Preface: This piece was written towards the end of the 2013 school year when the theaters were bombarded with superhero films such as Man of Steel, Iron Man 3 and other franchise films such as Fast and the Furious 6 and The Hangover III. There were also notable spectacle films released such as Ang Lee’s Life of Pi and independent films that were quickly forgotten such as Much Ado About Nothing and Before Midnight. To enrich my own teachings of cinema and my understanding of cinema culture today, I explored the appeal of mainstream films—often in the form of blockbuster films—as well as other revered directors and their respective films that often drew a large audience. This prompted me to reflect on the culture of cinema in terms of mainstream cinema, cinema as an art form, and spectatorship for both the young and old.
Cinema Studies and Spectatorship
Why the “other” film spectator? Perhaps this comes from my own biased feelings towards cinema as an artistic medium and why I find myself going to my local theaters infrequently nowadays. Although there may be some disagreements about seeing film as art, it is obvious that the film experience is part of our culture and how we approach film can vary from one person to another. There is no doubt that film spectatorship continues to evolve as the medium continues to change in filmmaking methodologies, especially in the wake of advanced technology and in content due to the changing cultural tides. I was able to recognize how certain films attract a particular audience, especially when I worked in a local drive-in theater during the 1990s. And as a current cinema studies instructor for the past eight years, I noticed how young viewers have already developed their own personal film repertoire. Thus, I have arrived at a couple of epiphanies in terms of teaching cinema studies in a high school setting, which prompted my curiosity on how spectatorship continues to change in general. First, the ubiquity and easily available blockbuster films (often in the form of franchise films) have acculturated the younger audience into a limited appreciation of film. Second, the mere appeal of plot has overshadowed other elements of artistry such as the socio-cultural and socio-historical context of the film, the contemplative narrative structure of the film, and film aestheticism—to name a few. And third, promoting and teaching strictly to the canon can sometimes be fraught with disinterest, aversion, and/or resistance from a younger audience who are more apt to dismiss “different” or “unfamiliar” films outside mainstream cinema.
When it comes to the film watching experience in general, art and entertainment are highly compartmentalized. But does spectatorship really have to be this way? With respect to many filmgoers, young and old, film watching is a pleasantly vacuous, passive act and/or a form of escape. Yet, on the other end of the spectrum, the film screening experience can also have the potential to transcend the entertainment experience by exploring cinema as both cultural and entertainment art.
Since cinema has become a more dominant form of intellectual literacy in a world that is inundated with informational images, both inside and outside the educational setting, there is truly a need to explore films as an intellectual and creative discipline—and not just a passive form of entertainment. As the study of film is now being offered as a humanities course for both college and high school settings, it is hard not to notice the intellectual crossover between the art and humanities disciplines—especially when cinema invokes other intellectual disciplines such as literature, psychology, cultural studies, history, and other forms of visual arts outside electronic media. And through this, cinema becomes a vehicle for examining and mirroring cultural systems along with their ideologies. It can also set the framework for honing communication skills. For example, it can prompt spectators to become inquisitive, that is, to question and interrogate the overall film experience—aesthetically or informatively. Therefore, having a more balanced and diverse film palette will hopefully provide a more intuitive approach to film as multiple disciplines intersect. However, this can be, to a certain extent, a challenge for most as we are bombarded with the push to screen the latest blockbuster film. In turn, unfamiliar genres and films unpopular and unfamiliar in form such as long takes, black and white photography, lengthy dialogues, and slow narratives have been a difficult sell not just for my students but for the general audience as well.
In order to fully understand these challenges, I decided to study the current climate of cinema culture among young spectators as well as the masses in general. As a cinema instructor in a secondary setting and someone who gravitates towards the “alternative” when it comes to screening a film, I wanted to investigate the major influences of popular cinema culture today. Through this, I was compelled to explore the existing film repertoire—its limitations and merits—not just for young audience members, but also the general population and then attempt to arrive at my own conclusion whether or not it creates what I normally deem as a “monopalette” and a restrictive appreciation of films. Last, I decided to explore additional films (some contemporary and/or mainstream releases) that may pave the way to a more varied and balanced film palette and a more acute awareness of cinema’s multi-faceted entertainment experience.
The Trend
There is no doubt that blockbuster/franchise films are woven in our cultural fabric since the advent of its leading pioneer, Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975). As a result, other trends took flight, which affects us today. For example, people are bombarded with million dollar ads for the next superhero film. Approximately, $375 million was spent to budget and market Disney/Marvel Comics’ Iron Man 3—the more costly the film, the more expensive the marketing (McClintock). Furthermore, local theaters limit their choices as they make room for more profitable films such as the blockbuster. To seek a film that is “different” and outside the realm of mainstream, one must inconveniently travel to nonlocal arthouse theaters such as the Laemmle or Nuart, as opposed to the locally available multiplex AMC theaters.[1] In local theaters, accommodations are reserved for the next record-breaking box office hit. As a box office cashier in the 1990s, I distinctly remember how the anticipated blockbuster films were usually featured on two theater screens. Any films that were considered “artsy,” which was an anomaly at the theater I worked in, hardly made any money and were usually removed from the theater after one week of showing. Although there are options such as Netflix and the local library, which may carry a comprehensive collection of films, it is still difficult to seek films that are considered a “diamond in the rough,” especially when they are not highly promoted or advertised.
Film critic Kenneth Turan explores this lack of availability of “smaller” but worthy films to watch in his 2004 publication Never Coming to a Theater Near You. He asserts:
The pressures to experience the blockbusters of the moment are too great and the time that smaller films remain on screens is so finite (the good really do die young in this business) that most people, even with the best intentions, find that the production they really meant to see is no longer in theaters by the time they carve out the leisure to see it.
One example is the critically acclaimed Amour (2012)by Michael Henecke. It surprisingly had a local screening at the local Arclight in the wake of the Oscar nominations, but it left the theater soon after Oscar euphoria was over. An anomaly would be the critically acclaimed independent film Before Midnight (2013) by Richard Linklater. Its release date was May 24th and it had a surprising two-month longevity in theaters—including local theaters. However, Before Midnight is the third film in its trilogy—perhaps the least-grossing franchise of all time. It takes a third attempt, a devoted indie following, and the push from critical reviews since its first release Before Sunset (1991) to give it a fair chance in reaching a wider audience.
The Indie-Arthouse: Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing
Although the aforementioned films are not the films I would suggest to watch as a “model” for independent or arthouse cinema, especially for the younger audience, there are other directors to consider that might appeal to a wider audience. One example would be comic book author and director Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing (2013)—a somewhat indie-arthouse hybrid (since it is a modern day Shakespearean adaptation). Whedon creates a bold, low budget modern day black and white film adaptation (not always a favorite for the young, visually impatient spectator) of a familiar Shakespearean work. Because the film is simple in form, it is reminiscent of a skillfully sketched out modern day soap area, which can also be made for television as well. It was shot in twelve days predominantly at one locale—Whedon’s own home. Such locale sets the cinematic stage for one of Shakespeare’s timeless comedies where Whedon architects his own stage by using a multilevel home with open decks as balcony scenes for wooing courtiers, an airy and spacious outdoor for the romantically dreamy masquerade ball, and tall windows and highly arched corridors for character asides. To those who are familiar with Shakespearean devices, Whedon is able use the film’s textual features (the language of the shot) to illustrate puns and meticulous compositions for scenes that emphasize the film’s use of dramatic irony—all of which lend themselves to Shakespeare’s brilliant comedic flair with visually modern overtones.
Not only does Whedon’s adaptation might suit the fancy of young millenials who has some working knowledge of Shakespeare’s work, especially after having to study Shakespeare in high school, but also for genXers who are familiar with his most famous horror television series such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003)—which eventually became a critically acclaimed cult favorite during its heyday. In his Buffy series, Whedon successfully revolutionized the prototypal female heroine that defies the stereotypical suffering female victim (often gratuitously sexualized) within a horror framework.
Whedon has also crossed over to other forms of art media in Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog (2008)—a musical/dark comedy that was created specifically for the Internet. The series chronicles a mad scientist’s conquest to win the love of a superhero’s girlfriend. The story is executed through cathartic but satirical musical numbers. As Whedon’s mass exposure is buoyed through his ability to experiment with varied media forms (i.e., television, Internet, and film) as well as combining unlikely genres—in this case, dark comedy/musical, and Shakespearean play/modern day soap opera—hopefully, he will continue to draw a following, as he is revolutionary in allowing his art to intersect different art forms.
Franchise Films: A ReGeneration and DeGeneration
Unfortunately, as franchise films or the latest blockbuster continue to dominate local film venues, young spectators as well as the old become more accustomed to the familiar expectations found in films with the same thematic content or plot (as one would find in sequels and prequels) and the same visual treat (3D or CGI). This makes it difficult for spectators to explore other avenues of art in cinema. More often, they look forward to a reprise of the characters—whether it is a superhero, a pirate, or vampire—with whom they are familiar. The trend itself breeds a certain kind of audience who enjoys being satiated with an appealing story or plot premise that taps into their prior knowledge. On a positive note, they do offer a timelessness behind their all too recognizable themes and prototypal characters. However, a franchise film that does not deviate from the usual is only limited to recreating the same story. I caution my students who anticipate watching the next sequel by telling them that they are contributing to an industry that unfortunately makes the same film over and over again. I ask them: “Is it really worth your dollar or better yet, dollars?” (As of now, the average price to watch a film is over eight dollars).
The Undying Heroes in Cinema: Iron Man 3
My familiarity with the superhero dates back to another electronic medium—the television. As a child, I watched the animation Super Friends (1973-1986) and learned about the animation’s super heroes and their unique powers. I also watched Wonder Woman (1975-1979) and was mesmerized by the neo-feminist mystique behind Diana Prince’s characterization—even though she was the least clothed superhero compared to her male counterparts who are notably bedecked in head to toe armor or spandex—but that is another discussion. I also kept up with Lois and Clark (1993-1997) and the Superman’s coming of age series Smallville (2001-2011). The Batman (1966-1968) series became lowbrow fun only because the villains were far more interesting than the Caped Crusader. Unfortunately, it seems as if a prerequisite to screening any super hero film nowadays is the ability to play video games. Iron Man 3 (2013) along with most superhero films is a visual exercise. The camera kinetics consists of quick cuts, explosions, parallel cutting, and rapid shots. To screen it in 3D only confuses the senses—especially to those who are not accustomed to watching action-packed films. (Even the most mundane scenes that do not need the visual flamboyance of 3D—such as conversations between two people—often appear dizzying and visually displaced.)
Audience members love nostalgia and familiarity—and this is perhaps the ultimate appeal of most superhero films. They are reflections of the past through the various mediums—whether it is through a television series (which is how I was indoctrinated into the comic book culture), film, or through the source text (Marvel or DC comics). Comic book series can be adapted into subsequent sequels by the mere advantage of being a franchise. Thus, the trend perpetuates itself. In a perfect world, there should be a rule where a franchise film that surpasses a trilogy should be limited to the television medium. Therefore, the series do not have to dominate the film industry and will, hopefully, provide “room” for other potentially great films.
Furthermore, superhero films are representations of our past and present cultural systems and ideologies—and Iron Man 3 epitomizes this reflection. It creates a world that mirrors the cultural milieu—its anxieties and hysterias about evil “foreigners” or terrorists (Mandarin) and our own ambivalence towards the advancement of science and technology carried out by ambitious and self-serving mad scientists (Aldrich Killian). Technology and science can be used for the greater good (Iron Man) and some can be used for power and destruction (Aldrich Killian). In a superhero film such as Iron Man 3, we cannot fully trust the moral contributions of science; we cannot fully rely on homeland security. Even our own political infrastructure does not suffice, as the president needs to be saved by Iron Man too. Our nation will never be at peace as it is plagued by civil and political unrest. This is why a superhero is needed: it is to restore order among the disorder—literally (via a larger than life figure such as a superhero) and figuratively (via our own personal will to fight our own demons in order to prevent selfish and destructive acts and reestablish harmony). As spectators, we need this reassurance.
Superhero films are also instructive in explaining and preserving the ethos of humanity—a thematic undercurrent in Iron Man 3. This is executed through the film’s archetypal characters such as the savior, the villain, the narcissist, the greedy, the ambitious, the hero, and so on. Such characterizations are not far removed from western classical mythology of the past—more specifically Greek myths. The gods also had their flaws and demons; they are dichotomous and contradictory. Just as the stories of Greek mythology were used to understand the intricacies of the human condition and to explain the disorder in the world, so are superhero films. In essence, superhero films operate on the principle of preserving our own mythologies.
Iron Man 3 meticulously delivers as any superhero film should. It gives the audience what they want. However, what I find most disappointing about the genre in general is that they do the thinking for the spectators. They ingratiate spectators by diligently planning and stylizing every chase, explosion, and battle to keep the momentum going. As audience members, we know Iron Man will win. He will fight off the next enemy—and it might not be easy at times. It will always be the typical happy ending—as most Americans want—and tragedy is only acceptable for characters that we do not care for or characters, which we never felt attached to in the first place. (If Pepper had died in the inferno in Iron Man 3, this would have been a defining moment for Tony Stark. Of course, this would not bode well with the audience in general and comic book loyalists.)
Because superhero films are plot-based and follow a predictable and rhythmic pattern that consists of timely climactic events such as chases, battles, explosions, it rarely has time for other important narrative elements such as fleshing out their characters—more specifically, the hero himself—as all of the energy is invested towards the external conflicts. What I genuinely found interesting in Iron Man 3 is Tony Stark’s ambivalence towards his alter ego—one that he has willfully created on his own—but the film ends abruptly as he endeavors to reconcile his feelings towards being Iron Man. Throughout the film, he is torn between being Tony Stark versus being the Iron Man who has a moral obligation to serve the masses—but at what price? In essence, his ambivalence begs the question: Is his alter ego his shadow/demon or a stature of nobility and heroic greatness? Dealing with such dichotomy can be oppressive. However, such internal conflict was glossed over throughout the film because there is no room for exposition.
Overall, it would be shortsighted of me to say that all superhero films are horrible and not worthwhile. The visuals and sets are compelling and there are moments where the comic relief (which I actually found entertaining) offers spectators a break from all the action. With respect to the genre, it is meticulous in presenting suspense at the right moments that makes the film engaging—but after all of that is done, a hollowness still remains—as character development is truncated and the story itself remains flat. And as a paying spectator, this is not enough to make me an avid follower of the franchise.
Advanced Technology: The Pros and Cons
In the 1950s, the film industry began to lose its allure when parents of babyboomers found it difficult to go to the theaters and the convenience of television became the more dominant form of visual entertainment. It wasn’t until Cinerama came along and competed with television because it was spectacular, larger than life, and brighter, which contributed to the success of the most popular genre of the decade—biblical films—whose stories lend themselves to the type of grand spectacle and visual effects that many filmgoers anticipated. As a result, biblical films eventually became one of the top five highest grossing films of the 1950s—as opposed to westerns and musicals, which many people erroneously thought (Stemple 21).
To flash forward to today, franchise films not only offer the mythological storylines that many are familiar with, they also have the budget to exhibit the latest technology that spectators crave—another appeal for spectators. The Hobbit (2012) a Peter Jackson franchise provided the groundbreaking 48 frames per second but with flawed side effects—as its sloppy and unconvincing visuals yank the spectator outside of the fantasy world. In spite of its scathing criticism from film critics, it did reach a curious audience where the box office screen average for the 48 frames per second were significantly higher compared to regular IMAX screening. James Cameron’s Avatar (2009), the record-breaking blockbuster, provided a refreshing and brilliant visual fantasy that attracted the mass audience but the content and its poorly written script ensnared itself in the same clichéd ideological American heroism. (In all fairness, I would appreciate most of James Cameron films if his films were silent). Familiar storylines or narratives that have already been indoctrinated into our culture coincide with the zest for the latest technological innovation. For the younger audience who are easily lured by the latest technological experience, they are more apt to sacrifice content over form—instead of gravitating towards a film that can be complementary to both.
Terrence Malick and Paul Thomas Anderson—two critically acclaimed contemporary auteurs such as Tree of Life (2011) and The Master (2012) respectively—exemplify how content and form are complementary to one another. Both Malick and Anderson are both meticulous in providing a more contemplative and philosophical visual narrative about life and the complexities behind human longings and the ethos of humanity (often debunked and criticized). Their works are often instructive in the exploration of human existence.
Both Malick and Anderson are known for lyricizing long takes with the use of imagery that essentially makes up the film’s narrative. This is achieved through their use of a 70 millimeter print. Although their use of 70 millimeter print is not considered the latest technology especially in the advent of great classic visual pioneers/auteurs such as Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 Space Odyssey (1968) and David Lean’s historical epic Lawrence of Arabia (1962), this high resolution method effectively underscores their personal style and their personal philosophy behind their art through the showcasing of larger than life photographic, crisp images that carry symbolic subtext. Similarly, for both Malick and Anderson, their choice of a larger print allows for a certain type of conceptualization of cinematic imagery through the film’s photographic visual aesthetics. Such treatment, in effect, elicits emotional and psychological responses from the audience where the entire film experience becomes a contemplative and philosophical musing about human existence—its illusions, longings, displacements, and disappointments.
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Although Malick and Anderson are not typical mainstream directors the audience may gravitate to due to the slow moving tempo in storytelling and the lack of hyper visual panache that most audiences are used to, Ang Lee offers a middle ground when it comes to effectively using the latest technology where form and content converges befittingly in his coming of age mainstream, visual spectacle film, Life of Pi (2012). The film was specifically marketed to both young and mature audiences. Life of Pi epitomizes the use of CGI and 3D that is complementary to the film’s philosophical theme about life and faith. Although the film was based on a novel that was initially considered “unadaptable,” Lee was able to break new ground in using technology (CGI and 3D) to translate the content’s literary magical realism, allegory, and metaphors through cinematic adaptation. Thus, the intersection between text and film becomes visually integrated. The story of a young boy’s nautical odyssey with a Bengal tiger creates a film experience where spectators unassumingly embrace the extraordinary as being ordinary amid its visual realism. Such visual appeal can elicit two important artistic musings: a more experiential absorption in the visual pleasure that the film exudes (especially through the skillful use of 3D and CGI that provided a convincing realism for the audience) and a more overt consideration of the film’s thematic instruction about the value of life.
Genre Revisionist versus Genre Revisited: The Films of Quentin Tarantino
Another popular mainstream director that many young spectators as well as the general population find engaging and “cool” is Quentin Tarantino. He epitomizes the cinematic craftsman, particularly for spectators who love a good thrill. Tarantino’s appeal especially to the young as well as the general audience can be attributed to being too mindful of his audience. They include (1) his ability to craft an interesting story with “cool” and “hip” characters with somewhat amusing peculiarities and (2) his acute awareness of what the audience wants. In spite of this, I consider Tarantino’s films an acquired taste, as his films, to a certain extent, can be frustrating to watch, especially when he is constantly exploiting the audience’s expectations through shock and gore. Many may perceive his explicit shock as entertaining, whereas I see it as “I know what you’re trying to do”—which lessens the amusement—because it is the same overplayed trick. In spite of this, his work deserves some recognition, especially in his vision in trying to invoke past art forms—which has its strengths and shortcomings, more specifically in his narrative discourse, that is, the way he tells his story.
Tarantino is known for reimagining and conjuring past art forms that stem from a vintage cultural web, and to a more discerning spectator, this can be perceived as being too derivative and, therefore, causing his “art” to become more imitative. However, to his credit, he is able to be creative in his own right in the midst of his imitation by paying homage to defunct genres and at the same time, craftily defying canonical genre codes while maintaining the genre’s core. In essence, as he is able to forefront and “borrow” elements of “canonical” film art, that is, formulaic plots, narrative structure, and prototypal characters, he creates his own versions of them. Some critics may see these methods of paying homage, borrowing, alluding, and imitating as a form of intertextuality. As the image-based text pulls from other filmic texts, the narrative as a whole takes on different layers and starts to reinvent itself.[2] Tarantino, with full intention, skillfully subverts genre conventions through the use of hyperbole, irony, satire, and exploitation, which can be exemplified in his historically-contextualized (yet fictional) WWII film (Inglorious Basterds 2009), the spaghetti western (Django Unchained 2012), blaxploitation film (Jackie Brown 1997), martial arts film (Kill Bill Volumes 1 and 2) and “shoot ‘em up” film (Pulp Fiction 1994). With the exception of Jackie Brown, Tarantino is not subtle about his desire to express his appreciation for various genres. And this where his shortfall lies, that is, his films can be too digressive and variegated as they mesh multiple films, and thereby creating no true form in his visionary style as a whole.
In all fairness, however, the digressive homage, works well in the fleshing out of character, but not in his narrative structure. Tarantino is known for creating unforgettable and likeable heroes and villains such as the charming, sharp-witted Colonel Hans (Christoph Waltz) in Inglorious Basterds, his other notable character as Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz again) in Django Unchained, and the female “badasses” such as Beatrix Kiddo (Uma Thurman) from Kill Bill and Jackie Brown (Pam Grier) from Jackie Brown, which I will discuss in greater depth later. If he can reconcile these two forms (i.e., narrative as a whole and his intertextual style), perhaps his films can be more palatable. As of now, the presentation of his work appears to be a fragmented rough draft of his love for canonical cinema.
On the contrary, Jackie Brown appears to be the most seamless and continuous in his homage and (sub)version of blaxploitation films. Jackie Brown is the atypical heroine (a neo-blaxploitation female prototype with a feminist flair). She demonstrates “coolheadedness” and a demure sexuality (as opposed to the 70s archetypal prostitute) who is able to outsmart both the white cops (a common plot trait in Blaxploitation films) and her nemesis—Ordell Robbie (Samuel Jackson)—an arms dealer with “pimp daddy” qualities to whom she feels indebted. Having to overcome the oppression of patriarchal institutions as a working female, she must, to a certain extent, subordinate herself to male dominance (i.e., the cops and Ordell) in order to survive. Thus, her own heroism cannot be played out in totality. For instance, Max Cherry (Robert Foster) is the bail bondsman who is so smitten by her beauty that he later becomes her confidant amid her heist to steal Ordell’s money and to clear herself from the law. In her last standoff with Ordell, she is unable to take him on alone. Instead, she asks the cops to do the work for her. Thus, it is still a “man’s world” in a Tarantino film as the heroine is still “rescued” by her male counterparts.
Furthermore, the Tarantino prototypal hero often prevails in an unorthodox way. Perhaps this is another homage to Eastern cinema since most of the heroes are martyred or self-sacrificed for whatever cause.[3] In a Tarantino film, his heroes are often not survivors in his films or are truly triumphant—not quite what most spectators would expect, especially after the film chronicles the hero’s plight through great lengths. Some die violently but nobly such as the avenging heroine Shoshanna (Mélanie Laurent) in Inglorious Basterds and Dr. King Schultz (the supporting hero) in Django Unchained. Although Jackie Brown’s character survives and triumphs towards the end of the film, she must start her life all over again in a new world—something she has lamented about in a poignant scene with Max Cherry where she refuses to start a new compact disc collection of her coveted records. In essence, the culmination of her heroism is bittersweet.
Like Jackie Brown, the bittersweet heroism is also reiterated in the Kill Bill series where the female heroine, Beatrix Kiddo (Uma Thurman) struggles between being a high-powered assassin under the tutelage of leader, Bill (David Carradine), and a “stay at home” mom. Her vengeance is spurned by her latter choice—at least that is what we think. What makes her character interesting is her ambivalence towards the end of the film where she is seen crying privately in the bathroom once she was able to achieve her goal, that is, avenge the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, who took her child, killed her fiancé, and injured her to a point where she lost four years of her life lying in a coma. Before killing Bill, the last to die on her list, he is able to have the last punch. In the typical Tarantino longwinded conversation, he lectures her about the dichotomy of superheroes and their alter egos, which he later compares to Beatrix’s predicament. His final warning to her is that she will always be a killer and life will never be wholesome and exciting—as she hopes to achieve. Therefore, her attempt to be a mother and wife to a record storeowner does not fit her lifestyle. And it is Bill, her former lover as well as the ringleader behind her assassination plot, who provides her the wisdom about her doomed identity. Therefore, does she truly prevail? I guess we are going to have to wait for Kill Bill 3.
Because the Kill Bill series is a haphazard jigsaw of both western and Eastern influences that includes spaghetti western, anime, dated kung fu films, and samurai films, it is a highly stylized revenge story with a female heroine who represents the prototypal Asian warrior who is methodical, shrewd, and mission-obsessed. There is no subtlety or cunning spontaneity behind Tarantino’s homage to the aforementioned genres. His intention is too overt or in-your-face, which makes his film somewhat off putting. Many may find this entertaining; however, the narrative has no rhythm in its method storytelling, which I find frustrating. It oscillates between melodramatic, tribute, and parody. It also looks like a desperate attempt to pay homage to his love of cinema even though it often appears disordered and chaotic. (Even some of the Eastern auteurs such as Akira Kurosawa and Yimou Yang (to whom Tarantino is paying homage) are able to create order among the disorder.) Because of this, it sets the groundwork for gory, hemorrhagic, over-the-top violence that caters to the male audience. The use of tongue and cheek, exploitive violence can be seeing as gasping for another thrill. The winded dialogue that prefaces long, drawn out killing scenes makes traditionally climactic scenes almost anticlimactic and satirical at the same time. This also can be seen in his other films such as Pulp Fiction, Inglorious Basterds and Django Unchained.
In the Kill Bill series, our heroine is double the eye candy, more particularly for the male audience. She is beautiful, fair, and glossy-lipped even during her most bloody battles. As a vindictive fighter/assassin, she is methodical, uncompromising, and vengeance obsessed. Most notably, she is well equipped with the skills wisdom of her trainer the legendary Pai Wei and with her sword that was given to her by retired sword maker, Hattori Hanzo (Sonny Chiba). Amid her fights with her female nemeses, she engages in the typical, soft-spoken bitch talk (minus the hair pulling). With Vernita Green (Vivica Fox), Beatrix shows no sympathy in sparing her life now that she is a mother. With O-ren Ishii (Lucy Lui), Beatrix scalps her, much like the Native Americans did in The Searchers. In this stylized battle, he stages a balanced composition that is reminiscent of sword battle scenes from martial arts films from Yimou Zhang and epic samurai films such as revered auteur Akira Kurosawa such as her final fight with O-Ren Isshii. With the one-eyed, cyclopic Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah), her other beautiful and sexy nemesis, Beatrix skillfully gauges out her one remaining eye in the most grotesque, drawn out battle scene—in typical WWF martial arts style. And she leaves the scene squishing her opponent’s eye between her toes while her nemesis is left shaking violently in pain, horror, and shock as if she had been electrocuted—all of which spurns images of Daryl Hannah’s Blade Runner days in which she played Pris—an android who was violently killed by Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford).
Beatrix is an interesting dichotomy—maternally nurturing and ruthless and vengeance obsessed much like the prototypal western hero Ethan Edwards (John Wayne) who vowed to hunt down and kill the Native Americans who raped, pillaged, killed his kin, and kidnapped his youngest niece in The Searchers. Ethan Edwards was also an interesting dichotomy. He was contradictory and ambivalent about his feelings towards Native Americans—now that his niece Debbie Edwards (Natalie Wood) became one of the wives of Cicatriz “Scar” (Henry Brandon). Beatrix’s bravery is emphasized in Tarantino’s tribute to Sergio Leone’s signature close up shots of his villain versus hero scenes accompanied by the scoring of Ennio Morricone. Such technique is used to heighten the tension and reiterate the undying vengeance of Beatrix Kiddo.
We can also note that Beatrix Kiddo does not kill all of her assassins. For example, she spares the life of Karen Kim (Helen Kim) after she finds out she is pregnant. Rather, they create an unusual bond where the assassin leaves unscathed and Beatrix, in turn, receives a congratulations. Beatrix also refrains from killing mothers in front of their children, which is illustrated in her battle with Vernita Green. Therefore, there is no doubt that she is multi-faceted, unforgettable, and most of all, legendary. And such characteristics are fleshed out amid Tarantino’s multiple genre tributes and their respective character prototypes.
Lastly, as spectators, we do not know for sure if he is trying to aspire to the directors he reveres, but his work does set a new cultural expression and precedence in mainstream cinema that prompts the most literate and not so literate film spectators to indulge in a newfound, renewed and/or sentimental appreciation of our leading filmmaking pioneers of the past. This is where Tarantino has the potential to be a true inventor in his own right: he is indirectly or perhaps directly illuminating in his re-vision of outdated genres. And as a film enthusiast, I am all about resurrecting the vintage, the classic, the nostalgic and cleverly weaving them into our current cinematic tapestry—but it must be done with finesse and greater ingenuity so that the celebrated art does not become an unsavory cocktail of cheap thrills that fails to fit the bigger picture.
The Unlikely Heroes of Cinema: Yimou Zhang and Akira Kurosawa
What I do find commendable about Tarantino’s mainstream star power is his ability to help market international directors such as Eastern director, Yimou Zhang’s Hero (2002). Zhang’s artistry can stand on its own to those who already have a more broad film palette. However, for the general audience, foreign films are considered esoteric and far removed from the films they are used to seeing. In the past, students have expressed their biased thoughts against foreign films often seeing them as too weird, slow, boring, difficult to understand, and cumbersome when it comes to keeping up with the subtitles.
However, Zhang’s Hero is perhaps the most palatable Eastern film that has the potential to open doors for other influential Eastern films, especially for those who are new to foreign films. Although many students find the cathartic scenes too melodramatic, it does offer stunning visuals and highly stylized martial arts battle scenes—a familiar visual experience that most spectators have been exposed to. The narrative is divided into color-coded vignettes as it chronicles the plight of the assassins whose duty is to murder the emperor who wishes to unite divided China. This prompts the audience to assess and analyze the integrity of each narration while exploring other filmic subtexts: color symbolism and composition with hierarchal implications (especially in terms of character revelation). Not only does the plot explore the political ideology of China—in this case, the social political need for unity—it also sheds light into the film’s struggle to reconcile Eastern and Western polarizing themes such as individualism versus conformity and self-sacrifice versus unity. This type of thematic oscillation typifies most Eastern films.
Furthermore, Yang’s unorthodox narrative structure, that is, a four-part narrative told in flashbacks that disrupts the linearity of the overall story, is reminiscent of the legendary Eastern auteur Akira Kurosawa’s masterful work, Roshomon (1950). Roshomon’s plot consists of four different testimonies that recount the events that lead to the murder of a husband, which was precipitated by the “rape” of his wife. The testimonies from the wife, the woodcutter (an actual witness but with his own personal agenda, thereby, making him unreliable), the deceased husband (speaking through a medium), and the bandit (the alleged rapist) allow the spectator to arrive at their own assumptions about the integrity of all four narratives. Both Hero and Roshomon break up the narrative’s sequence, which prompts the audience to reflect on questions such as what is truth, what is reality, and what is imaginary? While Hero guides the audience into believing the assassin’s narrative, which helps glorify and apotheosize his political martyrdom, Roshomon does not offer any type of guidance or resolution to its audience—especially when it comes to the film’s thematic assertion that truth is relative and, therefore, absolute truth is nonexistent.
Optimism for the “Other” Spectator
In spite of the challenges of introducing unfamiliar films and diversifying the film palette of young spectators, I feel optimistic. Based on my experience as a cinema studies instructor, I realize that students who have taken to heart the study of film as an art have become the most intuitive spectators—more so than myself—since they have straddled the mainstream, the classical, and the canonical worlds. With the burgeoning of more film courses offered in high school and college campuses, it will, hopefully, give rise to a new type of film going experience where the degree of pleasure will also lend itself to the degree of intellectual intuitiveness. Spectatorship will not be limited to the next big blockbuster, the next big franchise, or the next big spectacle. Hopefully, by virtue of being aware of cinema’s thought-provoking influences as it crosses other disciplines other than art, spectatorship will carry over to a more enhanced screening experience that can actually probe deeper into the roots of our culture as well as our humanity. Although it would be naïve of me to assume that academics only can totally spurn a generation of cerebrally unprecedented film aficionados, it can at least be used as a platform for carefully introducing film as a cultural and entertainment art. This is where other forms of cinema communities can come in, especially in the advent of social media. Social media along with the convenient accessibility of films (either through streaming, Netflix, YouTube, and so on) will be influential in foregrounding other “great” films that are not always mainstream. Thus, if it is not achieved through a film course, then I hope this website will provide such a purpose when it comes to “other” spectatorship.
© 2014 by MMReviews Materials may be used freely for educational purposes, with proper attribution.
Bibliography
Costanzo, William. V. Reading the Movies: Twelve Great Films on Video and How to Teach Them. Urbana: National Council of Teachers of English, 1992. Print.
McClintock, Pamela. “From ‘Iron Man 3’ to ‘Hangover III’: The Profit Breakdown of May’s Blockbusters.” Hollywood Reporter.com. N.p., 6 June 2013. Web. 31 Aug. 2013. <http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/iron-man-3-hangover-3-562666>.
Smith, Grady. “Box Office Report: ‘The Hobbit’ Breaks December Record with $84.8 Million Weekend.” EW.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 23 Aug. 2013. <http://insidemovies.ew.com/2012/12/16/box-office-report-the-hobbit/>.
Stemple, Tom. American Audiences on Movies and Moviegoing. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2001. Print.
Turan, Kenneth. Never Coming to a Theater Near You. New York: Public Affairs, 2004.
Notes:
[1] AMC Theaters have promoted some independent and foreign films but they are not easily accessible to the genuinely interested audience. The films are either in the theaters briefly or they are matinee showings only. This makes the opportunity limiting and inconvenient.
[2] The use of different forms is intertextuality . For further readings on intertextuality see The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative by H. Porter. In addition, click on this YouTube link for a visual explanation of intertextuality: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N3vpFGbudpw
[3] This is quite the contrary in American cinema where it valorizes happy endings with a triumphant hero who often survives. Fatalism and self-sacrifice are usually a common theme in Eastern cinema.