the following is documentation of my thoughts. that makes this a documentary. look at the diversity.

It seems to me that we struggled as a class to define “documentary”.  We mentioned how some documentaries suggest an opinion while others are strictly factual, how some are just talking heads while others are in the form of a movie (Charlie Wilson’s War, Game Change, etc.), or even how some are giving you new information about a common item or occurrence in our lives while others are introducing us to an issue totally foreign to us. There’s this diversity in “documentaries” that made it hard for us to decide what they were in only a few words. Hmm… maybe there are different forms of documentaries… so why do we have to do that?

Compare the documentary to literature or film. Some documentaries suggest or subtly imply an opinion. Can’t I say the same thing about movies? Does Supersize Me suggest an opinion any more than Doubt or Crimes and Misdemeanors? Some documentaries are in the form of a story and some are strictly factual. Okay. Books. We have non-fiction. We have historical novels.

If we asked the class “what makes a good book” instead, or to even define what that is, it wouldn’t at all be the same conversation. No one would disagree that documentaries and books have similarities, but when people think about just “books”, they think of that as broad, while a “documentary” is a very specific form of film. Well I disagree. Look, I love that we break “books” down into fiction, non-fiction, historical-fiction, sci-fi, romance, and all the rest. You can think of two books that would definitely be in two totally different sections because they’re so different. On the Duty of Civil Disobedience by Henry David Thoreau and Harry Potter: The Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling. But we could do the same for film, and we could even do the same for documentaries. America: The Story of Us is a re-enactment film with talking heads here and there, Iranian Taboo is a series of real, graphic scenes to desensitize Iranians about a domestic social issue, and Charlie Wilson’s War is a Hollywood movie starring Tom Hanks and Philip Seymour Hoffman (but with no slight deviation from historical truth).

Though documentaries are a subform of film, they still come in different ways. Films and books are subforms of literature, so are you going to tell me they're the same? Can you summarize them both as one thing in only a few words?

face off.

 Forget the circumstances around this image for a minute. To get a better understanding, let’s ignore the context and focus on the content. Doubt is very much about clarity versus uncertainty. Its brilliance is not in that the characters are in this struggle of doubt, but that the audience is in the dark as well. We’re constantly battling between doubt and certainty ourselves. Though we never reach a certain answer, we all come to our conclusions. How? Through the little hints the director chooses to imply their own interpretation. And each character, scene, even moment does it differently. The smallest things—even single frames—can add to our battle of certainty versus doubt. So forget what’s happening in this scene, who’s in it, what she’s doing. Focus only on this still image.

            It’s a close up—notice that the subject of this image takes up the entire foreground (besides the papers, which are blurred out), and that the background is simple, and more importantly, not attention-grabbing. Instead, your attention is entirely on the subject. Her facial expression is very obviously expressing certainty. The way she looks down at you condescendingly, how still her brow is, even the slight wrinkles in her cheek are condescending! But then you have to consider where on the subject your attention is most focused toward. And it’s her eyes. Look at her eyes especially. With the angle the director is using, her eyes are almost perfectly framed. They’re positioned in the upper left intersection of the frame, and not only that, but are looking into the lens. You know that’s where the director wants you to look, and when you do, you’re making eye contact with her. The look she’s giving is right at you. Eye contact is an expression of certainty and honesty. If you were doubtful or dishonest, you would be looking away, and no way would you be this still. No, this face is one of anger, maybe disgust, maybe disappointment, but certainly one of action. One of decisiveness. And that’s the certainty the director perfectly frames, with literally nothing to distract you from it.

            Now switch to Judah. This is from Crimes and Misdemeanors, but imagine the circumstances of this shot are the exact same as the one from Doubt. It’s just a central character looking at some papers. However, the reaction is being caught differently, and it says something about doubt versus certainty.

Again, the background allows you to focus on the subject. But the subject itself is what’s being framed differently, changing how we see his reaction and what it means. This time, our subject is centered, looking straight down. Sure, we can look at the facial expression again and compare it to Sister Aloysius’. This time, his brow is curved downward, his mouth slightly opened and crooked, and instead of coming off certain or condescending, looks worried and concerned. Nothing about his face looks certain. But it was the eyes of Sister Aloysius in the shot from Doubt that was so powerful. So when comparing these two faces, that’s really what we need to focus on. How this shot is framed, his are also looking down, but not directly toward us. We’re angled differently. His eyes are centered this time, but are not looking into the lens. This time, the director doesn’t only draw us to the eyes, but to the entire face as well. His face is much less still, and far more revealing, while it was Sister Aloysius’ eyes that dominated her look of certainty above all else.

Surely, both of their entire faces express certainty in her case and doubt in his, and it isn’t only the eyes that give it away. But a concerned or uncertain face is much more obvious than one that expresses certainty. As I said, his face didn’t rely solely on his eyes, while hers did. In your head, take these images and flip the angles. Imagine looking at Judah from the paper’s point of view. Imagine how his eyes look from that angle. Then do the same for Sister Aloysius at a dead-on angle with her face center-frame. It’s the way she looks at you so condescendingly that expresses certainty, and from this new angle, it’s not there; it just looks like she’s reading. With Judah, yes, he probably still looks worried, but it’s his entire face that’s expressing this worry, and highlighting his entire face rather than only his eyes makes that more apparent. So, their faces were framed and angled entirely differently.

Now you can consider what these shots mean in their contexts. In Doubt, this may be a clue to the audience that she has certainty, while in Crimes and Misdemeanors, you’re being introduced to his uncertainty. Then there’s the thematic context. In comparison, both movies are about the doubts or certainties of moral situations, so perhaps it’s not only a hint to their certainties about the situation, but also about their own moralities. If she has this look of positivity, maybe she’s the character who’s morality is clear, while he’s a character who’s sense of morality is the opposite—uncertain.

the new plight of the native american: bias.

There is no excuse for being insensitive or ignorant to any atrocity at the scale of genocide. We need only to be more educated about the atrocities committed in Germany, Russia, Japan, Rwanda, Darfur, etc. Our understanding needs to be no less than perfectly accurate.

In the United States for example, the prospective on the “plight of the Native American” has changed over time in expedience with our national interest.  When we were conquering new land and expanding a slave-trade economy, we branded the “Indian” as a vicious savage who was in the way of economic expansion and new religious establishment. We committed a genocide that resulted in the deaths of over twenty-six million natives. Soon after, we denied them government, forced them to the west of the Mississippi, and finally, under our government, refused to grant certain Civil Rights. Now, in a more progressive America, these atrocities are obvious and their evils apparent. Certainly the natives still face issues—like mass poverty for example—and with limited assistance from their “American” counterparts.

However, this awareness brought about a new bias. Again, it’s impossible to be overly sensitive to the abusive history the natives endured, but the perception of their culture still is an over-simplification and exaggeration of what their history truly was. Because they’re seen as the victims, they’re now portrayed in movies like Pocahontas or Avatar as totally peaceful societies only interested in unity and somehow environmental protection. In reality, the natives were just as violent as our European ancestors, but simply weren’t as good at it. Look at a map of Europe—kingdoms and nations are compact. Constant competition turned the wheels of European history. England, for instance, was for centuries in constant civil war. France and Germany were also made up of smaller Kingdoms and of course if you go even further back, Rome was rather savage as well. So, these nations and civilizations were constantly developing new weapons and armor to conquer their enemies. Meanwhile, in the Americas or in Africa, tribes were spread out, and only had to develop weapons sophisticated enough to conquer, well, animals. So when experienced Europeans with guns, germs, and steel came to these American shores, it was hardly a fair fight. It wasn’t about who was more savage.

The other new bias mentioned is the connection between these societies with the Earth. In Avatar, the natives are so in tune with the planet, they’re literally connected to it, while the invasive whites were so alien they didn’t even understand or care about basic environmental sciences. But, historically speaking, the natives were no better at farming or irrigation than the Europeans. In fact, they were worse, which is what makes that portrayal just a bias.

Avatar is an interesting example because the natives are meant to be interpreted as a peaceful race while the Americans were cruel and violent aliens. But, when the one American tried to be a native, he was actually better at being a native than the natives! It’s really saying that Americans are really bad when they’re trying to be bad, but when they’re trying to be good, they’re actually better at being good than the natives! Historically, that’s just an absolutely ridiculous thing to say.

Let me be clear. These new perceptions are an obvious step forward. The more educated we are, the more victimized they get—which is the right direction. There is no other way to see it. We only need to caution ourselves and be weary of how our modern media creates certain biases that misinform us about history. The natives were violent. Europeans were just better at it. The natives were not in tune with nature—their societies were, again, due to lack of competition, not as complex and therefore seem closer to our origins—nature. The natives didn’t even ride on horses and hunt buffalo until we taught them how to effectively do both. Horses aren’t even native to the Americas. So while we need to constantly grow our understanding of the plight of the Native Americans, know two things: 1. The Natives have endured constant abuse at catastrophic levels towards their culture and their peoples, and 2. New perceptions can accidentally create new biases towards both Americans and Native Americans.

never again. never forget. 8/39

It's funny how the evolution of special effects, computers, and CGI offers more and more possibilities for films—particularly horror films, and yet, the truly scariest and most impactful monster of all time is from 1939. These monsters are so vicious and evil, so terrible and horrid, that they haunt our dreams today, 72 years later, and certainly will another 72 years from now. Nightmares not only in the minds of small, innocent children, but even the minds of mature, rational adults are haunted with the memory of what they saw the first time they watched The Wizard of Oz. Hordes of those purple faces and thick, black fur carried by the ominous gray wings of those horrific flying monkeys is hard enough to recall, let alone write about. Still, I venture into my memories and stare that thought square in the eye.

This brave service—this sacrifice—is something I will do so that never again will we have to hide our scars. We will face the memory of the flying monkey scenes from The Wizard of Oz and remember those brave souls who sat in that theatre on August 8, 1939.

“And take care of those ruby slippers! I want them most of all! Now fly! Fly!” Christ have mercy. They’re coming for Dorothy. And there’s nothing we can do. The way they chase and jump at her. Remembering that image for you now is like describing to a jury how I was violated by rapacious, disguised intruders of my home. The moment they’re ripping apart the scarecrow is just one symbolic yet literal pivot in my life—these damned monkeys were ripping apart my childhood.

         This was in 1939. It’s difficult enough to recall these scarring images, but to imagine how they would be had this movie been made in the modern film industry is impossible. To compare any beast or ghoul or psychopath of today to the truly vicious existence that is a flying monkey would be inherently inadequate.

"We're both rotten." "Only you're a little more rotten."

The term "protagonist" can be misleading. The connotations that come with it are that the main character is a hero, or the force of good, while the "antagonist" provides obstacles, and works against the hero, being a force of evil, or injustice. However, in film noir, a movement characterized by the "fatal experiences of men" and the "femmes fatales whom they pursue", a protagonist is morally confused and psychologically damaged. Often this noir protagonist follows his own moral code. And so, those "femmes fatales"(French for "deadly women") are seductive women who lure men into dangerous circumstances for self-interest. The classic example of a film noir is Double Indemnity. 

The noir protagonist is Walter Neff, an insurance agent, who at first sight has a romantic interest in our femme fatale, Phyllis Dietrichson, the wife of a very wealthy man. What makes these two characters classic noir elements? Well, we have no evidence that before meeting Phyllis, Walter led a moral life, and after he does meet and converse with her, he agrees to killing her husband in order to be with her. But he’s not that simple. He’s doing it because she says he treats her poorly. And that’s not all the good intent we see in him. He calms Lola down and befriends her after she’s concerned about Phyllis’ agenda. Of course, this could also be seen as him trying to keep things quiet. So, as many other noir protagonists’ intentions, it’s unclear. However, there is one thing he does for the entire film that shows his remorse for his actions. He’s confessing his crimes to his associate, Barton Keyes. His narrating of the events is him coming clean. So though we see him as a flawed character morally, he could also be interpreted as just a cynical sort of hero who simply follows his own moral code, as immoral as it sometimes may be. We see at the end of the movie Keyes telling him that he was closer to him than just someone at the opposite desk, and Walter responds, “I love you too”.

             The character of Phyllis Dietrichson, on the other hand, is simpler. It’s obvious that she’s had a crooked agenda the entire time. She killed a woman to marry her wealthy husband, used Walter to kill her husband for the insurance money, and then told another man that her daughter no longer loved him, and that he should kill both her and Walter so there would be no more chance of anyone talking to the police. She’s a classic femme fatale who seduced and dragged our Walter Neff into a plot he’d never leave.

frames of "the quitter".

The eleventh page is very unique for frames. Usually, each page has big frames, small frames, square frames, etc. Frame size usually expresses priority. A frame on a page that’s a monumental moment in the story, with a lot of words to explain the image, may take up to a quarter of the page. This way, you have more to explore. You have more imagery to support the event or action taking place in the frame. You could even argue that some larger frames are unimportant plot-wise, but have a purpose based solely off of imagery. Larger frames could be more “showing and not telling” because what is being described simply has more space on the page. On page eleven, however, where Harvey is trying to make a conclusion on his mother’s motivations, the frames are set up differently. There are six, equal frames. They are equal in size, shape, and text (roughly). No frame takes priority over another. He has six different thoughts in this inner-conversation, and the six frames evenly divide those six thoughts. The frames, in other words, separate each beat in his inner-monologue. However, the imagery is what differs. On the left side, we see Harvey in a “bad light” each time. This is to say, not only is there a shadow covering half is face and hands, but we are seeing a side to him that is very accusatory and upset. In the panels to the right, his face is lit up, while his mood is rational and relaxed. Still, however, the amount of time and space for each of these two sides of Harvey are distributed evenly.

I don’t feel as though pace was a consideration during the framing process. I figure that the frames were mainly organized the way they were due to how much illustration was needed for each text, and how important each moment was. If there were pacing involved, there would absolutely be chapters. There would even be a difference in his voice as he told the story. The narration stays at a solid tone through the entire story. If I had to place a chapter myself into what I have already read, I would have ended the first chapter where he moves out of Cleveland. That way, I could set a whole different mood for the new setting. That would factor into a real change of pace.

framing.

What's unique about this example of framing is that there are two subjects joined into one center of focus for the viewer's eye. Everything is foregrounded and nothing is backgrounded. Spielberg wants you to explore the entire subjects as if he didn't want distractions. However, there are parts of the subject(s) that Spielberg chose to highlight. Notice the lighting. Light is coming from two horizontal angles illuminating their faces. It effectively allows you to see each of their personal expressions that almost summarize their characters. Anderton, for example, has a determined look, while Agatha has one of worry and surprise. This shot is an archetypical medium close up. The subject is framed from the chest up. This shot focuses on the subject, rather than the environment the subject is within. And, instead of focusing on someone's entire body language, a medium close up hones in on the smaller details of their face. That, complimented with the light, gives us an idea of these characters in the moment from a simple profile. How does this contribute to this specific movie as a whole? Not until the last moments of the rising action and the ultimate climax of the film do we see these to characters so close together, especially after being engrossed into the plot. Not until Anderton is carrying Agatha away do we see them side-by-side, and until this specific shot that captures their reactions to the circumstances around them.