Thoughts
on a film: Shirley: Visions of Reality (2013)
Martin Scorsese once said:
"Cinema is a matter of what's in the frame and what's out." It's a
statement that I returned to several times within the context of the film in
question, and also in relation to another quote, similarly attributed to a
legendary filmmaker: "Everything is cinema."
The Scorsese quote is
interesting, and speaks to the responsibilities of the filmmaker when
approaching the necessities of 'coverage' - i.e. determining where to put the
camera, what to emphasise within a given scene, where the point of interest is
- as well as considering things such as context, ideology and intention.
However, it's a statement that isn't exclusive to the practicalities of filmmaking,
and there's the rub. What's in the
frame, and what's out, could just as
easily be applied to the practice of painting, or photography. It could even be
said about the theatre; or at least the conventional
theatre, restricted as it often is by the parameters of the stage.
In Shirley: Visions of
Reality, the filmmaker Gustav Deutsch applies Scorsese's maxim to the rigorous
recreation of several paintings by the artist Edward Hopper; using the notion
of "what's in the frame" as a pretext to spin-off a series of
interpretations and phantom narratives inspired by what Deutsch sees within the
paintings themselves (the representations, the settings, the "protagonists",
etc), but also what might be seen outside
of them (the historical context, the politics of the age, the fundamentals of
Hopper's own life). In doing so, my mind wanders back to that second
hypothesis, "everything is cinema" - normally credited to one Jean-Luc
Godard - and finds within it a kind of justification for this film and its central experiment.
Throughout the film, Deutsch
and his collaborators painstakingly recreate thirteen of Hopper's most iconic paintings
as a series of theatrical tableaux. Through further use of voice-over and
physical performances, the filmmakers attempt to convey a consistent narrative
that runs through each of the paintings in an effort to better explore the
nuances and ambiguities of Hoppers own work against the possible historical and
social-political contexts that surrounded them.
Shirley: Visions of
Reality [Gustav Deutsch, 2013]:
I have to admit, as an
experiment, and as a work of cinema in its own right, the film left me somewhat
conflicted. On the one hand, I don't think the narrative that Deutsch attaches
to Hopper's paintings is as interesting as the stories that are already conveyed
or suggested by the art itself. Yes, the idea of linking the individual female
subjects from several of Hopper's most important works (in order to create a
kind of subconscious stand-in for the various themes the filmmaker has
extrapolated from his own personal interpretations of the artist's iconography)
is a clever one - creating a kind of symbolic representation of either the
notion of womanhood in the mid-twentieth century, the 'voice' of the American
theatre during its most turbulent and transformative period, or the
personification of the country itself from the year 1931 through to 1963
(encapsulating both the pre and post-war periods) - it's never entirely
compelling, as a dramatic device, or comprehendible, as a political statement.
Hopper's work already has
a long association with the cinema. Several high-profile filmmakers - going
back to Alfred Hitchcock's work of the 1940s and 50s; or more specifically, the
whole legacy of directors, production designers and cinematographers associated
with the development of the 'film noir' (think The Killers (1946) by Robert
Siodmak for instance) - have tried to emulate Hopper's distinctive depiction of
urban Americana and managed to capture something of that same nocturnal,
melancholic air.
Nighthawks [Edward Hopper,
1942]:
The Killers [Robert
Siodmak, 1946]:
Deep Red [Dario Argento,
1975]:
The End of Violence [Wim
Wenders, 1997]:
When we think of the name
Edward Hopper, there's a certain narrative of expectation that presents itself.
It's a narrative of loneliness, alienation, longing and disappointment.
Hopper's figures are often haunted, alone, disconnected from the society that
surrounds them. They exist within settings that are often communal in nature -
cafés, bars, cinemas, trains, office-spaces - but his figures are devoid of companionship;
frozen almost, in time. They become like ghosts, haunting the landscape of an
American Gothic, or like prisoners, trapped by circumstances and routines.
The filmmakers that have
best translated Hopper's images to the screen have found a certain affinity for
such characteristics and situations, or for that feeling of quiet desperation;
the aching loneliness associated with being adrift in the big city. The silence
of Hopper's paintings doesn't require a context or elucidation for us to possess
a greater understanding or insight into these narratives of still life; it's
all there in the expression; the ambience and the sensitivity, which is felt.
Automat [Edward Hopper,
1927]:
Shadows in Paradise [Aki
Kaurismäk, 1986]:
While 'Shirley' does
succeed in presenting a sense of the sadness, longing and disconnection
associated with Hopper's paintings, there are whole sections of the narrative that
are devoted to discussions of the American theatre, Communism, the House
Un-American Activities Committee, the betrayals of Elia Kazan, the inferiority
of the Hollywood system, the works of Emily Dickinson, the contradiction of the
phrase "photography as truth", contemporary journalism, and a vague
back-and-forth story about a couple unable to connect.
None of the themes or
storylines that are here assigned to Hopper's work feel necessary to our own
understanding of the images themselves. Instead, they present a kind of highbrow
academic variation on the notion of fan-fiction; connecting the various dots, not because they feel explicit to the conception
of Hopper's paintings, but because they're of interest to the filmmaker. This,
in and of itself, is not an issue. However, the lines of interpretation that Deutsch
attaches to Hopper's works aren't significantly well developed; instead feeling
like vague traces or suggestions of something that never quite collates into a
consistent narrative.
These fragments of a story
play out against the further use of actual news bulletins that cover a whole
stratum of American history (taking us from the tail end of the depression, to
the outbreak of the Second World War; through the rise of feminism, the civil
rights movement and the imminent assassination of president John F. Kennedy).
It's difficult to understand what any of these cultural milestones have to do
with Hopper's paintings or how we, as an audience, interpret them, but they seem
significant to Deutsch's projection of the work and his own perception of this tumultuous
period in the country's evolution.
Perhaps this is what the
film's subtitle, 'Visions of Reality', is really getting at. The idea that the
art, while depicting a simple, still life observation, becomes, in itself, a representation of the
period in which it was created. These paintings, as cultural artefacts, do
present, in the very literal sense, visions
of reality; not just in their emphasis on small, seemingly inconsequential
details that define one facet of the human condition, but as a recorded
documentation of the attitudes, politics, fashion, styles, expressions and
routines depicted in the work; as well as in the social, racial and economic
backdrops that existed during their conception.
Shirley: Visions of
Reality [Gustav Deutsch, 2013]:
Western Motel [Edward
Hopper, 1957]:
While I'm left to question
why Deutsch decided to interpret the woman in these paintings as an actress
involved in radical left-wing theatre, or what her journeys through Hopper's
landscapes are supposed to represent, or how these fragments of a story are
supposed to tie the personal to the political, I did find the film strangely
beguiling and always beautiful; even if the intellectual context of the work
seemed elusive and largely impenetrable.
As a work of cinema, 'Shirley'
is undoubtedly a masterpiece of form and stylisation. The use of light and
shadow, the colour and texture, the compositions and general mise-en-scene, are
all exquisite, both in their mimicry of Hopper's hugely recognisable aesthetic
and as an example of pure cinematic craftsmanship. The detail and authenticity
with which Deutsch and his cinematographer Jerzy Palacz have brought to life
Hopper's work makes the supposedly grand stylisations of Wes Anderson - as
typified by films such as The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004) and The
Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) - look like an action-figure's diorama.
The sound-design is also worth
highlighting. The ambient sounds of passing trains, street life, seagulls and
crashing waves help to give a realistic depth to these abstractions of
artificiality; bringing the world of the paintings to life, but still capturing
something that is somewhat surreal, even dreamlike. I was less keen on some of
the music selections - including, somewhat incongruously, the songs of David
Sylvian - which despite capturing the same yearning loneliness inherent in the
imagery, felt too modern in this particular context. Nonetheless, the film
throughout has an almost hypnotic quality, intensified by the static
compositions, slow zooms and languid cutting, as well as through the voice-over
evocations of the actress Stephanie Cumming (who brings a captivating and
enigmatic presence as the film's central figure).
Shirley: Visions of
Reality [Gustav Deutsch, 2013]:
While I'll no doubt
wrestle with the intellectual or political merits of this film for some time - with
the same unanswered questions and peculiarities going back and forth through my
own interpretation of Deutsch's work - there's a part of me that would relish
the opportunity to see this again. Whether or not we reject the film as a work
of imitation, or as a gimmick, or as something that is more art installation
than conventional motion picture, there's no denying that this is a thought-provoking
film of precise moments; some
perplexing, others astounding.
One scene in particular
stood out to me as something so beautiful that it elevated the entire
experience of the film as a whole. It's a recreation of Hopper's 1963 painting,
Intermission, in which this figure of Shirley finds herself alone in a cinema.
As the unseen film begins to play, Shirley realises that the rest of the
audience hasn't returned from the intermission. She's sat there - eager to
share this experience with her fellow human beings - but she's all alone. In
this brief moment, divorced from Deutsch's projected narrative, the combination
of the beautiful cinematography, the impeccable production design, the music, the
voice and subtleties of Cumming's performance, each work together to create a
moment that is fragile, intimate, reflective, heartfelt, biting and perceptive.
In a word: unforgettable.
