The Virtue Series


Bronson - The Existential Imprisonment

The story of Michael Peterson, a.k.a Charles Bronson, the most expensive, most violent prisoner in British history.


Bronson is a mesh of things, holding many strong elements and quite a few weak ones. First things first: the first act. The opening 20-odd minutes of this film are magnificent. Refn captures the persona of Peterson not just as a mad-man, but a complex, somewhat relatable, character with a pin-point sense of pacing, sound design and direction. And for this, watching the opening of the film is like listening to a great piece of music - you can't help but be swept away by it. That's not just to say that it's entertaining though. Intricately weaved into the first act are the core philosophies of the film and the crux of its narrative message. This is what we'll come back to later. However, moving into the second act, Refn attempts to slow the film down as Peterson is transferred into the psychiatric hospital. This choice, whilst artistically justifiable, doesn't help the film's tone or pacing. It lulls the viewer into a stupor from which is pointless to emerge from for the sequences where Peterson is free. Taking away the prison environment damages both Bronson's character and the film's tone. Refn seems to have his footing and sense of the story, both in terms of writing and direction, when in the prison environment. Outside of this, the film isn't worth much attention. This is largely because of the absurdist approach to character. We accept Peterson and Bronson with all of his manic nuances because its deserved, because the film spends time setting him up, working towards enunciating his voice. The same cannot be said for any other character in this film. This means that when they start acting strange, when they take to the screen... yeah, its just boring nonsense. And that's an unfortunate aspect of this film as it leaves it open to the criticism of being nothing more than a pretentious artsy indie feature. This is what the form of the film screams out at you thanks to Refn's direction and, without a good hold of character, becomes of detriment to the narrative. We see a similar thing happen in Refn's Drive. The moment character starts to move away from the focus of the narrative, things start to deteriorate. This is because of how prominent and characteristic of Refn that the feel of the movie is; there's a spotlight put mainly upon the lighting and soundtrack. These are important aspects of a movie, but are not the main draw, are not what films need to be good. After all, many indie features go to show that a great story can be told without a sound track and without the film looking particularly exciting. The opposite - a film that looks good, sounds good, but doesn't do much for the audience - suggests a film helmed by a good director, but little more; someone who can make pretty pictures into a pretty movie--but ultimately one without much substance.

These final words apply to a large chunk of Bronson. The ending picks up a little, but it is the opening act that, to me, hold the best this film has to offer in terms of the direction, editing, cinematography and writing coming together to form a complete narrative. Having said that, I'd like to stay focused on what we get from the first act from here on out. Bronson, as said, is a mesh of things. It's marketed as a commentary on celebrity and often seems to have a weird focus on ideas of art, sexuality and so on, but I don't see the meat of the film in just these themes. Sticking with the marketing, largely represented by the tagline...

The Man. The Myth. The Celebrity.

... to say this film mocks an idea of celebrity is largely redundant, more so an implication of a shallow reading of the movie. This is because the 'celebrity' aspects of this film and Bronson's character most poignantly point towards something deeper, something of a disconnect between people and their external environment. What this means is that the core of the film is in Bronson claiming he's not 'bad, bad' and that, as he implies, he's actually due a star on the Hollywood walk of fame. In this we are seeing a perception of the world and self misaligned with reality. Bronson sees himself as a good guy, but is labeled by society (as represented by the government and judicial system) as the polar opposite. He sees himself as worth something in this world, but is often disregarded as no more than scum. This speaks of two things; firstly, us, secondly, the driving force in human nature. Starting with us, the audience, I come to the astounding opening 10 minutes or so. What is designed into this is a mechanism for us sympathising and getting on the side of Bronson. This mechanism is founded in a few writer's techniques. To name a few, the introduction of romance, the use of universal themes, the demonstration of Peterson at his weakest moments, comedically implied flippancy, nihilist themes and the lack of sympathetic victims. The last point is the most important. We're put onto Bronson's side by seeing him as, in part, a victim, and in other parts a hero. This is done by him never being shown to be doing much wrong to anyone and by those who do 'wrong' to him never being shown on screen. What this means is that Bronson fights 'the system'. His enemy isn't directly the police men, post office, guards, wardens, prisoners, the Queen. His enemy is the collective force they imply - that which we call 'the system'.

What this says about us is that we're awfully simple minded when caught off-guard. When people hear 'the system' they are hit with a profound emotional reaction. The system is the worst thing ever, the system is worst than themthey or that, the system is.... ohhh, it's evil. But, what is the system? Yes, you could say an organisation, corporation, business, but the truth is that the system is a phrase people use with pessimistic undertones to say they don't like the network of cogs they're stuck in. What's funny about 'the system', as is Bronson's character, is probably best exemplified by an old Pryor joke...


Pryor, like us all in many situations, is swept away by an 'us v them' dichotomy. But, when he turns around and faces the 'us' he thought he was apart of... yeah, he's not sure he likes the idea of sides. Whilst Pryor's joke is fundamental just a joke, it does poke fun at an obvious truth, one perfectly demonstrated by this film. We jump on the side of Bronson against 'the system' for no sensible reason - only an emotional one. The system is never quantifiably revealed to be corrupt, there aren't any questioning elements of this film that put much effort towards to assessing who is right or wrong, Bronson or the system? After all, yes, Peterson never killed anyone, but he was a major dick. He's like the kid in class who never does nothing particularly bad, maybe just talk to his friends and not do the work, but when he's called upon by the teacher, manages to cause the most catastrophic scenes. He claims that 'everyone else was doing it', that he's being picked on, this, that and so on. But, in doing so, the kid disrupts the lesson, grows angry, ends up being thrown out of class, hurling chairs as he goes, probably swearing at the teacher, ending up in the head teacher's office... it goes on. But, ask any of the onlookers in the classroom who is wrong, the teacher or student, you'd likely get the finger pointed towards the kid. Yes, the teacher may have been picking on him, but why did he force the escalation, why not just say, ok? In the same respect, yes, Bronson served record-breaking stretches in solitary confinement, and this, when presented with the exclamatory "I never even killed anyone", seems inhuman, but, if you were the guard or 'the system' dealing with him... I'm sure you'd see him as a deserving dick.

The subtextual relationship between ourselves and Bronson as a character is then there to comment on how easy it is for us to be tricked onto the side of the anti-hero. However, this part of Bronson's characterisation is neither there to glorify his misdemeanors or to shit on us, the audience, it's there to comment on a wider disconnect all people have. To expand on this point we'll have to appeal to the second crux of Bronson's character, the idea that he not only sees himself as 'not, bad, bad' but also more than deserving of fame, that star on the Hollywood walk of fame. This part of Bronson is not there to show him as crazy, self-centric and delusional, it's instead there to comment on his anti-heroisms. In other words, Bronson expects more from the world than he is allowed, then he is given. We see this paradigm of human thinking echoed best in the simple idea of modern politics. Under democratic systems people are led to believe that they matter. With concepts such as representative government, voting and so on, this idea of individual worth is bound to a collective worth, but with very loose ties. What I'm then talking about is the fact that everyone has ideas of how they'd like to be living, how they'd like their country to be run. When you get into this realm of politics with the average person, you delve into some of the most pointless conversation you will ever have. I'm not critiquing the average person and their political literacy here (I know nothing of politics and am not at all interested in it). I'm instead pointing out the fact that everyone wants change, everyone has ideas, but almost just for the sake of it. This aspect of human behavior, of wanting something just because, is inherent in almost everything we do. Why is there science, why are there movies, why do laptops, the internet and so on exist? There is no reason for this tantamount to questions of why we eat, sleep and reproduce. We eat, sleep and reproduce because life has this insatiable tendency to want to carry on. When it comes to almost everything else about society (art, technology, culture) we are seeing an evolutionary expression of this basic drive, but one that is convoluted and not directly needed. In other words, we could live without it.

To expand, everything people do is to survive - and all people are irrevocably selfish for this reason. There's two forms of human survival. The first is surviving as the individual. This idea encompasses the crucial and most obvious forms of continuing life; eating, sleeping, reproducing, staying safe and so on. From this need to survive as a singular unit comes a need to use other people. to appeal to the herd. This is because a lone wolf often has the hardest time staying alive for long. And so, from this appeal to the herd come the second form of human survivor: surviving as a collective. It's from this incentive that we get ideas such as culture, art, love, communication... all the 'higher' and very 'human' things we do. Art, love and such are a product of needing to survive as a collective because they are a form of communicating our personage to others. In other words, surviving as a group ensures you have people around you that will, A, help to fight off the tiger when it comes prowling, or, B, hopefully get munched on before you do, giving you that chance to run away. It's in this that you see how the central crux of our human instinct to live is in the preservation of self. And so from this we see the selfish core of everything we do. From here you may be expecting an optimistic turn with an aphoristic 'however', but the fact is that all human behaviour can be broken down into this paradigm of survival. All we do is survive, all we do is selfish. This is not a bad thing, it's not the end of the world, it's just how things are. However, recognising this truth does make life a little clearer and that's why I mention it. We have this self-centric expression as the core reason for why we get along with Bronson, why we think the system is the ultimate antagonist. We like the tangible, the comprehensible, the things that if we can't control, we can at least get along side of. 'The system' is not one of these things for it is an idea - and that's why we take Bronson's side when presented with the 'us v them' dichotomy. Furthermore, it's this self-centric look at life that blinds us from our existential extravagance. People think so much of themselves, of the world around them, of the way we should be living. Because of this, we develop concepts such as laws, human rights, politics, society, science, art and so on. What this distracts us from is the basic goal in life: survival. We, as a species, stop wanting this basic desire centuries, probably millennia, ago. We don't just want to survive... you know the cliche... we want to live.

There is a lot more you can delve into with this perspective of human behaviour, but, in respect to Bronson, what this all points towards is his reasoning for everything he does. He is the asshole kid who fights the system, who causes things to escalate constantly, who makes trouble for himself for no sensible reason because he has this existentially grandiose picture of himself and the world around him. This...

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... is then the most poignant image of the film. The sight of Peterson in his cage, having just been shut off from all the calamity he's caused, waiting to start up some more trouble, is the most poetic and human thing about his character. It's his waiting that reveals everything incomprehensible about his behavior. Bronson knows he's only adding years onto his sentence, he knows that for every moment he spends fighting prison guards comes months in solitary confinement. But, he does it nonetheless. With this image, we are seeing a naughty kid just told of by his parents being sent to his room. We've all been that kid, we've all been sent to our room, put on the naughty step or in the corner, had our toys, our games, our phones, taken away, we've all been grounded. For a kid, this is, as we all know, crushing. And for most of us, when we get near that mark, when we can see punishment coming to the horizon, we stop the stupid shit we're doing out of fear. It's the fear of being stuck in our room, looking out at all the other kids playing that essentially conditions us against being naughty. However, with Bronson, this concept does not resonate. For him, being put in that room is a punishment he's happy to take just so he can spend a moment in the sun being an absolute asshole.

From here we could cap things off by seeing a comment on celebrity. We could choose to see Bronson's choice as something tantamount to a celebrity releasing a sex tape--sorry, having one leaked--or a reality TV star being a reality TV star, just to reap the monetary rewards, just for their 15 minutes of fame. But, we can't forget here that we empathise with Bronson, that he appeals to our commonalities through ideas of 'the system' as well as personal worth. Just a Bronson sees the world as unfair, something worth constantly lashing out at, we often, on a much more introverted level, do the same things. Whilst Bronson punches prison guards, we moan about their metaphorical equivalence. This yet again highlights the fundamental crux of the film. It's all about a societal disconnect driven by an individual focus on oneself, driven by an existential pretension we hold around ourselves. This, quite ironically, connects us all, but also speaks most poignantly of an overwhelmingly confounding question of why? Yes, we can affirm that we do everything to survive as part of the group or for the individual purpose, but, why? Why do we work ourselves into personal prisons by not accepting the world around us, by refusing to 'devolve' into a minimalist way of life? Why do we choose to evolve and progress to the point of causing ourselves more issues? Would it not make more sense for us not to be conscious, just apart of the food chain, a vessel for the universal passing of atoms from one state to another? Why, why, why, why, why? Why am I throwing such unanswerable questions at you?

The obvious answer to all of this is 'what the fuck do I know?' And I suppose that's the only answer worth giving in respect to this essay. We see these set of questions posed to us through Bronson via the nihilist, almost anarchistic meandering of character and narrative. And such is the beauty of the film at its best. It speaks to us of a universal anomaly of our character that no one seems to be able to account for. Bronson pokes at the fleshy disconnect between ourselves and the world around us, one created by our own perception, one made insurmountable by the same construct.


Her - In Quest Of Receding Intimacy

A divorced man falls in love with an artificially intelligent operating system.


A phenomenal film. I've seen Her a handful of times - around 5. The first time I watched this film I saw it as a pure romance, it was about relationships and how we can get along with people as a means of better understanding ourselves. Such seems a rather cliched an empty assessment of the film, but because of the expression of this somewhat woo-woo idea through sci-fi, one grounded with verisimilitude, it held weight. In such, I saw/see the whole concept of falling in love with an operating system as an inevitability for some in our society. People have always loved dogs, cats - all kinds of pets. We are developing equally nonsensical relationships with technology the more it integrates its way into our lives, combine that with the replication of humans in the way we communicate and think and you inject a sexual possibility into the mix. The only thing really holding it back is the constant flow of technology, the surge of new models and systems. Such has people fall in love, basically become addicted with, the concept of a phone, computer, laptop, gaming system, instead of a specific thing. This concept does translate to the film with the ending and Samantha having to 'go away', but nonetheless, the major focus is on an idea of looking for love. This was my perspective on my first viewing and it hasn't changed too much. However, with the proceeding viewings, I became slightly disillusioned with the film, the romance and spectacle of the narrative became banal at first, the philosophical conversations quickly becoming pretentious - by the 3rd and 4th viewing, the characters of this film were beginning to annoy me. This is because of their arcs. All characters maintain a level of high emotional output throughout the film. They're always trying to express themselves, talk about how they feel, such and so on. I'm not a big fan of this for two reasons. The first comes from a technical screenwriting viewpoint on a perspective of cinema. As many would agree, you 'show, don't tell' on film. In such, we see the huge exposition dumps of feeling and emotion throughout the film as bad writing. This is a somewhat understandable approach to this narrative though as we obviously never see the character of Samantha and it is a romance that means to delve into the human complex. There is a second reason why the abundance of outward emoting gets to me in this film though. This is something that took a while for me to pick up on in myself and actually changed the way I saw the film.

I grow annoyed at the constant talk about inner feelings, 'I felt hurt', 'I want this', 'I need that', 'I wish for this', in the film because the characters are not taking responsibility for their own emotions. You see this a lot in many people to varying degrees. We probably all know at least a few people that put their emotional well-being in the hands of external sources. The most difficult kind of person is the one who needs others to look after their emotions. These people are often labeled clingy and or needy, but these are ill-defining terms as they overlook the self-destructive nature of being overtly needy or clingy. These terms suggest that these kinds of people just hold onto others, which often misleads people into seeing these traits as cute or a sign of love. This is evident throughout history in a plethora of romantic writing. Staying in the realm of film we have three huge examples:

Image result for gone with the wind poster  Image result for the notebook poster  Image result for shakespeare in love poster  

In all of these films we see characters expressing an idea best explained through a quote in the film: 'Falling in love is crazy. It's like a socially acceptable form of insanity'. There's two takes you can take on what this quote means. It can mean that you have to be insane to put yourself out there, to trust someone, to make the effort to stay with them and be happy. The converse side of this that much better aligns with the way the characters in Her act and the paradigm of characters arcs in the films above is that this quote means you do whatever you have to for love. This is a desperate, childish and rather nasty perspective of love, one we see best broken down in films such as Don Jon, 500 Days Of Summer and, arguably, by the end of Her.

The characters in Her all express this self-absorbed idea of love - in that it is there to facilitate their own emotional well-being. You see this most with Samantha. She is an almost unbearable character when we move past the midpoint of the second act. She is constantly asking of Theodore, the scene with the surrogate lover being the most poignant example of this:

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This scene almost paints Samantha as emotionally manipulative. This is an easy stance to take, but the truth of it is that she's unfathomably intelligent (as is an inevitability with A.I). This incomprehensible intelligence makes Theodore, as it would us, look incredibly inferior in face of her. And when you combine Samantha's shear intellect with her strong will, her unshaken comprehension of what she wants, you get a character who will likely get what she sets out to get, if not, produce incredibly awkward and skewed scenes like the one above. So, what this translates this sequence into is not an example of Samantha as emotionally manipulative, but a growing person.

And it's picking up on this that transforms the latter scenes where we see Samantha growing way beyond Theodore. She starts talking with other operating machines, probably falling on love with 1000s of other people because she has that shear capacity to do so. To judge this from a human perspective is faulted as it would have you label her as a cheating whore - at the least an absolute dickhead. What's most faulted with this emotional reaction to Samantha's character arc though is the fact that you are falling into the paradox of thinking that she does. Samantha wants to be human, she wants to get close to this idea of material being for a large part of the film. In this she wants to be treated as a person. The simple fact of this though is that she's not a person, she never will be. For this, we can't expect her to do a very human thing that is steeped in a intimate idea of empathy. To explain what this is we have to see the film for what it really is: Theodore's story. Through his arc, we are given the tools to assess Samantha's. She becomes borderline manipulative, overtly needy and emotional because she doesn't often step back and see things from Theodore's perspective. Again, the surrogate scene is the best example of this. Isabella, the surrogate, is led to believe that Samantha and Theodore have the perfect relationship. When Theodore tries to explain that this is not the reality of things, Samantha is offended. And this marks a huge turning point in her character. From here she wanders out into the world much more - and all in search of more affection and love. What she then aims to do is gather love without actually loving, she sees true love and interaction as the 'honeymoon phase' of a relationship. This is where her lack of growth really becomes something that, from a human perspective, we'd have to call childish and rather stupid. All of this then makes clear the fact that both we and Samantha are wrong to think of her as a person, to judge her from this perspective. If we were to do this we'd ignore the fact that humans have to be empathetic, have to consider what the other person wants and fall into this mundane and everyday rhythm of affection and love. It's only because we are so physically constrained that we live with others as we do. We argue, scream, shout, fall out, get back together, because we're confined to Earth, because we can't just meet a million people simultaneously and read each other's minds. This is, however, Samantha's reality and allows her a much more romantic perspective on life as it's in line with the reality of her capabilities as an artificially intelligent operating system.

What this human idea of empathy says about Theodore's character arc is that he must ground himself, he must recognise that he must accept reality in all of its mundanity. The way this arc speaks to Samantha's is then in respect to this idea of emoting and expecting something back from people when voicing ones wants. As a human Theodore has to engage in a give-and-take relationship with all of those he interacts with:

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All three of these women demonstrate somewhat mature relationships with Theodore that you just don't get with Samantha. With the blind date, the two get along, but when they reach an impasse at the end of the night, they manage to just walk away from one another. They see that they're not compatible hence demonstrating an understanding of one another's personage in a grounded, realist way. With Amy, Theodore's best friend, we see the most functional relationship in the film. The two know how to talk to one another, how to discuss their emotions not as a way of saying 'I want this from you!' and having it interpreted as 'he wants what from me!?'. This is precious kind of relationship that is the romantic crux of the film - it's all about a mutually understanding relationship that can be sustained. The fate of Theodore's marriage is a play with the relationship present between him and Amy. The two used to get on, but grew apart. They may get back together, may find a way to see themselves from the other's perspective - but such is a question to the audience. But, it's in this last relationship that we're seeing not just commentary on the idea that one has to take care of their own emotions first and foremost - and before expecting anyone to help them with that - but commentary on the paradigm of Theodore and Samantha's relationship. Just as they grow apart as Samantha learns more of the world, Theodore and Catherine grew apart from one another, in turn, resenting who the other became.

In this paradigm of the relationship we are seeing something of a look at expectation. People often get into relationships with the people they see before them. This is a huge mistake - especially if you're looking for a long-term relationship. Not only will this person grow old, less attractive, less healthy, able and sharp over the years and decades, but they will reveal a uncapped, unfiltered view of their internal emotional machinery. Such is a common observation to make of early relationships - it's after the first few months when the 'honeymoon phase' is over that the 'true person' comes out. There's a fault in this thinking though as a 'true person' is a silly concept. People can't ever be 'raw' and 'true' as we have to constantly adapt our behavior to circumstances. We can try to mute or attempt to not embellish this constant change in how we behave and interact with people as to come off as more 'real', but it is an inevitability that people change. This is especially true in a relationship. Though you might want to, it's impossible to start day one of a relationship as if it's day 692. You can't demonstrate that level of comfort or understanding you'd have after almost 2 years because you just don't have the tools, neither are you warranted to do this - you haven't earned the trust or respect of the person to be you in a much more mundane and unveiled way. Though this may seem fake to the naive and blindly romantic, the fact that people actually engage in this changing of behaviour over a relationship is what makes them function and what makes us human. This is a huge element of Her - the growth of a relationship. There is a demonstration of how not to approach the concept of a relationship, and how to maybe tackle the task. With Samantha, the failure in the relationship is in the fact that she's not of the same species as Theodore and so not of the same capacity. This is something we've picked up on before, something linked to a monologue Neil DeGrasse Tyson has given. If you consider the genetic difference between humans and apes, we see that everything that makes us great (space travel, art, complex communication) is in a few percentage points between us and them. We share around 96% of our DNA with apes and because of that 4% we are so different from them - in an arguably positive direction. What would happen if we ran into aliens that shared that same 4% genetic difference, but it was they that had the advantage on us? We would be apes to them, our best art, technology and aspects of intelligence, just as impressive as...


It isn't explored enough in Her, but this is what Samantha is to Theodore, she is many percentages above him (despite not having true DNA) and so is a completely different species on the intellectual scale. It's this difference that drives the two apart, and for this it makes sense for him to be with a human, whether it's a friend or a lover. Humans understand each other. Samantha might understand humans (though, she doesn't demonstrate this very well) but this is an irrelevant detail. If people understood ants as we do one another I'm sure we'd know a lot of interesting shit and the world would rejoice, but... would it really be that significant? Once this information is normalised, ants will just be ants again, sure they'd be more complex, but nonetheless, only ants. In the same respect, even if Samantha completely understood humans/Theodore, we'd simply become...

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... only human.

So, through all of this poking below the surface of the characters in Her over my many viewings, I've slowly fallen out and then back in love with the movie. Such only speaks in novel tones of the film itself, of how people grow in relationships - but a fanciful detail we won't fixate on. What the repeat viewings of this film have allowed me to see is the fact that this is not a movie about romance, but intimacy. I believe the best romances focus on this:

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From Rocky to Amélie to Before Sunrise to Cinderella, the romantic elements of these great films is in a sensation of trust and enclosure. It's simply because we feel so close to the protagonists of these films that a sense of security between ourselves and them is solidified. And this is intimacy in its most poignant form. It's all about an unwavering relationship that we do not have to worry about. Such is the ultimate romantic goal - something that just works unconditionally and without pain. Whilst this sounds lazy it also picks up on an idea of irrevocable connection - an idea that two people are meant for each other. This doesn't imply an idea of fate, much rather a probabilistic roll of the dice in our favour. (Something best demonstrated by this Tim Minchin song).

By seeing the foundations of great chemistry and romance in intimacy, we can see the huge draw of Her's (not sure how to punctuate that one) design. This is a film that sets up an easy romance, one that is protected by the singular and closed relationship of a man and a computer. The closeness here is palpable because it mimics the kind of relationship displayed in Rocky...

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Image result for rocky and adrian rocky 1

We physically see these characters isolated, there is no competition or heightened stakes between them. Rocky's romantic notions are simple and unconvoluted, and for this we are drawn into to a true sense of security that the film never exploits. The same cannot be said for Her. It draws us into a false sense of security by setting up the intimate relationship between Samantha and Theodore...

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Image result for her film

This falsity is built into the design of the characters; the fact that she is a computer and he a human. The fact that she is trapped, in his pocket or ear, never to be seen, puts them at an incredibly close proximity whereby romance flourishes through mere association. The ruse here is simply the internet - the fact that Samantha is the free one and Theodore under false pretenses when thinking of her as just a thing stuck in a box in his pocket. When this is made apparent the intimacy of the relationship deflates rapidly. With this aspect of the plot combining with the narrative commentary on growing in a relationship we see a general principal of what romance can be in this film. We search for romance and love for security. We do this by often taking the path of least resistance. This is not a fault in thinking. I repeat, this is not a fault in thinking. By taking the path of least resistance in forming a relationship, you endeavour to find those easy to be with. This is a huge part of why Samantha and Theodore get on so well in the beginning. It's not a difficult start, but becomes so when the two change. What this says about relationships is that you can take the It Happened One Night perspective...

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... where you start out hating someone, but change with them, realising the love - but that this is an unlikely endeavour to pay off. To hope you change with someone is an unforeseeable task in futility. This doesn't mean it can't happen, just that it's hard to manufacture. What Her says about this paradox of change in a relationship is that we should take a path of minimal resistance when we fall in love, but be prepared to work to keep that newly discovered bond by being open to change in a non-romantic direction. In other words, falling in love with Samantha wasn't a direct mistake on Theodore's part as it started so well. What made it break down was the fact that she is of a different species to him (in an intellectual sense) and that they failed to empathise with each other. So, the lesson Theodore learns is that he must search for intimacy, for a closeness he's willing to work to preserve. This could mean re-establishing the relationship with his wife, or it could just mean he maintains the friendship he holds with Amy. Either way, he realises that his task in life is to gain an emotional comprehension of self as to control, or at least understand, how he feels, and in turn how others may also. This makes relationships that much easier and likely to function because the two counterparts not only understand who they are and want they want, but also the other person's wants and desires. In knowing this, there isn't an immediate task of looking after that person, of shielding and playing to their wants and needs, simply a comprehension of who it is you are to live with, by, for and next to.

So, the lasting message of Her is not really of romance, but of reality. By recognising the holes people want to burrow into with others as to rest in a cushioned unperturbed senselessness, we can all see what intimacy is: the Emerald City led to by the romantic yellow brick road below ruby heels that won't want to click once the paws, straw stumps or tin boots next to them have recognised that they never left Kansas and home is just a clearing blink away. In other words, with open eyes and an understanding of ones emotions, people are capable of existing in comfort alongside someone of complimentary disposition.


The Great Dictator - Political Satire

A Jewish barber suffers through the rise of the maniacal fascist dictator, Adenoid Hynkel.

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Discluding war films, political films are often films that really aren't worth much. There are then very few examples of great films with strong political elements at their forefront. It's The Great Dictator, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington and Dr. Strangelove that make up this list entirely for me. However, what makes Mr. Smith Goes To Washington a classic, in my opinion, hasn't got much to do with the political side of things - this is primarily just the setting of the film. The bulk of the thematic focus is on a hero's endeavour before a looming social presence (the government). This means that Mr. Smith Goes To Washington is tantamount to a courtroom drama in my view; a great movie in the same respect Judgement At Nuremberg, Anatomy Of A Murder or To Kill A Mockingbird is. So, that boils down our list of great political pictures down to Dr. Strangelove and The Great Dictator. If I were to pick a favourite out of these two films, I'd have to lean towards The Great Dictator. Despite the opening being pretty poor and the direction being nowhere near the level of Kubrick's, there is Chaplin at the core of this picture. And Chaplin is notoriously a great story teller - it's this that's arguably the key factor in what has made his films and image last through the ages. We see this mimicked in his constant comparison to Buster Keaton. These two figures are quintessential figures of the silent era, outshining even great artists of a more serious disposition - Murnau, Vertov, Eisenstein, Méliès, Griffith, Lang, Gance. Along with these monumental names comes the titles of great filmmakers - Keaton was one of these. His superior control of narrative through a cinematic lens, his effortless creation and portrayal of a comedic universe and incessant desire to play and experiment with the form heralds him an inspiring and undeniably important artist to all aspiring directors and filmmakers working on the technical side of cinema. But, with Chaplin we see a great story teller standing in face of some of the greatest filmmakers of all time - all the way from Keaton to Kubrick.

The difference between great direction and great story telling lies in the audience. An audience can often get a feel of great direction when they are sucked into the narrative simply because the director is doing a good job. But, without analysing camera movement, blocking and so on whilst putting the experience of the narrative aside, it's hard to really get a grip of what a great director is - or even what they do. This basically means that a great director is a term for those who delve deeper into film than most people, it's for those who are interested in the form and design of cinematic stories. But, whilst this is a side of cinema easy to revere, easy to indulge in and break down, it's not really what cinema is for. As with music, the most important thing is the final product. Yes, you can have Van Halen and Hendrix on guitar, Bonham on drums, Freddy Mercury and Michael Jackson on vocals in your dream band, but what matters is the song they come together and create. You can't just throw together a bit of Moby Dick, Eruption, Bohemian Rhapsody, Purple Haze and Thriller and expect the best song ever. A monkey with a laptop is probably capable of making a better song than you somehow throwing these behemoths at each other and hoping for the best. What this says about art is that the final product is the irrevocable crux of judgement - is all that really matters. When we turn back to cinema, we see the story, the actual film, as the final product. This is all that matters. A great director can do what exactly? What can they do that you wouldn't rather a great story teller do? This is the case for Chaplin. However, it is not a case to say that great directors are nonsense we need rid of. Of course not. Many great directors are simultaneously great story tellers - just look to the likes of Murnau, Kubrick, Scorsese, Capra, Truffaut and Spielberg. They know how to captivate an audience, they can produce that magical final product, and they can do it with a great control and management of its assembly. What all of this segues into is The Great Dictator as a political film. In seeing Chaplin as a great story teller, I ask if this, in respect to this film, is despite the political focus?

To get into this, I'll have to break down my argument against political films. The easiest way to do this would be to ask you to consider these films...

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.. and then ask if you'd like to re-watch them. If the answer is yes, I'd then ask: why? In such, I proffer that you'd likely provide an answer pointing towards the entertaining elements of the film - like I did with Mr. Smith Goes To Washington. Of course, I ignore those who like these films beyond that - those who are probably politically minded--we'll get into that in a minute. However, what these films are tantamount to, for me, are films that are said to be important; stories hat need to be told:

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None of these films are bad - not at all. But, they hold only a draw for a first time watch. It's likely we then give these films an Oscar and then never think about them again. This, like political films, is because they have a blatant agenda or point that overshadows the story - one that is likely better expressed in another form. These films are like history, religious or current event study classes. For this, there is something to take away from them, but is this tantamount to something we'd take from...

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... I say, no, not at all. Why? Well, I think we'll leave the serious, important, true story films for another time. (Yes, Goodfellas is based on a true story, but it clearly isn't a particularly important or serious story needing to be told). With the former political pictures, which we'll focus on from here on out, the fault is in politics itself. Cinema is, at its core, imagination, is ideas, is philosophy told through poignant allegories. Whilst philosophy is a universal subject, one we may all impart upon by simply leaning back and letting the cogs whir, politics is notoriously divisive. The answer as to why is incredibly simple. Politics and philsophy are so nearly the same thing; they are approached in the same basic manner - you sit back and you think. However, the huge point of distinguishment is the fact that politics is a psuedo-call to action. Politics means to effect all of us on a large scale, meaning political thoughts are lagely percieved as notions of control. For this reason, politics in the hands of the everyday person is a recipe for disaster. As we all know through current events, politics is in large part just a game. It is philosophy turned into a competition whereby you are on this side or that. This is why I honestly hate politics - it comes with a coarse air of pretension. The beauty of philsophy is the inherent acceptance of learning and discussion. We think and build ideas primarily for the sake of talking - little more. With this, philosophy is recognisably one of the most silly things we do as humans. Instead of building homes, getting food, paying bills, we sit and wonder why? What's funny is that the building of homes, organising of society and so on, is the fundamental purpose of politics. It's a practical management of the world around us that has unfortunately been injected with a poisonous idea of half-assed philosophy. This is what produces the horrible tension in the air in a room when you bring up politics. Instead of hearing someone's thoughts on a subject, you hear pretentious propaganda from the opposite side or someone who actually knows what they're talking about (because they agree with you). This isn't true for all political discussion, but it isn't an over-exaggeration to imply that this is the case way more often than not.

Seeing the core faults in political thinking as being stigmatised philosophy that poses as personal threat on a macroscopic level, it's easy to see why they're not the best foundations of films. Moreover, films, as touched on, are imagination, thoughts, philosophy. To confuse them with politics is to sully the crux of filmmaking - story telling. And so everything becomes transparent. To have a focus on your story, to tell a cinemtaically poignant tale, one needs a philosophical approach to narrative, not a political one that is meant for action, pragmantism, one that is easily construed as invasive and divisive. It's not about sides, propaganda, competition, games, agendas, "I'm right, you're wrong and there's nothing you can do about it", films serve people, they do not use them. We see this in the simply concept of a theme. A theme is a reoccurring element of your film, a focus that is there to tie your narrative to anyone. For example...

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I'm assuming a greatly significant percentage of people haven't lost someone on a ship, haven't been on a sinking cruise liner that hit an ice berg, broke in half, leaving thousands to freeze or drown and you to float on a door watching your new-found love die in your arms. However, we all get Titanic. Why? Themes. These are universal ideas/thoughts/emotions such as love, friendship, loss, compassion, adventure and tragedy that we all get - no matter our perspective or experience. What this says about films is that they are there to talk to the individuals that make up the mass. Politics can talk about masses, sometimes to them, but can rarely penetrate deeper into the crowd in the same respect cinema can. The recognition of this is clear throughout history with propaganda being a huge focus of political leaders...

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So, an overview of why political films aren't ever great films lies in their design as unphilosophical and unentertaining means of shouting points rather than telling a story. However, this is not to say that political films are all trash; most films cited have phenomenal elements to them: the astounding application of Eisenstein's cinematic theories in Potemkin and the beautiful opening above the clouds of Triumph Of The Will as easy examples. In such, I mean to say that political films can be good. But, we come back to The Great Dictator to ask the question: are these films good or great in spite of their politics?

In my opinion, the answer is of course, yes. As touched on with the comparison of The Passion Of The Christ, Hotel Rwanda and Spotlight, these films are taken as cinematic lessons in religion, history and current events. In this, these films often hold intentions expressed in an awkward context. The result of this is us seeing the film once, throwing an Oscar at it as to agree that it's important so we can all get on with our lives in search of better films. In the end, it's probably best put forth in The Nice Guys...

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Yes, you can discuss corruption and dying birds in a porn film, but don't we all skip past that to get to the good parts? In such, I think it becomes obvious that you can go to the cinema for many reasons, politics probably isn't the best of them though. This is what The Great Dictator speaks to best in my opinion. It's not so much about saying Hitler was a bad guy...

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... but, taking a shit on him. This is something that, looking through a political looking-glass, you shouldn't really be doing. Good political discussion is about a true philosophical debate meeting actual pragmatic action. The Great Dictator does not resemble this. It is much rather pure entertainment at face value, a testament to comedy if you want to look a little deeper into its fabric. And it's for the comedic commentary that I see both The Great Dictator and Dr. Strangelove as great films. They use their political elements to reverse the shit storm that rains when you bring politics up in the wrong context. Instead of taking to a stage under false pretenses of being a stand-up comedians just to protest, Chaplin does something the likes of Carlin, Silverman, Burr or Chappelle would do. They take politics as a topic and make light of it. Yes, they make statements simultaneously, but they are in the subtext and usually there if you want them. They aren't the show being sold to you. This comedic approach to comedy best speaks of its purpose. It's there to poke at the sensitive underside of human perspective and action. Whether it's a mother-in-law, rape, fart or Holocaust joke, the intent (if the joke is good) is there to release tension, is there to capitalise on a feel-good reflex in face of an annoying, awkward, horrifying or tragic concept.

This is the strongest argument for political films. When political satire is good as it is in The Great Dictator, the film becomes self-contained and a means to an end. In this, the film's ultimate goal is set-up and then achieved as a narrative goal would be - within a finite space and time. The Great Dictator means to make people feel better about threatening fascism, means to look down on tyranny and emotionally raise us towards something of compassion. This doesn't mean that The Great Dictator changed the world and stopped WWII. That is the pretension of blindly political films - they mean to be more than they're worth. Films are usually 2 hour experiences that can last in our memory if poignant, but they very, very, rarely change the state of the world. Films simply give us a rush of good feelings - a means to an end, the entertainment of the masses. This is a very worthwhile tool, which justifies the concept of entertainment in all artistic forms, but is one that works best when it knows its place - just ask Michael Bay...

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So, the lesson The Great Dictator teaches is not just confined to political filmmaking, but filmmaking in general. Be a great story teller. Have something to say, but be able to say it well. This means a focus on plot, character, genre - some kind of entertaining factor. All great films have it, they don't rely on subject or a singular element of themselves. They manage the art form in a way that facilitates all the artistic pretension one could wish to exude, but for a story, for an audience. Don't be a...

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... fucking fascist motherfucker when making your film, have some democratic reserve and think of the people you serve.


Gone With The Wind - Why Women Don't Exist Part 2

The journey of the pernicious, self-indulgent and often sour Scarlett O'Hara from child to adult that accounts her struggle in the South during the American Civil War.


I love this film. Gone With The Wind is without a doubt one of my favourite films of all time. But, before getting into why I have to clarify the title of this post. If you are familiar with the blog, you'll know that the Virtue Series is a collection of essays on the films connected to my screenplay, Virtue's Ploy - which is not only available on the blog, but other places we'll get to in the end. In Virtue's Ploy there is not only references to Gone With The Wind, but also Villeneuve's Enemy. These references are made under themes of women and the protagonist's perception of them. If you want that detail further clarified check out the screenplay. Nonetheless, I only bring this up because this post is connected to another I did on Enemy a few months ago. So, if you like that film and want further details into all we'll talk about today, please check out...


On a final note, the post on Enemy is justified to be apart of the Virtue Series, but because I wrote it so long ago, the only links to it will be through this post, not the Virtue Series page. Ok, so whether you clicked that and came back or just jumped to here, let's get on with things...

The primary reason I can watch this 4 hour picture time and time again is simply down to the character of Scarlett O'Hara. I have this strange affinity for her presence in each scene, something we won't try to explain with a therapy session, but the mechanics of the story. The reason why this affinity is strange is quite obviously because Scarlett is not a very nice person. She is very much the anti-hero of this film. However, Scarlett isn't an anti-hero in the same way Batman or Deadpool is. These stark anti-heroes are clearly labeled as such because they do good things through unorthodox methodology. Batman, like Deadpool, is a vigilante, they both seek out their own form of justice. Unlike Batman, Deadpool is an awful lot more ruthless, killing bad guys with a smile. But, because there is an undeniable bad guy in the narratives of Batman and Deadpool and it is their goal to quash them, they are good guys by default. This earns them the status of hero. Their reluctance to accept this term and do things in a restrictive and dogmatically 'good' way, makes them anti-heroes. What Deadpool and Batman make clear about Scarlett O'Hara is that she's not really a reluctant do-gooder. She wants love, she wants money, she wants a good life and is willing to step over anyone to get to it. This, from a romantic's point of view, makes her an anti-hero as she fights against looming bad guys: dissatisfaction, discontent, disappointment, mundanity. But, from a more rational point of view, Scarlett stepping over everyone, using people she professes to love (Melanie) just to be close to the person she really yearns for (Ashley), is the bad guy. Scarlett acts, very much so, as if she is the bad guy of this narrative. What this implies about my 'strange affinity' for Scarlett is that its probably tantamount to my liking Alex from A Clockwork Orange, The Joker from The Dark Night or Patrick Bateman from American Psycho.

In my opinion, likeable bad guys and anti-heroes are basically the same thing. This is because to write likeable bad guys, you have to rationalise their goal of evil. For example, Patrick Bateman. His goal is to lash out at the world because he is so often ignored. (For a more in-depth analysis of American Psycho click here). Because his presented goal somewhat resonates, he's not a strict bad guy. The same can be said for The Joker. He wants chaos for chaos's sake and so decides to fuck with Batman in a perpetual game of destructive cat and mouse. All likeable bad guys are the anti-hero of their own narrative. Great bad guys are then just on the side of a narrative we're not seeing things from. In other words, The Dark Night from The Joker's point of view would be just as effective (though, with an alternate meaning) as it is from Batman's (presumably of course). This is exactly why likeable antagonists and anti-heroes are the same thing. Their only difference is in how we see them - as dictated by a narrative's perspective or lead character. Nonetheless, if Scarlett is less like the anti-heroes which are meant to defeat evil and is more like antagonists who are meant to defeat the good, why doesn't she fit in with The Joker, Patrick Bateman or Alex from A Clockwork Orange? The key differences between Scarlett and these clear bad guys who we happen to like is that we see her 'evil journey' from her perspective and under the guise of romance. This transforms the capacity by which we like her. We like The Joker because he appeals to a more darker side of our morality. Whilst Batman leans toward control and structure, he leans towards chaos and anarchy. Who is right, who is wrong? It really depends on the mood I'm in when you ask me. And this is why I can be emotionally manipulated to be on Batman or The Joker's side. However, Scarlett doesn't lean on a darker side of my morality like The Joker because of key themes such as romance making up her narrative. Sure, both characters are self-absorbed and destructive in a very childish way, but Scarlett is like this to essentially to poison the waters around her. The key distinction to be made between Patrick, The Joker, Alex and Scarlett is that the former three are nihilists with undertones of absolute destruction; they want to destroy the world and maybe themselves in the process - all for a good laugh and/or cry. Scarlett distinguishes herself from these bad guys because she means to poison her social atmosphere as to conserve her own social bubble. She wants to see other's suffer so she can be happy - and this is why her core incentive is to steal Ashley away. Scarlett, unlike The Joker, Patrick and Alex, doesn't want absolute destruction, she only wants to poison the waters around her whilst she swims untouched.

So, after comparing Scarlett to both anti-heroes and likeable antagonists, we can see that she's neither here nor there. She's got traits of an anti-hero in her being a romantic vigilante willing to do anything for love. However, there is no ultimate good, or external collective she's helping by doing this. Her self-absorbed nature makes her a little more like likable antagonists, but this is sullied by her lack of destructive will that lies at the core of many of these nihilistic, anarchistic, figures. Where does this leave Scarlett? Well, she's simply somewhere in between, a paradox; neither good, bad, kinda good or kinda bad, just... a bit of a asshole, but one we like nonetheless. Having established this, we come to the interesting question of why we still like her. Because her not being an anti-hero or likeable bad guy leaves us without any justification for this, it's only by asking why we like her that we can see the depths to her character.

At risk of being labelled sexist, I think the key reason why we like Scarlett and can't see her as someone tantamount to The Joker or Batman, is that she's a woman. Because of this, her goals are constructed upon different themes; ones of romance and love. If we look at the majority of the teens in the first act of Gone With The Wind. we see a bunch of 16+ year olds that want to mesh genitals. From the opening conversation between Scarlett and the ginger twins to Scarlett's first confrontation with Ashley, everything is about falling in love, getting married, such and so on. This is all anyone talks about - young, old, man or woman. However, this all changes when true physical conflict is injected into the film: the war. The men hoot and holler as they run to their horses and go join the cause whilst the women start worrying about who's coming back. The obvious commentary throughout the film on violence in the form of war is then that it's mainly for men. Scarlett always finds herself entangled in the mess, but as a clear outsider - and this is where the conflict comes from, where the drama in this iconic image derives:


In such a commentary, we see an essential designation of priority: men want to indulge chaos, women want to preserve whatever it is they have. Both do this in hope of one day reintroducing peace, but this difference in approach is key as it explains the dichotomy of human preservation. Our species needs men and women, more importantly, their differences. The war effort is a good example of this. The men fight to stop their way of life (yes, this is owning slaves and so on) from being changed. The women hang back to preserve this way of life as best as they can. We see this idea mimicked throughout traditional relationships between men and women and all it is, is the expression of our evolutionary roots as hunter-gatherers. Men go out to capture the deer whilst women take care of the settlement. This relationship between the two halves of our species has kept us thriving as it exploits a universal paradigm of yin and yang, defense and offensive. In the same way you can only win a basketball game by defending your own hoop as well as attacking the opposition's, species can only survive within the natural paradigm of competition in this world by defending themselves and their territory as well as consuming other organisms and their land.

What on Earth does this say about Scarlett O'Hara's character? Quite simply, this explains that the reason I've been unable to define her as an anti-hero is that I've been using male characters as defining bodies of the concept. The truth is that Batman is the hunter and Scarlett the gatherer in the realm of anti-heroes. To define the term all the better, I think it then makes sense to take away the divisive caveat of Batman serving the collective and Scarlett being more selfish. This is because both are anti-heroes in the respect that they are striving towards a goal a traditional hero would, but with unorthodox philosophies, and the only thing splitting them apart is that Batman is metaphorically going to hunt the deer whilst Scarlett maintains the village. Seeing both characters on equal, but varying, grounds we can now better explore why we like Scarlett.

In short, Scarlett's 'unorthodox philosophy' that drives her towards a traditional heroine's goal is that she is no bullshit woman. Like Deapool, who shoots the man who tried to kill him in the end of his narrative instead of putting him in prison, Scarlett knows how she feels and cannot be contorted by basic ideas of honour and 'doing the right thing'. Just like Deadpool can run out of fucks for Ajax, Scarlett holds very few for Melanie, Rhett and Ashley. What this says about us liking these characters links back to a darker side of our morality. A moral is, in short, a concept hijacked by stupid assholes. Those who use the term like, 'he is a moral man', and never imply that morals are incredibly subjective things. Morals are just the way you see right and wrong. No matter how many people try and put down rights and wrongs down in a book as some kind of moral dictionary, no one can introduce dogmatism to this concept. We decide in each passing moment what is morally right and wrong. We often think morals relate to others, but they don't. We only think of morals in terms of other people to save our asses from getting told off by them. By opening up the term 'morality' to a very subjective and fluid view of what is right and wrong for you only and in a specific moment, we can comprehend the idea of a darker side to morality. What falls under this shadow is often 'selfish' views of right and wrong. In other words, Scarlett sees love as something right in her world. She wants this morally good thing in her life in a completely self-absorbed fashion however. This then defines love to her not as being able to let someone go because that's what's right for them, but defines love as someone being there for her, doing what she wants, such and so on. Whilst this, on paper, is a fucked up view of love, it resonates. The evidence for this is the fact that Scarlett resonates. She is, on paper, fucked up. But, we like her nonetheless for the exact reasons outlined: we hold a darker, more selfish set of morals.

The true paradox of Scarlett's character is the that she can appeal to us on these terms. She holds selfish morals, ones that, in theory, don't give a shit about us, but we like her nonetheless. The whole reason why we hate bullies, evil geniuses and bad guys is that they hold selfish morals that do not consider us. We hate those how seem to hate us. We dislike or disregard those who dislike or disregard us. Why, if Scarlett's morals are tantamount to this, do we like her? Such is the paradox. But, it can be explained.

It is here where we delve into the true depths of why we like bad guys and anti-heroes from time to time. We are all inherently selfish. We see this in the concept of, 'we hate those how seem to hate us'. Very few of us are Gandhi (I doubt Gandhi was). Very few of us are truly pacifistic - especially in a social and emotional sense. Sure, people can appeal to the idea of not hitting someone back or not responding to their vitriol with equal malice. But, what kind of idiot actually loves those who hate them? This is hyperbolic bullshit. Don't love those how hate you, just ignore them - it gets you to a better place. Why? Because some people are assholes and will never change. No matter how much you love some people, they will always fuck up and try to hurt you; this is a simply truth in the world. Everyone recognises this in their core which is why we are all selfish. We do this to preserve ourselves. To love unconditionally is to commit suicide - emotionally and/or physically. With this selfishness comes an inherent self-centricity. If all we do is to preserve ourselves, is to survive, then we perceive the world from an irrevocably self-centric perspective. All we do and see is in relation to ourselves. This makes us selfish and ultimately (maybe rightly so) alone in this world. Before you start crying, this is not a bad thing; it's just the way things function. The upside to this futile disconnect is, representatively, movies. What Gone With The Wind says to us on a societal and existential level is that we can look at other assholes (from a distance) and see ourselves in them. We like Scarlett because she is a no bullshit woman and we wish we could be that too. Sure, we recognise that she'd probably brush us aside for her own personal gain, but what overrides this is a sense of connection, of vicarious experience. We watch Scarlett and she resonates with us because she lives the fantasy that the dark side of our morality wishes we would indulge more often. The same may be said for all anti-heroes or likeable antagonists. What makes Scarlett a special example (with me being a man) is that she implies that, whilst men and woman are different, they do have this connection. I like Scarlett as a female anti-hero - and such is the significance of the film to me. She appeals to this concept of me being alone, of women not existing in a philosophical sense, but still implies some intangible connection of selves that is emotionally and intellectually engaging, not to mention, entertaining.

The last note on Scarlett's character throughout the film is to story tellers. Scarlett O'Hara is a great character to study as she changes how one may see anti-heroes. What this does for her narrative is allow the construction of a unique cinematic experience and message. Gone With The Wind, through Scarlett, is all about perseverance and is a justification of fighting for what you want through a female anti-hero. This is what makes the picture unique and its narrative one people constantly return to. It's all down to the emotions by which this message is given; we're told of there always being another day, but from the mouth of an asshole - and we feel great hearing it. This is masterful story telling; the manipulation of emotion, character and story to put forth a point you've never experienced in such a capacity. This is the beauty of Gone With The Wind and is exactly why I love it. But, added to this, it is a great lesson in how to tell great stories with unconventional characters.


Die Hard - Technical Screenwriting

A New York cop stumbles upon a terrorist heist when visiting his estranged wife.


Ohhhh, this is a good film. Is it perfect? No. Is it a movie-masterpiece, an undeniable classic of the action genre? Yes. Will I watch it at any point in time and at a simple ask? Hell, yes. Why is this film so good? In short, it's a coalition of exceptional technical screenwriting, great direction and air-tight editing. The reason why this film is so enjoyable comes down to tone and pacing. We are sucked into the film and dragged into a thrill ride because of great moments of character that punctuate the action set-pieces and moments of suspense. In other words, it's because John McClain is such a likeable hero figure that we care about the bullets flying, bombs exploding, glass shattering. In the simplest terms, we want him to win and the screenwriters knows this. In knowing our investment, the screenwriters have the ability to manipulate us, to make us feel the glass slicing John's feet open, the pounding in his chest as he throws himself off buildings, his overwhelming desperation as his wife dangles above certain death. For this manipulation, Die Hard is a great cinematic experience. Moreover, it is a great lesson in, as mentioned, technical screenwriting. Die Hard is an archetypal action film because of the way it handles both character and time. The technical details of this have been mapped out in a plethora of screenwriting books, and for this reason the 'Die Hard paradigm' has been bastardised. Moreover, because technical screenwriting is a class of screenwriting that can be, to a certain extent, mapped out and turned into a beat sheet, there is the implication that these films can be reproduced. This is why we see them time and time again. As a weak attempt to ensure successful movies, studios, filmmakers and screenwriters try to replicate what makes films such as Die Hard great. For this reason, I want to hint at aspects of Die Hard that make it so good, but in a way that is hopefully ambiguous enough so that it doesn't imply that you only need to do this, that, that, this and then that to write a good film. I say this in an attempt to celebrate this film without directly attributing it to a plethora of movies that came before and after it - some good, many bad.

      
      

Here we have a bunch of films that are much like Die Hard that aren't bad - not at all. The first thing to notice is that many of these films are older than Die Hard which implies that its archetypal stature isn't indicative of originality - just of prominence. As is referenced in the film, Die Hard has its roots in classical westerns and bloody action pictures of the 80s. High Noon and John Wayne pictures account, in large part, for the inspiration of McClain's character. He is the manly man, the hero that will put all on the line for honour, what is right and the fair maiden. We see this idea in Speed, Mad Max, The Raid and Lethal Weapon too. The most interesting example is Mad Max: Fury Road. Whilst the fair maidens aren't being saved by the manly man in this film, they are be saved by, for lack of a better term, a manly woman. (Yes, that's a sexist attribution, but what can you do?). What Mad Max: Fury Road says about this idea of a hero is that it's all about fighting for the underdog and those you care about. In such, actions films are quite romantic in their appeal to collectivism, family and the group. Whilst Gosling isn't running through rain to sweep some ditsy broad off of her feet, Reeves, Willis or Theron are hauling ass through a storm of bullets, fire and shrapnel to save their loved one, romantic interest or group. Another key and expressive example of this can be seen in both Lethal Weapon and The Raid. We aren't seeing a traditionally romantic fight for 'love' in these films as it's not a man chasing the woman, but two buddies or brothers fighting together. However, all of these variations of a hero's goal are ultimately there to appeal to an audience's selfish biases. This isn't a critique of the audience, just a recognition that we like those who'd be there for us and be willing to save our useless asses. This selfish bias is then an idea of togetherness, you helping me, collective goods and self-sacrifice. It's precisely this that lies at the core of the classic western heroes John Wayne is often seen playing. Selfish biases, collectiveness and self-sacrifice are what allow us to sympathise with them. However, there is a tough veneer plastered over this mushy romantic core. It is, quite simply: YIPPIE KI-YAY MOTHERFUCKER! It's the brash flippancy of the action cowboy that can tell his enemy to suck his dick and fuck off before breaking his arm or putting a bullet through his brain that puts the bow on his bulging package. This hardness wraps up the mushy romanticism as to follow a much more universal idea of collectiveness. People, groups, communities, countries can't just be loving, self-sacrificing and nice. There must be a self-respect, a will to protect oneself alongside this as to ensure sovereignty, to make sure you aren't walked over. This is what we see in heroes: self-sacrifice and self-respect.

Having picked up on the main aspects of John McClain's character as an archtype we have to delve into more intricate details. There are two main approaches to characterising a person in a story. One is giving them a life, another is giving them traits. To characterise a figure by giving them a life, you say that they are a 30-year-old man that has a wife, kids, is a New York cop, such and so on. What you are doing is contextualising them as a character; giving them a place in the world that we can understand and believe in. The second approach to characterisation doesn't rely on a wider context. To give your character traits, you simply have to make them a strong personality. In such, what you are doing is having them repeat certain actions so that the audience comes to understand and predict their behavioural patterns. The illusion then conjured is the audience believing that they know this fictional person like they would a real one. Such is the crucial goal of both techniques. By giving a character traits and a life you are trying to convince the audience that they are a real person that they can like, understand and sympathise with. John McClain's characterisation is heavy on the 'giving a life' approach. This works very well, but is a little cliched at times. Moreover, this approach to characterisation is done with almost all characters to a borderline gimmicky and contrived extent. We are told who each person is, what their pasts are, who they live with, who they live for, ect. This can be an effective way of implying that a character is a real person, but it can come off as little more than simple and vacuous exposition. This happens at points throughout Die Hard. But, to balance this expository kind of characterisation, screenwriters will appeal to traits. These moments of characterisation are played between the audience and character and so appeal to a philsophy of pure cinema (showing things, not telling them). The biggest fault of Die Hard is that there's an unbalance between us knowing who John lives for, loves and so on and who he actually is moment to moment. We hear the yippie ki-yays, we see him refuse to give up, but Willis' performance relies more on dialogue than it does nuance and smaller actions. My favourite character of all time is, without a doubt...


The reason why I love Amélie comes down to Jeunet's succinct portrayal of his main character through her past as well as her present (in terms of her traits and how she behaves). Because of this, Amélie is the best example of a character written with balance, so for further details on how to execute this concept I can only recommend watching this film.

Coming back to Die Hard, we see the characterisation of John McClain to be the most essential (yet imperfect) aspect of the movie because of its links to old westerns and the manner in which they inform his character both in terms of the life he lives and the way he behaves. The commentary of the film is then, in part, about what the John Wayne archetype of cinema gives us: a manner of contextualising a character through a tough way of living that is often dangerous and to do with helping others (being a cop) as well as conveying traits that somewhat mask a romantic internal (shooting people and yippi ki-yay motherfucker - all to save a loved one). These are the fundamentals of John McClain's character. But, on more broader and conceptual terms, to produce great characters in respect to technical screenwriting, you only need to recognise ideas of collectiveness as well as trait-based and life-based characterisation. It's these ideas that are the crux of what McClain as a character produced through technical screenwriting teaches.

On a side-note, I just want to pick up on 'technical screenwriting' as a concept quickly. To define and distinguish the term, technical screenwriting is a form of writing that relies on an almost mathematical setting of events. These events are often called beats and what they do is give your movie a strong sense of structure. So, not only do they then provide vivid character arcs like those seen in The Matrix or Star Wars, but they facilitate very succinct plots like those seen in Back To The Future or High Noon. A good example of what these beats are can be seen in Blake Snyder's Save The Cat. His beat sheet is as follows...

1. Opening Image (1) 
2. Theme Stated (5) 
3. Set-up (1-10)
4. Catalyst (12) 
5. Debate (12-25) 
6. Break into Two (25) 
7. B Story (30) 
8. Fun and Games (30-55) 
9. Midpoint (55) 
10. Bad Guys Close In (55-75) 
11. All Is Lost (75) 
12. Dark Night of the Soul (75-85) 
13. Break into Three (85) 
14. Finale (85-110) 
15. Final Image (110)
**The numbers in parenthesis are page numbers

I won't delve into detail on this beat sheet here, just use it as an example of what goes into this kind of writing. All in all, technical screenwriting encompasses a basic paradigm of how movies feel and are paced and so is an appeal to formula. However, in opposition to this we have films by the likes of Tarkovsky, Bergman, Kubrick and Lynch. It's films such as The Mirror, Persona, 2001: A Space Odyssey and Eraserhead that can't be put down onto a beat sheet and so aren't the products of technical scripts. I won't then infer that beat sheets and films such as Die Hard that can fit into their paradigm are terrible. Yes, the likes of Die Hard aren't as good as 2001 (especially to a pretentious cinefile) but, they have their merits and we can all sit down and enjoy them. However, putting the side note to rest, I'll end by saying that technical screenwriting is a formulaic approach to filmmaking. The two major parts of this, as mentioned, are character and plot. We've already delved into the some of the technical aspects of Die Hard's characterisation, so let's get into its plot.

A huge part of why this film works so well has a lot to do with a few films reference beforehand...

      

All of these films elaborate on the archetypal plotting and pacing of Die Hard. They each hold incredibly confined plots that incorporate violence and suspense into their narratives. High Noon is (an explicitly referenced) example of this. This film is dictated by clocks on the wall and so provides the illusion of the film playing out in real time. This is where all tension in the film derives from. It's because Will (Gary Cooper's character) has only an hour before he's attacked by a band of old enemies that we feel the sheer momentum of events and the conflicts filling up each second. This is a huge element of films with confined plots such as Die Hard, but is rarely applied so directly. Instead of having a clock on the wall to push the movie toward a climax, action films often imply high stakes that need to be quashed - and quick. In Die Hard, we know its John's mission to defeat the terrorists before they hack into vault, before many people are killed, before his identity is given up, before the terrorists out-smart him. All of these temporal constraints force John to act. We know he hasn't got time to hang around on the roof nor the vents or elevator shaft. He has to keep moving and so does the plot. The same thing can be said with a plethora of action films, key examples being First Blood, Mad Max and The Raid. All characters in these films have very clear conflicts and goals. They also have very little time to overcome them. However, just like Die Hard, there isn't always a clock on the wall. It's desperation and a search for an end that really drives these films forward. This, like having hard characters, appeals to a larger, more universal idea. This idea lies in action itself. The main draw and entertaining factor of actions films, coming from a personal perspective, is of truth. Whilst The Raid isn't an MMA fight, boxing match or brawl, it does imply the same physical test on an emotional level. The same may be said for First Blood. Instead of Rambo putting up with his internal conflicts by having a cry and maybe suing a few people, he gets out a gun, knife and motor cycle and decides to fuck an entire town up. Whilst this isn't very civilised, the implied philosophy of action films is of... well.... action. The likes of Die Hard and Rambo are, to me, a wonderful fuck you to Hamlet and his To Be Or Not To Be. There is no questions when it comes to combat, you have a goal and you run after it. This feeds into the second major aspect of the technically constructed narrative of Die Hard.

We've touched on this before, but another element of Die Hard's plotting and pacing it falls under the concept of The Infinite Story. This idea is little more than the theoretical realisation that all stories can go on forever. Whilst Die Hard has a beginning and an end that fits into one night, the screenwriters could have chronicled how John's marriage broke down. Moreover, they could have shown us how he became a cop, how he met his wife, what his childhood was like, who his parents were, where they came from, ect. In truth, the screenwriter's could have made a million films about John McMclain that stretched infinitely into his past and future. The evidence for this is quite simply...

      

The irony of the plethora of Die Hard films, however, is in how confined and finite the first was. The success and greatness of the original Die Hard was in large part down to the fact that the screenwriters fought against the idea of the infinite story instead of embracing it. To clarify, by having such a distinct beginning and end, such a strong sense of action and goals, the screenwriters give an audience a sense of completion and fulfillment by the time they've traversed the narrative A to B. When we see how John has change, that he and his wife are in a better place in their relationship, that everyone is safe and are better people because of this night, we can walk away from the movie feeling that everything is wrapped up and we were given a good 2 hour piece of entertainment. The same cannot be said for The Mirror, Persona, 2001: A Space Odyssey and Eraserhead in respect to confined plots. These films lean on infinite stories as they transcend their narrative by being so ambiguous and thematically rich. This is what makes the films so great, but also inaccessible to many. What this says about Die Hard is that because of its control over story, it is succinct and fulfilling, it is a movie-masterpiece.

Before wrapping things up, for more on plotting and technical screenwriting follow this link to a talk on The 3 Plot Lines. That said, Die Hard is a ultimately a kick-ass film because of the way character interacts with plot. Because John McClain is a classical hero, both romantic and hardened, his character arc from a cop in a bad relationship to a conqueror of terrorists who only wanted to save his wife is one that interweaves with the barreling plot. It's because of his internalised philosophy of collectiveness and action that the plot (which showcases this) is so effective. Both plot and character work through symbiotic means to emotionally resonate with the audience, to say that good guys win, that you should go hard or go home, that you should stick to your guns, your own terms, your own principals, morality, ethics and beliefs. It's through the technically structured narrative that this can come through - all because of its finite nature and explicit means to entertain. Ultimately, Die Hard is such a great example of technical filmmaking, an archetype of it, because screenwriter, editor and director appeal to this idea and force it into fruition.


If you've got here... dude... wow. That's a lot of words you just crunched through. A huge thanks and congratulations, you've hit the peak of a mountain... where do you go now? Maybe it's all about getting there? I don't know. Thanks for reading. Unless you just scrolled to the bottom. You can die. You shouldn't be reading this.

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