The Disobedient Fairytale: How Guillermo del Toro’s Use Of Recontextualization Transforms Film Itself

 

There were two books that shaped the world of a young middle-class boy in Guadalajara Mexico, an encyclopedia of health and an encyclopedia of art.His obsession with the macabre seemed to grow from his interest in human anatomy and how the body is changed by diseases, which intermingled with the romanticist artists such as Fuseli, Caspar David Friedrich and Piranesi. “All these people became to me as much a part of my childhood imaginarium as comic-book illustrators.” He told The Guardian in 2015. His interest in dissecting the human body and the transformations that can occur within them transferred to art and literature, taking an artist’s work apart in order to understand the inner workings. It was 1992 when an independent Mexican film known as Cronos (1993) went into production. With only a two million dollar budget, first-time filmmaker Guillermo del Toro solidified his place in movie history by creating a work unlike anyone had ever seen. It took influence from a variety of sources that del Toro cites in depth; Throughout this one film, influences can be found ranging from Pope Silvester II, 1970s Mexican macabre jewelry , Greek mythological figures like Cronos the Titan King, famous Latin American literature, French alchemists, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Christian lore, and so on  Del Toro continues to utilize “hypertextuality” in all his films, which literary scholar George Landow defines as “one-to-many linking” , and the allowance of “textual openness, intertextuality and the irrelevance of distinctions between inside and outside a particular text”. Del Toro is constantly using his vast knowledge of references in this way when building the worlds and characters in each of his films.

But what makes del Toro’s work unique and “creative”  in comparison to other auteurs is found in how he recontextualizes the meaning of these references. He does not simply combine two different literary sources, but transforms what they mean entirely by subverting the audience’s expectations of them. Margaret Boden argues that creativity is divided into different subcategories known as combinatorial, exploratory and transformational, with the latter being the most “surprising” of the three and therefore the more impactful. The basis for transformational creativity having perceived dominance over the other forms comes from “radical changes to a space, not just small tweaks which Boden implies is a qualitative difference.”. Under this definition, del Toro’s work would be considered “less creative” since it utilizes already existing texts and so they are not “radically original ideas”. But what this definition does not clarify is the constraints of that space and how it makes it impossible for a work to become transformational unless it breaks the very rules of the space itself.  Del Toro’s work is transformational within the medium of film as he completely flips familiar conventions on their head to the point where their original meaning is irrelevant outside the context of the film, indicating that creative output is not lessened by the constraining factor of the space as Boden’s theory hypothesizes.

In order to consider del Toro’s work as transformative, there needs to be a clear definition of  what is considered a transformative space to work in, and how radical a change has to be to a space in order to become transformative. Boden does not clarify exactly how the “conceptual space” that creativity is to be made in is determined and even states it needs to be elaborated on. Graeme Ritchie’s Transformational Creativity Hypothesis (2006) attempts to determine the limits of  Boden’s transformational space and how it could be defined. He comes to the conclusion that transformational creativity still has to work within a medium, for if it is altered too much, it can no longer be considered to be part of that medium. “The logically possible set of games is exactly the conceptual space, so no valid game of chess can display transformational creativity – the only way that a chess player can be transformationally creative is to invent new rules”. But if new rules are invented,  it would no longer be considered a game of chess, in the same way if a film no longer utilized a video screen it can no longer be a film, or a fairy tale without a magical quest is not a fairy tale. Even Boden admits that creativity has to exist within constraints. “ It follows too, that constraints–far from being opposed to creativity—make creativity possible. To throw away all constraints would be to destroy the capacity for creative thinking”.  If this is to be believed, del Toro’s work is  transformative as it disobeys every single known convention in both textual literature and film to create a new meaning that an audience can infer, but still adhering to the constraints of the medium. Unlike other “auteurs” of his time, del Toro does not take an authoritarian role in his storytelling, he does not tell the audience how to view the story, only giving information through visuals. It is the audience that has power of meaning-making, not the filmmaker, which is counter-intuitive to what most are familiar with (Kotecki 243). In his magnum opus Pan’s Labyrinth (2006). There are many familiar references throughout the film, most prominently are a pair of red shoes worn by the child protagonist Ofelia that del Toro highlights in several shots.  Film journalist and video essayist Evan Puschak discusses the references in his analysis, Pan’s Labyrinth: the Disobedient Fairytale (2015).  Puschak states the shoes themselves are references to the glamourous fairy tales of The Wizard of Oz (1939) and The Red Shoes (1948), which is recontextualized when compared to the piles of children’s shoes found in the Pale Man’s lair, a monster that eats children. This is then recontextualized again as the shoes are reminiscent of the piles of clothes discovered in Nazi concentration camps, which is recontextualized when compared in the context of the wider story, as the villain in this tale is a fascist captain during the Spanish Civil War.   The audience has to draw from their own repertoire of knowledge to decide exactly what they think the shoes represent. The meaning of this one symbol is transformed into meaning a variety of things, each is neither right or wrong , and hinges entirely on the viewer’s awareness or unawareness of  these references. But the surprise comes in the comparison, in how the original meaning is now transformed and woven with other references that seem unlikely or even unthinkable.

“Surprise” is often described as something unexpected, a new discovery that leads to a feeling of astonishment. Del Toro’s films take every day familiar symbols and tropes and completely delimit the established meanings so that it becomes a completely unique and new experience, a discovery that is not lessened simply because it was built on existing material. There is no such thing as an original idea, the only thing original is how that idea is presented, and del Toro with his mastery of transforming the known into the unknown, is truly deserving of the title “artist”.

 

 

 

 

 

Reluctant to Forget: A Critical Look at Editing in ‘Hiroshima Mon Amour’

 

The Tea Room is dimly lit, low music humming in the background as patrons laugh and drink merrily together. A couple sits in a secluded area, fingers intertwined. They have only known each other for a few hours and yet it feels like an eternity. Hiroshima, a place that had not long ago known death and destruction, invites a French woman to share her shame and darkest moments with it, memories of the past still weighing heavily on the conscious of Hiroshima’s people and the woman alike. The man listens to her intently as she recounts a past that can only be likened to a personal hell on earth. Alain Resnais’ Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) uses editing techniques such as flashback and montage in this particular sequence set in the Tea Room to present the viewer with clear insight into the mind of the woman. It explains to the viewer why she fears her own memories and why she, much like the people of Hiroshima, should embrace them in order to heal, influencing the audience to do the same in their own lives.

The sequence begins with the couple at a table in the Tea Room. The woman immediately begins speaking about Nevers, a cutaway to a river landscape shows Nevers as she narrates basic facts about it. “I grew up in Nevers. I learned to read in Nevers. I turned twenty in Nevers.” she says this as the scene cuts back to her at the table, the pretty view of the small town that she remembers is gone from the screen, establishing that the audience has free access to her mind and how she remembers certain events. This is a vital tool used to help the viewer feel connected to the woman and her pain, as they are now part of her life and privy to knowledge that the woman claims not even her husband is aware of.  Her Japanese lover asks her about the cellar she was locked in, a straight cut to the small claustrophobic space once again helps the viewer understand and visualize Nevers, but this time it is no longer a beautiful image of a river and instead a gloomy nightmare the woman spent her youth trapped in. The cell is a small, dark space with a narrow window as the only source of light and the medium to close-up shots make it feel smaller still. The woman looks longingly out the window in a medium shot, her hair shockingly short and similar to the survivors of Hiroshima shown in the opening sequence. By this point in time the audience’s attachment to the character allows them to immerse themselves in the environment she is describing via access to her memories, which in turn will only evoke sympathy from the audience about the events of Hiroshima. Memories are often described as appearing in flashes inside the human mind, and Resnais embodies that with the use of flashback.  As the woman begins to reminisce about her dead lover and her home, she realizes how truly painful it is to forget. In the same way, the audience is reminded to not forget such tragedies as World War II, and how human suffering only continues to exist in places like Hiroshima in 1959.

A close-up shot of the woman’s hands reaching for the man’s across the table juxtaposes with the next flashback of her fingers scraping and clawing at the walls of the cellar and then putting her wounded fingers in her mouth to suck on the blood. She describes that “hands are useless in the cellar” but her desperation propels her to continue this fruitless endeavor, hoping to somehow escape. The scene then cuts back to a close-up of the clean manicured fingers of the woman as they wrap around a glass of sake,she downs half of it in one go. The irony is that the woman is sharing her story to the man willingly, but at the same time is drinking alcohol to forget. The passage of time is apparent in these few shots, with the similar staging and focus on her fingers between the two shots aiding the audience in visualizing the shift in time. Also, aside from her stating that fourteen years have passed,  the woman’s hair in the present has grown out, but her expression remains the same.  Her hands still shake with a nervous energy, showing that time may heal the physical wounds, it does little to heal the emotional ones. Hiroshima also shows that it hasn’t fully healed, but is attempting to do so by creating peace films and a museum dedicated to the event as seen in earlier sequences, commemorating those who died.

The woman’s youthful appearance and carefree nature in the flashbacks are characterized by wide shots of her in open spaces, free and in love with a German soldier.When her lover is killed, these wide shots are juxtaposed and replaced with medium shots of the woman remaining static in a closed-off environment, like her room or the cellar, feeling trapped instead of free. In the present, close-up shots and her healthy appearance reveal that despite appearing healed,  she is still very wounded and broken inside. These close-ups reveal her true despair, focusing on her expression as she relives her memories.  These carefully chosen edits are powerful in making the viewer self-reflect and perhaps imagine how much the world around them has changed, from being a benign place before World War II and a hostile one during it. Though the war may be over for viewers in 1959, invisible wounds still bleed for many who remember and suffered, and forgetting about them would do little to help heal the scars still left on society.

As the woman continues to fall deeper into her own memories, the man assumes the role of her dead lover, a German soldier and enemy of France. A jukebox is turned on in the background, a diegetic romantic accordion piece begins to play as he questions her. “Am I dead?” he asks her, and suddenly darkness enshrouds her, as if she is no longer consciously present, instead far away in Nevers France. The lighting change is visible and immediate as she moves back and further away from the key light and towards the shadows behind her. As the sequence continues to cut back between the present and her memories, the shadows continue to cover more and more of her, signifying that she is becoming too involved in her own memories to be consciously present. “You’re dead.” she answers, and the lifeless figure of the German soldier appears on screen, and then it suddenly cuts back to her pained expression. As she tells the Japanese lover of each horrid moment, the editing is sparse with long cuts that let each event play out. The memory where she walks through a crowd of townspeople shaming her feels long and gruelling in order to achieve its desired effect of creating pity in the viewer for her. This is also the scene where the music starts to build, the diegetic jukebox getting louder as the people yell and laugh at her.  It is at this point in time that she is unable to separate the past from the present; her memories taking total control. Finally, she emerges out of the shadows, symbolizing she is consciously aware of the present, screaming and is only quieted by two harsh slaps to her face, the music going silent with the sudden shock. Multiple cuts of other patrons turning to look at her only adds to the severity of the slaps.  She smiles, realizing the past cannot harm her here, and the romantic melody begins to play again, as if nothing has ever even occurred. The editing so vividly reflects what reliving a traumatic event looks like with random cuts of footage that vary in length and subject without a temporal value given to them. It is up to the audience to determine the order and what makes the most sense to them.  By including a short medium shot of her screaming out the window to a wide closeup of her in the cellar sitting quietly, it simulates how people remember events, which is in disjointed pieces. It  also enables the viewer to lose themselves in the memory, her narration giving context to the shots of her despairing figure as she is kept hidden away from the town. The audience too is shocked out of her imaginings and brought to reality with the exaggerated noise of the slaps. The editing hypnotizes the viewer with its blatant simulation of memory, to recall their own past, something that most audiences of the time are reluctant to do as WWII is still too recent, inducing an emotional response that effectively establishes a connection between them and the film.

What Hiroshima Mon Amour represents is the importance of healing and the pain of forgetting. Resnais’ depiction of a broken woman’s inability to let go of her past serves as a metaphor for the people of Hiroshima, and how forgetting what has happened does not necessarily mean all emotional wounds have healed. As tragic as the atomic bomb destroying Hiroshima was, if it is not remembered and preserved by those who suffered through it, then all is meaningless. Resnais accurately encapsulated hurtful memories and translated it through editing into something meaningful for the viewers, creating flashbacks that so intricately provide visuals to the tragic backstory the woman tells. It can only promote an emotional investment in the story. The film also provides a narrative the audience can understand and sympathize with such as lost love and demonstrates how it is easily a parallel for the thousands of stories of Hiroshima and World War II survivors still unable to move on fourteen years after the end of the war. Perhaps even now, in a time where history is captured via cameras and the internet, we too need think about the events that changed us for the better and for the worse, and imprint them in our memory, not in our devices so that we can only move forward, never faltering on the path of life.

 

Between Sin and Redemption: A Film Review on Ingmar Bergman’s ‘Seventh Seal’

Film is an artistic medium I have always been drawn to, a personal intrigue thatultimately convinced me to join a drama program and fuelled my desire to work in the film industry. With that regard, I am always interested to watch something unique, whether it is from this century orthe last, and dissect it in the most intimate way possible if it happens to earn my respect. I didn’t know what to expect before viewing The Seventh Seal in all its metaphysical glory, but it would be impossible to deny the true genius found within every frame and second of Antonius Block’s insatiable quest for God. It enraptured me, to view a world so utterly destroyed by an incurable disease and how desperation can drive people to extreme measures in order to find “salvation”.

The agonizing cries of the flagellators overpowers the joyful sounds of the troupe’s performance, reminding the viewer that the land is filled with nothing but Death, for he holds the fate of everyone. I immediately thought back to my English course, the idea of existentialism and the futility of life instantly connected the dots I didn’t see before. This film was made in the nineteen fifty’s, a time when Death was very apparent and a very real threat in the form of the atomic bomb. This concept would stay etched in my memory, and helped me understand exactly where Ingmar Bergman’s thoughts were coming from. Now knowing this futility and feeling of hopelessness so heavily demonstrated in the unflinching face of the personified Death, it wasn’t hard to guess that the characters journeying with the faithful Block would be doomed to die in the end. If they had escaped Death, then Bergman’s point would have been diluted, for his message is simply that death is inevitable. A chess game must end, it cannot continue forever, and Block’s attempts at buying time for himself earned him no answers, and only plunged him further into his uncertainty of ever obtaining proof of God. This blasphemous wish the Crusader has that his squire Jὂns is unable to thwart, only seals his fate further, for it is the belief of Christianity that you must only have faith in God, not knowledge which is to be taken as a sin. Block’s desire to have proof of God before he dies represents humanity and a question every individual has asked themselves at one point in their lives. We as humans wish to know things beyond our understanding, including the meaning of life, and when Block begins to slowly learn that there is perhaps no meaning to life, he seems almost at a loss of what to do next. However in a final act of redemption by purposely losing his chess game with Death, Block believes that maybe his soul will be saved after sparing something so pure which is the beautiful family of Jof and Mia from Death’s crushing hold. In Bergman’s mind however, this is meaningless, a simple act of selflessness does not call to an entity that will save a person’s soul from the eternity of Death, especially when such a savior does not exist. The final scene at the end of the film where Block and his companions are performing a danse macabre shows death’s finality, for they are bound to it and almost succumb to its hold.

Bergman’s genius is in his story- telling, the imagery used to represent his own inner turmoil, engraves itself on the mind, for it is heavy content that is an allegory for reality. I may not necessarily agree with Bergman’s beliefs, but it would be an utter lie to say that the Seventh Seal did not make me question what I hold in my heart to be true about the world. If there is one thing I learned, it is this: Death is one exceptional dancer, and eventually one day we will join him, unable to escape his music.

STAR WARS and the Art of the “Mystery Box”

Many opinions have been flying around about the potential love interests for Rey after only ten days of the film’s release, with a large portion of the community leaning (unsurprisingly) to the darkside in the form of the Kylo Ren and Rey pairing. Many of the arguments against the pairing have already been posted (Incest, abuse…etc.) but I will be focusing primarily on why there is a good chance they may be the main love story of the next three episodes.

As many people have pointed out, there is a lot of evidence pointing towards Finn and Rey becoming a couple. They meet on Jakku in the midst of a huge action scene, they have a chemistry and connection that allows them to escape the First Order via the Millennium Falcon, Finn constantly trying to impress her and the obvious emotional reactions each of them have when either is knocked out and/or kidnapped. And all of this evidence would solidly place the two in a position where their relationship could evolve into a romance, but there is one factor that has to be considered;

This is a JJ Abrams production, and if there is one thing JJ Abrams hatesabove all else in a film, it is predictability. Rey and Finn are too predictable, and that is exactly what Mr. Abrams wants you to think, it’s a misdirection. This isn’t the first time he has used a tactic like this, it is seen in majority of his work (*cough cough Lost) but I will mainly be focusing on examples from Abram’s other major project, Star Trek and how some of the elements seen in those films may be utilized in Star Wars *Spoilers for Star Trek and Star Wars ahead*  

One thing everyone can agree on at this point is that JJ is a ballsy guy. In the 2009 Star Trek film, a Romulan ship called the Nerada travels through a wormhole in space in order to kill commander Spock, the Vulcan they think is responsible for destroying their entire homeworld.But they arrive about 30 years too early. In the process,  they actually destroy the U.S.S Kelvin, which kills Captain Kirk (the main character of Star Trek’s) father, which results in an alternate timeline being formed. This is a very smart move on good ol’ JJ’s part because it gives him free reign to change everything in the original story without actually having to mess with the original canon because it is not the same universe anymore. The destruction of the Kelvin has huge repercussions on the rest of the story, resulting in Kirk growing up abused by his uncle, his mother depressed and estranged from him, which overall effects his personality and outlook on the world. He is angrier, darker, and far more rebellious and carefree than the original Kirk. Besides the personality changes, an alternate timeline means that fans and people who are familiar with the Star Trek story are unable to predict where the storyline is heading. It becomes a “surprise.”

Originally posted by beam-me-up-broadway

A Film Theory episode came out recently about Luke going to the darkside, and explored in depth why JJ would be willing to go down that road, but in sum, JJ’s philosophy on films is that the story, characters, and conclusion should be a “mystery box” that is eventually revealed to the audience but it constantly leaves them guessing up until the very end. He even cites the original Star Wars as an example, explaining how the opening shots of Leia (who we know nothing about) gives R2D2 a drive telling him to find Obi-wan Kenobi (Who we’ve never seen) while the motives, goals and conflicts of any character, faction or group remains hidden, prompting several questions that aren’t answered right away.

It is with that principle in mind that Abrams was able to destroy Spock’s home planet with the 6 billion Vulcans on it, endangering his species as well as killing his human mother Amanda, a prominent character in the original show and movies without anyone seeing it coming. it came out of left field, and was a shock that fans couldn’t really complain about because of the fact that it was an alternate dimension. But Abrams used this “shock value” concept again in TFA by having Kylo Ren kill his father, something Luke was unable to do in the original trilogy. It is heartbreaking because it is unexpected, and the audience has very little time to process the event because Han immediately falls into the depths of Starkiller base without saying a proper goodbye.

Why is any of this important? Because it gives us insight into JJ’s character. Like I said he’s  a ballsy director, and this is not only seen in the unexpected character deaths and destruction of planets throughout his films, but in romance as well.

In the first Star Trek movie JJ directed, it is revealed pretty early on that Kirk has a thing for Uhura. They meet in a bar, he asks her for her name which she only tells him her last name (Uhura) they banter a lot with Kirk making many flirtatious comments that the audience assumes she will reciprocate in time, and she even walks in on him having sex with her roommate at the academy. The formula of their interactions, the types of language and imagery used that is most commonly seen in the romance trope gives the audience the impression that the two will end up together.

Originally posted by startrekmovies

But this is not the case.

In one jaw-dropping scene that paralyzed the most devoted of Trekkies, Uhura passionately kisses Spock before he beams down to the planet below, and he reciprocates in kind, murmuring her first name, “Nyota” as Kirk watches on with the same amount of confusion as everyone in the theater.

Originally posted by naoki-sensei

Uhura wasn’t turning down Kirk’s attempts at wooing her because she was playing hard-to-get, but because she already had a boyfriend. Holy. Crap.

Spock and Uhura? who would have thought? No one, because they barely had any interactions in the show that insinuated an attraction beyond that of being acquaintances. It is far more likely, far more predictable,  to assume that Uhura would fall for the charming bad-boy Kirk instead of the emotionally void (but sometimes violent) Spock who would most likely believe a relationship between co-workers to be “illogical”. But that’s why JJ did it, because literally no one would see it coming.

Once again, there are many parallels in TFA that we can already see forming that are reminiscent of certain JJ-isms from other films. Finn and Rey meet, and they seem absolutely perfect for each other, following the whole boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl gets taken away, boy tries to get her back, boy and girl overcome obstacle, boy gets hurt,  boy and girl return home. Girl then goes on epic quest and leaves the boy she cares for behind.  it is not exactly a damsel in distress story, but  the audience naturally believes that the next progression for the two will be love. The story is structured in such a way that it is impossible to believe anything else can happen.

Haha. Nice try, this is Abrams we’re talking about, and as demonstrated byStar Trek that means they are doomed to stay in the friendzone or something far worse.

So who would fit the bill then? If Star Wars is a cycle doomed to repeat itself with each new trilogy possessing at least one love story, then exactly who can appeal to JJ’s “mystery box” philosophy?

The answer is Kylo Ren.

You see, JJ’s choices may seem shocking and strange, but they never are outside the realm of possibility. The reason why Spock and Uhura end up together is because Kirk joined Starfleet way after the original Kirk did, meaning they hadn’t formed a friendship that may have influenced the original characters to not even consider a romantic relationship with each other. In TFA Rey and Ren have already demonstrated that they have a connection via the force, and whatever Rey’s past may be (a mystery box) it is somehow related to Kylo Ren. You may argue that Rey possessing Skywalker blood is the answer, which would make Ren and Rey cousins but I am not really convinced that is true.

Yes, it was a shock when Darth Vader revealed that Luke was his son in the original trilogy, but that in itself has become predictable. “I am Your Father” has been used in pop culture so frequently that it is redundant and clearly something JJ has considered. If Rey really is Luke’s daughter than her past is revealed and it no longer captures the type of mind-blowing power Darth Vader and Luke’s moment had. With JJ, you cannot trust what may seem obvious to you, because there is always a twist. (See Cumberbatch’s reveal of “I am Khan” in Star Trek: Into Darkness)

What does this mean then? Well, a relationship between Ren and Rey remain in the realm of possibility and her origins do not result in the same incest-infused confusion that left a generation flabbergasted and a little grossed out. It becomes a tension-fuelled, emotionally gripping tale of two people from opposite sides of a war (the fight scene when the earth literally splits them apart was a little on the nose there, Abrams) who are struggling with the Light and Dark that exists inside of them, each trying to purge that little  bit of remaining light/dark within them to become pure. However, as the war trudges on and each becomes stronger with their training ( Ren with Snoke and Rey with Luke) the weird pull they have towards each other will also grow stronger. Rey has already proven she is stronger than Ren, and her influence over him will most likely penetrate deeper than any other character. Compassion seems to be the key in Star Wars and as noted in the novel, Ren has already shown to have compassion for Rey. Darth Vader is one of those strange characters that went to the dark side for love and returned to the light for love when he saved Luke, redeeming himself with his dying breath.  So who’s to say that Ren, a man who literally wants to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps would not return to the light for love, falling for a girl whose powers exceed his own and whose influence will leave a lasting impression?

So, even though a relationship between them seems impossible as they have totally different personalities and motives, is it really that hard to believe?  It’s hard-pressed to say at the moment, But when it comes to JJ, anything can be fair game.