Goodfellas (1990), directed by Martin Scorsese, is a representative of a masterpiece of the fusion of sound and vision. This is achieved through various features of the soundtrack, from the blending of gunshots with traffic to the lyrical pairing of songs with cinematic action. The unconventional sound design begins with the opening credits as titles zoom onto and off of the screen along with the sounds of speeding cars.
It soon becomes clear that these car sounds are coming from the opening sequence in which Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci, and Robert DeNiro are driving to bury a dead body that turns out to still be alive. When this is discovered, Pesci's character stabs the body and DeNiro shoots him. The sounds of the gunshots fade away into the sound of distant traffic. This dissolve between sounds is just the tip of the iceberg as the Liotta's voiceover begins.
"As far back as I can remember I'd always wanted to be a gangster." This line is punctuated as it cuts off to the beginning of "Rags to Riches" by Tony Bennet. This song is a classic 40's style swing song that is, to me, quintessential and emblematic of gangsters and gangster films. Liotta's monologue continues in the style of a radio announcer, not is his pacing or voicing, but in the way that it goes right up until the lyrics of the song begin. He comes back in later as the song gets quieter again, but there is always a respect between the volume of the dialogue and the music and the soundtrack.
Later in the film this pattern continues and the songs continue their poignancy. The "Case Study on Goodfellas" from the book Short Cuts identifies a key scene in which this type of laying takes place. "Jerry Vale's 'Pretend You Don't See Her' plays at the beginning of Henry's [Liotta's character] affair with Janice. Henry's voiceover announces that Friday nights are for the wives and Saturday nights are for girlfriends, as the song plays diegetically, with Vale performing in the club" (52). This study also notes that the music switches to being non-diegetic sound as it continues into cuts to Henry and Janice in the apartment he rents for her and also his wife Karen and their daughters.
The soundtrack in the film also communicates the general mood of any given scene. When Jimmy (Robert DeNiro) commits his murder spree, wacking the robbers who worked the Lufthansa job with him, the music is cheerful. "Layla", by Derek and the Dominos has a purely instrumental part during the second half of the film. The voiceover confirms this connection saying that Jimmy was happy. The viewer finds out that this good mood and music are due to the Tommy (Joe Pesci) getting made. Jimmy and Henry cannot be made into full members of the mob because they are not completely Italian. The music cuts out as tommy is being brought into where he will be made. The music is completely gone when he, and we, realize that he is instead going to be killed.
The music in this sequence is somewhat devastating, building up hope and good cheer before cutting out and leaving the death of a main character. This is indicative of the greater purpose of the soundtrack in this film. The music and sound in Goodfellas does not simply give backing for the action on the film. It masterfully provides context, support, and structure to the action taking place on screen.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Friday, October 16, 2015
Once Upon a Time in the West
Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) by Sergio Leone is a powerful western with a powerful soundtrack by Ennio Morricone. It center Jill McBain, former prostitute turned frontier wife, Cheyenne, a wild west outlaw, and Harmonica, a man who plays music when he should talk and talks when he should play music. Jill has just moved to Sweetwater to find that her husband and his children have been recently gunned down. The people of the nearby town of flagstone initially believe the crime to have been committed by Cheyenne, but it is soon revealed that he was framed by Frank and the railroad tycoon, Morton. Harmonica enters the plot as a man tracking Frank, and teams up with Cheyenne and Jill to bring him to justice.
This conflict, however, is not what this film is about. It has been suggested (specifically to me by Filmmaker and professor Phil Solomon) that this film is about "the end of the west" as a product of feminizing or civilizing. I do not entirely disagree with this idea, and can certainly see some aspects of the film that demonstrate this. A new train to the pacific ocean is a central part of this film, with the land that is Sweetwater set to become a rich town right alongside it. Prior to this town and during the film, the land is overrun with outlaws and bandits. Once the town is built, there will be some semblance of authority in this land, i.e. it will become civilized. This process is also coupled with feminizing due to the correlation with Jill's arrival and her presence during the building of the town. She is there to give water to the men building; we understand from Cheyenne that it would not be distributed without a woman present.
These examples are compelling and I believe are definitely themes of the film. However, I think that Once Upon a Time in the Old West is about the evils of corporate capitalism and the defense of small business enterprise. John Fawell writes about this in his book The Art of Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West. One major indicator of this theme, according to Fawell, is the characterization of and the relationship between Morton and Frank. He specifically cites the parallel between money and guns in the scene in which the viewer first meets Morton while he and Frank discuss the McBain job in Morton's Private car. As Frank sits behind Morton's elegant desk he muses. "it's almost like holding a gun...only much more powerful"(Fawell 104). Later in the scene Morton holds up a wad of cash (you know, big 19th century hundred dollar bills) to Frank's gun saying "There are many kinds of weapons, and the only one that can stop that is this"(104).
The connection between money and guns and violence is further strengthened in another scene in Morton's train car later in the film. Morton is being guarded by Frank's guns while Frank is in town hoping to put an end to the McBain business once and for all. Frank has these men their to protect the man that he views as a both a mentor and, less kindly, an avenue for his own success. Morton has begun to grow tired of Frank as he sees him as too rough and reckless to ever take over for him or be seen as a legitimate businessman. Accordingly, Morton buys Frank's guns by paying them to leave him and instead kill Frank. "But money, in the form of bribes, had easily dispatched the guns" (105).
Fawell also has discussed the idea of the film as a defense of small business, although not as explicitly. He discusses the difference between Morton's capitalist enterprise and McBain's, saying "Morton's dream is of his own glory...McBain's dream grows out of love for others" (110). Although this is still capitalist enterprise, McBain is not a railroad tycoon expanding for the sake of money and itself. He is a widower and a father and a newlywed trying to build some security and a legacy for his growing family.
While I can acknowledge it is not a perfect analogy, I believe there is sufficient evidence within the film to paint it as a commentary on the dark sides of capitalism. I have to think that it is not just a product of the Bernie Sanders campaign or my own personal lens. Perhaps Fawell puts it best when he says "Here the disillusioned Socialist seems to transpose the dream of twentieth century socialism on to the terrain of the old West. The final image o the film depicts a world in which the destructive machinery of capitalism has given way to a respect for workers and their comforts" (110).
This conflict, however, is not what this film is about. It has been suggested (specifically to me by Filmmaker and professor Phil Solomon) that this film is about "the end of the west" as a product of feminizing or civilizing. I do not entirely disagree with this idea, and can certainly see some aspects of the film that demonstrate this. A new train to the pacific ocean is a central part of this film, with the land that is Sweetwater set to become a rich town right alongside it. Prior to this town and during the film, the land is overrun with outlaws and bandits. Once the town is built, there will be some semblance of authority in this land, i.e. it will become civilized. This process is also coupled with feminizing due to the correlation with Jill's arrival and her presence during the building of the town. She is there to give water to the men building; we understand from Cheyenne that it would not be distributed without a woman present.
These examples are compelling and I believe are definitely themes of the film. However, I think that Once Upon a Time in the Old West is about the evils of corporate capitalism and the defense of small business enterprise. John Fawell writes about this in his book The Art of Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West. One major indicator of this theme, according to Fawell, is the characterization of and the relationship between Morton and Frank. He specifically cites the parallel between money and guns in the scene in which the viewer first meets Morton while he and Frank discuss the McBain job in Morton's Private car. As Frank sits behind Morton's elegant desk he muses. "it's almost like holding a gun...only much more powerful"(Fawell 104). Later in the scene Morton holds up a wad of cash (you know, big 19th century hundred dollar bills) to Frank's gun saying "There are many kinds of weapons, and the only one that can stop that is this"(104).
The connection between money and guns and violence is further strengthened in another scene in Morton's train car later in the film. Morton is being guarded by Frank's guns while Frank is in town hoping to put an end to the McBain business once and for all. Frank has these men their to protect the man that he views as a both a mentor and, less kindly, an avenue for his own success. Morton has begun to grow tired of Frank as he sees him as too rough and reckless to ever take over for him or be seen as a legitimate businessman. Accordingly, Morton buys Frank's guns by paying them to leave him and instead kill Frank. "But money, in the form of bribes, had easily dispatched the guns" (105).
Fawell also has discussed the idea of the film as a defense of small business, although not as explicitly. He discusses the difference between Morton's capitalist enterprise and McBain's, saying "Morton's dream is of his own glory...McBain's dream grows out of love for others" (110). Although this is still capitalist enterprise, McBain is not a railroad tycoon expanding for the sake of money and itself. He is a widower and a father and a newlywed trying to build some security and a legacy for his growing family.
While I can acknowledge it is not a perfect analogy, I believe there is sufficient evidence within the film to paint it as a commentary on the dark sides of capitalism. I have to think that it is not just a product of the Bernie Sanders campaign or my own personal lens. Perhaps Fawell puts it best when he says "Here the disillusioned Socialist seems to transpose the dream of twentieth century socialism on to the terrain of the old West. The final image o the film depicts a world in which the destructive machinery of capitalism has given way to a respect for workers and their comforts" (110).
Thursday, October 1, 2015
What was that!?
Playtime, by Jacques Tati, is a film unlike any other I have ever seen, and likely unlike any other film, period. Some have likened the action onscreen to a dance, including Bruce Bennet, who said of Tati's work: "Choreographed, repetitive movement is very important in his films and the result here is almost an urban ballet" (Introduction to Playtime, 2013). In addition to its visual spectacle, Playtime can also be appreciated for its unconventional sound design. This can be especially appreciated when considering the time of the sound production, preferences towards small details, and the progression of sound throughout the film.
The sound in Tati's fourth film were all produced after-the-fact. Although actors would say the lines during shooting, they were not recorded live. This results in some lines of dialogue being more or less in sync than others. The scene the beginning of the film in which a woman behind a counter is announcing the arrival of a flight from Germany, her mouth looks slightly out of sync to the words she is supposed to be saying. Rather than breaking the illusion of the film, this bending (not quite breaking) of the sync event serves to heighten the viewer's sense of sound. Tati's ability to capture the audiences aural attention was enhanced by the process of post-dubbing.
Post-dubbing also gave Tati the ability to highlight our attention to small details. Originally shot on 70mm film, Playtime is essentially a "Where's Waldo" book on screen for two hours. The small details can help the viewer find "Waldo," or rather where the sound is coming from and thus where he or she should look. In his article, Bennet explains that rather than privileging dialogue "the sound effects are just as prominent on the soundtrack as speech and there is also very little scaling so that sounds coming from the background are often as loud on the soundtrack as sounds coming from action in the foreground" (2013). Examples of this include the main(-ish) character Monsieur Hulot as he walks across squeaky floors and hears a business man obsessively brushing off himself and his papers.
The isolated sounds, however, seem to give way to a more involved soundtrack as the film progresses. In the opening scene of the film we hear a hushed conversation accented by the sound of men walking along the floor and doors opening and closing, among other "small" sounds. Later, once we have passed the halfway point of the film, we are presented with a soundtrack of constant overlapping dialogue and what could be one of the longest free jazz jams of all time. This scene in the Royal Garden night club transitions through a small cafe to the conclusion of the film, which is accompanied by a carnival soundtrack and a visually represented merry-go-round. This grand crescendo of sound is subtle and made up of the subtle at first, yet it manages at its climax to be a raucous disarray.
The fact that the sound grew throughout Playtime is just one part of why the sound in this film is so fascinating. The post-dubbing process and emphasis on subtlety give the film an additional texture and depth. Tati's film is truly a marvelous spectacle to be seen and heard.
Also, it would not be fair (I don't think) to write about this film without at least mentioning that it is also a critical work taking on ultra-modern architecture, globalism, and perhaps the postmodern nomos that was developing in the director's time. It is actually so well done it's crazy.
The sound in Tati's fourth film were all produced after-the-fact. Although actors would say the lines during shooting, they were not recorded live. This results in some lines of dialogue being more or less in sync than others. The scene the beginning of the film in which a woman behind a counter is announcing the arrival of a flight from Germany, her mouth looks slightly out of sync to the words she is supposed to be saying. Rather than breaking the illusion of the film, this bending (not quite breaking) of the sync event serves to heighten the viewer's sense of sound. Tati's ability to capture the audiences aural attention was enhanced by the process of post-dubbing.
Post-dubbing also gave Tati the ability to highlight our attention to small details. Originally shot on 70mm film, Playtime is essentially a "Where's Waldo" book on screen for two hours. The small details can help the viewer find "Waldo," or rather where the sound is coming from and thus where he or she should look. In his article, Bennet explains that rather than privileging dialogue "the sound effects are just as prominent on the soundtrack as speech and there is also very little scaling so that sounds coming from the background are often as loud on the soundtrack as sounds coming from action in the foreground" (2013). Examples of this include the main(-ish) character Monsieur Hulot as he walks across squeaky floors and hears a business man obsessively brushing off himself and his papers.
The isolated sounds, however, seem to give way to a more involved soundtrack as the film progresses. In the opening scene of the film we hear a hushed conversation accented by the sound of men walking along the floor and doors opening and closing, among other "small" sounds. Later, once we have passed the halfway point of the film, we are presented with a soundtrack of constant overlapping dialogue and what could be one of the longest free jazz jams of all time. This scene in the Royal Garden night club transitions through a small cafe to the conclusion of the film, which is accompanied by a carnival soundtrack and a visually represented merry-go-round. This grand crescendo of sound is subtle and made up of the subtle at first, yet it manages at its climax to be a raucous disarray.
The fact that the sound grew throughout Playtime is just one part of why the sound in this film is so fascinating. The post-dubbing process and emphasis on subtlety give the film an additional texture and depth. Tati's film is truly a marvelous spectacle to be seen and heard.
Also, it would not be fair (I don't think) to write about this film without at least mentioning that it is also a critical work taking on ultra-modern architecture, globalism, and perhaps the postmodern nomos that was developing in the director's time. It is actually so well done it's crazy.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Gravity...Whoa
Well, I finally saw Alfonso Cuaron's Gravity, starring Sandra Bullock. I had heard mixed reviews about the film in the past, although all of the people I know who have seen it rave about the sound (or lack thereof) in space. I was not surprised then, when I learned we would be watching this film in a class focusing on film sound. I also was not surprised when the film blew me away about 20 minutes ago, although this has not lessened the impression the film had on me.
The sound mix for Gravity is innovative beyond just the realistically silent space scenes. The soundtrack for the film is in 7.1 surround sound, featuring a greater number of channels for sound. This can be considered an advancement on the standard 5.1 set up utilized by most major motion pictures. These additional channels are intended to create a "sphere" of sound around the viewer to better encapsulate them into the film.
This system is very effective in Gravity, although I personally did not feel enclosed in a "sphere." I did, however, notice an increased perspective on sound direction and location that did extend nearly 360 degrees around me. In scenes like the initial impact of the debris cloud the swinging of instruments was intensified by my understanding of their constant motion around Bullock's Dr. Stone. Shortly after, when we are given an extreme close up of Bullock while she spins, the sound perspective gives us an even clearer understanding of her constant spin, and thus her plight.
Sound perspective is not the only device that gives the viewer a heightened sense of a situation. Throughout the film silence is often broken by alarms that warn us of impending disaster. These signals often continue to go off throughout the ensuing action as a way to further extend the tension in an otherwise silent scene.
The juxtaposition of silence and sound is truly a multi-use tool in Gravity. During one scene which I found particularly striking, Dr. Stone is attempting to undock the Soyuz II spacecraft from the International Space Station while the station is burning up. Inside the Soyuz the viewer (or rather listener) hears a cacophony of sounds, including Dr. Stone's heavy, frantic breathing. The tight framing and distressing soundtrack give the viewer an impression of the peril she is in, and we become more and more emotionally involved. As the countdown expires we are suddenly transported outside of the escape pod. We watch in complete silence as the spacecraft is released from the space station and our heroine is assumed to be free. The absence of sounds of fear or celebration, or even of mechanical separation, communicate volumes on the indifference of space to our condition. This cut from sound to silence, repeated throughout the film, is continuously shocking and telling of more than dialogue ever could.
It is again repeated at the very end of the film, and serves as a reminder not only of the space that Dr. Stone has just escaped, but also of the spectacle of the sound design itself. As the protagonist is shot from a low angle, we see the sky and hear an angelic chorus rise as she looks up. As cliched as this may be, it is suddenly cut as the credits role, leaving the audience with silence again. This sound is soon punctuated by radio signals in the same fashion as the beginning of the film. In a way, this final shift of sound made sure that I would remember that aspect of the film more than any other. Gravity is a thrilling film both to see and to hear.
The sound mix for Gravity is innovative beyond just the realistically silent space scenes. The soundtrack for the film is in 7.1 surround sound, featuring a greater number of channels for sound. This can be considered an advancement on the standard 5.1 set up utilized by most major motion pictures. These additional channels are intended to create a "sphere" of sound around the viewer to better encapsulate them into the film.
This system is very effective in Gravity, although I personally did not feel enclosed in a "sphere." I did, however, notice an increased perspective on sound direction and location that did extend nearly 360 degrees around me. In scenes like the initial impact of the debris cloud the swinging of instruments was intensified by my understanding of their constant motion around Bullock's Dr. Stone. Shortly after, when we are given an extreme close up of Bullock while she spins, the sound perspective gives us an even clearer understanding of her constant spin, and thus her plight.
Sound perspective is not the only device that gives the viewer a heightened sense of a situation. Throughout the film silence is often broken by alarms that warn us of impending disaster. These signals often continue to go off throughout the ensuing action as a way to further extend the tension in an otherwise silent scene.
The juxtaposition of silence and sound is truly a multi-use tool in Gravity. During one scene which I found particularly striking, Dr. Stone is attempting to undock the Soyuz II spacecraft from the International Space Station while the station is burning up. Inside the Soyuz the viewer (or rather listener) hears a cacophony of sounds, including Dr. Stone's heavy, frantic breathing. The tight framing and distressing soundtrack give the viewer an impression of the peril she is in, and we become more and more emotionally involved. As the countdown expires we are suddenly transported outside of the escape pod. We watch in complete silence as the spacecraft is released from the space station and our heroine is assumed to be free. The absence of sounds of fear or celebration, or even of mechanical separation, communicate volumes on the indifference of space to our condition. This cut from sound to silence, repeated throughout the film, is continuously shocking and telling of more than dialogue ever could.
It is again repeated at the very end of the film, and serves as a reminder not only of the space that Dr. Stone has just escaped, but also of the spectacle of the sound design itself. As the protagonist is shot from a low angle, we see the sky and hear an angelic chorus rise as she looks up. As cliched as this may be, it is suddenly cut as the credits role, leaving the audience with silence again. This sound is soon punctuated by radio signals in the same fashion as the beginning of the film. In a way, this final shift of sound made sure that I would remember that aspect of the film more than any other. Gravity is a thrilling film both to see and to hear.
Friday, September 25, 2015
Documentary Films, man
Documentary filmmaking has, as I have recently learned, a very long and fascinating history dating back to the 1920's and 30's. While this seems like information that should be readily observable, I never picked it up before. So there I was in class this week realizing that despite my Netflix viewing history, when it comes to documentary, I'm a novice.
To be fair, novice may be too strong of a term. After all, I have seen Dziga Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera about 6 times since I started school at CU. However, it is still easy to miss the film's documentary value until considering the film as a documentary, as Kino Pravda (Cinema of Truth) as the Russians of the time would put it. The film contains an almost encyclopedic collection of images tied to the place and time of it's production. It is masterful in its own way, and yet, this blog isn't about that film.
This blog is about Perfect Film, by Ken Jacobs. This film represents another that I did not think of as documentary when I saw it. However, in hindsight, it is fairly obvious that in some way this film continues in the tradition of "Kino Pravda" or "Cinema Verite." How this is can probably be best explained by Jacobs himself. "For the straight scoop we need the whole scoop, or no less than the clues entire and without rearrangement." (http://zine.artcat.com/2008/10/ken-jacobs-perfect-film.php)
The scoop presented in Perfect Film is that of the assassination of Malcolm X. Jacobs accidentally discovered discarded footage of interviews conducted on the day of the shooting and decided to present them in their entirety. In between sets of interviews, Jacobs shows the "B reel" with images of the neighborhood surrounding the event in question.
This style of exposing an event without gratuitous editing ignores the prevailing pressures of "entertainment" and industry. Jacobs gives us a true picture or a "straight scoop," therefore allowing us, the viewers, to interpret the meaning of these events in our own way. You know, when it's written out that way, it's hard to imagine ever seeing this film as anything other than documentary. I'm embarrassed, but I digress.
Perfect Film is perhaps a perfect film. It reminds me of Jean Rouch's Chronicle of a Summer with its street interviews. In this film, the audio and the image are shown to us from one angle with which we may learn what we can from the interviewed. However, there can only be one perfect film, and Jacobs takes precedence over Rouch in this case. Perfect Film is raw, uncut, and poignant even today.
To be fair, novice may be too strong of a term. After all, I have seen Dziga Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera about 6 times since I started school at CU. However, it is still easy to miss the film's documentary value until considering the film as a documentary, as Kino Pravda (Cinema of Truth) as the Russians of the time would put it. The film contains an almost encyclopedic collection of images tied to the place and time of it's production. It is masterful in its own way, and yet, this blog isn't about that film.
This blog is about Perfect Film, by Ken Jacobs. This film represents another that I did not think of as documentary when I saw it. However, in hindsight, it is fairly obvious that in some way this film continues in the tradition of "Kino Pravda" or "Cinema Verite." How this is can probably be best explained by Jacobs himself. "For the straight scoop we need the whole scoop, or no less than the clues entire and without rearrangement." (http://zine.artcat.com/2008/10/ken-jacobs-perfect-film.php)
The scoop presented in Perfect Film is that of the assassination of Malcolm X. Jacobs accidentally discovered discarded footage of interviews conducted on the day of the shooting and decided to present them in their entirety. In between sets of interviews, Jacobs shows the "B reel" with images of the neighborhood surrounding the event in question.
This style of exposing an event without gratuitous editing ignores the prevailing pressures of "entertainment" and industry. Jacobs gives us a true picture or a "straight scoop," therefore allowing us, the viewers, to interpret the meaning of these events in our own way. You know, when it's written out that way, it's hard to imagine ever seeing this film as anything other than documentary. I'm embarrassed, but I digress.
Perfect Film is perhaps a perfect film. It reminds me of Jean Rouch's Chronicle of a Summer with its street interviews. In this film, the audio and the image are shown to us from one angle with which we may learn what we can from the interviewed. However, there can only be one perfect film, and Jacobs takes precedence over Rouch in this case. Perfect Film is raw, uncut, and poignant even today.
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Symphonic Synchronization in Nevsky (with a little Pierrot le Fou)
The study of sound and vision is one that can bring out many different aspects of films. I have been amazed so far at how many sounds and conventions I have overlooked in watching films and also at what I already know and notice. In a film like Pierrot Le Fou, which I have seen twice before, the sound is even more complex and in-depth than I initially realized.
The opening sequence of Godard's film contains shots of life in Paris, paired with a soundtrack of non-related voiceover narration and no noise, ambient or other. Shortly in, an ominous symphonic soundtrack that is just as quickly ripped away as we join our main character in the bath. In a way, this voiceover-source revealed is reminiscent of film noir openings, but it maintains stylistic differences both in the cinematography and the disjointed pairing of other tracks. The soundtracking that Godard uses throughout the film draws me to wonder at his motives in choosing which parts to keep silent, which parts to have narration, which parts to use music, and which parts to combine elements.
Fortunately, some directors do let us into this part of their worlds. In one of this week's readings, Sergei Eisenstein discusses his work with sound and composers, specifically for his film Alexander Nevsky. For his film, Eisenstein sought to bind sound and image "organically through movement." This can be observed (as we learned in class) especially in the "battle on the ice sequence," which is when, according to Eisenstein, "the audio-visual aspect of Alexander Nevsky achieves its most complete fusion." In the battle, often times when knights lower their spears for attack, the music also travels down the scale. This is complemented by high notes when the spears are in the air and a quick descending flurry when arrows are fired. In his writings on the synchronization, Eisenstein goes as far as to include images of his charting of the shots, the motion implied, and the accompanying musical score in which the levels and motion are mimicked by the notes on the staff.
I find this to be a fascinating concept, and one that I think deserves more experimentation. We are perhaps, held back from this type of learning by the current profit-first Hollywood system of fast cutting.
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