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Film Research Academy Third Paper
Film Essay by Takashi Fujimura: "Psychological Authenticity and Film History"
This essay is a compilation of the two separate parts originally published on March 16, 2007, titled "Part 1" and "Part 2."
Films must be considered according to the
rules of film. This is the central theme of the Film Research Seminar essay
theme, "Psychological Authenticity and Film History."The unfamiliar
term "psychological authenticity" rarely appears in general film
magazines or film programs. However, this term, and this choice, has played a
crucial role in determining film history.
★What is "psychological
authenticity"?
So what exactly is "psychological authenticity"? Let me begin by briefly defining it. A "psychologically plausible film" is one that focuses on plausible psychological (internal) acting and direction in order to portray the concrete reality of the events and the psychological veracity of the characters as convincing.
Simply put, it refers to a film in which the actions of the characters and the unfolding of events are based on plausible causal
relationships or motives.For example, imagine a film scene in which a woman kills a man. First, there is the action (event) of "the woman killing the man." Unless omitted, this action is unmistakably visually present before us on the screen. However, this alone does not explain the woman's motive for killing the man. This is because motives are invisible, invisible to the eye, and cannot be determined from visible actions alone. In order to make this invisible motive easy to understand for us, the film audience, filmmakers attempt to present it in a "psychologically plausible" manner through various methods, such as the script, the actors' facial expressions, and direction. This is none other than "psychological plausibility."
★The Relationship Between Narrative and "Psychological Verisimilitude"
First, let's take a broad look at what a narrative is.
Jean-Luc Godard defined "storytelling" as,
"a narrative that typically has a
beginning and a prologue, followed by a middle section and an ending"
("Godard: History of Cinema I 100"). Furthermore, in
"Introduction to Film Semiotics 166," he writes that a narrative "recounts
two or more events, logically connected, occurring over time, and organized
into a coherent whole by a consistent theme." In fact, the word
"narrative" is used in a variety of ways, and there are various
terms, such as "narrative," "plot," and "story,"
which can be confusing. Below, I'd like to consider narrative and plot
separately.
● A. Story
● B. Plot
This is "an artistic construction or distortion of the causal, chronological sequence of events" ("Introduction to Film Semiotics," 69), in which the story progresses through cause and effect, such that this happened, "because" this happened. When we think of "story," we usually mean this plot. A plot is a sequence of time and events abstracted and rearranged by screenwriters and directors, and is the story we perceive as a "summary" when we watch a film.
When Jean-Luc Godard said, "I've always tried to tell stories, because the appeal of cinema lies in the story. But after seven or eight years of making films, I realized I didn't know how to tell a story" (History of Cinema II, 294), it can be assumed that he is using the word "story" in a sense similar to plot.
★The Relationship Between "Psychological Verisimilitude" and Narrative Theory
"Psychological verisimilitude" is fundamentally related to B's plot. A plot is constructed by human hands, governed by logic and motivation. This motivation and logic are nothing other than "psychological verisimilitude." At the same time, this "psychological verisimilitude" theory can be said to emphasize the bare narrative of film in the sense of A. However, "psychological verisimilitude" does not reject the plot itself. Since film is an abstraction based on perspective, it is virtually impossible to imagine a film that is 100% free of structure, nor is there any action that is 100% devoid of motivation. Therefore, "psychological verisimilitude" can be said to be a matter of degree. However, even though it is a matter of degree, it is a definite and undeniably significant difference. However, since the terms "story" and "plot" are used in a variety of ways, in this paper I will refer to all of these terms collectively as "story" and focus my discussion on the problem of story being governed by "psychological verisimilitude."
★Why did film incorporate "psychological verisimilitude"?
The history of stories based on "psychological verisimilitude" could be said to be the history of Hollywood itself. The most distinctive feature of Hollywood film stories is, without a doubt, their ease of understanding. This "ease of understanding" can be understood as being nearly synonymous with "psychological verisimilitude." The motives and reasons behind characters' actions and events are presented to us in a truly understandable way. We trace the psychology of Hollywood characters and identify with them. As Edgar Morin said, "The fundamental feature of star worship is identification" ("Star" 107), it is with the help of "psychological verisimilitude" that we experience film stories alongside the stars. Until then, Hollywood had still lost its leading position in the global film industry to European film powerhouses like Italy and France. The reason it was able to continue its dominance as the world's largest "dream factory" after World War I was largely due to its ability to broadcast easy-to-understand stories based on this "psychological verisimilitude" to the world. Here is an introductory film book called "The Grammar of Cinema," written by a Uruguayan named Daniel Arijon. It reads:
"All movement must be motivated, or appear to be motivated. This is an ancient, golden rule of stage staging, whether in front of a theater audience or a camera on a film set. The most natural reason for movement is the dialogue itself. Movement is most effective when it is the result of emotion ("The Grammar of Cinema," 652)." This indicates that the book is written according to classic Hollywood grammar. It places great importance on the motivations behind characters' actions in film, in other words, "psychological verisimilitude," and at the same time, it describes how these rules are heavily based on principles derived from theater.
★Is "psychological verisimilitude" a narrative law derived from the essence of film?
But does film necessarily have to accept the application of the laws of theater, a completely different medium? Why do we have to simply abide by the narrative laws based on "psychological verisimilitude" created by Hollywood?
Shinji Aoyama speaks about "psychological verisimilitude."
"As long as film continues to be forced to collude with commerce, it is naturally obligated to belong to the category of 'verisimilitude.' This is because it is directly linked to the 'understandability' of the world of language that 'commerce' demands" ("I Discovered Cinema" 47)."
Edgar Morin also speaks in the same way.
"As a narrative system, film naturally becomes a logical, directive, and literal discourse (discourse) through the effect of internal structures such as scripts, storyboards, and plots." ("Film, or Imaginary Man")
It seems that this narrative principle of "psychological verisimilitude" was not conceived from the perspective of "what is film?"
Film has another history.
It is the history of people who, rather than subordinate film to other fields or arts, continued to think purely about "what is film." It is also the history of film, a struggle among those who believed that "psychological verisimilitude" was the enemy of film.
In this essay, I will briefly limit my personal opinions to annotations and introduce this "other history" here, quoting extensively. You will experience another history of film that you will never see on television, in newspapers, or in film magazines. The quotes are a bit long, but they are worth it, and it's well worth knowing
★ Historical Considerations on Narrative and "Psychological Verisimilitude"
Here, I would like to first briefly examine historical statements about "psychological verisimilitude" in relation to narratology.
Jean Renoir said,
"I am not convinced by the idea that artistic balance must be a narrative balance" ("Auteurism" 78).
What does this mean?
Jean Renoir also said,
"I prefer B-movies to pretentious psychological epics" ("Nocturne 8" 120).
André Bazin, a critic famous as one of the fathers of the New Wave along with Henri Langlou, said:
"The casting in Renoir's films is unrealistic. Characters do not act based on psychological verisimilitude or their own personalities. Realism is not about extracting reality from ideas, but extracting ideas from reality" ("Jean Renoir" 129). "
Yamada Koichi states, "Renoir placed more importance on the emotions and gestures of the actors (i.e., real people) at the time than on the conceptual or even psychological drama written in the script. He completely ignored psychological patterns, such as people shedding tears when sad, and instead tried to capture on camera the natural expressions and movements of the actors as they laughed, just as they were, depending on their mood at the time ("Friend of the Cinema, My Nouvelle Vague" 268)."
You should definitely take a look at Jean Renoir's "The Rules of the Game" (1939). There is no clear motive behind this dizzying love story.
Let's move from France to Italy.
Regarding Federico Fellini's "I Vitelloni" (August 26, 1953), André Bazin commented,
"They make no attempt to reveal to us what we are accustomed to call 'psychology.' Fellini's protagonist is not a 'personality,' but a way of being, a way of life. Therefore, the director can define his entire being through his behavior: the way he walks, the way he dresses, the way he cuts his hair and mustache, his dark glasses, and so on" (What is Cinema III, 201).
Roberto Rossellini poignantly confessed, "I abhor the logical continuation of the subject. It is utterly unbearable to shoot a scene that, while useful for the continuation of the story, is not decisive" (Cinema 10, 36).
● A brief summary
To summarize the terms used so far: I would like to try it out.
"Narrative balance," "psychology," "psychological," "psychological drama," "logical continuation of the theme," "continuation of the narrative (plot)"... Words like these are used interchangeably with "psychological verisimilitude," and André Bazin uses the term "psychological verisimilitude" itself.
It is clear that filmmakers like Jean Renoir and Roberto Rossellini have a negative understanding of words like "psychology" and "narrative."
They abhor telling stories in an easy-to-understand, logical, or causal way, and critics like André Bazin and Yamada Koichi find these very aspects to be admirable.
Why is not telling a story so admirable? This is sure to confuse most film fans.
I would like to continue quoting.
★Further Quotes
Jean-Luc Godard said:
"If cinema is merely the art of narrative, then the motive for action is important. But cinema is a new gaze cast upon an object at each moment. Therefore, rather than acting upon it, cinema pierces it, capturing what lies within it and awaits abstraction" ("The Complete Sayings of Godard I," 123).
The term "motive for action" mentioned by Godard here is also used interchangeably with "psychological verisimilitude."
Furthermore, regarding Godard's admired director, Kenji Mizoguchi, Philippe Dumontsablon emphasized the importance of portraying human beings over psychological portrayals, stating, "If the slightest gesture of an individual makes us reflect on what it means to be human, then psychological portrayals are meaningless" ("Contemporary Cinema 4: Kenji Mizoguchi" 185). In fact, Kanji Tonomura has written in detail about how on the set of Kenji Mizoguchi's "Sanshou Dayuu," Kenji completely omitted "psychological portrayals" during his direction ("Kenji Mizoguchi Collected Works" 123).
Furthermore, film scholar Dudley Andrew has stated that "Sanshou Dayuu" emerges from a folktale-like style unrelated to the cumbersome psychologicalism of modern novels ("Film Director Kenji Mizoguchi" 301).
In letters to screenwriter Yoda Yoshikata during the writing process of "Ugetsu Monogatari," Mizoguchi Kenji himself repeatedly wrote, "Don't include explanatory dialogue" ("Mizoguchi Kenji: The Man and Art" 233, 234). "Explanatory dialogue" refers to dialogue that verbally explains the motives of actions.
Orson Welles, the director of "Citizen Kane," is said to have "rejected literary screenplays with comprehensive plots" ("Contemporary Cinema 9: Orson Welles" 31) and "had a great aversion to sentimental bourgeois logic" ("Auteurism 3" 50).
They constantly emphasize a distance from psychology.
●This is getting long, so I'll continue in bullet points.
Jean Cocteau
"People insist that films must prove something; they want a message. But the most trivial episode, the most trivial plot point, proves far more than anything else." ("Dialogues on the Cinematograph" 143)
Alfred Hitchcock
"I'm not interested in 'film-ness.' It's just a waste of time." (Art of the Cinema, 86)
"Critics who are only concerned with making the story coherent and are obsessed with things like authenticity are insensitive and lack imagination." (Art of the Cinema, 88)
François Truffaut
"The cardinal rule of Lubitsch and Hitchcock is not to talk about the story." (Dreams of Cinema, Criticism of Dreams, 136)
"Critics have a habit of analyzing the structure of the story as they watch, so they tend to easily dismiss a structure that doesn't stand up to logical analysis as a weakness in the film itself." (Art of the Cinema, 86)" (Speaking of François Truffaut, in his historical essay "Certain Tendencies in French Cinema," He famously dismissed the "screenwriter's film" based on the "high-quality tradition" of French cinema as psychological realism, earning him the reputation of being feared as the gravedigger of French cinema ("Cine Bravo 3" 9).
Inuhiko Yomota
"When a character appears as a dot in a landscape, a decentered visual allure that transcends mere psychological representation prevails, and the screen is enveloped in an anonymous sensuality" ("People Call It Film" 289)
Shigehiko Hasumi
"The oppression of narrative" ("Cinema's Memory" 83)
"The only ethical stance is to actively play with the absurdity of absurdity" ("Cinema's Memory" 121)
The above is just a small excerpt.
●Why "Psychological Verisimilitude" is the Enemy of Film
The essay finally approaches its main theme.
Why are they so hostile to and trying to eliminate "psychologically verisimilitude" stories? Here's a very clear and understandable essay by Akihiko Shiota, which I highly recommend you take a look at.
"When the inherently complex and bizarre inner world of a character is replaced with the word 'psychology,' that is, when a writer approaches a so-called psychological character, that psychology often confines the character's actions within a logic like 'A, therefore B,' and restricts their behavior. Furthermore, by confining actions within logic, the character's personality traits—its character—are robbed. As a result, the writer unconsciously begins to pursue the "psychology of what it means to be human" rather than "the psychology of this person." At some point, the screenplay loses sight of the individual specificity and unconsciously eliminates the kind of cinematic "event-likeness" that should be created by the characters' actions or the depiction of those actions." And sometimes the entire film can turn into a mere "explanation" of some concept, like "human psychology." Would people find it interesting to watch a film not as an "experience" of "events" but as a "lecture" on "meaning"? In that case, what power can film boast over words? Films aren't made simply to convince audiences. Rather, they exist to surprise and surprise, to give them the joy of discovery, and, if possible, to inspire them to take some kind of action. ("Film Lessons" 51)
In very easy-to-understand terms, Shiota explains how overly pushing "psychological authenticity" can kill a film.
Why, then, does a film need to tell a psychological story with a strong causal relationship of beginning, development, twist, and conclusion? Are our lives governed by such a simple and clear logic? What is human richness? Can human richness be confined within such a restrictive logic?
"Psychological verisimilitude"...at least, it's a law that was already established and commercially established before we even considered "what is film," and there's no reason for us to follow this view of film. We should pursue "what is film" from a cinematic perspective.
★Now, here's the problem.
I wrote that "psychological verisimilitude" is a way of telling a story that was created largely out of commercial imperatives, before people even considered "what is film." In response, I also wrote that, naturally, we should think about cinematic stories independently. This is the starting point for our discussion.
Why can't we think about films by the rules of film?
●The Doctrine of Partial Society
Schools have their own rules. Religious corporations have their own rules. Baseball has its own rules. Sumo has its own rules. What would happen if we applied general civil law—that is, external laws and regulations—to these organizations?
For example, what would happen if we applied general social rules like freedom of hairstyle and clothing to schools and the sumo world, or freedom of career choice to the baseball draft system?
Organizations would fall into chaos and collapse. Schools would lose their educational function, private schools would lose their school spirit, and religious corporations would lose their freedom of religion.
This is because each world has its own essence, purpose, and objective that are distinct from those of society at large.
This is why organizations are allowed to have their own unique rules. This is known as the "doctrine of partial society," and constitutional precedents grant organizations a certain degree of autonomy through their own rules.
Naturally, the arts are no exception. Music has been governed by its own rules, painting by its own rules, and novels by its own rules, and this is precisely what it means to protect and love the fields in which one is involved.
●So, what about our films?
Have films been thought about and treated according to the rules of cinema?
Can we say that a narrative structure based on "psychological verisimilitude" is derived from the essence of cinema? Can we say that it is a law that inevitably arises from applying the rules of cinema?
"Psychological verisimilitude" is largely nothing more than a narrative rule applied in accordance with Hollywood's commercial logic, not a rule that was devised by returning to the essence of film itself.
The rules of cinema should be applied to films.
At the very least, we should first and foremost consider the rules of cinema when it comes to films.
So what are the rules of cinema? What is cinema?
★What is film?
If we could answer this bold question, this site wouldn't exist. For now, I'd like to briefly introduce past discourses on film and give a rough idea of the relationship between film and "psychological truth."
Canude, the French theorist who first called film the seventh art,
declared, "Film is a plastic art in motion, an art of time and space" ("Aesthetics of Cinema" 10), and was an early critic of the dangers of linking film to psychological theater.
French female writer Julmaine Dulac
preached, "Movement is the soul of film and must not be subordinated to drama or theme" ("Aesthetics of Cinema" 14). Henri Agel praised her for "rejecting all narrative, psychological, and dramatic elements subordinated to literary tradition" ("Aesthetics of Cinema" 16).
Élie Fohr, France's first film aesthetician,
said, "Film is architecture in motion."
Furthermore, Edgar Morin
declared, "Movement is the mana of cinema" (Cinema 160).
This movement-oriented view of film is at the root of the avant-garde cinema that flourished in France.
In a similar vein, critic Béla Balazs
says, "Film is a surface art in which the spirit is embodied. It does not substitute words for gestures, but is something that words (concepts) can never clearly achieve. The spirit directly becomes flesh, ceases to speak, and becomes visible" (The Visual Man, 35, 28).
"Film is a visual art, and its purely visual value is one of its highest values" (The Spirit of Cinema, 81).
Gilbert Cohen-Séat states,
"Filmological fact combines the technique of forming various forms (figure) with the technique of unfolding them simultaneously in time and space (movement)" (Filmology 221).
Mack Sennett, the king of comedy, succinctly states,
"Comedy lies not in words, but in movement. Movement is everything in cinema" (Zanuck 76).
Shigehiko Hasumi states, "Action films are the movement of the film itself, not the film of movement" (Cinema's Memory System 201).
André Bazin further states:
"Film (or realism) is not an imitation but a reproduction, a substantial connection between signs (film) and objects (nature). The internal and the external, the mental and the physical, the conceptual and the material are inextricably linked, and film is the vivid exposure of the former on the latter (film). It does not signify, but reveals. Objects are fragments of raw reality, and their meaning emerges only a posteriori from the raw facts that the mind associates with them" ("Signs and Meaning in Film," 156).
● A brief summary: movement, exposure, body, visible, visual, fragment, action... Try to visualize the words they used in your mind once again.
You should see that these words maintain a complete distance from the semantic meanings that come from "psychological verisimilitude," and instead are commonly used to describe tactile things like movement, experience, exposure, and the surprise these bring.
As Hasumi Shigehiko says, "film affects the body, not the mind" ("Cinema's Memory Unit" 22), film is action, and rather than semantic verisimilitude, it is about accepting the vivid exposure emanating from the screen itself as a surprise.
Baudelaire states, "Irregularity—the unexpected, the unexpected, the surprising—is an essential part and characteristic of beauty" ("The Intimate Diary of Baudelaire").
Do not the vast majority of movie fans and critics watch films based on their satisfaction? This is a crucial point, and one that I, and others, should thoroughly consider.
In these works, the surprise of the combination of events is emphasized more than the surprise of the events themselves. Moviegoers are glued to the screen, logically "reading" the screen, using their left brain to the fullest, trying to make sense of the story.
As long as moviegoers base their film-watching experience on satisfaction, demand will drive supply, and there's a danger that mediocre films that place emphasis on satisfying moviegoers will continue to be produced.
The mindset of watching a film to be satisfied places the film below oneself. It's like judging a film with one's arms crossed.
Conversely, the experience of being surprised is overwhelming, and it treats the film as something above oneself. This is why we can respect, love, and want to protect it.
Movie fans say they love movies, but they are killing them. They are transferring the cost of not wanting to be hurt into movies.
★The Relationship Between Convincingness and "Psychological Authenticity"
Perhaps the excessive demand for "psychological authenticity" in films stems from this desire to be convinced. Filmmaking based on "psychological authenticity," which seeks motivation in characters' actions, is a method for convincing viewers.
At that point, aren't we despising film?
At the same time, "psychological authenticity" is an explanation of psychology. In the visual medium of film, excessively pushing this invisible "psychological authenticity" can be extremely dangerous, degrading film, a visual medium, from "watching" to "reading."
Shigehiko Hasumi says:
"A film whose psychological cost-benefit calculations ultimately add up is worthless (summary)" ("Movie Maniac Speaks" 195)
It has long been said that film is the greatest discovery of the 20th century.
As exemplified by war films and television footage from the Gulf War, images are a dangerous medium that can easily be manipulated. Never before have we been questioned more about how we "view" images than we are now.
Even in these times, many people remain obsessed with "reading" images. I'll discuss this point later, but dealing with the temptation to "read"—including myself—is a major issue.
Before delving into what it means to "view" a film, I'd like to discuss psychological acting and psychological close-ups.
★Actors' Psychological Acting
The theory of "psychological verisimilitude" is evident not only in general storytelling and scriptwriting, but also in actors' performances, cinematography, and other aspects. The discourse of the aforementioned filmmakers is in fact closely intertwined with various codes, including those of actors, cinematography, and close-ups. Therefore, we should always approach "psychological verisimilitude" from a holistic perspective. Here, I would like to consider acting and close-ups as separate topics.
●Stage Acting and Film Acting
First, let's consider "psychologically verisimilitude."
"Psychologically verisimilitude" refers to acting that explains the character's psychology.
Most early film actors were stage actors.
"In early film, actors were deprived of words, so they expressed themselves through gestures. However, between 1915 and 1920, their bodies gradually stopped gesturing, and their faces became immobile. Despite the absence of words, actors' performances lost their theatrical quality due to the development of film technology. Then, talkies delivered the final blow" ("Star" 127). As Edgar Morin writes, in the early days of film, film actors used the exaggerated gestures characteristic of theater to explain the character's psychology.
André Bazin writes on this point:
"In the classical view of theatre, acting expresses something—an emotion, a passion, a desire, an idea. Through his attitude, gestures, and facial expressions, he allows the audience to read something as if it were an open book on his face. There is a tacit understanding between the audience and the actor that the same psychological causes produce the same physical results. This is what we call acting = play. The various elements of direction (backgrounds, lighting, camera angles, and screen composition) arise from this and, like the actors' actions, are more or less expressionistic" (What is Cinema? III, 106).
Broadly speaking, acting in theatre can be said to directly express one's inner psychological state through outward facial expressions, gestures, and hand movements. Since most plays are "long shots" and lack the montage, close-ups, and microphones found in film, it's only natural that voices and gestures become louder.
●Why should "psychologically plausible acting" be rejected?
As Shiota writes in the aforementioned passage, film runs the risk of drifting toward the explanation of ideas rather than its inherent movement.
Jean-Luc Godard said:
"The essential task of the actor who fabricates the psychology of a character is to readjust himself" ("The Complete Statements of Godard II" 122).
I would like to consider this issue more deeply, from the perspective of film's essential aspects. One such example is Mozhubhin.
●Kuleshov's Experiments and Mozhubhin
Lev Kuleshov was a teacher at the Russian State Film School and a film director with a background in stage design who also taught Eisenstein. He became a historic figure thanks to a certain experiment in montage.
In this experiment, Kuleshov linked a close-up of the expressionless face of the actor "Mozukhin" selected from his early films with (1) a plate of soup, (2) a corpse, and (3) a fragment of film depicting a nude woman, and screened these images in front of an unsuspecting audience. Without exception, everyone commented that Mozukhin brilliantly expressed the succession of emotions: hunger in (1), anguish in (2), and desire in (3).
What the audience demonstrated in Kuleshov's experiment was what might be called a logical conditioned reflex; they assigned "psychologically plausible" meaning to the two images based on the context of the close-up of Mozukhin's expressionless face and the next frame.
What is important here is the fact that, even without the actors' "psychologically plausible acting," the audience already assigned "psychologically plausible" meaning to the images through the mere sequence of images that makes up the montage.
●Montage and "Psychological Authenticity"
Christian Metz writes, "One photograph never tells a story; two photographs begin to. When two images appear one after the other, the human (filmmaker's and audience's) mind seems compelled to recognize a single thread" ("Anthology of Film Theory" 225, 226).
The thread referred to here is perhaps the "psychological authenticity" of montage.
The montage of Mozhukhin's close-up and the next shot leads us to arbitrarily interpret one plus one as three or four.
"Montage is the abstract creator of meaning" ("What is Cinema? II" 162)
André Bazin's statement that "montage is the creation of a meaning not objectively contained in various images, a meaning that arises solely from the relationship between those images" ("What is Cinema? II" 179) is likely a similar idea.
●The Problems with Kuleshov's Experiment
Jean Mitry points out the problems with Kuleshov's experiment.
He argues that what the audience receives through this montage is merely an invisible meaning—a concept or an imaged idea—rather than anything visual. He contrasts it with Eisenstein's montage, which chains "emotion" to "concept," and warns that the meaning received by the audience in Kuleshov's experiment is anti-cinematic ("Film Theory Anthology," 206ff.).
What Jean Mitry writes here is likely along the same lines as this theory of "psychological verisimilitude."
Kleshov's montage is merely a mediocre sequence of frames that merely "allows" the viewer to "read" the film. What the audience receives is merely an invisible meaning or concept, and they are never visually overwhelmed by the image.
●Why is psychological acting problematic?
Kuleshov's experiment thus demonstrated that one of the essential characteristics of montage, the sequence of images, is the danger of reading the screen. When images are sequenced, we tend to "read" them by assigning them "psychological verisimilitude."
Thus, cinematic montage (the sequence of images) already poses the risk of leading us, the audience, to interpret the story in a meaningful (realistic) way. What happens when actors also externalize their inner psyches?
The screen becomes saturated with psychology.
This is problematic because psychology is invisible, unseen. Filling the screen of a visible medium like film with the invisible runs the risk of promoting the habit of "reading" film and undermining the attitude of "watching" it.
Attempting to bring the invisible, "psychological verisimilitude," onto the screen is nothing more than an attempt to have the film "read."
●From the Right Brain to the Left Brain
As Christian Metz writes, "When the narrative takes over, the image as a setting fades into the background" ("Cinema Theory, 225"). If we continue to rely too heavily on the film medium for left-brained tasks like "psychological authenticity," conviction, and logic, film will gradually lose its inherently visual and experiential, right-brained qualities and be in danger of being transformed into a left-brained medium—ideal, logical, and linguistic.
In fact, "danger" is a bit of an understatement.
Most film critics and fans are already caught up in this "left-brained reading of films."
Edgar Morin says:
"As Kuleshov's experiments suggest, a given situation and its elements (objects and devices) can play a larger role than the actor and can act in his place. In theater, the actor illuminates the situation; in film, the situation illuminates the actor. In theater, the devices merely indicate and suggest location; in film, they invade the characters' faces" ("Star" 131)."
"Film destroys exaggeration, dedramatizing and weakening the actor's performance. This is because film is composed of fragmented shots and the acting is automatic" ("Star" 129)."
This means that the film device itself inherently rejects the actor's psychological performance.
However, the term "acting school" exists in film history, and theatrical actors who grotesquely destroy a film with their psychological overacting have historically been treated as great actors.
●What exactly is "psychological acting"?
First, let me ask you to listen to the words of the great actress Lillian Gish.
"Make an expression without contorting your face. Frown without grimacing" (The Autobiography of Lillian Gish, 120).
"Exaggerated gestures and grimaces may
look good on stage, but when the camera captures them up close, they become
unsightly and overacted" (The Autobiography of Lillian Gish, 201).
Frowning and exaggerated gestures are cited as
examples of "psychologically believable acting."
Nakamura Ganjiro, who starred in Kenji Mizoguchi's 「Geidou Ichidai Otoko」(1941.2.9) was repeatedly criticized by Mizoguchi for acting with his eyes, saying, "You're acting with your eyes. In the end, he even said it was your eyeballs that were acting." ("Kenji Mizoguchi: The Man and His Art 119").
What does it mean to act with your eyes?
For example, Alfred Hitchcock, regarding Paul Newman's performance in "Torn Curtain" (July 14, 1966),
said negatively, "Paul Newman hated acting with an expressionless, neutral gaze" ("Hitchcock & Truffaut's Cinematography" 321).
Raoul Walsh, when asked why Robert Ryan failed to become a star, answered, "Because Robert Ryan's gaze is not transparent" ("Movie Madman's Cinema Dictionary" 61).
"Not transparent" means "too much meaning."
"Acting with your eyes" refers to explaining your inner thoughts (psychology) through eye movements, blinking, etc.
When watching TV dramas, many actors blink
frequently and move their eyes back and forth to express inner turmoil and
other emotional changes. This is typical psychological acting, and while it
might be understandable on a small TV screen, when done on a big movie theater
screen it becomes truly "psychologically believable acting." The same
goes for grimacing. Any exaggerated acting that expresses inner thoughts by
distorting the face has been thoroughly rejected in the history of cinema as a grimacing
face.
The same is true of Shigehiko Hasumi, who said, "A great actor is not satisfied unless he convinces the audience that they are watching something. But in film, that is not a big deal" ("Film Maniac Cinema Dictionary" 62). Similarly, Shigehiko Hasumi states, "There are faces that are unforgettable even if they do nothing, and that is the difference between so-called theatrical acting and film" ("Quarterly Lumiere 6" 74).
All of these statements clearly demonstrate that actors are a breed that cannot help but act by displaying their psychological state on the surface.
The reason we feel a strange emotion toward Anna Karina in Godard's many films is largely due to the mysterious charm of her acting, which deviates greatly from the common patterns of psychologicalism. She neither cries when sad nor laughs when funny; it's impossible to understand what she's thinking.
and F.W. Murnau of "Sunrise" simply said, "Don't act, think" ("Star" 141).
The same can be said of the actors in Takeshi Kitano's films, whose speaking style clearly ignores psychology.
★ Psychological Close-Up
Psychological acting, which exposes the inner self to the outside world, runs the risk of binding film to invisible motives and logic.
The term "psychological close-up" is often used in discussions based on the same principles as psychological acting theory.
This is a restatement of the theory of "psychological authenticity" from the perspective of cinematography, and what I wrote about psychological acting also applies here. However, because close-ups are a discovery unique to film, I would like to discuss them separately.
● What is a Psychological Close-Up?
A psychological close-up is the act of capturing psychological acting in close-up on a face. So why is this psychological close-up a separate issue from psychological acting?
Earlier, I wrote, "Not only is film montage designed to allow us, the audience, to interpret the story logically, but if actors also push their inner psychology outward, the film screen becomes saturated with "psychology."
Add to that the psychological effect of a large close-up of a face on a large screen, and the movie theater screen quickly becomes a psychological flower garden!
Hasumi Shigehiko says that films have "psychological faces and screen faces" ("Cinema's Memory Devices" 260), and succinctly concludes that "close-ups that exaggerate psychological explanations have corrupted film" ("Movie Madman's Cinema Dictionary" 9).
The close-up is cinema's greatest discovery, and it was D.W. Griffith who unleashed it on the level of art. Béla Balázs, Jean-Luc Godard, and Hasumi Shigehiko all love close-ups.
But at the same time, we must not forget these words: "There's nothing easier than taking a close-up." Roberto Rossellini (Auteurism, 125)
"A close-up has nothing to do with composition; it's all about the frame." Vilmos Zsigmond (Master of Light, 355)
"A close-up of an actress is easy, as long as you know where to place the light." Philip Lathrop (Lumiere Quarterly, 2, 93)
In contemporary cinema, close-ups have become synonymous with easy escape. And yet, these very easy-to-follow films often feature psychological close-ups. A glance at a certain film magazine's top ten list reveals the widespread popularity of blatant tearjerkers, lacking any cinematic talent. They rely on simple close-ups to quickly and sentimentally tell psychologically charged stories, hoping to get the audience in tears.
●A surprising example: John Ford
Incidentally, Kiyoshi Kurosawa once said, "There is not a single explanatory close-up in John Ford's films" ("Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Film Technique" 107). The "explanatory close-up" he refers to is a "psychological close-up."
However, surprisingly, John Ford's films also contain "psychological close-ups."
Kurosawa Kiyoshi's mentor, Hasumi Shigehiko, dismisses the close-up of John Wayne at a window the morning after Claude Jarman Jr.'s fight with Fred Kennedy in "RIO GRANDE" (November 1, 1950) as a "psychological close-up" (Bungakukai, March 2005 issue, p. 140).
I highly recommend that you watch this scene and burn into your mind what a psychological close-up or psychological acting is. Even John Ford sometimes used shots like this.However, this shot is much calmer than the typical "psychological close-up." If anything, the close-up taken in "The Grapes of Wrath" (March 15, 1940), in which Jane Darwell looks at herself in the mirror wearing earrings as her family leaves the farm and sets off for the West by car, is a typical example of a "psychological close-up" (added May 3, 2023)。
★What Should We Do?
Movies today are saturated with "psychological verisimilitude." What should we do if we've become accustomed to "reading" images dominated by this "psychological verisimilitude"? Resentment won't get us anywhere. We need to seriously consider what we should do.
★ What is the opposite of "psychological verisimilitude"?
So, what must we do to free film from "psychological verisimilitude" and restore its inherent movement and freedom to the screen? What exactly is the opposite of "psychological verisimilitude"?
"Psychological verisimilitude" is like a logical chain, where each scene, sequence, and performance in a film is strung together like beads.
If that's the case, then the opposite of "psychological verisimilitude" is something that can tear apart that chain and free each individual event to its own freedom. The richness of being able to throw yourself entirely into free movement, unconstrained by motive or logic...
●Fragments, Event-like Nature
While filming "The River" (1950/August 30, 1951), Jean Renoir stated,
"I gradually came to understand that it was possible to deliberately release fragments that were purely poetic and unrelated to the development of the story" (Nocturne 8, 122). Here, Jean Renoir uses the word "fragments."
Commenting on Jean Renoir, Godard said,
"Renoir doesn't plan out the events that should occur in his films in an attempt to better connect them. In fact, he is more concerned with the rawness of the emotions than with the way they spread ("Complete Statements of Godard" 125)."
Similarly, Jean-Luc Godard said:
"In American Westerns, someone often appears from nowhere, pushes open the door to a bar, and then disappears at the end. That's all there is to it; it's just a fragment of that character, but strangely, that fragment has the power to make people believe they've lived a whole story." He continued, "Therein lies the power of the Americans. Others can't do that. They're forced to tell stories with a beginning and a prologue, then a middle and an ending. I've always felt constricted by that. I just can't do it." He also said, "When Westerns are made, they don't particularly depict psychology" ("Godard Complete Statements" 584).
I wrote about how the power of Westerns as action films lies in their fragmentary nature in my essay "Westerns and Gunfighters" (I'm not sure if I'll post it later).
To summarize it once more in an easy-to-understand way,
In a Western, a gunslinger appears out of nowhere and going away somewhere. Because the gunslinger is a character whose past and future need not be explained, the film need only focus on depicting the gunslinger's present. The Western genre is inherently capable of focusing on depicting only the present, a fragment of time that stretches from the past through the present and into the future.
This is what happens when you make this "psychologically verisimilitude."
A man arrives in town. He explains to the townspeople, "I came from here and for this reason." Flashbacks are introduced, and the character's past and present begin to connect. This makes the film itself "psychologically verisimilitude." The man then talks about his dreams for the future. The film becomes even more "psychologically verisimilitude." The man's past and future are presented to us, making it easier to understand the reasons for his current actions. We discover motivations in his actions and are convinced of them. This is how the film achieves "psychological verisimilitude." However, the trade-off is that films become more explanatory and verbal, and the action is diminished. While many recent Westerns over two hours long are very easy to understand, they are no longer "Westerns."
The Western genre, by its very nature, is able to eliminate the danger of falling into this kind of "psychological verisimilitude." In that sense, the Western is an extremely cinematic and versatile genre.
Fragmentation is an extremely important theme that is paired with "psychological verisimilitude," so I would like to quote more about it.
●About Howard Hawks
I should talk about Howard Hawks here. Although Howard Hawks is a major Hollywood director—that is, someone who makes films within the chains of "psychological verisimilitude"—no other director is as capable as Howard Hawks of channeling the richness of fragmentary episodes into the richness of the entire film.
Howard Hawks
"A story is not as important as the individual episodes" ("Howard Hawks on Films 270"), emphasizing the importance of fragments.
Furthermore, he said that a film is "five good scenes, and as long as they don't annoy the audience, that's all that matters" ("Howard Hawks on Films 61). In fact, while filming "The Big Sleep" (August 22, 1946), he confessed, "I'm not going to explain the story. I just want to film the good scenes" ("Howard Hawks on Films 202"). He even went so far as to say that the characters "don't know why they do what they do" ("Howard Hawks on Films 279).
In the case of "The Big Sleep," even Raymond Chandler, the original author, didn't know who killed the driver; this story, steeped in mythical mystery, highlights Howard Hawks's presence as a writer of fragments.
In the case of "The Big Sleep," even Raymond Chandler, the original author, didn't know who killed the driver; this story, steeped in mythical mystery, highlights Howard Hawks's presence as a writer of fragments.
● Cutting Out Because It's Rich
Here, the "individual episodes" and "good scenes" that Howard Hawks uses are also synonymous with fragments. Think of the guitar and harmonica jam session between Dean Martin, Ricky Nelson, and Walter Brennan in "RIO BRAVO" (1958/March 8, 1959)
That scene could have been cut from the standpoint of "psychological authenticity," but let's imagine what would have happened if it had been cut.
However, this is actually what has happened in film history.
Koichi Yamada recalls the unbelievable fact that "In the 1971 revival of "HATARI!" (1961/June 19, 1962), the jam session scene was cut" (Quarterly Lumiere 8, 18). Apparently, the dreamily beautiful scene in which Elsa Martinelli plays piano and Red Buttons responds on harmonica was cut.
Why did the producers or organizers of "HATARI!" cut the jam session scene? Or rather, perhaps they thought they could. It was because the jam session scene was such a fragmentary episode that cutting it would not diminish the "psychological verisimilitude" or disrupt the film's narrative.
Howard Hawks brilliantly pointed out this when he said, "When I saw the list of scenes to be cut that his producers always brought me, I thought, 'Oh, I see, it's a list of things to keep'" ("Howard Hawks Discusses Films" 62). But how many wonderful fragments must have been buried by the producer's editing policy of keeping only what was necessary to the story?
●Alfred Hitchcock
Like Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock, who was championed by the New Wave's "Hitchcock-Hawkism," remained free from "psychological authenticity" despite being a major Hollywood director.
Alfred Hitchcock first stated, "I film pieces of a cake" ("The Art of Cinema" 89). Hitchcock boasts that the fragments of his films are as delicious as cakes. At the same time, he also stated, "I wrote the screenplay for 'The 39 Steps' (June 6, 1935) with the intention that each scene would be rich in content, and could be a small film in itself" ("The Art of Cinema" 82), again expressing his awareness of fragmentation.
François Truffaut, who championed the pairing of Howard Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock as the "Hitchcock-Hawksism" and the decisive weapon of the New Wave,
stated that "In Les Mistons"
(November 1957), he placed more importance on the cinematic impact of the shots
themselves than on realistic, sloppy transitions" (François Truffaut Film
Guide, 25). This phrase likely refers to the emphasis on the impact of each
shot as a fragment, before considering its relationship to the next shot, or
"transitions."
Furthermore, Robert Bresson, director of
"Pickpocket" (December 16, 1959) and "L'Argent" (May 16,
1983), responded to an interview with Jean-Luc Godard, "I can write here
and there, juxtaposing a few words. But I can't write a long, continuous strip.
I can't do it with continuity (summarized)" ("Auteurism" 454).
When I consider these statements, I can't help but feel that they all reveal the absurdity of depicting a visual medium according to the rules of an invisible medium. When the freedom of the fragments of film, a visual medium, is restricted and they are easily connected into a coherent plot through the invisible logic of "psychological verisimilitude," the film itself dies.
So these artists are attempting to beautifully liberate these scraps and fragments, first as fragments themselves. On this point, their opinions are completely unified. Their idea that a film is nothing more than an accumulation of fragments liberates their films into a fresh movement. They allow us to experience cinematic moments that can only be experienced in films that are unique to film.
● "Cheyenne (Cheyenne Autumn)" (October 3, 1964)
Here's John Ford's "Cheyenne." Let's take a look at the Dodge City sequence from this film. I've never seen such a rich and absurd sequence.
The important thing is to allow yourself to be freed into fragmentation and realize that this in itself is a cinematic richness.
● Television
That's why we now need filmmakers who can calmly surrender to the richness of fragmentation. And when it comes to this, the training ground isn't limited to film.
Jean-Luc Godard has repeatedly stated that one of the advantages of television is that it "accepts fragments" ("Godard: History of Cinema I," 101).
Most television programs are essentially serials, and whether they're animated or dramas, they are broadcast in weekly or daily installments, often in a continuous series. Therefore, each television episode is more about the ability to depict fragmentary events than it is about telling a "psychologically plausible story" dominated by a strong causal system of beginning, development, twist, and conclusion.
● Hayao Miyazaki
Here we have an animation creator named Hayao Miyazaki. Although he has now established himself as a feature film director, he is also famous for his numerous television anime series. When I watch Miyazaki's work, I sense that his television auteur, namely, his fragmented nature, has been carried over to his subsequent feature films.
Miyazaki's work has gradually evolved with "Princess Mononoke" (July 12, 1997), "Spirited Away" (July 20, 2001), and "Howl's Moving Castle" (November 20, 2004). This is not the place to discuss this in depth, but at least his feature-length films have evolved from films that were "like a collection of two or three episodes of a 20-episode TV anime" to larger collections of fragments, further moving away from "psychological authenticity." The fragmentary nature of his work is beginning to dissolve more fully into the whole.
★ "Princess Mononoke"
The Shishigami's heavy head, however laborious it may seem, was lifted by the two of them, using their combined strength. This was the first time the girl, who hated humans, collaborated with a human.
"Incomprehensibility" is a sense of distance from "psychological authenticity," something that is connected to richness. We must not dismiss it as incomprehensible.
● Defending
What should we defend now? What should we defend? I feel that this standard has never been more critical than it is now.
My standard is simple:
Reject writers who approach "psychological authenticity" and defend writers who move away from it.
● The Potential of Television
I've been thinking a lot about "television writer" Hayao Miyazaki.
Experiencing television is a privilege, affording us the opportunity to experience fragmentation and the potential for wonderful experiences. It all comes down to one's mindset. Frankly, television today is in a terrible state, but Hayao Miyazaki reminds us that we should not dismiss writers who emerge from television solely for that reason.
● What does it mean to depict fragmentation?
I've written above about the fragmentation and event-like quality of film.
Fragmentation is precisely the kind of richness that liberates film from the shackles of the mind and liberates it for movement.
However, to be able to portray these fragments richly in themselves requires cinematic observation of people, nature, things, and everything else. Cinematic talent is nothing other than the ability to portray each fragment richly and meticulously.
★Seeing
I've thought of fragments as the polar opposite of "psychological authenticity." But do we really look at those fragments? Did we really burn the collaborative work of the two actors in "Princess Mononoke" into our eyes? No matter how fragmentary a film may be and how rich its storytelling, if we don't see and feel those fragments, we lose sight of the value of the work and ultimately revert to the invisible coherence of "psychological authenticity" that leads to satisfaction. To avoid this, we have no choice but to "see" the images first and foremost.
However, while it's often referred to as "watching a film," actually watching images is not as easy as you might think. Of course, that's true for me, too.
As Christian Metz says, "When the narrative takes over, the image as a setting disappears into the background" ("Cinema Theory Anthology" 225), once we begin to imagine the invisible story of a film, the screen itself disappears from our minds.
●Jean-Luc Godard
Needless to say, Jean-Luc Godard is the man who has persistently spoken out about the difficulties of "seeing."
I have never been particularly fond of Godard, nor do I intend to become a "Godard cult" out of intimidation. However, when I delved into the important subject of "looking at a screen" in my own way, I realized that Godard and Shigehiko Hasumi were the only people, including critics and writers, who have truly thought about, spoken about, and written about it. As a result, please understand that I will be quoting these two men extensively.
The following is an excerpt from Jean-Luc Godard's discourse on "seeing."
"People are ruining their eyes by reading too much ("Godard's Complete Statements II" 214)"
"People are not interested in 'seeing' ("Godard's Complete Statements II" 236)"
"The times are repelling what can be seen with the eyes ("Godard's Complete Statements II" 240)"
"People are using their eyes to read, not to see. Soon people will no longer be able to see ("History of Cinema II" 326)"
"The first thing people see is what comes second (the text), not the image. The image comes first, but it always replaces it." It becomes invisible, like molten atoms ("Godard's Complete Statements II," 392).
Shigehiko Hasumi
It's now legendary that Shigehiko Hasumi's teaching method at Rikkyo University, when he taught students like Kiyoshi Kurosawa, was to "only talk about what can be seen" ("Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Film Technique," 26).
People want to talk about things they haven't seen, and they want to reach conclusions. Of course, the conclusions they can reach are limited to likes or dislikes. This is the current state of film criticism.
Therefore, So, in a conversation with an American critic who claimed that there is no such thing as scientific criticism, Godard responded:
"Show me evidence that will hold up in court. Whether you like it or not is of no concern to me" ("The Complete Sayings of Godard" Vol. 2, p. 366).
Film has a history that is just over 100 years old. During that time, people have continued to draw an awful lot of conclusions about things they have not even seen. In this context, both Godard and Hasumi Shigehiko have maintained the extremely strong belief that, because film is a visual medium, you should first see it before you make any judgments. They simply approach film with the attitude of an unethical manual laborer, fixated on what they have seen to an almost foolish degree.
"Traditional film tends to hide traces of speech acts. The purpose is to give the viewer the impression that they themselves are the subject of the film" ("Introduction to Film Semiotics," 348)."
This statement is likely based on theory of cutting and editing, but no matter how you look at it, Hollywood narrative films are inherently linked to a tendency to "hide the screen." This is precisely why we must now be conscious of "seeing."
●Synopsis Thinking
Synopsis encourages us to "read" rather than "watch" a film. The entire film industry, from everyone, professional to amateur, is infected with this synopsis disease.
What does it mean to synopsize a film? I'd like to quote here a discussion of plot synopsis that I wrote in a short review of Jean-Luc Godard's "Alphaville" (April 21, 1965) at "Second Screen."
Godard's "action," like Hitchcock's, does not seek a result. The fugitive is solely focused on the pure movement of "escape" and never attempts to "get away." The pursuer is solely focused on the pure movement of "chase" and never attempts to "catch."
The act of "chasing" becomes "story" and "logic" through "catching." The act of "escape" becomes "story" and "logic" through "escape." Film, a medium of visible movement, is approaching an "invisible plot."
Let's say there is a phenomenon in a movie where someone "escapes" and then "gets caught." We were to write this phenomenon in a "plot." Most people wouldn't write "He escaped." They would write "He got caught." Even if they did write "He escaped," they would definitely add "But he got caught." That's what a "plot" is, and while it's possible to write just "He got caught," it's never just "He escaped." Yet the visible movement and beauty of film lie in the act of "escape" and very little in the result of "getting caught." Nevertheless, plot-based thinking, which emphasizes the result of "getting caught," runs the risk of becoming increasingly distant from the act of "watching" a film. Through the act of "seeing," film is freed from the chains of language, and the movement of "escape" becomes present.
Look at a scene in a Hitchcock film where someone stabs another person. It's never an efficient stabbing directed toward the end result of "killing." Rather, it's as if the actor is kindly pointing out the act of "stabbing," as if to say, "I'm stabbing. I'm stabbing now." Rather than a narrative of results, it shows the movement of process. Recent films, on the other hand, have approached professional police officers and professional hitmen. However, what's important to them is the end result of "killing," not the method of killing. We should reconsider the fact that what is real is not necessarily compatible with film.
Godard's films never reach conclusions too easily. I don't think that's difficult to understand. ...(2022, some additions).
That's all.
This tendency to synopsize a film can lead to the foolish act of extracting only the "psychologically plausible parts," and there's no need to go into detail here about how dangerous this is. I'm not saying that writing a synopsis is absolutely bad. I'll admit that a synopsis is a valid part of a film's story (plot). However, the excessive emphasis on synopsis seen in contemporary film criticism undoubtedly eliminates the richness of film. Film is not inherently a medium suited to synopsis; as I've already mentioned, it is a medium suited to fragmentary expression.
Jean-Luc Godard
"We struggle to understand plot as something that explains its development, rather than through the unexpectedness of its development" ("Godard Complete Statements I" 125)
André Bazin
"Drama no longer exists in a 'plot' that people can separate from various events into a single synopsis; it is inherent in the events themselves" ("What is Cinema III" 159)
★How to Prevent Actors' Performances from Becoming Psychological Acts
I mentioned the importance of fragments and "seeing" as ways to prevent films from becoming subordinate to "psychological verisimilitude."
Furthermore, I would like to consider improvisation and intermissions as ways to prevent actors' performances from becoming psychological.
●Improvisation
First, improvisation can be considered as a way to prevent actors' performances from becoming psychological.
The relationship between cinematography and script varies greatly from filmmaker to filmmaker. Some, like Alfred Hitchcock, René Clair, and Jacques Tati, film perfectly according to the script. Others, like François Truffaut, "set a scene and have the actors speak, then rewrite the resulting lines into proper dialogue and have them speak again" ("The Art of Cinema" 62), and others, like Kenji Mizoguchi, improvise by bringing a blackboard to the set, calling in a scriptwriter, and having the actors perform the lines themselves, constantly changing them as they go.
When filming "The Birth of a Nation" (February 8, 1915), Lillian Gish said, "As always, I began work without a script" ("The Autobiography of Lillian Gish" 157), and she recalled that D.W. Griffith also placed great importance on improvisational direction.
Either way, improvisation doesn't mean starting from scratch; rather, the general outline is decided, and then the details are adjusted based on actual rehearsals and action on set.
Robert Bresson said:
"It's in the act of painting that everything emerges" (Auteurism, 508).
Isn't this kind of thinking the essence of improvisation?
Sergei Eisenstein was no exception.
"The script is limited to two or three frames that outline the various key points of the scene to be shot and the effect it aims to achieve. A work of art only exists at the moment when it is realized as a living thing by the director" (Aesthetics of Cinema, 142)
Robert Bresson further stated:
"Improvisation forms the basis of cinematography. It is only when the camera happens to solve a difficult problem that has been left blank that great works are produced" (Auteurism, 438).
This can be summed up perfectly with these words of Jean-Luc Godard, which I always like to quote:
"I have always sought to convey the truth, not so much in the truth of what is said, but in the way that the moment it is said seems true" (History of Cinema II, 254)
Beautiful words. Extremely ethical and powerful.
In their cinematography, they also emphasize the concept of event over "psychological verisimbalance." At the same time, it is clear that this theory of "psychological verisimbalance" is closely related to all film theory.
To rephrase this in terms of "psychological authenticity" and the psychological performance of actors, we get the following words from John Ford:
"I made them do it unannounced because I didn't like actors to be troubled ("Under the Flag of John Ford" 183)."
Improvisation has a drastic aspect, denying actors time to think, and therefore depriving them of the ability to reflect on their own feelings and express them. It's said that great actors generally tend to dislike improvisation because they can't act. There are those who want to act and those who don't. A film set can truly be described as a battlefield of human conflict.
★Shooting Out of Order
There's a filming technique called "shooting out of order."
Shooting out of order refers to "shooting as many shots as possible without moving the camera, lighting, or set" ("The World of Cinema: Earth," 48).
For example, when filming a conversation between two people, A and B, facing each other, this technique involves first shooting A's lines in full. This technique has been used as a time-saving technique, eliminating the need to move the camera from A to B and back to A in the order of the lines, eliminating the need to adjust the lighting each time, and capturing everything that can be shot. While sometimes derided as a rough technique for speeding up filming, this technique is actually incredibly entertaining, refreshing, and entertaining.
It's said that actors were taken aback by the fact that the shots in this technique didn't follow the storyboard order ("The World of Cinema: Earth," 49). Because the actors' acting order differs from the script's, they have no idea where they are. This means that they are freed from the motives of the scene's context and thrown into a world of fragmentation.
One of the writers who made frequent use of this naka-nuki technique was Yamanaka Sadao ("Film Director Yamanaka Sadao" 293).
Could the godlike coldness common to his works "Humanity and Paper Balloons" (August 25, 1937), "Tange Sazen Yowa: The Million Ryo Pot" (June 15, 1935), and "Kawachiyama Soshun (Priest of Darkness)" (April 30, 1936) be attributed to the effect of the intermission?
On this point, although it may be quite rude to quote directly from a website, I find the writings on Masato Hase's website extremely helpful. I would like to introduce a fragment of it here.
"Let's recall once again the scene in Sadao Yamanaka's Tange Sazen Anecdote: The Million Ryo Jar (1935) in which young Yasukichi runs away from home. In this scene, filled with tragic emotion, it seems as if a crack has appeared in the comical, happy everyday life that had existed up until that point. However, Yamanaka simply assembles the same shots of the same battlefield, captured at the same angle and the same size as before, with the same mechanical rhythm. Therefore, visually, this shot of the runaway from home does not appear to contain any special lyricism or psychological excitement that sets it apart from the comical everyday scenes that preceded it. In other words, Yamanaka must have used a "nakanuki" technique to mix up this series of moving shots with the comical, everyday scenes that preceded them. For example, the beautiful shot of Yaba's backyard, in which Yasukichi, alone and carrying a jar as he runs away from home, is captured briefly in a small shot deep in the frame, is the exact same shot as the shot of Yasukichi happily playing menko with his friends, the shot of Tange Sazen walking back and forth with one ryo, and the shot of Yasukichi having his gold coin stolen, so they must have been shot in succession. So no matter how lyrical a shot may be, in Yamanaka it is merely one frame in an entire film that should be mechanically assembled through filming and editing. However, as I argued last month, it is precisely this stark, mechanical assembly of images that, conversely, has a mysterious cinematic rhythm and brings to the audience a physical (musical) emotion that transcends the psychological. Therefore, the "in-between" shooting method must have been a privileged choice for geniuses like Makino and Yamanaka, not for its temporal efficiency, but for the mechanical rhythmic effect it creates." (http://www.ipm.jp/ipmj/eizou/eizou44.html)
Today, there are probably very few filmmakers who use this "out-of-order" shooting method. It was a method for quick filming in the heyday of the studio system, when movies were mass-produced. Filmmakers who are not blessed with the opportunity to make films today likely lack the courage to use this "instant" method, such as quick filming or out-of-order shooting, to capture their rare opportunities.
Just as François Truffaut attempted to create a rhythm in his final film, "I Can't Wait for Sunday" (1982/August 10, 1983), by having his cinematographer "take shots so quickly that it worried Almendros" (Lumiere Quarterly Vol. 2, 68), there are also filmmakers who, even if they are not part of the mass production system of a studio, choose to shoot quickly.
Speed shooting, including shooting out of order is a cinematic technique that is too precious to be forgotten as a legacy of the past, both in terms of its relationship to film rhythm and its ability to distance itself from "psychological verisimilitude."
★Action and Character Over Motivation
Furthermore, when it comes to scriptwriting, we must consider strategies to avoid "psychological verisimilitude."
Here are some very meaningful words from Howard Hawks:
"When I get distracted by the characters, I forget about the plot. Just let the characters move around and let them tell the story. That's why I don't worry about plot; the action comes from the characterization."
The plot is told by having the characters move around. Howard Hawks uses movement itself to tell the plot.
"With 'El Dorado,' I started with the characters, not the story" ("Howard Hawks on Film" 259). "When I have a scene to shoot, I'm interested first in the action, then the dialogue. If the action doesn't work, I don't use the dialogue. ...Because it's a motion picture" ("Howard Hawks on Film" 72).
This beautifully reveals how he always thinks about film with movement at its core. For Howard Hawks, dialogue flows naturally from action.
Samuel Fuller once said, "When I write a screenplay, I don't care what my characters are thinking. All that matters is that they remain true to their personalities."
Movement describes the characters, and that becomes the plot. In a world overflowing with simplistic works that explain everything in words to make it easier for us to understand, we pursue film as a motion picture.
★Well,
This concludes my general discussion of "psychological verisimilitude."
I'm sure there are many other methods for breaking free from the chains of "psychological verisimilitude." Let's keep thinking and free film from its psychological captivity. But dwelling solely on theory isn't any fun. Now I'd like to move on to practical specifics.
★Kiyoshi Kurosawa
Who among Japanese film directors has remained free from "psychological verisimilitude"? Ozu, Mizoguchi, Naruse, Yamanaka, Makino, Suzuki, Kato...
And the rising star who inherits their legacy is undoubtedly Kiyoshi Kurosawa.
Let's start with Kurosawa's "Licensed to Live" (January 23, 1999).
This film, even among Kurosawa's many "psychologically verisimilitude" films, is physically identifiable as a highly "verisimilitude," so I urge everyone to take the time to watch "Licensed to Live" and experience it for themselves.
Let's start with Kurosawa's "Licensed to Live" (January 23, 1999).
This film, even among Kurosawa's many
"psychologically verisimilitude" films, is physically identifiable as
a highly "verisimilitude," so I urge everyone to take the time to
watch "Licensed to Live" and experience it for themselves.
Let's imagine a scene in which a person
1 stands up from a chair,
2 starts walking,
3 continues walking,
4 stops, and
5 sits back down in the chair.
Typically, an actor performing this role will
1 start standing up as if to say, "Okay, let's stand,"
2 start walking as if to say, "Okay, let's walk,"
3 continue walking,
4 stop as if to say, "Okay, let's stop walking," and
5 sit down as if to say, "Okay, let's sit down." Now, this is where it gets interesting.
In "Licensed to Live," Kurosawa Kiyoshi edited out almost all of the parts except for 3. 1、2、4、 and 5 all involve motivation. The actors are inevitably tasked with finding reasons for standing up, walking, stopping, and sitting down. Whether they like it or not, the actors' gestures, faces, and expressions reveal their motivation for "Okay, let's do this or that." This is the part where Kobayashi Keiju's "apparently" and "apparently" came up in the interview mentioned above.
For example, take a look at the scene where Yakusho Koji drags Nishijima Hideyuki to a soapland. The film starts abruptly with Yakusho Koji already dragging Nishijima Hideyuki.
In a normal film, not a Kurosawa Kiyoshi film, this is how it would turn out.
Yakusho: "Come on, I'm going to take you to a soapland (with a serious look on his face)." Nishijima: "Eh... No... (frowns and steps back)." Yakusho: "Come on, come on (with a serious look on his face)," he grabs Nishijima's hand (with an "What do you mean" look on his face). Nishijima: "Stop it!" (with a "Stop it" look on his face), Yakusho refuses (looks like he's about to cry), and Yakusho: "F---t---" he overpowers Nishijima and starts dragging him along (the look someone makes when playing tug-of-war with all their might). It goes something like that.
●Monaka (Waffle)
All of these scenes were cut from "Licensed to Live." When he walks, he is "in the middle of" walking; when he runs, he is "in the middle of" running. I have named this editing method by Kurosawa Kiyoshi "Monaka" ( In Japanese, " in the middle of" is written in kanji as "最中" and is read as "Monaka"."monaka," which is the name of a sweet). Kurosawa boldly cuts out "psychological authenticity" through the physical method of editing.
I haven't interviewed Kurosawa himself and asked him about his "motives" for the cuts, but I think it's something like this.
Kurosawa Kiyoshi has stated that he does not act out of motive, but rather the opposite ("Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Film Technique" 82).
From what I've seen, the seeds of Kurosawa's "Monaka" likely emerged after the "Suit Yourself or Shoot Yourself" series. Even in his earlier works, Kurosawa's work can truly be described as a history of "eliminating psychological authenticity."
The aforementioned improvisational direction and shooting out of order techniques, which deprive actors of their acting, were a kind of drastic measure. Conversely, it is essentially impossible to ask actors not to "act psychologically." Kurosawa's "Monaka batting technique" also involves physically cutting out the acting part with scissors, making it a rather drastic measure, but we must not forget that he was willing to go to such lengths to eliminate "psychological authenticity."
The reason why Kurosawa Kiyoshi's films give the impression of being absorbed solely through the images is that he completely avoids the "psychological verisimilitude" aspect and transforms it into a movement. Many critics today ignore Kurosawa, who is constantly turning to film. They say that the story is incomprehensible. Kurosawa's films, lacking "psychological verisimilitude," are no good because the motives behind his actions are unclear. Critics are unable to properly evaluate directors who approach the film itself; this is a fatal reality in the world of film criticism today. From my perspective, critics who cannot speak about Kurosawa Kiyoshi today are not really critics.
●John Ford, "The Searchers" (May 26, 1956)
John Ford has a film called "The Searchers."
It tells the tragic story of John Wayne's family being attacked and killed by Native Americans while he's away, and a young girl being abducted. The original title is "The Searchers." However, John Wayne and Jeffrey Hunter, who went out to search for the girl, are "searchers" who keep returning to the house again and again. Even though the "searchers" have failed in their "search," they keep coming back.
When they return, Vera Miles, Harry Carey Jr.'s biological mother, Ollie Kelly, and John Quarren come out of the house and joyfully welcome them back. Despite the tragic events and the fact that their child remains abducted, these two return. And so they fight, take baths, laugh, attend weddings and all smiles.
There's something "strange" about this.
In terms of "psychological verisimilitude," the characters would only be "searchers" if they were successful in their search, so the fact that they remain so nonchalant and nonchalant despite having failed in their search is extremely "psychologically unrealistic." But if we look at these "searchers" visually, fragmentarily, without being bound by the title "Searchers," this film seems more like "returning home" than "searchers."
Hasumi Shigehiko has been talking about this ever since.
"The most beautiful moment in John Ford's films is always the return of a man who has gone away, seen off by his woman."
"The father, by constantly setting out, repeatedly returns—that is the sweetness of cinema" (The Movie Maniac's Cinema Dictionary, 256)."
What is decisively beautiful in "The Searchers," and visually revealed through repeated repetition, is the moment when the men return. John Wayne returns an astounding four times. This is the highest number of returns, surpassing Jeffrey Hunter's three, Ken Curtis's one, and Natalie Wood's one. Why do the "Searchers" return four times? It's strange. From the perspective of psychological verisimilitude, it's certainly "strange," but for John Ford, who repeatedly demonstrated the theme of "return" that dates back to D.W. Griffith's "The Birth of a Nation" (1915), these return scenes are undeniably rich and beautiful.
When you visually realize that "The Searchers" is not about "searching" but about "returning," the sight of John Wayne walking away alone, without a single person looking back, imitating Harry Carey's gesture of stroking his right arm, evokes a strong emotion in the final scene. Even though he had repeated the "returning" action so many times, he had no home to return to.
At the end of Steven Spielberg's "War of the Worlds" (June 13, 2005), Tom Cruise is unable to enter the house, inheriting the theme of the return of "The Searchers" as a modern theme.
★Allegory and "Psychological Verisimilitude"
I mentioned the allegory of Hayao Miyazaki's films earlier, and I also wrote about it in John Ford's "The Searchers." The pursuit of "psychological verisimilitude" in film runs the risk of overlooking the visual (i.e., highly cinematic) allegory that lies beneath.
In Clint Eastwood's "The Gauntlet" (December 17, 1977), the scene in which a bus is riddled with machine gun fire might be viewed from the perspective of "psychological verisimilitude" as "it's strange that the two people on the bus survived the gunfire." However, from a visual perspective, as Shigehiko Hasumi and Koichi Yamada have said, "It was a 'gun salute,' so it would be strange for them to die from a 'gun salute.'"
Regarding Ron Howard's "Cocoon" (June 21, 1985)
From the perspective of "psychological verisimilitude," "Cocoon" would also seem odd, suggesting that it would be strange to attain immortality so easily. However, when viewed visually, the flying saucer returning to space looks nothing more than a film canister. The film proclaims that great actors of the past travel into space on film canisters to attain immortality—that film is forever—and so it seems odd to hesitate to attain immortality.
If we focus on "psychological verisimilitude" in a film, we will only encounter a single story, the plot. However, when we free ourselves from "psychological verisimilitude" and allow ourselves to be captivated by the visual experience, the truly wonderful experience of film awaits us.
From this perspective, perhaps the long takes in "Children of Men" (September 3, 2006) were also a way of breaking the chains of "psychological verisimilitude."
★Revisiting the "Partial Society Principle"
Let's say Picasso painted a courtroom scene involving a wrongful conviction.
Would any art critic look at it and begin rambling on about "wrongful convictions and the judicial system"?
Certainly, they might discuss it as background. But art criticism is unlikely to be written for its own sake. they love painting.Naturally, they would also discuss in detail Picasso's touch, design, composition, perspective, lighting, and so on.
For some reason, movies are different.
People who have seen "Letters from Iwo Jima" (November 15, 2006) talk endlessly about the horrors of war, but never about the horrors of film. How many people have seen "I Just Didn't Do It" (2006/January 20, 2007) and found themselves talking about the film, not the judicial system? How many critics have spoken about the cutting of "Hotel Rwanda" (September 11, 2004)? They watch movies, but they don't talk about movies. If this were a painting, everyone would find this critical attitude ridiculous, but when it comes to movies, no one thinks it's ridiculous. Why?
Movies are a terrible beast that turns intellectuals, intellectuals, elites, and all sorts of seemingly intelligent people into complete fools.
Recall the "principle of partial society" I mentioned earlier. People from all kinds of organizations, fields, and genres, as well as the critics themselves, continue to fight for and protect the rules that are unique to their fields, rather than rules from outside.
In contrast, film history is nothing more than a century-long history of applying rules from outside the film world to films.
Why does such a ridiculous phenomenon basically occur? Here, I will repeat the hypothesis I presented earlier.
Movie fans may say they love movies, but in reality, they don't love them.
Film was the first art form to begin commercially. Film is a popular art, and it is international. But the word "popular" does not mean vulgar, or that even idiots can understand it. Film is a wonderful art form worth devoting your life to. Film is a popular art form that transcends language and is international solely through the act of "seeing."
★François Truffaut
In his historical essay "Certain Tendencies in French Cinema," François Truffaut criticized the work of the screenwriting duo Jean Aurenche and Pierre Bost for subordinating film to literature. "I believe that a film script has no value unless it is written by a filmmaker. It bothers me that Aurenche-Bost's eyes are always turned toward literature, and he underestimates and despises film." ("30 Years of the New Wave," Eureka Special Issue 18)
Film must follow its own rules. François Truffaut, too, could not tolerate the attitude of those who subordinated film to rules outside of film.
★Conclusion
When I began writing this essay, "Psychological Authenticity and the History of Film," I never expected to develop such a wide-ranging argument. However, as I began writing, I realized firsthand that this theory of "psychological verisimilitude" is closely intertwined with almost all film theory.
Demanding excessive "psychological verisimilitude" from film disregards the inherent athletic ability of film and ultimately leads to an attitude that runs the risk of subordinating film to something other than cinema, such as language, fiction, or theater. What does it mean to love film? Isn't it about protecting film? But what does it mean to protect it? Do film fans truly love and protect it?
Film is the greatest discovery of the 20th century, and the power of images is enormous. However, as Mozhukhin's experiment indicates, images are a major cultural medium that possesses both the power and the danger of easily leading people toward certain tendencies. We are no longer in an era where images can be evaluated and examined as something subordinate to other cultures, as something like a subculture.
Shigehiko Hasumi has said of Jean-Luc Godard's films
"They completely abandon the attitude of expressing a single, clear idea in their work" ("Cinema's Memory" 293).
And yet, we desperately search for "a single, clear idea" in Godard's films. And we shun Godard, who lacks a clear idea, as being difficult to understand. This negative tendency no longer only affects Godard, but has also spread to the works of Hollywood directors like Howard Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock, and in France to Jean Renoir, and in Japan to Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Hayao Miyazaki, Kenji Mizoguchi, and Yasujiro Ozu.
I would like to state here that this is the undeniable current state of contemporary film criticism, where richness that has been liberated from "psychological authenticity" is despised by people as being difficult to understand, while mediocre films that make sense are praised for being "convincing."
Despite the harsh reality, I remain hopeful that this paper will serve as a catalyst for something.
This theory of "psychological verisimilitude" is an extremely important point, yet it is never mentioned in any of the film magazines or on television I read or watch. In fact, television, magazines, and newspapers continue to take an attitude that supports "psychological verisimilitude." Therefore, I have consciously cited numerous books with the aim of introducing you to how this concept of "psychological verisimilitude" has been discussed by numerous commentators throughout film history. I would be happy if you could at least become aware that such a discussion exists.
I have quoted from numerous books and websites this time, and I would like to express my sincere gratitude once again.
Films must be made according to the rules of film. Otherwise, film will die.