bresson, the viewer’s sense of time is sped up; the affect of which is the creation of suspense -- the effective quality of The Master of Suspense's particular sense of rhythm.

In Hollywood, however, typical assembly-line films display no distinct, personal sense of rhythmic timing; it would seem that the art of the auteur is not at all present here. The categories of genre have taken place of the film theoretical perspective of auteurism, causing films to be classified based on relatively insignificant elements; in actuality, Hollywood’s formulaic films all tend to blend together, rendering the concept of genre quite arbitrary, and stripping cinema of the artistic touch of the auteur. The following is Andrei Tarkovsky's quote on the subject:

“In so far as sense of time is germane to the director’s innate perception of life, and editing is dictated by the rhythmic pressures in the segments of film, his handwriting is to be seen in his editing. It expresses his attitude to the conception of the film, and is the ultimate embodiment of his philosophy of life. I think that the film-maker who edits his films easily and in different ways is bound to be superficial. You will always recognize the editing of Bergman, Bresson, Kurosawa or Antonioni; none of them could ever be confused with anyone else, because each one’s perception of time, as expressed in the rhythm of his films, is always the same. On the other hand, if you take a few Hollywood films, you feel they were all edited by the same person; they are quite indistinguishable.”