Heathers

Before this class I had never seen or really heard anything about the film Heathers. I had heard of the film, but had no idea what it was about and figured it would be a typical 1980’s film concerning teenagers growing up in a cliquey high school. While Heathers was without a doubt filled with these temporal and Hughes-like narrative elements, the film was definitely not what I was expecting. While I did like the film for it’s often clever satire regarding the topic of teen suicide, I couldn’t get over the unbelievable nature of the story, the corny dialogue and, more than anything else, Winona Ryder. Those somewhat biased judgments aside, I did think that Heathers was an interesting film and was, like many films we’ve watched this semester, a unique and entertaining experience.

The film opens with three girls, all named Heather, playing croquet in someone’s backyard. As the three girls play their game, it is eventually revealed to the audience that they are aiming at another girl, Veronica, who is buried up to her neck in the yard. From the very start, the film establishes itself aesthetically, stylistically and thematically. The images are filled with vibrant reds, yellows and greens (the colors of the girls’ clothes which curiously match their croquet equipment). The color pallet does not appear to be cohesive. Rather it simply bursts with vibrancy for the sake of being colorful and flashy, much like a lot of 1980’s fashion. The film also establishes itself as being comedic, its first scene ending in a way that we would never have expected. More than anything else, the theme of the film is introduced to us through the way the girls behave, particularly the way they treat Veronica. Although we soon find out that Veronica is part of the group, she is in a way being initiated, often being forced into doing things that she doesn’t want to do. We soon see that this is a film that concerns itself with popularity and where teenagers find themselves fitting in throughout high school, whether it is their choice or not.

As the film progresses, it attempts to bring us into this exaggerated portrayal of high school life by including stereotypical groups of people. In a scene early on in the film, as the three Heathers and Veronica walk around the cafeteria, we are introduced to the unattractive outsider, Martha “Dumptruck”, the sexually charged jocks, Kurt and Ram, the nerds, the proactive preppy students trying to raise money for different foundations, and the rebel, Jason Dean (played by Christian Slater and an obvious reference to the 1950’s “rebel” James Dean). It is the character of Jason Dean that completely changes Heathers and is the most intriguing aspect of the film to me.

In Nick Burns article “Heathers: Scent of Dominance”, he mentions the similarities between Christian Slater and Jack Nicholson. “…Christian Slater’s performance as J.D. easily can be seen merely as a parody/ pastiche of many early Jack Nicholson roles: the tilt of his head, the eyebrows, and even the nasal voice….” With not only his name being referential, but his character as well (for Nicholson, in roles like Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces, was often a symbol of rebellious and dominating behavior), we begin to see that the character is nothing more than a recycling of previous figures, now slightly turned on its head by making him completely psychotic. The fact that Slater’s character is being recycled brings up the idea that we discussed of Post Modernism.

At one point, Burns mentions in his article that, “Heathers is clearly the bastard child of Hollywood Cinema,” and is “full of empty references to pop culture.” As we watch Heathers, we realize that it is not a film meant to transport us to another place or time. Rather it attempts to bring us into this exaggerated version of our own world, filling it with as many cultural references as possible (previous films, musicians, societal issues and historical events) in order to make it seem like the absurdity of the film can actually be found in our everyday lives.

Shaft

With his 1971 film Shaft, Gordon Parks introduces us to a new kind of hero. Richard Roundtree’s character is not unlike Eastwood’s revisionist western characters, a somewhat morally ambiguous figure that seems to cater to no one else’s desires or expectations, including the audience’s. Parks establishes Shaft’s character right from the start as we see him walking through the busy streets of New York City. One of the first images we see of John Shaft, and the first time we hear him speak, he yells at a taxi driver, flipping him off for confronting him about crossing the street, making it clear that although we’ve been forced to connect and recognize him as our protagonist, this man is far from the typical hero.

Shaft is considered by many to be one of the first Blaxploitation films. At least from my understanding, Shaft includes many elements of the unique genre. The film is set in the city and primarily focuses on African Americans, many of them with criminal backgrounds. Shaft is also overtly stereotypical. John Shaft is seen as being this extremely sexual figure who could not possibly be a better lover presumably because he is a powerful black man. Although he cheats on his girlfriend, women can’t help but be with him simply because of the sex. After picking up a woman at the bar and spending the night with her, he comes home the next day and completely disregards her, telling the woman that he has business to take care of. The woman replies, “You're really great in the sack, but you’re pretty shitty afterwards.” His attitude towards her and the fact that he has no qualms about doing this with another woman shows that Shaft is only out for himself, not something we would expect from our protagonist let alone hero.

While the film does contain many elements of the Blaxploitation genre, Shaft does something more than just focus on and poke fun at African American culture. Shaft is far from being a film like Petey Wheatstraw: The Devil’s Son In Law, another Blaxploitation film that was shown to us last year. Petey Wheatstraw is completely ridiculous, containing crude humor with its main plot being about a man who makes a deal with the devil in order to remain living and avenge his death. Shaft on the other hand is a believable and engaging narrative and while the film stereotypes John Shaft, this is not what makes the character memorable. In order for Shaft to have remained so popular and iconic, there has to be something about him that goes beyond simple stereotypes. For if this is all we saw of him, he would be like every other Blaxploitation character, the majority of which very few people have ever heard of.

To me, what sets this film apart from being just another ridiculous example of Blaxploitation cinema is not necessarily in the character at all but the way the narrative unfolds (This by the way could very easily be due to the fact that this was a Hollywood film made with a larger budget). As the film progresses, while Shaft is somewhat over the top, we see that he often finds himself in realistic situations that comment on American society as much as they establish character. At one point Shaft attempts to get into a cab when all of a sudden the driver pulls away to pick up a white man, showing that our dominant protagonist is still affected by racism and intolerance. In another scene, during one of the most heartfelt moments of the film (if there are any), Shaft sees a young boy standing outside on the sidewalk late at night. After speaking with the boy he gives him some money and tells him to go get something to eat. This not only shows us a particular side of John Shaft that one might not necessarily expect but also comments on poverty and the harsh lifestyle that many poor young children have to experience.

Along with addressing these particular issues, Shaft also explores this idea of masculinity and strength.

It was mentioned in class that one of the most interesting parts of the film was when Shaft speaks with Lieutenant Vic Ambrozzi in his office. At the end of their conversation, Vic holds a black pen up to Shaft’s skin claiming, “You ain’t so black.” Shaft replies by holding up a white mug saying, “And you ain’t so white.” I find this one of the most memorable parts of the film as well not only because of its clever dialogue but because it seems to be commenting on something more than what both characters realize or at least overtly recognize. This moment points out the absurdity of the labels each race puts on the other. And with the film clearly taking place in an intolerant world, the closeness of these two characters and their willingness, although not overwhelming, to work with one another, is one of the most enjoyable aspects of the film.

Vanishing Point

Vanishing Point is an incredibly strange and cryptic film to me. Not necessarily because of its style or plot but because of it’s overall lack (at least on the surface) of meaning or purpose. The film’s pacing is unusual; almost entirely slow with the exception of a few chase scenes that are edited together at a rapid speed. However, these sequences build up to a moment which should be and somewhat is climactic but is missing all of the emotion and intensity one would want or expect. That being said, after the second time viewing this film, I am beginning to see that Vanishing Point is not necessarily a film about plot or character, or one that even addresses these conventional elements of storytelling. Rather it is a snapshot of late 1960’s/ early 1970’s American society and how the troubled and existentialist thoughts and behaviors of the time period reflect ideas of both story and heroism.

Vanishing Point is almost entirely filled with both driving and chase scenes. We rarely see the main character not driving and after about an hour of the film we as viewers feel as if we’re taking this road trip as well, constantly being shown the interior of the car as well as the western landscape and the vehicle’s relation to these surroundings. As the film progresses, we begin to connect more with the car and the setting than we do with the main character, a mysterious man named Kowalski played by Barry Newman. The car, a white 1970 Dodge Challenger, with its speed and presence, has more personality than Kowalski. Furthermore, what we remember most about the film is not the closed off and rather stale main character, but the Challenger and the landscape, which become both a symbol of Kowalski’s interior energy as well as his yearn to, as many people wanted to do at this time, escape as fast as possible.

To be honest, I haven’t seen very many films from the 1960’s and 1970’s especially classics like Easy Rider and Bonnie and Clyde, ones that are known for reflecting American counterculture movements of the 60’s. However one film that was shown to me last year was the revisionist western High Plains Drifter, which pretty much introduced me to this idea of the antihero and why this character became so prevalent in films of that time period. Kowalski, while lacking the presence and attitude of Clint Eastwood’s character, might as well be a “man with no name”. While representing many of the ideas that Eastwood began to represent in Leone’s spaghetti westerns and later on in his own revisionist westerns, Newman does manage to portray a slightly different kind of antihero. Unlike Eastwood’s “man with no name” character, Kowalski is not entirely morally ambiguous. Throughout the film, while injuring and putting police officers in harms way, he never kills another person, something that Eastwood’s character has no problem doing throughout High Plains Drifter. Also, in Drifter, Eastwood is portrayed as this antihero that we as an audience root for not necessarily because he is any better than the “bad guys” (he harms just as much if not more people throughout) but because he is more charismatic and appealing. In Vanishing Point on the other hand, Kowalski represents an overall moral character that has been forced into a position by a corrupt and immoral system.

In John Beck’s article “Resistance Becomes Ballistic: Vanishing Point And The End Of The Road”, he mentions this idea that interstate highways (as well as all road building) is owned, managed and controlled by the government, something we discussed heavily in class. Beck states, “More than any other film of the genre, Vanishing Point seeks to make visible the “transparent overlay” of militarized landscape and the militarized consciousness produced by the inhabitation and traversal of it.” While highways and open roads have, as Beck says, “always functioned as a signifier of liberty and possibility”, in actuality they represent false hope. Roadway systems are disguised as free terrain, for they often suggest the pathway to that freedom (How many films end with the hero or heroes driving down a long stretch of road into the sunset?). Vanishing Point plays with this symbol, turning it on its head by placing as many barriers and blockades in front of it, taking away all freedom that the “open” road has come to represent.

From the start Kowalski is fighting a battle he cannot win because no matter how fast he travels he can never escape the government’s control. This element of pessimism is often found in films of this time period for it directly reflected the mindset of American society. The Vietnam War was coming to an end and was considered the lowest point in American history in terms of military efficiency as well as the people’s support and trust in their government. As details of events such as My Lai were being revealed to the American people, the morals of the United States were being questioned. This idea of questionable morality is directly addressed in Vanishing Point when Kowalski is revealed to have at one time been a police officer that ended up being discharged for stopping an officer of higher ranking from raping a young woman. Kowalski’s character represents a specific but popular response to authority’s immoral behavior, which was to find any way possible to “escape” and close off all association with the country’s evil behavior.

While I haven’t discussed much of the filmmakers’ aesthetic choices, the film’s landscape photography is gorgeous. With its overwhelming amount of warm earth tones, the cinematography was able to accurately capture the feeling of the desert-filled and mountainous western landscape. While many of the brown, gray and light blue colors of the film often blend together (the officers wear light brown uniforms which further disguise their connection and control over the “free” terrain) the bright white of the Challenger is what our eye is continually drawn to; A dynamic and urgent symbol of hope in a despairing world.

Dr. Strangelove

I just want to start off by saying that Dr. Strangelove is one of my favorite films and Stanley Kubrick is one of my favorite film directors. Even though many people have called him controlling, demanding and even selfish, Kubrick is an incredibly talented and unique auteur filmmaker and truly one of the greatest. Dr. Strangelove is frequently listed as one of the funniest films ever made, and although I had already seen it numerous times before this, the film seemed more humorous and ridiculous than ever.

Dr. Strangelove’s black and white cinematography is gorgeous. I have always admired and (probably more so than any other filmmaker) been aesthetically inspired by Kubrick. The cinematography (much like in Preminger’s Laura), while being both interesting and innovative in its composition and lighting, rarely calls attention to itself. While Kubrick constantly pushes boundaries with his visuals in terms of both mise en scene and shot selection, he is able to achieve a look in which no particular image stands out as being intriguing for the sake of being intriguing. While there are incredibly complex and at times unconventional shots (such as the wide shot of the war room or the sequence of the shadowy atmosphere of General Ripper’s office after he turns off the lights) nothing overtly stands out. For everything that he creates and sets up in this world fits in the world and we do not question its creation no matter how extreme of a perspective. I listened to an interview with cinematographer Roger Deakins (No Country For Old Men, The Shawshank Redemption) and he claimed that ideally cinematography should not call attention to itself. Rather it should fit so perfectly in the world that viewers cannot possibly recognize its creation. I think that’s what Kubrick does with this film. And although he is known for his unique visual style, with Dr. Strangelove he strikes a perfect balance between ordinary and eccentricity which allows us to take in the gorgeous imagery without necessarily knowing it.

Kubrick has an incredible eye for color, as one can obviously see in films like A Clockwork Orange, 2001: A Space Odyssey and Eyes Wide Shut. But to me, the black and white fits perfectly with Dr. Strangelove. The fact that the cinematography is black and white makes the film more believable which in turn calls attention to the absurdity of the situations. The scenes often reminded me of a newspaper or older newsreel footage of a war or political event. I think it was an excellent point made in class that the imagery reflected the mindset of most of the characters in the film. For the outlook of many of the characters is clearly black and white in terms of both their perspectives and the options they consider.

What I also find surprising is how simplistic Dr. Strangelove is. The entire film takes place, more or less, in three locations (the war room, General Ripper’s office/Air Force base and the one B 52 Bomber.