I must begin this week by professing my undying love for Christopher Nolan.
For the uninitiated, Christopher Nolan is a film director/writer/producer who is having an enormous impact on the way films are being made and sold. Though this may sound simple, the statement is in fact riddled with complexity and contradiction. In the interest of getting to the point, Nolan is merging compelling dramatic narratives and breathtaking action set pieces with fiercely intelligent and progressive ideas.
This week I was sat at my desk, deeply engrossed in social network revenue models, when I heard the following phrase, 'Well that's the problem with Nolan isn't it?' I immediately stopped what I was doing to ask my boss for a bit of repetition and a lot of explanation. 'Well, his films are incredible but they aren't emotional'. After a good few minutes I managed to choke back my shock, and the bile that was forming at the back of my throat, in order to shriek 'WHAT!?' This was followed by descriptions of some emotionally devasting moments from Nolan's films, lots of dramatic pauses and a few too many unintentionally threatening facial expressions. After listening to everything that I had to say, my boss then flattened me with seven little words, 'but has he ever made you cry?'
I was speechless. Of course he had! Many times. He must have done. I'm always so touched. I always finish the films feeling deeply affected. But I simply could not recall. This stumped me for a moment, but I soon dismissed the ridiculous notion and returned to my work. However, I have been thinking about this question ever since. I'm sure I'm right. I MUST be right, but I can't recall shedding a single tear. I must be suffering some kind of mental block due to my severe appreciation of his work, but still no recollection...
You may be thinking that this really isn't an issue at all. That the spectrum of human emotions does not begin and end with sadness and tears. However, Nolan's films do not shy away from sadness. There are many sad events which occur in his films and each one is heavily injected with extremely melancholic tones. It is also worth noting that I have cried at many, many films. I might even describe myself as something of a crybaby when it comes to film. For instance, whilst reviewing films at University I had the unfortunate luck of having to watch Bride Wars (Gary Winick, 2009).
For those who haven't seen it, Bride Wars is one of the most godawful 'chick flicks' I've ever had to sit through. It wasn't funny, it wasn't clever, I didn't like any of the characters and the premise still makes me want to punch myself in the face. However, bringing up this hideous representation of women must now all become clear as I shamefully admit to crying at one point in the film. That's right. Bring on the ridicule.
Having now established that it's incredibly easy to make me cry, my supposed lack of emotional expression when viewing Nolan's work seems all the more absurd. So it was with extreme intrigue and an overwhelming impulse to prove my boss wrong, that I chose to review The Prestige (Christopher Nolan, 2006).
Set at the end of the 19th century, The Prestige follows the careers of two stage magicians (Alfred Borden played by Christian Bale, Robert Angier played by Hugh Jackman) and the obsessive rivalry which escaltes between them. To provide any more of a synopsis would be to do a disservice to the mystery which continues to surround the story even after the film has ended. With that in mind I should make it clear that the following text is written in view of my previous question relating to Nolan's work and as such does not really constitute an actual review. However, if you have yet to see the film, I would strongly recommend that you do so immediately and avoid anything that might steal away even a small fragment of the mystery surrounding the film.
I'd like to start by stating that, having just revisited this marvel of a film, I did not even come close to shedding a tear. So now I'm back to wondering why the traditionally sad events do not move me to tears or even create the usual deep sense of melancholy which you might expect. Having examined those scenes which I consider to possess the most potential to provoke sadness, it is apparent that deep emotional engagement is restricted by what happens before, during and after these sequences.
For example, Sarah Borden (Rebecca Hall) frequently appears depressed and unhappy in her marriage, eventually hanging herself in her husband's workshop. Her death has the potential to be incredibly sad, but any potential provocation of emotional expression in the audience is quelled by the portrayal of the event. For instance, in the setup of the sequence, Sarah slowly makes her way through the workshop. The score is initially simple, delicate and light, as gentle high notes are played softly. The first few shots are reasonably long, with minimal cutting between points of interest. These elements create a sense of eerie tranquility. As Sarah inspects the workshop, it is clear that her acceptance and understanding of her circumstances have translated into a sense of calm. These feelings are transferred to the audience via the cold and muted colour palette, lingering shots and delicate score. The opening tone of the sequence establishes this sense of calm acceptance, which does not help to convey the horrific ramifications of Sarah's death.
The sequence itself only lasts for forty-five seconds and consists of Sarah slowly walking around Alfred's workshop. She touches a few items until finally resting her hand on a piece of rope. The audience then hears a loud fluttering noise whilst the camera rapidly cuts to an extreme closeup of some birdcages, before cutting straight to a long shot of Sarah's lifeless hanging body. The framing and distancing of the long shot works to remove the audience from the scene both physically and emotionally, as they cannot see her face as she dies. This forces the audience into the position of casual observer. Rather than focus on the character, Nolan has made Sarah a mere body in the distance.
Finally, After this sequence, Nolan cuts straight to Angier's side of the tale and doesn't revisit Borden for another three minutes. This focuses the audience on Angier and his circumstances, distracting them from the consequences of Sarah's suicide. In fact, the effects of this sequence on Sarah's family are never really shown. The next time Borden appears it is to talk coldly of Sarah and to confess that he never really loved her. Borden's cold and unfeeling attitude leaves the audience with no one to empathise with in order to tap into the sadness of Sarah's death. Though her daughter is now without a mother, the viewers are never really afforded the opportunity to consider this loss. The handling of this sequence indicates a deliberate choice on the part of the filmmaker to remove the audience from any opportunity they might have to feel any sadness. Which further begs the question - why?
One possible reason could be that Nolan is reflecting upon the nature of obsession, which dominates thought and feeling leaving little room for anything else. However, a stronger possible explanation is that the audience are never allowed to fully understand the events of the film. The mystery which surrounds each of the characters clouds them from the average levels of filmic identification and empathy. The narrative mystery works to partially shield the characters from the usual levels of identification and is aided by strategic camera work, an often covert score and non linear plotting. That is not to say that we cannot fear for or engage with the characters, but that it is much more difficult to empathise with a character when the reasons for their outlook and actions are so carefully concealed.
It is not surprising here that my conclusion looks favourably on Nolan. I can only end by saying that there does seem to be a lack of emotional outpouring with most of his work, but when films are this good... who cares? It is impossible to be all things to all people and absurd to object to something lacking when that something does absolutely nothing to detract from the considerable enjoyment of the film.
My Rating: 9.5 Sonias out of 10
A twisting, turning snake of a film, The Prestige conceals the truth long after its final bite.
Art Imitating Life Rating: 6 out of 10
Though the themes of the film are universal the surface activities and actions are far removed from the everyday. So despite the central human core beneath its layers of intrigue, The Prestige is only awarded a 6 out of 10 on the real life ratings scale.
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