Big Silent Fan wrote:
One subject I'd like to hear thoughts on is the use of stationary cameras.
Since it's partly a story about early theatre performers, having the camera perspective unchanged during the many scenes made it feel as if I were in the audience.
Rich Wagner
“Either the camera will dance, or I will.”
– Fred Astaire
As I read your replies to this discussion, I started thinking about this subject more and more. So please, forgive me and indulge my lengthy reply to you.
I have had discussions with younger generation film makers about camera technique and I often ask, “What do you think about hand held camera and what does it allow you to do?” The answer I have gotten most frequently is (and I paraphrase), “If I shoot something, for example a chase, I feel it makes the audience become a part of that chase.” I have gone on to ask, “You mean by shaking the camera around and having rapid editing?” I’m often disappointed with hearing, “Yeah, that’s right.” I compare this camera shaking with cooking with a habanero chili: applied carefully and it can be brilliant, overused and the dish becomes inedible.
Two examples of what I feel are “overuse” come to my mind: the Humvee chase from
The Rock (1996) and the opening car chase from
Quantum of Solace (2008). The disappointment for me is that, clearly, many of the shots were setup very carefully using real cars, highly skilled drivers, and clever obstacles, but the way it is shot, and the style of editing does not allow a viewer to savor in the excitement of what is on the screen. (How was it I was able to determine the setups and details? With careful slow motion viewing of these sequences…not the way an audience would see the finished product). Compare that with the car chase from
To Live and Die in L.A. (1985); all of the exciting details are very clear, no matter how quickly edited or when using hand held camera, when projected at normal speed. What good is a sequence if you cannot make out details, particularly in an action scene?! And, even if a director is calling upon their viewer to use imagination as part of the experience, if you cannot establish a series of clear and convincing shots, then how can the idea become a successful component in the overall film, again, if you cannot absorb the visual information? A well shot and edited action sequence as opposed to one filled with chaotic images and presto editing is the difference between watching an artistic virtuoso magician perform an illusion without distractions, and a charlatan performing with the perennial smoke and mirrors to cover their weak technique.
As an example of muted detail, when I watched a gorgeous original 35mm IB Technicolor print of Alfred Hitchcock’s
Vertigo (1958), it was a revelation to me to gaze at the luscious textures of the Technicolor print; some scenes almost felt like viewing a pastel colored postcard: the interior of Ernie’s Restaurant as an example, with its velvety red wallpaper.
(Spoiler alert). At the end of the film, when James Stewart has dragged Kim Novak to the top of the bell tower, she pleads with him and kisses him, when suddenly, in the corner at the trapdoor access, a dark ominous figure rises. Kim Novak, filled with fear, says “No!,” and then just before she falls from the tower, we hear off camera, “I heard voices.” It is after this shot that we may clearly see that it is a nun that has appeared. In the original print, the shadow of the nun looks practically black and it is not immediately clear what this shadow is. In more recent copies, it is lightened so much that we can see very clearly that it is a nun and, for me, diminishes the shocking effect delivered by the original print I viewed at UCLA’s (then called) Melnitz Hall. The shock of seeing a black hooded figure rising from the shadows is creepy! It preys upon one’s imagination; but now, what about an action scene? Imagine trying to watch Bruce Lee deliver his amazing martial arts technique while the camera shakes, and every punch is interrupted with quarter second edits. It would be a disaster as well as unwatchable. The thrill in any action scene, for me, is watching something that looks absolutely convincing, that has not been faked by digital computer animation, and that has not been clearly manipulated by editing in any obvious fashion–it is a scene that will appear to have been filmed exactly as it happened, only controlled by virtuoso sleight of hand.
KEAN and Stationary Camera
A friend of mine who is a British film director said to me, “If I were teaching film making today, the first thing I would do is put a two hundred pound weight on the camera and then tell the students, ‘Now, go make your film!’ ” Abel Gance’s use of extreme techniques often works because the source images are clear to the eye. His rapid cutting which accelerates to single frames is often based upon images we have absorbed, therefore, a new effect is created and achieved; or, there is a contextually defined moment calling out for such technique: Elie’s final moment from
La Roue (1923), as his life flashes before his eyes just before falling to his death. The manner in which Alexander Volkoff and Ivan Mosjoukine use various styles of cinema technique in
KEAN: Madness & Genius (1924), is brilliant. Clearly, using very minimal camera placement during the Shakespeare sequences is deliberate as it defines these moments as being a part of a stage presentation. I agree that we practically become part of the audience at Drury Lane Theater. Shots of the audience reaction to the stage play are few and are very static, thus giving a rather objective documentary style to those shots. As a result, these few shots do not disrupt the effect of how the stage play is being presented in this sequence. In the opening
Romeo and Juliet sequence however, there is a break in this technique. It is when Kean observes the Countess sitting in the audience. The camera goes in for a close-up on Kean during the balcony sequence, as well as a close shot of the Countess. The reason for me is clear: it highlights the fact that a connection has been made between these two characters and they are no longer a part of the onstage performance–as they find themselves removed from that performance space, so we as an audience are also removed for that moment.
Compare this with some of the later sequences, particularly the bacchanalian tavern dance. The camera is completely unbound, but only a few shots of this kind are mixed in with the foundation: in other words, all the images are perfectly clear to the eye. Ultimately, Volkoff’s use of Gance’s rapid cutting technique creates a whole new expression of this form and, in my opinion, excels beyond Gance’s own application of this editing style. Why is that? Consider the effect of the tavern dance sequence. It is not built from merely a physical platform nor cinematic bravado to demonstrate that Mosjoukine can dance, but there is an important emotional component to this sequence and it is one motivation behind Kean’s debauchery: Solomon explains to the constabulary of police that despite Kean’s tremendous fame and popularity, that he is his only friend. There is something of deep pathos to watch such a grand character drink himself drunk with strangers, dancing away the night; and let us consider the fact that, we as an audience see, there are women in their respective beds thinking about Kean while his drinking and dancing is happening. He is running away from not only his creditors, but perhaps his lonliness as well.
The hornpipe dance is the third and final dance sequence, and the previous moments have ultimately built to this exciting
mise-en-scène. With each dance sequence, the tempo and pacing has increased dramatically. The wildness has reached its pinnacle and the crowd is practically out of control, descending even further into alcoholic hysteria. The rapid cutting builds greater tension and effect, bringing the audience into the wild crowd, even perhaps as part of the dance itself. The sequence builds its fever pitch when finally, Kean is overwhelmed by a hallucination. The effective double exposure of images of the Countess and the Prince of Wales on horseback trampling upon Kean, trample upon us, too, This scene follows up well from the previous rapid editing, hence, it allows a cinematic transition that is satisfying visually and structurally convincing.
Consistently, Volkoff’s sparing use of the camera in motion has far more impact and resonates more convincingly as a result of his prudence. He also imparts greater meaning to his images throughout this film, thus allowing Ivan Mosjoukine’s stunning performance as Edmund Kean to be one of the 1920’s great on screen achievements. The entire cast is formidable, but it is the brilliant and charismatic Mosjoukine that is the prevailing force behind one of this film’s success secrets.
Robert Israel