M (1931)

Throughout this process, I’ve been thinking a lot about my interest in sound and what first got me hooked and that film was M. Though it was one I’d already seen, I decided I better embrace my what inspired me so I went back and watched M again. So, without further ado, here are a few of my original insights and comments on the sound in Fritz Lang’s M.

The most striking aspect of Fritz Lange’s M, to me, is the way in which the sound and the image are constantly edited in a similar fashion and treated as equally essential to the story. M uses a discontinuous soundtrack that, rather than simply using sound to unify the images, treats sound as the image’s equal by applying the same set of conventions to it that dictate how the spectator is guided to take notice of specific elements. The cinematic conventions of video editing further the plot by conducting the spectator’s attention. These conventions—such as the close-up, the shot-reverse-shot, and the slow motion effect—are unnatural and seemingly obvious, but to the spectator they are often hard to notice; they seem natural and thus appear invisible because they mimic how our concentration is often refocused based on what is most significant. Rather than including every action that happens within the world of the film, filmmakers edit the image track to only include the action that is relevant to the plot to help sustain the attention of the viewer and carry the plot.

Lange uses this approach to accentuate the sounds that are important to the narrative to emphasize their influence to the viewer. Rick Altman believed sound served “to anchor the body to a single continuous experience [… ] providing a satisfying and comfortable base from which the eyes can go flitting about, […] satisfying our visual desire without compromising our unity and fixity.” This analysis of the continuous soundtrack approaches the issue of sound in a way that fails to consider the mental processes of the spectator and the realistic perception of audio.

Think about your own lives. The constant stream of unimportant and distracting noises in our busy realities condition us to tune out most sounds unless they command and hold our attention. The relatively subtle sound effects and lack of any background music in M guarantee that the viewer pays more attention to the ones that are included. This is an example of Michel Chion’s concept of rarefaction. By making the very presence of any sound scarce, we pay more attentions to the ones that do exist. The lack of the continuous soundtrack (and with that, less distractions from the narrative) in M is essentially what prevents the viewer from tuning out the sounds that are so important to the plot.

The relatively muted sound of street noise as Elsie Beckmann walks home from school causes the blaring horn of the car that almost hits her to stand out and startle the viewer; the threat of danger evoked by the car horn occurs right before her kidnapping and this use of sound ups the viewer’s suspense—however unknowingly—in preparation for what is to come. Furthermore, the lack of background music in M results in the increased attentiveness to music when Hans Beckert’s whistled motif is first heard as he buys poor Elsie a balloon. The sudden musical motif takes on a significance that would not be nearly as effective if the viewer were constantly hearing background music throughout the film.

In addition to sounds and images both being treated as equal and only being included when they serve the purpose of furthering the plot, they also assert their respective dominance and narrative importance by, at times, contributing to the scene in a way that the other cannot. In the scene where Elsie is kidnapped, the image we are shown is of a posted warning about the kidnapper as Elsie bounces her ball against it. The kidnapper himself walks up and talks to Elsie, but we only see his shadow. In order to keep up the air of suspense and intrigue until the moment where we first see Beckert’s face, the image cannot show us the kidnapper but must rely on the dialogue to convey that he has kidnapped her.

Later in the film, after the blind balloon man recognize Beckert’s whistle and Beckert has been marked with the “M”, there is complete silence in the film as the men tail Beckert; just as the men trying to catch him are pursuing him based on image alone—the image of the “M”—the viewer can only watch what is happening and thus must construct their own interpretation of the sounds and conversation between Beckert and his victim. This process mimics how we perceive events as they occur in reality. When we experience sound without a visible source, we make inferences about its origin; likewise, when we see an event occur but cannot hear the sound that accompanies it, we attempt to mentally reproduce the accompanying sound  based on the image to discern its meaning.

M astutely shows us how the independence of sound and image shape the meaning of the film and offer unique possibilities of their own to perpetuate and evoke realism in the viewer and thus provide a more honest  and meaningful film. Lang’s M posits sound and image as equals to emphasize their unique power through their situational ability to contribute something to the narrative in a way that the other cannot. The film capitalizes on how the forces of sound and image work together in our every day mental processes in order to stimulate a higher level of understanding in the spectator.

The images and sounds that make up our individual reality are too overwhelming to be attentive to them all and thus we must pick and choose what to focus our attention on based on what holds meaning and captures our interest. We naturally filter out some sights and sounds, while concentrating wholeheartedly on others, to form our own cohesive interpretation of the world. These psychological tendencies, while subtle and often unnoticeable, guide how the audience perceives and interprets a film. Through the competing forces of sound and image, these tendencies dictate what the viewer pays attention to, and consequently, what the viewer takes away from the narrative. This concept would best be taken advantage of through a cinema that uses sound and image as separate entities that are only implemented when they are absolutely necessary to further narrative progression. Approaching films through the subjective method of human perception, focusing on its tendency to succumb to distraction and only focus on what demands to be noticed, would yield a minimalist cinema that heightened the significance of each image and each sound simply through its very existence in the film. Although seemingly jarring at first, the spectator would eventually learn to analyze the confirmed importance of each element, and through their confirmation of its inherent importance, be continuously active in their interpretation of the film rather than passively allowing the film to happen in front of them.

The Philadelphia Story (1940)

Most of the films I’ve been watching this semester have been a bit more recent so I decided to take a crack at an old classic. The Philadelphia Story was such a lovely film and it’s made me want to watch more older films, which I have never really had the desire to do before (I also would kill to have the kickass old Hollywood accent). One thing that really stood out to me in this film is the role spectatorship plays as the story unfolds.

The premise of The Philadelphia Story is rooted in the significance of the spectator. The role of the spectator does not exist solely as the person who is viewing the film; it is represented and embodied by  individual characters within the world of the story itselfl. Dinah Lord is a perfect example of a spectator within the film. Because of her youth, Dinah’s presence is often overlooked by adults and she ends up hearing things by accident that she should not know. Despite her elders’ attempts to keep her in the dark, Dinah always seems to know what is going on. At one point, Tracy questions Dinah about how she knows about their father’s relationship with the dancer and Dinah simply replies “I listen around”.

Mike and Liz also function as spectators within the film. They are both spying on the Lord family. They witness Dinah’s little performance upon their arrival with awe and confusion. Later, Mike observes the argument between Dexter and Tracy. Although he feels like an intruder and tries to leave, he is forced to stay as Dexter and Tracy continue to ignore him. Liz also is forced to be the awkward onlooker as she watches Mike fall for Tracy, even witnessing his proposal to her. Mike and Liz begin the film as passive observers of the Lord family but quickly become integral to the development and outcome of the story. Similarly, as the spectator pieces together the story from the information revealed by the film, he or she becomes an essential part of the story; it is through the spectator’s reconstruction of the story-and not the story itself- that the film conveys its meaning.

The influence of the process of reconstructing the story is further accentuated by its manifestation in individual characters. There are several instances in which a character has to construct their own interpretation of what is going on based on the information given to them by others. When Uncle Willie arrives at the Lord house, Tracy, Dinah, and Mrs. Lord pretend that he is Seth Lord. Mike and Liz, foreign to the background story of the Lord family, accept this as fact. Later in the film, Dinah spies out her window and sees part of the drunken exchange between Tracy and Mike. She misinterprets what she saw and as she mysteriously unveils her “dream”, misleads Tracy to believe that she had an affair with Mike. Here, Tracy and Dinah both are given partial accounts of what actually happened and thus believe a warped version of what has happened based on how little they know.

As with Dinah when she dramatically recounts her “dream” to Tracy, The Philadelphia Story is replete with performances. Nearly every example previously discussed can be perceived as a “show” or performance of some sort, and those are merely a handful of instances. The Lords are putting on a show for Liz and Mike, projecting a false image of their family on them. Tracy puts up a false front to everyone around her, acting the part of a tough, unaffected woman who refuses to accept her feelings. Even as her relationship with George ends, Tracy is putting on a show, reading his note to everyone present like an actor reciting a monologue. No character in the film goes untouched by these little performances; they affect all involved and serve as a tool to disguise the truth and promote a falsehood created by the performer.

In this way, The Philadelphia Story can be seen as self-reflexive. Through its narration, it recognizes its status as a film and subtly acknowledges this awareness. During the discussion between Tracy and Dexter about his boat, The True Love, Tracy is in disbelief that he is “selling true love for money”. As previously displayed by her stark opposition to the idea of Spy Magazine doing a piece on her wedding to George, Tracy resents the idea of exploiting love for money and fame. At face value, this does not appear to be significant coming from the fictional Tracy Lord, but it takes on new meaning coming from the lips of actress Katharine Hepburn, who achieved notoriety and success in an industry that capitalized on the “happily ever after” ending where true love always prevails. This irony can be seen again when Tracy learns that George to see  Mike carry her out of the woods in her robe. Here, Tracy exclaims “Good golly, why didn’t you sell tickets?” It is as if the film is making a joke for the viewer; both are aware that there were indeed people who bought tickets to see this show. Evan at the close of the film, The Philadelphia Story demonstrates once more that it is aware of itself as a film. As Tracy tries to cope with her situation and informs the wedding guests that the wedding has been cancelled, she draws a blank and looks frantically to Dexter to help her with what she should say. Dexter proceeds to tell her what to say, and she repeats verbatim exactly what he said to the crowd. She does not question or change anything; it is blind recitation. It is not a stretch, then, to compare this situation to that of an actor (or actress, in this case) being fed their lines.

Abundant with spectators and performance, both externally and internally, The Philadelphia Story works within the constraints of the system of Hollywood narration to stimulate the mind of the spectator and elicit a more thoughtful interpretation of the film than what can be taken from it at face value. By carefully injecting the film with moments of self-awareness, the film undermining the validity  of potential criticism.

Instead of operating blindly within the system and refusing to acknowledge its drawbacks, The Philadelphia Story astutely hints at these pitfalls and critiques them itself. Through this commentary, the film demonstrates its ingenuity in that it is, at the same time, criticizing how the system restricts itself and adhering to its restrictions to prove its own superiority. Through its clever use of the spectator and its self-conscious performances, The Philadelphia Story proves its own value in a manner that I don’t think is found often in contemporary cinema.