Simplistic lighting design, often using only one or two lights
Only shoots films using spherical lenses
His primary hobby is taking still photographs. Before he entered the National Film School, he spent a year in North Devon, England, documenting the way of life on the farms and in the villages. This cemented his passion for still photography that continues to this day. On the rare days that he is not in his boat while in Devon, he enjoys traveling to various places to augment his growing series of images.
The genre has existed since the early years of silent cinema, when Georges Melies' A Trip to the Moon (1902) amazed audiences with its trick photography effects. The next major example in the genre was the 1927 film Metropolis. From the 1930s to the 1950s, the genre consisted mainly of low-budget B-movies. After Stanley Kubrick's 1968 landmark 2001: A Space Odyssey, the science fiction film genre was taken more seriously. In the late 1970s, big-budget science fiction films filled with special effects became popular with audiences after the success of Star Wars and paved the way for the blockbuster hits of subsequent decades.
Defining precisely which films belong to the science fiction genre is often difficult, as there is no universally accepted definition of the genre, or in fact its underlying genre in literature. According to one definition:
Science fiction film is a film genre which emphasizes actual, extrapolative, or speculative science and the empirical method, interacting in a social context with the lesser emphasized, but still present, transcendentalism of magic and religion, in an attempt to reconcile man with the unknown (Sobchack 63).
This definition assumes that a continuum exists between (real-world) empiricism and (supernatural) transcendentalism, with science fiction film on the side of empiricism, andhorror film and fantasy film on the side of transcendentalism. However, there are numerous well-known examples of science fiction horror films, epitomized by such pictures as Frankenstein and Alien.
The visual style of science fiction film can be characterized by a clash between alien and familiar images. This clash is implemented when alien images become familiar, as in A Clockwork Orange, when the repetitions of the Korova Milkbar make the alien decor seem more familiar.As well, familiar images become alien, as in the films Repo Man and Liquid Sky. For example, in Dr. Strangelove, the distortion of the humans make the familiar images seem more alien. Finally, alien and familiar images are juxtaposed, as inThe Deadly Mantis, when a giant praying mantis is shown climbing the Washington Monument.
Cultural theorist Scott Bukatman has proposed that science fiction film allows contemporary culture to witness an expression of the sublime, be it through exaggerated scale, apocalypse or transcendence.
Science Fiction Films are usually scientific, visionary, comic-strip-like, and imaginative, and usually visualized through fanciful, imaginative settings, expert film production design, advanced technology gadgets (i.e., robots and spaceships), scientific developments, or by fantastic special effects. Sci-fi films are complete with heroes, distant planets, impossible quests, improbable settings, fantastic places, great dark and shadowy villains, futuristic technology and gizmos, and unknown and inexplicable forces. Many other SF films feature time travels or fantastic journeys, and are set either on Earth, into outer space, or (most often) into the future time. Quite a few examples of science-fiction cinema owe their origins to writers Jules Verne and H.G. Wells.
They often portray the dangerous and sinister nature of knowledge ('there are some things Man is not meant to know') (i.e., the classic Frankenstein (1931), The Island of Lost Souls (1933), and David Cronenberg's The Fly (1986) - an updating of the 1958 version directed by Kurt Neumann and starring Vincent Price), and vital issues about the nature of mankind and our place in the whole scheme of things, including the threatening, existential loss of personal individuality (i.e.,Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), and The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957)). Plots of space-related conspiracies (Capricorn One (1977)), supercomputers threatening impregnation (Demon Seed (1977)), the results of germ-warfare (The Omega Man (1971)) and laboratory-bred viruses or plagues (28 Days Later (2002)), black-hole exploration (Event Horizon (1997)), and futuristic genetic engineering and cloning (Gattaca (1997) and Michael Bay's The Island (2005)) show the tremendous range that science-fiction can delve into.
Strange and extraordinary microscopic organisms or giant, mutant monsters ('things or creatures from space') may be unleashed, either created by misguided mad scientists or by nuclear havoc (i.e., The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953)). Sci-fi tales have a prophetic nature (they often attempt to figure out or depict the future) and are often set in a speculative future time. They may provide a grim outlook, portraying a dystopic view of the world that appears grim, decayed and un-nerving (i.e., Metropolis (1927) with its underground slave population and view of the effects of industrialization, the portrayal of 'Big Brother' society in1984 (1956 and 1984), nuclear annihilation in a post-apocalyptic world in On the Beach (1959), Douglas Trumbull's vision of eco-disaster in Silent Running (1972), Michael Crichton's Westworld (1973) with androids malfunctioning, Soylent Green (1973) with its famous quote: "Soylent Green IS PEOPLE!", 'perfect' suburbanite wives in The Stepford Wives (1975), and the popular gladiatorial sport of the year 2018 in Rollerball (1975)). Commonly, sci-fi films express society's anxiety about technology and how to forecast and control the impact of technological and environmental change on contemporary society.
Science fiction often expresses the potential of technology to destroy humankind through Armaggedon-like events, wars between worlds, Earth-imperiling encounters or disasters (i.e., The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951), When Worlds Collide (1951), The War of the Worlds (1953), the two Hollywood blockbusters Deep Impact (1998) and Armageddon (1998), and The Day After Tomorrow (2004), etc.). In many science-fiction tales, aliens, creatures, or beings (sometimes from our deep subconscious, sometimes in space or in other dimensions) are unearthed and take the mythical fight to new metaphoric dimensions or planes, depicting an eternal struggle or battle (good vs. evil) that is played out by recognizable archetypes and warriors (i.e., Forbidden Planet (1956) with references to the 'id monster' from Shakespeare's The Tempest, the space opera Star Wars (1977) with knights and a princess with her galaxy's kingdom to save, The Fifth Element (1997), and the metaphysical Solaris (1972 and 2002)). Beginning in the 80s, science fiction began to be feverishly populated by noirish, cyberpunk films, with characters including cyber-warriors, hackers, virtual reality dreamers and druggies, and underworld low-lifers in nightmarish, un-real worlds (i.e., Blade Runner (1982), Strange Days (1995), Johnny Mnemonic (1995), and The Matrix (1999)).
Borrowing and Hybrid Genre Blending in Sci-Fi Films:
The genre is predominantly a version of fantasy films ( Star Wars (1977)), but can easily overlap with horror films, particularly when technology or alien life forms become malevolent (Alien (1979)) in a confined spaceship (much like a haunted-house story). Quite a few science-fiction films took an Earth-bound tale and transported it to outer space: High Noon (1952) became Outland (1980), The Magnificent Seven (1960) was spoofed in Battle Beyond the Stars (1980), Enemy Mine (1985) was essentially a remake of Hell in the Pacific (1968) with Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune, and the chariot race of Ben-Hur (1959) was duplicated in the pod-race of Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace (1999).
Here is a sample essay to use as a guide to the essay structure, content and analytical approach you should adopt for your first assignment. It is by no means perfect, but if you follow the technique it will give you a solid basis on how to integrate film language, description and the interpretation of meaning for your coursework essay.
How does the use of cinematography in a key sequence from ‘Control’ convey a sense of isolation?
The film Control is a music biopic unlike many others in the genre, it is shot exclusively in black and white throughout and conveys the representation that the media projected of Joy Division from the late 70’s. The film often rejects the normal conventions of a biopic, whereby an artist’s life is fantasised, choosing to focus upon the harsh reality of a day-to-day existence of the subject matter it portrays. The isolation of Ian’s character from the rest of the world is portrayed through films use of the shadows that the characters are hidden by in high contrasting lighting, or using a shot reverse shot technique to show just how far apart the main characters interaction are becoming. The scene I am choosing is scene 11 where Ian Curtis goes to see his wife Debbie. The scene starts with Ian entering the house. The camera doesn’t follow him in as it is shot using a mid shot, it allows the audience to see him enter the house and turn on the light. This separates Ian’s character immediately from the audience; he becomes isolated from any other characters when he discovers that he has epilepsy. It may also represent the fact that this is no longer Ian’s house and the camera is suggesting that he is almost waiting to be invited in. The sound moves from diegetic sound to non diegetic as the character goes into the house, as the audience can no longer see what he is doing but can still hear it. The scene remains silent in the background apart from the diegetic sound of the television and Ian drinking. The diegetic sound is a technique the director uses to manipulate the audiences perceptions to making everything appear normal, but the way that the camera focuses upon Ian’s character in mid-shotisolating him from the house that he used to live in. It then cuts from the scene where Ian’s character is sitting smoking, to a close up of the bottle of spirit that we saw him drinking earlier. The audience had learned previously in the film that Ian is not supposed to drink because of his condition, and so drinking the large amount of alcohol that is in front of him could bring on another epileptic fit. Because of the cameras ability to isolate the character through a mid-shot then close up the audience sees that there is no one else in the house; bringing about a kind of danger to Ian’s actions. This could relate to the fact that he almost has no ‘Control’ anymore and that he’s not of sound mind. The non-diegetic music takes on a more sinister tone with quite strange music, which then become diegetic. The music is taken from the film that Ian Curtis last watched. The plot of the story is a man that goes to America to fulfil his dream, and his whole life actually falls apart. This not only falls inline with the events of Ian Curtis’ life, but also add meaning to the narrative event of Ian’s anticipation in going to America, and what could inevitably happen if he did. The camera shifts to a close up to allow the audience to see what is on the television. Ian’s character is then zoomed into with a close up where the audience can see that he is almost in a trance like state. Ian’s character is being passive, and almost looks like he has no plan, so he’s just doing nothing. This links back to the film’s title, the issue of control or lack of, and also a reference to the character’s epilepsy. The camera focuses on this to give the audience an insight into what the character is thinking- not very much. When the television cuts out a close up is used so we can see and hear the diegetic buzzing of the television and see the character turn it off. People generally relate the white noise of a television set to being quite sinister almost; this subtly highlights an element of danger to the audience and suggests that Ian may be 'switching off' or cutting out any influence from the outside world or reality.
There is then a straight cut to Debbie arriving outside using a long shot, so we can see the whole scene in the frame, and the only sound we can hear is the diegetic sound of the old car engine. We then cut to the house from the inside to show the character coming in through the door, rather than waiting for the character to come in like it did with Ian’s character. This may also represent that Debbie owns the house in total freedom and can enter when she wants. There then becomes a divide in the frame, it is split into light and darkness. Ian’s character is framed in the dark, and steps outside of the light, whereas Debbie’s remains totally in the light. The characters are framed on opposite sides of a spectrum, they no longer relate to each other, one is positive and one is negative. The use of shadows is used as a sort of convention to Film Noir; this is where the director will have got the idea to keep Ian’s character shaded to reflect his intentions as being clouded or concealed. The Big Sleep shows examples of this throughout the film; with mise-en-scene such as plants and blinds casting shadows not only on the scene but also the characters. The camera doesn’t follow their conversation with a shot reverse shot; instead it allows Debbie’s voice to be out of the scene whilst we just focus on Ian’s reactions and speech. The director does this because previously there have been elements to hint danger, and surely enough Ian’s mood changes instantaneously to show how fragile his moods seem to be. We then see the conversation from behind Ian’s character in an over the shoulder shot as he remains in the shadow/dark and we focus on Debbie’s reaction in shallow focus. At this point, because of the contrast between the focus of the characters it shows another divide, whether it represents their divide in character and how their marriage has split, or it might represent their state of mind at the time. Debbie’s character seems to be getting on with life and coping whereas Ian’s character has become less focussed, and evidently isn’t. The scene then cuts a side viewpoint, and not quite behind Debbie’s character, the door frame is another divide in the frame, showing the diversity in the characters and the divide between them after their split, and a divide in their intentions. At the beginning of the film, there isn’t this divide between them but after they become married framings seem to change, and here it is evident more than ever just how far they are opposites. The shot shifts to a close up of Ian, his character remains to be in the dark, we can see that he’s in distress we see this through the darkness almost masking his intentions. The low key lighting in this film is emphasised by the fact that the film is black and white but this also represents the difference in character, with Ian’s being consistently in the shadows more. The isolation of Ian’s character is also evident earlier on in the film where Ian and Debbie are walking back to their house after being at a party. Ian asks Debbie if she wants to sleep with other men. The background at this point becomes out of focus, using depth of field to isolate the couple from the environment around them. When Debbie identifies that Ian no longer loves her, she walks on into the foreground and becomes out of focus of the camera. Ian is now completely isolated from his environment. Corbijn uses a telephoto lens to create this effect; this allows the director to focus on whatever he chooses and at this point it seems to represent Ian's isolation.
When the two argue and Debbie’s character is forced to leave, the scene falls completely silent apart from the non diegetic sound coming from Debbie getting into the car and driving away. But the camera remains static in the same spot where Debbie was standing. The camera lingers on Ian's reaction in close up, giving the audience an insight into how Ian would feel after the argument. The camera staying on the same spot for a few seconds reflects regret, and keeps the audience in the moment and reiterates the situation. This then moves onto New Order’s song 'Get Out' which is non diegetic and it becomes diegetic even though the character is listening to another album. The actual album that the audience should be hearing is Iggy Pop’s ‘The Idiot’, however the New Order song was written specifically for this part of the film and sets the scene and mood for the audience far better than the original soundtrack would’ve done. We see this through the close up shots of the record and then the record player. When Ian’s character is writing the letter we have two layers of non diegetic sound, we have Ian also reading out what he is writing, but this isn’t actually happening in the scene. The non-diegetic voice overallows the audience to listen to the characters state of mind, and this links the scene to the beginning of the film where we see Ian’s character in despair, sitting in his room. The non-diegetic voice overis like a narration of what’s actually going on, rather than what the other characters have been believing. Ian’s state of mind is explored throughout the film, at one point quite subtly, when Ian returns home (to his mum and dad) from staying at his band mate’s house. The shot is tilted upwards to show the audience what the character is looking at. The pivotal part of the frame is filled with a telephone pole, with wires going from the central point (the pole) to various other places. Again the audiences are manipulated to make their own judgement on what this shot represents, with the fact that it is the main focus in the frame. This simple but effective shot, represents the many different ties that Ian has - to many to keep hold of. And this shows the audience that Ian’s mind (and heart) is not in just one place. He’s no longer in ‘Control’ and suggests that he is being pulled in many different directions.
In the final house scene, the diegetic sound in the background completely stops and we focus on the characters epileptic fit and this is shown with a close up of the character in his discomfort. The only sound we can hear diegetically is Ian’s fitting as he convulses; it makes the scene quite uncomfortable to watch. The use of a close up and the reality it conveys in the scene makes it quite hard to watch, but this ultimately shows the audience the characters vulnerability and sense of despair in his fragile state of mind. The scene then ends in total silence and concludes on a close up of Ian’s characters face. The shot then dissolves into a black screen. The close up and the fading away makes the moment linger in the audiences mind again and the sense that he has slipped away. This final dissolvereinforces the serious condition of Ian's state of mind, making the viewer sympathise emotionally with his situation and the impact this will have upon his friends and family.
Here is a guide to the way you should write an analysis that includes film language. actiondescription and your personal response. It is only an extract from a larger analysis but may be useful for the style and content of the written work you are producing for your coursework.
Describe:
WHAT you see/hear?
+
HOW it is technically constructed?
+
WHY you think it is constructed this way?
= MEANING
Integrating all aspects in a coherent and clear way to show how meaning is constructed throughout the sequence is the key to achieving a good grade:
Although
this is not a horror film in the purest sense it does use the convention of an
open, abandoned space to make the situation more fearful. This is similar to
the opening scene of ‘The Shining’ when the mise-en-scene shows that something
bad will happen by opening the film with a tracking shot of a single car
isolated in countryside. Therefore isolation is a convention of a thriller and
horror and can make a character look more vulnerable; suggesting that something
bad is going to happen. I feel that the director chose this technique from a
horror like ‘The Shining’ as it reinforces the fear of being alone in an open
space, especially at night. This allowed me to sympathise with Susie as I would
feel vulnerable myself if I were in her position. I particularly felt scared
watching this film rather than a conventional horror as these types of murders
and rapes happen in real life.
The setting and mise-en-scene
of a cornfield has connotations of reaping and sowing, suggesting death and
rebirth, a key theme in the film. Cornfields are also used to make associations
with young children in the horror genre, for example; 'Children Of The Corn',
'Sleepy Hollow' and 'The Sand'. These examples all use cornfields with some
form of scare for children, often using a ‘scarecrow’ to scare them. This occurs
in ‘Children of the Corn’ when the mise-en-scene includes a scarecrow to symbolize a threat
for the characters and the audience. So I feel that this film has taken the
concept of having something in a cornfield to scare or be a danger to children
and then adding a real situation; making it more of a thriller than a horror. Also,
corn grows in fields, just like a child grows up; so with Susie being attacked in
a cornfield it reflects her childhood and how oblivious to danger. Her life is
also taken from her prematurely just like corn is cut from life before it dies
naturally. It seems likely that the
mise-en-scene location was chosen to represent these themes of innocence, growth
and death.
In one of the more gruesome scenes in Drive (2011), Driver (Ryan Gosling) stands in a motel room with blood aggressively streaked across his face. Throughout the early parts of the film, he’s predominantly painted in cool tints (subdued greens, blues and shades of grey). Here, though, his own actions have caused a grim and literal recolouring. He becomes emphatically warm and the visual change reveals shifting circumstances: at this point, he is so captivated by Irene (Carey Mulligan) that he is willing to engage more fully with the world of crime. Nicolas Winding Refn, the director, and Newton Thomas Sigel, the cinematographer, control colour expertly, using a fairly limited palette to enact in light the tensions that exist between characters and social worlds.
Despite the extensive use of red, white and blue, Refn is not concerned with American nationalism or issues of the flag. Instead, there’s a use of colour that enunciates personal emotions by playing with the split between warm and cool. In the beginning, as mentioned above, Driver’s face is washed almost exclusively with the latter. Gosling’s understated performance, which combines subtle gestures and few words, achieves a characterisation that is paralleled in light.
In contrast, Irene, coloured in warm reds, oranges and yellows, radiates care and maternal love.
Refn carefully arranges the frame during Driver’s and Irene’s early meetings so that tints of different temperatures remain quite firmly attached to each character.
But, as the attraction becomes greater, the breakdown of social barriers is paralleled in a blending of hues. The pair are first cast together in a warm glow in Driver’s car, though the effect quickly enters Irene’s domestic space.
Refn’s and Sigel’s use of colour is subtler, though, than simply revealing a movement from separation to unity. Throughout the picture, there’s a tension between gradation and delineation. A scene near the end brings this design into focus. Irene walks back to her apartment, having received no answer to her knock on Driver’s door. The walls are a rich brown and her face is a warm wooden orange. She passes a framed picture of the sea which is composed of blues and greens. The particular perspective of the painting echoes the framing of the ocean in an earlier scene in which Driver commits his ultimate act of violence (which, by the by, we’re not shown). So, then, this image that brings him to mind only reinforces that he has gone. The situation is summarised by the relationship between warm and cool tints (easily kept separate by a frame): the bloody mess that has stained Driver’s face and has escalated beyond control ultimately renders the pair like oil and water, rather than two drops in an ocean.
To reduce the concept to a crude rule of thumb in the composition of a shot in a movie: A person located somewhat to the right of centre will seem ideally placed. A person to the right of that position will seem more positive; to the left, more negative. A centered person will seem objectified, like a mug shot.
Now what do I mean by "positive" or "negative?" I mean that these are tendencies within the composition. They are not absolutes. But in general terms, in a two-shot, the person on the right will "seem" dominant over the person on the left.
In simplistic terms: Right is more positive, left more negative. Movement to the right seems more favorable; to the left, less so. The future seems to live on the right, the past on the left. The top is dominant over the bottom. The foreground is stronger than the background. Symmetrical compositions seem at rest. Diagonals in a composition seem to "move" in the direction of the sharpest angle they form, even though of course they may not move at all. Therefore, a composition could lead us into a background that becomes dominant over a foreground.
Tilt shots of course put everything on a diagonal, implying the world is out of balance. I have the impression that more tilts are down to the right than to the left, perhaps suggesting the characters are sliding perilously into their futures. Left tilts to me suggest helplessness, sadness, resignation. Few tilts feel positive. Movement is dominant over things that are still. A POV above a character's eyeline reduces him; below the eyeline, enhances him. Extreme high angle shots make characters into pawns; low angles make them into gods. Brighter areas tend to be dominant over darker areas, but far from always: Within the context, you can seek the "dominant contrast," which is the area we are drawn toward. Sometimes it will be darker, further back, lower, and so on. It can be as effective to go against intrinsic weightings as to follow them.
Stanley Kubrick’s filmography, a towering, multifaceted edifice of sheer craft, offers many patterns for attentive fans to spot. Those unschooled in photography or other types of image composition may feel what the video means to shows them without being able to put it into words. All these shots — from films as varied as 2001, Paths of Glory, Barry Lyndon, and A Clockwork Orange — use what’s called “one-point perspective,” which you get when “the painting plate (also known as the picture plane) is parallel to two axes of a rectilinear (or Cartesian) scene – a scene which is composed entirely of linear elements that intersect only at right angles.” In other words, all the visual lines in these shots appear to converge on a single point, usually dead ahead.
“Genres isn’t a word that pops up in every conversation about films or every review – but the idea is second nature to the movies and our awareness of them. Movies belong to genres much the way people belong to families or ethnic groups. Name one of the classic, bedrock genres – Western, comedy, musical, war film, gangster picture, science fiction, horror – and even the most casual moviegoer will come up with a mental image of it, partly visual, partly conceptual” (Richard T. Jameson, They Went Thataway, 1994, p. IX).
“The master image for genre criticism is the triangle composed of artist/film/audience. Genres may be defined as patterns/form/styles/structures which transcend individual films, and which supervise both their construction by the filmmaker, and their reading by an audience” (Tom Ryall, quoted by Stephen Neale, Genre, 1980, p. 7).
“…genre can be defined as a structural pattern which embodies a universal life pattern or myth in the materials of language… Genre is universal, basic to human perceptions of life” (John Cawelti, The Six-gun Mystique, 1975, p. 30).
As Barry Keith Grant writes in the introduction of his genre reader, “the work of defining film genres is surprisingly difficult and complex’” [1] because “…recognition of the importance of genre in the cinema is a relatively recent development….although chronologically it narrowly predates the early work of auteur criticism.” [2] Grant takes notice that until the late 1940s and early 1950s – when Robert Warshow and genre pioneer André Bazin wrote the first significant essays on film genre (about gangster movies and about the Western) – films were only distinguished by a phrase (for example, ‘a war movie’) “used as a convenient label to give one an idea of what the story was like, what to expect generally from a film.” [3] As before in literature, in painting and in other forms of art, “genre became a critical term, providing another conceptual framework for understanding movies.” [4] A genre classification can also double as a precise commercial study because it evokes certain audience expectations and therefore it allows one to establish classifications, comparisons, balance-sheets, valuations for the future and so on. Although it has been helpful for cinema studies, classifying films in accordance with their genre remains a difficult and risky endeavor because genre ‘impurity’ is by now, some twenty years after the solidification of genre study, a constant characteristic and a usual practice of the cinema as art and as industry.
Horror is an ancient art form. We have tried to terrify each other with tales which trigger the less logical parts of our imaginations for as long as we've told stories. From the ballads of the ancient world to modern urban myths, audiences willingly offer themselves up to sadistic storytellers to be scared witless, and they are happy to pay for the privilege. Theories abound as to why this is so; do we derive basic thrills from triggering the rush of adrenalin which fear brings, or do horror stories serve a wider moral purpose, reinforcing the rules and taboos of our society and showing the macabre fate of those who transgress?
Horror movies have long served both purposes. They deliver thrills by the hearseload, as well as telling us stories of the dark, forbidden side of life (and death) - cautionary tales for grown ups. They also provide a revealing mirror image of the anxieties of their time. Nosferatu (1922) is not simply a tale of vampirism, but offers heart-rending images of a town beleaguered by premature and random deaths, echoes of the Great War and the Great Flu Epidemic fatalities. At the other end of the century Blade (1998) is not just a tale of vampirism either, but reflects a fear of the powerful yet irresponsible elements in society, echoes down the corridor indeed of the seemingly impunitive behaviour of those at the top.
Each generation gets the horror films it deserves, and one of the more fascinating aspects of the study of the genre is the changing nature of the monsters who present a threat. In the early 1940s, a world living under the shadow of Hitler's predatory tendencies identified a part-man, part-wolf as their boogeyman, whose bestial nature caused him to tear apart those who crossed his path. In the 1990s however, there was no need for a part wolf component: Jonathan Doe (Se7en 1994) and Hannibal Lecter (Manhunter 1986, Silence of the Lambs 1991, Hannibal 2001) were entirely human in their calculated and stylised killing methods. As we move on into the twenty first century, the ghosts and zombies are back in vogue as Eastern and Western superstitions converge, and once more we yearn for an evil that is beyond human. In an era of war and waterboarding, supernatural terror is more palatable than the fear inherent in news headlines.
Sex and death, those two great mainstays of the horror genre, have rarely been as poetically evoked as in FW Murnau's silent masterpiece. If Nosferatu wasn't quite the first vampire movie, it was the first adaptation of Dracula, albeit an unofficial one; Bram Stoker's estate sued the producers and all copies of the film were ordered to be destroyed.
Fortunately for the history of cinema it was an order that could not be enforced in Germany. The film follows the story of Dracula closely, though names have been changed. The Dracula character, Graf Orlok, was played by Max Schreck as a hideous walking corpse with a bald head, pointy teeth and long fingernails; Jonathan Harker becomes Thomas Hutter, Mina Harker is Ellen, Renfield is Knock and Van Helsing becomes Professor Bulwer.
As Hutter travels to Carpathia to meet Orlok for the first time, his crossing of the boundary between the real world and the nightmare one is marked by the famous inter-title, so beloved of André Breton and the surrealists: "And when he crossed the bridge, the phantoms came to meet him." After glimpsing Hutter's portrait of Ellen, Orlok makes his way, with a stash of earth-filled coffins, from Varna on the Black Sea to Bremen (called Wisborg in the film) in north Germany – an epic voyage by sea, and the sort of vast geographical distance that has been diminished by subsequent Dracula films as the globe has been shrunk by air travel and telecommunications.
Many of what would become conventions of vampire pictures were established here – the vampire's thirst for blood, the power of sunlight to destroy the creature and vampirism as a metaphor for sexuality, contagion and xenophobia.
Despite Orlok's hideousness, the Mina character sacrifices herself to him with an erotic abandon notably absent from her relations with her human husband, and the vampire is unable to tear himself away from her neck before sunrise. Orlok, like so many monsters before and since, is finally undone by his all-too-human desire.
It used to be that a film set in the US with strong American themes was a box-office winner. Now it's the culturally neutral backdrops that are cornering the global market.
"American" was an evocative word for a movie title as recently as 1999, when American Beauty and American Pie were riding high at the global box office. It indicated supremacy, with a hint of kitsch. But something was about to happen to films about America. You could glimpse it in the worldwide top five that year: Tarzan, The Matrix, Toy Story 2, The Sixth Sense and the dreaded Phantom Menace. Three movies unfolding on American soil, one in the African rainforest, the last in a galaxy far, far away.
Of the US-set films, which were Yankee to the bone? Toy Story, yes, but merchandise boy Buzz Lightyear pointed the route away from the rough textures of Americana towards the sterile corporate lobbies and digital anywhere-cities of The Matrix. Which really left M Night Shyamalan's debut as the only unabashed, old-school, all-American film.
We could have used a warning from the future about Shyamalan, but who knew one might be needed about the demise of the American blockbuster? The USA of the collective unconscious – LA storm drains, NYC fire escapes, Midwest horizon roads and speedboat-parted Florida wetlands – is almost extinct at the global box office. Last year's top five had one film, the fourth Twilight, with a US setting; two, if you count the last Transformers, which really belongs to the multimillion-dollar globetrotters that rule the roost now. The new orthodoxy is: if a film is set in America, with strong American themes, the less chance it stands in the new globalised mainstream. What's happened over the last 20 years becomes obvious if you take a scan at the top five for 1990: Ghost, Home Alone, Pretty Woman, Dances with Wolves, Total Recall. All as American (well, and a bit Martian) as George Bush Sr's ringtone.
What's slowly driving out all-American blockbusters are films with culturally neutral backdrops that travel better: exotic animations such as Ice Age and Madagascar, mythological epics like Immortals, and science-fiction. American films are almost becoming ghettoised in the "local film" bracket. The Help, like The Blind Side a couple of years before it, has been swinging for the global consciousness, but in vain: it did 83% of its business in the US. A couple of decades ago, The Grey would have been a high-performing genre pic, the kind of thing that might scrape into the worldwide top 20; no chance. True Grit was the hardest-riding straight western for years, but even the Coens' name couldn't get it any further up than number 30 in the international charts. But the western is the most American of all genres.
