Chat with us, powered by LiveChat UM Do the Right Thing Discussion - STUDENT SOLUTION USA

-The paper should be the minimum of 1,300 words in MLA format.

-Discuss its narrative structure with reference to the the Classical Hollywood Narrative

Below is a discussion post I did on the subject already so feel free to use some points and sentences from it


“For this week’s discussion, I decided to watch Spike Lee’s

Do the Right Thing

film

.

I’ve watch a couple of Spike Lee’s productions, but this film was a first. The film takes place in predominantly African-American neighborhood in Brooklyn New York. I believe Spike Lee wanted to shine light on the social and racial disparities in the community that affected the African American culture daily. Within the neighborhood was a small pizzeria ran by three male whites who were racist and had no problem displaying such hatred. They operated a restaurant which majority of their business were from black individuals yet they still treated them badly. The restaurant was a key plot in this production.

After reading this weeks assignment, I thought I had a pretty good understanding of the difference elements of mise-en-scene but I was taken for a loop after watching the film. It was so many different details from the costumes, background props and setting that it was almost overwhelming because you’re noticing hundred things at one time. It was difficult to focus on only one aspect because each shit displayed something different. For the sake of not writing a long dissertation, I’m going to focus solely on the costumes of the characters.

Majority of the plot takes place outside in the sweltering heat therefore the costumes coincided with the weather. Many characters were seen with their shirts saturated with sweat. The shirts were wet around the neck and the men had their shirts unbuttoned to expose their chest for ventilation. The women had in crop tops and daisy duke shorts. One character

Da Mayor

was the neighbor drunk and his clothes were dirty, unkept and of a baggy nature. Moreover,

Mookie’s

clothing was a bit more stylish and clean. It reflected him as a young man that had a job and cared about his appearance.

Radio Raheem costumes was very symbolic to the overall motive of the film in my opinion. The shirt he wore had

Bed-Stuy

written across the front which showed his pride for his neighborhood. Even though the community was poverty stricken, it was still a sense of pride and honor. In addition, Radio Raheem wore two brass knuckles with the words

love

and

hate.

He expressed to Mookie that it’s a constant battle between both entities but in the end love always win. Lastly, apart of his costume was a big boom box that he carried everywhere. The significance of the boom box was the song

Fight the power

sounded each time the boom box was seen. The song was the anthem of the film because it was a consistent reminder of racial discrimination and a motivation to keep fighting for justice. ”

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The Classical Hollywood Cinema
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David Koepp, screenwriter of Ju-
rassic Park and War of the Worlds,
discusses the cult of storytelling in
“David Koepp: Making the world
movie-sized.” Premium Rush,
written and directed by Koepp, is a
model of a modern film in the
classical Hollywood tradition. We
discuss it in “Clocked doing 50 in
the Dead Zone.”
66 Intention and obstacle. Cling
to that like a lifeboat. Somebody
wants something, something’s
standing in their way. Intention and
obstacle. Once you have that,
that’s the drive shaft of the car.”
-Aaron Sorkin, screenwriter, The
Social Network, Moneyball
<
that your ending resolves the initial situation. Suggestions like these can be valuable,
but we need to recognize that they reflect only one tradition. This tradition has
often been called that of “classical Hollywood” filmmaking.
The tradition is called classical because it has been influential since about 1920
and Hollywood because the tradition assumed its most elaborate shape in American
studio films. The same mode, however, governs narrative films made in other
countries. For example, The Road Warrior, although an Australian film, is con-
structed along classical Hollywood lines. And many documentaries, such as Pri-
mary or Super Size Me rely on conventions derived from Hollywood’s fictional
narratives.
This model of narrative form tends to present individual characters making
things happen. Large-scale events such as floods, earthquakes, and wars may affect
the action, but the story centers on personal psychological causes: decisions,
choices, and traits of character.
Typically the plot focuses on one or two central characters who want some-
thing. The protagonist has a goal, and the narrative will develop toward achieving
that goal. In The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy has a series of goals; at first she wants to
save Toto from Miss Gulch, and later she seeks to get home from Oz. Her desire
to get home creates short-term goals along the way, such as getting to the Emerald
City and then killing the Witch.
If this desire to reach a goal were the only element present, there would be
nothing to stop the character from moving quickly to achieve it. But in the classi-
cal narrative there’s a blocking element: an opposition that creates conflict. Typi-
cally, the protagonist comes up against a character with opposing traits and goals.
As a result, the protagonist must overcome the opposition. Dorothy’s desire to
return to Kansas is opposed by the Wicked Witch, whose goal is to obtain the
ruby slippers. Dorothy must eventually eliminate the Witch before she is able to
use the slippers to go home. We shall see in His Girl Friday how the two main
characters’ goals conflict until the final resolution (pp. 403-406).
The classical plot traces a process of change. Often characters achieve their
goals by changing their situation-perhaps they gain fame or money or just sur-
vival-but they also change their attitudes or values. In The Road Warrior, Max
comes to appreciate loyalty to a community. At the end of Jerry Maguire, the hero
has found professional success but also has learned the value of friendship and a
loving family.
But don’t all narratives tell stories of this sort? Actually, no. In 1920s Soviet
films, such as Sergei Eisenstein’s Potemkin, October, and Strike, no individual serves
as protagonist. In films by Eisenstein and Yasujiro Ozu, many events are seen as
caused not by characters but by larger forces (social dynamics in the former, an
overarching rhythm of life in the latter). In narrative films such as Michelangelo
Antonioni’s L’Avventura, the protagonists are not active but rather passive. So a
filmmaker need not put the striving, goal-oriented protagonist at the center of a
film’s story.
Classical Hollywood filmmakers tend to let psychological causes motivate most
events. Throughout, motivation in the classical narrative film strives to be as clear
and complete as possible—even in the fanciful genre of the musical, in which song-
and-dance numbers express the characters’ emotions or display stage shows featur-
ing the characters. When there are discontinuities of character traits, those need
explaining. In one scene of Hannah and Her Sisters, Mickey (played by Woody
Allen) is in a suicidal depression. When we next see him several scenes later, he
is bubbly and cheerful. What caused the abrupt change? Mickey explains via a
flashback that he achieved a serene attitude toward life while watching a Marx
Brothers film. Now the cause-effect pattern is clear.
In creating a classical film, the filmmakers adjust time to fit the cause-effect
progress of the story. Every instant shows something that contributes to the flow
of the story, and stretches of time that don’t contribute are skipped over. The hours
Σ
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For a discussion of how characters’
goals can be crucial to major tran-
sitions in the plot, see “Times go
by turns.”
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CHAPTER 3
Narrative Form
Dorothy and her entourage spend walking on the Yellow Brick Road are omitted,
but the plot dwells on the moments during which she meets a new character.
Specific devices such as appointments and deadlines make plot time depend on the
story’s cause-effect chain as well. When characters agree to meet and then we see
them meeting, the stretch of time between the plan and the meeting becomes
insignificant. Similarly, a deadline forces the action to reach a certain stage at a
specific time.
Filmmakers working in the classical tradition have a range of choices about
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narration, but most tend to present the action objectively, in the way discussed on
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
pages 91-93. The film will usually present an objective story reality, against which
Coincidences supposedly have no various degrees of perceptual or mental subjectivity can be measured. Classical
place in tight storytelling, but they filmmakers also tend toward fairly unrestricted narration. Even if we follow a sin-
are more common than you might gle character, there are portions of the film giving us access to things the charac-
think. We talk about how filmmakers ter does not see, hear, or know. North by Northwest and The Road Warrior remain
get away with them in “No coinci-
good examples of this tendency. This weighting is overridden only in genres that
dence, no story.”
depend heavily on mystery, such as the detective film, with its reliance on the sort
of restrictiveness we saw at work in The Big Sleep.
Finally, most classical filmmakers prefer a strong degree of closure at the end.
Leaving few loose ends unresolved, the films seek to wrap up things clearly. We
usually learn the fate of each character, the answer to each mystery, and the out-
come of each conflict.
Again, none of these features is a law of narrative form in general. There is
nothing to prevent a filmmaker from presenting the dead time or narratively unmo-
tivated intervals between more significant events. Jean-Luc Godard, Carl Dreyer,
and Andy Warhol do this frequently, in different ways.
The filmmaker can also include material that is unmotivated by narrative cause
and effect, such as the chance meetings in Truffaut’s films, the political monologues
and interviews in Godard’s films, the intellectual montage sequences in Eisenstein’s
films, and the transitional shots in Ozu’s work. Narration may be unexpectedly
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subjective, as in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, or it may hover ambiguously between
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objectivity and subjectivity, as in Last Year at Marienbad. Finally, the filmmaker
The classical approach to narrative
need not resolve all of the action at the end; films made outside the classical tradi-
is still very much alive, as we show tion sometimes have open endings like that of The 400 Blows (p. 79).
in “Your trash, my TREASURE,”
Valuable films have been made within the classical tradition. Yet it remains
devoted to National Treasure, and only one way of using narrative form. If we want to gain a wider appreciation of
“Understanding film narrative: The all types of cinema, we can’t demand that every movie conform to Hollywood
trailer,” on The Wolf of Wall Street. conventions.
<
>
Σ
Next Page
Narrative Form in Citizen Kane
Citizen Kane is one of the most original films to come out of Hollywood. It has
won praise on many counts, not least its subtle approach to storytelling. Director
Orson Welles and screenwriter Herman Mankiewicz made creative choices that
continue to influence how films are made today. Kane is an ideal occasion to test
how principles of film narrative can work in both familiar and fresh ways.
Overall Narrative Expectations in Citizen Kane
We saw in Chapter 2 that our experience of a film depends heavily on the expec-
tations we bring to it. Before you saw Citizen Kane, you may have known only
that it is regarded as a film classic. A 1941 audience would have had a keener
sense of anticipation. For one thing, the film was rumored to be a disguised ver-
sion of the life of the newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst, a business-
man as famous as Steve Jobs became. Spectators would thus be looking for events
keyed to Hearst’s life.
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Contents > Week One: The Classical Hollywood Narrative > Activities & Assessments » The Classical Hollywood Narrative Assignment Instructions
e Classical Hollywood Narrative Assignment
structions
signment: The Classical Hollywood Narrative
Read chapter three of Film Art, “Narrative as a Formal System.” (You may also find it helpful to glance briefly at chapters two and twelve, “The Significance of Film Fc
“Film Art and Film History.”
• After reading the chapter(s), choose and watch a film from this week’s suggested films list. As you watch the film, look for evidence of the narrative and stylistic chara
the Classical Hollywood Narrative mentioned both in your text and here on the overview page.
• Post a response to your film on the discussion board before Sunday at midnight. In your post, describe how your film adheres to or departs from the patterns of the CI
Hollywood Narrative.
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Table of Contents > Week One: The Classical Hollywood Narrative > Overview > Overview
Overview
<
>
Overview: The Classical Hollywood Narrative
While some film historians claim that the classical approach to Hollywood narrative faded away during the 1970’s (see pages 107-109 of Film Art), other scholars argue that
most American feature films–indeed most feature films worldwide–share many of the qualities listed below. These qualities constitute what is often referred to as the Classical
Hollywood Narrative:
• The setting of the film is primarily the present and focuses on external action–although some point-of-view shots, dreams, fantasies, or memories may be included.
The film usually concentrates on one character or a few characters.
• The primary characters (protagonists) have specific goals they attempt to achieve.
• In striving to reach their goals, these characters are forced to face antagonists and obstacles.
• The film has a strong degree of closure at the end, wherein the characters achieve their goals, thereby providing the famous Hollywood “happy ending.”
• The cause and effect chain of actions usually results from psychological motivations and is straightforward. What happens and why it happens are very clear.
Note: Technically, the ultimate goal of filmmakers working in the tradition of the Classical Hollywood Narrative is to tell a story as clearly and coherently as possible. Therefore, a style of
editing, mise-en-scene, and cinematography (glance at chapters four, five, and six of Film Art for definitions of these terms) are developed by individual filmmakers during the course of
production to ensure narrative continuity. More often than not, these stylistic and technical choices function to create a smooth flow from shot to shot and to advance the film’s narrative
and character exposition. By and large, the goal of directors, cinematographers, and editors working in the Classical Hollywood tradition is inconspicuousness, if not outright invisibility,
of form and technique.
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ching the film, the viewer picks up cues, recalls information, antic-ipates what will follow, and gene
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creation of the film’s
CHAPTER
CHAPTER
3
Narrative Form
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<
>
umans have an endless appetite for stories. As children, we devour fairy
tales and myths; we like to watch the same cartoons over and over. As we
get older, we become captivated by other stories—in religion and history,
in novels and comic books and video games and, of course, movies. We recount
our lives, or just what happened at work today, to anyone who’ll listen. Politicians
and journalists talk about “changing the narrative.” In the courtroom the jury hears
competing stories, and in our dreams we imagine ourselves in scenes and situations.
Narrative is a fundamental way that humans make sense of the world.
Stories grab and hold us. In Chapter 2 we considered how a sequence of items,
even letters of the alphabet, can prod us to ask what comes next. A story, filled out
with characters and their actions, intensifies that urge to the maximum. In 1841,
Charles Dickens serialized his novel The Old Curiosity Shop in magazine installments.
When ships brought the latest installment to America, crowds of readers packed the
wharf crying out, “Is Little Nell dead?” Almost two centuries later, children and their
parents lined up for hours outside bookstores to buy the newest Harry Potter novel.
Many of those youngsters rushed home and started reading it immediately.
They were not that different from fans binge-watching a whole season of a TV
show, or from fans eagerly waiting for the next installment of a movie franchise
and speculating online about upcoming plot twists. Whether the story is fictional
or factual, we feel driven to know how the action develops, how the characters
react, and how it all comes out in the end.
Because storytelling is so common and so powerful, we need to take a close
look at how films—both fictional and nonfictional-embody narrative form.
Principles of Narrative Form
Because stories are all around us, spectators approach a narrative film with definite
expectations. We may know a great deal about the particular story the film will
tell. Perhaps we’ve read the book that the film is based on, or this is a sequel to
movie we’ve seen.
Even if we aren’t already acquainted with the story’s particular world, though,
we have expectations that are characteristic of narrative form itself. We assume
that there will be characters and that the actions they take will involve them with
one another. We expect a series of incidents that will be connected in some way.
We usually expect that the problems or conflicts that arise will somehow be set-
tled-either they will be resolved or, at least, a new light will be cast on them. A
spectator comes prepared to make sense of a narrative film.
While watching the film, the viewer picks up cues, recalls information, antic-
ipates what will follow, and generally participates in the creation of the film’s
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pints out (p. 66), parallelism points up a similar-ity among story elements. Our example was the wa

73 s farmhands with Dorothy’s three Oz companions.A narrative may cue us to draw parallels among +
any other elements. Julie & Julia parallels two women, living in different periods, trying to juggle
passion for cuisine (3.1, 3.2). Julie never meets her idol Julia Child, but there is still a cause-effect link: Julie is inspired by the older woman’s
life.Sometimes a filmmaker goes further and doesn’t link the parallel stories caus-ally. Veřá Chytilová’s Something Different alternates scenes
from the life of a house-wife and scenes from the career of a gymnast. Because the two women lead entirely CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogWhen filmmakers create a prequel to an existing film story, they need to weave new patterns of cause and effect that
lead to the story we already know. We discuss how pre-quels manage this task in “Origi-nality and origin stories.” Narrative is one of the ways in which
knowledge is organized. I have always thought it was the most important way to transmit and receive knowledge. I am less certain of that now, but the
craving for narrative has never lessened, and the hunger for it is as keen as it was on Mt. Sinai or Calvary or the middle of the fens.” — Toni Morrison, author,
Beloved
Principles of Narrative Form
73
form. As we suggested in Chapter 2 (pp. 54-55), the film shapes our expectations by
summoning up curiosity, suspense, surprise, and other emotional qualities. The
ending has the task of satisfying or cheating the expectations prompted by the
film as a whole. The ending may also activate memory by cueing the spectator
to review earlier events, possibly considering them in a new light. When The Sixth
Sense was released in 1999, many moviegoers were so intrigued by the surprise
twist at the end that they returned to see the film again and trace how their
expectations had been manipulated. Something similar happened with The Con-
versation (see pp. 299-302). As we examine narrative form, we need to recognize
how it engages the viewer in a dynamic activity.
It’s the filmmaker’s task to create this engagement. How does this happen?
We can start to understand the filmmaker’s creative choices and the viewer’s activ-
ity by looking a little more closely at what narrative is and does.
66 Narrative is one of the ways in
which knowledge is organized. I
have always thought it was the
most important way to transmit
and receive knowledge. I am less
certain of that now—but the craving
for narrative has never lessened,
and the hunger for it is as keen as it
was on Mt. Sinai or Calvary or the
middle of the fens.”
– Toni Morrison, author, Beloved
<
>
What Is Narrative?
We can consider a narrative to be a chain of events linked by cause and effect
and occurring in time and space. A narrative is what we usually mean by the term
story, although we’ll be using that term in a slightly different way later. Typically,
a narrative begins with one situation; a series of changes occurs according to a
pattern of cause and effect; finally, a new situation arises that brings about the end
of the narrative. Our engagement with the story depends on our understanding of
the pattern of change and stability, cause and effect, time and space.
A random string of events is hard to understand as a story. Consider the fol-
lowing actions: “A man tosses and turns, unable to sleep. A mirror breaks. A
telephone rings.” We have trouble grasping this as a narrative because we are
unable to determine how the events are connected by causality or time or space.
Consider a new description of these same events: “A man has a fight with his
boss. He tosses and turns that night, unable to sleep. In the morning, he is still so
angry that he smashes the mirror while shaving. Then his telephone rings; his boss
has called to apologize.”
We now have a narrative, unexciting though it is. We can connect the events
spatially. The man is in the office, then in his bed; the mirror is in the bathroom;
the phone is somewhere else in his home. Time is important as well. The fight
starts things off, and the sleepless night, the broken mirror, and the phone call
occur one after the other. The action runs from one day to the following morning.
Above all, we can understand that the three events are part of a pattern of causes
and effects. The argument with the boss causes the sleeplessness and the broken
mirror. The phone call from the boss resolves the conflict, so the narrative ends.
The narrative develops from an initial situation of conflict between employee and
boss, through a series of events caused by the conflict, to the resolution of the
conflict. Simple and minimal as our example is, it shows how important causality,
space, and time are to narrative form.
The fact that a narrative relies on causality, time, and space doesn’t mean that
other formal principles can’t govern the film. For instance, a narrative may make
use of parallelism. As Chapter 2 points out (p. 66), parallelism points up a similar-
ity among story elements. Our example was the way The Wizard of Oz paralleled
the three Kansas farmhands with Dorothy’s three Oz companions.
A narrative may cue us to draw parallels among characters, settings, situations,
times of day, or any other elements. Julie & Julia parallels two women, living in
different periods, trying to juggle their marriages and their passion for cuisine (3.1,
3.2). Julie never meets her idol Julia Child, but there is still a cause-effect link:
Julie is inspired by the older woman’s life.
Sometimes a filmmaker goes further and doesn’t link the parallel stories caus-
ally. Veřá Chytilová’s Something Different alternates scenes from the life of a house-
wife and scenes from the career of a gymnast. Because the two women lead entirely
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
When filmmakers create a prequel
to an existing film story, they need
to weave new patterns of cause
and effect that lead to the story we
already know. We discuss how pre-
quels manage this task in “Origi-
nality and origin stories.”
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such ties would be nondiegetic as well. (They aren part on the story world, the characters could read them., Today superimposea unes are
on sorts of nondiegetic inserts, but we can find more unusual ones. In The Band Wagon, we see the
a
76 sical play. Through nondiegetic images, accom-panied by a brooding chorus, the plot signals that th +
5.5). THC tumakers have added nondiegetic material to the plot for comic effect. From the standpoint of the filmmakti, ut sury is uit sum itai
of all the events in the narrative. As the storyteller, you could present some of these events directly (that is, display or mention them in the plot),
hint at events that are not presented, and simply ignore other events. For instance, though we learn later in North by Northwest that Roger’s
mother is still close to him, we never learn what happened to his father. You, the filmmaker, could also add nondiegetic material, as in the
example from The Band Wagon. This is why we can say that the filmmaker makes a story into a plot. The spectator’s task is quite different. All
we have before us is the plot—the arrangement of material in the film as it stands. We create the story in our minds, CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogCan you make a plot out of several stories? Yes. “Pulverizing plots: Into the woods with Sondheim, Shklovsky, and David
O. Russel” shows how.CONNECT TO THE BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogFor examples of how story and plot can differ, see “Replay it again, Clint:
Sully and the simulations” and “Fantasy, flashbacks, and what-ifs: 2016 pays off the past.”
76
CHAPTER 3 Narrative Form
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
Can you make a plot out of several
stories? Yes. “Pulverizing plots:
Into the woods with Sondheim,
Shklovsky, and David O. Russell”
shows how.
<
>
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
For examples of how story and plot
can differ, see “Replay it again,
Clint: Sully and the simulations”
and “Fantasy, flashbacks, and
what-ifs: 2016 pays off the past.”
In other words, we infer causes, a temporal sequence, and another locale even
though none of this information has been directly presented. We’re probably not
aware of making these inferences, but insofar as we understand what we see and
hear, we are making them. The filmmaker has steered us to make them.
So the plot guides the viewer in building up a sense of all the relevant events,
both the ones explicitly presented and those that must be inferred. In our North
by Northwest example, the story would consist of at least two depicted events and
two inferred ones. We can list them, putting the inferred events in parentheses:
(Roger Thornhill has a busy day at his office.)
Rush hour hits Manhattan.
(While dictating to his secretary, Maggie, Roger leaves the office, and they
take the elevator.)
Still dictating, Roger gets off the elevator with Maggie and they stride
through the lobby.
The total world of the story action is sometimes called the film’s diegesis (the
Greek word for “recounted story”). In the opening of North by Northwest, the traf-
fic, streets, skyscrapers, and people we see, as well as the traffic, streets, skyscrap-
ers, and people we assume to be offscreen, are all diegetic because they are assumed
to exist in the world that the film depicts.
From the viewer’s perspective, the plot consists of the action visibly and audi-
bly present in the film before us. The plot includes, most centrally, all the story
events that are directly depicted. In our North by Northwest example, only two story
events are explicitly presented in the plot: rush hour and Roger Thornhill’s dictat-
ing to Maggie as they leave the elevator. The plot also includes the information
that characters may supply about earlier events in the story world, as when Roger
mentions his many marriages.
Note, though, that the filmmaker may include material that lies outside the
story world. For example, while the opening of North by Northwest is portraying
rush hour in Manhattan, we also see the film’s credits and hear orchestral music.
Neither of these elements is diegetic because they are brought in from outside the
story world. The characters can’t read the credits or hear the music.
Credits and a film’s score are thus nondiegetic elements. Similarly, in silent
films, many of the intertitles don’t report dialogue but rather comment on the
characters or describe the location. These intertitles are nondiegetic. In Chapters 6
and 7, we consider how editing and sound can function nondiegetically.
Suppose Hitchcock had superimposed the words “New York City” over the
traffic shots at the start of North by Northwest, in the way we considered adding
dates to the scrambled scenes of our hypothetical rom-com. Such titles would be
nondiegetic as well. (They aren’t part of the story world; the characters couldn’t
read them.) Today superimposed titles are the most common sorts of nondiegetic
inserts, but we can find more unusual ones. In The Band Wagon, we see the pre-
miere of a hopelessly pretentious musical play. Through nondiegetic images, accom-
panied by a brooding chorus, the plot signals that the production bombed (3.5-3.9).
The filmmakers have added nondiegetic material to the plot for comic effect.
From the standpoint of the filmmaker, the story is the sum total of all the
events in the narrative. As the storyteller, you could present some of these events
directly (that is, display or mention them in the plot), hint at events that are not
presented, and simply ignore other events. For instance, though we learn later in
North by Northwest that Roger’s mother is still close to him, we never learn what
happened to his father. You, the filmmaker, could also add nondiegetic material,
as in the example from The Band Wagon. This is why we can say that the filmmaker
makes a story into a plot.
The spectator’s task is quite different. All we have before us is the plot-the
arrangement of material in the film as it stands. We create the story in our minds,
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ching the film, the viewer picks up cues, recalls information, antic-ipates what will follow, and gene
a
72

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+
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3
creation of the film’s
CHAPTER
CHAPTER
3
Narrative Form
H
<
>
umans have an endless appetite for stories. As children, we devour fairy
tales and myths; we like to watch the same cartoons over and over. As we
get older, we become captivated by other stories—in religion and history,
in novels and comic books and video games and, of course, movies. We recount
our lives, or just what happened at work today, to anyone who’ll listen. Politicians
and journalists talk about “changing the narrative.” In the courtroom the jury hears
competing stories, and in our dreams we imagine ourselves in scenes and situations.
Narrative is a fundamental way that humans make sense of the world.
Stories grab and hold us. In Chapter 2 we considered how a sequence of items,
even letters of the alphabet, can prod us to ask what comes next. A story, filled out
with characters and their actions, intensifies that urge to the maximum. In 1841,
Charles Dickens serialized his novel The Old Curiosity Shop in magazine installments.
When ships brought the latest installment to America, crowds of readers packed the
wharf crying out, “Is Little Nell dead?” Almost two centuries later, children and their
parents lined up for hours outside bookstores to buy the newest Harry Potter novel.
Many of those youngsters rushed home and started reading it immediately.
They were not that different from fans binge-watching a whole season of a TV
show, or from fans eagerly waiting for the next installment of a movie franchise
and speculating online about upcoming plot twists. Whether the story is fictional
or factual, we feel driven to know how the action develops, how the characters
react, and how it all comes out in the end.
Because storytelling is so common and so powerful, we need to take a close
look at how films—both fictional and nonfictional-embody narrative form.
Principles of Narrative Form
Because stories are all around us, spectators approach a narrative film with definite
expectations. We may know a great deal about the particular story the film will
tell. Perhaps we’ve read the book that the film is based on, or this is a sequel to
movie we’ve seen.
Even if we aren’t already acquainted with the story’s particular world, though,
we have expectations that are characteristic of narrative form itself. We assume
that there will be characters and that the actions they take will involve them with
one another. We expect a series of incidents that will be connected in some way.
We usually expect that the problems or conflicts that arise will somehow be set-
tled-either they will be resolved or, at least, a new light will be cast on them. A
spectator comes prepared to make sense of a narrative film.
While watching the film, the viewer picks up cues, recalls information, antic-
ipates what will follow, and generally participates in the creation of the film’s
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pints out (p. 66), parallelism points up a similar-ity among story elements. Our example was the wa

73 s farmhands with Dorothy’s three Oz companions.A narrative may cue us to draw parallels among +
any other elements. Julie & Julia parallels two women, living in different periods, trying to juggle
passion for cuisine (3.1, 3.2). Julie never meets her idol Julia Child, but there is still a cause-effect link: Julie is inspired by the older woman’s
life.Sometimes a filmmaker goes further and doesn’t link the parallel stories caus-ally. Veřá Chytilová’s Something Different alternates scenes
from the life of a house-wife and scenes from the career of a gymnast. Because the two women lead entirely CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogWhen filmmakers create a prequel to an existing film story, they need to weave new patterns of cause and effect that
lead to the story we already know. We discuss how pre-quels manage this task in “Origi-nality and origin stories.” Narrative is one of the ways in which
knowledge is organized. I have always thought it was the most important way to transmit and receive knowledge. I am less certain of that now, but the
craving for narrative has never lessened, and the hunger for it is as keen as it was on Mt. Sinai or Calvary or the middle of the fens.” — Toni Morrison, author,
Beloved
Principles of Narrative Form
73
form. As we suggested in Chapter 2 (pp. 54-55), the film shapes our expectations by
summoning up curiosity, suspense, surprise, and other emotional qualities. The
ending has the task of satisfying or cheating the expectations prompted by the
film as a whole. The ending may also activate memory by cueing the spectator
to review earlier events, possibly considering them in a new light. When The Sixth
Sense was released in 1999, many moviegoers were so intrigued by the surprise
twist at the end that they returned to see the film again and trace how their
expectations had been manipulated. Something similar happened with The Con-
versation (see pp. 299-302). As we examine narrative form, we need to recognize
how it engages the viewer in a dynamic activity.
It’s the filmmaker’s task to create this engagement. How does this happen?
We can start to understand the filmmaker’s creative choices and the viewer’s activ-
ity by looking a little more closely at what narrative is and does.
66 Narrative is one of the ways in
which knowledge is organized. I
have always thought it was the
most important way to transmit
and receive knowledge. I am less
certain of that now—but the craving
for narrative has never lessened,
and the hunger for it is as keen as it
was on Mt. Sinai or Calvary or the
middle of the fens.”
– Toni Morrison, author, Beloved
<
>
What Is Narrative?
We can consider a narrative to be a chain of events linked by cause and effect
and occurring in time and space. A narrative is what we usually mean by the term
story, although we’ll be using that term in a slightly different way later. Typically,
a narrative begins with one situation; a series of changes occurs according to a
pattern of cause and effect; finally, a new situation arises that brings about the end
of the narrative. Our engagement with the story depends on our understanding of
the pattern of change and stability, cause and effect, time and space.
A random string of events is hard to understand as a story. Consider the fol-
lowing actions: “A man tosses and turns, unable to sleep. A mirror breaks. A
telephone rings.” We have trouble grasping this as a narrative because we are
unable to determine how the events are connected by causality or time or space.
Consider a new description of these same events: “A man has a fight with his
boss. He tosses and turns that night, unable to sleep. In the morning, he is still so
angry that he smashes the mirror while shaving. Then his telephone rings; his boss
has called to apologize.”
We now have a narrative, unexciting though it is. We can connect the events
spatially. The man is in the office, then in his bed; the mirror is in the bathroom;
the phone is somewhere else in his home. Time is important as well. The fight
starts things off, and the sleepless night, the broken mirror, and the phone call
occur one after the other. The action runs from one day to the following morning.
Above all, we can understand that the three events are part of a pattern of causes
and effects. The argument with the boss causes the sleeplessness and the broken
mirror. The phone call from the boss resolves the conflict, so the narrative ends.
The narrative develops from an initial situation of conflict between employee and
boss, through a series of events caused by the conflict, to the resolution of the
conflict. Simple and minimal as our example is, it shows how important causality,
space, and time are to narrative form.
The fact that a narrative relies on causality, time, and space doesn’t mean that
other formal principles can’t govern the film. For instance, a narrative may make
use of parallelism. As Chapter 2 points out (p. 66), parallelism points up a similar-
ity among story elements. Our example was the way The Wizard of Oz paralleled
the three Kansas farmhands with Dorothy’s three Oz companions.
A narrative may cue us to draw parallels among characters, settings, situations,
times of day, or any other elements. Julie & Julia parallels two women, living in
different periods, trying to juggle their marriages and their passion for cuisine (3.1,
3.2). Julie never meets her idol Julia Child, but there is still a cause-effect link:
Julie is inspired by the older woman’s life.
Sometimes a filmmaker goes further and doesn’t link the parallel stories caus-
ally. Veřá Chytilová’s Something Different alternates scenes from the life of a house-
wife and scenes from the career of a gymnast. Because the two women lead entirely
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
When filmmakers create a prequel
to an existing film story, they need
to weave new patterns of cause
and effect that lead to the story we
already know. We discuss how pre-
quels manage this task in “Origi-
nality and origin stories.”
Follett
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FILM ART
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AN INTRODUCTION I TWELFTH EDITION
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Film Art: An Introduction
by David Bordwell
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Film Art: An
Introduction
McGraw-Hill Education
PRODUCT DESCRIPTION
Film is an art form with a language and an
aesthetic all its own. Since 1979 David
Bordwell Kristin Thompson and now Co-
Author Jeff Smith’s Film Art has been the
best-selling and most widely respected
introduction to the analysis of cinema.
Taking a skills-centered approach supported
by examples from many periods and
countries the authors help students develop
a core set of analytical skills that will enrich
their understanding of any film in any genre.
In-depth examples deepen students’
appreciation for how creative choices by
filmmakers affect what viewers experience
and how they respond. Film Art is generously
illustrated with more than…
PRODUCT INFORMATION
Sold By: McGraw-Hill Higher Education
Terms of Use
Support
ISBNs:
1260056082, 9781260056082,
9781260485127, 9781260056082,
9781260485172, 9781260967920,
126048517X
Refund Policy
Language: English
Privacy Notice
Number of Pages: 646
Accessibility
Edition: 12th
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wou as som nupur unTS. DOM 11 Tak amagummi vecause my piot mass VI Uns presummg a varac Топ асагсу огорту
y. M. Hulot’s Holiday is an example. In such films, the causal pressure may be weaker than in film

=
78
all causes and effects in narratives originate with characters. In the so-called disaster movies, an ea +
K
Juries of actions on the parts of the characters. The same principle holds when the shark in Jaws terroi.cvo
these natural occurrences set the situ-ation up, human desires and goals usually enter the action to develop the narrative. In Jaws, the
townspeople pursue a variety of strategies to deal with the shark, propelling the plot as they do so. The primary cause of the action in Contagion
is a lethal virus spreading across the world, but the action concentrates on individual researchers struggling to find an antidote and on ordinary
citizens trying to survive.Hiding Causes, Hiding EffectsAs viewers we try to connect events by means of cause and effect. Given an
incident, we tend to imagine what might have caused it or what it might in turn cause. That is, we look for causal motivation. We have mentioned
an instance of this in Chapter 2: In the scene from My Man Godfrey, a scavenger hunt serves as a cause that justifies the presence of a beggar at a
society ball (see p. 63).CONNECT TO THE BLOGhttp://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/“Pick your protagonist(s)” looks at main characters in a variety of
genres. A guest entry by Rory Kelly, “Rethinking the character arc,” examines how the protago-nist can change in the course of the plot.
78
CHAPTER 3
Narrative Form
<
>
>
that character complex, or three dimensional, or well developed. Sherlock Holmes,
for instance, is a mass of traits. Some stem from his habits, such as his love of
music or his addiction to cocaine, while others reflect his basic nature: his arro-
gance, his penetrating intelligence, his disdain for stupidity, his professional pride,
his occasional gallantry.
As our love of gossip shows, we’re curious about other humans, and we bring
our people-watching skills to narratives. We’re quick to assign traits to the charac-
ters onscreen, and usually the movie helps us out. Most characters wear their traits
far more openly than people do in real life, and the plot presents situations that
swiftly reveal them to us.
The opening scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark throws Indiana Jones’s personal-
ity into high relief. We see immediately that he’s bold and resourceful, even a little
impetuous. He’s courageous, but he can feel fear. By unearthing ancient treasures
for museums, he shows an admirable devotion to scientific knowledge. In a few
minutes, his essential traits are presented straightforwardly, and we come to know
and sympathize with him.
All the traits that Indiana Jones displays in the opening scene are relevant to later
scenes in Raiders. In general, a character is given traits that will play causal roles in the
overall story action. The second scene of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too
Much (1934) shows that the heroine, Jill, is an excellent shot with a rifle. For much of
the film, this trait seems irrelevant to the action, but in the last scene, Jill is able to
shoot one of the villains when a police marksman cannot manage it. Like most qualities
assigned to characters, Jill’s marksmanship serves a particular narrative function.
Not all characters are created equal. The most prominent are the protagonist
and the antagonist. The plot action centers on the protagonist, who may initiate
it, as Indiana Jones does, or react to what’s already been started by another char-
acter. The protagonist tends to be the character who’s onscreen more often than
the others, whom we most sympathize with, who changes the most, and who
resolves the action. (Not every protagonist will fulfill all these functions.) Some
films have two protagonists, as Julie & Julia does, and some have several, as in
“ensemble” films like Nashville and The Avengers.
The antagonist is a character who opposes the protagonist. Again, there may be
several antagonists, as in the hierarchy of villains in superhero fantasies and martial-arts
tales. In episodic social comedies like Tiny Furniture, the protagonist may encounter a
series of people who briefly function as opponents. Something similar happens in
Where Is the Friend’s Home?, about a boy trying to return a schoolmate’s notebook and
facing some uncomprehending or unhelpful people (as well as some helpful ones).
Some films lack antagonists because the plot is a series of scenes presenting a charac-
ter on a journey or simply living day to day. M. Hulot’s Holiday is an example. In such
films, the causal pressure may be weaker than in films with a more active protagonist.
Not all causes and effects in narratives originate with characters. In the so-
called disaster movies, an earthquake or tidal wave may precipitate a series of
actions on the parts of the characters. The same principle holds when the shark
in Jaws terrorizes a community. Still, once these natural occurrences set the situ-
ation up, human desires and goals usually enter the action to develop the narrative.
In Jaws, the townspeople pursue a variety of strategies to deal with the shark,
propelling the plot as they do so. The primary cause of the action in Contagion is
a lethal virus spreading across the world, but the action concentrates on individual
researchers struggling to find an antidote and on ordinary citizens trying to survive.
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/
“Pick your protagonist(s)” looks at
main characters in a variety of
genres. A guest entry by Rory
Kelly, “Rethinking the character
arc,” examines how the protago-
nist can change in the course of
the plot.
Hiding Causes, Hiding Effects As viewers we try to connect events by
means of cause and effect. Given an incident, we tend to imagine what might have
caused it or what it might in turn cause. That is, we look for causal motivation.
We have mentioned an instance of this in Chapter 2: In the scene from My Man
Godfrey, a scavenger hunt serves as a cause that justifies the presence of a beggar
at a society ball (see p. 63).
2:04 PM Mon Feb 28
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aker can also shuffle story order by employing a flashforward. This pattern moves from present to f

80 ented as 1-2-4-3. Flashforwards are relatively rare because they tend to give away upcoming events +
expectations about the action. Spike Lee’s Inside Manbegins with a bank heist and then flashes forv
hostages and witnesses. The plot goes on to alternate the phases of the robbery and the investigation afterward. The hints discovered by the
detectives invite us to watch the robbery and try to determine the insider who helped the gang. Even a simple reordering of scenes can create
complex effects. The plot of Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction begins with a couple deciding to rob the diner they’re sitting in. This scene actually
takes place somewhat late in the story’s chronology, but the viewer doesn’t learn this until the final scene. At that point, the robbery interrupts a
dialogue involving other, more central, characters eating in the same diner. Just by taking a scene that occurs late in the story and placing it at the
start of the plot, Tarantino creates a surprise that maintains our interest through the film’s last moments. CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogFor examples of plots that keep causes secret from the audience, see “SIDE EFFECTS and SAFE HAVEN: Out of the
past” and “Gone Grrrl.”
80
CHAPTER 3 Narrative Form
plot does not reveal if Antoine is captured and brought back, leaving us to specu-
late on what might happen in his future. As in Rome Open City (pp. 480-481), the
story of 400 Blows is, by the conventions of mainstream cinema, incomplete.
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
For examples of plots that keep
causes secret from the audience,
see “SIDE EFFECTS and SAFE
HAVEN: Out of the past” and
“Gone Grrrl.”
Time
Causes and their effects are basic to narrative, but they take place in time. Our
story-plot distinction helps us to understand how filmmakers use narrative form
to manipulate time.
As we watch a film, we construct story time on the basis of what the plot
presents. For instance, a plot may present story events out of chronological order.
In Citizen Kane, we see a man’s death before we see his youth, and we must build
up a chronological version of his life.
Even if events are shown in chronological order, most plots don’t show every
detail from beginning to end. We assume that the characters spend uneventful time
sleeping, eating, traveling, and so forth, so the periods containing such irrelevant
action can be skipped over so story duration can be manipulated.
Another possibility is to have the plot present the same story event more than
once, as when a character recalls a traumatic incident. In John Woo’s The Killer,
an accident in the opening scene blinds a singer, and later we see the same event
again and again as the protagonist regretfully thinks back to it.
In short, filmmakers must decide how the film’s plot will treat chronological
order and temporal duration and frequency. Each of these time-based options har-
bors important artistic possibilities, and each asks the viewer to respond by build-
ing up the story.
<
>
>
Temporal Order: How Are Events Sequenced? Filmmakers can choose
to present events out of story order. A flashback, like the ones we proposed for
our hypothetical romantic comedy, is simply a portion of the story that the plot
presents out of chronological sequence. In Edward Scissorhands, we first see the
Winona Ryder character as an old woman telling her granddaughter a bedtime
story. Most of the film then shows events that occurred when the old lady was in
high school. Likewise, The Hangover starts at a point of crisis, when the bride-
groom’s buddies report that he’s missing. The plot then flashes back to them
assembling for their bachelor party.
Flashbacks usually don’t confuse us because we mentally rearrange the events
into chronological order: teenage years precede old age, the hangover comes after
a night of partying. If story events can be thought of as 1-2-3-4, then the plot that
uses a flashback presents something like 2-1-3-4, or 3-1-2-4. The filmmaker can also
shuffle story order by employing a flashforward. This pattern moves from present
to future, then back to the present. It can be represente as 1-2-4-3. Flashforwards
are relatively rare because they tend to give away upcoming events, but if they serve
as hints, they can prime expectations about the action. Spike Lee’s Inside
Man begins with a bank heist and then flashes forward to the police questioning
hostages and witnesses. The plot goes on to alternate the phases of the robbery
and the investigation afterward. The hints discovered by the detectives invite us to
watch the robbery and try to determine the insider who helped the gang.
Even a simple reordering of scenes can create complex effects. The plot of
Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction begins with a couple deciding to rob the diner
they’re sitting in. This scene actually takes place somewhat late in the story’s
chronology, but the viewer doesn’t learn this until the final scene. At that point,
the robbery interrupts a dialogue involving other, more central, characters eating
in the same diner. Just by taking a scene that occurs late in the story and placing
it at the start of the plot, Tarantino creates a surprise that maintains our interest
through the film’s last moments.
2:03 PM Mon Feb 28
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DIACK.
Lesson 09 Ame…
• ASL · Americ… D2L Week One: The… 6 My Shelf | Bryt… Film Art: An Int… V Film Art: An Int… S SOLUTION: dis…
beating Chiron. After Chiron takes revenge on his main tormentor, he is arrested. Years later, he has become a drug dealer and revisits the friend
im. What has made him the man he is? We’ve seen his hard home life with a drug-addicted mother &

79 But the change in the final chapter is extreme. “Little,” the meek boy at the beginning, has become tk +
Thanks to the gaps between the three chap-ters, the plot denies us the sort of dramatic turning points we nugi taptul, and it uutsin v
give Chiron an opportunity to tell or recall any. Perhaps surviving prison toughened him up; perhaps the young drug dealer he met in his
childhood became a role model. Most films specify the causes of character change, but Moonlightasks us to imagine some of them.A similar sort
of speculation can be aroused when the film presents causes but withholds effects. Normally this creates curiosity and suspense, as when a crime
film doesn’t tell us immediately whether a character has been captured or killed. But most such plots eventually reveal everything. Sometimes,
though, the end of a film doesn’t show us the ultimate effects of the action.An open-ended plot can encourage us to ponder pos-sible outcomes.
In the final moments of François Truf-faut’s The 400 Blows, the boy Antoine has escaped from a reformatory and runs to the seashore. The
camera zooms in on his face, and the frame freezes (3.10). The 3.10 Withholding story effects. The final image of The 400 Blows leaves Antoine’s future
uncertain.
Principles of Narrative Form
79
<
>
Causal motivation often involves the planting of information in advance of a
scene, as we saw in the kitchen scene of The Shining (2.18, 2.19). In L.A. Confi-
dential, the idealistic detective Exley confides in his cynical colleague Vincennes
that the murder of his father had driven him to enter law enforcement. He had
privately named the unknown killer “Rollo Tomasi,” a name that he has turned
into an emblem of all unpunished evil. This conversation may seem to offer only
an insight into Exley’s personality. Yet later, when the corrupt police chief Smith
shoots Vincennes, the latter mutters “Rollo Tomasi” with his last breath. Later, the
puzzled Smith asks Exley who Rollo Tomasi is. Exley now realizes that the dead
Vincennes has fingered Smith as his killer. Near the end, when Smith is about to
shoot Exley, Exley says that the corrupt chief is Rollo Tomasi. Thus an apparently
minor detail returns as a major causal and thematic motif.
Most of what we have said about causality pertains to the plot’s direct presen-
tation of causes and effects. In The Man Who Knew Too Much, Jill is shown to be
a good shot, and because of this, she can save her daughter. But the plot can also
lead us to infer causes and effects, and thus build up a total story.
Consider the mystery story. A murder has been committed. That is, we know
an effect but not the causes—the killer, the motive, and perhaps also the method.
The mystery tale thus depends strongly on curiosity. We want to know about things
that happened before the events that the plot presents to us. It’s the detective’s job
to disclose, at the end, the missing causes-to name the killer, explain the motive,
and reveal the method. That is, in the detective film, the climax of the plot (the
action we see) is a revelation of prior incidents in the story (events we didn’t see).
Although this pattern is most common in detective narratives, any film’s plot
can withhold causes and thus arouse our curiosity. Horror and science fiction films
often leave us temporarily in the dark about what forces lurk behind certain events.
In general, whenever any film creates a mystery, the plot initially suppresses certain
story causes and presents only enigmatic effects.
There can be mysteries of character as well. Moonlight invites the viewer to
speculate about what might cause changes in its protagonist Chiron. Three episodes
from stages of his life show the social and personal pressures on him. In childhood
he is bullied by other boys. As a teenager, he has a homosexual episode with a
friend; later, the friend joins other boys in beating Chiron. After Chiron takes
revenge on his main tormentor, he is arrested. Years later, he has become a drug
dealer and revisits the friend who betrayed him.
What has made him the man he is? We’ve seen his hard home life with a
drug-addicted mother and his suffering at the hands of other boys. But the change
in the final chapter is extreme. “Little,” the meek boy at the beginning, has become
the hard-muscled, streetwise “Black.” Thanks to the gaps between the three chap-
ters, the plot denies us the sort of dramatic turning points we might expect, and
it doesn’t give Chiron an opportunity to tell or recall any. Perhaps surviving prison
toughened him up; perhaps the young drug dealer he met in his childhood became
a role model. Most films specify the causes of character change, but Moonlight asks
us to imagine some of them.
A similar sort of speculation can be aroused when the
film presents causes but withholds effects. Normally this
creates curiosity and suspense, as when a crime film
doesn’t tell us immediately whether a character has been
captured or killed. But most such plots eventually reveal
everything. Sometimes, though, the end of a film doesn’t
show us the ultimate effects of the action.
An open-ended plot can encourage us to ponder pos-
sible outcomes. In the final moments of François Truf-
faut’s The 400 Blows, the boy Antoine has escaped from
a reformatory and runs to the seashore. The camera
3.10 Withholding story effects. The final image of The 400
zooms in on his face, and the frame freezes (3.10). The Blows leaves Antoine’s future uncertain.
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Lesson 09 Ame…
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y. M. Hulot’s Holiday is an example. In such films, the causal pressure may be weaker than in film

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all causes and effects in narratives originate with characters. In the so-called disaster movies, an ea +
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Juries of actions on the parts of the characters. The same principle holds when the shark in Jaws terroi.cvo
these natural occurrences set the situ-ation up, human desires and goals usually enter the action to develop the narrative. In Jaws, the
townspeople pursue a variety of strategies to deal with the shark, propelling the plot as they do so. The primary cause of the action in Contagion
is a lethal virus spreading across the world, but the action concentrates on individual researchers struggling to find an antidote and on ordinary
citizens trying to survive.Hiding Causes, Hiding EffectsAs viewers we try to connect events by means of cause and effect. Given an
incident, we tend to imagine what might have caused it or what it might in turn cause. That is, we look for causal motivation. We have mentioned
an instance of this in Chapter 2: In the scene from My Man Godfrey, a scavenger hunt serves as a cause that justifies the presence of a beggar at a
society ball (see p. 63).CONNECT TO THE BLOGhttp://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/“Pick your protagonist(s)” looks at main characters in a variety of
genres. A guest entry by Rory Kelly, “Rethinking the character arc,” examines how the protago-nist can change in the course of the plot.
78
CHAPTER 3
Narrative Form
<
>
>
that character complex, or three dimensional, or well developed. Sherlock Holmes,
for instance, is a mass of traits. Some stem from his habits, such as his love of
music or his addiction to cocaine, while others reflect his basic nature: his arro-
gance, his penetrating intelligence, his disdain for stupidity, his professional pride,
his occasional gallantry.
As our love of gossip shows, we’re curious about other humans, and we bring
our people-watching skills to narratives. We’re quick to assign traits to the charac-
ters onscreen, and usually the movie helps us out. Most characters wear their traits
far more openly than people do in real life, and the plot presents situations that
swiftly reveal them to us.
The opening scene of Raiders of the Lost Ark throws Indiana Jones’s personal-
ity into high relief. We see immediately that he’s bold and resourceful, even a little
impetuous. He’s courageous, but he can feel fear. By unearthing ancient treasures
for museums, he shows an admirable devotion to scientific knowledge. In a few
minutes, his essential traits are presented straightforwardly, and we come to know
and sympathize with him.
All the traits that Indiana Jones displays in the opening scene are relevant to later
scenes in Raiders. In general, a character is given traits that will play causal roles in the
overall story action. The second scene of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too
Much (1934) shows that the heroine, Jill, is an excellent shot with a rifle. For much of
the film, this trait seems irrelevant to the action, but in the last scene, Jill is able to
shoot one of the villains when a police marksman cannot manage it. Like most qualities
assigned to characters, Jill’s marksmanship serves a particular narrative function.
Not all characters are created equal. The most prominent are the protagonist
and the antagonist. The plot action centers on the protagonist, who may initiate
it, as Indiana Jones does, or react to what’s already been started by another char-
acter. The protagonist tends to be the character who’s onscreen more often than
the others, whom we most sympathize with, who changes the most, and who
resolves the action. (Not every protagonist will fulfill all these functions.) Some
films have two protagonists, as Julie & Julia does, and some have several, as in
“ensemble” films like Nashville and The Avengers.
The antagonist is a character who opposes the protagonist. Again, there may be
several antagonists, as in the hierarchy of villains in superhero fantasies and martial-arts
tales. In episodic social comedies like Tiny Furniture, the protagonist may encounter a
series of people who briefly function as opponents. Something similar happens in
Where Is the Friend’s Home?, about a boy trying to return a schoolmate’s notebook and
facing some uncomprehending or unhelpful people (as well as some helpful ones).
Some films lack antagonists because the plot is a series of scenes presenting a charac-
ter on a journey or simply living day to day. M. Hulot’s Holiday is an example. In such
films, the causal pressure may be weaker than in films with a more active protagonist.
Not all causes and effects in narratives originate with characters. In the so-
called disaster movies, an earthquake or tidal wave may precipitate a series of
actions on the parts of the characters. The same principle holds when the shark
in Jaws terrorizes a community. Still, once these natural occurrences set the situ-
ation up, human desires and goals usually enter the action to develop the narrative.
In Jaws, the townspeople pursue a variety of strategies to deal with the shark,
propelling the plot as they do so. The primary cause of the action in Contagion is
a lethal virus spreading across the world, but the action concentrates on individual
researchers struggling to find an antidote and on ordinary citizens trying to survive.
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
http://www.davidbordwell.net/blog/
“Pick your protagonist(s)” looks at
main characters in a variety of
genres. A guest entry by Rory
Kelly, “Rethinking the character
arc,” examines how the protago-
nist can change in the course of
the plot.
Hiding Causes, Hiding Effects As viewers we try to connect events by
means of cause and effect. Given an incident, we tend to imagine what might have
caused it or what it might in turn cause. That is, we look for causal motivation.
We have mentioned an instance of this in Chapter 2: In the scene from My Man
Godfrey, a scavenger hunt serves as a cause that justifies the presence of a beggar
at a society ball (see p. 63).
2:03 PM Mon Feb 28
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Lesson 09 Ame…
• ASL · Americ… D2L Week One: The… 6 My Shelf | Bryt… Film Art: An Int… V Film Art: An Int… S SOLUTION: dis…
beating Chiron. After Chiron takes revenge on his main tormentor, he is arrested. Years later, he has become a drug dealer and revisits the friend
im. What has made him the man he is? We’ve seen his hard home life with a drug-addicted mother &

79 But the change in the final chapter is extreme. “Little,” the meek boy at the beginning, has become tk +
Thanks to the gaps between the three chap-ters, the plot denies us the sort of dramatic turning points we nugi taptul, and it uutsin v
give Chiron an opportunity to tell or recall any. Perhaps surviving prison toughened him up; perhaps the young drug dealer he met in his
childhood became a role model. Most films specify the causes of character change, but Moonlightasks us to imagine some of them.A similar sort
of speculation can be aroused when the film presents causes but withholds effects. Normally this creates curiosity and suspense, as when a crime
film doesn’t tell us immediately whether a character has been captured or killed. But most such plots eventually reveal everything. Sometimes,
though, the end of a film doesn’t show us the ultimate effects of the action.An open-ended plot can encourage us to ponder pos-sible outcomes.
In the final moments of François Truf-faut’s The 400 Blows, the boy Antoine has escaped from a reformatory and runs to the seashore. The
camera zooms in on his face, and the frame freezes (3.10). The 3.10 Withholding story effects. The final image of The 400 Blows leaves Antoine’s future
uncertain.
Principles of Narrative Form
79
<
>
Causal motivation often involves the planting of information in advance of a
scene, as we saw in the kitchen scene of The Shining (2.18, 2.19). In L.A. Confi-
dential, the idealistic detective Exley confides in his cynical colleague Vincennes
that the murder of his father had driven him to enter law enforcement. He had
privately named the unknown killer “Rollo Tomasi,” a name that he has turned
into an emblem of all unpunished evil. This conversation may seem to offer only
an insight into Exley’s personality. Yet later, when the corrupt police chief Smith
shoots Vincennes, the latter mutters “Rollo Tomasi” with his last breath. Later, the
puzzled Smith asks Exley who Rollo Tomasi is. Exley now realizes that the dead
Vincennes has fingered Smith as his killer. Near the end, when Smith is about to
shoot Exley, Exley says that the corrupt chief is Rollo Tomasi. Thus an apparently
minor detail returns as a major causal and thematic motif.
Most of what we have said about causality pertains to the plot’s direct presen-
tation of causes and effects. In The Man Who Knew Too Much, Jill is shown to be
a good shot, and because of this, she can save her daughter. But the plot can also
lead us to infer causes and effects, and thus build up a total story.
Consider the mystery story. A murder has been committed. That is, we know
an effect but not the causes—the killer, the motive, and perhaps also the method.
The mystery tale thus depends strongly on curiosity. We want to know about things
that happened before the events that the plot presents to us. It’s the detective’s job
to disclose, at the end, the missing causes-to name the killer, explain the motive,
and reveal the method. That is, in the detective film, the climax of the plot (the
action we see) is a revelation of prior incidents in the story (events we didn’t see).
Although this pattern is most common in detective narratives, any film’s plot
can withhold causes and thus arouse our curiosity. Horror and science fiction films
often leave us temporarily in the dark about what forces lurk behind certain events.
In general, whenever any film creates a mystery, the plot initially suppresses certain
story causes and presents only enigmatic effects.
There can be mysteries of character as well. Moonlight invites the viewer to
speculate about what might cause changes in its protagonist Chiron. Three episodes
from stages of his life show the social and personal pressures on him. In childhood
he is bullied by other boys. As a teenager, he has a homosexual episode with a
friend; later, the friend joins other boys in beating Chiron. After Chiron takes
revenge on his main tormentor, he is arrested. Years later, he has become a drug
dealer and revisits the friend who betrayed him.
What has made him the man he is? We’ve seen his hard home life with a
drug-addicted mother and his suffering at the hands of other boys. But the change
in the final chapter is extreme. “Little,” the meek boy at the beginning, has become
the hard-muscled, streetwise “Black.” Thanks to the gaps between the three chap-
ters, the plot denies us the sort of dramatic turning points we might expect, and
it doesn’t give Chiron an opportunity to tell or recall any. Perhaps surviving prison
toughened him up; perhaps the young drug dealer he met in his childhood became
a role model. Most films specify the causes of character change, but Moonlight asks
us to imagine some of them.
A similar sort of speculation can be aroused when the
film presents causes but withholds effects. Normally this
creates curiosity and suspense, as when a crime film
doesn’t tell us immediately whether a character has been
captured or killed. But most such plots eventually reveal
everything. Sometimes, though, the end of a film doesn’t
show us the ultimate effects of the action.
An open-ended plot can encourage us to ponder pos-
sible outcomes. In the final moments of François Truf-
faut’s The 400 Blows, the boy Antoine has escaped from
a reformatory and runs to the seashore. The camera
3.10 Withholding story effects. The final image of The 400
zooms in on his face, and the frame freezes (3.10). The Blows leaves Antoine’s future uncertain.
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aker can also shuffle story order by employing a flashforward. This pattern moves from present to f

80 ented as 1-2-4-3. Flashforwards are relatively rare because they tend to give away upcoming events +
expectations about the action. Spike Lee’s Inside Manbegins with a bank heist and then flashes forv
hostages and witnesses. The plot goes on to alternate the phases of the robbery and the investigation afterward. The hints discovered by the
detectives invite us to watch the robbery and try to determine the insider who helped the gang. Even a simple reordering of scenes can create
complex effects. The plot of Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction begins with a couple deciding to rob the diner they’re sitting in. This scene actually
takes place somewhat late in the story’s chronology, but the viewer doesn’t learn this until the final scene. At that point, the robbery interrupts a
dialogue involving other, more central, characters eating in the same diner. Just by taking a scene that occurs late in the story and placing it at the
start of the plot, Tarantino creates a surprise that maintains our interest through the film’s last moments. CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogFor examples of plots that keep causes secret from the audience, see “SIDE EFFECTS and SAFE HAVEN: Out of the
past” and “Gone Grrrl.”
80
CHAPTER 3 Narrative Form
plot does not reveal if Antoine is captured and brought back, leaving us to specu-
late on what might happen in his future. As in Rome Open City (pp. 480-481), the
story of 400 Blows is, by the conventions of mainstream cinema, incomplete.
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
For examples of plots that keep
causes secret from the audience,
see “SIDE EFFECTS and SAFE
HAVEN: Out of the past” and
“Gone Grrrl.”
Time
Causes and their effects are basic to narrative, but they take place in time. Our
story-plot distinction helps us to understand how filmmakers use narrative form
to manipulate time.
As we watch a film, we construct story time on the basis of what the plot
presents. For instance, a plot may present story events out of chronological order.
In Citizen Kane, we see a man’s death before we see his youth, and we must build
up a chronological version of his life.
Even if events are shown in chronological order, most plots don’t show every
detail from beginning to end. We assume that the characters spend uneventful time
sleeping, eating, traveling, and so forth, so the periods containing such irrelevant
action can be skipped over so story duration can be manipulated.
Another possibility is to have the plot present the same story event more than
once, as when a character recalls a traumatic incident. In John Woo’s The Killer,
an accident in the opening scene blinds a singer, and later we see the same event
again and again as the protagonist regretfully thinks back to it.
In short, filmmakers must decide how the film’s plot will treat chronological
order and temporal duration and frequency. Each of these time-based options har-
bors important artistic possibilities, and each asks the viewer to respond by build-
ing up the story.
<
>
>
Temporal Order: How Are Events Sequenced? Filmmakers can choose
to present events out of story order. A flashback, like the ones we proposed for
our hypothetical romantic comedy, is simply a portion of the story that the plot
presents out of chronological sequence. In Edward Scissorhands, we first see the
Winona Ryder character as an old woman telling her granddaughter a bedtime
story. Most of the film then shows events that occurred when the old lady was in
high school. Likewise, The Hangover starts at a point of crisis, when the bride-
groom’s buddies report that he’s missing. The plot then flashes back to them
assembling for their bachelor party.
Flashbacks usually don’t confuse us because we mentally rearrange the events
into chronological order: teenage years precede old age, the hangover comes after
a night of partying. If story events can be thought of as 1-2-3-4, then the plot that
uses a flashback presents something like 2-1-3-4, or 3-1-2-4. The filmmaker can also
shuffle story order by employing a flashforward. This pattern moves from present
to future, then back to the present. It can be represente as 1-2-4-3. Flashforwards
are relatively rare because they tend to give away upcoming events, but if they serve
as hints, they can prime expectations about the action. Spike Lee’s Inside
Man begins with a bank heist and then flashes forward to the police questioning
hostages and witnesses. The plot goes on to alternate the phases of the robbery
and the investigation afterward. The hints discovered by the detectives invite us to
watch the robbery and try to determine the insider who helped the gang.
Even a simple reordering of scenes can create complex effects. The plot of
Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction begins with a couple deciding to rob the diner
they’re sitting in. This scene actually takes place somewhat late in the story’s
chronology, but the viewer doesn’t learn this until the final scene. At that point,
the robbery interrupts a dialogue involving other, more central, characters eating
in the same diner. Just by taking a scene that occurs late in the story and placing
it at the start of the plot, Tarantino creates a surprise that maintains our interest
through the film’s last moments.
2:04 PM Mon Feb 28
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• ASL · Americ…
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LUUTTUUTTUITUCustry,
allows random access to scenes, encouraged filmmakers along this path. So did the Internet.

85 bout what really happened in Donnie Darko,Identity, Primer, The Butterfly Effect, and Inception +
vitan up owry time, puzzle movies seek to en-gross us in the dynamic game of narrative form.A CLOSEI
but the plot cuts them together as if they were happening simultaneously. One result is to make us wait in suspense for the moments when they
intersect. Nolan and other filmmakers show that unusual formal choices can challenge the viewer to find new ways to understand story
time. SpaceIn film narrative, space is usually an important factor. Events occur in particular places, such as Kansas or Oz; the Flint,
Michigan, of Roger and Me; or the Man-hattan of North by Northwest. We’ll consider setting in more detail when we exam-ine mise-en-scene in
Chapter 4, but we ought briefly to note how plot and story can manipulate space. Normally, the locale of the story action is also that of the plot,
but sometimes the plot leads us to imagine story spaces that are never shown. In Otto Preminger’s Exodus, one scene is devoted to Dov Landau’s
interrogation by a terrorist organiza-tion he wants to join. Dov reluctantly tells his questioners of his duties in a Nazi concentration camp (3.16).
Although the film never shows this locale through a flashback, much of the scene’s emotional power depends on our using our imagi-nation to
fill in Dov’s sketchy description of how he survived. Further, we can introduce an idea akin to the concept of screen duration. Besides story space
and plot space, cinema employs screen space: the visible space 3.16Imagining offscreen locales.In Exodus, Dov Landau recounts his traumatic stay in a
concentration camp. Instead of presenting this through a flashback, the narration dwells on his face, leaving us to visualize his ordeal.
Principles of Narrative Form
85
Qo
A CLOSER LOOK
Continued
Replay and what-if films appeal to the way we think in
ordinary life. Our minds sometimes revisit certain events,
and we speculate about how our lives would have
changed if a single moment had been different. We easily
understand the sort of game that these films proffer, and
we’re willing to play it.
More and more, however, puzzle films have denied
us this degree of unity and clarity. Here filmmakers cre-
ate perplexing patterns of story time or causality, trust-
ing that viewers will search for clues by rewatching the
movie. An example is Memento, which presents the
hero’s investigation along two time tracks. Brief black-
and-white scenes show an ongoing present, with story
action moving forward chronologically. The more exten-
sive scenes, which are in color, move backward through
time, so the first plot event we see is the final story
event, the second plot event is the next-to-last story
event, and so on. This tactic reflects the hero’s loss of
short-term memory, but it also challenges viewers to
piece everything together. At the same time, there are
enough uncertainties about the hero’s memories to
lead viewers to speculate that some mysteries remain
unresolved at the close.
The DV format, which allows random access to
scenes, encouraged filmmakers along this path. So did
the Internet. Websites still buzz with speculations about
what really happened in Donnie Darko, Identity, Primer,
The Butterfly Effect, and Inception. Like other films that
twist or break up story time, puzzle movies seek to en-
gross us in the dynamic game of narrative form.
<
>
story, but the plot cuts them together as if they were happening simultaneously.
One result is to make us wait in suspense for the moments when they intersect.
Nolan and other filmmakers show that unusual formal choices can challenge the
viewer to find new ways to understand story time.
Space
In film narrative, space is usually an important factor. Events occur in particular
places, such as Kansas or Oz; the Flint, Michigan, of Roger and Me; or the Man-
hattan of North by Northwest. We’ll consider setting in more detail when we exam-
ine mise-en-scene in Chapter 4, but we ought briefly to note how plot and story
can manipulate space.
Normally, the locale of the story action is also that of the plot, but sometimes
the plot leads us to imagine story spaces that are never shown. In Otto Preminger’s
Exodus, one scene is devoted to Dov Landau’s interrogation by a terrorist organiza-
tion he wants to join. Dov reluctantly tells his questioners of his duties in a Nazi
concentration camp (3.16). Although the film never shows this locale through a
flashback, much of the scene’s emotional power depends on our using our imagi-
nation to fill in Dov’s sketchy description of how he survived.
Further, we can introduce an idea akin to the concept of screen duration.
Besides story space and plot space, cinema employs screen space: the visible space
3.16 Imagining offscreen locales.
In Exodus, Dov Landau recounts his
traumatic stay in a concentration camp.
Instead of presenting this through a
flashback, the narration dwells on his
face, leaving us to visualize his ordeal.
2:04 PM Mon Feb 28
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Lesson 09 Ame…
• ASL · Americ… D2L Week One: The… E My Shelf | Bryt… Film Art: An Int… V Film Art: An Int… S SOLUTION: dis…
panem or development is the goal-oriented pron, in which a character takes steps to achieve an object or condition. Tois based on searcheswoulu
the goal plot. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, the protagonists try to find the Ark of the Covenant; in No

86
for George Kaplan. The goal-oriented plot pattern often takes the shape of investiga-tion, itself a k
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protagımsı» goal is not an object, but infor-mation, usually about mysterious causes.Time may also provide plot pauvinis. n nammg snuation m
the present may initi-ate a series of flashbacks showing how events led up to the present situation, as in The Usual Suspects’ flashbacks. Hoop
Dreams is organized around the two main characters’ high school careers, with each part of the film devoted to a year of their lives. The plot may
also create a specific duration for the action—a deadline. In Back to the Future,the hero must synchronize his time machine with a bolt of
lightning at a specific moment in order to return to 1985. This creates a goal toward which he must struggle.CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blog Sometimes a film’s opening will signal that we are not going to get much exposition. See “How to watch an art movie,
reel 1.” No exposition except under heat, and break it up at that.” – Raymond Chandler, novelist and screenwriter for Double IndemnityCONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogSome filmmakers develop their plot in large blocks—more or less self-contained episodes or “chap-ters.” We discuss
this strategy in “The 1940s are over, and Taranti-no’s still playing with blocks.”
86
CHAPTER 3 Narrative Form
within the frame. Just as screen duration selects certain plot spans for presentation,
so screen space selects portions of plot space. We’ll consider screen space and
offscreen space when we analyze framing in Chapter 5.
Openings, Closings, and Patterns of Development
Our early experiment in romantic-comedy plotting began with beginnings and end-
ings: How will you start your film? How will you conclude it? This echoed our
discussion of formal development in Chapter 2, where we suggested that it’s often
useful to compare beginnings and endings. A narrative usually presents a series of
changes from an initial situation to a final situation, and by considering how that
pattern works, we can better understand the film.
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
Sometimes a film’s opening will
signal that we are not going to get
much exposition. See “How to
watch an art movie, reel 1.”
a
<
>
Openings A film does not just start, it begins. The opening provides a basis for
what is to come and initiates us into the narrative. It raises our expectations by
setting up a specific range of possible causes for what we see. Indeed, the first
quarter or so of a film’s plot is sometimes referred to as the setup.
Very often, the film begins by telling us about the characters and their situations
before any major actions occur. Alternatively, the plot may seek to arouse curiosity
by bringing us into a series of actions that has already started. (This is called open-
ing in medias res, a Latin phrase meaning “in the middle of things.”) The viewer
speculates on possible causes of the events presented. Close Encounters of the Third
Kind begins with investigators arriving in the desert to study World War II airplanes.
An in medias res opening grabs our interest, but as Robert Towne notes (p. 51),
sooner or later the filmmaker has to explain what led up to these events.
In either case, some of the actions that took place before the plot started—often
called the backstory,will be stated or suggested so that we can understand what’s
coming later. The portion of the plot that lays out the backstory and the initial
situation is called the exposition. Usually exposition takes place early in the plot,
but the filmmaker may postpone chunks of exposition for the sake of suspense and
more immediate impact. James Cameron and Gale Anne Hurd did this in their
screenplay for The Terminator. For nearly 40 minutes the plot provides chases,
gunplay, and glimpses of a war-torn future before the fighter Reese explains what
has caused the plight that he and Sarah Connor are in.
66 No exposition except under
heat, and break it up at that.”
–Raymond Chandler, novelist and
screenwriter for Double Indemnity
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
Some filmmakers develop their
plot in large blocks-more or less
self-contained episodes or “chap-
ters.” We discuss this strategy in
“The 1940s are over, and Taranti-
no’s still playing with blocks.”
Development Sections As a film’s plot proceeds, the causes and effects cre-
ate patterns of development. Some patterns are quite common. Change is essential
to narrative, and a common pattern traces a change in knowledge. Very often, a
character learns something in the course of the action, with the most crucial
knowledge coming at the final turning point of the plot. In Witness, John Book,
hiding out on an Amish farm, learns that his partner has been killed and his boss
has betrayed him. His rage leads to a climactic shoot-out.
Another common pattern of development is the goal-oriented plot, in which a
character takes steps to achieve an object or condition. Plots based on searches
would be instances of the goal plot. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, the protagonists try
to find the Ark of the Covenant; in North by Northwest, Roger Thornhill looks for
George Kaplan. The goal-oriented plot pattern often takes the shape of investiga-
tion, itself a kind of search. Here the protagonist’s goal is not an object, but infor-
mation, usually about mysterious causes.
Time may also provide plot patterns. A framing situation in the present may initi-
ate a series of flashbacks showing how events led up to the present situation, as in The
Usual Suspects’ flashbacks. Hoop Dreams is organized around the two main characters’
high school careers, with each part of the film devoted to a year of their lives. The
plot may also create a specific duration for the action–a deadline. In Back to the Future,
the hero must synchronize his time machine with a bolt of lightning at a specific
moment in order to return to 1985. This creates a goal toward which he must struggle.
2:04 PM Mon Feb 28
Il 22% 0
AA
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Lesson 09 Ame…
• ASL · Americ… D2L Week One: The… My Shelf | Bryt… Film Art: An Int… V Film Art: An Int… SOLUTION: dis…
distributing story informa-tion in order to achieve specific effects. Narration is the moment-by-moment pro-cess that guides viewers in building

88
the plot. Many factors enter into narration, but the most important ones for our purposes involve th
+
nd the depth of story information that the plot presents. Range of Story Information:
Unrestricted?D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation begins by recounting how slaves were brought to America and how people debated
the need to free them. The plot then shows two families, the Northern Stoneman family and the Southern Camerons. The plot also dwells on
political matters, including Lincoln’s hope of averting civil war. From the start, then, our range of knowledge is very broad. The plot takes us
across historical periods, regions of the country, and various groups of characters. This breadth of story information continues throughout the
film. When Ben Cameron founds the Ku Klux Klan, we know about it at the moment the idea strikes him, long before the other characters learn
of it. At the climax, we know that the Klan CONNECT TO THE BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogA film is constantly giving us story information. How
much do we remember, scene by scene? Some filmmakers exploit our difficulties in remembering what happened earlier, as we show in “Memories are
unmade by this.”
88
CHAPTER 3 Narrative Form
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
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A film is constantly giving us story
information. How much do we
remember, scene by scene? Some
filmmakers exploit our difficulties
in remembering what happened
earlier, as we show in “Memories
are unmade by this.”
A few narratives, however, are deliberately anticlimactic. After creating expec-
tations about how the cause-effect chain will be resolved, the film scotches them
by refusing to settle things definitely. One famous example is the last shot of The
400 Blows (p. 79). In Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Eclisse (The Eclipse), the two
lovers vow to meet for a final reconciliation but aren’t shown doing so. When the
filmmaker has chosen to let the ending remain open, the plot leaves us uncertain
about the final consequences of the story events. The absence of a clear-cut climax
and resolution may encourage us to imagine what might happen next or to reflect
on other ways in which our expectations might have been fulfilled.
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Narration: The Flow of Story Information
In looking at how a filmmaker tells a story, we’ve emphasized matters of plot
structure: how the parts, from beginning to end, are fitted together to shape the
viewer’s experience. Filmic storytelling involves decisions about another sort of
plot organization. Back when we were sketching alternatives for a romantic comedy
(p. 74), we also faced the question of whether to build the scenes around one
member of the couple, both members, or the couple and other characters around
them. We could tell the same story from different characters’ perspectives. The
story of Little Red Riding Hood will be very different depending on whether we
attach ourselves to the girl or to the wolf.
This means deciding what information to give the spectator and when to supply
it. Thinking like a filmmaker, should you restrict the viewer just to what the char-
acter knows? Or should you give the viewer more information than the character
has? In a stalking scene, should you show just the person being pursued, watching
and listening for a threat we never see? Or should you show both the victim shrink-
ing away and the stalker in pursuit? There is no right or wrong answer. The choice
depends on the effect you want to achieve. What is clear is that a filmmaker can’t
avoid choosing how much information to reveal and when to reveal it.
Similarly, you might ask how objective or subjective your scene should be.
Should you show only how characters behave, without any attempt to get inside
their heads? Or should you add voice-over monologues that expose what they’re
thinking, or point-of-view shots that show what they can see? Should you try to
dramatize their dreams, fantasies, or hallucinations? Again, it’s a forced choice,
and again you can imagine presenting the same story in a plot that is deeply sub-
jective or one that is more objective.
These decisions involve narration, the plot’s way of distributing story informa-
tion in order to achieve specific effects. Narration is the moment-by-moment pro-
cess that guides viewers in building the story out of the plot. Many factors enter
into narration, but the most important ones for our purposes involve the factors
we’ve just sketched out: the range and the depth of story information that the plot
presents.
Range of Story Information:
Restricted or Unrestricted?
D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation begins by recounting how slaves were brought
to America and how people debated the need to free them. The plot then shows
two families, the Northern Stoneman family and the Southern Camerons. The plot
also dwells on political matters, including Lincoln’s hope of averting civil war.
From the start, then, our range of knowledge is very broad. The plot takes us across
historical periods, regions of the country, and various groups of characters. This
breadth of story information continues throughout the film. When Ben Cameron
founds the Ku Klux Klan, we know about it at the moment the idea strikes him,
long before the other characters learn of it. At the climax, we know that the Klan
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The nummaker mign give us shots taken rrom a character s optical stanupom, the poin-or-view (POV) Shol. For instance, in NorthbyNorinwest,
diting is used as we see Roger Thornhill crawl up to Van Damm’s window (3.20–3.22). Or we mig!

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91 m, what sound recordists call sound perspective. In short, through either sight or sound, the filmmak + –
puruypruar suujectivity. The filmmaker can go deeper, beyond the character’s senses and into her or his mind. We can varr uns mitmar Juustuuvny.
We might hear an internal voice reporting the character’s thoughts, or we might see the character’s inner images, representing memory, fantasy,
dreams, or hallucinations. In Slumdog Millionaire,the hero is a contestant on a quiz show, but his concentration is often interrupted by brief shots
showing his memories, particularly one image of the woman he loves (3.23, 3.24). Here Jamal’s memory motivates flashbacks to earlier story
events.Either sort of subjectivity may be signaled through particular film techniques. If a character is drunk or drugged, the filmmakers may
render those perceptual states through slow motion, blurred imagery, or distorted sound. Similar techniques may suggest a dream or
hallucination. Narrative tension is primarily about withholding information.” – Ian McEwan, novelist CONNECT TO THE
BLOGwww.davidbordwell.net/blogin a series of entries starting with “Hitchcock, Lessing, and the bomb under the table,” we consider where Hitchcock may
have gotten his ideas on suspense and surprise.
Narration: The Flow of Story Information
91
66 Narrative tension is primarily
about withholding information.”
-lan McEwan, novelist
Filmmakers can achieve powerful effects by manipulating the range of story
information. Restricted narration tends to create greater curiosity and surprise for
the viewer. For instance, if a character is exploring a sinister house, and we see
and hear no more than the character does, a sudden revelation of a hand thrusting
out from a doorway will startle us.
In contrast, as Hitchcock pointed out, a dose of unrestricted narration helps
to build suspense. He explained it this way to François Truffaut:
We are now having a very innocent little chat. Let us suppose that there is a bomb
underneath this table between us. Nothing happens, and then all of a sudden,
“Boom!” There is an explosion. The public is surprised, but prior to this surprise, it
has seen an absolutely ordinary scene, of no special consequence. Now, let us take a
suspense situation. The bomb is underneath the table and the public knows it, prob-
ably because they have seen the anarchist place it there. The public is aware that the
bomb is going to explode at one o’clock and there is a clock in the decor. The pub-
lic can see that it is a quarter to one. In these conditions this innocuous conversa-
tion becomes fascinating because the public is participating in the scene. The
audience is longing to warn the characters on the screen: “You shouldn’t be talking
about such trivial matters. There’s a bomb beneath you and it’s about to explode!”
In the first case we have given the public fifteen seconds of surprise at the moment
of the explosion. In the second case we have provided them with fifteen minutes of sus-
pense. The conclusion is that whenever possible the public must be informed.
Hitchcock put his theory into practice. In Psycho, Lila Crane explores the Bates
mansion in much the same way as our hypothetical character was doing. There are
isolated moments of surprise as she discovers odd information about Norman and
his mother. But the overall effect of the sequence is built on suspense because we
know, as Lila does not, that Mrs. Bates is in the house. (Actually, as in North by
Northwest, our knowledge isn’t completely accurate, but during Lila’s investigation,
we believe it to be.) As in Hitchcock’s anecdote, our greater range of knowledge
creates suspense because we can anticipate events that the character cannot. Once
more, the filmmaker guides the viewer’s expectations.
<
>
CONNECT TO THE BLOG
www.davidbordwell.net/blog
In a series of entries starting with
“Hitchcock, Lessing, and the bomb
under the table,” we consider
where Hitchcock may have gotten
his ideas on suspense and surprise.
Depth of Story Information: Objective or Subjective?
A film’s narration manipulates not only the range of knowledge but also the depth
of our knowledge. The filmmaker must decide how far to plunge into a character’s
psychological states. As with restricted and unrestricted narration, there is a spec-
trum between objectivity and subjectivity.
A plot might confine us wholly to information about what characters say and
do. Here the narration is relatively objective. Or a film’s plot may give us access to
what characters see and hear. The filmmaker might give us shots taken from a
character’s optical standpoint, the point-of-view (POV) shot. For instance, in North
by Northwest, point-of-view editing is used as we see Roger Thornhill crawl up to
Van Damm’s window (3.20-3.22). Or we might hear sounds as the character would
hear them, what sound recordists call sound perspective. In short, through either
sight or sound, the filmmaker gives us what we might call perceptual subjectivity.
The filmmaker can go deeper, beyond the character’s senses and into her or
his mind. We…
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