On "Boyz N the Hood"

Wow, I didn't realize I had so few posts! Unfortunately I've been forgetting my blog posts lately (obviously) so I'm going to do these last two extra ones in the hopes of redeeming my absentmindedness. :)

Yesterday we watched "Boyz N The Hood" after some excellent presentations the day before, and I definitely feel as if I have some new awareness about the issues plaguing the black residents of South Central L.A. I had heard before about the Rodney King beating and the subsequent race riots, seen a few specials on the Bloods and the Crips on History Channel's "Gangland", and of course heard some Tupac. However, this film offered an up-close-and-personal, 360 degree look into the life of an average (and comparatively lucky) black teenage boy living there.

Directed by John Singleton, this movie was an excellent piece of art with just enough political bite to make the audience sit up and take notice. He chose to use profanity and violence in his film, but in such a way as it always brought attention to the emotional undercurrents of the scene instead of distracting from them. Despite its sometimes shocking (and, very rarely, cheesy) content, I never felt as if the film had wandered off of its path. Each and every moment within the film was perfectly calculated so that the combination of the script, the actors, the costuming and the scenery brought incredible depth and truth.

Although I have never been to South Central L.A. and truly have no idea of what it's like beyond what I've learned from pop culture, this film felt amazingly authentic to me. It did exactly what it set out to do: it brought the audience beneath the surface layer of the people and the neighborhood so they could see the reality. None of the dialogue felt forced or like a caricature (except, perhaps, Furious' monologue on keeping the neighborhood black). Instead of showing a bunch of one-dimensional crackhead and gangsta characters, Singleton went further and showed the average Joes, people like the film's star, Tre. Although he did focus on people who weren't involved with gang activity (with the exception of Doughboy) he definitely did not ignore it either. The various scenes such as the card players fighting as the young Tre walks home, the burglar invading Furious' house, gunshots echoing through the neighborhood as Brandi attempts to study and eventually Ricky's tragic death all underscore the insidious presence of gang violence.

The film sends a strong message through Doughboy towards the end. As he tries to work out how he feels about his brother's death and his revenge on behalf of Ricky, he tells Tre that "Either they don't know, don't show or don't care about what's going on in the hood.", meaning the rest of the nation is so concerned with violence and war elsewhere that they are ignoring the tragedy within their own borders. Soon after that he walks away, pouring his beer out into the street. The subtitles then tell you he'll be murdered two weeks later. Almost as heart-wrenching as the innocent Ricky's death is the knowledge that so soon after Doughboy's epiphany he will be dragged down by the very life he's trying to escape. The only two out of the entire group of children followed throughout the film who make it "out" are Tre and Brandi. Although they finally do make it to college, we are left feeling as if it happened at an enormous cost.

Singleton's landmark film did for South Central L.A. what so many had been trying to do all along: raise awareness of the terrible problems that had taken root there. I don't know how far the fight has come in the last twenty years, but I hope that progress is being made. If it is, then "Boyz N the Hood" is part of the reason.

I knew from the moment she walked into my office she was trouble...

This week in class we covered the lovely and unique genre of film noir. It is rooted in "pulp" or "hardboiled" fiction in which the seedy underbelly of the American dream was revealed through characters convinced that, this time, crime might just pay. A chivalrous detective who is disillusioned with humanity but still fights for justice, sometimes in an unorthodox way, was often featured. You've probably seen it parodied in films such as "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?".

The film that we watched is called "Double Indemnity". The film follows Walter Neff and Phyllis Deitrichson through the twisted plot that takes them "straight down the line" together.

I have to say that, despite the fact that this is clearly a good movie and now a classic, I was downright amused through much of it. I suppose that the film noir genre has been mocked so much throughout the decades it has become humorous instead of compelling. Neff's sometimes lyrical voice-overs and the way he calls Phyllis 'baby' throughout the entire film reminded me of some Bugs Bunny cartoon I saw parodying film noir. The dialogue feels canned and predictable; because this is THE film noir, it's been borrowed from so often everything felt as if I'd seen it all before.

We discussed many different elements of the film in class; lighting, symbols, themes, repeated phrases, costumes and camera angles were just a few of them. I noticed many of these, but the predictable feel of the movie distracted and bored me through a lot of it. I am disappointed that I've evidently been ruined for film noir because of pop culture! My only wish for this film is that I'd never seen any film noir parodies before it. :(

Thoughts about WWI and The Great Depression after watching Golddiggers of 1933

When Golddiggers of 1933 started in class today, it began with a bang in the true Broadway musical style; pretty girls in lavish costumes singing and dancing in an ornate set to a full orchestra. The Depression-era theme soon sets in when creditors come to collect from the producer, carrying off the set pieces and actually ripping the costumes off some girls in the process.

Oddly, much of the movie holds to the lighthearted, escapist style of musical we've come to know and love despite this rough beginning. We laugh at the materialistic comedian Trixie as she winds the lecherous, lovable old "Fanny" around her little finger. We love it when the group of thespians stick it to the stuffy banker older brother when he tries to look down his nose at them. (One part I found particularly amusing was when Trixie convinces Fanuel to buy her a little Pekingese dog and names it "Fanny"...he proceeds to compare his reflection to the dog's in a mirror and they look comically similar!)

I was shocked and awed by the final number in this musical, "The Forgotten Man". After the traditional "happy ending" where all the couples get together (everyone gets married; they do it the proper way!) the movie busts out this powerful piece in a total departure from the previous mood.

It opens with Carol (played by Joan Blondell) speaking in rhyme about her "forgotten man". Her lament is picked up in the soulful wail of Etta Moten as the camera pans from window to window, picturing the women left alone without their men. The lyrics are part of what struck me the most;
"Remember my forgotten man/
you put a rifle in his hand/
you sent him far away/
you shouted 'hip-hooray!'/
but just look at him today"

During the fluffy, rom-com portion of this film, a person who wasn't watching it during the time in which it was filmed is liable to forget (as I did) about the very real impact of the Depression on Americans and that many of the hardest-hit were veterans of the Great War. Doubtless this was kind of the point at the time; escaping the grueling reality of everyday life was part of the reason people spent their dear earnings on the movies.

The portrayal of the bum at the start of the number picking up a cigarette butt out of the gutter is meant to be kind of repulsive; when Carol stops the policeman from dragging him off by revealing the war medal pinned to his lapel, the audience is just as taken aback as he is. To think that the very men who were lauded as heroes and given ticker-tape parades and fanfare were now sleeping in doorways is terrible. Considering America's general (general, not uniform) feelings of respect and protectiveness towards veterans, this image is really powerful.

The image that really gave me chills, however, was the marching "soldiers". Granted, the film practically spells out its message in ten-foot-tall neon lighting here. However, it still works at producing the emotional gut reaction it was looking for. The soldiers are sent off to war with flags streaming in the breeze, trumpets, the kisses of pretty girls and confetti. We see them march proudly by in their spotless uniforms and jauntily tilted helmets, soon to be replaced by war-worn troops. The men in this group stagger across the stage, stumbling in irregular lines, hauling injured comrades, sporting gruesome bandages and ragged uniforms. I actually kind of had my heart in my throat here; because World War I happened so long ago, it is easy to forget that it was one of the most brutal wars of our time. Seeing the depiction of the weary, injured young men with empty eyes limping home from battle drove home the message of sacrifice.

The number goes on to depict the same men standing in line for free sandwiches and coffee, relying on charity just to eat. Busby Berkeley was evidently inspired by the "bonus marches" on Washington D.C. performed by war veterans the previous year when he put this number together.

This number, with its strong message of support for veterans, made me think about what I know about the Great War. I remember learning something about it in high school history, glossed over just as many important events were in order to fit all the required material in. I also recalled a vague memory of being given a silk poppy as a young girl to wear, and being told it had something to do with World War I. I decided to look up the significance of that poppy to refresh my memory, and found that it was inspired by the famous poem "In Flanders Fields" by Lt-Col. John McCrae. I wanted to repost it here for the other students in class who, like me, might not remember what the whole deal with the poppies was:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Obviously, I was given the poppy on or near Remembrance Day, which is November 11th. Some of you history buffs may know/remember this already; for that I commend you! Now, I digress from the subject of war and go back to the film.

I noticed that even during a number as somber as "Forgotten Man", Busby Berkeley kept up with his trademark geometric shaping of the people onstage. He kept the soldiers in lines or arches. He deviated from his usual styling in that he kept the pretty girls to a minimum; when the camera moves from Carol up to the women in the windows, they are definitely not the typical "dancer/actress/singer". From there through most of the rest of the number, he keeps the focus on the men; in that era, the men who were supposed to be the breadwinners were the ones standing in the unemployment lines. The use of Carol and the other women (including the unseen baby behind the blanket held by the nursing mother) was a way of taking the public eye off the monotonous lines of men, easily dismissed as good-for-nothing or lazy, and focusing in on the hungry women and families behind them.

I believe this post is quite long enough (and branches in too many directions already) so I will leave it at that.

Thoughts on Scarface (1932)

I must start by saying this is my absolute favorite film we've seen in class so far; perhaps I am just not a silent film person! There was so much to like about this film despite the glaringly obvious political message that I felt distracted from the art. (Although it obviously was a necessary message at the time, the newspaper editor's cheesy speech directed straight at the camera in the middle of the film kind of pulled me out of the magic for a bit!)

I noticed a multitude of new techniques that we haven't seen in class yet. In the first scene, we watch the restaurant owner (?) walk through the door, and the camera follows him at a parallel so we get to see a cutaway of the wall. We also saw the "silhouette" technique used a great deal; I can't remember if we saw this in the clips from yesterday, but I was definitely struck by its use here. The passing-of-time montage in the beginning of the film was pretty cool, too. Machine gun fire is superimposed over calendar pages flying away--it might look cheesy now, but I bet it was neat then! The use of symbolism is also much more obvious here. The eerie whistling as Comante's trademark harbinger of death was particularly creepy. There are many, many other examples of both subtle and overt symbolism in this film, but I have more to say on a different topic. :)

I think the part that made this film so compelling for me was the superb acting. I truly believed all of the characters; especially Comante. Tony's character had a rough, slightly dull but definitely dangerous charisma about him that I think truly illustrated the siren call of gang life at the time. He is young, vibrant and determined in a way that is clearly absent in the short-lived Louis we see at the beginning of the film. The police chief's (?) rant about the changing landscape of organized crime in the city is illustrated in no better way than through the contrast of Comante with the old bosses Louis, Lovo and Gaffney. (On a side note, I noticed that Boris Karloff played the Irish crime lord Gaffney in this film; somehow, he really still looked like Frankenstein minus the neck bolts!)

Comante's motto, "Do it first, do it yourself, and keep on doin' it" is recited menacingly over a handgun near the beginning of the film. One gets the sense that the organized crime scene in the city was different in previous years; the cops and the mob were at odds, but in a way that was respectful of each other. This very much reminds me of the change in the way the public viewed war after WWI; it used to be an honorable though inevitable endeavor. Each side stuck to the unwritten rules, and honored their enemeies with the strange respect of the battlefield. However, things changed and it became a horrifying bloodbath that neither side really wanted a part of. It seemed like, in this movie, the younger, hotheaded mobsters were pushing the unwritten rules of war between the cops and the mob to the brink.

As I was watching Comante's lightning rise to power and even faster downfall, I was strongly reminded of a character in a more current film. Heath Ledger's character The Joker in "The Dark Knight" (2008) has a similar dark magnetism. He is sometimes funny, sometimes scary, and it always feels like he's holding a grenade with his fingers on the pin. At one point another character calls him a "mad dog"; this is exactly what made me connect The Joker and Comante. They are both a little above (or below, whichever suits you) normal human thinking. Their minds just don't work the same way. They see what they want and they get it, no matter what might fall in their way. The only difference between the two is that Comante wants the world for himself, while The Joker only wants to watch it burn.

I thought Scarface was an exceptional film, and am now definitely considering watching the 1982 version. However, I have a feeling that "Say hello to my little friend!" isn't quite going to top the dark beauty of the 1932 film.

First Post

For my blog post this week, I decided to skip the tangled web of discussion that Birth of a Nation and Within Our Gates brought up. I was actually much more interested in the early films we got the chance to view during our first "lab".

The very first experimentation with film was fascinating. I imagine the average American at that time thought the people pioneering the art were absolutely nuts; kind of the way people used to see Picasso's style. However, their bold venture into this new art form helped give the world something that would change it forever.

I thought The Dickson Experimental Sound Film, the very first short clip we viewed, was particularly moving. I know it sounds weird; what could be moving about a teensy clip where one guy screeches on the violin while two others awkwardly dance around? I think it was the very best clip out of all of the ones we saw. Instead of the stilted, over-dramatic acting we see in later films (think of that gem, A Trip to the Moon) we see a piece of American history. We get to peer back in time and take a genuine glance at three guys who really never imagined their images would be played back to a classroom full of college students over a century later.

The totally real portrayal of people from over a hundred years ago gives me goosebumps to watch. So much of what we see is a reenactment; actors posed for the scenes, given their lines, dressed down to the tiniest detail in "historically accurate" clothing. Here, we are truly seeing real people doing the things and being the people they really were at that time. The man on the violin absentmindedly tilts his head along with the music he plays, the two men dancing stumble awkwardly into each other, both trying to lead. At the end, a guy even walks into the scene behind the huge, conical "microphone". You would never see that in a movie today!

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that, in this film, you get a raw honesty that is totally left out in all of the other film clips and films we've seen so far (with the exception of Pack Train on Chilkoot Pass and San Francisco: Aftermath). I absolutely love that we have the privelege of seeing these men as they truly are, instead of actors dressed up like them in period clothing. We should consider ourselves lucky that, not only are we able to see this restoration due to the hard work of historical societies, but that the restoration we get to see is a beautifully awkward, casual, true scene of life in 1894.