In the classroom there is inherent tension. This tension exists within the spheres of human knowledge and human relationship. With knowledge there is the tension between the known and the unknown. With relationship there is the tension between the teacher and the student. These two spheres are interrelated and influence each other. Traditionally it has been believed that these dialectics have been about one having power over the other, being more akin to binaries. The teacher has power over the student. He or she has the knowledge and disseminates that to willing (or unwilling) receptacles. The teacher owns the known and the students live in the unknown. This relationship is viewed as inherently oppressive. However, the reality is that the known and the unknown have a dialectical tension instead of a binarily oppressive relationship. If one equalizes the value of known and unknown then that tension creates a space for mutual creation. Sartre speaks of a dialectical relationship between the reader and the writer. This is essentially the same as that which exists between the student and the teacher. He argues that since writings only exist insofar as one engages with them (via projecting, conjecture, or foresight) and that engagement is inherently creative, then both the reader and the writer have mutually important roles.
What results is that a work of art becomes a classroom, but not the oppressive traditional class with its known/unknown binary, rather the class that exists in that free space of tension between the two. In The Legend of Qiu Ju we see an exemplary use of that space. Sartre declares that that space is created and maintained through generous silence. The great works of Dostoyevsky and his ilk are great, Sartre maintains, precisely because they remain silent in their intent. The author abandons ownership of the creation and generously remains mum, allowing that space of creation to be filled by the participator in the work (for they are not viewers nor consumers but co-creators). The particular use of this principle in The Legend of Qiu Ju is what makes it remarkable. There are two significant uses of cinematic reticence in the Film that posit this space as a place of readerly creation.
The first is the simple realism of the mise en scéne. The majority of the actors were non-professional. Many shots were taken without the “extras” knowing that they were being filmed which lent a sense of non-imposition in the creation and opens the space between reader and writer. The imperative is weakened and the audience is freed. In addition the camera is set at eye level, often in a voyeuristic position to allow the audience to feel that the action is free from imperative. A voyeur does not impose upon his or her subject rather they watch and create a story about the individual upon whom they are casting they eye. Therefore, using this technique the participators in the film are invited to create their own version of the story as the voyeur does about their subject. In addition, the editing of the film contributes to this generous silence. We do not see all that happens to Qiu Ju. We are often placed in a scene in the middle of a moment. We see Qiu Ju and her sister in the back of the motor-cart with their bicycle somewhere in the middle of their journey, but we do not see them get on and off. While this moment is highly constructed, it makes the audience think that it is not because there is no tidy beginning and ending to the scene, a hallmark of “well-crafted” film. That once again gives us freedom; it is a silence space to create along with the author.
The second way silence is used is in the final shot of the film. After a long, laborious journey through the bureaucracy of Chinese Jurisprudence Qiu Ju is ready to forgive the chief of her village (due to his saving of her baby and her own life). On the cusp of celebration, she is informed that because her husband has a broken rib due to the altercation that started this whole kerfuffle the Chief is sentenced to jail-time. Qiu Ju runs to, what we assume, intervene. She reaches a road hears the sirens. The camera settles on her anxious expression and freezes. It is never explained what that means. The imperative is enough to tell us that it means something, but leaves space to us to fill. This simple act leads to a multiplicity of creative efforts on the part of the participators in reading the film. That moment leaves us free to create the significance and purpose of it much in the same way that Kubrick uses the silence of the last 15 minutes of 2001:a Space Odyssey or the Coens use that shot of Anton Chigur checking his boots after his confrontation with Llewllyn’s widow in No Country for Old Men. We are given freedom in that space of tension between the known and the unknown.
Be it Qiu Ju or Space Odyssey or No Country, these films utilize this model of the writer/reader dialectic to inform the other dialectic of known/unknown. Both of these dialectics can come into play in the classroom. Sartre said that aesthetic imperative leads to the moral imperative, and these dialectics of art and film in particular demonstrate that dialectic of the classroom. That space of tension between the balanced reader/ writer and known/unknown can be a place of democratic learning in the classroom. By allowing for there to be a tension between what the teacher knows and what the student can create (the unknown) the oppressive nature of the classroom will be dissolved and freedom will take its place. Teachers (writers) abdicate their position as the owners of knowledge and then allow their students (readers) to create what they will within the imperative structure of the class. If the text is 2001: a Space Odyssey the purpose is not to read what Kubrick or Arthur C. Clarke or the teacher intended (the imperative), it is, rather, to use the silence that Kubrick and Clarke allowed for in the film to create a space of tension between the known and the unknown and allow the student the freedom to create. If it is The Legend of Qiu Ju, one is not to declare that the film is about satiating our despair with the pursuit of justice in a bureaucracy, but rather explore the silence in the film with the other participators and create together. The great films are those that provide that opportunity, that in their aesthetic dialectical microcosm are generous enough to open that space of tension for a free mutual, and morally imperative, creative experience in the classroom.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Monday, October 21, 2013
Thneeds in the Metropolis: the Subsummation of Identity in King Vidor's The Crowd
Epicurus once said, “The time when most of you should withdraw into yourself is when you forced to be in a crowd.” Being is a crowd is not easy. Whether by choice or force the crowd levees an influence on the individual that many have marked detrimental. The crowd has been documented by several modern philosophers, theorists, and historians. Georg Simmell says in The Metropolis and Mental Life that “The deepest problems of modern life derive from the claim of the individual to preserve the autonomy and individuality of existence in the face of overwhelming social forces, of historical heritage, of external culture and technique of life.” In Mass Civilization and Minority Culture F. R. Leavis says that this “machine” of modernity , the metropolis of Simmell, eschews the finer things (where he would likely argue that we find our humanity) in the name of greater efficiency, better salesmanship, more mass production and standardization. He states that this modern media machine has a greater effect on the mind than reasoned thought. Neither of these are far from Marx. He observes that any society must first satisfy the needs of its people. Then, as they satisfy those needs, they are led to more needs separate from the original needs. As those needs expand one must make more relations to meet those needs. This expanding web of relations eventually becomes the metropolis of Simmell which produces the media machine of Leavis. Ultimately, humans suffer at the hands of the crowd. They attempt to make an identity unique from the crowd but are subsumed in the “needs” of consumption. Their relations become based upon the desire to fulfill those “needs” (perhaps in homage to the Oncler, we should call them thneeds.) It is in this conflict of the desire for uniqueness in the metropolis and the debasement of human relations based on thneeds that one can view The Crowd.
King Vidor’s The Crowd portrays in remarkable fashion the power of the metropolis to subsume the individual in consumption. The First example is in the portrayal of birth. At the on-set, we witness the birth of our protagonist. The location is a small town (Simmell calls this the rural, I will call it Smallville in contrast to Metropolis.) The birth is attended in a upper bedroom by a Doctor a nurse and the father and mother. The father’s presence is indicative of the life in Smallville. The birth of a child is a intimate family affair based on love and hope for the future. Immediately after birth the child is presented to the father who proudly proclaims his son’s uniqueness. It is a time of joy and interconnectedness.
This is contrasted later in the film to the birth of the protagonist’s first son. Instead of being attended in their home by a small cohort of relations and professionals, the birth occurs in a veritable factory. The father is kept out and the women are in a ward of hundreds, a crowd of mothers. The natural occurrence of birth is replaced by the thneed of hospitalization which leads to the loss of individuality. Birth is a product to be fabricated and purchased and the producers are alienated from their work.
The next is seen in the death of the second child. The family has won $500 and our protagonist has purchased happiness in the form of gifts for the children. They call out the window for the children to come see the new toys. The two dash across the street with the younger falling behind. She is struck by a passing motorist. The parents horrified by the events run to her side. She is mortally wounded (there appears to be tire tracks across her midsection). The following scene shows them waiting around her hoping for a miracle. The father, clearly buried in guilt, tries to maintain the calm of the room for the benefit of the dying girl. Suddenly, there is a ruckus outside and the father rushes out to calm the crowd. Desperately he runs into a policeman, who, instead of showing empathy for the man, chastises him. He tells him that the world can’t stop just because his kid is sick. The crowd has spoken and the man returns to his home to see his daughter dead on the bed. This almost seems a punishment for a parents attempting to replace their relationship with their children with thneeds.
The final example of the film is the final scene. After losing his job (and countless others) due to the guilt that he feels, our protagonist is left by his wife who is fed up with his dreams of uniqueness and his failure. He has in an effort to save his family taken a job as a clown advertising for a restaurant. He shows her tickets to a show and pleads with her to come with him, with their remaining son, for a celebration. She concedes and they are shown in the auditorium laughing at the show with a packed house. It is clear that they are reconciled and the camera pulls away and they disappear into the crowd of laughing people. The final shot is a bird’s-eye of the audience with the music shifting dramatically to a minor chord indicating that this is no happy ending. This shot represents the theme of the whole piece. The metropolis destroys relationships and individuality. The family wants to remain whole, but to due so they must participate in the thneed of mass entertainment and lose their individual consciousness to the crowd.
The Crowd clearly illustrates the idea of the damage that urbanization and industrialization have perpetrated on our society and individuality. As the people of metropolis succumb to the blasé and sever their ties with others they seek to slake their thirst for uniqueness in consumption of mass media and products of the machine. But this uniqueness is a sham. For in that very process of consumption, they are being consumed by the crowd. They are left with our protagonist and his family laughing and eating and kissing, all self-medicating, as they disappear into that mass culture, the crowd.
King Vidor’s The Crowd portrays in remarkable fashion the power of the metropolis to subsume the individual in consumption. The First example is in the portrayal of birth. At the on-set, we witness the birth of our protagonist. The location is a small town (Simmell calls this the rural, I will call it Smallville in contrast to Metropolis.) The birth is attended in a upper bedroom by a Doctor a nurse and the father and mother. The father’s presence is indicative of the life in Smallville. The birth of a child is a intimate family affair based on love and hope for the future. Immediately after birth the child is presented to the father who proudly proclaims his son’s uniqueness. It is a time of joy and interconnectedness.
This is contrasted later in the film to the birth of the protagonist’s first son. Instead of being attended in their home by a small cohort of relations and professionals, the birth occurs in a veritable factory. The father is kept out and the women are in a ward of hundreds, a crowd of mothers. The natural occurrence of birth is replaced by the thneed of hospitalization which leads to the loss of individuality. Birth is a product to be fabricated and purchased and the producers are alienated from their work.
The next is seen in the death of the second child. The family has won $500 and our protagonist has purchased happiness in the form of gifts for the children. They call out the window for the children to come see the new toys. The two dash across the street with the younger falling behind. She is struck by a passing motorist. The parents horrified by the events run to her side. She is mortally wounded (there appears to be tire tracks across her midsection). The following scene shows them waiting around her hoping for a miracle. The father, clearly buried in guilt, tries to maintain the calm of the room for the benefit of the dying girl. Suddenly, there is a ruckus outside and the father rushes out to calm the crowd. Desperately he runs into a policeman, who, instead of showing empathy for the man, chastises him. He tells him that the world can’t stop just because his kid is sick. The crowd has spoken and the man returns to his home to see his daughter dead on the bed. This almost seems a punishment for a parents attempting to replace their relationship with their children with thneeds.
The final example of the film is the final scene. After losing his job (and countless others) due to the guilt that he feels, our protagonist is left by his wife who is fed up with his dreams of uniqueness and his failure. He has in an effort to save his family taken a job as a clown advertising for a restaurant. He shows her tickets to a show and pleads with her to come with him, with their remaining son, for a celebration. She concedes and they are shown in the auditorium laughing at the show with a packed house. It is clear that they are reconciled and the camera pulls away and they disappear into the crowd of laughing people. The final shot is a bird’s-eye of the audience with the music shifting dramatically to a minor chord indicating that this is no happy ending. This shot represents the theme of the whole piece. The metropolis destroys relationships and individuality. The family wants to remain whole, but to due so they must participate in the thneed of mass entertainment and lose their individual consciousness to the crowd.
The Crowd clearly illustrates the idea of the damage that urbanization and industrialization have perpetrated on our society and individuality. As the people of metropolis succumb to the blasé and sever their ties with others they seek to slake their thirst for uniqueness in consumption of mass media and products of the machine. But this uniqueness is a sham. For in that very process of consumption, they are being consumed by the crowd. They are left with our protagonist and his family laughing and eating and kissing, all self-medicating, as they disappear into that mass culture, the crowd.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Coming Short of the Glory of God: Melancholy Pleasure in Fritz Lang's Seigfreid
Romanticism gets a bad rap. So often in our language of today “romantic” is seen as pejorative, or at least silly. To romanticize a topic is to idealize it in a naive way. While these thoughts are not without merit, there is usefulness to be found in the theory of the Romantic era. Both Poe and Shelley speak of poetry as having an inherently pleasurable aspect. In fact, Shelley is positing pleasure as the new great good, replacing empiricism and religion. The validity of a work is found in its ability to produce pleasure. That pleasure is also uniquely defined by Shelley. He says it “strengthens the affections, enlarges the imagination, [and] adds spirit to sense.” In other words pleasure improves upon all of our capacities, our creative abilities. It can make us better people and thereby, societies. It becomes more intriguing upon discovering that the pleasure of sorrow is desirable above pure pleasure. Poe chimes in by saying that melancholy is the “legitimate” tone of a poem. Shelley identifies this as “sorrow, terror, anguish, despair”, emotions that come from falling short of the highest good. This is indeed akin to the katharsis that Aristotle speaks of (and since Shelley adores the Greeks poets that makes sense) that is the great end of poetry.* Therefore, one can judge the value of a piece by determining its melancholy, the perverse pleasure of sorrow that it endows on its audience.
Fritz Lang, though long associated with the German Expressionist movement, taps into much of this ideology with his film Siegfried (1924). The film is devised in such a way as to appeal to the audience’s desire to witness failure. The film begins with the hero finishing a sword. The sword represents perfection. The wise old blacksmith (caveman?) upon seeing the sword and testing its hone deems it a work of perfection. Having achieved this, Siegfried is ready to begin his quest.
The sword is used to kill the dragon. The blood of the dragon will provide invulnerability to whoever bathes in it. The perfect tool is the doorway to the perfect body. Siegfried bathes in the blood but a leaf falls on his back and blocks the galvanizing fluid from a single spot. The hero then falls short of that perfection and we sense foreboding. That event presages Siegfried’s doom.
He uses his strength and apparent invulnerability to accomplish a variety of superhuman taskd. He succeeds at defeating the Dwarf king and taking his riches. He is made a king of 12 vassals. He helps the King defeat Broomhilde and secure their marriage. He marries the Kings sister and all is well. These events are calculated to assuage or fears regarding Siegfried’s one weakness. He makes it through all of these life threatening situations and remains in tact. We start to believe that he will achieve that perfection and yet the knowledge of that fault remains.
As the event leading up to his assassination are revealed we feel the darkness sink in. We know of Broomhilde’s plot. We feel the terror of inevitability. And yet, we continue with Siegfried and company. We know that doom is coming and we accept that, and perversely, want that. We desire the death of our hero at the same time as we are afraid to witness it.
When the death ultimately comes, and so innocently at that, we are not surprised. Though we watch through parted fingers, we are satisfied that the failure has come to fruition. That melancholy pleasure derived from the failure of our hero is compounded with the suicide of Broomhilde. She got her revenge and that achieves nothing for her. She kills herself upon realizing that she has nothing left to live for. We applaud her death. Had she lived we would have been disappointed.
This perverse pleasure in sorrow is a valid tool for understanding Fritz Lang’s Siegfried (1924). By setting pleasure as the highest goal and defining that pleasure by its twisted mirror, we can give value to the failure of the characters in the film. The failure of the protagonist is a powerful tool of reflexivity. We see in that failure our own. As Shelley states, “Neither the eye nor the mind can see itself, unless reflected upon that which it resembles.” We can identify our own Achilles Heel (or in this case Lindon Leaf Back) as we watch Siegfried die from his weakness. We can feel pleasure in our weakness, or perhaps, as Paul states “glory in [our] infirmities.” For in that empathy for the other, that recognition of that which lies in ourselves, can we find pleasure, or joy, or glory, in that which we can change. Surely we all fall short of that highest good, but in that reflection of art, we can begin to reach up again.
Fritz Lang, though long associated with the German Expressionist movement, taps into much of this ideology with his film Siegfried (1924). The film is devised in such a way as to appeal to the audience’s desire to witness failure. The film begins with the hero finishing a sword. The sword represents perfection. The wise old blacksmith (caveman?) upon seeing the sword and testing its hone deems it a work of perfection. Having achieved this, Siegfried is ready to begin his quest.
The sword is used to kill the dragon. The blood of the dragon will provide invulnerability to whoever bathes in it. The perfect tool is the doorway to the perfect body. Siegfried bathes in the blood but a leaf falls on his back and blocks the galvanizing fluid from a single spot. The hero then falls short of that perfection and we sense foreboding. That event presages Siegfried’s doom.
He uses his strength and apparent invulnerability to accomplish a variety of superhuman taskd. He succeeds at defeating the Dwarf king and taking his riches. He is made a king of 12 vassals. He helps the King defeat Broomhilde and secure their marriage. He marries the Kings sister and all is well. These events are calculated to assuage or fears regarding Siegfried’s one weakness. He makes it through all of these life threatening situations and remains in tact. We start to believe that he will achieve that perfection and yet the knowledge of that fault remains.
As the event leading up to his assassination are revealed we feel the darkness sink in. We know of Broomhilde’s plot. We feel the terror of inevitability. And yet, we continue with Siegfried and company. We know that doom is coming and we accept that, and perversely, want that. We desire the death of our hero at the same time as we are afraid to witness it.
When the death ultimately comes, and so innocently at that, we are not surprised. Though we watch through parted fingers, we are satisfied that the failure has come to fruition. That melancholy pleasure derived from the failure of our hero is compounded with the suicide of Broomhilde. She got her revenge and that achieves nothing for her. She kills herself upon realizing that she has nothing left to live for. We applaud her death. Had she lived we would have been disappointed.
This perverse pleasure in sorrow is a valid tool for understanding Fritz Lang’s Siegfried (1924). By setting pleasure as the highest goal and defining that pleasure by its twisted mirror, we can give value to the failure of the characters in the film. The failure of the protagonist is a powerful tool of reflexivity. We see in that failure our own. As Shelley states, “Neither the eye nor the mind can see itself, unless reflected upon that which it resembles.” We can identify our own Achilles Heel (or in this case Lindon Leaf Back) as we watch Siegfried die from his weakness. We can feel pleasure in our weakness, or perhaps, as Paul states “glory in [our] infirmities.” For in that empathy for the other, that recognition of that which lies in ourselves, can we find pleasure, or joy, or glory, in that which we can change. Surely we all fall short of that highest good, but in that reflection of art, we can begin to reach up again.
* Ironically, if Shelley is setting pleasure up as the great Good of society, and we derive pleasure from the falling short of the greatest good, then falling short of pleasure is what gives us the greatest pleasure.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Practicing Delicacy via The Fountain
“That is the stupidest movie I’ve ever seen!”
“What makes it stupid?”
“It sucks.”
“You’re gonna have to explain yourself.”
“Well, the ending. It didn’t have anything to do with the rest of it. I mean, what was the deal with the baby?”
“Let’s go back and look at it. Then maybe we can figure it out.”
As a teacher of film I have had this or similar conversations with my students after viewing Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. The conversation represents what is at the core of David Hume’s Of the Standard of Taste. We have our sentimental reaction to a piece of art. Kant describes it as pleasure or displeasure. This reaction however is subjective. Hume argues that one can perceive the beauty of a piece, that beauty is inherent. Those with sufficient reason and delicate sensibility will be able to properly critique a piece, while those ruffians and poseurs will use prejudice and sentiment to accept or reject it. Many of my students have not the reason nor delicacy to perceive the beauty peppered in the milieu of 2001. But all is not lost. Hume gives hope in that the quality of delicacy can be learned, like any skill, through practice and exposure. By exposing students to the “great works”, those that have the “uniform consent of nations and ages”, and modeling the discovery and analysis of those elements of beauty, the students can practice delicacy. Hume implies three questions to identify in pursuit of that delicacy: Does it work toward its intended end? Do the parts mutually relate and correspond to that end? Is the whole consistent and uniform? By utilizing these questions I can train my students in their delicate sensibilities which will lead to more appropriate critique.
Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain is an excellent opportunity to practice this delicacy. While Hume encourages multiple viewings, one can determine the beauty of the film by posing those essential questions.
First, does it work toward its intended end? To know this one must decide what that end is. It does not seem initially clear what the end of the film is to be. There are three stories introduced. The Conquistador, The Scientist, and the Hairless Space Traveller. Each story involves the character seeking after the cure to death. The conquistador is looking for the tree of life, whose sap leads one on to immortality. The Scientist is looking for a cure for brain cancer. The Hairless Space Traveller is journeying to the Mayan home of death and rebirth. This seems to indicate that the piece is intended to deal with the question of death and if death is an end that can be avoided. In all three cases, death endures and the protagonist must accept the demise of either himself or his love. All pieces work together to that end.
Second, do the parts mutually relate and correspond to that end? Each story is interconnected. This is represented visually in one way by the characters being played by the same actors. This indicates immediately that the characters of the three stories are interrelated. All three stories involve a tree in a significant role. The role varies however in its function. In the Conquistador story the tree is supernatural and has properties that will preserve life and provide immortality. This will save the queen from the threat of the inquisitor who brings death. In the Scientist story the tree is the source of a bark that has medicinal properties that cure cancer which brings death. The protagonist only wants the cure to save his wife. The Hairless Space Traveler has a tree that he talks to and treats as a loved one. He is traveling to save the tree’s life, while using the tree to preserve his own. The stories have these parts that work together to clarify the end. Each protagonist is a side of the same man. Each tree is a side of the same idea; that the man is using his relationship to run from death. While the man speaks of saving the tree, or the queen, or his wife, he still uses those things to preserve himself. The Conquistador greedily drinks the sap. The Scientist chooses his work to save his wife over spending time with her. The Hairless Space Traveler eats the bark and laments the death of the tree in personal terms. The pieces come together in the final sequence as we move between the stories and show the climaxes of each and the characters cross over the boundaries of the three stories. All the pieces are mutually related.
Finally, is the whole consistent and uniform? The film maintains a similar tone throughout. The melancholia and desperation of the three protagonists remains consistent throughout. They follow the same character arc though different facets. As noted before, they all three represent aspects of the same character. This character is dealing with the imminent death of his love. We see the hero, the memory, and the internal life of that man, played by the Conquistador, the Scientist, and the Hairless Space Traveller respectively. These parts are consistent and correspond with the intent of the first question. The intercutting of the climax helps bind the stories into one cohesive piece as the characters interplay with each other and point to that original intent.
These questions help to tease out the beauty of a piece and one can appreciate the aesthetic qualities as they relate to a whole. This approach will be useful in helping my students to access the films that they would more readily reject on the basis of prejudice or lack of experience in delicacy. As they refine their taste, they will better appreciate the beauty of less ostensibly accessible texts like The Fountain, and in doing so will then be able to access the complex ideologies that surround such texts. They will be able to appreciate the unique perspectives of filmmakers like Aronofsky or Kubrick and apply those perspectives to their own schema. It will make them more critical thinkers and help them down the path of inquiry to establish their own methodologies. That is what matters most to me as a teacher and that is what motivates me to teach film at all.
“What makes it stupid?”
“It sucks.”
“You’re gonna have to explain yourself.”
“Well, the ending. It didn’t have anything to do with the rest of it. I mean, what was the deal with the baby?”
“Let’s go back and look at it. Then maybe we can figure it out.”
As a teacher of film I have had this or similar conversations with my students after viewing Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. The conversation represents what is at the core of David Hume’s Of the Standard of Taste. We have our sentimental reaction to a piece of art. Kant describes it as pleasure or displeasure. This reaction however is subjective. Hume argues that one can perceive the beauty of a piece, that beauty is inherent. Those with sufficient reason and delicate sensibility will be able to properly critique a piece, while those ruffians and poseurs will use prejudice and sentiment to accept or reject it. Many of my students have not the reason nor delicacy to perceive the beauty peppered in the milieu of 2001. But all is not lost. Hume gives hope in that the quality of delicacy can be learned, like any skill, through practice and exposure. By exposing students to the “great works”, those that have the “uniform consent of nations and ages”, and modeling the discovery and analysis of those elements of beauty, the students can practice delicacy. Hume implies three questions to identify in pursuit of that delicacy: Does it work toward its intended end? Do the parts mutually relate and correspond to that end? Is the whole consistent and uniform? By utilizing these questions I can train my students in their delicate sensibilities which will lead to more appropriate critique.
Darren Aronofsky’s The Fountain is an excellent opportunity to practice this delicacy. While Hume encourages multiple viewings, one can determine the beauty of the film by posing those essential questions.
First, does it work toward its intended end? To know this one must decide what that end is. It does not seem initially clear what the end of the film is to be. There are three stories introduced. The Conquistador, The Scientist, and the Hairless Space Traveller. Each story involves the character seeking after the cure to death. The conquistador is looking for the tree of life, whose sap leads one on to immortality. The Scientist is looking for a cure for brain cancer. The Hairless Space Traveller is journeying to the Mayan home of death and rebirth. This seems to indicate that the piece is intended to deal with the question of death and if death is an end that can be avoided. In all three cases, death endures and the protagonist must accept the demise of either himself or his love. All pieces work together to that end.
Second, do the parts mutually relate and correspond to that end? Each story is interconnected. This is represented visually in one way by the characters being played by the same actors. This indicates immediately that the characters of the three stories are interrelated. All three stories involve a tree in a significant role. The role varies however in its function. In the Conquistador story the tree is supernatural and has properties that will preserve life and provide immortality. This will save the queen from the threat of the inquisitor who brings death. In the Scientist story the tree is the source of a bark that has medicinal properties that cure cancer which brings death. The protagonist only wants the cure to save his wife. The Hairless Space Traveler has a tree that he talks to and treats as a loved one. He is traveling to save the tree’s life, while using the tree to preserve his own. The stories have these parts that work together to clarify the end. Each protagonist is a side of the same man. Each tree is a side of the same idea; that the man is using his relationship to run from death. While the man speaks of saving the tree, or the queen, or his wife, he still uses those things to preserve himself. The Conquistador greedily drinks the sap. The Scientist chooses his work to save his wife over spending time with her. The Hairless Space Traveler eats the bark and laments the death of the tree in personal terms. The pieces come together in the final sequence as we move between the stories and show the climaxes of each and the characters cross over the boundaries of the three stories. All the pieces are mutually related.
Finally, is the whole consistent and uniform? The film maintains a similar tone throughout. The melancholia and desperation of the three protagonists remains consistent throughout. They follow the same character arc though different facets. As noted before, they all three represent aspects of the same character. This character is dealing with the imminent death of his love. We see the hero, the memory, and the internal life of that man, played by the Conquistador, the Scientist, and the Hairless Space Traveller respectively. These parts are consistent and correspond with the intent of the first question. The intercutting of the climax helps bind the stories into one cohesive piece as the characters interplay with each other and point to that original intent.
These questions help to tease out the beauty of a piece and one can appreciate the aesthetic qualities as they relate to a whole. This approach will be useful in helping my students to access the films that they would more readily reject on the basis of prejudice or lack of experience in delicacy. As they refine their taste, they will better appreciate the beauty of less ostensibly accessible texts like The Fountain, and in doing so will then be able to access the complex ideologies that surround such texts. They will be able to appreciate the unique perspectives of filmmakers like Aronofsky or Kubrick and apply those perspectives to their own schema. It will make them more critical thinkers and help them down the path of inquiry to establish their own methodologies. That is what matters most to me as a teacher and that is what motivates me to teach film at all.
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