The Interplay Between Story and Discourse

Film is a combination of story and discourse. But what does that really mean? What’s the difference between the two?

Story is what you tell your friends about a movie after having just seen it. Discourse, on the other hand, refers more to the elements of a film’s production. It is the process of the coming into being of a film- what goes on in the editing room, the capturing of sound, etc. It also incorporates self-reflexive elements, which tell us when, by whom, and at what time the film was captured. In essence, discourse relates the “I, NOW, HERE” of the film.

In any film, story and discourse are constantly at play. Every time we see a television or camera on the screen, we are subconsciously reminded of how the film was created and that the film is in fact a product of human labor. However, the story usually covers over most of the discourse, which is what allows us to become absorbed into a film.

Can a film still be effective if the level of discourse is given a more obvious status within a film? To answer this question, let’s examine Dziga Vertov’s film, Man With a Movie Camera (1929).


Man With a Movie Camera is essentially a montage of the life of the citizens in Moscow through the lens of a movie camera. The film is a succession of images that are supposed to demonstrate to the audience what the eye of the camera is in fact seeing. There are no real actors, nor is there any kind of plotline to follow; the people of the city are simply recorded in various everyday situations. The actual “story” of the film seems to be a simple exhibition of the scope of the camera's recording ability. Vertov explained his film with these words:

“Construction must be understood as the co-ordinating function of Constructivism. If the tectonic unites the ideological and formal, and as a result gives a unity of conception, and the factura is the condition of the material, then the construction discovers the actual process of putting together. Thus we have the third discipline, the discipline of the formation of conception through the use of worked material. All hail to the Communist expression of material building.” (1)

There are many moments in Man With a Movie Camera, when the film speaks about itself as a film. Starting at the very beginning of the film, we see a theater where a film is to be projected, which steers us to reflect upon the film as a product. In another scene, the camera guides us into a room through a window frame, which reminds us that our view is being framed through the frame of the film. We also see picture frames on the walls of the room, which have a similar effect. In a later scene, we see a woman cutting and splicing together strips off film in an editing room. This compels viewers to think about the different stages of the coming into being of the film.

I will admit that Man With a Movie Camera was not one of my favorite films by any means, as it was simply not engaging. Perhaps this was due to the fact that the story did not cover up the discourse, even though that was clearly the intention of the filmmaker. To me, Man With a Movie Camera seems to have succeeded on the level of an art form and as an educational tool. Watching something speak so eloquently about itself is truly beautiful. The film is also very enlightening for those without prior knowledge of film to learn exactly how the camera sees, and that what it projects on the screen is often a heavily manipulated reality. Although it may have succeeded in the aforementioned areas, Man With a Movie Camera unfortunately failed entirely as a source of entertainment.

1. DeBartolo, John. “Man With a Movie Camera.” 2001. 26 March 2009. http://www.silentsaregolden.com/DeBartoloreviews/rdbmanwithmoviecamera.html.

A Discussion of Film Noir, Out of the Past, and Rick Altman

Although a significant amount of ambiguity has developed around the term “film noir,” this film genre primarily encompasses crime dramas seeping in darkness and pessimism (after all, its emergence followed The Great Depression). Film noir concentrates largely on plays of light and shadows to communicate an emotional realism that is absent in the average crime story. Other common elements of film noir include the use of voiceover and flashback, a sexually independent female character, and a psychological turning over of characters.

Out of the Past is a classic example of film noir (even the title is suggestive of its genre). In particular, its characters are excellent examples of the typical roles in a film noir. First we have Jeff (Robert Mitchum), the existential protagonist who restrains himself from showing any sign of emotion (one of the few times he does is when he knocks over a glass of water at the table, but he is only pretending to be upset to act as a distraction). His restraint and joylessness exemplify the “classy cool” figures prevalent in film noir. Next we have Kathie (Jane Greer), the lethal female lead who commands all eyes on her when she walks into the room. Her eroticism and confidence demonstrate the chief female character in a film noir.

The interplay between Jeff and Kathie evokes a subject central to the film noir genre, which is a corrupt woman’s destruction of a basically good man through his love for her. In Out of the Past, Kathie wavers between Jeff and Whit, which in the end leads to the finishing of all three characters. The flashback device shows exactly what leads up to the protagonist’s fall, which starts off when Jeff encounters Kathie in the Mexican café. I thought the use of the flashback in this film was of particular interest because Jeff knows before the flashback is over that Kathie is destroying him. By laying out for the audience what happened, Jeff comes to accept this fate and even embraces it. Many other films in the film noir genre (Chinatown, for example) exhibit the tendency for the male protagonist to become suspicious of the betrayal of the female lead but is found to be wrong. However, in Out of the Past, this speculation turns out to be a truth that comes to threaten Jeff’s life much more forcefully than in any of these other film noir films. The end of the movie leaves viewers with the realization of Jeff’s grand error in his misguided and ultimately fatal love for Kathie.

Although it is demonstrative of many aspects of film noir, I would argue that Out of the Past also displays elements characteristic of other genres as well. This supports Rick Altman’s argument in “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre” in which he argues that genres survive by borrowing from other types of genres. It is this cross-fertilization of genres that keeps audiences from getting bored. Looking at Out of the Past, consider once again the flashback sequence. Between Jeff’s longing gaze as he is sitting in the Mexican café watching Kathie walk out of the sunlight, the romantic interlude on the abandoned boats on the beach, and their desperate escape from Whit and his crew, it seems as much a romance as a film noir. Also, the general fast pace of the film and the many guns and shootings that takes place evoke characteristics of an action film. Overall, I really enjoyed the film because it had so many different elements incorporated into it that made it interesting and fun to watch.

Coming to Terms with Cache

Cache is one of the most dissatisfying movies I’ve ever seen. The frustratingly long takes put me to sleep in my seat. What is even more irksome, however, is how the viewer is constantly deprived of seeing the off screen space and the reverse shot all the way through the end of the film. The off screen space never becomes on screen space, so we never learn who is seeing or shooting. Instead of becoming engrossed in the film, we become increasingly aware that there is a camera watching and recording. The constant, conscious awareness that there is a camera is precisely what is irritating.

I don’t believe that director Michael Haneke intended to stress the audience out in this manner without reason. As implied by the title (“cache" means hidden in French), many elements of the story are bound to be kept from us. For one, viewers are never entirely sure if the scene that is taking place is actually happening or whether it is simply a clip of one of the tapes sent by the mysterious stalker. The plot itself revolves around secrets: Georges keeps to himself that he was the reason Majid was sent away to an orphanage and prevented from receiving a solid education. He also doesn’t confide in his wife when he suspects that Majid is sending the messages and tapes. Anne has a secret of her own- that she has been meeting up with her friend Pierre for emotional consol and maybe also physical. Pierrot realizes Anne’s possible affair and keeps the knowledge locked up inside him, resulting in irrational behavior on his part. And of course, the biggest secret of all that is never found out- who is terrorizing the Laurent family? Clearly, the film is swarming with secrets, and by depriving viewers of off screen space and the reverse shot, Haneke takes the motif of secrets to a whole new level. In a way, putting the viewers in the place of the camera makes them feel as if they themselves are surveilling the Laurents. Perhaps we are the stalker? Of course, I don’t actually believe that this is what Haneke is implying, but perhaps the character we are meant to identify with is actually the mysterious stalker.

Although I did not particularly enjoy this movie, I left the screening with a desire to watch it again. There were so many unanswered questions lurking on my mind that make me want to sit through it one more time to see if I pick up on any clues that I may have missed the first time around. In this respect, it seems that Haneke’s unconventional approach to cinematography is effective after all.

Generally, the way a movie moves forward is through shot-reverse-shot patterns (such as in conversations and point of view shots). We have been trained to think that when the camera moves, it is someone looking. In essence, there are two fields in every image: the field of the character (on screen) and the field in which he/she is being looked at (off screen). If the image is held long enough, we become aware that there isn’t really anybody looking; there is only a camera. Upon this realization, we fall out of the story and the realism that the fiction has created for us. In Cache, we question at many points throughout the film, “Who is seeing this?” Daniel Dayan suggests in his article “The Tudor-Code of Classical Cinema” that this is the point that we fall out of ideological effect of the film. This explains why I was not absorbed in the movie, and was left with so many questions at the end. However, I believe that although we may be faced with boredom and confusion upon watching it, the way that the off screen space is not revealed is actually effective for this particular film. Perhaps Haneke wanted the audience to be able to feel ignorant of a secret the way all the central characters do. Whatever the director’s intentions, the movie clearly would not have had close to the same mysterious effect if filmed in a different manner.

Cinema Paradiso and Classical Hollywood Cinema

Cinema Paradiso recounts the life of Salvatore, a filmmaker looking back on the memories of his childhood, highlighting the time during which he fell in love with the movies at the local theater and formed a deep friendship with the theater projectionist, Alfredo. This film is interesting because it demonstrates the magic and power of the movies through a movie. Although the film drags on at times (the directors cut is 170 minutes and the international version is 123 minutes), the lasting themes of love, friendship, and youth make it worth sitting through.

Examining this film in relation to classical Hollywood cinema, I do not find that it conforms to the guidelines of classical Hollywood cinema. Classical Hollywood narration involves a particular set of standard options for representing the story and manipulating the composition and style, according to David Bordwell in his article, “Classical Hollywood Cinema: Narrational Principles and Procedures. Bordwell informs us that there is a specific formula that Hollywood screenplay-writing manuals emphasize- there should be four stages to the plot: an undisturbed stage, the disturbance, the struggle, and the elimination of the disturbance. Looking at Cinema Paradiso, there is no evidence of this format in use; in fact, there is not much conventional action that takes place at all. The viewer is engaged in the narrative not through action, but through the exploration of relationships, particularly that of Alfredo and Salvatore (a father-son-like relationship) and life and the movies. The film is largely driven not by any particular event but by using the device of the flashback. Opening the film in the present and then quickly jumping back to the past has viewers posing questions such as: What events in the past influenced him to become the person we just glimpsed in the future? How has Salvatore changed as person over the course of his life?

Another point in which the film does not match up with the standards of classical Hollywood cinema is in its conclusion. Bordwell notes the pressures of rulebooks for a happy ending and a logical wrap-up. In Cinema Paradiso, the ending sequence involves Alfredo’s funeral and the complete demolition of the local movie theater, neither of which I would consider to be happy events. In addition, Alfredo doesn’t end up with his love interest, Elena. Despite the fact that the ending does not conform to the classical Hollywood ending, it does manage to come full circle by answering the initial questions raised in the opening scene. The fact that Salvatore finally gets to see the censored scenes that he long begged Alfredo for is particularly satisfying. Moreover, having a film about movies end with the viewing of a film makes for an even more clear-cut conclusion.


Although I argue that the film as a whole does not conform to classical Hollywood cinema, there is one section where I do see it employing classical techniques. Bordwell writes that classical Hollywood cinema tends to incorporate two plot lines, one of these being a romance and the other involving work, a mission or another personal relationship; this characteristic is something Cinema Paradiso lives up to. As a teenager, Salvatore falls in love with the new girl at school, Elena, whom we do not get to know very well. She seems to fill the position of the beautiful Hollywood actress who is meant largely in part to be looked at. The pattern of the classical Hollywood narrative is fulfilled as we are led to question whether or not Salvatore will end up with Elena. Salvatore’s successful courtship and passionate embrace in the rain furthers this typical Hollywood romance that parallels the protagonist's main journey.

How Does Film Affect the Way You See the World?

Film is earth shattering as an art form and highly effective as a political medium because of its intimate connection with our eyes and ears. When we cry or laugh at a film, it is not because of the actors. On the contrary, our primary identification is with the camera itself. What the camera sees is what we see. What the camera records is what we hear. We are lead to feel a certain way about various characters and situations. In this manner, we are prevented from thinking what we want to think; the moving images replace our own thoughts. Moreover, what we see and hear on the screen is in many ways a distorted reality. For instance, imagine a shot where the characters are walking at a distance but their voices are heard close up. In reality, this is not the way sound works. Or how about an ending scene where there is a close up of the faces of a couple kissing. When are we ever that close to a couple in an intimate embrace? Not to mention how this kind of shot makes us believe that this is what happily ever after looks like, which is not necessarily the case.

In these ways and more, film technology has the ability to transcend our world. In his essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” Walter Benjamin supports this notion. He points out that technical reproduction can bring things closer by means of the close up and slow things down by means of slow motion. Film technology truly transforms the way we perceive the world by impacting our eyes and ears so that we look at things differently. Benjamin also notes that what we think we see on the screen might not actually be what is. For instance, a jump from a window can be shot in the studio as a jump from a scaffold, and the resulting flight can be shot weeks later when outdoor scenes are taken. In the final cut, these shots are smoothed together as one grand leap from a window. Through film, reality takes on a whole new meaning.

Because our eyes and ears have become so habituated to technology, we automatically accept the language of cinema. Film has become so habitual that we hardly realize the fact that it is in itself a second language. How is it a second language? Examine the shot-reverse-shot, a film technique in which characters speaking to each other appear on opposite sides of successive frames, each looking in the direction of each other. Even if the characters are speaking in a foreign language or the television is on mute, it is understood through the language of film that these two people are having a conversation. I had this kind of experience when I saw Amelie. The first time I watched the movie (without English subtitles) was in my high school French class. My French language skills only allowed me to understand about half of the dialogue, but nonetheless I was able to comprehend the overall meaning of the film.

Amelie illustrates in many ways how film tends not to show us what really is. In the film, we are able to simultaneously see two people’s whereabouts. For example, take the scene in which Amelie is taking her picture in the photo booth and Nino is hurrying to the train station. The camera switches back and forth between shots of Amelie, Nino, and the clock, which creates a sense of urgency and suspense. In Amelie, we are able to see through various people’s eyes. For instance, we see through Nino’s eyes in the shot in which the camera is looking down at the torn up photo of Amelie. The majority of the film (and most films for that matter) however, is seen through the eyes of a kind of all-seeing god.

Amelie is also demonstrative of the way in which film can help us understand certain feelings and emotions on a whole new level. Amelie’s panick when Nino is late showing up to the café is conveyed by the simultaneous use of fast motion and black and white. Also, when Nino walks out of the café still not knowing that Amelie is his admirer, her heart melts. This is shown literally as she transforms into a splash of water. Film is unique in that it can communicate in ways other art forms can’t.