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Stepping into Supernatural : Screen Literacy and Breaking the Fourth Wall by Bridget Hanna (ft a short analysis of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs)

Audiences can interact with films through their past experiences, and through the memory of films they have watched before. Hanna recognises that audiences have ‘expectations based on our past experiences of other texts and genres’ which films can play on to create a sense of security, or create red herrings within the narrative, or subvert these expectations to build something new within the genre. Hanna explains that film directors since the ‘1960s’ have been aware of this expectations and have since ‘continually remade and reworked’ these genres and tropes through ‘experimental design and playful allusions that strive to reference one another and themselves’.

The anthology film The Ballad of Buster Scruggs opens with a tale of the titular character Buster Scruggs, dressed all in white and prone to singing show tunes. The character sparks a recognition in the audience that he is the hero of the story. This is based on memories and prior understandings built by past viewings of films of the same western genre. The character is not large in stature which gives the impression that he may be a naive cowboy. Dressed all in white suggests that he is new to the trail and has not seen many hardships. He’s had no chance to build muscle and in the tavern he visits, the audience can understand that Buster Scruggs is way out of his depth.

However, an audience who has seen many westerns before, as well as many parodies of westerns (in television or film), may become aware of the classical subvert-ion of expectation that Buster may be being portrayed as a weak, soft-hearted cowboy, but he will, in fact, come out as champion in any fight.

Buster faces off against another man who is taller, and shot to tower over him. A shot of a third man looking up while his hand shakes around the drink he is holding suggests Buster has come up against a man that should be feared. An audience may expect from the traditional sense that Buster will overcome this man by avoiding fighting. This is held up when Buster kindly asks the man to hand in his weapons. However, as various parodies of these moments persist in comedic shows and movies of a traditionally framed ‘good guy’ coming up against a traditionally framed ‘bad guy’, the good guy is shot midway through his dialogue. The scene sets up this expectation by having Buster deliver a lengthy plea for the bad guy to uphold the rules of the tavern. Nevertheless, the villain does not shoot. 

This leads the audience into a third expectation - that Buster has a gun of his own. Countless parodies have also delivered on the joke of the hero pretending to be upstanding to morals by handing over weapons, but later in the scene, pulls out a gun in a shock twist to destroy the comedic tension. However, the scene does not play out to this and, instead of Buster taking out his own gun, the character slams his foot on the end of the wooden-planked table, which raises a plank to hit the arm of the bad guy, resulting in him shooting himself in the face three times. The audience does not expect that Buster does uphold his morals, and they do not expect him to resort to a violent but clever way to defeat his opponent (traditionally characters framed as weak would run away in fear). Buster Scruggs is now framed as a violent, deadly but clever man. The film has effectively built up the expectation that Buster Scruggs will win every fight.

Hanna moves on to explain that the fourth wall is the ‘imaginary wall that exists between the audience and the ‘stage’’. This is when someone within a film, television programme, or stage play acknowledges the audience, usually by speaking ‘directly’ to them. Hanna states that this technique has been used ‘throughout the history of film and television’ and the aim of breaking the fourth wall is to ‘penetrate the boundaries set up by fictional texts’. Breaking the fourth wall blurs the lines between audiences as spectators and audiences as participators.

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“I just saw it as an opportunity to sort of portray somebody with real mental health problems in an artistic way. It’s not a naturalistic, realistic interpretation of mental infirmity, but it is surreal, fantastical, abusive, morbid, entertaining view of - hopefully - mental health problems. And, for me, that rang true with my experience of mental health problems. It’s not just depressing, it can be really exciting to be around, and really entertaining to be around, and really wrong but magnetic to be around, and yet, I’m benefiting out of somebody else’s demise ultimately - this is just my own experience. And then I saw that in the film. I saw that, like, there’s an audience maybe benefiting out of somebody’s demise, there’s maybe, perhaps, or maybe being repelled by his demise. But there was a kernel of truth that allowed an artistic flight of - I wouldn’t say fancy - but, like, filth or dirt - to grow, you know, and it is a very artistic response to mental health problems.”

James McAvoy on portraying Bruce Robertson in Filth (2013).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ovRJMGP3ID8

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‘When you make a movie about one person, every other element becomes a character, if that makes sense. So, the music is suddenly a character, and the locations are suddenly a character, the setting, the time period. All those things have a much bigger impact, I’ve noticed, when it’s a movie about one person.’

Todd Phillips, director of Joker (2019) for Film4.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l98OMyDrqU

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Ways of Being Close to Characters by Jens Eder pg 68-80

Eder considers how viewers of film react to characters, offering that a viewer’s ‘cognitive and affective’ responses are ‘unlimited in their richness and variety’. She further argues that to ‘subsume the whole range’ of an audience’s reactions to characters ‘under the global notions of ‘identification’, ‘empathy’, or ‘parasocial interaction’’ is ‘too reductive’. Viewers do not relate to every character within a piece, and similarly they may not relate to a protagonist. A story or a film may be structured not to have this viewer response, but this is important to consider how and why a viewer may have a particular reaction to one character but not have the same reaction to a similar character in a similarly structured film. Eder acknowledges the level of research in understanding character engagement by distinguishing the types of viewer responses they receive via film. This has led Eder to question ‘how can different theoretical positions be integrated to develop a more thorough account of viewers’ relations to characters and the factors that shape those relations?’. A further acknowledgement she makes is how viewers ‘sometimes’ express feeling ‘close’ to characters they had viewed in a film – an expression that she remarks is used both colloquially and within film criticism and psychological theories. Eder explains that the expression has ‘many meanings’ which are mostly ‘metaphorical, but are systematically interrelated’. It is an expression that Eder understands to be shrouded in ‘ambiguity’ and she remarks it to be a good starting point in understanding and analysing viewers’ ‘imaginative and affective relations to characters’. In order to understand how viewers relate to characters, Eder notes it necessary to understand how people relate to each other. In terms of feeling close to someone, there is the physical understanding – being physically close to someone – but also the mental understanding. Mental closeness is explained by Eder to occur when ‘someone has certain mental attributes and dispositions towards another person which are cognitive’ or ‘affective’. Cognitive attributes and dispositions are when an individual understands another person and thusly feels ‘familiar’ towards them. Affective attributes and dispositions are when an individual likes or ‘desires’ a person or ‘empathizes’ with them. Another type of closeness is the ‘intimate, close relationships’ in which two or more people know ‘private things about each other’, or experience ‘certain emotions’, and interact in ways ‘not open to others’. Eder explains this type of closeness between real people is determined by ‘causality, social norms, and mental schemata’. This type of closeness may be achieved by ‘relatives, friends, or lovers’, those who often live close to one another. These people are ‘expected’ to understand each other and to ‘feel emotionally close’. Eder acknowledges that the level of closeness in all three ‘senses’ is a matter of ‘degree’. Eder discusses that it, therefore, makes more sense to focus on the ‘’distance’’ rather than the closeness. In regards to film, Eder reminds that a character is a ‘mental construct’ and so, it is not possible for viewers to feel close to characters in the sense of ‘spatiotemporal’ or ‘social relations’. However, Eder offers that a viewer is not prevented from imagining to being spatially close to a character in a way that is perhaps ‘analogous’ to being close to real people. The audiovisual representations of characters which are present within film as an audiovisual medium, can be ‘conceived of as dense streams of cues’ that ‘trigger a wide range of mental reactions in viewers’ – such as perceptions, feelings, and imaginings. Film can focus on one singular character whose sole being is explored over the course of a relatively short time in comparison to real people getting to know one another. These audiovisual cues can happen so rapidly as a result, that viewers’ reactions can be intense in level or how much they may change. Film’s impact on viewers’ reactions and interpretations to characters can be ‘significantly similar’ to the reactions of real people to one another. Eder expands on this by discussing the perceptions viewers have of filmic characters can lead to ‘cognitive states’ which associate the character with ‘relatively stable physical, psychological, and social properties’. According to Eder, through the connection or combination of several of these states (this process is recognised as ‘character synthesis9or recognition’), the viewer is able to form a ‘mental model’ of the character. She refers to social psychology which states that working models can be formed of both real people and fictional characters and these can become ‘objects of imagination’. Eder explains that to understand characters’, the audience relies on ‘partly innate mental dispositions’ as well as on schemata that is learned via interactions with real individuals. In summary, ‘character synthesis’ is based on ‘social cognition’ in encounters with real people. Furthermore, it is important to recognise that viewers are typically aware that they are ‘perceiving fictional representations’. An audience does not act on what they observe, therefore it can be understood that they ‘withdraw’ their understanding of the real world as the audience feels comfortable in the knowledge that they are not ‘expected to take responsibility for the characters’. Audience reaction to characters is further influenced by ‘narrative and stylistic structures’ which can ‘cue’ audience’s imagination as fictional worlds can ‘deviate considerably’ from reality. This can enhance a viewer’s engagement and ability to lose themselves within the film and as film in its entirety is a mental construct (not just the characters), the medium can create ‘unique ways’ of bringing viewers closer (in all senses) to a character. As Eder states, films are able to ‘intensify feelings of closeness’ or ‘bring forth reflective distance’. Films have the ability to show and express the inner mindset of a character, giving an audience an intimate understanding of a fictional person to such a degree that is rarely ever achieved in real life between two people. This all happens at an immense speed in contrast to real life interactions. Films can further cause people to ‘feel close’ to ‘character types’ that they may not ever interact with in real life or actively avoid. Eder regards these techniques as a ‘power’ as films can ‘guide’ or ‘control’ feelings of closeness between a fictional character on screen and the audience that witnesses their actions. Similarly, a film can draw an audience in by bringing them emotionally closer to the character, but a film can also go the opposite way, by making the audience feel extremely distanced. For example, in In the Mood for Love (2000), the action and the dialogue is often filmed from behind objects or from behind walls, creating a sense of physical distance from the characters which in turn effects the emotional closeness between the audience and the two protagonists viewed on screen.

An important factor to consider when understanding the capability of feeling close to a character is the ‘attention’ and ‘degree of frequency and intensity’ of mental acts directed towards a character. A character that does not receive much attention from a film - for example, a character in the background - is difficult to relate to because there is no kind of interaction between viewer and character. Further, closeness is also dependent on the ‘level of authentication’ of the character by the film’s narrative. Eder offers that viewers will feel ‘less close’ to a character introduced during unreliable narration or ‘embedded’ in fiction within the narrative. 

Level of closeness is also dependent on the character’s ‘contexts’, as in the kind of world they live, what laws of the fiction they must obey and the characters and situations they interact with.

Another way of understanding closeness is through the degree of ‘perceived realism of this world' - how the audiovisual elements of the film interact with the real life environments it is played in, and how this effects the viewer’s ‘immersion’ in the film’s diegesis. 

A final important aspect of understanding closeness to characters, is by acknowledging the actors who play them. Viewers can feel close to actors and this can influence how an audience perceives, reacts, and remembers a character. An actor can have a significant influence on audience response.

Kinds of Closeness to Characters

There are ‘at least’ five senses to feeling close to a character which can relate to the way real life people feel close to one another, and ‘correlates’ with a ‘certain set of psychological relations that vary gradually between the poles of closeness and distance’. These five senses, Eder’s words, are:

Perceived relations in space and time: spatiotemporal proximity and paraproxemics

Cognitive relations to fictional minds and bodies: understanding and perspective taking

Perceived social relations: similarity and familiarity

Imagined interaction: parasocial interaction (PSI) and par asocial relationships (PSR)

Emotional responses: affective closeness

Feelings of immense closeness to a character can be the result of ‘affective responses’ or ‘PSI/PSR’. However, Eder informs that the topic of PSI/PSR is extensive and difficult to discuss in a format that does not have the required space for it. 

Nevertheless, she continues with an overarching viewpoint of the topic, referring to what is discussed in communication studies in regards to PSI; ‘scholars often use ‘PSI’ as a generic term to cover any kind of engagement with media personae’. Eder is quick to offer a narrower definition as it is ‘more convincing’, explaining that it is better to contrast PSI with other types of engagement so as not to ‘blur’ the differences between interaction, observation, and simulation.

Via this, it can be understood that viewers may relate to characters through these three ways - as ‘distant observers watching them’, as ‘simulators taking their perspective’, or as ‘’interactors’’. Eder explains that her use of PSI is only relevant in the last sense - ‘when viewers imagine themselves interacting with a character’ or when a viewer reacts to ‘behavioural cues’ in ‘represented face-toface situations’ . For this, she offers the examples of viewers fantasising ‘about having sex’ with a fictional character, and when a character addresses the audience by speaking directly to the camera.

Parasocial relationships are understood as being influenced by ‘repeated encounters with a character over multiple viewings’. This is mostly relevant to video games and soap operas.

Eder acknowledges that despite communication studies’ research into character engagement focusing largely on PSI, many accounts in film studies ‘centre on affective engagement’. For this, she refers to Murray Smith’s model which distinguishes between two kinds of affective responses: 

feeling for a character on the basis of positive or negative appraisals (sympathy/antipathy) and feeling with him on the basis of shared affects (empathy)

Therefore, Eder determines that affective closeness can take the form of ‘both’ sympathy and empathy through intense positive feelings towards a character. Further, the notion of distance between viewer and character can ‘take the form’ of antipathy ‘as well as cold observation’.

Viewers’ affective responses are constructed through ‘various kinds’ of cognitive input - through perception, imagination, appraisal, memories, and so on. Thus, it can be understood that noneffective types of closeness can be seen as ‘cognitive stances’ towards a character that ‘influences the viewers’ affective reactions’.

What can be drawn from Smith’s model is the idea that sympathy is ‘founded in the processes of recognition (character synthesis)’, as well as in alignment (’affective, particularly moral, appraisal’).

From here, Eder offers that recognition and subjective access can be seen as ‘forms of understanding’ as attachment is a ‘spatiotemporal relation’, and ‘allegiance/sympathy and empathy’ are forms of affective closeness. 

Spatiotemporal Proximity and Para-Proxemics

Feeling close to a character is understood to largely relate to the ‘impression’ of feeling close spatially or temporally - these feeling are described by Eder as being ‘mostly preconscious’. Therefore, these feelings can be seen as ‘analogous to feelings of spatiotemporal proximity’ to real persons.

One way of understanding this is through the relationship between the real environment of the viewer, and the fictional environment of the character. The understanding and ‘mimetic connection’ between the setting and the viewer’s location can have ‘two diverging tendencies’. In films where the setting is somewhat familiar - in the terms of its function (a viewer may not have visited the particular coffee shop displayed in the film, but they understand the social norms of a coffee shop to relate to the scenario of the fiction) - a viewer may find it ‘easier’ to relate to the character through the impression of a shared experience or cultural knowledge. How a character reacts in these scenarios will influence and take effect on viewer interpretation as the audience accesses their own memories of experiences, and their own understanding of societal norms and values, to understand and interpret the character’s ‘traits and situations’. On the other hand, the spatiotemporal proximity may ‘facilitate the application of mental stereotypes’ which can lead to a ‘more automatic and less vivid reception’. Therefore, settings of this kind may find other ways of drawing the audience closer to its characters.

A second way of creating closeness through spatiotemporal proximity, a way that Eder expresses is ‘more dynamic’, is through the ‘extent to which a film lets the viewer accompany a character through space and time and witness his externally visible experiences’. Within film, viewers are subject to watching every relevant action of a character. This plays on spatiotemporal attachment which can ‘influence’ what the viewer knows about the character, as well as create a sense of ‘sympathy’.

Further, the audiovisual devices used within film can create the suggestion that the viewer is experiencing the same situation as the character. Not to confuse this with the idea that the viewer thinks they are physically there with the character, the audiovisual devices create this suggestion a subconscious level. A viewer will interpret that they are perceiving the ‘same situation’ and therefore they share a ‘mutual semantic-perceptual space’ with the characters. This plays into their spatiotemporal attachment towards characters. The shared space becomes the ‘basis for recognizing the character’s situational meaning structure’. If the viewer supports the character’s motivations, they may come to perceive the character as a ‘teammate’. A film can also depict very intimate and private moments of a character’s life which ‘may arouse feelings of complicity’. This can encourage viewers to feel sympathetic towards a character, bettering their understanding of character’s situation and emotions, and can therefore effect the level of closeness a viewer may feel towards a character.

However, this is understanding what is presented has an effect on the viewer. Further understanding of spatiotemporal attachment requires the understanding of how what is presented effects the viewer. A viewer can never be literally close to a character through distance - a viewer cannot sit right next to a fictional person on screen - but films can use techniques to their advantage to create the effect of physical closeness via framing or sound. Shot scales can further guide the attention of the viewer to particular elements of a character’s body language, but they can also influence viewer interpretation by inflicting a sense of physical distance. A close-up can ‘emphasize emotional expressions’ but it can also create a sense of physical distance which has an effect on the ‘para-proxemic relationship’ between viewer and character. 

If you came as close to a real person as a close-up suggests, you might come into physical contact with her; she might caress or harm you. If you are far away from her, you might be estranged or at a safe distance.

Moreover, the camera angle can also effect the level of closeness by either ‘observing’ or ‘interacting’ with a character. Camera angles can play on metaphorical suggestions, i.e. characters viewed from a high angle creates the suggestion that they are weak, or in a hopeless situation, thus potentially playing on the viewer’s sympathy for them.

If framing suggests closeness in space, then plot structure, movements of actors’ bodies, and rhythms of framing, music, and editing all can suggest closeness in subjective time or synchronicity.

Eder refers to motor mimicry or the reaction of ‘mirror neurons’ which can cause the viewer to repeat character movements either physically or within their imagination, therefore implying the viewer feels ‘rhythmically paralleled or synchronized’ with a character and their actions. This can be the result of what was suggested above, as slow motion (an editing technique, or an acting technique depending on its value to the plot and genre of the film) or empty space within the frame can ‘invite the impression of time passing slowly’.

Generally, both synchronising and close framing make it easier to understand the character, to recognize his emotions and their expressions. But distant framing or a rear view can also have emotionally intensifying effects, e.g. by making the character look small or defenceless and by forcing the viewer to infer or simulate the feelings she cannot simply read off the character’s face.

Spatiotemporal proximity is split into these four aspects but they are not separate. The effect they have are overlapping and can be combined to influence viewer interpretations.

Understanding and Perspective-Taking

People can feel close to one another through intimate understandings, which can be replicated in film between viewers and characters. However, Eder argues that ‘’understanding a character’ can mean several different things’.

One way of understanding a character is by the viewer’s acknowledgement of the character’s ‘personality and general traits’. These can be surmised by how the film reveals and delivers this information - the costume, the body language, the dialogue, setting, and the viewer’s prior knowledge of genre’s, the actors within the film, or other narrative conventions.Through this, a viewer can construct a ‘mental model’ of the character and ascribe a ‘relatively stable combination of physical, psychological, and social properties’. However, it is important to recognise that the viewer’s prior knowledge can vary and this can effect their understanding of the character.  It is also important to acknowledge that the film is often in full control of the construction of the mental model. Films can play on ‘psychological tendencies of impression formation (e.g. primary and halo effects)’. Films are in control of when information about a character is revealed, and in what way this information is received.

Eder refers to the work of Ralf Schneider to understand how a mental model can be constructed - either ‘more top-down or more bottom-up’. A character can be understood immediately if the information delivered by the film is reliable and ‘corresponds to social or narrative types’. Otherwise, the viewer must ‘build the model from scratch’ by using their own memory and mental simulations. Eder acknowledges that the bottom-up method can mean that the process of understanding is slowed down but the character model may become ‘more detailed, individualized, and vivid’ as a result.

Other kinds of closeness are dependent on the viewer having a consistent mental model of the character. In order for the viewer to relate to the character, they must be able to ‘grasp at least his most relevant traits’. Eder explains that this is connected with the ‘psychological concepts’ of imagination, identification, and empathy. However, it is also influenced by the ‘narratological concepts’ of point of view storytelling, perspective, and focalisation. 

It’s important to understand how film analysis is able to recognise the range of ‘mental experiences’ undergone by the viewers and the characters over the duration of the film. These emotion responses or mental processes are influenced by or directed towards ‘certain aspects of the diegesis’ (i.e. a character, an action or scenario etc...). Eder acknowledges this relation between ‘actual or fictional minds’ to ‘intentional objects’ and refers to it as ‘mental perspective’.

By contrasting her understandings with the research developed by Berys Gaut, Eder has been able to determine four kinds of mental perspective:

Perceptual and imaginative (seeing, hearing, hallucinating, and dreaming)

Epistemic and doxastic (knowing and believing)

Evaluative and conative (judging, evaluating, having interests, concerns, wishes, goals, and plans)

 Affective (having emotions, moods, and feelings)

The effect a viewer, character, or narrator has on mental perspective and how a view can relate to a character, can be understood through the individuality or combination of these four kinds. A viewer can come to relate to a character in a number of ways i.e. the viewer can ‘just get to know’ the character’s perspective despite not sharing it, or they may share it because they feel similarly on the topic, or the viewer can take on the character’s perspective via ‘mental simulation’. This final idea results in ‘reaching the highest degree of closeness’.

A typical viewer may only know intimate details of very few people’s lives, while in comparison to cinema, they have an extensive collection of characters whose lives they can come to know intimately in a relatively short space of time.

Understanding a character’s mental experiences is ‘interdependent’ with knowing their traits, but it is a second sense of understanding. Eder outlines several ‘levels of understanding’ between a character’s mental perspective to mentally simulating it. However, Eder emphasises that ‘understanding is always aspectual’. Therefore, a viewer may relate to a character whose values they reject. 

Thus, an average viewer can share the perceptual perspective of an idealised hero as well as of a sadistic murderer, and might judge their evaluative perspectives contrarily, yet might nevertheless feel distant to both of them.

However, it is important to recognise the effect of a character’s goals, motivations and values within the narrative on the audience. To relate to a character, it is perhaps helpful to share their perspective, but it may be necessary to also feel similar to them.

Familiarity and Similarity

Once the viewer has constructed a mental model of a character, they are able to relate them to real people - either themself, or to others they know. Thus, the ‘preconscious associations’ and ‘conscious comparisons’ can create a sense or feeling that this character is familiar or similar (depending on who the viewer is relating the character to). This feeling can be ‘deepened’ by regular and continued exposure to a character whose mental perspective is shared.

Eder recognises the importance of work conducted by feminist and psychoanalytical film theorists who offer that the sense of relatability between viewer and character is strengthened by ‘sex/gender and class’. However, ‘cognitive and empirical social psychology might contribute significantly’ to the degree of closeness.

The relation between viewer and character can be understood through ‘social identity’ and ‘social distance’. The difference of social factors such as age, gender, race, and social class, can have an impact on the viewer’s ability to understand characters. These social factors may trigger internalised biases within the viewer and can potentially distance them as they resort to ‘stereotyping’ and feel ‘antipathy’ towards the character. The character is a part of their ‘out-group’. In contrast, these social factors may encourage the viewer to feel a closeness to the character, thus causing a feeling of sympathy. The character is a part of their ‘ingroup’. On the other hand, a character in the viewer’s outgroup may receive sympathy because the viewer is interested in them. This character may fulfil a ‘social role’ or remind the viewer of a real person in their life. This can result in the viewer taking life experiences of this real person and applying them to the character to better understand them, or they may take their own feelings for the real person (love or hate) and apply them to the character once more. The familiarity of a character to a real person can influence how a viewer may feel towards them, and the degree of closeness.

Similarly, the viewer may see a likeness between the character and themself. This can lead to the viewer to ‘appraise the character more positively’. Eder refers to social psychologists who state that perceived similarity can contribute to ‘interpersonal attraction’ as well as ‘sympathy’. This can be heightened if the viewer sees similarities between their attitudes and values with those of the character. Thus, ‘similarity makes understanding a character easier’ and ‘tends to confirm the viewer’s world-view’.

A viewer may also relate their own abilities or status to a character, determining whether they are lower, equal, or higher than the character they are perceiving. This can draw ‘admiration’ or ‘pity’ from the viewer, but it may draw ‘fear’ or ‘derision’. If the character is perceived as better, the viewer may idolise them, or wish to be more like them which in turn effects the level of closeness between viewer and character. 

Eder further refers to ‘’similarity identification’’ and ‘’wish identification’’ and claims that films could be understood ‘more precisely’ if these ‘phenomena’ are applied to mental schemata and socio-psychological tendencies. She states that some films ‘exploit’ familiarity and similarity for ‘propaganda’ or to dissolve perspectives. She suggests that the most important way to generate familiarity between viewer and character is to emphasise familiarity in their ‘situations and experiences’.

Conclusion

Viewer’s relations of spatiotemporal, cognitive, and social closeness to characters ‘mutually influence each other’, and influence PSI as well as affective responses.

As a rule of thumb, all these experiences act upon each other as intensifiers and catalysers

Nevertheless, ‘closeness of one kind may also hinder closeness of another’. For example, a close up of a character’s hands may allow viewers to share the character’s visual perspective, but it hides the character’s facial expressions. Moreover, a person may understand a character, but this does not mean they will feel similar to them. Perhaps it will only highlight their differences, hindering the degree of closeness between viewer and character.

Therefore, Eder states that ‘all kinds of closeness to characters are interconnected in probabilistic and context-sensitive ways’. Although level of closeness can be inferred from watching a film, it is important to recognise that individuals do not all feel the same, and the general trends of the time the film was released in, as well as watched in, can have an impact on degree of closeness.

Closeness may have a positive effect on people, but it may also have a negative effect.

Similarity identification and ingroup categorization, matching perspectives and goal sharing, synchronicity, joint semantic-perceptual space, more exposure effect, and other parameters often contribute to an appraisal that is positive rather than negative. 

Despite moral evaluation being perceived as a requirement for the ability for viewers to feel close to a character, it may be influenced (positively or negatively) by other aspects - i.e. biases formed through familiarity and similarity. 

Therefore, ‘Whether the viewer develops sympathy or empathy is largely a matter of mental perspectives’. Viewers from different genres of film may project a different idea of the character, depending on what they desire from them.

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Memorable Characters by Cyndi Giorgis, Nancy J Johnson, Chrissie Colbert, Angela Connor, et al, page 518-519

The authors discuss the development of characters in literary work and how writing structure and techniques, combined with illustration, create a ‘memorable’ character. They explain that a character is understood and developed through their ‘appearance, actions, dialogue, and monologue, as well as by what others reveal about them’. Within books, characters can talk in written accents that play on grammar and spelling to deliver information to the reader. Similarly, in film an actor can portray a character by putting on an accent, which has the same effect on the audience. Film can also play on costume to visually deliver information about the character in a way a book may not be able to (if the book is not partnered with illustration). Nevertheless, the authors differentiate between a character and a ‘Well-crafted’ character by acknowledging that a well-crafted character is someone readers ‘come to know’. They further make the distinction that a character can be memorable regardless of whether the audience ‘love them or hate them’. A well-crafted character is someone that an audience can ‘relate to’ through their dilemma, by either sympathising with their struggles or rejecting ‘their situation and actions’. A memorable character may not necessarily be a protagonist; they may play the role of ‘antagonist’ or any other character type. An important instruction for creating a memorable character is that they must be ‘believable’ for the audience to ‘understand’ what they say and do and why they take these actions. The authors further explain how a book coupled with illustration will offer a different way for the audience to relate to and understand a character. They offer that the illustrator ‘interprets and envisions the character’s physical appearance and emotional response’. This, on the surface, can be interpreted as merely the costume, but an illustrator can also depict a character’s body language, which can suggest to the reader a character’s ‘beliefs, attitudes or relationships to other characters’. In regards to film, an actor will undertake the role of delivering the body language to express the inner mindset of the character. An actor’s efforts to deliver this understanding may be coupled by the efforts of the costume department who construct the wardrobe. A costume department may work to emphasise parts of the actor’s physical appearance, and similarly an actor may interact with a costume in a particular way to emphasise traits of a character. Although these visual elements can be crucial to a book (and are crucial in regards to film), the authors express that it is the ‘literary element’ of the character that ‘enhances the story’. This is true, for a book must primarily rely on the writing; thus is the nature of a book. This is further relevant to film, as without a script, the film may struggle. A script works as a structure and sometimes as a guideline, or a starting point to deliver the narrative. Through the development of the film, and the work of combined creative forces, the narrative developed by the script, may be visually changed or altered. To conclude, the authors answer how a character becomes memorable by stating it is how the author ‘portrays the vulnerability or uniqueness of the character’ so that ‘he or she lingers long after the story concludes’. This is similar to film; however, a book is written by one person (perhaps with the aid of an editor) therefore the creative decisions are streamlined by a singular vision. Within a film, there are hundreds of creative individuals who all have a say on the presentation of the narrative and the elements within. A larger, combined effort is used to deliver a character that may be memorable in the minds of an audience. Nevertheless, there could be no character without the script which guides these creative minds. However, even in scriptwriting this may be a combined effort of multiple individuals. Tens of people may work on a script, whereas it is typically understood that a singular person works on a book.

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Viewers’ Interpretation of Film Characters’ Emotions: Effects of Presenting Film Music Before or After a Character is Shown by Siu-Lan Tan, Matthew P Spackman, and Matthew A Bezdek

The authors express the relationship the film score has with the visual screen images as ‘increasingly complex’. Through extensive research on the topic, the authors have discovered that the film score, coupled with the visual elements of film, can ‘significantly influence’ the viewer’s interpretation of the film content. 

They outline the areas of investigation explored as having included ‘perceptions of characters’ emotional or motivational states’. ‘characters’ roles or functions in a scene’, ‘relationships among characters’. ‘interpretation of the narrative’, and ‘prediction about what might happen next in the film narrative’. The results of these investigations show that music can have a ‘strong influence’ on the viewer and how they perceive characters or objects shown on screen. 

In particular with human characters, the authors acknowledge that music can ‘interact with visuals in more complex and subtle ways’. Viewers are far more likely to connect with human characters, and understand the emotions displayed on a human’s actor’s face. Therefore, the film score can have a large affect on how the visuals of the film are perceived by an audience.

‘Positive music led to positive interpretations’, and ‘negative music led to negative interpretations’. However, ‘film excerpts viewed in the no-music condition were interpreted as relatively neutral’. This understanding is supported by the study conducted by the University of California which concluded that the general public’s fear of sharks was encouraged by the use of ominous music in nature documentaries.

The current study is the first to demonstrate empirically that the soundtrack accompanying shark documentary footage can affect viewers’ perceptions of sharks.

The emotion of music can affect audience interpretation of a scene, action, character, etc.. which could otherwise be less understood in the absence of a film score. In this way, the film score thusly aids the narrative, and its role is crucial. As the authors state, the music can ‘influence’ viewer’s interpretations of screen images ‘under conditions in which behaviour is less ambiguous’.

To strengthen their claims, the authors explain the extensive research undertaken in a ‘variety of areas’  which ‘consistently’ shows that people can recognise ‘emotion signals’ at ‘relatively high rates’. These signals may be ‘sent via the face’ (understood to be the ‘primary medium’ by which persons ‘express emotion’) or ‘conveyed by voice’, ‘posture and gait’, and ‘through music’. The importance of this understanding is that film is a visual medium which often presents human characters or characters with human characteristics. Therefore, films can easily access an audience’s emotional response. 

There is also some agreement amongst researchers that there are at least four emotions that have ‘unique’ associated facial expressions - happiness, sadness, anger, and fear (with further consideration on disgust and surprise). Further research in the field also indicates that a general person is typically ‘accurate’ in interpreting these emotions in ‘both amateurs and professional actors’.

Nevertheless, the authors acknowledge that despite there being a ‘wealth’ of research into the identification of emotion from faces, research is still lacking about how faces communicate emotion in film. The authors quote Eidsvik (1997) who expressed:

though there is good reason to believe that much of our film viewing time is spent watching faces, since the advent of sound film little has been publish on facial expressions in cinema

The authors further acknowledge the techniques used by filmmakers - such as ‘slowing the progression’ of the narrative with a ‘lingering shot’ - to emphasise the emotion of a scene or the emotion present on an actor’s face. However, there is little research in understanding how these techniques can affect the audience’s interpretation of the film narrative.

The authors express that music often serves the ‘important communicative function’ of expressing emotions, and the research taken into understanding how to identify musical expression is also sufficiently lax. However, they do take note that there is some literature ‘indicating’ that the more basic emotions are ‘relatively accurately identified from music’. Moreover, their own findings suggest that even when music is not played simultaneously alongside visual filmic sequences, ‘music can influence viewers’ perception of film characters’ emotions’.

Through their own research, the authors were able to determine that music presented before a scene, had a stronger impact on how audiences perceived emotions to be ‘more intense’ than if the music played after a scene. The authors understood that hearing the music before a scene played out ‘primed participants to look for signs in the facial expressions that match the music’s emotions and attributed these emotions to neutral faces’. They quote Boltz (2001) who determined:

foreshadowing music encourages an audience to extrapolate a future scenario of events that is consistent with the implied mood of the music

The authors further concluded that the film score is ‘such an important part of the film-viewing experience’ that even when attention was directed away from the music, their participants reported that it ‘served as an important signal for the film characters’ internal states’. Participants in this study also believed that images in the film were accompanied by a film score ‘even when there was no music at all’. Therefore, it can be concluded from this study that music within film is extremely important in how an audience is to understand the narrative and emotional elements of the film.

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When Promises Fail: A Theory of Temporal Fluctuations in Suicide by Howard Gabennesch

The idea that acts of suicide rise during the festive season is ‘commonplace’ amongst ‘laypeople and professional counselors’. Gabennesch recites the idea that ‘”people get depressed around the holidays”’ and examines how much truth can be attained from this belief. 

The reality of the situation, to Gabennesch, is that the end of the year ‘raises hope’ in ‘some’ people on the verge of suicide, offering that they may feel ‘discouraged’ in carrying out the act. The idea is that the arrival of Christmas or, specifically, New Year’s brings the promise of new beginnings - a chance to start again. However, the ‘implied promise’ brought by a ‘new temporal cycle’ is usually left ‘unfulfilled’ and therefore, ‘the stage is set for a drop in mood’. Christmas typically holds the signification of family and stresses the importance of familial relations. The promise of positive company acts to comfort those facing extreme action against themselves. New Year’s holds the idea of second chances, wiping the slate clean, a chance to move on, and the lead up to this holiday offers hope. However change does not come through socially constructed holidays. This realisation is felt most harshly post-New Year’s. 

Therefore, it is understandable to those studying the effects of temporal cycles on those suffering from extreme lows in mood that ‘suicides are less likely to occur before a major temporal threshold than after it’. A major temporal threshold can apply to the beginning of a ‘week, month, calendar year, seasonal year, and school year’ as well as important holidays.

Despite the myth that the holiday season (November-December) would see an increase in suicides, the ‘monthly rates continue to decline’ during this time, and only begins to increase in January and February. The idea offered by Gabennesch is that ‘something is inducing a delay in suicides’ towards the end of the calendar year. This could be referring to the approaching holiday of Christmas and the end to the calendar year. Some suicides may be ‘averted’ with the promise of a ‘new beginning’. 

This can result in what Gabennesch calls a ‘temporal broken-promise effect’. The ‘elevated’ sense of expectancy brought by a positively perceived event or temporal change, propositions a better future. However, Gabennesch emphasises the importance of understanding that the ‘implied hopefulness rarely is so strong as to enter awareness’. The link between the temporal event and the implied hopefulness is part of the ‘taken-for-granted experience of reality’. Therefore, people are more likely to sense rather than to think on this hope.  

Gabennesch explains that there does not need to be a strong or conscious connection to affect emotions and behaviour, as ‘most individuals’ do not receive great amounts of ‘hopefulness and optimism’ from ‘routine temporal events’.  Therefore, the influence of such temporal events as holidays, or the start of the new week, are ‘ordinarily quite negligible’. Nevertheless, a person whose emotions are heightened during intense shifts in their mental state, may be ‘sufficiently sensitive’ to the ‘weak’ implication of hope brought about by the temporal change. Therefore, someone on the verge of committing suicide can be affected. As Gabennesch states:

Even a small amount of semiconscious hopefulness might be meaningful to an otherwise hopeless person.

The knowledge that can be gained from this is that, if something as small in significance to a well-minded person such as a change in temporal rhythm, so too can any other ‘condition’ that may ‘elevate his/her hopes and expectations’. These can be changes or events that may not have a basis for ‘sustaining these emotions’. This may explain why an emotionally heightened person may kill themselves despite the impression from those they knew that ‘they had just begun to improve psychologically’. 

Thus, the following theory is proposed by Gabennesch:

despondent individuals whose spirits have been lifted for some reason are vulnerable to a broken-promise effect, and some will fall victim to it.

Statistics developed by different researchers studying the rates of suicide between the 1960′s-1970′s discovered that these rates tended to be ‘lower’ on ‘national holidays’ with the exception of New Year’s Day, which had an ‘unusually high suicide rate’. Neither teams of researchers explained the anomaly, therefore proposing the question by Gabennesch; ‘why should New Year’s Day show a different relationship with suicide than the other holidays?’. A potential answer is the high level of alcohol consumption, but Gabennesch further queries that it may be because New Year’s Day is the holiday that ‘most explicitly marks a transition between an old period and a new one’. Further, it is noteworthy that the holiday is ‘experienced longer’ as midnight is ‘accentuated by great public attention’ - attention that is usually incredibly positive. The significance of this holiday on the idea of the broken-promise effect is that New Year’s serves to provide three ideals:

The ‘implicit promise’ of a new beginning;

A spirit of ‘collective optimism’ to contrast against an individuals singular unhappiness; and

the ‘length of time available’ for those considering suicide to recognise that ‘promises are not being kept’.

The conditions for influencing a person’s suicide can be categorised into ‘three major types’. The first being the ‘psychological misery that can make the prospect of death seem easier to bear than the prospect of life’. This may be the result of an individual’s believed failure in performing specific important roles - i.e. losing their job, or the breaking down of a relationship, physical pain or disability, or a strong hit to their social reputation.

A second factor is in the existence of ‘insulation’ that protects an individual from committing suicide. Stable relationships, home, and job, or a stable position in a particular community - where they live, or in a religious group - can protect and individual from the belief that living is harder than dying.

Finally, those who are on the verge, may be influenced by other variables that do not have any relation to the previous two categories. These could include binges - particularly alcohol or drug related - or the ‘imitation effect’ in which one person at work who commits suicide may trigger another to do the same, or the ‘broken-promise effect’. The broken-promise effect may be related to temporal cycles, but it could be the result of any other factor in an individual’s life that ‘elevates a sense of expectancy’.  

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Laughing at Ourselves (in the Dark): Comedy and the Critical Reflections of Social Actions by Roymieco A. Carter and Leila E. Villaverde

Carter and Villaverde focus their article on Sacha Baron Cohen’s 2006 film Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation to understand audience response to socially-focused humour. 

Within this article, Carter and Villaverde remark that it is ‘nothing new’ for a comedian to ‘hold a mirror up to the public and watch as they applaud her/him for exposing their faults’. Comedy that plays on societal offences can often be more regularly accepted by an audience, compared to films of another genre that present a societal offence straight. A comedy is not necessarily agreeing with what it showcases, which is apparent in the likeable unlikeability of the leading role.

Carter and Villaverde refer to Cohen’s use of American stereotypes and taboos ‘as the subject of confrontation and reflection’. The authors state that that the audience laughter generated from this has ‘numerous sources’, with the most ‘immediate’ response being a ‘nervous repulsion of personal image, manifesting culturally specific ideas and closely held beliefs’. An audience may laugh at the apparent ridiculousness or awfulness of their culture, but their laughter does not indicate that they enjoy this aspect of their society, rather that they are aware, and within the relationship between them and the film, they are forced to be confronted by it. 

Comedians have long been pointing out the triviality of culturally upholded institutes, such as the idea of Celebrity. Playing on the ‘hidden social secrets’ of society is a common practice amongst comedians, and this extends into comedy presented through other mediums such as books and film, rather than just standup. As Carter and Villaverde point out, comedians who play in this arena stand on a ‘rickety platform’. The authors remark that the ‘common thread’ for these comedians is that ‘”truth” lies within the unflattering images we witness on the screen/mirror’, and therefore the question as to whether the audience is truly repulsed by these jokes is inevitably asked. 

We recognise these comedians’ tendency to come dangerously close or swell in the precipice of intolerance, violence, discomfort, reification, familiarity, and folklore to construct some degree of social pause which may fold into laughter or rejection, question or validation, social responsibility or irresponsibility.

Narrative mediums rely on ‘interpersonal conflict’ and ‘tension’ - which Carter and Villaverde state are ‘necessary tools’ - to retain the attention of an audience. Therefore, artists of these mediums can aim to push the ‘pinnacle of this discomfort’ to demand critical awareness and reflectivity ‘in place where disengagement occurs’. Particularly in comedy, filmic, stand up and written, the artist can play with the tools of conflict and tension, combining themes of social taboos to challenge the audience. Comedians walk a fine line here in the presentation of the joke and its motivation - is the joke aiming to offend? If the answer is yes, then the comedian has crossed the line.

Comedy should never aim to oust an entire portion of its audience.

In the face of challenging social taboos cast in soft light of comedy, the authors ask what the audience is to do ‘but laugh’?

The authors are quick to acknowledge the uncomfortable nature of laughter as an audience response to onscreen comedy, specifically if the comedy is dark in its nature. They point out in their screening of Borat that the root of the laughter from their audience transformed quickly from humour to ‘something more uncomfortable and sinister’. They state that this transformation was ‘significant’ as humour can range from ‘lighthearted or fun to dismissive and callous in seconds’. The context for the laughter must be understood - how it came about, and the strength of it. However, the authors are quick to point out the complexity of asking audience members why they laughed at such jokes, as responses will typically be ‘”it’s funny”’ - the audience may refuse awareness into understanding why they found a joke funny. Surely a joke is funny because it is a joke. By its nature, it must be funny. Moreover, to break down why the joke is funny, is akin to killing it, as E. B. White stated:

Explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog. You understand it better but the frog dies in the process.

However, it is important to understand why jokes, specifically joke rooted in the darker sectors of society, are funny. If the joke is offensive, the frog is already dead. Further, it is a fascinating insight into society to understand why a joke, if not offensive but dances on the fringes of the border, or plays in those societal taboos, is funny.

As the authors state, ‘we laugh for many reasons’ - as an ‘escape’ from an uncomfortable situation, as a ‘tool of group association and/or acceptance’ and as an ‘unconscious, contagious impulse’. 

Carter and Villaverde further ask whether it is ‘fair’ to judge the audience’s morals and intelligence if they do not fully understand their situation. In a setting where the viewer is watching a comedy film with an audience, they are more likely to laugh out loud. When ‘one leader’ in the social group breaks into laughter, regardless of whether the rest of the group understands the joke, ‘all members of the group laugh’. This is one explanation for why an audience may laugh at socially edgy jokes.

Laughter does not always signify that the audience is in agreement, acceptance, or understanding of the actions taking place on screen or the character’s motivations to carry out such actions. In some cases, laughter from an audience may indicate their ‘discomfort and awkwardness’ towards the character, and may also suggest they are finding it ‘hard to reconcile’ the actions of the character onscreen, accompanied with the use of ‘common life experiences’. The audience may be in shocked disbelief at the outrageousness of the character, but understand the relatability of the situation the character is in. The character may present an extreme reaction to a relatable life experience. The audience may understand the situation via their own experiences but they are more ‘adept at analyzing or evading’ the moments that the fictional character is forced to live through. The audience is able to use their ‘social (in)abilities, choosing to reject, support, or avoid the awkwardness of real life experiences’. Therefore, the humour comes from the audience being forced to live through these experiences they are so used to avoiding - a form of second hand embarrassment takes hold. As the authors state, a ‘mental straight jacket’ holds the audience ‘firmly in place’ as the comedic film ‘plucks your moral and social biases like they were strings of a banjo’.

Understanding what is so funny about a darker comedic film is important, in order to ‘more poignantly understand the movie as text’. It is important to question why, when, what, and who the audience is laughing. When responding to the question ‘How are we made to laugh?’ the authors remark that in the ‘true classic comedic style’, the protagonist ‘must be naive in the expectations of the experience’. The protagonist must not be aware of the social consequences of the situation.

Moreover, the effect of the audience’s pre-understanding of the film’s genre, has an effect on their reaction to what they see on screen. The authors suggest that if an audience is given the ‘pretext’ of watching an ‘action, horror, drama, suspense, or documentary’ the the act of the protagonist washing ‘his face in a toilet’ becomes ‘an act of desperation or tragedy’. However, the idea that this stems solely from the audience’s understanding that they are watching a tragedy therefore the action must be tragic, is not completely founded. A genre film comes with conventions and tropes. It is how the film is crafted that influence an audience. If the scene the authors suggested, which takes place in Borat, was put into a drama as written and performed and shot and edited as it is in the film Borat, the audience may be confused by its shift in tone. A scene is not funny solely because the audience expects it to be. However, understandably, an audience may be more likely to laugh if they are aware that they are watching a comedy. They do not laugh because they know they are watching a comedy. The knowledge of the comedic genre may only serve to relax them in their expectations. It is on the film to effectively deliver.

The conventions of a farce comedy revolve around ‘simple misunderstandings’ and/or the use of ‘mistaken identity, satire, and improbably situations’. For these elements to ‘succeed’ in achieving laughs from its audience, the farce comedy must first ‘gain the audiences’ willingness to accept’ the premise established to them. The film must force the audience to put aside their knowledge of the ‘parameters’ and the ‘construction’ of the film. The audience must fully believe in what they are saying and become lost in the world and narrative established by the film.

Any film to some extent plays with what we know, what we think we know, what we don’t know, and hope to know.

Both authors acknowledge that the critical analysis of film will not result in less ‘racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, or discriminatory practices’ on screen. However, they also acknowledge that laughing at these topics does not always ‘mean enjoyment, approval, or consent’.

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The art of comedy: an interview with Gordon Korman by Teri Lesesne

Lesesne asks Korman about creating comedic characters while still ensuring the character is cared about by the audience, describing it to Korman as a ‘delicate balancing act’. Comedic characters can often find their misfortunes to be the punchline of a joke. Therefore, the difficulty in making an audience care for characters where if something bad were to happen to them, it would usually be the joke, is immense and a fine line to walk. 

Korman responds by saying most readers perceive humour as ‘guilty until proven innocent’, and goes on to blame Aristotle ‘who wrote that comedy is a lower art than tragedy’. Making someone laugh is perhaps no less difficult than making someone cry. One emotion is not brought on easier than any other.

Korman expands on this by stating,

A character, overtaxed, abused and frazzled, torn in a dozen different directions, driven by outrageous fortune to outrageous action, has always been my literary ideal.

The character of Bruce Robertson from the 2013 dark comedy film, Filth, is driven to extreme action after extreme action to obtain the goal forever just out of his reach. The audience should not laugh with Bruce, but at him. Bruce’s horrific personality and ideals should make him an unlikable character - someone who cannot be sympathised with. Yet, the film is able to sway the audience’s opinion and make them care for Bruce as the reality of his life is laid out in the open.

If he or she is believable, and if each individual plot twist is believable - even if the sum total of twists seem unlikely - then readers will care.

Korman explains that if the audience is able to, on some level, relate to this kind of character, they will always want the best for this character - whether it be for their luck to change, or for them to face redemption.

In fact, they’ll care all the more for a character who has been through the shredder.

A character who is consistently down on their luck, will draw sympathy from an audience who may laugh at the unbelievable amount of misfortune thrown at the character, but the audience will keep spectating in the hopes that the character finally has a happy ending.

When comparing comedy to drama, Korman expresses that in a comedy, ‘laughs are payoffs, and they come constantly’ whereas in a drama, it is ‘the dramatic tension that keeps a reader hooked’.

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The Filmmaker’s Eye: Learning (and Breaking) the Rules of Cinematic Composition by Gustavo Mercado Pages 2-5

Mercado states that the way to be an effective storyteller is to have a ‘clear vision’ of the story that is being told.

Mercado emphasises the importance of shot composition, declaring ‘anything and everything that is included in the composition of a shot will be interpreted by an audience’. Nothing in a shot should be meaningless. A director may place particular props or decorate a setting in a particular way that they may not think anything of, but the audience may pick up on it, and interpret these aspects of the mise en scène as having meaning to the context of the scene. 

In this way, the placement, or the size, or the visibility of anything in the frame can ‘affect’ how the audience understands its ‘importance’ to the story. There should always be a purpose for everything in the frame and where they are placed. The director must always ask why should something be in that specific part of the frame. Everything should be ‘absolutely necessary’. 

Therefore, ‘the framing of your shots should reflect your understanding’ of the story in order to convey the creator’s specific vision.

However the specific visual elements in a shot do not convey meaning just by the composition, but the context of which these elements are arranged are also important. The example Mercado uses is the high angle shot - when the camera is placed to look down on a subject - which is commonly used to convey when a character feels ‘defeated, lacking in confidence, or psychologically vulnerable’. Mercado explains that despite this being a common shot, a director must not ‘assume’ that the audience will immediately understand what is being conveyed if the context of the story does not support it.

Similarly, it is possible to ‘subvert’ the expectations an audience builds of a commonly used shot. A high angle shot could be used to imply a character’s confidence rather than their lack of it, and if the context of the situation supports it, it will not be misunderstood by the audience. 

Nevertheless, Mercado retreats back to ask how to decide what visual elements should be used to ‘motivate your choice of shot size and composition’? He insists that before deciding on the composition, the creator must understand what should ‘dominate’ the composition, what should be ‘included and excluded’, what ‘meaning should be conveyed’ by the shot ‘beyond what is contained in the frame’.

A way to understand and make these decisions is to identify the ‘themes and ideas’ at the ‘heart’ of the story - the core ideas.

‘What is your story really about’ is an important question posed by Mercado that any creative individual should ask about their piece before they start the thumbnailing process. 

Mercado explains that an ‘effective’ story contains ‘strong core ideas’ that ‘add emotional depth and context’ for the audience to connect with.  ‘Every decision’ behind a shot composition - this can relate to ‘stocks, color, lighting, lenses, depth of field, filtration, and color correction’ amongst others - should reflect the story’s themes.

A visual decision that is made should be used ‘consistently’ throughout the film. Once a visual is used, the audience has understood its connotation. If the, for example, a director uses a high angle shot to infer lack of confidence, and then uses the same high angle shot to infer confidence, this could lose the audience, or the shot may ‘fail to connect’ with the audience.

Mercado emphasises that ‘Every shot counts, no matter how inconsequential’. This is how the audience reads the story.

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Mise En Scène and Film Style: From Classical Hollywood to New Media Art by Adrian Martin - Sam Dickinson for Australian Humanities Review

Dickinson reviews the work of Martin in an article discussing the broad scope of mise en scène. He expresses the word, mise en scène, is ‘seemingly defined anew with each use’. Various film theorists or critics group different characteristics of film into the meaning of mise en scène. For example, Villarejo demands for separate analytical attention to hair, make-up, and costume, but does not make the same demand for props - incorporating this category into ‘Settings’. On the other hand, Spadoni incapsulates hair and make-up under costume, and insists on discussing props as a separate group. 

Therefore, mise en scène can be understood as having a ‘range of understandings’ which Dickinson explains mise en scène to mean it is “everything and nothing specific’’ because it is redefined by each individual. Mise en scène has no ‘set of parameters’ for the categories that it covers, but must relate to everything within the frame. Martin refers to ‘figuration, orchestration, gestures’ when discussing mise en scène. To Martin, this word means the ‘movement of bodies and objects within the moving frame(s)’. 

Interestingly, Dickinson picks up on Martin’s insistence of the inclusion of sound in mise en scène. Typically sound is discussed as a separate topic, but to Martin there is ‘inseparability’ between sound and image. The cinema is an audio and visual experience. Discussing only the image, dilutes the experience as sound plays a pivotal part in the audience’s understanding of the film image. Non-diegetic sound can give context to the expression of the character. However sound is not placed within the space of the frame - at least not physically.

The issue with discussing mise en scène in an analytical format is that the topic is ‘too broad’ and therefore, Dickinson expresses that it cannot contribute to a ‘meaningful account’ of the politics of a film, and can limit any judgement made about the film.

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David Zellner on Kumiko the Treasure Hunter

Director of Kumiko the Treasure Hunter, David Zellner, expresses the metaphorical intensions on the scene where Kumiko attempts to set her rabbit, Bunzo, free into the wild:

Kumiko releases her beloved friend, Bunzo, out to the free world after living its life in a cage. And when given complete freedom and autonomy, doesn’t know what to do

In a separate featurette, he expands on this

. . . given freedom, it’s overwhelmed and is frozen

Thus, this scene can be interpreted as representative or even foreshadowing of Kumiko’s fate at the end of the film. She breaks free from her own cage, her small home in Japan, and when given freedom, she is frozen out of her Boss’ bank account, frozen out of her relationship with her cold mother, and ultimately, frozen to death at the end of the film. Bunzo represents the shyness of Kumiko, and her reluctance at escaping the lonesome life she leads.

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A quick comparison of the 2014 drama, Kumiko the Treasure Hunter to 2013′s dark comedy, Filth. Both tell the story of an isolated individual who will stop at nothing to achieve their goal.

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Film An Introduction - William H. Phillips Chapter 3 Editing Pages 113 - 140

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Film An Introduction - William H. Phillips Chapter 2 Cinematography CAMERA DISTANCE - PERSPECTIVE - DIGITAL CINEMATOGRAPHY Pages 84 - 104

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Film An Introduction - William H. Phillips Chapter 2 Cinematography TYPES OF LENSES Pages 80 - 83

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Film An Introduction - William H. Phillips Chapter 2 Cinematography - LIGHTING Pages 71 - 80