Wednesday, May 23, 2007
It has been said that art is using a lie to tell a truth. I can go with that. After all, a fictional story is not true, but yet may yield great truth. Some fictional stories do this better than others. And still others do it with a razor edged precision that defines truth in such a way as to change our very lives.
Literature has many of these to boast of, film considerably less. That is what I want to talk about today, film, movies. And not just movies, but rather, those movies that seem to capture that special realism, that ‘in the moment’ feel that makes you forget that you’re watching actors, sets, props, lighting, and other of the false machinery that forces a suspending of reality.
If you’ve seen The Maltese Falcon directed by John Huston, you will have seen the antitheses of what I’m talking about. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love that film. It’s one of my favorites. It’s an excellent story, and Huston doesn’t let it drag for a single moment. However, it has a style that is aggressively theatrical, heightened, and sometimes downright melodramatic. But we accept this and love it anyway.
What I am talking about, as far as realism goes, are those films that are not that noir style that sometimes pushes the envelope of recognizable characters, dialogue and direction; films that have a reality to them that causes you to swear that there couldn’t have been a script, or actors, or a director sitting in a chair yelling out blocking or saying, “Hey, Gene, give Denzel that line again, but this time…”
One movie that does this is All The President’s Men, directed by Alan J. Pakula. It’s the story of The Washington Post’s Woodward and Bernstein investigation of the Watergate incident during the Nixon administration. The casting was genius, and Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman were inimitable. But the real magic comes in Pakula’s direction. As you watch, you may, or may not, notice that it is void of a single car crash, gunshot, or fight scene. No one is stabbed or beaten, there are no special effects, no fighter Jets scream across the sky in airborne battle, and throughout the entire movie, not one woman shows the least hint of her naked or even scantily clad body. And yet, without all of this, it is no less than completely riveting. It is paced perfectly, it keeps you on the edge of your seat, and you find yourself actually a little nervous in some places as you watch it.
I think part of the reason for this, and I mean only part, is that Pakula was able to achieve that, In medias res, that sense that you’re not watching a movie, but rather you are one of the guys sitting at the bar next these two reporters, listening in to their conversation.
There is one scene where Redford picks up the phone and calls a number that he had gotten as a lead. When the voice on the other end of the line answers in Spanish Redford halts, then asks if the man speaks English. When the guy responds in Spanish, he tells the guy to hold on, covers the phone with his hand, and turns to all the other cubicles and calls out, “Does anyone speak Engl–” then, interrupting himself, he corrects, “Does anyone speak Spanish?” This was done so well that you would accuse the actor of an improvising if not the whole scene, then at least that line. Now I don’t know, it may very well have been an improv. But I doubt it. The whole film is like that. It really is like you’re a third wheel traveling around with these two as they put together this political puzzle. It was just amazing, and only certain directors have that ability, and those that do, don’t seem be able to employ it at will. Pakula has done other things, but nothing that rises to this level of stark realism.
Gone With The Wind was one of the greatest films ever made, and I have seen it numerous times, and will continue to see it many more in the future. But I never forget that this one of a kind, wonderful movie is just that: A movie. A fantastic movie, but a movie nonetheless. Not so with All The President’s Men. It’s not as much a movie as it is an experiential cinematic documentation of an historic investigation. Or at least, that’s the feel it has.
To be sure, Gone With The Wind was a better film. No one in their right mind would argue against that. But I wonder what it would have been like if it had that same gritty realistic direction that the Pakula film had. Maybe it wouldn’t have been as good. Maybe certain movies need that heightened theatrical spritz and glitter that the film version of the Margeret Mitchell epic had. For all we know, it would have suffered loss if it had that same touch that the Pakula film had.
Like the mole that adorned Marilyn Monroe’s peerless beautiful face, if it is a flaw, then it is a perfect one, and to change it would spoil a true work of art. Let us simply accept and appreciate such films. But let us give special applause to the Cimino’s, the Copolla’s, and the Pakula’s for that rare gift of momentary disturbing reality. It is truly a thrill to watch.
Keck
