FILM & TELEVISION STUDIES Maste

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ARISTOTLE UNIVERSITY OF THESSALONIKI FACULTY OF FINE ARTS SCHOOL OF FILM

MASTER’S PROGRAM: FILM & TELEVISION STUDIES

Master’s Thesis

“Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films: Editing Goes Into Hiding”

Georgios Dimoglou

Prof. Eleftheria Thanouli

Prof. Betty Kaklamanidou

Prof. Stacey Abbott

Thessaloniki, January 2021

School of Film, AUTh

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly, I would like to express my deep gratitude to Prof. Eleftheria Thanouli and Prof. Betty Kaklamanidou for their valuable guidance in regard to my thesis and their unabated support since my undergraduate years. Their passion for research and knowledge of film and television continue to motivate me as a student and aspiring researcher. I also extend my gratitude to Prof. Stacey Abbott for the time she dedicated to the evaluation of this thesis as well as for being a most inspiring teacher. I would also like to thank my talented postgraduate colleagues for motivating me and especially Pavlina, Eva and Paul for their support and friendship. The COVID-19 era has been an extremely arduous one and a lot of my longtime friends came to my aid in numerous ways. I am deeply grateful to Anna, Elena, Sofianna and Efi for having my back when I needed them the most. Maya, Kostas, Vasilis and Vaggelis are another huge part of my years in Thessaloniki and I am most thankful for our shared treasured memories as well as the memories we will create in the future. I would also like to express my deep sense of gratitude to Alkisti for being a most supportive colleague and an irreplaceable friend. I would not have reached this point without her. Finally, I greatly appreciate my family for believing in me, my uncles and aunts Kostas, Mary, Michalis and Marianna for offering their total support, and my father, Dimitris, for understanding me and for inspiring me to follow my dreams. My final thank you goes to my mother, Martina, for her love.

In memory of my old friend, Alexandros, who untimely passed away in 2020

School of Film, AUTh

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School of Film, AUTh

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction 7 Theory and Methodology: Approaching One-Shot Cinema 11 Narrative Space 12 Camera Movement 13 Classical Continuity and Intensified Continuity 14 Narrative Time 16 The Long Take 18 Rope: A One-Shot Film is Born 20 Birdman: The Manipulation of Space and Time 27 1917: Immediacy in the Contemporary One-Shot Film 34 Conclusion 40 Bibliography 42 Online Sources 45 Filmography 47

ABSTRACT

Films that consist of one single uninterrupted shot – or are edited in a way that creates the illusion of a single shot – are typically called one-shot films. In recent years, this kind of cinema has become more and more prominent, evidenced by the critical and commercial success of films such as Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014) and Sam Mendes’ 1917 (2019). The history of the feature-length one-shot film, however, goes back as early as 1948, when Rope (directed by Alfred Hitchcock) was released.

This thesis aspires to fill the theoretical gap of one-shot films, which, as of yet, remain relatively unaddressed due to their only recent surge of popularity, among other reasons. Specifically, this project is interested in examining spatial and temporal continuity in one-shot films, so as to understand the effect of the technique on the representation of cinematic space and time. To explore our subject, the three aforementioned films come into focus as case studies. These films were selected based on their feature-length runtime, their identity as narrative fiction films and their uniqueness in terms of the execution of the technique. All three are comprised of multiple shots edited into a seemingly continuous whole. This research performs an in-depth analysis of the films, grounded on theories on representation (and manipulation) of classical narrative space and time, spatiotemporal continuity, and camera movements. The ultimate objective is to showcase the technique’s evolution through time and technology, as well as determine the ways in which these films achieve continuity across space and time without the help of perceptible editing.

Keywords: one-shot film, space, time, continuity, camera movement, long take

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

INTRODUCTION

In 1948, Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope was released, a crime thriller based on the play of the same name (1929) by Patrick Hamilton, starring John Dall as Brandon and Farley Granger as Philip. The two young men murder a former classmate of theirs (Dick Hogan) in order to find out if they are able to commit the perfect crime. They are not alone in their wish to “experiment”, as Hitchcock intended to create a film without precedent; he decided to shoot the film in a way that generates the illusion of watching a single continuous take, albeit not perfect, as the film actually contains visible cuts (as it will be later discussed). However, most of the cuts are hidden,1 an effect achieved by moving the camera on darker surfaces (such as the back of an actor) and restarting shooting from there. As the film reel could not last more than approximately ten minutes at the time (Babis Aktsoglou 2003, p. 66), it was impossible for Hitchcock to actually shoot the film in one take.

Hitchcock’s technique initially received negative reactions from critics and filmmakers, such as Bosley Crowther (1948) and Billy Wilder (Neil Sinyard 1994, pp. 67-68). Even Hitchcock himself admitted it was a failed experiment (Thomas M. Bauso 1991, p. 227), much like the two murderers’ attempt to cover their crime. After Rope, the obscure one-shot technique was more or less abandoned for decades, scarcely found in avant-garde films, such as Andy Warhol’s Empire (1964) and Michael Snow’s Wavelength (1967). Yet shortly after the turn of the millennium, one-shot cinema began to resurface with digital films such as Mike Figgis’ Timecode (2000) and Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark (2002). A few years later, this resurgence would culminate in Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s Birdman (2014), which became the first (and to this date, only) one-shot film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture.

The purpose of this research is to study the one-shot technique and its impact on the continuity of space and time in American cinema. David Bordwell describes classical Hollywood cinema as defined by “psychologically defined individuals who struggle to solve a clear-cut problem or to attain specific goals. […] The story ends with a decisive victory or defeat, a resolution of the problem and a clear achievement or nonachievement of the goals” (1985, p. 157). According to Bordwell, classical cinema subordinates both systems of narrative space (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 50) and time (p. 12) to narrative causality. Furthermore, space

1 The number of cuts in Rope is debated, as D.A. Miller points out (2016, p 87), but it is widely accepted to be somewhere around ten.

Georgios Dimoglou

and time are unified by continuity editing (Bordwell 1997, p. 133). Kristin Thompson defines continuity editing as “a set of guidelines for cutting shots together”, with the aim of narrating the story in an unbroken manner, “spatially and temporally, from shot to shot” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 289). While American one-shot films seem to adhere to the rules of classical Hollywood, they do not make use of classical continuity editing. The question posed by this research is thus formed as such: how do one-shot films achieve to represent narrative space and time in a continuous way, without resorting to classical editing?

An in-depth presentation of our theoretical framework and methodological tools takes place in the first chapter. Afterwards, three case studies come into perspective: Hitchcock’s Rope, Iñárritu’s Birdman, and Mendes’ 1917. After a brief introduction to each film, they will be analysed on the two axes of space and time. Finally, the ways that spatial and temporal continuity are established are presented in the concluding section. Another critical point of discussion is cinema’s transition from the analog to the digital era, the related technological advancements and the resulting effects on the one-shot film. Lev Manovich mentions that contemporary digital cinema is informed by past avant-garde filmmaking practices, stating that “what used to be exceptions for traditional cinema became the normal, intended techniques of digital filmmaking, embedded in technology design itself” (2001, p. 258). This thesis believes that the one-shot technique, which was used in an avant-garde context during the latter half of the 20th century, slowly entered contemporary mainstream cinema by way of the digital, along with other avant-garde practices, as Manovich points out.

This type of filmmaking remains underexplored to this day. The leading reason behind this theoretical void is the one-shot film’s popularity, which has only grown in recent years, while the still limited number of cases has also played a role in the little attention they have received. Nevertheless, the international acclaim and box-office success of contemporary cases, together with the continuously growing number of one-shot films2 renders the project at hand both needed and timely.

The selection criteria for my sample were the following: 1) their feature-length runtime. While one-shot short films have a much longer history, this study considers them to be drastically different due to their divergent narrative structure and should therefore be researched independently of feature films. 2) The period of their release, so as to understand

2 According to information found on Wikipedia, more than half of one-shot films ever created have been released after 2010. For more details: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One-shot_film.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

the impact of different technological capabilities. 3) Their narrational and classical character. Nonnarrative films, such as underground and avant-garde films were not considered, as space and time are not necessarily represented in a continuous manner. 4) The original way in which each selected film adds to the discussion.

Here, it must be noted that two categories of one-shot films are generally recognised: edited and unedited. Those that are considered edited actually consist of multiple shots which remain hidden through montage and special effects. On the other hand, unedited one-shot films are comprised of one single take from beginning to end. Rope, Birdman and 1917 are all examples of edited one-shot films and in fact, all three visibly break the one-shot illusion in specific moments, which are addressed later.

This research is primarily based on Bordwell’s theories on continuity and narrative space and time in classical films. Since long takes and a constantly moving camera are elements integral to the one-shot film, Bordwell’s ideas on camera movement, editing and long takes are also taken into consideration, along with input from other theorists (e.g. Edward Branigan 2006; Lutz Koepnick 2017). The theoretical context is informed by observations on digital technology as well (e.g. Manovich 2001), since it plays an important role in the evolution of the one-shot technique, as it will be later shown.

In particular, Bordwell studies cinematic space through the prism of centering, balancing, frontality and depth. These “narrational strategies”, as he names them, “encourage us to read filmic space as story space […]. We can think of these strategies as aiming to personalize space” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 54). Centering has to do with the position of the main character of a scene at the center of the frame; balancing is a less-defined quality related to the overall symmetry of the image; frontality is achieved when the bodies of the characters are facing towards the camera; and depth refers to the in-depth composition of the image, which leads to its perception as three-dimensional (p. 51). These terms are used by this thesis as tools to study the representation of space in Hollywood one-shot films and affirm its classical identity.

When it comes to narrative time in film, Bordwell and Thompson (2008, pp. 80-82) recognize three parameters: order (the chronological order of the events in the plot), duration (the time span) and frequency (the number of times a scene might be repeated). These terms and particularly duration will also prove to be useful in the delineation of the temporality of one-shot narratives.

Georgios Dimoglou

Lastly, this research deploys the concepts of motivated/unmotivated camera movements, as developed by Branigan (pp. 26-27) and of hypermediacy by Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin (1999, p. 34), which are presented in detail in the following pages. The former refers to the movements of the camera and the latter to screen space. Both of them are crucial in understanding how one-shot films achieve continuity, not by editing but by continuously moving the camera and using digital special effects (the differences between Birdman and 1917 in regard to special effects will be discussed in their respective chapters). Based on this theoretical framework and methodology behind the scrutiny of the three films, this paper attempts to map spacetime in one-shot films and provide insight to their unique identity.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

THEORY AND METHODOLOGY: APPROACHING ONE-SHOT CINEMA

As a new technology, cinema was born out of one-shot films; the first films ever to appear only lasted a few seconds and consisted of a single static shot, such as those of the Lumière brothers and Thomas Edison in the final years of the 19th century. However, as pioneers began to tinker with the medium, the practice of editing multiple shots into a coherent motion picture entered the frame. Georges Méliès’ contributions to editing and special effects, as well as D. W. Griffith’s successful attempts at feature-length filmmaking in the 1910s, among other notable firsts, indelibly influenced the future of film.

The classical Hollywood feature-length formula was already established by 1917 (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 9). At the same time, editing was under the microscope of experimenting filmmakers, such as Sergei Eisenstein and Lev Kuleshov (Gordon Gray 2020, pp. 42-45). These conditions, along with the limitations of early-to-mid 20th century film technology, which rendered longer than ten minute takes practically impossible, quickly led to the disappearance of one-shot cinema and to the rise of continuity editing. As Bordwell mentions, “continuity editing could maintain a cogent, unified time and space just when narratives were becoming longer and more intricate” (1997, p. 133).

Before we delve into the practice of continuity editing and how it keeps narrative space and time unified, it is important to first grasp these two systems, as Bordwell calls them (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 6). Broadly speaking, Bordwell recognises the following domains, under which the techniques of the medium are used and systematised: “mise-en-scène3 (staging, lighting, performance, and setting); framing, focus, control of color values, and other aspects of cinematography; editing; and sound” (1997, p. 4). Cinematic space is determined by each of these components. Here, it is important to note that there is a distinction between in-frame and out-of-frame space, as Stephen Heath points out (1976, p. 80). This research focuses on what is found on-screen in classical space.

3 Bordwell and Thompson explain that the term mise-en-scène is used to “signify the director’s control over what appears in the film frame. […] The director stages the event for the camera” (2008, p. 112).

Georgios Dimoglou

Narrative Space

As mentioned above, classical Hollywood cinema subordinates space: “the classical style makes the sheerly graphic space of the film a vehicle for narrative” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 50). Bordwell analyses narrative space across the four parameters of centering, balancing, frontality, and depth. A classical Hollywood film is characterised by “centered compositions” (p. 51), which translates to the human body being made “the center of narrative and graphic interest” (ibid.). Centering is achieved either through reframings “to accommodate figure movement” or through frame-cuts (ibid.), which happen when a character moves out of the frame and the next shot shows them once again at its center. Bordwell states that centering is followed by balance: “once centered, the human body provides enough slight asymmetries to yield a generally stable image” (ibid). Extremely flawless symmetry can be distracting, so it is usually avoided; a balancing of the right and left halves is preferred (Bordwell and Thompson 2008, p. 143). Thompson also mentions that if two characters appear in the frame, they keep an equal distance from its center, thus balancing one another (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 325).

Frontality is another important part of the spatial representation. As Bordwell points out, “the narrational qualities of shot composition are also evident in the classical use of frontality. […] The face is positioned in full, three-quarter, or profile view; the body typically in full or threequarter view” (p. 51). However, he notices that “complete frontality–e.g., direct address to the camera–is rare” (p. 52). This is in agreement with the classical narrative, which strives for low self-consciousness and omniscience (p. 26). Frontality is open to change and it “can be lost if it is then regained” (p. 52), with camera movement being one of the main ways to do so. It is also worth noting that it is relatively unusual for characters to turn their backs to the camera; if this happens, “it is usually an index of their relative unimportance at the moment” (ibid).

Bordwell’s final tool for reading space is depth of field. He observes that “classical cinema works to treat the screen as a plate-glass window in the representation of depth” (ibid.) and recognises movement as “the most important depth cue” (ibid). Here, movement denotes both a moving subject and/or object in the frame and a moving camera:

When a figure moves and creates a continuous stream of overlapping planes and receding shapes, when the camera glides through or across a space —under these circumstances it becomes very difficult to see the screen as a flat surface (ibid.).

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

Space inside the frame can be broken down into different planes. If the lens is focused on the plane closer to the camera, the composition is of shallow-space; on the other hand, “in deep-space compositions, a figure in the foreground might be out of focus while another in the background is in focus” (p. 53). According to Bordwell, depth can be achieved “by interposing figures and objects on various planes” and it is further specified by the addition of “pattern, color, texture, lighting, and focus” (pp. 52-53).

Camera Movement

These observations seem to confirm the importance of camera movement in all four parameters of space representation, as it is utilised to re-center, re-balance, reclaim frontality and disrupt the feeling of a flat surface. Bordwell distinguishes camera movement4 from the mise-en-scène, as it considers it an “independent variable” and a “feature of cinematography” (2005, p. 16). Branigan developed a way of approaching movements of the camera by separating them into motivated and unmotivated. He recognises seven motivations behind camera movements (2006, pp. 26-27): “1) Establishes scenographic space. 2) Closely follows or anticipates movement by a character or significant object. 3) Continues to hold or center a character or significant object in frame (i.e., continuously reframes). 4) Moves away from, and refuses to follow or reframe, a movement by a character or object for reasons of narrative suspense, mystery, surprise, or good taste or censorship (e.g., a pan away from graphic violence or sexuality). 5) Follow or discovers a glance. 6) Selects a narratively significant detail (e.g., an inserted dolly shot of a facial expression or important object). 7) Reveals character subjectivity” (ibid.). In any of the above cases, a camera movement is motivated and thus “invisible”. However, if the camera moves for any other reason, its movement is then considered unmotivated and draws the attention of the viewer to itself (ibid.). A movement might also be considered unmotivated if it is “too fast, is interrupted, or is prolonged in performing one of the above functions” (ibid.). If classical cinema wishes to keep its self- consciousness at low levels and “conceal its artifice through techniques of continuity and ‘invisible’ storytelling” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 2), the camera should try to steer clear of

4 According to Stephen Mamber (2014, p. 76), Bordwell emphasises perceptual camera movements over technical ones, which can sometimes go unnoticed by the audience. When discussing camera movement, this thesis adopts Bordwell’s viewpoint: “camera movement could be described as a system of perceptual relationships” (Bordwell 1977, p. 22).

Georgios Dimoglou

unmotivated movements. While these terms do not directly apply to narrative space itself, they are tightly linked to it, as they concern the medium which records it. As a result, they are utilised by this project for a more complete reading of narrative space in our one-shot case studies.

Classical Continuity and Intensified Continuity

Apart from camera movement, another element that is tied to centering, balancing and frontality is editing, as it is used to keep these three qualities in line with the needs of classical cinema. Découpage, the practice of translating “the narrative action onto the cinematic material” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 61) began to subordinate staging to editing in post-1915 American cinema, according to Bordwell (2005, p. 67), when the rules of classical filmmaking started to solidify. He records the birth of what was to be named continuity style:

Around 1917 the Americans consolidated a powerful storytelling strategy that involved building a scene out of several shots. A long shot, usually brief and at the start of the scene, would establish the characters' positions. Then the bulk of the action was played out in medium shots and close-ups, usually taken from a variety of angles, so that characters' expressions and gestures were magnified for clarity and impact. […] This quickly became known as the "continuity" style. (p. 46).

As films evolved from short to feature-length and plots were becoming more and more complex, continuity editing emerged as a response (Bordwell 1997, p. 197). Bordwell brings up the two basic premises of continuity editing, according to André Bazin: “1) The verisimilitude of the space in which the position of the actor is always determined, even when a close-up eliminates the decor. 2) The purpose and the effects of the cut are exclusively dramatic or psychological” (cited in Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 56). Essentially, camerawork must be “subordinated to the fluid thought of the dramatic action” and editing must be “seamless” (p. 23), as well as reinforce “spatial orientation” (p. 56).

The “180°” or “axis-of-action” approach of spatial editing lies at the core of continuity editing (p. 57). Bordwell describes it as shots that “will be filmed and cut together so as to position the spectator always on the same side of the story action” and states that it has control over more specific continuity editing devices (ibid.). Bordwell refers to some of these devices

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

as “shot/reverse-shot”, where the viewpoint changes from one end-point of the line to the other; “eyeline-match”, where a character’s glance is used as a cue for linking shots; and “point-of- view” (POV) cutting, a more specific and uncommon instance of eyeline-match in which a shot of a character’s glance is followed by a shot of what they see (ibid.). In accordance with classical continuity editing, a cut must be motivated by the narrative in order to take place; as a result, techniques such as these came to be frequently performed. Generally, these devices are all part of what is called analytical editing, which “moves the spectator into or back from a part of total space” (ibid.).

In 2005, Bordwell wrote that this style still persists, as “present recognizable images in legible compositions […] are assembled in obedience to continuity-editing principles” (p. 252). Yet he also recognises a development of classical continuity editing into what he names intensified continuity (p. 23). He notices that, since the 1960s filmmakers began to “dynamize the dialogue through specific devices of cutting and cinematography” (ibid.). Even if “the premises of spatial continuity still govern the way the scene is staged, shot, and edited” (p. 26), we witness instances of a “free-ranging camera” that moves “independently of the action” (p. 28) and marks close-ups, fast cutting and sinuous camera movement as elements that point towards this kind of continuity (2002, p. 21). Bordwell views present-day Hollywood style as being “always on the move–if not through cutting, then through camerawork” (2005, p. 29) and concludes that “if classical continuity streamlines the most salient interpersonal cues, intensified continuity exaggerates and amplifies them” (p. 38). The concept of intensified continuity plays an important role in understanding one-shot continuity, as the use of long, sinuous camera movements in contemporary one-shot films can potentially create such an intensified experience.

Eleftheria Thanouli (2009, p. 44) ties intensified continuity to hypermediacy, a term developed by Bolter and Grusin to describe the hypermediated nature of contemporary visual spaces (1999, p. 34):

where immediacy suggests a unified visual space, contemporary hypermediacy offers a heterogeneous space, in which representation is conceived of not as a window on to the world, but rather as “windowed” itself […]. Hypermediacy can operate even in a single and apparently unified medium, particularly when the illusion of realistic representation is somehow stretched or altogether ruptured.

Georgios Dimoglou

The hypermediated image is facilitated by the use of digital special effects that can manipulate space, as well as time. However, not all effects aim at creating an openly manipulated image; sometimes, “invisible” effects are deployed so as to combine multiple shots into one, a practice described by Manovich as digital compositing (2001, p. 130): “the process of combining a number of moving image sequences and possibly stills into a single sequence with the help of special compositing software.” He further explains how “computer- generated morphs allow for a continuous transition between two images” (p. 135) and that, in the case of digital compositing, elements are “blended”, not “juxtaposed”, and their boundaries “erased”, not “foregrounded” (p. 145). Nevertheless, digital compositing can still lead to an openly hypermediated screen, if special effects are used in a way that does not try to keep their existence hidden. Bolter and Grusin explain that

the amazement or wonder requires an awareness of the medium. If the medium really disappeared, as is the apparent goal of the logic of transparency, the viewer would not be amazed because she would not know of the medium’s presence. […] The amazement comes only the moment after, when the viewer understands that she has been fooled. This amazement requires hypermediacy […]. (1999, p. 158)

This discussion of the hypermediated image and special effects will prove to be especially useful in understanding the differences between the execution of continuity in Birdman and in 1917. As it will be discussed in the respective chapters, Birdman uses intensified continuity in a self-conscious way, in order to draw attention to itself and its manipulation of space and time, in contrast with 1917, where continuity is traditional and the goal is immediacy.

Narrative Time

Time in cinema is a long-debated subject. In 1957, George Bluestone argued that “the novel has three tenses; the film has only one. From this follows almost everything else one can say about time in both media” (p. 48). With tense, Bluestone means past, present and future and believes that film narratives are only capable of unfolding in the present tense; Richard Maltby also mentions the notion that “the audience always experiences it [the filmic event] as being in the here and now” (2003, p. 432). Alexander Sesonske disagrees, stating that “an event in a film may be seen as past, present or future within the world of the work” (1980, p. 425)

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

and Brian Henderson argues that “cinema has no built-in tense system as language does” (1983, p. 6). Sarah Cardwell also emphasises “tenselessness” as a quality that guarantees “the possibility of the film’s fluidity and flexibility of tense” (2003, p. 90).

An element crucial to cinema’s temporality is montage. Maltby makes an interesting observation in noting that “film makes time in the editing process” (2003, p. 430) and he uses the term “mise-en-temps” to refer to the construction of time in a film (p. 429). In a classical Hollywood film, the dual function of mise-en-temps is “textual economy – excising the irrelevant and maximizing our attention to the relevant” and “to preserve continuity within a scene assembled out of material shot weeks or months apart” (p. 431).

Based on Gérard Genette’s analysis of time in Narrative Discourse (1980), Bordwell and Thompson (2008, pp. 80-82) identify three variables of narrative time: order, duration, and frequency. To understand these terms, it is first crucial to have a clear picture of the two main components of narrative: fabula and syuzhet. Bordwell distinguishes between story and plot, based on Russian Formalism, as fabula and syuzhet, respectively: fabula refers to “the events of the narrative in their presumed spatial, temporal, and causal relations” (p. 11); syuzhet refers to the plot, which “includes all the systems of time, space, and causality actually manifested in the film” (ibid.). Order refers to the way events of the fabula are organised in the syuzhet; duration regards their time span; and the number of times they are repeated is called frequency. Bordwell uses Genette’s terms to analyse time in a filmic text.

Again, the classical film subordinates not only space but also time: “Time in the classical film is a vehicle for causality, not a process to be investigated on its own” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 12). This means that events are usually presented in a chronological order and their duration and frequency remain as singulative as possible throughout, so that the mechanisms of the narrative will remain invisible. As Bordwell further explains, “through its history Hollywood cinema seeks to represent events in a temporally continuous fashion; moreover, narrative logic has generally worked to motivate this temporal continuity” (p. 9) and notes the flashback as “the only permissible manipulation of story order” (p. 43). Bordwell also makes note of the importance of the deadline in a classical narrative: “the classical film creates a patterned duration not only by what it leaves out but by a specific, powerful device. The story action sets a limit to how long it must last […]. The deadline proper is the strongest way in which story duration cooperates with narrative causality” (p. 44).

Georgios Dimoglou

Continuity editing is once more instrumental in subordinating time to narrative. Editing creates ellipses by removing unimportant moments: “the narration shows the important events and skips the intervals between them” (ibid.). Because the continuous time span of an individual shot can only be disrupted by editing, single-shot sequences in classical cinema are very rare (p. 46). Strategies used to cue temporal continuity are spatial editing, such as eyeline- match cutting, which implies durational continuity, and diegetic sound (pp. 46-47). Of course, Bordwell recognises that, while classical découpage is “realistic in its portrayal of spatial relations”, it ισ “obliged to elide or stretch real time. A cut might trim a few seconds of dramatically irrelevant action or exaggerate a gesture through a slight overlap. […] Classical editing thus retained traces of an “intellectual and abstract” rhythm.” (1997, p. 62).

The Long Take

A final element in need of discussion is the long take, because of its strong presence in one-shot films and its connection to both time and space. Koepnick defines it as

a prolonged and unedited capturing of profilmic events […] with the aim of integrating, within the space of one extended single take, the narrative events usually comprised in an entire filmic sequence. […] The notion of the long take is meant primarily to explain cinema’s modulation of temporal passage, the way in which filmic technique defines and explores the durational (2017).

It is worth noting that the measurement of a long take “depends on the textual […] and extra- textual […] contexts in which it occurs” (Jeff Scheible 2014, p. 273), meaning there is no universal and objective criterion as to what qualifies as a long take.

In his discussion of the long take, Bordwell notes that problems such as pacing, maintaining interest and guiding the viewer to significant points of the action can arise (2005, p. 82) and he uses Theo Angelopoulos’ cinema, where the long take is prevalent, as an example of how to tackle these issues. The main way to guide and maintain attention is through centering: “the central zone becomes an important guide to what is salient” (2005, p. 67). He also points to in-depth precision staging: “a frontal figure in the foreground is an eye-catcher, a point of orientation for the rest of the action. By presenting other figures as competing centers of interest, or as engaged in more vigorous movement, the director could balance the shot and

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

encourage a scanning that would pick out the salient elements” (p. 82). Finally, Eirini Stathi mentions that long takes have the power to emphasise the role of space in a film, functioning as a link between space out of and in frame through constant movement and reframings (1999, pp. 126-132).

These observations explain how one-shot films are able to maintain spatial unity and temporal continuity without the need for visible editing. The following three chapters, one for each film, will try to support this claim. Firstly, narrative space in Rope, Birdman and 1917 will be analysed by using Bordwell’s terms of centering, balancing, frontality and depth, as well as Branigan’s motivated/unmotivated camera movements. Bolter and Grusin’s hypermediacy and Manovich’s digital compositing will also be applied to Birdman and 1917, as they both are digital films. Order, duration and frequency will then be used to study time. With these tools, spatiotemporal continuity in classical one-shot films will be outlined.

Georgios Dimoglou

ROPE: A ONE-SHOT FILM IS BORN

In his chapter on Rope, Thomas M. Bauso quotes Hitchcock, who, in an interview with filmmaker François Truffaut, stated that “as an experiment, Rope can be forgiven. […] I really don’t know how I came to indulge it. […] I realize that it was quite nonsensical” (1991, pp. 227-228). Dan Auiler offers us a peek in Hitchcock’s and Sidney Bernstein’s minds, the two producers behind the film: “when Sidney Bernstein and Alfred Hitchcock first planned the filming of Rope as a continuous single take, the idea was heralded as a way to be creative and save money” (1999, p. 483). Nonetheless, as “the execution of the long ten-minute takes was never simple” (ibid.) and a small mistake was more than enough to cancel a take, they were quickly proven wrong in their calculations.

Another possible reason behind Hitchcock’s long-take approach was the nature of the source material – a theatrical play – according to David Sterritt. He notes that “Hitchcock wanted to preserve the continuous, real-time experience of watching a play unfold onstage. […] Hamilton’s play also takes place in real time and is about the staging of a theater piece” (1993, p. 22). To execute these long takes while taking into account the movement of the camera in space, a moving set was created. As Aktsoglou mentions (2003, p. 66), “the whole décor was moving on silent wheels constantly, so that the complex movements of the camera could be executed”. The comment on set noise is probably influenced by Hitchcock’s account, who made claims of a “direct sound track that was made possible by the elaborate set” (Bauso 1991, p. 228). Yet this account is contradicted by James Stewart, one of the protagonists, who later recalled that “the set was noisy, so they had to record the sound of the film separately and the dialogue was then added later” (ibid.). Hitchcock also had to deal with other technical issues, such as lighting. According to Aktsoglou (2003, p. 66), “Rope was Hitchcock’s first color film […]. The action begins in the afternoon and ends after nightfall, while we see the skyscrapers of New York from a window”. As a result, in order to emulate the effect of continuous duration, they had to “use a complex electrological system, which would gradually change exterior lighting” (ibid).

Initially, Rope was not received very well. Film critic John Russell Taylor believed that editing was Hitchcock’s most precious tool, so he wondered why he decided to deny himself cutting (Bauso 1991, p. 227). Critics Raymond Durgnat and David Thompson also dismissed Rope as the work of a “bold stylist” who displayed his impressive technical skills at the expense

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

of seriousness, moral depth and mystery (Thomas Hemmeter 1991, p. 253). However, the film was reevaluated in later years. In his analysis of Rope, Bordwell named it “one of Hitchcock’s greatest experiments” (2008, p. 32).

Closely following Hamilton’s source material (the screenplay was adapted by Hume Cronyn and written by Arthur Laurents), Rope is a classical film that begins with the murder of David, who is strangled by the hands of Brandon and Philip, two of his former university classmates. The motive behind their heinous act is their belief in their own superiority; they commit the murder just to prove that they can get away with it. Rupert (James Stewart), their housemaster and mentor is the one behind their ideas on the act of murder and the perceived superiority of some people on others. Brandon and Philip have invited him for a party, along with some other friends, seemingly justified by Brandon’s wish to hold a farewell for Philip. The guests are unaware of the reason behind David’s delay. His body is hidden within a large chest, which is used as the dinner table at the request of the two killers. As the party progresses, Rupert slowly becomes suspicious of them. After everyone leaves, Rupert returns back, pretending to have forgotten his cigarette case and begins to unravel the mystery behind David’s disappearance. Brandon becomes excited, as he believes that his mentor will be proud, while Philip is more agitated. Realising the truth, Rupert opens the chest and is heavily distraught by the sight of David’s corpse. He denounces his ideas in front of the murderers and fires Brandon’s gun (which he snatched earlier by a drunk Philip) multiple times towards the sky to alert the police. The film ends with the three of them waiting for officers of the law to arrive.

It is believed that Hamilton was inspired by the Leopold-Loeb case of two students who kidnapped and killed a classmate of theirs in the mid-1920s, the ideas of which mirror those of the characters in the playwright’s story (Amnon Kabatchnik 2010, p. 245). As Jason Jacobs observes (2000, p. 104), “the action of the play is continuous”, both spatially (there is only one set) and temporally (the duration of the events match the play’s). In addition, Bordwell notes that “Hitchcock likewise defended Rope’s style on the grounds that it preserved a stage play’s fluidity, but he acknowledged that the technical challenge was another attraction for him” (2008, p. 39). He also points out that Hitchcock wanted to create new “problems” for himself to solve, such as substitute the absence of reverse angles with techniques such as frontal staging (p. 42). Moreover, Hitchcock “restricts the space of the action to what would be the confines of a stage” (Jacobs 2000, p. 104), in an attempt to re-create the experience of the play for the

Georgios Dimoglou

silver screen; the one-shot approach “mimics the stage experience to a degree” (Sterritt 1993, p. 22) and further amplifies feelings of confinement and claustrophobia (Jacobs 2007, p. 272).

According to Bordwell, “the maximum length of a take for Rope would be around 10 minutes” (2008, p. 33). As it has already been mentioned, not all cuts were invisible. Bordwell explains that this is due to exhibition practices at the time: “before the 1980s, theaters used two projectors, with the projectionist switching between machines to project one reel after another” (p. 34). As a number of visible cuts would be inevitable because of the technological limitations at the time, this research argues that Rope should still be viewed as a one-shot film; Hitchcock’s wish to create such an experience is only evident by his attempt to keep visible cuts at a minimum, according to reel changes, and hide the rest of them.

An examination of the film quickly reveals its classical character. The practices of centering and balancing are noticeable throughout the film. The main characters of each scene are usually found at the center of the image (fig. 1.1-2), if there is one or more than two; in case there are two, they are positioned in the spaces left and right of the center (fig. 1.3-4).

fig. 1.1 fig. 1.2

fig. 1.3 fig. 1.4

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

In the same vein, frontality is also sustained for most of the film. When characters address one another, for example, their bodies are positioned towards the camera (fig. 1.5-6). Their backs are only rarely turned against the camera, especially when it comes to the main characters of a scene.

fig. 1.5 fig. 1.6

Because the space of the set is restricted, there is little distance among the foreground, middle ground and background. However, Hitchcock still creates depth by positioning characters while keeping a distance between them (fig. 1.7) and by breaking down space into different planes (fig. 1.8).

fig. 1.7 fig. 1.8

All these elements prove the film’s adherence to the rules of a classical representation of space. But how is spatial continuity achieved, despite minimal editing? First of all, it is important to address the way the film is cut. Bordwell locates the duration of each shot and each of the cutting points as well:

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Three shots run approximately 10 minutes, five last between 7.15 and 8.11 minutes, the introductory shot runs a little over 2 minutes, and the last two shots are comparatively brief, running 4.6 and 5.6 minutes. […] Hitchcock timed his cuts to articulate the unfolding drama. The most evident instances are the eyeline-match cuts.

According to these observations, all cuts that take place in the film are motivated by the narrative and work within the context of continuity editing. Bordwell notices that each visible cut happens right after an important plot point, such as when Rupert openly expresses his suspicion of Brandon and Philip and it is either an eyeline-match or leads to a shot of a character’s glance (2008, pp. 35-36). The hidden cuts are not strictly motivated by the narrative, as they are meant to be invisible.

The narrative unfolds through the use of long takes and camera movements. The set can be separated into four rooms: the living room, the hallway, the dining room and the kitchen, with the living room being furthest to the right and the kitchen to the left, based on the position and viewpoint of the camera. The camera is looking towards the living room and the giant window for most of the time, although it occasionally moves left, towards the hallway and the dining room (though it never goes into the kitchen). In line with the 180o principle of spatial continuity, the camera never turns to reveal the fourth wall, which should be opposite to the window, as it does not exist in this constructed set. Thus, the spectator always remains on the “same side of the story action” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 57).

At the same time, all camera movements are motivated by the narrative, in accordance with Branigan’s motivations. For instance, in the scene where Rupert tries to imagine how he would commit the crime himself, he describes the victim’s movement in the apartment: how he would offer him a drink, have him sit in the armchair and strike him from behind. While he talks, the camera moves away from his face to show different parts of the apartment, closely following his voice-over description. In a conventionally edited film, the close-up of Rupert thinking could cut to each of these parts, which in turn could be presented in different shots in analytical editing fashion; in Rope, they are all combined into one. The close-up becomes a different type of shot while camera keeps rolling, almost resembling a POV shot. As Bordwell observes, “Rupert has just been imagining how the murder might have been enacted, with the camera tracing the path of the action, as if following his gaze” (2008, p. 36).

By studying narrative space in Rope based on Bordwell’s and Branigan’s terms, we come to realise how spatial continuity is preserved through framing, reframing and camera

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

movement, all remaining within the boundaries of classical filmmaking. According to Jacobs’ notes, both André Bazin and Hitchcock were seemingly in agreement that the film “more or less closely followed conventional Hollywood cutting practice” (2007, p. 272). Bordwell comments that “this is exactly what some observers would claim that Rope does – translate orthodox editing patterns into panning and tracking movements that connect distinct camera setups” (2008, p. 38). While he does acknowledge this “effect”, Bordwell does not take a stance and only describes the end result as a “bravura synthesis of long takes and camera movement within a single locale, all presented in strict continuity” (p. 39). This essay argues that this is exactly what Rope manages to achieve and in the process it tilled the soil for future one-shot films to establish themselves in a similar manner, while being free of technological limitations.

Same as space, narrative time is presented in classical fashion. Time unfolds in the same continuous way as in Hamilton’s play. This means that the duration of the plot matches the duration of the film (minus the credits). Time indeed functions little more than a vehicle for the narrative. Even if real-time films are relatively unusual, it is the story and its needs that exert power over time, not the other way around. The syuzhet of the film is presented in linear, chronological order, with no changes back and forth whatsoever. There are no changes in frequency as well, since this type of order does not allow room for scenes to be shown in repetition. Furthermore, as most classical films, Rope uses the “deadline” device (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 44) to set the duration of the plot: As Rupert deduced, Brandon and Philip had killed David in daylight, right before the party (which could be used as an alibi) and had to wait until night to dispose of the body unnoticed. If he failed to uncover their act the same day, they could possibly escape the law.

These observations lead to the conclusion that Rope is indeed classical in its representation of time. However, it should be noted that, unlike conventionally edited films, where insignificant moments between shots and scenes are elided, Rope refuses to do so: the film resorts to camera movement to fill the temporal space created by the absence of editing. As Bordwell explains (2008, p. 40),

the refusal to cut obliges the camera to traverse the space completely and make us wait for the men’s response. In an ordinary film, using a tracking shot to postpone their reactions would seem ham-fisted, but such self-initiated camera movements, independent of character movement, have become prominent in the later phases of this film, so this tactic seems a logical culmination.

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Moreover, space is the main driving force behind Rope’s temporal continuity. The film begins in the afternoon and ends after the sun has set. Because of the temporal character of the story, Hitchcock decided to film in colour and gave this element a critical role in designating the passage of time. According to Jacobs (2007, p. 276), colour was used to reveal “the change in time of day from sunset to darkness which was of vital importance to the narrative”. Right after the murder of David, Brandon opens the curtains and reveals the big window across the position of the camera. Thus, Hitchcock gives the view of New York a function crucial to the temporality of the story. As noted earlier, the long take points at the unfolding of time. With editing almost completely absent, the filmmakers had to devise a way to depict temporal continuity. As a result, they decided to shoot on color and literally capture the passage of time on camera. The film does not “make time in the editing process” (Maltby 2003, p. 430), as other classical films usually do; it depicts it on-screen, within the frame. The real-time character of the almost two-hour plot makes this goal attainable. By having a real-time narrative, presenting it without any manipulation of order, duration, and frequency and using camera movements and space to make narrative time detectable, Rope succeeds in preserving temporal continuity without the need for editing.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

BIRDMAN: THE MANIPULATION OF SPACE AND TIME

Birdman was created with the help of digital technology. According to Manovich, digital cinema is the combination of live-action material, painting, image processing, compositing, and 2D and 3D computer animation in varying degrees (2001, pp. 254-255). At the same time, new technological features that supported complex camera movements were successfully introduced, such as Steadicam technology, which creates smooth movements for hand-held camerawork and was utilised during the shooting of Birdman. These advancements made the film possible. Emmanuel Lubezki, the cinematographer behind the film, explained in an interview that he was initially concerned, because “there was nothing really shot before like that” (Kristopher Tapley 2014, HitFix). They used Steadicam for many scenes and a small digital camera as well, which granted Lubezki more freedom in “intimate” scenes (ibid.). Prior to shooting, they built a “proxy stage” and moved the camera in numerous ways, so as to discover how to block the scenes (ibid.). Afterwards, they discussed possible approaches with editors, still in the pre-production phase, in order to “figure out how to link some of the scenes together” (ibid.). Lubezki specifically called the film “an upside down movie where you do post-production before the production” (ibid.). While some cuts may be noticeable, most are not. In fact, what might appear as one take might not be necessarily the case: writing for The Hollywood Reporter, Carolyn Giardina (2015) states that

the visual effects team responsible for stitching the individual takes together into one seamless whole is admitting that a fair amount of digital manipulation was involved. For example, in one scene where Michael Keaton's and Ed Norton's characters are seen together on stage, the film actually uses performances from separate takes, blending them together in the finished shot. […] According to the company, it crafted roughly 100 "stitches" to bring together the different performances and takes. Plus, it completed an additional 60 VFX shots for things like the destruction and flying sequences […].

By watching Birdman (or any other contemporary edited one-shot film, such as Mendes’ 1917, for that matter), one realises the impossibility of trying to locate all possible cuts; the fusion of elaborate camera movement, digital compositing and special effects render such an objective an exercise in futility. In Rope, the hidden cuts are fairly noticeable, because the camera needs to move towards a darker surface to end a shot and restart from there, while in Birdman (and 1917), the hidden cuts are truly rendered invisible. It is precisely this

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observation that affirms the power of digital filmmaking to elevate one-shot cinema to its fullest potential.

The original screenplay for Birdman was co-written by Iñárritu, Nicolás Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris and Armando Bo. The story follows Riggan (Michael Keaton), a movie actor famous for his role as the superhero “Birdman”, who tries to revitalise his career by staging and starring in a play on Broadway. He is portrayed as being gifted with Birdman’s supernatural powers, which allow him to levitate and command the movement of objects with his mind, although these abilities are typically disproved by scenes following them; thus, the film effectively blurs the boundaries between the realities within and outside of Riggan’s head. In his mission to establish his name as an actor and not just a faded movie star, he is set to face unprofessional co-workers, a spiteful critic (Lindsay Duncan), the damaged relationship with his daughter, Sam (Emma Stone) and, eventually, his own self. Bordwell considers the film to be classical and its story to develop in “true Hollywood fashion” (2015). This analysis views the film in the same light, while it considers its continuity to be intensified.

Firstly, it is important to note that Birdman does not stay entirely committed to the one- shot approach; it contains deliberately visible cuts in the beginning, as well as near the end of the film. The first one-shot take begins almost two minutes into the film and lasts for more than 90 minutes; the second one-shot take constitutes the last sequence of the film, which only lasts for a few minutes. These two are interrupted by a series of quickly edited images that function as the film’s climax. Apart from these cuts, all others are hidden by means of digital effects. The use of technology that assists camera movements, along with CGI (Computer Generated Images) effects result in edits that are almost flawlessly concealed.

When it comes to the representation of narrative space, we notice that, while frames are not as centered and balanced as in Rope because of the much more frequent camera movements, they fairly adhere to these principles. Characters that speak are almost always in frame and in focus, even if there are multiple in a particular shot. Moreover, the main character of a scene is usually in the relative center of the image. For example, when Riggan moves in the passageway from his room to the stage and vice versa, he is usually positioned in the center and the camera might be either in front of or behind him (fig. 2.1-2). At the same time, if two characters converse, they usually keep an equal distance from the center of the frame (fig. 2.3). Moments such as these reveal the balanced quality of the frame as well. Even in scenes where the camera moves very fast, such as during Riggan’s flying sequence, he is almost always in

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

the frame, allowing the audience to have a point of reference on the screen (fig. 2.4). Yet, there are sporadic instances in which the camera angle does not result in a symmetrical, balanced image (fig. 2.5).

fig. 2.1 fig. 2.2

fig. 2.3 fig. 2.4

fig. 2.5

When it comes to frontality, the bodies of the characters are generally positioned to look relatively towards the camera, especially when they walk and the camera is in front of them. However, there are many instances in which bodies turn their backs to the spectator (fig. 2.6), even in important scenes, such as when Riggan attempts to commit suicide in front of the audience (fig. 2.7). The camera is also free to get as close as it wants to the faces of the characters, with close-ups being quite frequent (fig. 2.8-9).

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fig. 2.6 fig. 2.7

fig. 2.8 fig. 2.9

Unlike Rope, Birdman is mainly characterised by shallow-space compositions (fig. 2.10). As the space within the theatre is limited, the camera prefers to stick close to the characters and keep them in focus, while the middle and back planes are blurry. Depth is not needed; the camera remains close to the characters, who provide orientation. Shallow focus also occurs in scenes where the space is more open (fig. 2.8). It is not completely exclusive, however (fig. 2.11). These examples reveal the spatial continuity in Birdman, with the sometimes unusual camera angles and frequent extreme close-ups pointing towards an intensified continuity.

fig. 2.10 fig. 2.11

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

The camera moves much more freely than in Rope, with constant reframings and changes in focus; the 180o rule is abandoned. It mostly follows Riggan, but also takes time to observe other characters. This continuous movement allows the viewer to explore multiple spaces: Riggan’s dressing room, the backstage corridors, the theatrical stage, the roads outside of the theatre, a bar and the rooftops of neighboring buildings are only some of the spaces depicted. While a few of the scenes were shot in studios, some scenes were in real locations in New York (Mekado Murphy 2014). Even if many of the movements can be described as motivated, the camera is not afraid to perform unmotivated movements as well. For instance, unmotivated movements are noticed when the camera moves to show a drummer perform the soundtrack within the film, rupturing its non-diegetic character (fig. 2.12), or when it moves to show an empty hallway, while action still unfolds elsewhere (fig. 2.13). These unmotivated movements draw attention to the camera itself.

fig. 2.12 fig. 2.13

fig. 2.14

The film’s intensified continuity is also evident because of its use of digital effects. According to Thanouli (2013, p. 355), the analog image “works affirmatively by representing something that exists”, while the digital image can only simulate something that exists. This means that the digital image has the power of simulating something that does not exist as well

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(ibid.). As a result, Birdman’s digital character works in favour of Riggan’s dream/superpower sequences, which are seamlessly woven into the one-shot approach with the support of digital effects (fig. 2.14). In an analog one-shot environment, the attempt to erase the lines between Riggan’s subjective reality and the objective reality around him would be significantly more difficult, if not downright impossible. Furthermore, even if Birdman’s special effects do suggest a “unified visual space” and could be seen as an instance of immediacy, the screen space of the film is decidedly hypermediated. As mentioned earlier, Bolter and Grusin state that “the amazement comes only the moment after, when the viewer understands that she has been fooled. This amazement requires hypermediacy” (1999, p. 158). The audience witnesses Riggan use his superhuman abilities. Even if the special effects are convincing, we are well aware that it is impossible for a human to have such powers, as well as in the context of a narrative that does not accept superheroes as part of its reality. Lastly, while editing is indeed unnatural to our own perception (Maltby 2003, p. 335), audiences have been quite familiarised with it, owing to its established presence in all kinds of audiovisual media for a whole century. This essay claims that the apparent absence of editing might prove to be even more unnatural and divert the attention of the spectator from the “world” to the “window” (i.e. the surface of the screen). The combination of complex, unmotivated movements and openly manipulated images confirm Birdman’s self-conscious character.

This self-consciousness regards the manipulation of time as well. At first glance, time in Birdman seems to move forward in a continuous manner. Events are organised in a linear fashion and chronological order, and frequency is mostly singulative (with the rare exception of the opening images of a meteorite and a beach, which return during the climax and split the single shot in two). On the other hand, while the duration might seem to remain one-note for most of the film, ruptures do take place. Birdman remains within fairly classical boundaries when it comes to its temporal identity, yet time is manipulated in ways that disturb this perceived continuity.

The first and more obvious instance of temporal manipulation is the application of time- lapse effects. When the film wishes to designate passage of time and the camera is situated in exterior places, it turns towards the night sky and then shows the coming of dawn by a mix of fast-forwarding and intervening digital effects (fig. 2.15-16). According to Selmin Kara, who discusses long takes and time-lapses in documentaries, “time-lapse technology used in acquiring the long-take shots interrupts the duration of the image, giving it a relative continuity that is based on machinic rhythms rather than human-based ones” (2013, p. 590). This leads to

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

an interesting point regarding Birdman’s temporal continuity: while it is true that time flows in a “continuous” and straight line, it does not progress in the same way as we experience it in our reality.

fig. 2.15 fig. 2.16

Birdman also manipulates time in a second way by using space as a medium for time transitions. As the film is one-shot, the filmmakers are unable to denote time passage by means of simply cutting to another scene. As a result, space is represented as being unbound by its temporal dimension. The first occurrence of a time transition takes place in the ninth minute of the film: Riggan returns to his dressing room after a disappointing rehearsal, in which an actor was injured by lighting equipment and has to drop out of the play. We see him sitting alone, talking to the “Birdman” part of his self. Positioned in the center of the room, the camera begins to rotate and goes from Riggan being alone to four journalists interviewing him, who sit in a couch opposite to him. Time has progressed without the need for a (visible) cut, owing to the use of camera movement and invisible edits. This effect occurs multiple times throughout the film.

Consequently, as duration fluctuates and alterations in time necessarily happen in- frame and not between the frames, temporal continuity is mediated. Birdman is thus differentiated by other classical and one-shot films in its use of the one-shot approach to self- expose the manipulation of time. The temporal reality of the film is openly mediated, so that a plot which lasts almost a week can fit into a two-hour film. Based on the above, this research contends that Birdman secures spatial and temporal continuity in an intensified manner, by openly manipulating narrative space and time through techniques such as complex camera movements, hypermediacy, and changes in duration. As long as the editing “happens” in the frame and on-screen, cuts are unnecessary for establishing continuity.

Georgios Dimoglou

1917: IMMEDIACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY ONE-SHOT FILM

1917 came out in 2019, five years after Birdman and was likewise shot on digital and edited with the help of digital effects. However, compared to Rope and Birdman, a notable difference is that the camera never returns to a location it has been before: “1917 pushes it a step further with its persistent action and the constantly changing terrain. It never uses the same location twice” (Ian Phillips et al. 2020). The film was shot in the UK (James Medd 2020). After they rehearsed in studios, they moved to shoot on location, where “the art department built realistic sets from scratch. Each set needed to be able to accommodate the camera’s path” (Phillips et al. 2020). Because of the way the story is structured, “the camera could never move backward, only forward” (ibid.) and they tackled this challenge by allowing the camera to move at 360o degrees: “this allowed the crew to constantly move forward and follow the characters without making a visible hard cut” (ibid.). This kind of movement was made possible by using Steadicam, camera stabilizers and by the small size and light weight of the camera (ibid.). Because they shot on location, the film’s lighting was mostly based on natural lighting, with the exception of the night sequence, which was artificially lit (Rahul Chettiyar 2020). Again, similar to Birdman, the shots in 1917 were stitched together through digital effects to resemble a continuous shot and what might seem to be one shot can actually be a fusion of multiple takes (Marc Loftus 2020). According to visual effects supervisor Guillaume Rocheron, “some of the shots would run for a couple of seconds, and others a couple of minutes. I think the longest shot ran seven-and-a-half minutes, which is very long in terms of visual effect shots” (cited in Loftus 2020). The way each shot is interwoven with the next does not allow any room for the spectator to notice the cuts, with a single exception at the midpoint of the syuzhet, which is addressed in the following pages.

The plot of 1917 unfolds over two days during World War I and follows two lance- corporals, Will (George MacKay) and Tom (Dean-Charles Chapman), who have to carry a message to a group of British soldiers in a different location, which instructs them to not attack the seemingly retreating German army. If they do, they will only fall into their trap and be quickly overwhelmed. There is no other way to inform the soldiers, as the phone lines have been cut by the enemy. At the same time, Tom has a brother (Richard Madden) who serves in that group. These facts make the mission extremely important on both a strategic and a personal level.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

An analysis of the film in regard to narrative space reveals its representation in a classical, continuous way. The vast majority of the shots are centered by positioning the main characters at the center of the frame (fig. 3.1-2), as well as balanced by using their bodies and their surroundings in order to create roughly symmetrical images (fig. 3.3-4).

fig. 3.1

fig. 3.2

fig. 3.3

fig. 3.4

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Generally speaking, the bodies of the characters are usually turned slightly towards the camera when they converse (fig. 3.5), keeping the element of frontality intact. It is also typical of them to turn their backs to the lens when they walk and the camera follows them from behind (fig. 3.6). Nonetheless, with the exception of these walking and scanning sequences, in most scenes where characters discuss important information, the camera will try to position itself in front of them or to their right and/or left.

fig. 3.5

fig. 3.6

There are far more deep-space compositions in 1917 than in Birdman as well. While the camera in Birdman is free to get close to characters’ faces, 1917’s camera altogether avoids extreme close-ups and prefers to observe its characters from a slight distance. When a new area is introduced or when action unfolds in depth, the shot is generally long and keeps all planes in focus (fig. 3.7-8). Moreover, when the film wishes to highlight a character’s emotional state and expressions, it will approach them in mid-shots (fig. 3.9) and close ups (fig. 3.10), keeping the background out of focus. However, as the filmmakers opted for an approach that allows for the camera to move in 360o degrees, in order to better capture space, action and performances, the 180o rule does not restrain the camera’s movements.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

fig. 3.7

fig. 3.8

fig. 3.9

fig. 3.10

All in all, we can safely conclude that spatial continuity is well found within classical boundaries. This claim is supported by the camera’s movements as well, which are always motivated by either the characters’ movements, the need to establish a new space, or the need to keep the frame centered and balanced through reframing. In contrast with Birdman, the

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camera of 1917 will not move independently of the narrative, showing a less self-conscious personality that does not want to call attention to itself.

The special effects also serve the same goal. While the film is based on digital compositing to create the illusion of a continuous one-shot experience, it does not openly admit to the effects’ existence. While screen space is hypermediated in Birdman, this is not the case with 1917, where the effects work towards an image of immediacy. The reason for this difference lies in the motive behind their use. In Birdman, digital effects are not only supposed to connect different takes together in a seamless way, but also to create unrealistic images (e.g. by having two characters, both played by Keaton, in the same frame) and show the passage of time through time-lapses. In 1917, on the other hand, the effects exist only to link takes and support the reality of the story. For example, when Will comes across a blazing building during the night sequence, it is not actually on fire; As Chettiyar points out, “the CGI fire was added in post-production” (2020). Yet this effect does not disrupt reality in any way. This was the intention of the filmmakers: Rocheron states that the goal of the effects was “to be invisible and immerse the audience into the journey. […] It’s all about how you never call attention to the visual effects” (cited in Loftus 2020). The scene where a plane crashes close to the protagonists is another example. Rocheron explains:

Obviously, we didn’t crash a real plane. To me, that was a great combination of CGI planes in the sky, and when it crashes, we created a blend — a stitch — a transition to a practical plane that we built and put on a ramp and launched from 20 feet in the air into the ground. We blend the two shots together (ibid.).

This insight into the film’s production reveals how a contemporary digital film such as 1917 can remove visible editing from the equation and still depict space in accordance with the rules of classical continuity, through centered, balanced, frontal and in-depth images, motivated camera movements and invisible digital effects.

The goal of immediacy is also evident in the film’s representation of narrative time. First of all, it is important to note that the events of the fabula are organised in a strictly linear, chronological order by the syuzhet. Additionally, no scenes or shots are repeated, keeping a monotonous frequency. Then how is it possible for the film to depict events that transpired over two days, all while not acknowledging the use of digital effects? Surprisingly, the answer lies in a cut, the sole visible cut in the entire film, which affects the duration.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

Around the midpoint of the narrative, Will tries to cross a destroyed small bridge and is targeted by a German sniper. Will enters the derelict building where the German is also hiding in order to protect himself. When he moves to the upper floor in an attempt to kill the enemy, they end up shooting one another; Will manages to kill the German, while the German’s bullet recoils off of Will’s helmet. Will survives as a result, yet he falls unconscious for a few hours and wakes up after midnight. The time during which Will is incapacitated is elided by cutting to black, which lasts for a few seconds. Since the film strives for immediacy, it cannot show the passage of time on-screen and in the frame, in a way that would expose its artifice (e.g. time-lapse). Consequently, the only way the filmmakers can trim time is by splitting the film in two. Even though 1917 cannot be considered a real-time film because of this jump in time, the two parts before and after Will’s blackout do unfold in a real-time manner. The duration of the syuzhet matches that of the runtime of the two parts. This means that the duration of the segments is not manipulated in any way whatsoever and time progresses unmediated in strict continuity. Here, Bordwell’s “deadline” term is echoed: “the deadline proper is the strongest way in which story duration cooperates with narrative causality” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 44). The film’s ties to an urgent deadline allows for a “semi-” real- time narrative, which secures temporal continuity in a traditional, classical way that almost completely excludes visible editing.

Based on the above, this research argues that 1917 is a film that abides by the laws of classical continuity and avoids the path of an intensified one opened by digital technology. Despite the cut in the middle of the film, space and time successfully remain unified throughout the film and its two sections without the need for conventional editing.

Georgios Dimoglou

CONCLUSION

The goal of this thesis was to study narrative space and time in classical Hollywood one-shot films in terms of their continuity. One-shot films try to not make use of visible editing and as a result, they resort to other tools in the classical inventory in order to achieve continuity. This essay provides a framework through which classical one-shot cinema can be approached in relation to its representation of space and time.

The broader theoretical framework was formed by Bordwell’s theories on cinematic space, time and continuity editing. His concepts of centering, balancing, frontality and depth, when it comes to analysing space (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 54), and order, duration and frequency, when it comes to analysing time (Bordwell and Thompson 2008, pp. 80-82), were the main methodological tools of this research. In addition, the notions of motivated- unmotivated camera movements (Branigan 2006, pp. 26-27), digital compositing (Manovich 2001, p. 130) and hypermediacy (Bolter and Grusin 1999, p. 34) were also utilised to decode the continuous movements of the camera in a one-shot film and the digital aspect of contemporary cases. Three films functioned as our case studies: Hitchcock’s Rope, Iñárritu’s Birdman, and Mendes’ 1917.

Rope was the first one-shot film of its kind. Because of technological limitations at the time, it is inconsistent with the one-shot approach, visibly breaking the illusion. However, through hidden edits between long takes, it is able to create an experience of continuous space and time. The film approaches centering, balancing, frontality and depth in a classical way, while the camera is restricted by the 180o rule and always performs movements motivated by the narrative. As a result, spatial continuity is preserved. Time also unfolds in a classical, continuous way, as order, duration and frequency are conventionally linear and one-note in the context of the real-time nature of the narrative, much like Hamilton’s play which inspired the film.

Continuity in Birdman also seems to be classical. Again, space is represented in a centered, balanced and frontal manner, if more loosely. In-depth, deep-space compositions are rare, however, as the camera prefers to cling to the characters it records. The use of the camera is different than that of Rope in more ways, as it performs not only motivated but also unmotivated movements. Its complex, sinuous movements do not work within the 180o

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

limitations. Finally, its digital effects allow for smoother and more invisible transitions than those of Rope but also openly admit to the manipulation of space and its hypermediated identity, as well as the manipulation of time. Although order and frequency are mostly conventional (with the single exception of an image of a beach that appears twice in the beginning and the climax of the film, outside the one-shot sequences), the duration fluctuates because of time-lapse effects and time transitions, which all happen on-screen. Birdman is an example of a one-shot film that calls attention to itself and is thus structured along the lines of intensified classical continuity, rather than traditional.

A film that treads in more conventional waters is 1917. For the most part, the frame is centered, balanced, and frontal, while space appears either in depth or in shallow focus; the camera also avoids moving in unmotivated ways, in consonance with the requirements of the narrative, even if it breaks the 180o rule, being not afraid to approach its characters from all angles. Furthermore, 1917’s digital effects do not have a hypermediated image in their mind; in line with classical continuity and the low self-consciousness of the classical Hollywood film, effects are used to sew multiple shots together in succession and to add elements through CGI that nevertheless remain subordinated to the reality of the world of the film. Temporal continuity is similarly left untampered with; a single visible cut in the middle of the film, where a few hours pass in a few seconds, is the only instance of a change in duration, breaking the film into two real-time segments. Thus, 1917 unfolds within the context of classical continuity, just like any conventionally edited film.

This thesis concludes that, if the one-shot film wishes to preserve spatiotemporal continuity, it is either obliged to narrate its events in real-time, or to openly use digital effects to manipulate space and time as it sees fit. As long as one-shot narratives continue to evolve, it is certain that more of their unique potential will be realised. The ambition of this project is to contribute to this evolution by offering insight into their nature, as well as lay the groundwork for future research on these fascinating cases. After all, one-shot cinema has barely (re)started.

Georgios Dimoglou

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Georgios Dimoglou

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Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

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1917 (2019) Directed by Sam Mendes [Film]. Universal Pictures.

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Empire (1964) Directed by Andy Warhol [Film]. Warhol Films.

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Russian Ark (2002) Directed by Alexander Sokurov [Film]. Wellspring Media.

Timecode (2000) Directed by Mike Figgis [Film]. Screen Gems.

Wavelength (1967) Directed by Michael Snow [Film]. Canadian Filmmakers Distribution Centre.