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scotchfields · 4 years

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Missions of Possibility: Space, Virtue, and Empathy in Mission: Impossible - Fallout

Mission: Impossible - Fallout mobilizes space and character alignment to maximize the physical and moral catharsis that the action film genre seeks to provoke. In the film’s action scenes, McQuarrie imbues treacherous problem spaces with a moral conflict between Hunt’s yen to avoid the loss of innocent lives (through his strategic, harm-reduction-focused “scalpel” approach that is associated with his alienation from wife Julia) and the CIA’s demand for success through whatever means possible (through the efficient, life-endangering “hammer” approach). Action sequences, then, become virtue-driven set pieces that seek to resolve problem spaces via these conflicting models. Forward movement of the plot hinges on the success and/or failure of these methods. At times, Ethan will fail to master the problem space around him at the expense of moral success; at others, Hunt agent will resolve the problem space but fail to preserve his virtuous methods. The emotional and action arc of the film traces the alignment of spatial mastery with the upholding of virtue, culminating when Ethan can finally integrate the successes of the hammer approach into those of his scalpel. Mission: Impossible - Fallout rejuvenates the action film genre by mapping our investment in melodramatic catharsis onto our investment in the mastery of space, making us unsatisfied until the two harmonize in the film’s climax.

The forward movement of the plot tracks the competition between Ethan’s success in his mission and his own moral failings. Hunt’s relinquishing his mission’s objective for moral rectitude often accelerates the plot. For instance, the entire premise of the movie (successfully extracting Plutonium to keep out of the hands of the Apostles) could have been resolved in the. first action scene had Hunt nabbed the suitcase and let Luther perish; Ethan’s failure, instead motivates the next scene and his globe-trotting mission to track down the remaining nuclear spheres. Failure inspires forward plot movement in this way. It’s almost as if we’re waiting for his virtuous methods to actually succeed. Similarly, Ethan’s accomplishing an IMF objective is often met with a moral compromise that tugs against the story’s progress: Hunt successfully plucks Lane from an armoured convoy but has to run over Ilsa in order to do so. His success prods the narrative forward but we don’t want Hunt to begin the next leg of his mission (and indeed he doesn’t) until he makes amends with Ilsa and reassures us of his goodness. McQuarrie even takes us into a kind of The Killer-esque narrative space that vies to reinvest us in the melodramatic stakes of the film through visual romance: after reckoning with Ilsa, Ethan has a dream in which Lane and Julia stand side-by-side in a red room shimmering with golden lights and lens flares. Just as in the expressively-lit scenes of Ah Jong’s saving Jennie in an alleyway in The Killer, the lighting pyrotechnics here remind us of the splendor of Ethan’s married life and of the necessity of the “hammer approach” that enabled him to nab Lane in the police chase sequence. The narrative, in this way, must absolve Ethan of his moral failings before we can jump into the next action sequence. We cannot have spatial mastery without first having been reassured of moral goodness. This plot structure, coupled with the aesthetically-heightened melodrama beats, conditions us to crave the harmony between the successful completion of his mission (via the mastery of treacherous problem spaces) and the bulwarking of virtue.

The plutonium deal set piece further shapes our desire for spatial mastery to coalesce with the reassurance of virtue. McQuarrie’s approach to problem spaces reanimates those of Buster Keaton to strengthen our empathy for Ethan’s moral crisis in the heat of action. Both directors guide the audience to obvious possible resolutions to action set pieces only to upend our expectations through an improbable solution. In a scene like when Sherlock, Jr. jumps from the roof of a building into a car via a railroad gate, Keaton uses wide shots that both articulate the issues of the problem space posit solutions to these issues. We scan the frame as Sherlock might and deduce that he could: simply jump off the roof onto the car; clamber down one of the telephone poles; or sidle one of the telephone lines until he is directly over the car and then jump in. When he chooses an improbable stunt, we are amazed by his mastering of the space and our alignment with his plight bolsters.

In this scene from Fallout, McQuarrie pits the problem space against Ethan’s conscience and inveigles us to believe that Hunt can resolve the sequence without sacrificing his team. The director sets up a series of treacherous environments that build off each other and make us crave the mastery of physical space. Indeed, blocking, color, and editing help signal the function of certain spaces in the frame that are later upended: when the dealers aim their crosshairs at Ethan and Benji, we know that their section of the parking garage (denoted by a large golden red light) will erupt into violence if the agents fail to procure the requested payment; similarly, as Ethan and Benji look behind them when asking Luther to “bring the money,” we know that the deep background of their frame (denoted by an eerie fluorescent green light) will be where their partner comes in with the money. The edits and color essentially serve the same purpose as the long shot in the scene from Sherlock, Jr.: they clearly articulate the possible outcomes and solutions of the problem space. In Fallout, however, the string of closer range shots bring us closer to the action, the green lighting casts a grimness over the scene, and the golden red light supplies the frame with suggested violence. These artistic choices intensify the atmosphere and make us feel the danger of the situation rather than viewing the film space as a kind of equation.

In Keaton’s film, we want to resolve the problem space because of the pleasure of watching something nearly impossible unfold before our eyes; in Fallout, we want the problem space to be resolved so we can shake off the oppressive atmosphere and partake in the mastery of a dangerous space.

As the problem space evolves, our desire for spatial mastery tugs against that for Ethan’s retaining virtue. McQuarrie compounds the problem arena by having the previously established parts of the frame fulfill an unexpected function: the deep background behind Ethan and Benji, instead of serving as the assumed spot for Luthers’ delivering the money, sprays the nuclear arms dealers with bullets. Our sense of space becomes convulsed, doubly so since we expect violence from the golden-red frame not vice-versa. We then get a new slate of spatial rules and obstacles: the walls are safe areas; don’t cross the alleyway where The Apostles are raining gun volley; somehow deliver the plutonium from one side of the alley to the other. We get an easily executable but morally dubious solution when Benji summons their car, for Ethan can stow the plutonium in the truck and speed away but in the process would leave his team in the clutches of the Apostles. A point of view shot that pans from the suitcase to the car, then to the street outside spells out how simple the space could be resolved but the final rack focus aligns us with Ethan’s desire to save his team. Virtue thus complicates the problem space in Fallout. We are made to prefer the safeguarding of moral goodness over the fantasy of spatial mastery.

This sequence demonstrates that Fallout is invested in the limits of virtue and the ways in which its powers are unable to resolve problem spaces. Unlike in the Keaton space, the unexpected solution (shooting Luther’s bullet-proof vest before the Apostles can, then firing at the legion) fails. The camerawork momentarily convinces us - by concealing the Apostles’ actual theft of the plutonium - that Ethan’s scalpel approach works and we fleetingly possess the fantasy of spatial mastery and the reassurance of moral. We want virtue to resolve the problem space but it ultimately fails without a callousness to destruction.

The final action sequence, then, becomes especially satisfying because Ethan welds his tactical scalpel approach with the more destructive hammer approach and we are able to witness the marriage of spatial mastery with the reassurance of goodness. Because the stakes (a nuclear bomb incinerating a village in Kashmir) are so monumental and because the IMF agent operates alone, Hunt’s desire to save his team conflates with that of accomplishing the broader mission of saving millions of lives. As a result, in the helicopter chase set piece, Hunt’s off-the-cuff strategy-driven style merges with a more brutal approach. Long shots of the two aircrafts flying over the mountaintops succinctly underline the problem space: once he hijacks the chopper, we intuit that he must somehow bridge the gap between his aircraft and Walker’s in order to retrieve the detonator. Two possible solutions crop up that respectively embody the scalpel and hammer approaches: the dangling payload could be dropped onto Cavill’s aircraft; the constant motion of the shot also suggests that Hunt could simply, brutally ram into Walker. Since Ethan throughout the film endeavors to out-maneuver his enemies with varying degrees of success (he escapes the cops, but is unable to catch Walker after his true identity is unveiled), it becomes satisfying to witness the IMF agent total Cavill’s aircraft through brute force. Hunt is able to finally cause large-scale destruction for virtuous reasons. The moment solidifies his arc from a scalpel to a hammer that is still able to accomplish the mission at hand with morals in tact.

The editing in this scene further reinforces our empathy for Ethan’s struggle with his environment. McQuarrie takes an approach to montage that is in some ways antithetical to the intensified continuity of Greengrass’ The Bourne Ultimatum. In the scene where Bourne lights a trash can on fire, for instance, the mobile shaky cam cuts: from a close up of his hands unbottling the hairspray; to a close up of the hairspray going into the can; to a medium long front shot of Damon speed-walking away from the can; to a medium back of Damon still fleeing; to a medium of Damon again escaping the scene as the trash can blows up; to a profile close-up of Damon fleeing as passersby wail at the sudden explosion. Greengrass ekes visual dynamism out of rapid editing (six shots in five seconds) on different angles on the same subject. This montage style jolts the viewer and emphasizes the intensity and violence of the set piece while also blurring our awareness of space.

The editing in the helicopter scene in Fallout instead highlights Cruise’s performance and the perils of the environment. As Ethan climbs the payload after falling, McQuarrie cuts between each shot in a relatively to attune the viewer to the perilous environment. A wide shot that slowly pulls back from Ethan scaling the copter signals to us the depth of his fall if he fails again. We feel the danger of the space, which is compounded by the proceeding shot, a low angle of Walker in his copter. This doubles the sense of danger, cuing us to the fact that if Ethan does manage to hijack the chopper, he will still have to deal with his foe. We cut back to a brief extreme high angle, medium close of Ethan, which re-emphasizes the depth and danger of the space while making palpable Hunt’s desperation. McQuarrie then cuts to a single long of Hunt monkeying to the top of the rope and successfully swinging to the ledge of the copter. This sequence of four shots lasts 39 seconds -- a much more patient pace than the series of six shots in Ultimatum. Greengrass would have likely cut on several angles (from medium to close, back to front, etc.) as Ethan swings to the chopper’s railing. Rather than impute movement onto the frame through rapid editing, however, McQuarrie’s static camera emphasizes the actual actors’ movement through the frame (made all the more impressive by Cruise’s performing his own stunts). Our alignment with Ethan is fortified, and we are more astonished when he pulls off the improbable feat of scaling an airborne helicopter because we are more aware of the environment’s dangers. Our physical catharsis is made much more powerful from violating the norms of intensified continuity.

This is likely what makes Mission: Impossible - Fallout an exciting action film -- rather than give the audience a total roller-coaster ride of spatially vague kinetic energy, we get action-driven puzzles that are at turns solved by brute force and strategy that either reinforce or undermine the protagonist’s capability of virtue. The narrative takes us from these methods to their coalescing in the final act, where the satisfaction of destruction reassures us of virtue in the protagonist and in the world at large -- giving us a sublime sunset peeking through purple and white mountaintops that let us know the world is a good place.

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