CALIFORNIA STATE UNIVERSITY SAN MARCOS

THESIS SIGNATURE PAGE

THESIS SUBMITTED FOR PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE

MASTER OF ARTS

IN

LITERATURE AND WRITING STUDIES

THESIS TITLE Film Lumi~re: New Genre or New Look at an Old Genre?

AUTHOR: Margie Garrett

DATE OF SUCCESSFUL DEFENSE: May31,2001

THE THESIS HAS BEEN ACCEPTED BY THE THESIS COMMITTEE IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS IN LITERATURE AND WRITING STUDIES.

s-h~ Dr. Oliver Berghof Ql l THESIS COMMITTEE CHAIR (TYPED) SIGN~ TUR DATE

Dr. Yuan Yuan THESIS COMMITTEE MEMBER (TYPED) SIGNATURE

Professor Brandon Cesmat -'-ifl/of THESIS COMMITTEE MEMBER (TYPED) ~wSIGNATURE DATE' ------FILM LUMIERE: NEW GENRE OR NEW LOOK AT AN OLD GENRE?

A Thesis for the Master of Arts Degree in Literature and Writing studies

by Margie Garrett

May 31, 2001 3

TABLE OF CONTENTS Filmography 4 Dedication and Acknowledgments 5 Chapter 1 What is Lyricism? 7 Chapter 2 A Preliminary Look at Lyrical Film 28 Chapter 3 Narrative and Lyric: Natural Enemies or Marriage of Convenience? 38 Chapter 4 The Psychology of Lyricism: Kristeva•s Chora 46 Chapter 5 The Fusion of Lyric and Epic in Film 51 Chapter 6 Lyrical Film as Objective Correlative: Music, Poetry, and Film 61

Chapter 7 The Lyrical Pattern and Film Lumiere 67

Chapter 8 Film Lumiere and its Relatives: A Continuum 82 Chapter 9 Film Technology and the Lyrical Pattern 85 Chapter 10 An In-depth Look at Several Lyrical Films 99 Chapter 11 The Major Films Compared and Contrasted 119 Chapter 12 Music of the Spheres: The Value of the Lyrical Universe 126 Works Cited 132 4

FILMOGRAPHY

Films About Music and Poetry: The Piano (1993) Il Postino (1994) Blue (1993) The Double Life of Veronique (1991)

Non-narrative Films: Koyaanitsqatsi (1983) Microcosmos (1996)

Epics: Dr. Zhivago (1965) Gladiator (2000) Ran (1985) Far and Away (1992) Empire of the Sun (1987)

Films with Epic Qua~ities: The Thin Red Line (1998) The Searchers (1956)

' Persona~ Stories.: Wings of Desire (1987) The Double Life of Veronique (1991) Blue (1993) American Beauty (1999)

Films in Lyrica~ Settings: Akira Kurosawa's Dreams (1990) Days of Heaven (1978) Burnt by the Sun (1994)

Examp~es of Pure Film Lumiere: Akira Kurosawa's Dreams, Vignettes 1 and 2 (1990) Days of Heaven (1978) Burnt by the Sun (1994) Dr. Zhivago, Part 2 (1965) Koyaanitsqatsi, Part 1 (1983) 5

DEDICATION

This thesis is dedicated to Hany Elwany, Ph. D., coastal engineer, oceanographer, and best friend, whose support has made this possible. His generosity and loyalty are, in my experience, unparalleled.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Besides Dr. Elwany, I would like to thank the professors on my thesis committee. In particular, I would like to thank Oliver Berghof and Brandon Cesmat, without whose support and enthusiasm this project might not have been completed. Professor Berghof not only chaired my committee, but also shared his knowledge and experience with me in the form of feedback, advice, and constructive criticism. A heartfelt "thank you" also goes out to Professor Cesmat, who generously shared his knowledge of and passion for music, poetry, and film with me, and in doing so, made the writing of this paper easier and more pleasant. My sincere thanks also go out to Professor Yuan Yuan, whose extensive knowledge of the fields of literature, film, and psychoanalysis were indispensable. In addition, I would like to acknowledge the countless other friends, colleagues, acquaintances, and family members with whom I have had conversations on this topic, and whose film recommendations have played a crucial role. I only wish that I could remember every single conversation I have had on this subject during the past two years, so that I could thank all of you individually. For now, I must be satisfied with saying that the writing of this thesis, like most writing, was a collaborative effort. 6

All is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs - Because the Holy Ghost overt the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

- God's Grandeur, Gerard Manley Hopkins 7

CHAPTER ONE WHAT IS LYRICISM? This chapter will begin by referring to pre-existing scholarly definitions of lyricism in order to create a synthesis which I will use as a working definition for this paper. All prospectively lyrical works will be looked at through this lens (films, novels, stories, poems, works of visual art, and possibly, natural phenomena). While all of the previous definitions limit lyricism to poetry, or at most, to the arts, this paper will end with my own expanded and refined definition, one which will be applicable to the entire spectrum of human experience. My hypothesis is that lyricism is an affective state that can and does exist both inside and outside of the artistic realm whenever certain essential factors coexist.

The exploration and establishment of the identities of these factors will be one important purpose of this paper.

Although lyricism cannot be reduced to poetry, music, or

any other art form, it is most often found in these places.

And while it is not synonymous with beauty, strong feeling,

or metaphor, it is intimately related to all these things.

For a basic definition of the word "lyric," I would

like to quote M. H. Abrams, from his Glossary of Literary

Terms, although his definition appears to be limited to

poetry: 8

Any fairly short poem, consisting of the utterance by a single speaker, who expresses a state of mind or a process of perception, thought, and feeling. Many lyric speakers are represented as musing in solitude .•.. Among the lyrics in a more private mode, some are simply a brief, intense expression of a mood or state of feeling .... But the genre also includes extended expressions of a complex evolution of feelingful thought, as in the long elegy and the meditative ode (Abrams 146). This definition at first glance seems to have limited applicability. However, portions of it will be useful for this paper. Furthermore, Abrams goes on to expand it slightly: "The adjectival form 1 lyrical 1 is sometimes applied to an expressive, song-like passage in a narrative poem .•.. " (Abrams 147). If we leave off the last four words, we can find a useful definition here for our purposes, that is, "lyrical" refers to "an expressive, song-like passage." We can postulate that anything which is expressive and song-like is lyrical. We certainly know of passages in films which are expressive in this song-like way. Some of them are even accompanied by actual music, music which is barely noticeable, because it fits the mood of the passage so well. But such passages can and do exist in movies even where actual music does not exist. Examples can even be

found in documentary films. For example, in his book,

Documentary: A History of the Non-fiction Film, Erik 9

Barnouw writes of "sudden lyrical cadenzas" in the documentary film, Farrebique, a film which

... follows farm life through the seasons, with minute observation of detail: movements of insects and lizards, the daily journey of shadows, the decay and growth of living things .... (Barnouw 191-192). A recent documentary about the natural world which shares the lyrical quality of Farrebique is the film

Microcosmos, which uses a special lens to allow us to experience an entire summer day and evening in a meadow from the point of view of those living on the surface of the earth. The only sounds heard are those intrinsic to the meadow. No music was added. And yet this film, too, is filled with "sudden lyrical cadenzas". How do we explain this? Perhaps it is partially due to the fact that "movies have the special ability to give magnitude to the events of everyday life" (Peacock 11). And perhaps it is also due in part to some inherently lyrical quality in nature. I will return to this idea soon. So, the "lyrical" element does not rely on poetry or even on music. A passage may be "song-like" without involving song. Otherwise, there would be no need for the

special phrase "song-like." If we need to say that something is "like" a song, then it must not be a song. So have we arrived at a definition prematurely? Is it enough

to say that "lyrical" means expressive in a song-like way? 10

It seems seductively simple and clear, but several problems emerge from this definition. First, "song-like" is a very subjective evaluation. It is not something upon which all persons can agree.

Therefore, it will not work in rational discourse. Second, songs exist which are not the least bit lyrical. Some rock­ and-roll songs are pleasant, but far from lyrical. Third,

I will argue that other necessary factors must be present for "lyricism" to exist, and certainly to arrive at a comprehensive definition of lyricism. We have only to look at Barnouw•s description of Farrebique above to see that other factors are involved. Returning to Abrams' first definition, other parts of it are also useful for this paper. In particular, his use of the word "brief" is something which we will see over and over again in discussions of the lyrical. He writes that a

lyric is often "simply a brief, intense expression of a mood or state of feeling." According to Abrams, a lyric is

not only brief, but also simple. Are these essential

qualities of the lyrical, or are they coincidental or even peripheral? This is a question which I will return to in

later chapters. Literary definitions of the lyric are so

often confined to the traditional meaning of a short poem that I must ask whether brevity is truly a feature of

lyricism (and if so, why) or merely crops up frequently in 11 definitions because of the traditional nature of most of these pre-existing definitions. Besides brevity, several other key words are present in Abrams' definition: "simply," "intense," "expression," "feeling, " and "mood. " These are key words because they are used by many writers on the subject. In particular, equations of lyricism with the expression of intense feeling are frequent. However, it is fairly obvious that lyricism is much more than the mere expression of intense feeling. Even by adding brevity to the formula, we do not arrive at the lyrical. There is something more to the lyrical than brief expressions of intense feeling. The question at this point is whether these key words refer to essential or peripheral features of the lyrical. While it is too early to say that these qualities are always present in the lyrical, we will see them referred to over and over again. If they are not essential qualities, these earlier definitions are erroneous and misleading. This is something

that I will try to establish below. As I have mentioned, one particularly questionable feature of the essentially lyrical is its purported brevity. Even when we leave the realm of the short poem in Abrams' first definition, we still find the lyrical associated with a "passage," something inherently brief and fleeting. It will be instructive to look at broader 12 definitions of the lyrical to discover whether brevity is an essential feature since it seems to originate in literary definitions of the lyric poem. Let us look at a broader definition of the lyrical, a definition which comes this time from a scholar of film. Naturally, this definition applies more closely to lyricism in film than to other kinds, but it is nevertheless broader than Abrams' literary definition. In spite of this, one sees key words being repeated:

A stylistic exuberance and subjectivity, emphasizing the sensuous beauty of the medium and producing an intense outpouring of emotion (Giannetti 512). This definition contains some new elements, not seen in

Abrams' literary definition, and some familiar ones,

reworded slightly. "Stylistic exuberance" and "sensuous beauty" are new, and "intense outpouring of emotion," while not new, is a dramatized restatement of one of the features

Abrams attributes to lyricism. The key words "intense" and

"emotion" are present again. While "exuberance" may seem new, it is actually related to Abrams' combination of "expressive" and "song-like" in his definition, although

the differences in wording involve important connotative

distinctions. And while Abrams does mention the expression of emotion as a feature of lyricism, for him it seems to be a more restrained expression. Rather than an "intense outpouring of emotion," Abrams finds "a brief, intense 13 expression of a mood or state of feeling." Although there are subtle differences in the wording, both writers seem to agree that lyricism often involves the expression of feeling. However, for Abrams, the expression of emotion is not a consistent feature of lyricism. For example, the poet may be expressing a perception rather than an emotion, or she may be engaging in prolonged reflection or musing. On the other hand, Giannetti 1 s word "subjectivity" is close in meaning to Abrams' "musing in solitude." So while their views overlap in some areas, they are not identical. The question arises whether these differences are due to the different media, or whether a definition with broad applicability would incorporate elements of both views. I would argue that the latter is the case. My synthesized, working definition for this paper will combine the two definitions. Giannetti's view of the role of emotion is perhaps overstated, but he mentions important elements which Abrams does not. Now if it is true that lyricism frequently involves the expression of strong emotion, then it is only natural to ask what differentiates lyricism from sentimentality, melodrama, violent passion, or any other type of strong emotion. A clue to the answer is found in another place in Giannetti's book, where he gives a slightly different 14 definition of lyricism as an introduction to a lyrical film by John Ford: Lyricism is a vague but indispensable critical term suggesting emotional subjectivity and a sensuous richness of expression •••. in movies •.. [it] suggests a rhapsodic exuberance •.•• at its best, lyricism is a stylistic externalization of a film's basic concepts. John Ford was .•. a visual lyricist of the first rank. He disliked overt emotions in his movies. He preferred conveying feeling through forms. Stylized lighting effects and formal compositions ... invariably embody intense emotions (Giannetti 16). Ford, "a visual lyricist of the first rank," avoided overt emotions and "preferred conveying feeling through forms." This is the key to the difference between the lyrical and other strong expressions of emotion. Lyricism seems to involve a paradox, and that is one reason it is so much more interesting than simple sentiment or melodrama. The paradox is that in the lyrical, strong emotion, even passion, coexists with a detachment from, or transcendence of, that same emotion. The person under a lyrical spell is simultaneously feeling overwhelmed by emotion and yet detached from it. His or her experience of emotion is not quite as personal as usual. Because of this transcendent quality, lyricism is often portrayed metaphorically by flights of birds and other upswept motions, particularly in films. Many examples of this phenomenon will be seen later in the discussions of particular films. 15

While we usually associate the lyrical with joy and similar positive emotions, grief can also be lyrical when emotion is expressed through metaphor. The feeling is not so overwhelming then, and yet it is somehow richer because of the unknown, ambiguous dimension of metaphor. This is why the same incident can be portrayed lyrically in one film and melodramatically in another, or as is more often the case, lyrically in a novel and melodramatically in its film adaptation. Metaphor is especially important when trying to express negative emotions lyrically. One way of combining detachment with passionate feeling is by expressing this feeling metaphorically rather than literally. The indirectness of metaphor creates the detachment needed for the lyrical to exist. Many narratives which involve potentially melodramatic or sentimental elements avoid mediocrity through the indirect expression of emotion using metaphor. For example, Ang Lee's adaptation of the novel The Ice Storm was vulnerable to melodrama because of the novel 's subject matter, dysfunctional family relations. However, as David Ansen writes in Newsweek,

Unlike many dramas of middle-class family wreckage, which tilt toward soap-operatic revelations, The Ice Storm is told from an ironic, almost meditative distance. It's Lee's sympathetic detachment--the sense that he's telling the story from the calm heart of the 16

storm--that gives the movie its paradoxical power. This "sense that he's telling the story from the calm heart of the storm" derives from the way in which Lee uses metaphor to convey strong emotion indirectly. The film builds to its climax using a series of metaphors which involve ice and snow. These metaphors tell the viewer as much, or more, about the story as the actual events between the family members do. These interpersonal events are often

implied or understated. Parallel to the actual narrative runs a second, more mysterious, story, a story like an underground stream made from metaphors. This "story" is based upon inevitable events in the natural world during an ice storm which correspond to the interpersonal events in the main narrative, and this second story feels as much like a poem as a story. This second story is what gives the film its lyrical moments and allows it to proceed without melodrama.

Although it is probably not necessary for metaphor to exist in order for lyricism to prevail, in reality they

often do coexist because metaphor is such an effective

cloak or veil for emotion. c. Day Lewis in The Lyric

Impulse refers to it as a "golden bridle," something which

restrains us even in our flight. He discusses the mythical taming of Pegasus, an apt metaphor for lyricism. I shall 17 return to Lewis, whose book contains many passages that shed light on the broad definition I am looking for. Even while metaphor restrains emotion and creates the vital distance of lyricism, its use actually gives even more resonance to the emotion, because there is always something unknown, unknowable, and therefore mysterious, about metaphor. The ambiguity inherent in any metaphor will lend an indefinite, perhaps infinite, number of new dimensions and possible meanings to that emotion, giving it a richness which more than makes up for the loss of intensity. Metaphor and lyricism also share the unusual ability to express areas of human experience for which literal language has no equivalents. In this respect, the lyrical has an affinity with other artistic emotions which are also difficult to define, such as the whimsical and the sublime. These experiences are not easy to accommodate within literal language. That is one reason that these qualities are notoriously difficult to define, and also the reason they are frequently associated with metaphor. Metaphoric language attempts to express what is inexpressible literally. Similarly, lyricism gives expression to an emotion or mood that is inexpressible literally. Since lyricism and metaphor both attempt to express areas of human experience for which there are no words, it is not 18 surprising to find them frequently coexisting. However, this does not necessarily mean that one depends on the other for its existence. Not all metaphor is lyrical, nor does all lyricism involve metaphor. Examples of the latter can be seen in the documentary films Farrebique and

Microcosmos, cited earlier.

Another example of lyricism in film which does not rely on metaphor can be seen in the recent film American

Beauty. One of the main characters carries a video camera around with him constantly, recording even everyday occurrences. In one scene, he shows his girlfriend a section of videotape several minutes long which consists of nothing but a plastic bag being blown about by the wind on a dingy city street. While I suppose it is possible to come up with some metaphorical interpretation of this incident, it is first and foremost a straightforward recording of an everyday event in the so-called real, physical world. It is a short documentary film, unedited, unmanipulated, without commentary, a sheer and uncontrived accident of nature. And yet it is somehow lyrical. It is an essential moment which contributes to the movie's theme, "American Beauty." Immediately after watching this seemingly innocuous piece of video, the young artist says to his girlfriend that there is so much beauty in the world that it is painful to him. And yet any metaphor that a particular viewer should 19 happen to read into this event is his or her own projection, not a necessary part of the lyrical experience.

Most viewers will perceive the lyrical quality of this incident without perceiving any metaphorical meaning. In other words, the metaphorical aspect, should it even exist, is not a necessary condition for lyricism to exist. It is frequently present, just as brevity and the expression of strong emotion are frequently present. However, as we have seen in Abrams' definition, neither brevity nor strong emotion are necessary for lyricism to exist. While one may object that the lyrical quality in this scene is in the mind of the perceiver rather than in nature itself, it is actually impossible in practice to separate the two.. The human brain is a part of nature, too. Whether the lyrical quality is "all in the mind" of the viewer, only in nature, or in some relationship between the two is really irrelevant. All three are part of nature.

As Scott Russell Sanders writes in his essay,

"Beauty":

I feel certain that genuine beauty is more than skin deep, that real beauty dwells not in my own eye alone, but out in the world ••.. anything •.• that might seem beautiful, seems so because it gives us a glimpse of the underlying order of things (Sanders 248).

Here Sanders echoes the view that beauty or lyricism exists in some relationship between the mind and nature. However, he goes on to say that 20

You can't pursue the laws of nature very long without bumping into beauty .•.. ! remember glimpsing patterns in mathematics that seemed as ... beautiful as a skyful of stars .•.. the experience of beauty is an echo of the order and power that permeate the universe ..•. (Sanders 251-253).

This is even closer than his first statement to an assertion that beauty, including lyrical beauty, exists in nature. As Sanders continues, he makes another statement that could very well serve as a description of the lyrical response (or a definition of lyricism):

A universe so prodigal of beauty may actually need us to notice and respond, may need our sharp eyes and brimming hearts and teeming minds, in order to close the circuit of Creation (Sanders 253).

This "closing of the circuit" is a vivid description of the lyrical experience, as well as a beautiful way of saying that the lyrical element exists in all of nature, including our minds and senses.

Returning to Abrams' literary definition, we can see

that Abrams allows that the lyrical may at times exist in

long poems which consist of musing or reflection instead of

emotion, poems which are neither brief nor intensely

emotional: The genre also includes extended expressions of a complex evolution of feelingful thought, as in the long elegy and the meditative ode (Abrams 146).

Examples of such reflective, meditative lyricism also exist

in film, examples which contain neither metaphor nor strong 21 emotion nor even unusual physical beauty, as Adrian Piotrovsky writes in his essay, "Towards a Theory of Film Genres": It [the lyric genre] owes its rise to technical advances .•. in particular, to the application of 'close-ups' ..•• Close-ups show the details of objects from new and ever more unexpected angles and thus furnish the lyrical atmosphere of the film .... we here encounter a group of pictures that have sacrificed everything for lyrical expression .... again and again in detailed and close shots the minutiae of farm life are depicted ..• we see the charm of children's legs splashing through the spring puddles, patches of sunlight spilling in these puddles (Piotrovsky 104). If neither brevity nor strong emotion nor metaphor nor even unusual physical beauty are necessary for lyricism to exist, then its essential nature is more mysterious than we have believed. To move closer to this essential nature, let us next look at the relationship between lyricism and metaphor in film adaptations of literary works. This topic is also important because of frequent, misguided attempts to adapt novels or stories literally for the screen. Frequently, faithfulness to the literary source

is confused with literalness. However, since it is impossible in most cases to duplicate a work of art from a linguistic medium in a visual one, this is a problem which is inevitably grappled with by film-makers bent upon making literary adaptations. In cases where the literary text consists purely of external events -- dialogue, for example 22

-- it may be possible to replicate it on the screen. When this is not the case, however, the question arises of how to adapt the literary work faithfully but not literally, because the latter is impossible. In these circumstances, it is possible to employ cinematic metaphor as a mediator between literal and faithful adaptations.

Because overt, literal expression of emotion is frequently not lyrical, a novel with a high degree of lyricism will often suffer from being literally adapted for the screen. On the other hand, a successful film adaptation of a literary work will often have the same relationship to the text as a metaphor does to a literal statement. Because of the role of the reader's imagination in experiencing a novel, much is inferred and implicit, as opposed to the usual overt and explicit manner of adapting a novel to the screen. The result is that the reader is often disappointed

in the film, and feels that it did not live up to his or her own imagination. However, the use of metaphor can help

since it, too, leaves much to the imagination, and so can

often be used to offset these problems.

Because of this difference in degree of implicitness,

the novel may lend itself more to lyricism than the film,

although it is doubtful that this difference is inherent in

the two mediums. The unfortunate reality is that many film

adaptations are heavy-handed and overly explicit, because 23 they cater to an audience which is usually seeking only entertainment, not artistic experience or intellectual stimulation. These film-makers may succeed in making clear and unambiguous film adaptations for this audience, but the films they make are usually artistically inferior and intellectually less interesting as a result. In order to keep the spirit of the novel alive, and thus be truly faithful to it, it is often necessary to translate the novel for the screen metaphorically rather than literally. This is so in part because of the fundamental and irreconcilable differences in the mediums. For one thing, film is a visual medium and therefore very compatible with the use of metaphor. Also, to keep the all­ important imaginary and implicit element of the novel alive in the film, some kind of indirect representation must frequently be used. This indirect representation can be metaphor, lyricism, or both. Both will serve film adaptations of literary works well, if they are used. But first film-makers must learn to discriminate between a literal adaptation and a faithful one. The latter is important, the former frequently impossible, and just as frequently, undesirable. While a great deal can be learned about the relationship between lyricism and metaphor by examining film adaptations, it is necessary to return to a basic 24 definition of lyricism again before doing so. This time we will listen in on c. Day Lewis' conversation with his reader in The Lyric Impulse: "The lyric poet must try to tell the truth, yes, but not the whole truth and nothing but the truth" (Lewis 21). Here again the importance of restraint is seen. We can also see why it is important not to be too literal and why the elements of the implicit and indirect are important for lyricism. Notice the closeness of that statement to the next: "It may be that for some poets, 'Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter• •... " (Lewis 9).

Again, it is important not to say everything. But here is the bridge to lyricism in the broad sense I am seeking.

Far from equating lyricism with music or poetry, Lewis says that "unheardmelodies" are actually "sweeter." While this statement bears mainly upon the lyric poet's need to leave some things unsaid, it also has bearing upon the visual arts, including film. Lyricism in the visual and performing arts exists whenever these unheard melodies exist. It may even be that these barely noticed forms of lyricism are more potent, as Lewis implies. But how should one demonstrate that an unheard melody exists in a visual work of art? While this is certainly an essential feature of

lyricism and here we are reminded of Abrams' "song-like passage" it is one that may not be susceptible of proof. 25

However, at this early stage, it is more important to demonstrate that lyricism may exist in the broadest possible arena than to find a means of proving the existence of unheard melodies in visual works of art. I shall leave this important task for later chapters. One can no longer dispute the existence of lyricism in visual as well as auditory sources. One can even posit the possible presence of lyricism in kinetic sources such as dance, pantomime, or even athletics. Here I am reminded of the plastic bag in American Beauty, which is blown about by the wind so that it almost appears to be dancing. From here on, it is important to acknowledge the shortcomings of all definitions of lyricism which limit it to literature and music. After all, if "unheard melodies are sweeter," then how can I limit lyricism to heard melodies? I cannot, and I will not. Very few writers have gone even this far. Giannetti's definition is the closest I have seen in this paper to a universally applicable definition. While he seems to be referring only to film, his definition has applicability to all of the visual arts and to kinetic and literary arts as well. Furthermore, it is easier to demonstrate the existence in a given work of art of the features he includes in his definition of lyricism than it is to prove the existence of "unheard melodies." Therefore, 26

I shall use his definition as a yardstick, keeping the ideal of unheard melodies always in the back of my mind: A stylistic exuberance and subjectivity, emphasizing the sensuous beauty of the medium and producing an intense outpouring of emotion (Giannetti 512).

Some key words here are: stylistic, exuberance, subjectivity, sensuous, beauty, intense, outpouring, and emotion. Let us also examine his second definition, from his commentary on John Ford's films: Lyricism is a vague but indispensable critical term suggesting emotional subjectivity and a sensuous richness of expression .••• Lyricism in movies .•. suggests a rhapsodic exuberance .••• at its best, lyricism is a stylistic externalization of a film's basic concepts. John Ford was ..• a visual lyricist of the first rank. He disliked overt emotions in his movies. He preferred conveying feeling through forms. Stylized lighting effects and formal compositions ... invariably embody intense emotions (Giannetti 16) . The relevant words and phrases in this definition which do not exist in the first one are: rhapsodic, richness,

externalization, dislike of overt emotions, "conveying

feeling through forms," and "formal compositions [which] invariably embody intense emotions." Synthesizing these two definitions, here are the key words and phrases I come up with: rhapsodic, exuberance, outpouring, expression, intense emotion, subjectivity, richness, sensuous, beauty, stylistic externalization, dislike of overt emotion, conveying feeling through form, 27 formal composition embodying intense emotion. In this chain of words, several clusters of meaning can be found: a cluster involving exuberant and rhapsodic expression; a cluster involving sensuous beauty and style; a cluster involving subjectivity and emotion; and a cluster involving restraint and externalization of emotion using formal composition. From all of these clusters, I may be able to arrive at a tentative, working definition for this paper. Let us try different combinations of these qualities. Is lyricism a rhapsodic and exuberant feeling caused by the perception of sensuous beauty? Or is it more accurate to say that lyricism involves rhapsodic and exuberant feeling expressed tb,rough, and restrained by, forms of sensuous beauty? or, as is often true in the expression of grief, is lyricism perhaps simply the expression of any strong emotion or subjective experience made rhapsodic through the intervention of beautiful form? Since all of these potential definitions contain the same essential factors, it is probable that these are the essential features of lyricism and that they may be combined in an infinite number of ways, depending on , the emotion or mood being expressed and on the medium being used. 28

CHAPTER TWO

A PRELIMINARY LOOK AT LYRICAL FILM It is natural to wonder at this point about the application to film of this tentative definition. Most people recognize lyricism when they see it in its familiar written form, poetry, but in film, lyricism is more difficult to recognize and define. There are at least two reasons for this: first, film is a much newer and less familiar medium; and second, film lyricism is more difficult to pin down because its borders are not clearly demarcated by words on a page. Nevertheless, it is possible to define and locate it, however tentatively. The author of

Poetry and Prose in the Cinema has attempted to do this very thing, and his words echo those in my own tentative definition in several ways. Mr. Shklovsky writes that There exist both prose and poetry in cinema and •.. they are distinguished from one another ••• by the prevalence in poetic cinema of technical and formal over semantic features, where formal features displace semantic and resolve the composition. Plotless cinema is 'verse' cinema (Shklovsky 89). While these comments bear a striking similarity to some of Giannetti's comments about film lyricism, this author goes even further by saying that "plotless cinema is •verse' cinema." This is a more radical statement, one that implies that only films which actually lack narrative can be truly poetic or lyrical. But this does not preclude the existence 29 of lyrical passages in narrative films, just as one often finds lyrical passages in novels (and even, at times, in non-fictional prose) . Although a plotless film probably does resemble a lyric poem in its high degree of lyricism, even a mainstream narrative film may have one, or even several, lyrical passages, as do many novels. Likewise, as I have already shown, even a documentary film may possess lyrical passages, as do some exceptional works of non­ fictional prose. However, there does appear to be some inherent conflict between narrative and lyrical impulses. This point has great relevance for my earlier observation that film adaptations tend to be less lyrical than the literary works upon which they are based. After all, these literary works which have been adapted for the screen were originally narratives, however lyrical they may have been. This fact combined with film's tendency toward commercialism should alleviate any surprise that we may feel when film adaptations do not retain whatever lyricism may have resided in the original text. Although I surmised earlier that the novel may be inherently more susceptible to lyricism than film, Mr. Shklovsky's essay implies just the opposite. He comments that many "film professionals" assert "that ••• verse is closer to film than is prose" (Shklovsky 88). If this 30 opinion is correct, it would obviously have an important bearing on the nature of successful film adaptations of lyrical novels. As Shklovsky says, The fundamental distinction between poetry and prose lies possibly in a greater geometricality of devices, in the fact that a whole series of ... semantic resolutions is replaced by a formal geometric resolution (Shklovsky 88). In other words, poetry differs from prose in that it relies more on formal resolutions than does prose, which in turn relies more on semantic resolutions. Film, because it is primarily a visual medium, is more prone to formal than to semantic resolutions.

In The Art of Movie-Making, Richard Peacock agrees, although he states it in much simpler terms. He writes: Surprisingly, the actual writing style demanded of a screenwriter may have more affinity to poetry than to prose. Because movies deal in visual imagery, symbols, and metaphors so extensively, writers knowledgeable in film use these traditionally poetic devices with sharp intent (Peacock 103). And there is one more reason that screen-writing is closer to poetry than to prose: Writing movie scripts calls for an economy of language normally associated with poetic works (Peacock 103).

Peacock 1 s statement that both film and poetry deal in imagery, symbol, and metaphor is very similar to Shklovsky's statement that poetry and film both rely to a greater extent than prose on formal rather than semantic 31 resolutions. For example, at times, films will use formal devices (e.g., lighting or montage) to convey narrative content in a kind of visual shorthand rather than explicitly telling the story the way a novel would. Formal devices may perform a number of functions: conveying a character's thoughts and feelings, hinting at the next turn of events in the narrative, or even concluding a movie with ambiguity. One other advantage that films have over novels and plays in evoking the lyrical experience is that: The most powerful and distinguishing feature of motion pictures is [their] ability to put the audience in almost any physical location the film-maker chooses, and do it immediately. Released from the normal limitations of our physical bodies, the camera aided by the editing process -- can range around, through, and over a familiar world to show us a variety of points-of-view in quick succession (Peacock 291) . Because transcendence and detachment are such important

elements of the lyrical experience, this freedom is very

important to film's ability to create a lyrical experience. A third advantage of the film medium is the fact that The delivery of information to the audience is substantially different [from that of the novel or play] .... With reliance on the spoken word, stage plays tend to approach their audience through the intellect ... ,whereas film internalizes the dramatic events sensually with images and sound, playing more resourcefully with subconscious responses (Peacock 103). While Peacock here refers to the stage play, the same could be said, for the most part, about the novel. Certainly, the 32 novel is as highly verbal (or more so) as the stage play. Because the lyrical experience does seem to take place largely on a subconscious level and is extremely difficult to articulate, the nonverbal method of delivering information is an advantage for film. All of this, if true, would actually make film inherently more, not less, lyrical than literature. However, if this is so, how do we explain the loss of lyrical qualities in film adaptations of literary works? Should the film not be more lyrical than the novel or story rather than less, as is often the case? Perhaps, but there is one other difference between film and literature that has historically been decisive here. As I have stated earlier, the two mediums were created for different audiences and for different purposes. Most films are created for mass audiences in order to fulfill the purpose of making a rather large profit. Literature is written for an audience that is unfortunately growing smaller every day. Not only is this audience generally more highly educated than the film audience, but those who create literature usually have a different purpose than film­ makers, one that does not involve immediate or large profit. These factors cause the degradation of quality which transpires when a literary work is adapted for the 33 screen, not some inherent lack of poetry in the film medium. Many scripts, however poetic at their inception, are subsequently watered down by committee rewrites. The process of script development •.• is an exercise in qompromise for screen­ writers ...• producers sense that the general audience has a resistance to movies that are highly experimental or artistically innovative .•.. films are seldom entrusted to the unfiltered aesthetic taste of a single •.• author. The result is that the voice of many scripts comes across as the pallid echo of a groupthink team (Peacock 105). For the screenwriter or film-maker who is truly devoted to literary and artistic quality, and particularly to lyrical film-making, there are antidotes to this commercial bias. One of these is the frequent use of formal rather than semantic devices when solving the problems involved in film adaptation. This involves the "displacement of everyday situations by purely formal elements" (Shklovksy 88). There may be another way to resolve a work and this resolution is brought about not by semantic means but by purely compositional ones whereby the effect of the compositional constant compares with that of the semantic (Shklovsky 88) . Film-makers who are adapting literary works will have more opportunities to make this choice than other film-makers, because the difficulty of adapting literature for the screen automatically presents them with problems to resolve in one way or the other. Hence, they will have more 34 opportunities to substitute formal devices for semantic ones and create truly lyrical films. Not only is a truly literal translation of a literary work for the screen impossible, it is also undesirable. The most we can or should hope for is a faithful adaptation: one that is faithful to the spirit, not the letter, of the original. Furthermore, since a film bears the same relationship to the text upon which it is based as metaphoric language does to literal language, it should not be surprising that metaphor will often be among the formal devices used by the lyrical film-maker. While reliance on formal rather than semantic devices when adapting literature for the screen will help the film-maker to retain {or produce) a lyrical product, this does not mean, of course, that he or she should never use narrative or semantic devices. It merely means that the lyrical film will rely to a greater extent than other films on the use of formal resolutions. Other antidotes to the loss of lyricism involved in adapting novels for the screen include taking advantage of those strengths of the film medium mentioned earlier: first, film's ability to allow the viewer to experience a release from physical limitations, and second, film's method of delivering information more directly to the subconscious. 35

These observations in many ways fly in the face of conventional wisdom about film-making as art. Far from being mere "eye candy" or "fluff" as many critics have believed, compositional beauty on the screen can often make the difference between a lyrical film and a prosaic film. However much we may want to protect "serious film art" against the frivolous, trivial sensory pleasures seen all too frequently in today' s so-called "special effects" films, we must also be on our guard against the prejudice against beautiful film-making which has resulted. As we will see in our examination of individual films, those which possess a high degree of lyricism not only include frequent moments of great visual beauty, but many also take advantage of the most advanced film technologies of their times. Even further removed from the dramatic and narrative canon, even more unique in its treatment of 'time• and 'space' there stands a genre that has not yet quite been defined and that we might subsume conditionally under the concept of 'lyric.• Like all authentic cinematic genres, it owes its rise to technical advances in cinema •••. (Piotrovsky 104). Another aspect of the conventional wisdom of contemporary film criticism which does not promote lyrical film-making is its frequently relentless advocacy of a "good plot" as the most important criterion for great film­ making. If the narrative impulse is truly at odds in some essential way with the lyric impulse, the use of this 36 criterion will never foster lyrical or poetic film-making, but will have the opposite effect. However, many contemporary critics seem to assume that the primary role of a film is to tell a story, and that a film which does not succeed in this, no matter how lyrical, is a failure. This appears to be the tail wagging the dog, so to speak, or the consumer telling the critic what to think rather than vice versa. Most critics agree that at least one function of the critic is to nurture in viewers a desire for films of high artistic quality. The average viewer, on the other hand, is only interested in entertainment, which usually means escape through a good story. While one can perhaps understand the need that most film-makers have to make money, it is surprising that so many critics, who are not usually out primarily to make money, have allowed their criteria to be so influenced by the marketplace. An obvious hazard for the film-maker is the seemingly shallow thematic demands of the mass film audience ••.. Because motion pictures, for hard financial reasons, strive to be so very popular, film-makers with genuinely artistic intentions are always at high risk (Peacock 19).

This passage explains the commercialism and market-driven

philosophy of film-makers. However, it does not and cannot explain these qualities when they are found in critics. Unfortunately, the thrust of film-making and film criticism in the United States seems to have more to do 37 with historical accident than with heartfelt criteria.

Mainstream film in the United States is expected to be about story-telling, not because of the nature of the film medium, but because of its commercial nature, and this is primarily due to a historic and economic accident. In other words, the medium has evolved in this way for economic rather than artistic reasons, and yet critics are using this historical accident as the basis of their criticism.

The fact that film has become primarily about plot or story does not mean that is the highest manifestation of the medium. To quote Piotrovsky again:

With the introduction of close-ups, lyricism began with increasing success to drive out of cinema the dramatic and narrative features that are so uncharacteristic of it {Piotrovsky 104). Here Piotrovsky goes so far as to say that those dramatic and narrative features which are so highly prized by film­ goers and critics alike today are actually uncharacteristic of the film medium itself rather than intrinsic to it.

Fortunately, the medium does seem to have a life of its own

and continues to evolve technically in ways which do

support lyrical film-making. It is unfortunate that so many

film critics are advocating standards which are quickly

becoming obsolete due to technology. In this thesis, I will try to avoid making the same mistake. 38

CHAPTER THREE

NARRATIVE AND LYRIC: NATURAL ENEMIES OR MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE? Previously I speculated that in film the lyric impulse is somehow intrinsically at odds with the narrative impulse. However, since there are very few purely lyrical or purely narrative films and there are many combinations, the two impulses cannot be that far apart. They may even depend upon each other, as in a symbiotic relationship.

This remains to be seen. When they coexist, it is usually in an alternating rather than simultaneous fashion, which is still indicative of divergence. Although most so-called lyrical films are actually conventional narrative films withlyrical moments interspersed, there may be times when a genuine synthesis exists. In this chapter, I will look at the interactions of these two forces in films to determine whether it is possible for them to truly exist simultaneously. If such coexistence is possible, I will try to determine the optimal conditions for such a harmonious relationship. To determine the nature of this relationship, it is instructive to review first the different definitions of the two genres, looking at them side by side, as well as some of the sub-genres and related genres. A quick look at the elements which make up the genres may also be

productive. I take these definitions from A Short Guide to 39

Writing About Literature, Eighth Edition, by Sylvan Barnet and William E. Cain. Let me begin with Barnet and cain's definition of a lyric poem: "A short poem, often song-like, with the emphasis not on narrative, but on the speaker's emotion or reverie" ( 403). Most of this is familiar from Abrams' definition. However, what is new is very important:

" ..• with the emphasis not on narrative [my italics], but on the speaker's emotion or reverie." The emphasis can be on either emotion or reverie, feeling or thought, which explains those lyric sub-genres which include "extended expressions of a complex evolution of feelingful thought," including "the long elegy and the meditative ode" {Abrams

146). In these definitions, no distinction is made between so-called "pleasant" emotions and so-called "unpleasant" emotions. Either can be the subject of a lyrical poem, just as music is music, whether it is upbeat or melancholy. For example, the elegy is a special type of lyric poem,

"usually a meditation on death," generally filled with sadness, but also with praise for the deceased (Barnet and Cain 400) . A related sub-genre is the ode, which is "a lyric exalting someone (for instance, a hero) or something (for instance, a season)" (405). In the case of the ode, the person or thing need not be departed. But more 40 importantly for my purposes, the definition of the ode bears striking resemblance to that of the epic narrative.

Of course, none of this means that a lyric poem is necessarily devoid of narrative. It simply de-emphasizes the narrative in favor of thought or feeling. "Even a lyric poem can be said to have a plot; for instance, the speaker's mood changes from anger to resignation" (Barnet and Cain 405). It is significant that this "plot" consists of internal rather than external events. This is the first kind of narrative which truly lends itself to lyricism, the narrative of internal events, that is, of emotions and thoughts.

Among the sub-genres of narrative which are defined in

Barnet and Cain's book are romance, melodrama, tale, novel, and epic. Here, among these sub-genres, I will look for a type of narrative which is conducive to lyricism, not as mere embellishment or decoration, but one which allows for a true synthesis of lyric and narrative.

Today, the best-known narrative genre is, of course, the novel. For one thing, this is the kind of narrative which is most often translated into film. According to

Barnet and Cain, a novel is "a long work of prose fiction,

especially one that is relatively realistic" ( 404) • Judging from this definition, it appears that the novel will not be the intrinsically lyrical narrative form that I am 41 searching for, simply because of its length. On the contrary, lyricism has most often been associated with brevity. However, there is another quality of the novel that may or may not be conducive to lyricism: its realism. This depends partly on the definition of "realism." Moreover, if I contrast the definition of the novel with that of the epic, the significance of this will be clearer. The epic is defined as: "a long narrative, especially in verse, that usually records heroic material in an elevated style" (Barnet and Cain 401). Like the novel, the epic is long, but it uses an elevated style rather than a realistic one. It usually recounts the adventures of a hero of superhuman proportions, either physically or psychologically or both, and to make its points it often deviates from conventional reality, so much so that it is frequently associated with mythology. This elevated style links it with the ode, another sub-genre of the lyric poem. The lyric exalting someone is closely related to the epic telling its heroic story in an elevated style. Both lyric and epic impulses exalt and elevate. They are compatible, so compatible that here is found that synthesis of narrative and lyric that I have been looking for. Indeed, many of the most lyrical films of all times 42 are epics. One of the most well-known and thoroughly integrated examples of the lyrical-epic film is Dr.

Zhivago. For example, one anonymous critic has written that this movie was "filmed in a sweeping, lyrical style" and yet is "epic movie-making at its best." So neither the epic nor the lyric genres are particularly "down-to-earth." But that does not mean that realism is never found in the lyrical genre. One only has to recall the thoroughly realistic scene of the plastic bag being blown about by the wind on an urban sidewalk in

American Beauty to realize this. It simply means that the epic is one way of uniting and synthesizing lyric and narrative tendencies. In film, this is even more true than in literature per se because the technologies involved in creating the two moods are so similar. For example, Giannetti writes about the film Once Upon a Time in America,

Like many other techniques, the moving camera can be used lyrically, to give a scene a sense of sweep •... Leone recreated New York's Lower East side, which was then swarming with Jewish immigrants eager to make their fortunes in the legendary Land of Opportunity. The camera swirls lyrically overhead, lending the scene a sense of epic grandeur (Giannetti 94). As seen earlier in looking at documentary films, lyricism may also exist in a thoroughly realistic medium. One element of the narrative genre which is relevant here 43 is "atmosphere," defined as "the emotional tone in a work, most often established by the setting" (398). A narrative striving to establish a lyrical tone should attend closely to setting. This will allow for a story which is inherently lyrical, one where lyricism is woven into the fabric of the story rather than added as an embellishment. I have shown so far three ways in which narratives may become lyrical: first, through storytelling about internal events (states of consciousness); second, through exploitation of the common qualities of epic and lyric; and third, through the use of setting.

In this regard, it is significant that lyrical films are often characterized by two contrasting types of camera work: close-ups and panoramic long shots. This fact may seem inconsistent until one realizes that both psychological and epic films lend themselves to lyricism, and that the close-up is extremely effective for psychological films and the long shot for epics. There are other narrative genres that lend themselves to lyricism as well: for example, the romance and the tale. The romance is a work of "narrative fiction, usually characterized by improbable adventures and love" (Barnet and Cain 406). The presence of a strong positive emotion like love grants this genre a certain proclivity toward lyricism. The tale, "a short narrative, usually less 44 realistic and more romantic than a short story," may also lend itself to lyricism, because it differs from the novel even more than the romance does. The tale differs from the novel in three ways: it is shorter, it is more romantic, and it is less realistic. By "less real istic, " I do not mean that physical reality is absent, only that this reality is usually presented as less mundane than in the novel. Cinematic examples of lyrical tales are the first two vignettes of Akira Kurosawa's Dreams, which will be examined below. The modern novel, in particular, tends to depict a relatively ordinary kind of reality, whereas the reality of lyricism tends to be fleeting and therefore, special. The novel's reality is by definition prosaic, that of the lyric poetic and heightened. The classic example of the tale is the fairy tale, and indeed, fairy tales are often full of lyricism. In fact, a

common device in the lyrical film is the incorporation of a fairy tale into the larger narrative, and these fairy

tales often retell the story of the film in condensed,

symbolic, and highly lyrical form. Hence, the lyricism of the fairy tale "leaks" into the overall narrative structure, because the two storylines are so intimately connected. At this point, it appears that lyric and narrative impulses, while not the same, are not actually binary 45 oppositions and can indeed coexist. But they are different enough from one another that a true synthesis can only come about under optimal conditions. In addition, at times they may work against each other. The storyteller who wants to be lyrical must be aware of this, but if he or she possesses this awareness, a lyrical narrative is indeed quite possible. 46

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF LYRICISM: KRISTEVA 1 S CHORA Certain qualities of lyricism can perhaps only be explained by Julia Kristeva's theory of the chora. Among these are its fluidity and musicality, its all-too-frequent brevity, its association with physical, external beauty {and with Lacan' s Real Order), and the feeling of joy usually associated with it {Lacan's jouissance).

A brief introduction to the concepts of Lacan and Kristeva may be in order here. As a one-time follower of Lacan, Kristeva retained in her own theories most of Lacan's concepts, including the Symbolic Order {the verbal realm we all enter at around six months of age), the Real Order {the universe outside of our own bodies), and the

notion of jouissance, a rare and fleeting blissful

experience of the Real Order. However, she differs from Lacan slightly regarding the concept of the Imaginary Order. She prefers to call it the Semiotic Order to differentiate it from the verbal Symbolic Order, and she believes that it is somewhat more active in consciousness than Lacan would have us believe. She agrees with him that it is most active during the first six months of life, but disagrees that it does not play a role in constituting adult consciousness. According to her, the way that the Semiotic Order continues to affect adult consciousness is 47 through the chora, a concept she created to explain the continuing residual presence of the Semiotic or Imaginary

Order in adults.

The theories of Lacan and Kristeva would both support the notion often expressed herein that brevity is inherent

in the lyrical experience, because both the chora and j ouissance can only break through into the predominant

Symbolic Order briefly as fleeting, faint memories of our early blissful existence. Kristeva agrees with Lacan that

in our very earliest existence, we float gently in our mother's womb, being buffeted about only by her fluid waters and hearing only the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Fluidity (as melody) and rhythm are, of course, the two main elements of music. This feeling of oneness with the mother and the entire Real Order continues until we have

been fully indoctrinated into the Symbolic Order. We still

retain that experience in our memories, but most of the

time, the predominant Symbolic Order crowds the memory out.

However, occasionally an experience of art, love, or nature reminds us of our early life. These moments are most often

lyrical moments, moments of rapture or rhapsody, and are

often associated with feelings of lightness, floating, and

uplift. Perhaps now we can understand the reasons for these associations. 48

We might also ask why the lyrical moment is so often associated with "mere" earthly beauty. These moments, moments of jouissance, are triggered by a fleeting perception of the Real Order. They are activated by the perception of what Lacan calls "objects of lack," i.e., objects from an external, physical reality that we experience as separate from us because we now live in the Symbolic Order. However, since we experience the Real Order as a part of ourselves when we dwell in the Imaginary

Order, we continue to long for it as if it were a missing part of ourselves. These lyrical "triggers" are typically beautiful natural objects which remind us of our own natural origins, and with which we are once again briefly united by the emotion of j ouissance. That moment is frequently the lyrical moment. In these moments, we once again feel as if we are floating, one with the mother and the Real Order. We feel light and as if we are being lifted up, perhaps outside of ourselves. As we have noticed, kinetic, bodily sensations such as these are frequently associated with lyricism.

According to Lacan and Kristeva, our ordinary reality is that of the Symbolic Order. This may explain why that same ordinary reality frequently appears altered and extraordinary in lyrical moments, even though that same reality is usually the catalyst for these lyrical moments. 49

What happens in these moments is that the Real Order breaks through, and reality does not look so ordinary. In fact, we dwell for a moment outside of ordinary reality, outside of the Symbolic Order. Because we dwell in the Semiotic Order, we experience once again the Real Order in the suddenly extraordinary appearance of reality. And yet we have gone nowhere. It is only our perception that has changed. For a moment or two, the extraordinary but very real prevails.

Kristeva's notions of the Semiotic Order and the chora also explain why these experiences are so difficult to describe verbally. After all, the Semiotic Order is nonverbal. In these moments, we are flooded with memories of a state in which we lived before we spoke or understood language, a pre-verbal state. This may also partly explain why the most universally understood definition of the word

"lyrical" is musical, or that particular non-verbal art form which most embodies the fluidity and rhythm of our early experiences.

So the concept of the chora can at least partly explain the reasons that the lyrical experience is so often accompanied by sensations of lightness, floating, or even the soaring sensation typical of an exalted mood. In film, panoramic views are one way of conveying this sense of

exaltation. In the panoramic view, we are extremely aware

of the horizon, of the place where the sky meets the earth. 50 Often, the sky takes up a larger-than-usual proportion of the picture. The most interesting thing about panoramic views, however, for our discussion, is that they are most often associated with epic, not lyric, films. The panoramic view is an element common to both genres in film and frequently plays a key role in those epic films which are able to convey a strong tone of lyricism. 51

CHAPTER FIVE

THE FUSION OF LYRIC AND EPIC IN FILM

The lyric and epic genres seem to lie more closely together in film than they do in written literature. While they are not one and the same, they do seem to be highly compatible in visual terms. The classic example of lyrical epic film is Dr. Zhivago. This film is probably as close as one can get to a true hybrid of the two genres. This is due in no small part to the virtuosity of the director, David

Lean, who ••. had the special ability to never lose sight of the importance of nuance in stories with monumental themes, [even] with grandiose budgets available (Peacock 228). While this epic story is set against the backdrop of the

Russian Revolution, a concurrent story of romance is

evolving alongside it, and it has all the hallmarks of

lyrical film-making.

Before I begin this discussion, I would like to issue

one cautionary disclaimer: as mentioned above, the epic film, while compatible in many ways with the lyrical film,

is susceptible to the heightened expectations created by a

large budget, and this somet;imes causes the script to

become diluted, resulting in bland, commercialized story- telling.

The screenplay is sometimes worked over to the point that its ideas are either too easily 52

digested or any nuance in the story is lost in extravagant production values (Peacock 92).

When the nuances are lost, lyricism is lost. Lyricism is a genre filled with nuance. It is a delicate genre which is more akin to poetry than to anything else, and poetry is not exactly the most commercially viable art form. However, in the hands of a great director like Lean, the affinity the two genres have for one another becomes a great advantage.

It is easier to hybridize epic and lyrical genres in film than in literature because film, as a visual medium, often consists, at least partly, of objective correlatives or visual representations of emotions, and the emotions of the two genres are very similar. The elevated tone of the epic and exalted mood of the lyric find a common symbolic expression in panoramic images, sweeping, expansive movements, and images of light and elevation.

For this chapter (and indeed for this paper from this

point onward) I wish to use the following definition of the

epic genre for film, taken from the book, The Art of Movie-

Making: Script to Screen, by Richard Peacock:

This grand genre cuts across every subject, the only qualification being that the sweepingly spectacular visual qualities of the film are as expansive as the territory covered by the subject matter in the story (Peacock 92).

The reader who is familiar with literary genres will probably notice immediately that this definition is 53 considerably looser than that of the literary epic.

However, in film the lyric and epic genres work extremely well together because of similarities in visual correlatives, and therefore the line between the two genres in film is fuzzier.

The two genres also complement each other beautifully in film, as they oscillate between a focus on external action (narrative) and a focus on emotion or contemplation. Lyrical moments often illuminate or give insight into the reasons for epic moments. This oscillating structure can be seen at times in Dr. Zhivago, although at other times the two genres are truly fused. For example, there is a turning point in Dr. Zhivago when the cinematography signals that the narrative is moving from a concern with political, external events to a concern with personal, internal events. The cinematography does this by moving in gradually to an extreme close-up of an object of unusual natural beauty. Specifically, when Dr. Zhivago is thinking of going

to see the woman he is in love with, Lara, after a long

separation, he is simultaneously gazing at ice crystals on

a window pane. Prior to this, the view through that window

and the mood in the house were quite somber. The snow seemed depressing, and the world appeared colorless. But as

he begins to focus more and more on the ice crystals and

his thoughts turn to Lara, the crystals begin to seem quite 54 lovely and interesting. In fact, this close-up begins to look very much like an aerial view of a forest of ice­ covered trees. The beauty of this close-up intensifies when the crystals begin to glow and sparkle as the sun comes out, and the familiar music of "Lara's Theme" returns, signaling Zhivago's new mood of joy. As the volume of the music increases, the cinematography moves seamlessly to the next and more vibrant shot, a shot of a field of yellow flowers in Zhivago's front yard. Only moments before, that yard was barren and cold, so we know that time has passed, and it is spring. The golden glow of the sunlight on the crystals gradually merges with and changes into the golden glow of a field of daffodils. In an instant, the story of winter turning into spring has been told lyrically. Then the camera moves in closer and closer, culminating in an extreme close-up of one particular daffodil, which glows in the sunlight just as the crystals did. The next shot, again seamlessly accomplished, is of Lara's eyes illuminated by the sun. Her eyes fill with tears as she sees him enter,

signaling the moment when the transition has been completed. In just a few seconds, the camera has signaled that we have moved from the depths of winter to the pinnacle of spring, both externally and internally, and it has done this with only three images, but images which are seen from different vantage points. A great change has 55 occurred which was signaled only by the cinematography. The emphasis of Dr. Zhivago's life from this point on in the movie is on the personal and emotional. But as we are watching all of this happen, the camera moves so seamlessly that the two elements of the film do not really seem to be separate. The separation can only be understood when one views the film with a videotape recorder using the pause button to look at the film frame by frame. To the viewer in a theater, there is no separation.

Just as the movie's narrative shift from political to personal is signaled visually, that visual correlative has its parallel in the musical score. In fact, one reason the cinematography seems so effortless and fluid is that the music increases in volume as the imagery changes, and those musical changes are so gradual and imperceptible that we

are not aware of the fissure until later.

Another brilliant example of this complementary

relationship can be found in the recent Academy Award­ winning film, Gladiator. While it is indeed an epic with a

larger-than-life hero and a great deal of action, this

action does not feel superficial or meaningless to the

viewer because it is complemented by lyrical moments which transport the viewer metaphorically to the consciousness of

the hero. 56

Both genres are essentially poetic. They differ only in that one is more personal and oriented toward consciousness, the other more external and oriented toward action. Because of this, they are able to cooperate extremely well in films. In fact, they complement one another. However, this cooperation is not yet fusion. Fusion in film occurs through visual imagery with qualities common to both. And after all, film is a medium with the unique capability of externalizing internal states on the screen in a very immediate and concrete way, so that the customary binary relationship in literature of epic (external) and lyric (internal) genres is subject to fusion. For example, a film may reproduce an entire internal state (for example, a dream) as if it were composed of real events in the external world. The line here between internal and external is very fuzzy. One cannot always differentiate between that which is external and that which is internal in film. As the critic V.F. Perkins has written, "In the fiction film, reality becomes malleable but remains (or continues to

seem) solid" (Quoted in Peacock 12).

An example of a recent film which can be viewed either way is Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? This independent film is very loosely based upon The Odyssey. However, the events in

the movie take place in early 20th century America among the 57 poor in the rural South. Apparitions abound, as when a group of angelic-looking women come to bathe in a river close to the bumbling, dirty but lovable, escaped convicts whose travels are the subject of the story. In addition, a great deal of the time, the air is preternaturally yellow, suggesting that is thick with the pollen of yellow flowers. However, while the presence of pollen seems to some extent to explain the color of the sky, the viewer also senses that the sky's color is uncanny. It does not look like anything normally seen in nature, in spite of the semi­ plausible explanation.

Many other magical occurrences are seen during this movie, but all have an aura of ambiguity about them so that one is uncertain whether to interpret them metaphorically or literally. For instance, the angelic-looking women hover

somewhere between womanhood and angelic existence. They do not seem to be fully realized members of either group.

However, because of the immediacy and concreteness of the

film medium, the events are very real to the viewer as

physical facts, regardless of whether they are meant metaphorically or not. They can be viewed and interpreted

on either level or on both simultaneously.

The events do indeed unfold in the physical world

right before our eyes, and they therefore partake of that very concreteness and externality. However, many of those 58 events are unlikely or impossible in the so-called real world and many carry obvious metaphoric meanings as well. How are we to interpret them, as metaphors for internal states or as real events in the physical world? Perhaps both. Film has the unique capacity to produce two.stories simultaneously: one a story of action and events, an epic, and one a story of internal states, a lyric. In such a medium, the usual line between internal and external events is almost meaningless. Hence, the categories of epic and lyric are easily fused in the film medium, and indeed often coexist. In addition, the objective correlatives of both are so similar that at times a real union of lyric and epic can be found in film that cannot be found in literature per se. Perhaps an epic can serve as the objective correlative

of a lyric. This would also explain why the two usually work so well together and frequently coexist, at least in

an alternating or intermittent fashion. One genre tells an external story of epic dimension which is closely paralleled by an internal story with lyrical qualities. The

emotions evoked and portrayed in epics and lyrics are so similar that one easily becomes a parallel of the other. While many, perhaps most, epic films do this in a

fairly obvious alternating, intermittent manner, for

example, Gladiator and The Thin Red Line, others manage to 59 fuse the two modes into a true hybrid, as does Dr. Zhivago.

As I have said, the cinematography in Dr. Zhivago is so seamless and the score so intimately involved with the cinematography, that one is frequently hard-pressed to separate epic from lyric moments. Furthermore, the camera often moves in a fraction of a second from an extreme long shot to an extreme close-up within the same scene, showing that the moment has both epic and lyric qualities. This is a prominent feature of this film, and it happens in many scenes. Even the extreme close-up of the ice formation on the windowpane paradoxically appears at one point to be similar to an aerial shot.

This unity in Dr. Zhivago is also due to the sweeping, panoramic nature of the cinematography found in both lyric and epic genres, and the emphasis on heights found in both genres as an objective correlative to the shared mood of exaltation. Whether referring to the many shots of leaves on tall trees shimmering in the breeze or to those of snowy landscapes sparkling in the sun or shrouded by mists, Dr.

Zhivago is a very good example of the union of lyric and epic genres in film-making.

Other examples of films which are, arguably, hybrids of these two genres are Ron Howard's Far and Away, a love story which begins in Ireland and ends in the Far West of

Oklahoma, Akira Kurosawa's Ran, a tragedy which takes place 60 against a backdrop of warring kingdoms, but focuses on one man's love for his children, and steven Spielberg's Empire of the Sun, a tale of war with a small boy fascinated by airplanes as the unlikely hero. 61

CHAPTER SIX

LYRICAL FILM AS OBJECTIVE CORRELATIVE: MUSIC, POETRY, AND FILM

I have just shown how frequently the lyric and epic genres of film appear together and how well they work together. One of the ways a film can become lyrical is to start out as an epic. However, there are many other ways and many other kinds of lyrical films.

For example, it is striking how often the actual subject matter of the lyrical film is music. In fact, the most obvious examples of films as objective correlatives of lyricism are those with music as the actual subject matter.

That the film's style would follow suit with the subject matter is, of course, not surprising. While these films are frequently about musicians or music, as in the case of The

Piano, Blue, and The Double Life of Veronique, another common scenario is the film about poetry. A recent example was seen in the Italian film, Il Postino (The Postman).

One reason for this is that the film-maker is often trying to create an objective correlative in visual terms

of certain abstract concepts, moods, or feelings pertinent

to the film. A lyrical film is therefore often the natural

result of an attempt to create an objective correlative for

the themes of music or poetry. These film-makers often use

the formal devices which are helpful in creating lyrical

visual tones. 62

However, it is important to note that many of the greatest lyrical films are not "about" music. The presence of actual music or poetry are not even necessary for a film to be lyrical. They do often coincide, but are not necessary. In addition, there is a strange absence of lyrical film-making in the very genre from which we might reasonably expect to derive the highest degree of lyricism, since it is based upon music: the musical. One hypothesis for this is that music plays a different role in the musical than it does in other film. Generally, the music for films is composed and added in order to support and enhance a mood which has already been created by the cinematography and the narrative. In most films, The type of music and its placement within the film must bend to the thematic needs of the story and its images .... screen action is served by music, not vice versa ...• Most composers consciously attempt to make audible the mood that the pictures and drama suggest (Peacock 499). And no less a luminary than Akira Kurosawa has said that Cinematic sound is that which does not simply add to, but multiplies, two or three times the effect of the image (Quoted in Peacock 471). However, in the musical, the order is reversed: the narrative is often concocted around the music, that is, to allow for an opportunity for the music to be heard. In the musical, the music is primary, the narrative secondary, whereas the usual hierarchy is for the narrative (or 63 cinematography in non-narrative film) to be primary and the music secondary. The classic musicals ... had stories in which everything suddenly stopped for a song and dance. The film narrative [is] usually constructed around the music, at its service (Peacock 89). Why this should result in a less lyrical product is a mystery to be solved in another paper; perhaps it is the fact that the image and the music are less intimately connected than they generally are in true lyrical film.

Perhaps these musical interruptions give the musical a structure which is less fluid. Or perhaps the following applies: "Although music adds a degree of ambiance to any visual, it is sometimes unnecessary and even detrimental"

(Peacock 501). At any rate, the fact that this is so only demonstrates once again that lyricism is not the same thing as music. Even though they are intimately related, they are not synonymous. Of course, since they are very closely

related, they usually work together in a very harmonious, even synergistic, fashion. The harmony of music and lyrical

film can be seen at its very best in the film, Blue.

Blue creates a perfect synthesis of film and music.

While Blue is primarily a movie about music and grief, one

of its recurring images is a vivid, sparkling blue chandelier which always appears at the most emotionally

significant times. The heroine has just suffered the loss 64 of her husband and daughter in an automobile accident, and consistent with the movie's title, her emotional states are echoed throughout by various blue images which are in turn echoed by waxing and waning music. The chandelier, which like many lyrical objects shimmers from on high, seems to be a source of comfort to her.

One significant aspect of the chandelier is the way its glass beads echo the shapes of musical notes, shapes which are seen repeatedly throughout the movie on sheet music as the heroine strives to finish what seems at first to us to be her husband's work. (We later discover that the greater part of this work was actually hers, even though she did not get credit for it while he was alive.)

This movie is an example of lyricism's presence even

in moments of grief, especially when that grief is expressed musically. It is also an example of a narrative which involves primarily around internal events, those of

the heroine. These internal events are echoed in the

external world by the music, which is heard throughout the

movie and grows louder whenever she feels deeply. The

intensity of the color blue also waxes and wanes with her

moods and the music. And this blue is not just any blue; it

is an intense blue, for the most part, symbolizing the

intensity of her grief and the potency of her creative spirit. And yet, true to the lyrical spirit, the expression 65 of her grief is restrained and shown mostly through the symbolism of color and music. Lyrical film can be an objective correlative for music. It can also be an objective correlative for that other lyrical medium, poetry. The harmony of lyrical film and poetry can be seen in the film, Il Postino (The

Postman), which follows a young postman's relationship with

Pablo Neruda, his first exposure to poetry, his first love affair, and his marriage. In several scenes, as Neruda's poetry is being heard, the camera echoes the rhythmic quality of the poetry by showing us the waves lapping gently onto the shore. In this film, water is very much in evidence as the main objective correlative to poetry.

The water imagery which recurs in Il Postino is another clue to the nature of lyricism in film. The element of fluidity will often be seen in the next chapter on the lyrical pattern. In Il Postino, the gentle sway of the water echoes the rhythm of the poetry being recited throughout the movie, which in turn echoes the sensuous moods of the central character, a postman who has just fallen in love for the first time. Water imagery is also seen frequently in films dealing with music. For example,

in Blue, the heroine goes for a swim in a preternaturally

blue swimming pool whenever she feels overwhelmed. And in

The Piano, the crashing of waves on the shore echoes the 66 tumultuous emotions of the lead character, a woman whose piano-playing gives her much-needed consolation while she is trapped in an unhappy marriage and in love with another man. Later, the breaking of the waves becomes more gentle and the music less tumultuous when the woman finally begins to give and receive real love. In all three films, the music, imagery, dramatic action, and emotions of the main characters are so closely intertwined that it would be difficult if not impossible to separate them. Each could be said to be the objective correlative of the other. 67

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE LYRICAL PATTERN AND FILM LUMIERE

Since the sound of the lyrical is known, and we know that lyricism can exist in the visual arts, I must ask the difficult question, what is the shape or pattern of the lyrical in film? Because music has shape in at least one sense, the shape which can be seen on sheets of music, I may reasonably hypothesize that it is possible for music, and in turn lyricism, to have shape in other mediums as well. However, this shape is more like a pattern than a true shape with clear outlines. This chapter will discuss this lyrical pattern in a general and philosophical sense. Later chapters will examine this pattern as it manifests in film technologies and individual films. However, it is already apparent that when lyricism involves "unheard melodies," these must be found in a shape rather than a sound, a form, pattern, visual rhythm, or perhaps a sense of movement in a particular direction -- something, at any rate, which can be perceived by the eye. Where can evidence be found for such a shape or

pattern? Here is one answer: Motion pictures are alive with movement. The study of movement has to do with vectors. In its original sense, a vector is a physical substance having magnitude and direction. In the aesthetics of cinema, a vector is a directional force, usually associated with the movement of objects 68

that carry our eyes with its thrust. The movie screen is continually being shaped and reshaped by the movement of elements within it ..•• The path of such a movement .•. has a directional sweep-­ a vector (Peacock 445-446). It is in this sense that I speak of a lyrical shape. It is an implied shape, similar to the path of a movement, a shape never really seen, but only sensed. However, these shapes or patterns are sensed very vividly in the film medium because of its essential nature as an art of movement, and so they in turn shape our experiences of films. In lyrical films, these movements are most often upward, creating upward-bound vectors, and consequently hints of upward-bound shapes. A line of movement has a force that not only captures the eye, but also causes the viewer to project its continuing direction .•.. The shot seems to contain an almost tangible energy (Peacock 447). Another important feature of movement in lyrical film- making is gracefulness. Besides the tendency toward upward movement, all movement in lyrical film is graceful. In fact, the nature of movement in lyrical film can best be described as balletic. This is one way in which the lyrical pattern as a visual phenomenon is intimately related to lyricism as an auditory phenomenon. Both are extremely musical. In physical terms, this musicality manifests as gracefulness. It is probably the reason that we so frequently find as motifs in these films ballerinas, birds, 69 butterflies, and other phenomena associated with graceful movement. Although I quoted the Russian formalist, Piotrovsky, in Chapter Two as having said that film lyricism is created exclusively through the use of formal rather than semantic devices (and therefore through non-narrative means), now this conclusion does not seem thoroughly warranted. I have shown that lyrical narratives can and do exist. Furthermore, not all formal devices are lyrical. Some may even produce humor -- for example, photography that speeds up or gives a me~hanical appearance to the movement of a living thing. (Giannetti 125) Therefore, I will now look at the kinds of formal devices used in lyrical film in greater depth. Many, but not all, of these devices involve upward-bound vectors and graceful movement. However, all of them do involve the lyrical pattern. Therefore, as I examine these devices, I hope to show the other attributes of the lyrical pattern. Among the films I will examine to look at this pattern are many which were created by the acknowledged virtuosos

of lyrical film-making, including Akira Kurosawa (Dreams

and Ran), Terence Malick (Days of Heaven and The Thin Red

Line), and Krzysztof Kieslowski (The Double Life of

Veronique and Blue). Also in this group are several

individual films that have been lauded for their lyrical 70 artistry: Burnt by the Sun, Wings of Desire, and Ju Dou. I will also look at some films from other genres which have been praised for their lyrical fluency or wizardry, including the avant-garde documentary, Koyaanitsqatsi, the epics mentioned before, and one Western, John Ford's The

Searchers.

Before proceeding, I would like to make a quick note of one common theme already found simply by looking at the wording of these titles. This theme, the presence of the sky, is a recurring element in the lyrical pattern, consistent with the presence of upward-bound vectors. The following titles all contain imagery suggestive of the sky or upward-bound vectors: Days of Heaven, Wings of Desire,

Burnt by the Sun, Empire of the Sun, and perhaps, to a lesser extent, Far and Away.

In fact, the unacknowledged star of many of these films is often the sky, either intensely blue and filled with fluffy clouds or illuminated by the light of the so­ called "magic hour." Occasionally, these skies are filled with gusty winds or storm clouds. Sometimes rainbows are seen. And very often the horizon plays a key role, symbolizing the meeting of heaven and earth. Much has been written about the creation of lyricism in poetry and literature. We know that rhyme and other forms of sound repetition can create harmony and musical 71 effects. But less has been said about the techniques involved in creating lyrical films. What are those techniques that are in harmony with this lyrical pattern? This is a difficult question, but one which I believe is answerable. Certain films exhibit so many lyrical elements that they not only qualify for placement in the lyrical genre, but also prove the existence of such a genre in film. A film genre is simply "a broad category of films, all sharing common story themes, conflicts, settings, character types, or visual styles" (Peacock 86). This genre is characterized by visual images which are the opposite of

"film noir" images, so much so that one could perhaps posit the existence of a new film genre, "film lumiere," or as I

am also calling it, lyrical film. Just as film noir is

characterized by darkness, lyrical film is characterized by

lightness. This lightness may be visual, kinetic, or both.

In the case of kinetic lightness, we will usually find

upward-bound vectors. One criterion for the existence of a film genre is the

presence of a motif which differentiates that genre from others. A motif is "a dominant or recurring dramatic attitude" or image (Peacock 86). For example, the Western genre can be recognized by the presence of the cowboy, usually with gun, hat, horse, and Wild West setting. The 72 lyrical patterns I am discussing in this chapter are the motifs of film lumiere.

The genres of film noir and film lumiere are also opposed to each other in ways other than those described above; for instance, Giannetti writes that the "milieu of

film noir is almost exclusively urban" (18). My observations have shown that the milieu of film lumiere, while not exclusively rural, is inordinately so. While

Giannetti defines film noir as "a style defined primarily

in terms of light-- or the lack of it .... ", I would define

film lumiere in the opposite way: through the presence of

light. Another contrast is in attitude. Film noir "is

suffused with pessimism," while I would argue that film

lumiere takes an optimistic, even joyful, attitude toward

the world. (Giannetti 18) Even in moments of extreme grief,

beauty is seen as capable of redeeming life's value. One way this lightness may manifest itself in film is through elevated camera placement, movement or angle. As mentioned in Chapter Two, one of the strengths of the film

medium is its ability, using the moveable camera, to imitate not only the entire range of human perspectives, but also some that human beings could never experience independently. One of these is the perspective of a bird in

flight, a frequent lyrical motif. One feels subjectively 73 uplifted by the lyrical response, so it is only appropriate that these moments are frequently accompanied in films by the presence of actual heights.

As Giannetti says,

Kinetic symbolism can be used to suggest ... ideas and emotions. For example, ecstasy and joy are often expressed by expansive motions (106).

Since these kinds of emotions are common to both epic and lyric genres, this type of expansive symbolism is often

found in films from both genres. This expansiveness may be

associated with a horizontal outward movement, as in a

panoramic shot of the horizon, or with a vertical movement,

for example, a crane shot, which is simply a moving shot originating from an elevated point.

Crane shots are almost invariably lyrical, suggesting a sense of kinetic exhilaration (Giannetti 107).

It is also significant that Giannetti uses, to illustrate

this point, an example from a film with epic qualities, The

Right Stuff, which contains many "thrilling re-creations of

experimental flights in the early stages of America's space

program" (Giannetti 107). Again the close affiliation in film of epic and lyric

styles is seen. Since both involve moods of exhilaration, they work well together cinematically. The crane shot

mentioned above is only one particular type of aerial shot: 74

Crane shots are essentially airborne dolly shots .••. [they) can lift a cinematographer and camera in or out of a scene {Giannetti 116).

Other aerial shots include those filmed from even higher points: for example, from airplanes or helicopters hovering high above the earth.

Although editing can also be used to convey lyricism,

"cutting is •.. abrupt ... compared to the fluid lyricism of a moving camera" {Giannetti 107) . For this reason, editing is more difficult to use successfully in this genre than camera movement, and therefore less frequently used. This also explains why even a simple documentary about nature, like Microcosmos or Farrebique, can be filled with lyricism, even though it uses only the most rudimentary kind of editing, editing for continuity.

In my discussion of lyrical documentaries in Chapter

One, I noted that "movies have the special ability to give magnitude to the events of everyday life" (Peacock 11).

This is due, at least in part, to the lyricism of the moving camera, a phenomenon no doubt noticed by the great

film theorist, Andre Bazin, who advocated minimal use of editing, emphasizing the role of camera movement instead.

He seemed to be keenly aware of the inherent poetry of the new medium, and felt that editing was not only unnecessary but could actually be counterproductive at times.

Unlike some of his followers, Bazin did not advocate a simple-minded theory of realism •... but 75

Bazin felt that abstraction and artifice ought to be kept to a minimum. The materials should be allowed to speak for themselves ..•• He believed that ••• the director must reveal the poetic implications of ordinary people, events, and places (quoted in Giannetti 162-164). Because the lyrical element in film corresponds to the melodic element in music, the lyrical film must be like a song in which the melody prevails. Editing must be done very carefully to preserve this fluidity. However, one type of editing, montage, is frequently associated with lyrical

film. This kind of editing was championed by another theorist (and film-maker), Sergei Eisenstein, who wrote extensively on the relationship between poetry and film. Montage editing is often used to connect scenes which take place in different settings so that the transition is not abrupt but flowing and smooth. It is also significant that in montage editing, nothing much · happens' [in terms of plot] •••• Its purpose is primarily lyrical .... The ••. sequence is necessary not for its story content so much as for its experiential value (Giannetti 144). Some brilliant examples of montage editing can be seen

in Jane Campion's film, The Piano. Consistent with the

lyrical tone of that film, many of these montages also involve fluid underwater scenes. In fact, the film opens with one long montage sequence, including part of an underwater scene that we later discover is the final scene in the movie. During the film's conclusion, that scene is 76 shown again, but in its entirety, with narrative logic intact. However, even during the opening montage, when the scene does not make sense in narrative terms, it still tells the viewer a great deal about the movie. It makes sense in lyrical rather than narrative terms, that is, it conveys the emotional tone and theme of the film. Although the shots in the opening montage do not yet seem to be logically, temporally, or spatially connected, they do make a thematic statement in a highly poetic manner. Therefore, editing can, if carefully used, make a contribution to lyrical film-making. However, camera movement is also an important element in this film. For example, even the opening montage was filmed with great attentiveness to camera movement. In particular, the montage involves camera movements that suggest those sensations of lightness so important to successful lyrical film-making. Movements that suggest floating, flying, and soaring are frequently perceived as lyrical. The viewer, may even have a bodily sensation analogous to the e~otional exaltation and elevation of lyric poetry. Other kinetic and visual effects which seem to suggest lyricism are dancing'(through its association with music), I

the fluttering of l~aves in the wind and the drifting of clouds (fluid movements and associations with heights), 77

images of birds, insects, airplanes, kites, bubbles and balloons, movements of the wind, and of course, water.

Images of the wind are unusually evocative because they often embody two traits of lyricism: elevation and

fluidity. Examples can be found in such disparate films as

Ju Dou, a fairly conventional narrative, and

Koyaanitsqatsi, a non-narrative film devoid of dialogue. Ju

Dou is famous for its lyrical scenes of newly dyed, brightly colored cloth being blown about by the wind on high wooden poles. Significantly, these shots usually

accompany love-making scenes which take place below. So

these shots are objective correlatives of the lyrical mood

of love-making below. On the other hand, the first half or more of Koyaanitsqatsi consists almost entirely of scenes

of wind-filled skies, and this film has been described by many as a visual poem. It is also truly poetic in the sense

that it is non-narrative. It is among the few examples of

pure lyric film that do exist.

Lyrical images of wind in film have their parallels in

lyric poetry, particularly that of the English Romantic

poets. For example, Shelley wrote an entire poem

celebrating the west wind (Ode to the West Wind), which he

concludes in the usual optimistic lyrical spirit:

The trumpet of a prophecy! Oh Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 78

Clouds are also evocative of lyricism, because they simultaneously suggest both visual and kinetic lightness.

The combination of the two kinds of images is particularly potent for expressing the lyrical mood. Both suggest a mood of exaltation and a motif of elevation. For example, the great Romantic poet William Wordsworth wrote:

I wandered lonely as a Cloud: That floats on high o'er Vales and Hills, When all at once I saw a crowd A host of dancing Daffodils; Along the Lake, beneath the trees, Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.

The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:-­ A Poet could not but be gay In such a laughing company.

The exuberant tone of this poem has its objective correlative in the imagery of a cloud wandering freely and a host of daffodils dancing in the breeze. A cloud is light in weight and color, and the daffodils, which "outdid the sparkling waves," also seem to be glowing with light. The lyrical tone of the poem is conveyed through the use of this imagery, with its several suggestions of light, both kinetic and visual. These same kinds of images occur with unusual frequency in lyrical films.

Although kinetic lightness is abundant in film, visual lightness is usually more apparent to viewers. Kinetic lightness is often sensed subconsciously, whereas visual lightness is easier to recognize and verbalize, at least in 79 this culture. We are more accustomed to trusting our eyes to give us reliable information than our bodies. Since kinetic lightness is usually sensed in a bodily way, we are less practiced at recognizing and articulating it. However, items in films may suggest lightness in either way, visually through color, or kinetically through weight (or sometimes texture) . In addition, special effects produced by the judicious use of lens filters andjor lighting can create these sensations. Besides the natural vehicles of light, the color white, pastels, the sun, moon, stars, rainbows, mists, fogs, and similar natural phenomena, the use of clouded, blurred, and softly colored lenses can suggest this visual lightness. The use of backlighting and lighting methods that create auras are also frequently used and can be evocative lyrically, although this device has been overused in sentimental romantic films. Blurred lenses create a mist-like softness rather than actual lightness, but softness also serves lyricism well, because it lends an air of ambiguity to a scene. This ambiguity is similar to the indirectness of metaphor. Both are consistent with the emotional restraint characteristic of lyricism, as discussed in Chapter One. Consequently, indirect portrayals of all kinds are important features of lyrical films. For instance, the 80 reflection of the subject of a scene may be shown rather than the actual subject. This technique is used frequently and very effectively in The Double Life of Veronique to

suggest the doppelganger ("ghostly double") motif of that film, a film about a woman's sense that she is not alone, but has a twin somewhere. The reflective method is particularly effective when the reflection is shown in glass because glass has connotations of fragility also evocative of lyricism. Lyrical moments are usually brief and fleeting. They are in fact fragile like glass. Other objects which appear fragile occur frequently in lyrical films. Among these are slender andjor delicate objects like saplings, shoots, bubbles, butterflies, insect wings, lace, gauzy fabrics, flowers, and so forth. As I have said, water is a frequent motif and is similar in some ways to glass, as are all transparent objects. The flowing movement of water is reminiscent of music. Paradoxically, along with clouded images, many images are found of transparency in lyrical film, perhaps suggesting the

fragility of glass, the lightness of bubbles, and the fluidity of water. So what is the form of the lyrical? Based upon the above observations, it would seem to be a fluid and expansive upward movement, like the grace of a bird in flight. A sense of kinetic grace is absolutely essential. 81

This form is light in color and weight, sometimes transparent, sometimes cloudy, and usually delicate or fragile. Its upward movement conveys a sense of limitlessness compatible with the epic genre. So expansive is it that it is without clear boundaries. In fact, it cannot truly be called a shape because two of its essential qualities are ambiguity and expansiveness. It is closer to a pattern. It cannot be captured or defined by clear outlines. Hence, the motif of freedom is also frequently present, in particular, freedom from boundaries. This shape is indefinite and nebulous, like a cloud. It simply points gracefully upward, like the wings in the Gerard Manley Hopkins poem, Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs - Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings. 82

CHAPTER EIGHT

FILM LUMIERE AND ITS RELATIVES: A CONTINUUM

If some patterns, shapes, or forms are more inherently lyrical than others, it follows that some films are more lyrical than others simply because they have more.lyrical patterns. This inevitably leads to the belief that film lumiere is an extreme position on a continuum rather than an absolute and exclusive category. This does not mean that true film lumiere does not exist as a genre. However, it does mean that there are also many films which are lyrical to greater or lesser extents.

In addition, there are films which are devoid of lyricism, and so lie on the opposite end of the continuum. Examples of genres or film types that tend toward, or are confined to, the opposite end of the spectrum are these: film noir, "black comedy", so-called "gross-out" comedy, straightforward action films, "slasher" films, and most but not all documentaries. One can immediately see that among the genres on this list are many of those most popular at the box office. Lyrical film in its extreme form does not appeal to the average film-goer. This may perhaps be attributed to its non-narrative thrust, whereas most film­ goers are looking mainly for a good story. This fact may also partly explain why there has been up until now no 83 discussion of film lumiere as a genre. It is generally

outside of the mainstream (although there are exceptions) . Very few films are pure non-narrative visual poetry

(pure film lumiere); many films, however, are highly

lyrical and approach visual poetry, and many others are intermittently so. The continuum leads from pure visual poetry to those films which are devoid of lyricism. Because

of the relative nature of the postulated genre, film

lumiere, it has many close relatives. In fact, lyricism in

film can appear in almost any genre. Subject matter is not the issue; style is. However, some subjects do lend themselves to a lyrical portrayal more easily than others. As discussed earlier, lyricism most often emerges in non­ narrative film (segments or entire films). It may also emerge in narrative film when one of the four following conditions are met: first, the epic genre is executed with attention to nuance; second, the story is set in an environment which serves as an objective correlative to lyricism, usually a rural rather than urban setting; third, the story emphasizes subjective, internal events (and often uses metaphor to tell the story); or fourth, the film serves as an objective correlative for one of the inherently lyrical mediums, either music or poetry. In my research so far, I have found several categories

which contain true film lumiere: non-narrative visual 84 poetry, e.g., Koyaanitsqatsi; non-narrative realism

(documentary) that focuses on the beauty of the natural world, e.g., Microcosmos and Farrebique; films which combine narrative and non-narrative qualities, e.g., Akira

Kurosawa's Dreams (similar to narrative poetry); and narrative film lumiere, which comes in several varieties.

These include epicjlyric hybrids (e.g., Dr. Zhivago), narratives which feature highly lyrical settings (often the unofficial stars of these films, e.g., Days of Heaven or

Akira Kurosawa's Dreams), narratives about events in consciousness (often metaphorical, e.g., Wings of Desire or

The Double Life of Veronique), and narratives about music or poetry, e.g., The Piano or Il Postino.

Other kinds of films which are close relatives of film lumiere include: lyrical epics (with intermittent or alternating lyricism), e.g., Gladiator, Far and Away, The

Thin Red Line, and Empire of the Sun; many (but not all) movies in which music is the subject matter, simply because of its presence; many supernatural romances (separately, these genres share many traits with film lumiere, so when combined, they are often highly lyrical), e.g., Wings of

Desire or Spielberg's Always; and movies with a great deal of metaphoric content (e.g., Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?). 85

CHAPTER NINE

FILM TECHNOLOGY AND THE LYRICAL PATTERN This chapter will attempt to answer the following questions: how does the medium of film suggest or represent the lyrical pattern? What are the technologies of film that are compatible with or evocative of lyricism? What contributions have been made to this genre by these new technologies? More specific questions will also be asked, including: how does the camera suggest kinetic lightness to a stationary viewer? How does it represent visual lightness? And besides the central element of lightness, what are the qualities associated with lyricism? A list of those discussed so far would have to include: indirectness, elevation, exaltation, expansiveness, a sense of freedom, exhilaration, exuberance, musicality, fluidity, transparency, softness, strong emotion coexisting with detachment, transcendence, natural beauty, metaphor, simplicity, romanticism, subjectivity, optimisticmood, and many others.

The categories I will be using here to discuss film technology are from Richard Peacock • s The Art of Movie­

Making. There are other ways to classify technologies, but this one will serve us well for this paper. 86

Peacock calls his first category "shot characteristics," and it includes two sub-categories: camera distances and camera angles. The first sub-category, camera distance, is very important for lyrical film, as it includes such techniques as extreme long shots, extreme close-ups, and close-ups, all three of which are frequently found in lyrical film-making. Many writers have noted the frequent appearance in lyrical films of the close-up because of its unusually perceptive portrayal of emotion, a key factor in lyricism. However, extreme close-ups, such as those found in Dr. Zhivago are even more conducive to lyricism than close-ups for two reasons: first, the extreme close-up allows for an exceptional awareness of the present moment. · Often we see things in a fresh way. An example would be the extreme close-up of the ice crystal formation on the windowpane in Dr. Zhivago, which looked like an ice forest seen from an aerial view. This celebration of the beauty of the moment is an important aspect of lyricism. In addition, these kinds of shots generally do not serve a narrative purpose. They are consistent with the non­ narrative bent of lyricism. Ordinary objects often appear to be abstractions and thus do not contribute to literal meaning. They may be metaphoric, they may be disorienting, giving the world an extraordinary quality, or they may give 87 the viewer insight into the very important world of the character's emotions. However, extreme long shots also occur, especially in lyrical films with an epic element. This may seem paradoxical until one considers that extreme long shots often allow the viewer the sense of detachment and impersonality essential to the lyrical mood. Without that detachment, some lyrical films would descend into sentimentality or melodrama. In addition, these long shots convey the sense of exuberant expansiveness which is consistent with the lyrical tone. They often include huge expanses of sky and horizon, photographed from high positions. The second category, frame composition, includes these sub-categories: frame size, mise-en-scene, use of line, and linear perspective. Of this group, the use of line is the most important for this genre, and indeed is one of the most important aspects of the lyrical pattern. Curved lines suggest the fluidity of musical melody, while vertical lines suggest upward movement. When curved lines also point upward, that is, when a film contains lines which combine these two qualities, the lyr'ical pattern is seen. This pattern is one of balletic grace, a quality that can also be suggested by slow-motion photography. An example of the use of curved lines with upward vectors in a lyrical film ------

88 would be the angels in Wings of Desire. Their presence constantly suggests the lyrical pattern. The shapes of their wings and their frequent flights to sit on the shoulders-of another angelic figure, this one a sculpture, fill this film with lyrical patterns. In addition, the trapeze artist with whom the central character falls in

love wears a pair of wings for her act, and performs her act on a swing, which creates a line or vector that curves upward.

The third category is camera movement. The sweeping,

panning movements of a camera, particularly from a crane shot high above the earth, convey a sense of expansive freedom and exhilaration not only consistent with but

conducive to the lyrical tone. The viewer vicariously experiences the sensations of flying, weightlessness, floating, and soaring. For this reason, these kinds of

movements and placements are very common in lyrical films.

The stationary camera is less common, as it does not convey a sense of fluidity. Dolly shots from moving vehicles are more common, and the most typical moving shots are crane

shots. Aerial shots are also frequently seen. These convey the requisite sense of elevation, but often they are also extreme long shots (bird's-eye views) which add a sense of detachment also very useful for lyrical film. 89

The fourth category is cinematography. This involves film stock, lenses, and camera speeds. This category is also important. The use of special lenses is very common in lyrical film. Most often, these are lenses which are clouded or blurred to lend a scene a sense of softness or ambiguity. They may also be colored to soften the scene, usually in pastels or soft warm tones that lend a candle­ lit appearance to phenomena. The latter type of lens can be seen in the warm sepia tones of The Double Life of

Veronique.

Camera speed can also be used to advantage in these films. Slow-motion photography often lends a sense of fluidity, tranquillity, and dignity to scenes. For example, slow-motion photography can "prolong the balletic grace of an athlete's movement" (Giannetti 124). Balletic grace is an important part of the lyrical pattern. Since slow-motion photography can evoke that kind of grace even from ordinary movements, it is frequently found in lyrical film-making.

"Even the most commonplace actions take on a choreographic gracefulness in slow motion" {Giannetti 125). A related technique, although it does not fall into this category, is underwater photography, as seen in The Piano, because it gives a scene the same fluidity and grace as slow-motion photography does, without the additional expense of special

camera equipment. 90

One of the critical elements, for obvious reasons, of

film lumiere is lighting, the next category. Lighting in film has four aspects: quality, direction, intensity, and placement of sources. With regard to placement, backlighting, which is often used to give the impression of a halo or an aura, is frequently used in this genre, as well as elsewhere whenever spirituality is being suggested.

Film lumiere is generally light-filled, but the light must not be too harsh or intense or the delicate poetic quality (nuance) will be lost. Therefore, soft lighting is preferred. One of the most popular sources of soft lighting in film 1 umiere is so-called "magic hour" lighting. This lighting is provided by nature during the hour between sunset and twilight. During this time, the sky is generally intensely blue, luminous, and filled with the pastel streaks of sunset, which cast their soft glow on everything around them. The lighting is intense yet soft, perfect for lyrical film. The natural light of a spring morning, like that seen in the first two vignettes of Akira Kurosawa's

Dreams, is also popular in these films. While film lumiere

should be filled with light, this light must not be harsh

or strident. Soft, light colors are preferred. One additional technique which is related to magic hour lighting and is often seen in lyrical film is silhouette. The silhouette adds an aura of mystery and ambiguity to the 91 objects so seen, and makes the lighting behind it seem even more luminous in contrast. This technique is often seen in

Days of Heaven.

A related technique, seen for example in many John

Ford films (including The Quiet Man and The Searchers), is the photographing of exterior light through a darkened doorway. The contrast between the inner darkness and outer light suggests the binary opposition of confinement and freedom and is sometimes astonishingly beautiful. For example, The Searchers, which takes place in the preternaturally red desert of Utah surrounded by a preternaturally blue sky (no doubt due to the contrast), the film opens with complete darkness, then gradually a door opens and allows a flood of color and light to rush in. It is an exhilarating moment, and one which echoes the narrative, because the movie opens with a woman opening the

front door to welcome home a long-lost family member. Many viewers will feel some of her joy vicariously because of the way the scene is photographed. And very appropriately, the film closes with the same image, but in reverse.

As I have said, another very important aspect of lyrical film technique is the use of color. The above

example from The Searchers is a good one, but color can

also be created in film through the use of special lenses, creative lighting, and production design (set and costume). 92

In The Searchers, the spectacular natural setting supplies the color palette. In most films, however, the art director must choose a color palette which will define the film's mood visually, and the set designer will carry it out along with the costume designer.

In lyrical film, colors are generally light or bright, but not harsh, to add to the general impression of visual lightness. If they are a bit darker, as in the deep blue of magic hour lighting, they are luminous and clear, not muddy, since dark, muted colors usually appear heavy, a trait antithetical to the lyrical spirit. The intense coloration, mostly pastel, of the first two vignettes of

Akira Kurosawa's Dreams is a good example.

In adQ.ition, the color white is generally seen in great abundance, along with the color yellow in its softer manifestations, since it suggests both sunlight and

candlelight. For example, the film Burnt by the Sun is

filled with whites, golds, and soft yellows. This film takes place on a light-filled summer day in a golden field with the characters wearing gauzy white fabrics.

Sound is very important in lyrical film. Obviously, music is a great source of lyricism. Music can also lend continuity to scenes which are not edited smoothly, and when scenes are edited smoothly and the music is consistent with the cinematography, the result is lyricism par 93 excellence. Other sounds often found in lyrical films are bells (Dreams, Microcosmos), birdsong (The Piano,

Microcosmos), the sounds of insects (e.g., the chirping of crickets), rainfall, and wind, often causing leaves to make a rustling sound as well. The sounds of lyrical film, like the colors, are generally soft, not strident. They convey a gentleness. For this reason, echoes are often used. In addition to sound effects and music, the voice-over can be useful, as it allows the audience to be privy to the thoughts and emotions of characters. This technique is used to great effect in The Piano.

Editing for lyrical film is critical. It can easily destroy any sense of fluidity if not carefully applied. Editing not only facilitates continuity, but also establishes the rhythm of a film, and both are critical in lyrical films for reasons which by now are obvious. In addition, editing has the ability to manipulate time and space. This ability allows editing to portray internal events without regard for the laws of physics. It also allows the viewer to have the experience of being transported to places impossible in his or her usual physical existence, an important accomplishment for a genre which depends to a certain extent on the element of transcendence. Editing can also promote or create a thematic statement, a kind of emotional truth independent ------

94 of the external narrative. This kind of editing is very common in lyrical film and often takes the form of montage. Other editing techniques which are consistent with lyricism include: cross-cutting (editing which switches back and forth between disparate times or places), flashbacks and flash forwards, sound overlaps, fade-outs and fade-ins (for their fluid qualities), and in particular, dissolves, which are an extremely fluid way to connect scenes.

One absolutely critical aspect of film-making which relies on all of these technologies is movement. Movement in film may involve the camera itself or the objects or persons on the screen. And movement in film creates vectors. Vectors are directional forces associated with the movements of objects that carry our eyes beyond the point of the actual movement. Although vectors are not concrete

entities, they sometimes function s~milarly. A vector is a "physical substance having magnitude and direction" (Peacock 445). As we watch a film, movement on screen

controls our visual awareness. We often sense the implied ending of a movement without actually seeing it. Because of the importance of a sense of kinetic lightness in these films, vectors which create upward movements are extremely important. 95

Another example of a lyrical film which uses vectors throughout to great advantage is Empire of the Sun, which contains innumerable shots of upward-bound objects, including but not limited to the film's central motif, the airplane. The film also contains many upward movements of birds, kites, and the like. There is even a fantastically beautiful scene of sparks flying upward into a magic hour sky from the nose of a grounded airplane.

Production design, which includes art direction, set design, and costume design, is important because it affects color, weight, and lighting. Moreover, the decision to film outdoors on location seems to be a prominent element of

lyrical film, and when this is not done, the set design must create an alternative setting which can evoke a lyrical mood.

The last technical element that I will discuss in

regard to lyrical film-making is special effects. These

come in at least three varieties, although this element is

evolving so quickly that the exact number may change at any

time. Physical special effects are the most common in lyrical films. They are common in this genre because they

consist of simple reality-enhancing elements, and reality

portrayed with an eye out for the extraordinary is one very important part of the lyrical mode. Nature seen at its most

beautiful and exceptional (for example, that brief hour of 96 magic hour lighting) is very often present and almost as often a key player, even a co-star, in these films. A very good example of this type of special effect would be the use of fog and mist in the first vignette of Akira

Kurosawa's Dreams. The other two kinds of special effects which are seen less often are optical special effects and computer-generated special effects. Both are generated with sophisticated modern equipment. However, the fireball image in Burnt by the Sun is an example of this kind of image. In addition, it is very likely that the rainbow at the end of

Akira Kurosawa' s first vignette in Dreams was computer­ generated.

In general, special effects of this advanced kind are less often seen in lyrical films, because most often these films emphasize the beauties of reality and nature.

However, the more sophisticated kinds of special effects are often used to impart the fairy-tale quality often seen in lyrical films and to foster fluid editing or editing which transcends the limitations of time and space. An example of the latter would be the use of "morphing, " where one object appears to change into another. The fluidity of this technique is related to the dissolve.

It is important to add that in lyrical films, what is filmed often has as much effect as the way in which it was filmed. In other words, it is not only the style but the 97 substance which makes a film lyrical. Certain subjects seem to convey as much, if not more, lyricism than techniques do. Because of this, I will now look at the role of simple naturalistic cinematography in lyrical films. What are those subjects which evoke the lyrical mood, even when photographed naturalistically? It is important to point out that in some cases, there are strong resemblances between these subjects photographed naturalistically and other appearances which are generated by technologies which alter the appearance of reality.

One example is the frequent appearance in lyrical film of underwater photography, which looks very much like cinematography using slow-motion andjor a blurred lens. Similarly, a cloudy lens can evoke the mists and fogs which

frequently appear unadorned in these films. Another way this effect is achieved is through the use of veils,

filming a scene with a translucent or gauzy fabric between the camera and the object being photographed. Ambiguity or

indirectness can also be achieved by using veils, as well

as silhouettes, fogs, mists, metaphors, blurred and clouded

lenses, and very soft lighting. Anything which adds an aura

of ambiguity works in this genre.

Shimmering light often makes an appearance as well, as

in the first vignette of Akira Kurosawa's Dreams, where the

rain in the forest is lit by the sunshine so that it 98

shimmers. We also see shimmering sunlight moving over

Veronique's face while she is sleeping in The Double Life

of Veronique, probably created naturalistically using a mirror. The shimmering blue chandelier in Blue is another

example. The computer-generated fireball (or small sun) in

Burnt by the Sun is still another. Sunlight shimmering on water is particularly effective, since it incorporates water as well as light into the image. This kind of image

is frequently seen in Il Postino. 99

CHAPTER TEN AN IN-DEPTH LOOK AT SEVERAL LYRICAL FILMS

AKIRA KUROSAWA' S DREAMS AND RAN

Dreams consists of eight vignettes. The first two vignettes contain some of the most lyrical scenes ever created on film. In fact, they are as close to narrative poetry as it is possible to come on film. For this reason, this chapter will spend more time on this film (in particular, these two vignettes) than on the other three films. The first two vignettes are those examples of the

film lumiere genre that are needed to illustrate the essential qualities of that genre. In addition, Akira Kurosawa is one of the few directors who has been universally hailed as a lyrical film-maker. For this reason, some discussion of his general philosophy as it is revealed in another of his great films, Ran, will follow the discussion of Dreams.

The first vignette is entitled "Sunshine Through the Rain" and the second "The Peach Orchard." The entire sequence of vignettes seems to trace the history of humanity's changing attitudes toward nature, from an early animistic one to a modern industrial one, culminating in nuclear devastation in vignette 7, but ending on a positive note in the ecologically sound but technologically primitive "Village of the Watermills," which seems to exist 100 in some indeterminate place either in the future or outside of time.

"Sunshine Through the Rain" tells the story of a young boy who wants to go out on a beautiful but unusual day when

it is raining, and the sun is shining simultaneous~y. Here one sees that use of physical reality altered by a sense of

strangeness or magic often seen in the fairy tale. While the vignette does tell a story about natural reality, it is not the mundane natural reality of every day. It is a natural reality transformed. The boy's mother tells him not to go, because on days like these, the foxes come out for their weddings, and they do not like to be seen by humans.

Of course, he goes anyway, being a curious little boy.

The scene in the forest where he encounters the foxes

is.an example of lyrical beauty at its most intense. The monumentally tall trees of the forest, whose tops are

shrouded in mystery, are splashed with streams of sunlight

and patches of vivid color (blues and reds). Everything is

intensified, including the colors. We see the rain falling

in one part of the forest and the sun shining upon it,

causing the raindrops to shimmer, not like diamonds, but

like something even more precious because it can never be

grasped. Here is an exquisite example of the use of light

to convey lyricism. This shimmering effect is something

seen in all four of the lyrical films presented here, 101 although its ethereal nature in this film is probably the most lyrical of all.

It is important to note that Kurosawa may have celebrated color with unusual effectiveness in his later films because of his discovery of its charms late in life.

Most of his early films are in black and white, and yet they are highly lyrical as well. Even in those early films, his mastery of shimmering light is legendary. For example, deep in the woods in Rashomon, the quivering sunlight on leaves gently blown about by the wind suggests the film's theme, the elusiveness and illusoriness of truth.

The child hears the foxes before he sees them. Their presence is mysterious and ambiguous. He hears the faint sounds of their wedding processional. When he does begin to see them, they are shrouded in a thick white mist. They only gradually emerge out of this mist. The air of mystery is exquisite in this scene. They seem to materialize before his very eyes.

Although he sees them, they don't at first see him, but they quickly become aware of his presence. He attempts to hide, but ultimately they do see him and he runs home.

Unfortunately, his mother is waiting angrily. What is worse, she will not let him into the house again. He cannot return to civilization and ordinary life now that he has seen the secrets of nature. She says an angry fox came and 102 left a sword for the child to kill himself. The child balks and the mother suggests that he try to find the fox and ask for forgiveness. The boy says that he doesn't know where the foxes live, so he can't find them to apologize, but his mother tells him that on days like this, there are always rainbows, and the foxes live under the rainbows. The magic lives under rainbows where nature is at her most mysterious and rare. This conversation is part of an exquisitely lyrical fairy tale. And of course, the rarity and beauty of a rainbow is always suggestive of lyricism.

The rainbow may even be the lyrical symbol par excellence. It is elevated, ephemeral, beautiful, and light-filled. It symbolizes the union of sun and rain, sadness and joy. The boy sets out in search of the foxes,

and soon finds a rainbow. However, before we see the

rainbow, we see the child in a field of flowers which seems to actually glow with light as if the rainbow had come down

to earth. Indeed, the boy has captured magic; he has

brought the rainbow down to earth. The flowers are multi­

colored, but all of pastel shades, particularly pink and

yellow.

The next shot shows the rainbow which the boy is

facing and preparing to walk under and through. Just beyond

the rainbow is a mysterious and wild mountainous area filled with heavy white mists. The viewer knows intuitively

that he will find the foxes there, because earlier she has 103 seen them emerge out of a similarly misty area. The boy wants to penetrate nature's mystery, but in doing so, he risks losing his life, at least the civilized life he has known.

The vignette ends here, without conventional closure.

And yet the viewer feels perfectly satisfied with this ending. It does not seem to matter exactly what happens to the boy after this. The viewer does not feel concerned for his well-being. After all, he is preparing to walk under an

incredibly beautiful rainbow into a mysterious wilderness beyond, and we sense that he will find the foxes. Whether

or not they will forgive him is another question. But we

find it hard to believe that anything bad will happen to him because the scene is filled with such gentle beauty.

Although we do not know whether the foxes will forgive him, we feel that it was worth it for the child because of the wonders he has seen. Either the ending does not matter or we cannot believe that it will end badly. And of course,

the narrative is less important than the lyricism of the

moment. This is probably the true reason for the viewer's

feeling of closure and satisfaction at the end of the first vignette.

The attitude toward nature in this first vignette is one of awe, respect, and wonder. Although, as the child's mother tells him, nature has its dangers, if it is

respected, it will not hurt you. The later vignettes show 104 the catastrophic consequences of a loss of respect for nature's power.

It is no coincidence that this most lyrical of films takes as its theme man's attitude toward nature and as its

settings a misty, light-filled forest and a glowing field of flowers that leads straight to a rainbow. There is no

easier or better way to evoke lyricism than to show nature

at its most beautiful and strange. We see the world anew, freshly, when nature is altered. We are more aware of the

present. We step outside of linear narrative time.

While some special effects were probably used here to

create the shimmering rain, the thick, swirling white mists, the strange colored patches on the trees, the lit­ from-within flower fields, and the rainbow, similar effects

can also be found spontaneously in nature. This film does

not seem to rely on special effects as much as on the

lyricism inherent in nature.

"The Peach Orchard" makes even more explicit

Kurosawa' s reverence for nature. In this vignette, one

person, again a male child, retains an attitude of naivete

and reverence for nature, while those around him no longer do so. His family has chopped down the nearby peach

orchard, and only the child seems to be sad about it.

This vignette makes use of pastel color in the peach blossoms and graceful movement as the spirits of the peach 105 orchard dance very slowly on a hillside to bring the peach orchard back to life for one brief moment. These spirits are also the incarnations of dolls which represent the peach orchard in a ceremony and are being used by the boy's sister to celebrate "Doll Day." However, the true meaning of this ritual seems to have been lost, so one of the peach blossom spirits runs out of the house. She takes shape where a peach blossom branch formerly stood as mere decoration in the house, and when she walks, we hear bells.

Now the actual music associated with lyricism is present.

The little boy follows, and she leads him to the hillside where the orchard used to be. She favors the reverent child with her appearance. The girls, going through their empty rituals,. cannot see her. They do not appreciate the dolls

for what they really are: peach blossom spirits, the spirits of the peach orchard.

When the boy arrives at the hillside, he sees the

spirits of the dolls. Their clothing is very graceful and

colorful. The sleeves of their kimonos resemble wings. The

boy is filled with sadness over the loss of the peach

trees, but also with joy upon seeing the spirits. It is a

bright, yet softly-lit day, a spring-like day. As the peach

blossom spirits dance and play their instruments to conjure up the peach orchard one last time, the sky is gradually filled with flower petals falling like snow. The delicate ------~--

106 peach blossoms fall from the sky like warm snow blanketing everything, but especially the happy little boy.

The doll spirits hold their arms in an outstretched motion, pointing toward the sky in a lyrical gesture as they dance, and the sky answers with a flurry of peach blossom petals. Once again, heaven and earth are united in the lyrical moment. The spirits point to the sky, and the sky responds by coming down to earth in the form of a shower of peach petals. The mood of elevation so frequently found in lyricism is conveyed in this film by this intimate interaction between heaven and earth. We also see this relationship emphasized in Days of Heaven, but in that film, it is the ever-present horizon which reminds the viewer of that close relationship.

In this scene, visual and kinetic lightness blend to lift the viewer up along with the little boy who is filled with joy when he sees once again his beloved peach orchard.

The kinetic lightness is seen in the upward movements of the dance and the floating vision of a sky filled with peach petals. The visual lightness is seen in the pale pastel color of the blossoms and their delicate shapes.

Unfortunately, the vision of the peach orchard does not last. It is only a vision, an act of grace for this

small child who retains a sense of wonder about nature. Soon the explosion of pastel color and life is gone, and in 107 its place are dull grey tree stumps. Once again, joy and sadness are blended in the lyrical moment. Both cause the viewer to look upward in this story. This vignette contains many special effects, but they are not obvious, involving as they do for the most part natural phenomena. The miraculous transformation, however, of the dolls into human spirits and then into peach trees within the space of a few minutes probably necessitated the use of some kind of special effects. For one thing, there never has been on earth a flurry of peach petals from the sky as rich as this one. So this vignette is an example of a narrative which is not realistic; it is like a fairy tale, not a novel, and yet it does use physical reality -­ images of nature -- to convey lyricism. Sadly, as the remaining vignettes proceed, lyricism begins to decrease as nature begins to die, corrupted by a human race which respects neither nature's power nor its beauty. The film culminates in several vignettes which portray a world of environmental degradation and apocalypse. However, the very last vignette seems to take place in an ideal future, where man cooperates once again with nature, rounding out the cycle by coming full circle.

Kurosawa's vision of a pure and lyrical natural world corrupted by the error of the human race bears striking

similarity to the Edenic myth, with its vision of humanity

falling from grace while living in Paradise. Elements of 108 this vision can also be seen in another of his films, Ran, which additionally demonstrates the union of epic and lyric qualities. The movie is an adaptation of King Lear, and contains both tragic and epic elements. The scope is epic, and many of the battle scenes are epic in nature. However, the return to the lyrical and personal story of the king gone mad with grief is seamlessly woven into the epic tragedy. At the end, when the king is reunited with his only loyal son in a brief moment of rapture, he slowly rises from a deathlike state and looks up. We hear music and see the sky as he is seeing it, filled with ethereal clouds moving very slowly. The king cries out, "What a sky!

Am I in paradise?" The irony is that all around him is death, murder, war, and horror, not paradise. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that paradise has been transformed into a hell on earth. Eden has been once again corrupted by the fall from grace.

In the end, after many deaths have taken place and those remaining have cried out against the gods, these words are spoken: "It is the gods who weep. They see us killing each other. They can't save us from ourselves. Men prefer sorrow over joy. " These words seem to sum up Kurosawa•s view of humanity surrounded by but oblivious to

the beauty and innocence of nature while choosing sorrow.

In Dreams, the human race chooses sorrow by murdering the 109 natural world. In Ran, they do the same thing by murdering

each other. In both movies, however, this all takes place

in a setting filled with paradisial images of nature, and with characters who respond very differently to that

nature. Unfortunately, the majority of the characters are

oblivious to its healing power.

While both of the opening vignettes of Dreams very

strongly resemble fairy tales, in some of the movies I will be examining, fairy tales are actually told within the

framework of the overall storyline. In one, a fairy tale is

enacted with puppets, and in another, a fairy tale is

recounted to a small child. Both events occur about halfway

through the films, constituting centers around which events

revolve and permeating those events with lyricism. This may be another frequently employed method of infusing film with lyricism.

TERENCE MALICK'S DAYS OF HEAVEN AND THE THIN RED LINE

Malick's films seem to convey a vision of corrupt

humanity surrounded by innocent nature very similar to

Kurosawa's, and so also bear striking similarity to the

Edenic myth of fall from grace. In The Thin Red Line, this

dichotomy is the most striking. In the midst of the

mechanical bloodshed of modern warfare, we are frequently

confronted with paradisial images of exotic birds in lush

green trees, island people living in harmony with nature 110 and each other, and other images which suggest that the bloodthirsty soldiers are surrounded by an innocence which makes their actions all the more egregious. This film uses lyrical editing to punctuate scenes of external activity with scenes reflective of consciousness in order to give those external scenes meaning.

On the other hand, Days of Heaven is thoroughly

lyrical, and yet it also tells a story of people living among awe-inspiring beauty while creating their own

personal tragedies. As mentioned earlier, the unacknowledged star of many lyrical films is the sky. This film uses the soft lighting of the magic hour with

particular effectiveness. Days of Heaven is also an example

of a film where the horizon plays a key role, symbolizing the meeting of heaven and earth. Although the exact appearance of the sky differs from one scene to the next as the weather fluctuates, the horizon is a constant. One is constantly aware of the meeting of heaven and earth. Everything that happens in the film takes place in that context. The vastness of the plains and the sky above them give a certain irony to the goings-on of human beings with all of their self-made tragedies. This irony is present throughout most of the movie.

However, the movie does open in an early 20th century city

where the characters are seen performing hard labor and 111 menial tasks in settings which do not allow for much dignity. They are unhappy, but shortly after the opening of the movie, they flee the city and arrive in the setting in which the majority of the movie takes place. In this respect, the film is typical of film lumiere; it cultivates light in a rural setting.

Once there, they experience a period of happiness

(ostensibly the "days of heaven") in which the viewer is treated to some of the most lyrical imagery ever seen on screen, but inevitably, human nature intrudes and problems arise. Violence follows, and the beauty around them begins to seem bittersweet. This bittersweet quality seems to be a frequent companion of lyricism. That mixture of sadness and beauty that is so common in the genre is one example of this.

Another cinematic technique that is often seen in

lyrical films, and even more than usual in Days of Heaven,

is the silhouette, usually against a backdrop of magic hour

lighting. At first glance, the silhouette seems to defy one

of the most important criteria for film lumiere because of

its darkness. However, in lyrical films such as this one, this darkness is always juxtaposed against a background of

magic hour lighting, a background which appears all the more luminous and colorful because of this juxtaposition. In addition, the silhouette is an image that is pregnant 112 with ambiguity and mystery. This ambiguous quality is highly compatible with the lyrical mood. The ambiguity typical of this genre can also be found in the use of metaphor, reflections rather than direct portrayals, and physical special effects involving mists which . obscure views. And I am sure that creative film-makers everywhere are looking at this very moment for new ways to suggest ambiguity. With the advent of computer-generated special effects, the methods are limitless. Those I have indicated are only the most common ones to date.

BURNT BY THE SUN

The doubly lyrical element of floating light is present in this movie, a French-Russian film that has frequently been described by critics as lyrical. The film tells the story of a family gathering on a holiday in the middle of summer in Russia. The family spends what at first appears to be an idyllic afternoon outdoors in the sunlight, and later retreats to a big old rambling white house to tell stories. However, the day is marred by the surprise visit of a former boyfriend of the woman of the house. The family tries to deny the potentially unpleasant nature of this visit, ostensibly to protect the innocent child of the troubled couple. However, in addition to protecting the child, the film's veiled manner of storytelling plays an important role in creating and 113 maintaining the film's lyrical tone. For example, the potential melodrama of the narrative is transformed by being retold as a fairy tale to the child.

In Burnt by the Sun, the floating light is not created with naturalistic cinematography, as it seems to be in The

Double Life of Veronique, but through special effects. The

film-maker has created an image of a "fireball" that looks like a small sun. It floats through space and contacts

anything which is undergoing an emotionally significant

experience at that moment. It is like a heat-seeking missile which goes toward that which is resonating with emotion rather than heat.

The image itself is quite beautiful. It looks like a miniature sun floating at various heights, but usually at about 20 feet above the earth. Although it is beautiful,

inspiring joy in the viewer, it seems to bring tragedy in

its wake, at one point destroying the glass covering a family photograph as it floats over it. Once again, the union of tragedy and joy is seen in a lyrical film. The

shattering of the glass frame is an apt motif for lyricism,

as we will also see in The Double Life of Veronique with

its many images of glass and themes of fragile beauty. In addition to the fireball image, this movie is filled with images of huge balloons, balloons large enough to carry human beings far above the earth. The movie takes 114 place on a Russian holiday which is traditionally honored with these balloons. The lightness and elevation present in such an image is perfectly designed to capture the lyrical moment. Additionally, the movie takes place in the summertime in the countryside, and everyone is dressed in sheer whites because of the heat. There is even a little girl with huge white bows in her hair that resemble little wings on an angel. It is also interesting to note that balloons are associated with childhood and play, and lightness of spirit is associated with both.

The movie revolves around a fairy tale told at approximately the midpoint of the story. This fairy tale is obviously a retelling of painful events prior to the film's narrative, prosaic events transformed by lyricism and thinly veiled for the protection of the little girl. It is as the fairy tale is being told that the fireball first approaches the house and the characters. The closer the fairy tale comes to its climax, the closer the fireball comes to the tenants of the house. At one point, it actually enters the house, passing over a row of family photographs and shattering the glass covering one. This imagery is particularly effective as well as lyrical, consisting as it does of a floating light which echoes in its actions the storyline of the fairy tale which in turn parallels the storyline of the film. Again, echoes 115 and reflections figure prominently in a lyrical film, probably because of their insubstantial nature that is suggestive of fragility and ambiguity.

KRZYSTOF KIESLOWSKI'S THE DOUBLE LIFE OF VERONIQUE

This film is partly of interest here because it is the only film in the group that does not take place in the typical rural setting of most lyrical films. In fact, the setting is quite urban. Partly for this reason (and partly due to the use of a sepia lens), the light quality of this

film is somewhat darker than true film lumiere. For this reason, the film cannot be called an example of true film lumiere, although parts of it may qualify. However, although visual lightness is not present throughout this film, kinetic lightness is very much in evidence, and the film is highly lyrical. It is in the familiar vein of the lyrical film about music, the film that is an objective correlative to music. This gives it its lyrical quality.

Additionally, this film has a doppelganger motif, or

ghostly double, a motif extremely compatible with the lyrical tone for several reasons. Not only does this motif present the theme of reflections or echoes, but these reflections are ghostly, with the requisite insubstantiality of the delicate lyric mood. Add to this the film's central fairy tale told with puppets which 116 parallels the main storyline, and here is extremely fertile ground for lyrical film. In the central image of the movie, the puppet show, the frequent lyrical motif of a ballerina appears. This

ballerina breaks her leg and then dies. The dancer is covered with a cloud-like white shroud or cocoon by a compassionate older woman and then miraculously rises up,

shedding the death shroud like a cocoon to become a butterfly. Not only does this film revolve around a fairy tale, a frequent element of lyrical film, but in addition,

the lyrically rich motifs of dancer and butterfly are present.

This film tells its story through music and innovative cinematography that frequently uses images of reflections . in various kinds of glass to suggest the doppelganger

motif. In addition, the film-maker uses many close-ups and blurring, even distorting, lenses. In some of these images,

reflections appear upside down, suggesting again the world seen freshly, the familiar made unfamiliar. As previously mentioned, the close-up works well in lyrical film for two

related reasons: first, it allows the viewer to be unusually aware of the moment and forget briefly about the linear progression of the narrative; and second, it allows

the viewer to fully appreciate the beauty of the world. 117 Another technique used in this film which has a parallel in Burnt by the Sun is its use of flickering and moving light. In one particular scene, Veronique is sleeping and suddenly a spot of light begins to move over her face, waking her up. The light continues to play over the room and seems to float through space. This combination of light and a floating movement is typical of lyrical imagery. The light is really being reflected off of a mirror, suggesting the doppelganger motif and the presence of her twin.

In one recurring scene, Veronique is looking at the world through a small clear ball which at first appears to be glass, but which the viewer knows is rubber because when she drops it, it bounces back with great verve and to a great height. Not only do images appear upside down to her when viewed through this sphere, but inside of the ball are some gold stars which become a part of any scene viewed, perhaps a metaphor for a lyrical view of the world. The metaphorical significance of the stars and their association with an elevated state are obvious. These images of transparency also resonate with the overtones of fragility associated with glass. Veronique has a twin, of sorts, who lives in Poland, and sings in an extraordinarily beautiful soprano voice. Her soprano voice conveys a sense of heights overcome, as there seems to be 118 no note too high for her to reach. However, the lyrical synthesis of joy and grief comes about as she reaches for the highest note in a performance and collapses, dying, significantly, of heart trouble. Once again, the close connection between the lyrical moment and death is seen, as

in the first vignette from Dreams. This event is echoed in the story of the ballerina who dies dancing, and is the central motif of the film. Dying of an overdose of beauty, whether through dance or song, is the story of lyricism taken to its utmost limit. It is also a common motif in

romantic literature, and it is no coincidence that the Romantic poets were the greatest champions of the lyric genre to date. The two moods do often coincide. The movie is filmed in sepia tones. For this reason, among others, it seems infused with a warm, golden light.

The sepia tones eradicate any stark contrasts, functioning

in a manner similar to blurring lenses, softening and warming everything. And soft lighting is an important

feature of lyrical film-making. 119 CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE MAJOR FILMS COMPARED AND CONTRASTED

What are some of the elements that these films have in common? And what differentiates them? Can the lyrical pattern be seen in all of them? What are the essential ingredients of the lyrical film? These are some of the questions I hope to answer in this chapter.

The most important quality of film lumiere, lightness, either visual or kinetic or both, is very much in evidence in all four of these films. In many of them, lightness appears simultaneously in both senses. For example, the first vignette of Dreams ends with a rainbow. The image is elevated and appears to float because of its insubstantiality. It also glows with light. The second vignette ends with a vision of the sky filled with a pastel snowstorm of peach blossoms. At several points, the entire screen is filled with the vision of that miraculous sky.

The portrayal of the sky suggests kinetic lightness and the color of the peach blossoms expresses visual lightness.

Likewise, in both Burnt by the Sun and The Double Life of Veronique, one image combines both types of lightness.

In Burnt by the Sun, the floating fireball glows with light like a small sun and hovers above the earth, giving a sense of kinetic lightness. In The Double Life of Veronique, we see a very similar image: a golden light floats onto the 120 screen, into the scene, and conveys both visual and kinetic

lightness.

Days of Heaven is one of those films in which the sky

plays a starring role. Recurring shots of the sky in its many different manifestations throughout the year,

following the seasons, convey a sense of kinetic lightness.

This film, like many other lyrical films, uses the simple

fact that the sky is almost always illuminated by either

the sun, moon, or stars, to create a synthesis of kinetic

and visual lightness. It is a very simple and common but

still very effective method.

In addition, there are many scenes in Days of Heaven

involving translucent white fabrics, sometimes illuminated

from within (as in one scene that takes place at night in

a white tent), SQmetimes blown about by the wind. The sense

of kinetic lightness comes from the fact that these fabrics

appear to be very light, almost gauzy, in weight, whereas

the visual lightness comes from both the color and the

illumination.

Kinetic lightness is also closely associated with the

sense of upward movement found in all of these films. In

Dreams, not only the child but the audience is repeatedly

forced to look up to follow the storyline. In one vignette,

we look up at a rainbow, in the other, at a flurry of peach

petals falling from the sky. Earlier in vignette one, we 121 were compelled to look up at sunlight streaming through very tall trees, causing raindrops to shimmer in midair. In vignette two, the sense of upward movement was conveyed even before the peach blossom blizzard by the doll spirits dancing on a hillside with arms extended upward.

In The Double Life of Veronique, both the bouncing of the clear ball, and the reaching of her twin 1 s soprano voice for the highest notes, convey this upward sense. The motif of the ballerina becoming a butterfly obviously suggests upward movement. Burnt by the Sun is filled with

images of huge white balloons floating above a golden

field, another image whose thrust is upward. And the cinematography of Days of Heaven forces the viewer not only to look up frequently but to perceive the world as if he or she was indeed floating on high. Undoubtedly, many aerial and crane shots were used in this film.

The fusion of heaven and earth is a related motif which occurs in Dreams, Days of Heaven, and Burnt by the

Sun. For example, not only does the rainbow in Dreams touch

both earth and sky, but when it first appears, the child is

standing in a field of flowers glowing with the same

colors, suggesting that the rainbow has come down to earth.

As mentioned earlier, the horizon is ever-present in Days

of Heaven, suggesting another kind of fusion of heaven and

earth. And in Burnt by the Sun, the people float about in 122 balloons as a way of celebrating a holiday. They easily move from earth to heaven and back to earth by using these balloons.

If the lyrical pattern is indeed like a wing ready for flight, there can be no doubt that these films are filled with that pattern. All four are filled with visual and kinetic lightness. All four have many vectors suggesting upward movement. All four are filled with actual light. And all four are examples of film lumiere, to greater or lesser degrees. The order in which the films were discussed is indicative of their fidelity to the genre.

Some of the differences that can be found actually point to underlying similarities. For example, Dreams is a story about natural magic and childhood dreams, including

Kurosawa•s own childhood dreams, whereas The Double Life of

Veronique features the mystical, supernatural element of the doppelganger, as well as a romantic, tragic element that is as removed from childhood dreams as one can go. While these are indeed significant differences, the

similarities are even greater. They lie in the fact that both films view and present reality in an enhanced and

extraordinary form. The common feature is that they present reality in enhanced form without crossing over into complete fantasy. These worlds are not invented or new 123 worlds; they are our own world, but with an added lustre applied by the film-maker.

The somewhat indirect or implicit method of storytelling typical of lyrical film can also be seen in these films. The most obvious use of indirectness is the cinematography of The Double Life of Veronique, which

frequently shows the reflections of objects rather than the objects themselves. The silhouette is a related technique which is frequently seen in Days of Heaven. Rather than a

clear image, we see the darkened outline of an object or person. And not only the first vignette, but several vignettes in Dreams, are filled with mists and fogs which

obscure the view. No such indirectness exists in Burnt by

the Sun, although the storytelling method itself is

somewhat indirect. For example, much of the actual

narrative of the film is conveyed implicitly during the telling of the fairy tale, which has been carefully veiled to protect the small child.

The films also differ in their uses of camera

distances. For example, we repeatedly see extreme close-ups not only of Veronique's eyes, but of an object with obvious

similarities, the transparent sphere she carries that is filled with gold stars. This film does not use very many extreme long shots, and this correlates with the extremely

personal nature of the story and the decreased emphasis on 124 setting compared to the other three films. On the other hand, many of the shots of the horizon in Days of Heaven are extreme long shots. The vastness of the setting is emphasized in that film.

Kurosawa's fairy tale-like stories necessitate the use of special effects more than the other three films do.

Nature in the first two vignettes appears as it would have

in a golden age of innocence, before the "fall." Colors are more intense than in ordinary life, foxes march through misty woods between trees splashed with intense blues and reds, and a rainbow comes down to earth in the form of

flowers. Much of this must have been created with special

effects, either physical (the mists), optical, or computer­ generated (the rainbow).

The Double Life of Veronique uses a somewhat simpler

device -- a colored lens - to impart a golden glow to the

scenes. The impression of special effects in this film also

exists because the camera is so often looking, along with

Veronique, through her transparent sphere which distorts

and blurs everything, or at reflections, which also appear

slightly distorted or transparent. However, the film

actually uses very few obvious, true special effects. Those that seem to exist are actually the result of a very ingenious use of cinematography. 125 Days of Heaven is even less dependent on special effects. It relies on natural phenomena such as magic hour lighting to create a vision of the extraordinary in nature.

And excepting the fireball which was no doubt created using special effects for Burnt by the Sun, that film also relies on nature photographed with a keen eye for lighting to produce its effects.

All four films share the use of lightness, both visual and kinetic to convey the lyrical tone. All four use special effects, if at all, only to enhance reality and create or maintain a fairy tale-like atmosphere, never crossing over into pure fantasy. And all four communicate their stories with a modicum of restraint characteristic of lyricism, either through the use of metaphor, indirect photography, silhouette, or some other device. 126 CHAPTER TWELVE

MUSIC OF THE SPHERES: THE VALUE OF THE LYRICAL UNIVERSE

Even after all of this, one may well ask, what does any of this have to do with real life? With morality? With anything that really matters? Isn't this just an isolated phenomenon, found mostly in the rarefied world of art and

literature (including "cinema")?

The answer, of course, is "no." The lyrical exists all

around us, not just in the rarefied world of art. As I have

shown, it is a matter of perceiving "ordinary reality"

differently, valuing it more, in fact. I have argued that

lyricism could even be said to exist in nature itself.

Although one may question just how much of this lyricism is

really in nature, and how much is in our own perceptions,

this does not really matter, inasmuch as we, too, are part

of nature.

In fact, if we only begin to see as a poet sees, we

will find the universe to be permeated with lyricism. As

Pablo Neruda tells his young protege in The Postman when he

asks how he can become a poet, too, it is extremely simple:

"try and walk slowly along the shore ..• and look around

you." Neruda also tells the postman that if he will only do

this, the metaphors necessary for poetry will come to him

spontaneously. 127 Examples of the lyrical quality existing throughout the universe are abundant. Besides examples from nature, human beings have created such lyrical art forms as the Gothic cathedral, with its upward-bound vectors and awe- inspiring appearance, ballet, with its gravity-defying leaps and fluid motions, and paintings like Marc Chagall's, with their floating characters and fairy tale-like appearances. However, the reader may still ask at this point, "so what?" Lyricism is all around us, but so are war, poverty, murder, and suicide. Lyricism has no effect whatsoever on them. But is that completely true? What about the importance of the lyrical experience to the following writer?

The crickets leapt .•• from time to time there came a sweet whiff of burning juniper; and above the black alpestrine steppe, above the silken sea, the enormous, all-engulfing sky, dove grey with stars, made one's head spin, and suddenly Martin again experienced a feeling he had known on more than one occasion as a child: an unbearable intensification of all his senses, a magical and demanding impulse, the presence of something for which it was alone worth living.

-- Vladimir Nabokov, Glory

After reading this, we may well ask, how many lives have been saved by an experience of the lyrical? How many on the brink of despair have chosen life and hope after such an experience? Granted, the lyrical experience cannot solve

all of the problems of humanity, but what can? Few believe 128 that there is a panacea for these ills, and the lyrical

experience is certainly not a panacea. However, with so much suffering around us, shouldn't we be using all the resources at our disposal to solve our problems?

While there is little doubt that an experience like the one described above can be profoundly moving, perhaps even redemptive, the origin of this kind of experience remains mysterious. The enduring sense of mystery associated with the lyrical experience is another reason

the experience has value. In spite of the many attempts of science to render the universe completely comprehensible, the lyrical experience continues to occur, bringing with it

that exquisite sense of mystery, that irrational sensation that the human race appears to need as much as it needs rationality.

Kurosawa' s Dreams suggests a third reason why the

lyrical response may be important. Those who do not respect nature will probably destroy it, and once nature is destroyed, we human beings will not be able to live either.

The perception of lyrical beauty in nature causes one to

regard nature as an important resource, one worthy of respect, perhaps even reverence. Certainly, the young boys

in the first two vignettes of Dreams regard nature with

reverence. Their animistic view of nature finds not only magic, but also god-like beings and spirits in nature. One 129 of the boys even cries when a peach orchard is destroyed, not only because he likes peaches, but because he loves the orchard. He is keenly aware of its lyrical beauty.

Although this attitude may seem frivolous to some, it is actually a highly utilitarian and adaptive attitude for the human race. In Dreams, when this attitude dies in the later vignettes, so does the earth, and then the human race along with it. Nuclear catastrophe is the inevitable result of this degeneration of respect for nature.

A fourth reason that the lyrical experience is important is that it may remind us that an appreciation for beauty need not be an acquisitive process. We are surrounded by incredible beauty which is freely given. It has no price tag. Perhaps some of the acquisitiveness in our culture would cease or at least diminish if those with a passion for beauty would simply look around. As Scott

Russell Sanders writes:

Because the Creation puts on a nonstop show, beauty is free and inexhaustible, but we need training in order to perceive more than the most obvious kinds (Sanders 252).

Lyricism also has value because exposure to lyrical beauty can be an important part of this "training." This in turn may lead to a less acquisitive nature, as the less obvious kinds of beauty that Sanders refers to tend to be less materialistic or, at the very least, less susceptible to acquisition. 130 A related function of the lyrical experience is to know the detachment that comes with that experience, and to become familiar with at least one passion that is not overwhelming. In this way, the search for new sensations, for example, among young people who might otherwise turn to drugs, can become something more constructive. As we have seen in Chapter One, this aesthetic emotion is a rare blend of passion and detachment. Unlike so many other emotions which sweep us away, sometimes causing us to be blinded by self-interest, the lyrical response allows us to feel deeply and yet keep our objectivity. This kind of emotion may even serve as an antidote to the violent, all-consuming emotions which cause so much suffering in the world.

These functions of the lyrical experience are easy to relate to the Edenic views of nature seen in Kurosawa and

Malick. The violent emotions exhibited by many people in their films usually erupt in the midst of a natural world which appears to be pure and innocent, gentle and simple, nurturing and good. Whether or not nature in its entirety exhibits these qualities is another question. In these films, the irony that abject human misery is taking place in peaceful, beautiful surroundings reminds us that we have much to learn from nature. This in turn might mitigate human feelings of arrogance and superiority that cause us to exploit and destroy nature. And even if the lyrical experience had no value beyond this, that capacity alone . ------

131 would make it a profoundly valuable experience in fact, a priceless one. 132 WORKS CITED

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