Sunday, November 30, 2008

The Navigator

The Navigator

This is written from memory, without the film to refer to. It may be edited at a later date, once I have immediate access to the film. I recommend watching the film before reading any further.

Marriage and Domestic Space in Buster Keaton's The Navigator


The first half of The Navigator is a process of discovery by trial and error. Jean Havez, one of the film's screenwriters, describes the premise: "I want a rich boy and a rich girl who never had to lift a finger, always someone to wait on 'em - houses full of butlers, maids, valets, chauffeurs. I put these two beautiful, spoiled brats - the most helpless people in the world - adrift on a ship, all alone. A dead ship. No lights, no steam." (from Keaton, by Rudi Blesh). This description captures the essence of the couple's initial situation, but it can be reduced to one phrase: "the most helpless people in the world", although we might substitute the word 'people' with the word 'couple', to indicate their co-dependency, their pre-boat romantic history (which is relevant only as foreshadowing, since they act out their courtship on the boat), and their eventual existence as one unit in two bodies -- the married couple, two who function as one.


Ironically, the only picture I could find of the couple together.


First let's consider the boat. All boats, once out to sea, are isolated, making them ideal microcosms. This particular boat happens to be empty, aside from the stranded couple, which magnifies the sense of isolation. It also focuses our attention on the development of a relationship and the establishment of a domestic space, without the typical distractions (namely, other people). Since the boat is empty, its intended purpose is abandoned: no one can steer it (naming it The Navigator is pure irony), so it no longer functions as a vessel of transport. In the utilitarian sense, the boat ceases to be a boat: it looks like a boat, but it does not fulfill the purpose of a boat. Its purpose shifts under the circumstances and under the influence of the occupying couple. The boat becomes a house.



Their courtship -- their actual courtship, not Keaton's arbitrary proposal -- begins when they realize that the boat is empty. Neither knows that the other is on board. They are alone and helpless; their dependency upon other people, materially and emotionally, becomes apparent.

In reading this film, let's view their life on the boat as an existence separate from their pre-naval life, a reading I think the film encourages (the exposition serves a primarily narrative function). Upon boarding the ship they are born into a new world, alone, like Adam and Eve. They wander through the empty boat and it is absolutely clear that one man cannot handle this behemoth of a boat by himself -- it needs a crew, dozens of men rushing about. They are living in a world beyond their control. I said before that this is a process of discovery by trial and error. The first discovery they must make is each other.

The chase is Keaton's rendering of romantic pursuit: two people running circles, following the sound of anonymous footsteps (the desperation in this image increases when we consider that this is a silent film and we, the audience, cannot hear any footsteps). Their search is at first a series of displacements (one appearing where the other just left), but these are necessary failures in an attempt to meet. Displacement demonstrates that they inhabit the same space even if they lack contact. Finally they manage to find one another -- and they have, in the process of searching, familiarized themselves and the audience with the boat they inhabit. Of course, they find each other in the physical sense only, but physicality is Keaton's primary tool and he uses it to express a range of conceits.



Having found each other, they may (and must) confront their circumstances: they are stranded on the ocean on a ship they cannot control -- what is essentially a desert island scenario. During the first night we witness the extent of their inexperience: their sleeping quarters (typically a place of security) are not merely unpleasant, they are hazardous, causing physical harm to their inhabitants; the ship itself frightens them, forcing them from comfort and safety, almost as if it possesses a will of its own; in the confusion they even frighten each other (embodying the doubts and discomforts of a developing relationship). This space, the boat, is still strange to them. It is inhospitable, even hostile. They sleep, uncomfortable and frightened, like children lost in the woods.

Their troubles continue in the morning, when they attempt to make breakfast. The kitchen is industrial-sized, intended to cook for an entire crew rather than two people. The appliances and utensils dwarf the couple, and here they really do look like children, standing on tiptoes to look into a pot or holding a knife as long as their arm -- the effect is deliberate, a manifestation of their inexperience. All of their attempts at cooking in this kitchen go sour: they waste food, break dishes, and end up with hardly anything to eat. They try, and they try together -- and that is important -- but this is another misstep in their effort to become self-sufficient.


After this botched breakfast the film indicates the passage of time. This transition skips over the details of their adaptation, so we see the couple go from the height of their inexperience to a remarkable level of competence. By juxtaposing the two, Keaton not only accomplishes a certain comedic effect, he also makes a statement about their relationship by showing the extent of their progress. They have learned and matured together. They now run their lives with effortless efficiency, attending to their various responsibilities with near-automatic ease. They have transformed elements of the ship, adapting them to better suit their needs. Some parts are appropriated to construct devices in the kitchen, a predecessor to the popularity of Rube Goldberg machines in movies. They have turned the steam engine into twin bedrooms; this most clearly delineates the change in the ship's utility, from a boat meant for transport to an improvised home (although the fortified doors suggest that the two may still be afraid of what lurks outside at night). It is interesting, that they forsake the rooms meant for sleeping (which are harmful to them) and choose a place which is typically uninhabitable. They are claiming this space on their own terms. In fact, the rejection of standard domestic space is a trend throughout the film. They fail to connect on land, in their mansions; they do not become close until they enter a new world, an untraditional home. The film declares that a home must be made, not provided.

We have seen them progress through several stages of a relationship: meeting, courtship, mutual reliance, and a sort of settling down. No legal marriage takes place but the two form a bond which adheres to the spirit of marriage, mixing domesticity and affection. The humor in their slapstick misadventures defines the meta-textual heart of their relationship (they constantly get each other into trouble, but are perpetually forgiving and never attribute any blame). Our ability to laugh at their relationship represents their own ability to co-exist and to overcome.



Along with this implied marriage, they fulfill certain gender roles associated with traditional marriage. The girl does the household chores, like sweeping the deck. She is also something of a burden, often becoming the damsel in distress, especially when they confront the islanders. Keaton serves as the masculine foil: mechanic, handyman, taking on the dangerous tasks. He is the protector of his home and his partner. Of course, as characters in a comedy they not only fulfill the roles but subvert them -- Keaton especially, with his comical underwater bravado with the swordfish and the fact that he ultimately fails to keep the invading islanders off of the ship.

The islanders are an interesting and abstract element in this reading of the film. Perhaps they represent "other people", the outside world impeding upon the domestic/romantic space established by the couple (the xenophobic portrayal of the islanders becomes a metaphorical representation). The invasion is a test of their competence and of their dedication to one another; it is something they never could have faced before becoming self-reliant. And while they must abandon their home, the two stay together in spite of all adversity -- even when they have lost all else they hold close to each other, honoring some unspoken vow.


Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Pedilophagia in the Cinema

I have several more substantial entries in the works, but all of them are in development or currently inaccessible. Therefore, I will do a rudimentary exploration of a topic that's grabbed my interest. I can't say much about it, only point out examples (of which I have only a few, and would like to see if more exist) and contemplate the elusive possible meanings behind this odd trend in cinema history:


A History of Pedilophagia in the Cinema



Pedilophagia being the consumption of shoes.

The first known instance of pedilophagy occurs in Charlie Chaplin's The Gold Rush, when the starving Little Tramp must eat his own boots in order to survive. Shoe-eating in this instance serves a narrative purpose and functions as comedy. The humorousness of the situation comes from the delicacy with which the Tramp eats the shoe, treating it like an expensive meal and cleverly associating certain shoe parts with culinary equivalents (shoestring = spaghetti noodles; nails = chicken bones). The situation is absurd, allowing us to laugh at what would, in reality, be dire circumstances. The shoe that Chaplin eats in the film is supposedly real, but the prop was in fact composed of licorice, adding another layer of fantasy to Chaplin's already romantic film. Although not directly related to pedilophagy, it is worth noting that Chaplin' Tramp later performs a trick (in the same film) where he makes bread rolls into little feet, with forks as legs; the puppet-feet are not eaten, but shoes are once again associated with food.



Equally absurd, though possessing entirely different intentions, is the second part of Jan Svankmajer's Food trilogy, "Lunch". It features two men dining together (insofar as they are at the same table, and respond to each other at times) in a restaurant where the service disregards them completely. One man is clearly more wealthy and presentable than the other. Realizing they will not be served, they begin to devour their surroundings, starting with trivial things on their table and gradually moving to their own possessions. Of course, they eventually come around to eating their shoes. The presentable man (who generally takes the lead in order of things eaten) eats his shoe much like Chaplin does in The Gold Rush: he uses table manners, carefully cuts the shoe apart as though it were a regular meal (again, mimics the eating of spaghetti noodles with the shoestrings). The slovenly man, on the other hand, devours the shoe outright, stuffing it down his mouth whole (this trend is common through all the foods they eat, a division between careful manners and eager shoveling).

It is important to indicate that the pedilophagia featured in this film is not the focus of attention, beyond the instance when it occurs. Where Chaplin's film features a scene dedicated to the idea, the pedilophagia in Svankmajer's film parallels the treatment ofvarious other objects, including clothing. Still, its effects and intentions are worth looking into. The stop-motion animation of the film allows the shoe to be real, rather than licorice, although we are also aware on some level that no shoe is really being eaten. It is, like Chaplin's trick, a half lie. The difference lies in their effect on the viewer: rather than being played up as comedy, the pedilophagia in "Lunch" is strange, unnatural, unnerving. It works within the trend that the rest of the film sets, the devouring of various objects which one usually does not eat. Thus it serves a broader theme, rather than functioning as an idea within itself; the focus is not on pedilophagia specifically, but on a hunger that will consume anything.



My third example of cinematic pedilophagia is Les Blank's documentary, Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe. This is probably the most perplexing representation of pedilophagia in thecinema: it is the sole instance of pedilophagia in a documentary (and is the focus of the documentary) and it's the only instance of a man eating an actual shoe on film. The documentary is twenty minutes long and dwells on some peripheral subjects as well, like cooking and the film Gates of Heaven.

However, its focus is pedilophagia and the film is very much aware of the act in a way that the other two are not. First, it actually alludes to one of the previous films, The Gold Rush (the scene is rather famous), comparing Herzog'sendeavor to Chaplin's (acknowledging the prior influence of pedilophagia in film while distinguishing the reality/fantasy division; like Chaplin, Herzog cooks his shoes, whereasSvankmajer's characters eat theirs raw). Second, its cinematic eye is focused on the shoe and the development of this act, which isfar more momentous an event when it's really being done. The camera follows Herzog's feetas he walks, watches him as he buys new shoes, watches the cooking, the eating, everythingsurrounding this event, which is elevated (by merit of public spectacle) to performanceart. Its absurdity (pedilophagia is, it seems, always absurd) and outrageousness arewhat motivate the film, the act as entertainment.

But the documentary is only ostensibly about pedilophagia; Herzog fulfilling his promiseactually represents various ideas, and a large portion of the film is dedicated to interviews with Herzog. The shoe-eating acts as a form of inspiration, motivating anaspiring filmmaker and rewarding his efforts. It is encouragement to filmmakers, sayingthat those things which we thought could only be simulated (Chaplin) are in fact possible.Herzog also mentions that cooking, or perhaps walking, would be the only acceptable alternative to filmmaking for him. There is a sense that filmmakers must make films, but Herzog also points out how ridiculous the process can be: he cites Welles and Truffaut as examples (in addition to himself), filmmakers who became "clowns" in order to continue making films. After all, he says, it's merely projected light, it's nothing. A person would have to be a clown to do it.
Pedilophagia becomes a metaphor for the simultaneous necessity and absurdity of filmmaking.




(I wrote way more about this than I ever intended to.)



Sunday, July 13, 2008

Au Hasard Balthazar

Au Hasard Balthazar
or By Chance, Balthazar
And Diary of a Country Priest.


It's been a few months since I've seen either film, but I made fairly extensive notes immediately after watching them and found those notes recently, so I'm going to do an entry on Au Hasard Balthazar and Diary of a Country Priest. The focus will be on Au Hasard Balthazar, with Diary of a Country Priest acting as a secondary reference in regard to Bresson's technique and commonalities between his films.


I recommend watching Au Hasard Balthazar before reading any further; it's helpful to have seen Diary of a Country Priest, but not necessary, and I won't reveal any of its plot details.


Much has been said about Bresson's camera-work and its tendency to focus on details, especially hands and feet, rather than faces and environments. Yet I have read very little that explores why he does this. His intentions are probably varied, but I took particular note of the use of hands in these two films: the purpose of the hands in each film, and how the usage of hands in the two films differ.
Hands, in a broader symbolic sense, can represent dozens of things. Possession, craft, delicacy, power, any number of ideas. In Au Hasard Balthazar they appear to express possession, control, connection, sexuality; ultimately hands represent, through all these things, a tool by which to guide one's soul. They give one some determination over one's fate. All the people have hands that we see constantly, manipulating everything around them. Balthazar only has cloven hooves, incapable of handling objects, incapable of carressing someone, incapable of doing anything but moving where others tell him to move. Balthazar lacks control over his own soul, or his own fate, and is subject to the domineering hands of others.
Diary of a Country Priest has a different approach, and Bresson's focus on hands and details is less meticulous here. In this film, the camera only focuses on hands when spiritual exchanges occur, most notably the passing of the letter in the confessional and the blessing of the countess. It's worth noting that one must use one's hands to bless a person (or one's self) in typical Catholic fashion. It's admirable that Bresson should have such a distinct style, focusing on one detail, yet have the ability to evoke different responses in different contexts.



Back to Au Hasard Balthazar. Balthazar is a donkey (with, I might add, a Biblical name), often called a beast of burden; the nickname is appropriate in many ways. It immediately made me think of Christian, from John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, when he begins his journey carrying a great burden on his back; the donkey, being a beast of burden, at once evokes the burden of Sisyphean labor and the burden of human sin (Balthazar silently bears the abuse he's given)*