In my twenties, I thought for a while that I wanted to
direct films. I had a bevy of
equipment: 8mm cameras, projectors,
screens, a film splicer, video camera, editing deck, and titler. During my freshman year of college, I was
still torn however, unsure of whether to pursue a degree in film or English, so
I chose electives which would be an introduction to both. One of these classes was Film Appreciation.
We would meet in the college’s theater every Thursday and the first half of
class consisted of a lecture, after which we’d watch a movie which best
exemplified the topic currently being studied.
We watched everything from Singing in the Rain to The Terminator to
Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal.
The topic which stuck with me most, though, was
Mise-en-scene. A French expression literally
meaning “placing on stage”, mise-en-scene
is the art of composing a shot. Before
this class, I’d never given much thought to why particular props or actors were
located where they were. I’d just
accepted the reality of the scene and flowed along with the plot, never
realizing the subtle details at play. In
film, for example, things near the top of the screen usually carry a heavier
weight and are thus more important than things at the bottom. I can’t remember the film we watched as an
example, but there was a scene with an argument between a man and a woman in
it.
When the scene began, the man was at
the top of a staircase, glaring down at his companion, who stood at the bottom; he controlled the argument at this point and
had all the power, causing the woman to cringe at the bottom of the stairs (and
thus, the screen), making her even smaller than what she already was. Eventually, the woman had enough. She charged up the stairs as he stormed down
them to meet her. Now they were both in
the center of the screen and the argument was fairly balanced, each person
making their point but no one really having dominance in the exchange. Eventually the woman gained the upper hand and, uncertain how to proceed, the man stomped down the stairs, intent on
leaving the room. The woman, however,
was having none of it. She remained at
the top and verbally controlled the argument, yelling down questions which
flustered the now-powerless man at the bottom of the screen.
This, of course, was just one of the techniques we
discussed. We also learned how downward
movement in film represents death (which is why it is raining in so many death
scenes), how props can be used to both physically and symbolically isolate
characters from one another, and so on.
In the end, filmmaking proved too expensive for me… I simply couldn't afford all the things I required to create a world. And, in all honesty, my passion for creating
a story with words far outweighed my desire to create them with images.
These two interests, however, ended up merging. I took what I’d learned about mise-en-scene
and often apply it to my written works.
For example, there’s a scene in Apocalyptic Organ Grinder where the two
antagonists (since I’m not really sure there is a protagonist in this book) are so close to one another their
noses are nearly touching. The scene is
set at night and in the background, a torch burns in the darkness, filling the
small gap between them. This was meant
to show the conflict raging between the characters, connecting them by something
that can be all-consuming if left to its own devices. At the end of Shadow of the Woodpile, Bobby was perched atop the massive mound of
wood while Detective Maxwell and his parents stood below. There are other examples of mise-en-scene in my work, but I think these will suffice.
Does anyone notice or even care that I apply film techniques
to the written word? Probably not. But I’ve come to realize this is part of my
personal style and I felt like writing a blog entry, so this was it.
Very interesting. This makes me think about all of your work and some of the similarities. I had never heard about this, and it really does make sense.
ReplyDeleteYou can have a protagonist that is not "good." It can be an anti-hero, but I think in Grinder you really do have two people who are opposing forces, sort of dual-protagonists who serve as each others' antagonists, something you also pulled off well in Havoc.
I was thinking much along the same lines when I wrote this. Perhaps Lila and Tanner from Apocalyptic Organ Grinder are really both anti-heros. Certainly, they are both well respected in their respective communities and would be seen as mighty warriors... even if the opposing side would view them as monsters. Most of my work, I feel, lacks an archetypal hero with clearly delineated lines between right and wrong.
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