There has never been that in me that makes an Actor proper.
Photo courtesy of Jesse Cox photography
The Actor has to have that one indelible quality that makes a person stop, and stare… That charismatic characteristic that halts a room in silence and all they can try to do is understand, and watch, and listen.
That is what maketh an Actor or any performer. We are not like them.
In his essay for the New York Times, Walter Salles posed the question: ‘In a world in which there’s no more “away” and in which distance has disappeared, do road movies still have a reason to exist?’ This, I believe, is a vital question when discussing whether the road movie still has validity as a dynamic genre – in this world flooded with media, images and documentary, does the road movie still serve a purpose and provide escape? Through discussion of Salles’ essay, his film Motorcycle Diaries, and with a look at two Australian road movies of recent years, I aim to provide arguments for road movies as a genre that is still important and changing.
Later this year we shall see the release of On the Road, an adaptation of the beat generation’s most famous novel by Jack Kerouac. Walter Salles, who directed the film, wrote an essay in 2007 Notes for a Theory of the Road Movie in which he discussed the history, purpose and philosophy of road films, a genre he has contributed to several times. He talked of the origins of road stories as being very much a part of us, an inescapable part of our being dating back not only to the Odyssey but, by Wim Wenders’ thinking, right into humanity’s ‘nomadic roots, in mankind’s primal need to leave an account of its passage’. With the introduction of paper came the ability to write it down, with the introduction of photography we took images, and when film arrived we combined the story and the image to tell tales of travel in a new, more universally expressive medium. Salles puts much emphasis on early documentary filmmakers as being the pioneers of this genre, and notes that even early fictional road films were about the frontier – stories and images from places most people would never see. Road films, Salles suggests, have three purposes: ‘about the discovery of new lands’, ‘about a national identity in construction’ and, later, ‘to show national identities in transformation’. He believes in this genre that character and nation/surrounds must undergo similar transformations, that ‘the identity crisis of the protagonist mirrors the identity crisis of the culture itself’. I believe he is right, that the truly impressive and lasting films depict a tale of change that is shown not only in the protagonist, but reflected in a larger scale by the landscape in which he lives.
Motorcylce Diaries is a perfect example of this. The film is based on the diaries of Ernesto “Che” Guevara as he travelled around South America in his youth, as he saw first-hand the poverty and inequality that plagued the nations. The film follows the normal road film structure, in that events are more episodic in nature rather than building in a three-act structure. What occurs in the film is generally guided by the character’s internal conflicts and much emphasis is placed on the physical surroundings as an influence for change, rather than other characters or events. Characters do, of course, play a major part but it is more the protagonist’s observation of them rather than their direct influence. ‘In road movies, a moment of silence is generally more important than the most dramatic action,’ more significant, more tolerated because of film form, and generally more beautiful. At the time Guevara was making his journey, there was growing communist movement amongst the displaced native people. As Ernesto meets people in this movement it is seen to be growing in his thinking as well. The film works well by using excerpts from the diaries as a monologue for Ernesto, revealing his internal thoughts as they move from place to place. In this way Salles makes clear that the socio-political change was affecting his protagonist as well, bringing about slow but drastic change.
This social reflection, I believe, is what makes the road movie so effective as a genre. While the story is always about the protagonist, it is afforded powerful subtext through the setting. This is the case within On the Road as well, while Sal and his companions travel and the story rambles with them in spontaneous prose style, what is revealed throughout the novel is a social change and state of the time. Kerouac tells stories of characters, strange people and places, but what is revealed is the rising beat and jazz generations. When Sal faces financial struggle, it is reflecting the economic crisis being faced by the nation. When they travel to Mexico it is as carefree tourists, but shows economic squalor and unfamiliar culture. America was still very much a nation in a state of discovery and change. ‘In the 50s there was still a country to be mapped,’ said Lawrence Ferlinghetti. ‘We didn’t know what we would find at the end of the road.’
Salles often talks of the crossover between road films and documentary, a necessary crossover according to him. Combining fiction with real world, mixing actors with non-actors, ‘a defining aspect of this narrative form is unpredictability,’ and he insists on entwining reality encountered through filming with the narrative. He also says ‘they are about experiencing, above all… what can be learned from the other, from those who are different.’ I see this as of major importance to the genre. Not only must they reveal character, but they must provide insight into lives which the viewer would otherwise not experience, and ideally they should demonstrate a socio-political point or message through these “others”. A great road movie will provide a philosophical exploration into the human psyche. William C Permeleau wrote ‘In the modern world, where an accessible media makes us aware of the differences that culture, place and time can produce, we are also aware that it is only by chance that we have experienced the world views we were raised with.’ This is an important observation for greater understanding and can only be revealed by exploration and exposure.
Permeleau also raises the point of media, the constant exposure which we must temper within ourselves. Modern society involves a constant flow of imagery and information. The paradoxical nature of road films is that they simultaneously contribute to this culture as well as provide a temporary escape from it – two very basic human desires. ‘Freedom is the one aspect of human nature that we cannot escape,’ and it is this nature that incites us to see films. Never is the sense of freedom more clearly apparent than in the road movie. A film like Into the Wild combines this philosophy of freedom with the wild unknown and makes exquisite use of the film medium to capture images from genuine wild and bring them to our home screen, while showing Chris McCandless’ personal protest to this culture. To this conundrum I have no argumentative solution.
Concerning Australian road movies for Australian viewers, I believe the genre has another purpose, as mentioned by Salles before, to show a national identity in construction. Australia is a very young country with such a varied mix of borrowed and stolen culture that a national identity is very difficult to define. As well as this, we have a vast and mostly unexplored landscape which can be as harsh as it can be beautiful, making it very dramatic for the purpose of story. This confusion of place and vastness of space were both successfully explored in The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. This film followed the personal identity crisis of Tick as he made his way from Sydney to Alice Springs, and reflects his search for self with the search for a place in society. The film follows road film convention in its narrative structure and explores and celebrates large, neglected parts of the nation’s natural beauty.
In more recent years Bran Nue Dae has made another important contribution to the genre, not only for social reasons but also stylistically. Films about aboriginal culture have grown in number and variety, often reflecting the unhappy loss of culture and unacceptance of western society. Films like Samson & Delilah and Rabbit Proof Fence deliver a powerful message as to these struggles. It is rare, however, for a large film to cast a happy and positive light on semi-modern aboriginal culture, and this is where Bran Nue Dae has its place. The film attracted a great deal of attention, partly due to its cast of well-known actors (Geoffrey Rush, Ernie Dingo, Magda Szubanski) but also because of production value – this was a very clean, colourful film, the tone of which is not often seen in Australia. It tells a similar story to Priscilla – search for self, search for home – and stars a large Aboriginal cast. The film also shows secluded Australian locations and vast landscape, but breaks from tradition in that it is very much external influences and other characters that push the narrative. I believe that films like this are important in modern culture, not only to reflect the issues that face social inequality, but to make change through positive depiction, to give face and voice to modern aboriginal Australia.
The road movie remains a changing genre and force for change, the definition of dynamic. So long as there are unexplored territories in the human mind and on the road, there is a place for road movies, most especially in countries undergoing change and growth. I believe it is a powerful genre and one that will persist as long as film does, and when we find space or a new medium, the road will go there too.
So, 7.7 standards, plus whatever is in an Asahi and I’m considering something which I’ve previously determined worthy of contemplation, but never dedicated enough time to: Am I worth this industry’s time?
I cannot network to save myself. At least, not as I should be. When someone says to me “do you know a really good… [insert actor/photographer/something else artistic]” I’m grand, I know those people. But does that equate to a person who can function within such a who-you-know specific industry? Who knows. I struggle to comprehend whether the people in this world have always been good at this job or if, like me, they started out as I have – a person with vision and image and artistic intention, but without the dedication to knowing everything that occurs in the industry… Just as much as I can.
I hope, and I strive. That’s the best I can offer.
I’ve been watching Paris je t’aime this morning without subtitles (funsies) and despite my half-comprehension of French, this particular story is so clearly depicted that you’d not need a word of it to follow. It’s beautiful, it’s conveyed clearly and using music (the wordless language). I want to make a short film like this, would be a great achievement. I do love tragedy. Well done Oliver Shcmitz.
I consider the aim of art two be twofold – either make them think or make them feel. This one does both if you let it, one at the least.
So here’s what I’ve got for my pissy 800 word Babel essay (once I’ve dealt with the cinematography I’ll expand it to discuss how the message(s) of the film do/do not work)
Before we start, though, I’m disappointed to say the most interesting part about this film is the title. The tower of Babel – biblical tale of humanity being united with one language. Until god found out, he bust that party right up. Let’s go…
Alejandro González Iñárritu, Rodrigo Prieto and the design team constructed Babel [2006] in such a way that the visuals are what tells much of the story. Each setting (Morocco, Japan, Mexico) had its own look, however Prieto said “It was important to us that the film be visually unified, but with subtle differences that could emphasize the emotional state of the characters.” They achieved this through use of colour, movement, depth of field, film stock and lighting. I’ll examine the way these things convey character and situation within their separate sections and the occasional transfer of the styles.
Mexico
Mexico is stylised by colour, most particularly black and red, which was a deliberate colour link between the three sections by Prieto and Iñárritu. These choices give the Mexican segments two things: vibrance and danger. In the first Mexico scene when all his happy at home, the colours are warm and strong – notably the primaries (yellow, red and blue) which are bold in everything from the costume to the set to the sunlight. There is a subtle blend between sections, Morocco and Mexico, when Amelia is told (in a phone call from Morocco) that she cannot attend her son’s wedding. The colour fades, becoming more akin with the Moroccan sections, and the scene shows her room and everything around her in a colder light until she settles on a plan that will allow her to go. Then the colour returns in the form of a red dress and red ride.
Upon entering Mexico the shots are flooded with colour and movement. The composition becomes more full of objects and the editing aids this happy chaos – fast quick shots of everything around them. Mexico becomes a vibrant adventure of movement right through the wedding until the cross back over the border. At this point black dominates the screen, what was a lovely, rich accent in earlier scenes becomes visually oppressive as the characters are lost, confused and being tracked by border patrol.
Japan
Japan is distinctly different from the other two sections, and the farthest removed story as well. Everything in the Japanese sections seeks to create distance between the viewer and the isolated Chieko, while at the same time an attempt for understanding her. “For the Japanese story… [Prieto] tested different methods of achieving shallow depth of field to represent the point of view of the world of a deaf-mute girl.” In this way the camera sticks very closely to her face and only includes in focus what is important to Chieko at any given time. There is colour present in the Japanese sections but mostly artificial and largely derived from man-made light sources. This is both accurate of big-city-Japan and a stylised depiction.
For my part I found the club scene to be the most successful at conveying Chieko’s view – a complete focus on the lights and intermingled silent sections, as well as the chaos around her teetered between being exciting and potentially unnerving. This, and the final shot of the film (Chieko and her father on the balcony), clearly depict the isolation for which Iñárritu was aiming.
Morocco
Morocco’s visual style is immediately established in the first shot of the film – the vast, desolate landscape with a slightly warm sunlight at odds with the blue-shadowed valley. The aim of this section (I include Yusuf and Ahmed’s tale along with Richard and Susan Jones) is to convey the harshness of the setting. Morocco, Prieto felt, “had to have a sense of difficulty and a ‘dirty’ texture. We decided to use film grain and contrast to characterize their story.” The gritty texture coupled with the washed out palette creates an inhospitable look to the area. What is interesting is the use of red,. In Morocco the red was to be a burned umber, but when the place becomes more hospitable through its people taking care Susan, it is increased to a vibrant deep red of the costume of the old woman. Also at play in this scene are the deep blacks that were mostly reserved for Mexico, here they provide the contrast Prieto mentioned, while outside the room and especially the people on the bus remain in cold, washed-out colours.
Camera movement can also be noted in the Morocco parts for having the least movement of the three. While it is largely handheld (I struggled to spot a moment in this film that is not handheld) it generally contains the most vista views and lingering shots, at least in the opening. In earlier parts this conveys a slow, contemplative existence until the shooting upsets that balance. Self-proclaimed culture blogger Barnaby Haszard Morris singled out an instance of this which he says demonstrates the purpose of the film. “Iñárritu wants to show us that our distrust of each other – especially those from different cultures – is keeping us from reaching common ground. The whole movie is summed up in the look on Brad Pitt’s face as he looks at his long-suffering guide and translator, just before he gets into the helicopter.” The drawn out moment had become rare in these parts as faster movement and cutting created tension both in the conflict between Richard and the others on the bus as well as the police hunt for Yusuf and Ahmed. This moment on the helipad transforms and gives meaning to so much mess.
So, I’ve a few things I want to blog about here, but for some reason am reluctant until I know what I’m trying to say. They include – The Talented Mr Ripley, further notes on sociopaths, existentialist cinema, The Wall, the paradoxes in Source Code, science fiction, road movies, and what got to me about the children in the short films in class the other day (I don’t hate kids, I just found the children in Cracker Bag to be very annoying).
For now, I’ll just give you a picture. It’s a photo of a photographer – the type who’s much happier behind a camera than before, so getting a clean shot is tough. I like it, though. There’s something close and intimate but at the same time suggests avoidance… I don’t know what exactly but I like it.
It’s similar to a a photo of Liam which I also enjoyed the results of. I think it’s something I should focus on and see where it takes me – a curious style of semi-portraiture. Know any photographers who do this sort of thing?
Bob Talbot - Aquadyne
This is one of my favourite images. I’ve grown up with a print of this on the walls in my home (pictures migrate in our house) and when I ventured into the spare room this morning I was caught by it again. The word ‘majestic’ comes to mind. I’d like to be able to take photos like this, should get out and find some epic silhouettes.
Film Student 