National Treasure

Recently, I was thinking about a cut between two scenes in National Treasure.  At ~37:29, there's an abrupt transition from Ian and his team sneaking into the basement of the National Archives building to the gala that's happening above.  I'd recognized (instinctively if not consciously) that the two scenes differed in their nature, look, and relative location (a serious robbery beginning in dimly lit tunnels beneath the building compared to a light-hearted party in a bright hall on an upper floor), but I realized that they're also distinguished by their sound.  In the scene with Ian and his team, the sort of techno soundtrack provides a tense feeling, but this is soon replaced by the elegance and sophistication of a Haydn string quartet.  Additionally, since the string quartet is being performed by an ensemble at the gala, it's diegetic, unlike the music in the first scene, which is merely part of the film's soundtrack.  Each pair of these qualities creates a contrast between the two scenes, and when they're combined, the effect is magnified, especially since they involve more than one sense.

The Terminal

Last week, I watched The Terminal again and noticed some aspects that further emphasize a couple points I've previously written about.

In January 2019, I wrote that Viktor Navorski's motivation to help Mr. Milodragovich comes in part from a sympathy for and identification with his paternal affection.  (Milodragovich is trying to procure medicine for his father, demonstrating the same devotion that Navorski shows in his promise to complete his father's autograph collection.)  Milodragovich's name seems to indicate this quality that he shares with Navorski.  According to this site, drag means dear or precious and -ovich means "son of," so the core of the name denotes something like "son of a dear one."  This site explains that the milo- prefix means mercy or grace.

Two years ago, I wrote about Dixon's reaction to Navorski's gift.  He doesn't accept the fish that Navorski tries to give him because it's bigger than any of his own and would make him look bad in comparison, just as Navorski had inadvertently made Dixon look bad in front of the review board by finding a way within the legal system to allow Milodragovich to take the medicine for his father, essentially undermining Dixon's authority.  When Navorski offers Dixon the fish, he says, "Fish for wall."  I realized while watching the movie this time that his comment has the same structure and lack of articles as his earlier "Medicine for goat" from the Milodragovich situation.  This similarity may remind Dixon of the embarrassing event and further stoke his anger towards Navorski.

The Shop Around the Corner

This post contains spoilers.

A couple weeks ago, I re-watched The Shop Around the Corner and noticed some significance in the lighting in the final scene.

Mr. Kralik and Miss Novak, the two main characters, irritate each other at work but anonymously exchange letters through which they've become fond of one an-other.  Eventually, Kralik discovers the true identity of his "dear friend."  In the final scene of the movie, a conversation between Kralik and Novak, Kralik feigns that he has met Novak's correspondent and invents unpleasant details about him.  Novak had been looking forward to marrying him, but with each detail that Kralik fabricates, her spirits sink lower.

As they're talking, Kralik is closing up the shop and turning off the lights.  The increasing darkness visually matches and perhaps even heightens the sense of Novak's growing disappointment.

Shadow of a Doubt

Last week, I watched Shadow of a Doubt again.  I noticed that two scenes have shots that bear enough similarity to each other that they seem meant to invite a comparison and yet differ enough to illustrate a contrast.

Early in the movie, Uncle Charlie looks out a window in Philadelphia to see two detectives who are following him:

He's unnerved at their presence and mutters to himself, "What do you know?  You're bluffing!  You've nothing on me."

In an attempt to escape their surveillance, he goes to visit his sister's family in Santa Rosa, California.  Shortly after he arrives, he looks out the window to see two women chatting:

In the frame, he's facing right instead of left (as he was before), and the two women are oblivious to him, unlike the two male detectives who were keenly watching him.  Rather than reacting with anxiety, he's relaxed and even smiles.  The second scene also has a brighter overall palette, especially the clothing:  Uncle Charlie is wearing a lighter colored suit than he was earlier, and the two women are dressed in white.  All of these opposing details demonstrate the completely different natures of the two settings.

Torn Curtain

Earlier this month (on Julie Andrews' 90th birthday), I watched Torn Curtain for a second time, and I noticed some small significance in the staging of one shot.

The movie is about Michael Armstrong, an American scientist who pretends to defect to East Germany in order to continue his project that the government shut down.  Really, his objective is to talk to Professor Lindt, a scientist behind the iron curtain, and trick him into revealing information that Armstrong needs.

Armstrong first encounters Lindt in a lecture room with tiered seating.  Lindt is sitting up in the back:

His position here indicates two qualities:  his elevation above everyone else demonstrates his importance (especially for Armstrong), and his distance (at the opposite end of the room) shows that - for the moment - he's inaccessible for Armstrong.  Initially, Armstrong isn't allowed to talk to Lindt because of questions of security resulting from Armstrong's unsanctioned visit to a farm (to meet with his contact in a secret organization).

The Ray Bradbury Theater - "The Murderer"

Near the beginning of August, I watched The Ray Bradbury Theater episode "The Murderer," and I noted that an electronic version of the first movement of Bach's third Brandenburg concerto (BWV 1048) is used in the diegetic soundtrack.  Almost two months later (at the end of September), I was thinking about this again and realized that some of the qualities of the piece exemplify the episode's environment.

Most of the episode is simply a conversation between Dr. Arnold Fellows and Albert Brock in a sort of psychiatric center (with flashbacks to show Brock's story).  Brock explains that he became overwhelmed with the constant barrage of sound from various electronic devices ("My whole day was one big listen") and eventually went on a spree to destroy them (after which he was arrested).  To a degree, the baroque polyphony and rather fast allegro tempo of the Bach piece illustrate this excessive stimulation that Brock experienced.

When I re-watched the episode last week, I realized that the placement of the piece also holds some significance.  It's playing outside the room where Fellows and Brock meet, so when Fellows enters and later leaves, there's a sudden transition between Bach and silence as the door closes or opens.  This immediate shift between extremes further highlights the contrast between the two.

The Pianist

Two months ago, I started reading The Art of Watching Films (sixth edition) by Joseph M. Boggs and Dennis W. Petrie, and I decided to try to watch at least some of the movies that are mentioned in it.  A few weeks ago, I watched The Pianist again (it had been about five years since I last saw it), and I noticed two significant details.

When Władysław Szpilman is introduced, he's playing Chopin's Nocturne in C sharp minor on Polish radio.  In the frame, he's facing left:

(I have only the full-screen version.)

Near the end of the movie, he's playing this piece on the radio again, but the shot composition is reversed, so he's now facing right:

Ostensibly, Szpilman has gone back to doing exactly what he did before, as he told Hosenfeld:  "I'll play the piano again, on the Polish radio."  He looks about the same as he did at the beginning of the movie, and he's even playing the same piece.  The difference in composition between these two shots, however, illustrates that there has been a change and that Szpilman has been affected by what he's experienced.

In a scene early in the movie, a German soldier harasses Szpilman's father on the sidewalk.  His comments contain a shift in tone, but this doesn't come across in the English subtitles.

Soldier

Dialogue:  Sie!  Herkommen!  Warum haben Sie sich nicht verbeugt?

Subtitles:  Why didn't you bow?

My translation:  You!  Come here!  Why didn't you bow?

Szpilman's father

Dialogue:  Entschuldigung Sie.

Subtitles:  I beg your pardon.

My translation:  Excuse me.

Soldier

Dialogue:  Euch ist der Gehweg verboten.  In die Gosse mit dir.

Subtitles:  You're forbidden the pavement  In the gutter!

My translation:  For you [plural] the pavement is forbidden.  Into the gutter with you [singular].

Initially, the soldier uses Sie, which is a polite or formal address, but then he switches to dir (the dative form of du).  Normally, du is used only in close relationships (with friends and family, for example).  In this context, it's disrespectful and indicates the soldier's belief that Szpilman's father is inferior to him.  Throughout the movie, other German soldiers also use du (or its inflected forms) when talking to the Jews.  Hosenfeld is an exception to this, though, and consistently addresses Szpilman with the polite Sie.