Monday, April 27, 2020

"Pre-Text and Text" Meets "Feds"

Here's another college essay from decades past. Nowadays I would probably not be so bold as to write a blog post about someone else's writing, only to essentialy throw out their premise and propose a "better" one, but such was college me. In truth, Arbuthnot and Seneca's article is one of only a handful of readings that have stuck with me through the decades, and I didn't at all mean to sound dismissive or disrespectful. I was trying, I suppose, to show -- in the words of my professor -- that "Arbuthnot and Seneca's methodology is ultimately more valuable than their argument for Gentlemen."

Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
In their article "Pre-text and Text in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes," Lucie Arbuthnot and Gail Seneca argue that the 1953 film contains a feminist text which undermines the patriarchal "pre-text" of heterosexual romance. This text, they claim, satisfies two feminist requirements: female resistance to sexual objectification and strong interpersonal female relationships. The authors concede that the film is a product of the patriarchy. They argue, however, "that it is important to recoup from male culture some of the pleasure which it has always denied [feminist-thinking women]." [note 1] Their reading of Gentlemen isolates elements which define the proposed feminist text, and is a more compelling feminist reading than one might think possible of such a film. Still, claiming that Gentlemen Prefer Blondes contains a subversive feminist text is a tough sell. While Arbuthnot and Seneca cite various examples of how Dorothy and Lorelei resist objectification and favor their own friendship over their romantic relationships with men, these examples are dwarfed by the overwhelming presence of a patriarchal construct which seeks to objectify women and make them subordinate to the patriarchy.

Dorothy and Lorelei are most certainly constructed as objects to be looked at by men: they are performers who sing and dance for men in the film (and therefore for the men in the film's audience); they are made into spectacle during unjustified (offstage) musical numbers; and their entrances into film space are prefaced by the leering offscreen gazes of the male characters, while their own glances are never illustrated in the same way (through eyeline matches or subjective shots). Furthermore, the two women succeed only by acquiescing in their sexual objectification and by using that objectification to advance only as far as they, as women, are allowed within the confines of the male-dominated society. Their success is gauged in their ability to marry -- marriage is the only way the two women can finally "make the grade."

As difficult as it is to fully accept the authors' feminist reading of Gentlemen, however, it is impossible to disregard it. That any progressive feminist material could be found within a 1950's Hollywood production featuring two women whose entire careers centered on the marketing of their fetishized sex appeal is, at least, interesting. That Arbuthnot and Seneca were able to find as much material as they did in Gentlemen is fascinating. Also of great interest is the authors' desire to "recoup" female pleasure and "discover feminist pleasures within films of the dominant culture." [note 2] Hollywood productions, though undeniably products of the patriarchy, constitute the largest part of this country's filmic output. While the debate over the possibility of female spectatorship often seems more the subject of critical treatises than of films easily accessible to most women, finding feminist pleasure in Hollywood productions seems not merely an interesting idea, but a feminist necessity.

This task, which may certainly seem as overwhelming as the patriarchal structure which complicates it, is advanced by the model adopted by Arbuthnot and Seneca for their reading of Gentlemen. While that film, as mentioned above, is perhaps not the most cooperative subject for their model, the 1988 production Feds demonstrates remarkable compliancy to their criteria. Like Gentlemen, this film features two female lead characters who value their own friendship more than their romantic relationships with men, and who resist sexual objectification. Unlike Gentlemen, however, Feds subverts the patriarchal construct which undoes the reading of Gentlemen, and in doing so preserves a significant feminist text.

Mary Gross and Rebecca De Mornay in Feds
Feds plots the trials of two women, Ellie DeWitt (Rebecca DeMornay) and Janice Zuckerman (Mary Gross), trying to graduate from the FBI training academy. Both women have been made aware that they have been accepted into the program only to fulfill a female quota. DeWitt, an ex-marine, and Zuckerman, a bookish scholar, both have trouble succeeding alone (DeWitt fails at academics, Zuckerman at physical exercises). At one point, Zuckerman is so discouraged that she announces her intention to quit. DeWitt convinces her to stay, and with each other's help the two show great improvement. The two trainees advance to the final challenge, the rescue of a mock hostage in a simulated terrorist kidnaping, and accomplish the task while their male peers fail miserably. The two women graduate, earn a special merit award, and are assigned to work together in Los Angeles.

It is very apparent that DeWitt and Zuckerman place more importance in their own friendship than they do in their romantic relationships with men. DeWitt ends her relationship with a male trainee, Brent, on their first date, after he speaks poorly of Zuckerman. At the film's end, Zuckerman is elated to learn that she will be stationed with DeWitt in Los Angeles, and is not at all bothered that she and Howard Butz, the man she is somewhat romantically paired with, will be separated (indeed, there is almost a tone of relief in her voice).

While there is no heartache at the end of these romances, there is great concern when the women are almost separated. When Zuckerman announces her intention to quit the program, DeWitt explains that she is counting on her for help, and tells Zuckerman that she can also help her. What is established here is the women's dependence upon each other. They are not just friends, but vital assistants in and instructors of each other's success. The women are not dependent upon men, but upon each other. Each begins to succeed in her area of weakness only after the two begin to help and depend upon each other.

"Socially it is the prerogative of men to gaze at women and the requirement of women to avert our eyes in submission." This is how Arbuthnot and Seneca explain the objectification of women via the male gaze. The issue of sexually objectifying male gazes is not problematic in Feds, namely because such gazes are absent. Male gazes are present, however, and sexually objectifying gazes are replaced with gazes which connote women as mentally and/or physically inferior to men. The power of these gazes is subverted, however, in various ways. The first such gaze is countered by the point-of-view shot of the female character. As DeWitt waits her turn to be interviewed for admission to the training program, we see one male applicant staring at her. His stare (like the stares of the men we see in DeWitt's subjective shots) singles her out as an anomaly among FBI applicants: she is a woman applying for a position in a field dominated by men. She becomes aware of the stare and returns the look, and we experience her returned look twice through point-of-view shots. She also resists her objectification verbally, sarcastically asking the staring men, "You guys in a gang or something?" Never do we hear such a resistant retort from Dorothy or Lorelei, nor do we ever see their return looks through point-of-view shots.

These objectifying looks are also resisted, even defeated, with events of the narrative. During a classroom exercise in which DeWitt and Zuckerman are shot with blank cartridges by Training Director Bilecki, there is a reverse eyeline match of Brent and another man laughing at the women's failure. Their mocking look, and its objectifying connotation that women are mental and physical inferiors to men, is defeated when the two women succeed in later, more important exercises which those men fail.

What is most outstanding about the objectifying gaze in Feds, however, is that it is very rare. Despite the women's ability to attract men (Brent asks DeWitt for a date, and Howard Butz and a sailor in a bar are attracted to Zuckerman), at no time are their entrances preceded by the ogling stares which signal so many of Dorothy and Loreiei's entrances in Gentlemen (save for the above-mentioned interview scene; that glance is resisted and returned, however). Even when DeWitt enters in a dress for her date with Brent (the only time she "masquerades" as the male definition of "beautiful woman," or "visual spectacle"), her entrance is not shown as Brent's eyeline match. She enters in a long shot which also includes Zuckerman and Brent, whose back is turned towards her. Furthermore, DeWitt's construction as visual spectacle in this scene is de-emphasized because the film spectator is allowed to see her in this costume before Brent arrives. The spectator does not see DeWitt through the stares of a male character. She is therefore not formally established as a "sight" for male pleasure.

It is also of importance to note that the truest examples of sexual objectification are perpetrated by the women. Zuckerman's treatment of the sailor she dances with during a night out is motivated only by her sexual attraction to him. She identifies him only in terms of her sexual interest, and her conversation with him -- a conversation which she dominates -- is limited to the same. DeWitt reduces Brent to a sexual object while the two women are talking with Butz in the cafeteria. After Butz identifies Brent with a summary of his background, DeWitt views him in a subjective shot and says "He's cute," apparently disregarding the more personal description just given by Butz.

Arbuthnot and Seneca cite the costuming of Dorothy and Lorelei as a way those characters avoid sexual objectification. While the costuming argument is not very convincing for Gentlemen (the two characters wear clinging outfits which accentuate their famous breasts, and the dresses they wear in the opening number are slit high to expose their legs), it applies well to Feds. Neither DeWitt nor Zuckerman wears costumes which transform them into sexual objects. While the two are often seen in apparel connoted "female" by patriarchal culture (skirts, earrings), they are never clothed in articles which are designed to draw attention to their physicalness in the way Dorothy and Lorelei's clothing does. Zuckerman dresses conservatively; when she wears skirts they are the type associated with formal business attire. DeWitt also wears such skirts, but more often is seen in slacks, t-shirt, and leather jacket. While the t-shirt is clinging and accentuates her breasts, it is more connotative of "tough marine than of "sex object" (this connotation is supported by the similar costuming of male military characters in other films: Robert Duvall's characters in The Great Santini or Apocalypse Now, for example). Furthermore, DeWitt does not wear jewelry, nor does she ever appear 'made-up" (beyond the make-up used to make DeMornay look so "natural"). Even the dress she wears on her date with Brent, while being the most connotative of "visual object," is far from revealing (its color -- black -- also prevents the use of suggestive shadows, and thus satisfies another of the criteria listed by Arbuthnot and Seneca).

Character posture is also cited by Arbuthnot and Seneca. They claim that Dorothy, at least, conveys an air of authority with her confident stance. This authoritativeness is offset, however, by the more frequent sultry maneuvers she uses while walking past the men on the dock, or while performing in the musical numbers. Such movement is even more typical of Lorelei. DeWitt and Zuckerman, however, never carry themselves in such a seductive manner. Indeed, DeWitt is often seen almost slouching, with her hands in her pockets or her thumbs in the belt loops of her slacks. Even when "masquerading" (on her date with Brent), she does not adopt a posture which connotes "to-be-looked-at-ness" (to use Laura Mulvey's famous term [note 3]).

Arbuthnot and Seneca also claim that the two women in Gentlemen resist objectification by controlling their own space and by invading the space of men. DeWitt and Zuckerman also control their own space: the first time DeWitt enters their room, she does so without knocking, and no men enter their room without their permission (whether that permission is explicit, as when Zuckerman tells Butz to enter, or implied, as when Zuckerman opens the door for Brent). The two also freely enter and disrupt male space. While investigating the theft of some navy blankets, they walk uninvited into a male dormitory at a college and shut the television off while several men are watching it. They then control those men during interrogation with threats of imprisonment. Later, they enter a predominantly male night club and cause chaos by unplugging the sound system, then restore order by firing several gunshots above the heads of the crowd. The two also invade the male space of the conference room used by the instructors as the hideout during the simulated kidnaping. Here, their entrance is just as disruptive as the previous ones, as they enter by breaking through a window. Zuckerman also invades the personal space of the sailor in the bar by reaching under his shirt and feeling his chest.

Activity, too, claim Arbuthnot and Seneca, is a way in which Dorothy and Lorelei subvert objectification. They cite the scene in which the women drug Malone and remove his pants. This approach is far more applicable to Feds, however, for the quantity and success of the actions of DeWitt and Zuckerman far exceed those of Dorothy and Lorelei. DeWitt is shown constantly to be capable of action: she is expert with a handgun and has no trouble overcoming her (male) practice arrest partner. The two successfully capture a gang of bank robbers on their own time. The two are praised by Bilecki for their work on the stolen blanket case, after the male trainees decide the matter is too insignificant. They act on two men who try to assault them in the street (they kick them in the genitals), and their action prevents those men from acting upon them. The two formulate and enact the successful plan to rescue the mock hostage, while the male trainees hastily head for careless failure. The two also collaborate on lesser accomplishments, like defeating a male trainee in a pizza eating contest.

DeWitt and Zuckerman are also active in their heterosexual romances. Zuckerman is the aggressor in her experiences with the sailor and Butz. She initiates the action: she brings the sailor to the dance floor and actively feels his chest, and she invites Butz to watch a television program and is the first to initiate a kiss. DeWitt, while not the instigator of her relationship with Brent, takes an active role by ordering wine for Brent, and then determines the future of the relationship by ending it on the first date.

What makes their actions so much more important than those of Dorothy and Lorelei, however, is the fact that only their successes are emphasized. Although we see them fail (DeWitt on written tests, Zuckerman in physical trials), we also see them succeed. We are never shown any of the men's successes, only their failures. Indeed, the male trainees are portrayed as easily-duped buffoons blinded by their own machismo. They fail because they do not heed the advise of the two women. Both men and women are instigators of action in Feds, but only women are instigators of successful action.

All of these things help DeWitt and Zuckerman resist objectification by males. They do not, however, entirely free the feminist text from the confines of patriarchal culture. Various narrative and formal elements exist which anchor the feminist text to the patriarchy. What is remarkable about this film, though, is the great extent to which these elements are subverted. The feminist text is given so much attention that the film's patriarchal construct is significantly obscured.

The most problematic of the narrative elements is the presence of Howard Butz, who anchors the actions of DeWitt and Zuckerman to the patriarchy merely by being part of them. DeWitt and Zuckerman are not allowed to look around the cafeteria in subjective shots until Butz sits down with them and points to various people in the room. The two women do not make the final rescue attempt alone -- they are assisted by Howard, whose idea to misinform the other men gives the women more time to fulfill their objective. Furthermore, the two women are not allowed to enter the male space of the hideout until Howard rushes through the door and secures the location. It is implied here that, while DeWitt and Zuckerman are successful in their actions, only with male assistance can they act and succeed.

This problem becomes almost insignificant, though, with consideration of Howard's portrayal. As his last name foretells, Butz is the victim of much derision (the "butt" of jokes). His masculinity is constantly in question. Like Zuckerman, he excels in the more passive arena of academics. His physical ability is slight. He is lampooned on the obstacle course as the other men drop heavy bags on him. He is singled out by the arrest instructor and then easily overcome. He is unable to get through the front door of the academy until DeWitt opens the door and frees his stuck suitcase. He makes the decision to follow the women on the hostage exercise and then asks them for a plan. Although he kisses Zuckerman passionately, he does so only after she kisses him first. It is only after the kiss -- after he has been empowered by a woman -- that he becomes physically potent and kicks in the door during the rescue. While he is present during the final rescue, he is not present during the women's bank robbery arrest or during the stolen blanket case. On this narrative level, Butz does not pose a threat to the two women and is not a major influence on their actions. Indeed, he is virtually dependent upon them. He is merely a token male presence which links the narrative to the patriarchy without making that connection explicit.

(A more Freudian reading could posit that Butz is a castrated male. Castration is a recurring motif in the film as a way DeWitt and Zuckerman disable several male opponents: both kick the street assailants in the genitals and escape unharmed, and such a kick is the only way Zuckerman is able to overpower her practice arrest partner, Brent. Butz's entrance to the academy demonstrates castration when his suitcase, released from the door by DeWitt, recoils and hits him in the genitals. DeWitt, therefore, removes any threat Butz may pose with this symbolic castration. Without the phallus, he is no longer a man holding exclusive franchise on power and action, and is equal to the female characters).

The film also makes formal connections with the patriarchy, but these connections are also greatly subverted. Several segments are introduced by a male character, and the implication is that the space being introduced is male space. Often this introduction subverts itself. The first shot of some of these segments is a close-up of a "maleness"-connoting prop accompanied by a man's voice (an interviewer's hands holding DeWitt's file, or a gun shop sign). The following shot, however, is not a close-up of that man, but of one of the women or of that man and both women (in the interviewer's office this is a tilt up to DeWitt, in the gun shop it is a medium-long three-shot of the shop owner, DeWitt, and Zuckerman). At other times, the formal connections to patriarchy are simply subverted under the narrative emphasis on the success of the women's actions. In any case, nowhere does the filmic technique introduce these women as the sexual spectacle into which Dorothy and Lorelei are transformed by Gentlemen's male eyeline matches.

The feminist text is also subject to conflicts generated by the film's ideological statements. This film's ideology is not as overtly stated as that of Gentlemen, however, and this helps preserve the feminist text. It might be inferred that the film's main ideological announcement is that women can only be successful in a man's world by adopting male characteristics (surprisingly similar to that of Gentlemen). This is implicit in the more masculine (through costume, posture, military involvement), and favored portrayal of DeWitt (she is featured at the beginning with insight to her background, and at the end with her unique costume and closing statement) and the apparent ease with which she conducts herself in the world of action. It may also be inferred that the two women abandon their heterosexual romances in favor of an implicit lesbian relationship which, in its sexual interest in women, makes them "more like men." This ideology, then, favors the abandoning of femaleness as a useless and unproductive state of being.

It is also true that DeWitt and Zuckerman, like Dorothy and Lorelei, succeed only within the confines of the patriarchy. While they are the two most successful trainees of the academy, they are nonetheless trainees of the academy. Any work done outside the restrictions of the patriarchal institution (the FBI) is punished, no matter how successful that action is. When the two trainees stop the bank robbery while in town on leave, they are reprimanded by Bilecki for not adhering to strict FBI procedure (which includes, explains Bilecki, calling for back-up assistance, presumably male agents). Praise is bestowed upon them only when they work as "by the book" FBI agents, that is, as agents of the patriarchy (during the blanket theft case or the final hostage exercise). That praise, in turn, is given to them only by the FBI/patriarchy. Only within the male order can these women succeed and find acceptance.

As stifling as these ideological conflicts appear, however, they are recuperated by a narrative which stresses female success and the apparent ineptitude of male peers. While the film implicitly advocates "maleness" and the patriarchy, it explicitly lampoons machismo and the need to contain women through heterosexual romance. What is most featured in Feds is the close relationship between DeWitt and Zuckerman, a relationship that favors the women's dependence upon each other, not men, and the ability of those women to act and succeed. The refusal of those women to be sexually objectified, the formal strategies through which the film allows that refusal, the absence of visible male success, and the dependence of a male character (Butz) on the two female characters places a feminist text in the foreground and makes Feds a fascinating exception to the Hollywood model.


Note 1: Arbuthnot, Lucie and Gail Seneca. "Pre-Text and Text in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." 1980.

Note 2: Arbuthnot, Lucie and Gail Seneca. "Pre-Text and Text in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." 1980.

Note 3: Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Reprinted in Feminism and Film Theory, edited by Constance Penley. (New York: Routledge, Chapman, and Hall, Inc. 1988), p. 62.

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Cheat Sheet: 4 Non(-native) Blondes

Anita Ekberg
Born: September 29, 1931 in Malmö, Skåne län, Sweden
Died: January 11, 2015 (age 83)
  • Blood Alley (1955)
  • Man in the Vault (1956)
  • Back from Eternity (1956)
  • La Dolce Vita (1960)
  • 4 for Texas (1963)
  • Call Me Bwana (1963)

Ursula Andress
Born: March 19, 1936 in Ostermundigen, Bern, Switzerland
  • Dr. No (1962)
  • 4 for Texas (1963)
  • The 10th Victim (1965)
  • What's New Pussycat (1965)
  • Casino Royale (1967)
  • Clash of the Titans (1981)

Elke Sommer
Born: November 5, 1940 in Berlin, Germany
  • The Prize (1963)
  • A Shot in the Dark (1964)
  • The Money Trap (1965)
  • Boy, Did I Get a Wrong Number! (1966)
  • The Wrecking Crew (1969)
  • The Prisoner of Zenda (1979)

Britt Ekland
Born: October 6, 1942 in Stockholm, Sweden
  • The Double Man (1967)
  • Too Many Thieves (1967)
  • The Bobo (1967)
  • The Night They Raided Minsky's (1968)
  • Get Carter (1971)
  • The Man with the Golden Gun (1974)

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Cheat Sheet: Davids, Brian, and Keith

Three first names do double duty to denote four fine actors.

David Brian
Born: August 5, 1914 in New York City, New York
Died: July 15, 1993 (age 78)
  • Flamingo Road (1949)
  • The Damned Don't Cry (1950)
  • Fort Worth (1951)
  • Springfield Rifle (1952)
  • The High and the Mighty (1954)

Brian Keith
Born: November 14, 1921 in Bayonne, New Jersey
Died: June 24, 1997 (age 75)
  • Run of the Arrow (1957)
  • The Parent Trap (1961)
  • The Rare Breed (1966)
  • With Six You Get Eggroll (1968)
  • The Wind and the Lion (1975)

Keith David
Born: June 4, 1956 in New York City, New York
  • The Thing (1982)
  • Platoon (1986)
  • Bird (1988)
  • They Live (1988)
  • The Quick and the Dead (1995)

David Keith
Born: May 8, 1954 in Knoxville, Tennessee
  • The Great Santini (1979)
  • The Rose (1979)
  • An Officer and a Gentleman (1982)
  • Firestarter (1984)
  • The Two Jakes (1990)

Friday, July 17, 2015

Cheat Sheet: Margarets and Maureens (and one Jean)

It seems that for every Hollywood Margaret, there's a corresponding Maureen with an echoing last name. Here's a guide to who's who.

Margaret Sullavan
Born: May 16, 1909 in Norfolk, Virginia, USA
Died: January 1, 1960 (age 50)
  • Three Comrades (1938)
  • Shop Around the Corner (1940)

Maureen O'Sullivan
Born: May 17, 1911 in Boyle, County Roscommon, Ireland
Died: June 23, 1998 (age 87)
  • Tarzan the Ape Man (1932)
  • Tarzan and His Mate (1934)
  • The Big Clock (1948)
  • The Tall T (1957)
  • Hannah and Her Sisters (1986)

Margaret O'Brien
Born: January 15, 1937 in San Diego, California, USA
  • Jane Eyre (1943)
  • Meet Me in St. Louis (1944)
  • Little Women (1949)

Maureen O'Hara
Born: August 17, 1920 in Ranelagh, County Dublin, Ireland
Died: October 24, 2015 (age 95)
  • Rio Grande (1950)
  • The Quiet Man (1952)
  • Lady Godiva (1955)
  • The Parent Trap (1961)
  • Only the Lonely (1991)

Margaret Hamilton
Born: December 9, 1902 in Cleveland, Ohio, USA
Died: May 16, 1985 (age 82)
  • The Wizard of Oz (1939)
  • The Ox-Bow Incident (1943)
  • The Red Pony (1949)
  • People Will Talk (1951)

Maureen Stapleton
Born: June 21, 1925 in Troy, New York, USA
Died: March 13, 2006 (age 80)
  • Airport (1970)
  • Interiors (1978)
  • Reds (1981)
  • Cocoon (1985)
  • The Money Pit (1986)

Jean Stapleton
Born: January 19, 1923 in New York City, New York, USA
Died: May 31, 2013 (age 90)
No relation to Maureen.
  • Damn Yankees! (1958)
  • Something Wild (1961)
  • All in the Family (TV series, 1968-1979)
  • You've Got Mail (1998)

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

The Impossible POV: Dark Passage

Dark Passage (1947)
The first 37 minutes of Dark Passage (1947) make extensive use of the subjective shot by representing the film's main character almost exclusively through his own point-of-view. Vincent Parry, an escaped criminal convicted of killing his wife, is defined by what he sees. The camera acts as his eyes, so when other characters look at him, they're looking directly at the camera. While not every shot in this part of the film is from Vincent's point-of-view (there are establishing shots, for example, not attached to any character's point of view), with only a few exceptions, Vincent's presence is always indicated this way. What is presented as Vincent's authentic subjectivity, however, is not always what it seems. The film uses a number of techniques to simulate Vincent's uninterrupted point-of-view while still presenting it as authentic. While some of these methods help to preserve this illusion, others work against it. Here's a look at three sequences in the film that demonstrate this.

The ride with Baker

This sequence is actually part of the longer opening scene, which shows the truck leaving San Quentin, Vincent tipping the barrel over the side and rolling down the hill, and his approach to the road. We begin with the last part of the last shot of that action, as Vincent looks to his left (which is also frame left) and considers his options (shot 1).

1 pans right, concealing cut
2A - Vincent waves
2B - movement conceals cut
3 moves left, concealing cut
4 pans right, dissolves
5C pans right, concealing cut
8 - Baker looks down
9 pans left, concealing cut

After Vincent looks to his left (frame left), he then turns his head to the right in a rapid pan which conceals a cut to shot 2. In shot 2A, then, he should be looking down the street in the opposite direction from shot 1 and the approaching car should stop in front of him heading frame left. When Baker stops his car, however, it is facing frame right. The rapid pan used to simulate the turn of Vincent's head and to create the illusion of prolonged continuous action1 has also instantly moved Vincent to the other side of the road. This places Vincent conveniently on the passenger side of the car, but it does so without depicting the crossing of the road.

As Vincent enters Baker's car in shot 2B, camera movement and the car's dark interior conceal the cut to shot 3, of Vincent's muddy shoes, which Baker has just called attention to by asking "How'd you get your feet wet? Been wading?" There is a change in perspective here, as Vincent's shoes are shown in close-up, not in a framing that would accurately represent what he would see when looking down at his feet (compare this to shot 9). The cut to shot 4 is then concealed by a pan left, and Vincent's eyes come to rest on Baker as Baker continues his questioning. This cut also conceals a change from location shooting to sound stage, and for the rest of this shot the car's motion is simulated by rear-screen projection.

A transition back to location shooting is made via a rightward pan and a noticeable dissolve between shots 4 and 5A. It is unclear if this dissolve indicates a passage of time, but the way the conversation overlaps shots 4 and 5 seems to imply that no time has lapsed.2 This actually makes the dissolve more pronounced, and more of a violation of Vincent's point-of-view — what would such a dissolve, within a point-of-view shot, indicate? Dizziness? A momentary lack of consciousness? Nothing that seems applicable to Vincent at the moment.

During the rest of shot 5, all dialog is spoken off-camera — by Vincent, mostly, but also by Baker as the camera pans left to the back seat, leaving him out of frame as he asks "Where you from?" This allows the conversation to span two shooting locations without the need to synchronize the audio to shots of Baker made at each one. Another rightward pan in shot 5C conceals the cut back to the sound stage, where Baker continues to grill Vincent, in shot 6, about his appearance.

Shot 6 is interesting because it is a longer-than-usual (about 30 seconds) shot of Baker that doesn't do anything to indicate Vincent's discomfort with Baker's questions. The shot is supposed to be Vincent's point-of-view, yet during Baker's grilling, the camera (Vincent's eyes) are fixed unwaveringly on Baker with nothing (like camera movement away from Baker's eyes, for example3) to simulate Vincent's discomfort but his words. Here we see that while this shot satisfies the requirement of presenting Vincent's point-of-view, it also functions in a way more important to the film by emphasizing what the film wants us to see, regardless of how Vincent would really be seeing it — here, Baker's growing suspicion about Vincent. This choice is perhaps more effective than the alternative of more camera movement — our constant view of Baker scrutinizing Vincent allows us to feel scrutinized as well, so we feel the discomfort Vincent articulates when he demands that Baker stop the car.4

Before Baker agrees to stop the car, however, a description of Vincent is read over the radio, and the cut to shot 7 — the sequence's first straight cut, not concealed in any way — further emphasizes the importance of Baker's thoughts by framing this shot of the radio from Baker's — not Vincent's — point-of-view. What was supposed to be the continuous presentation of Vincent's point-of-view has now been interrupted by the point-of-view of another character. Like the framing of Vincent's shoes in shot 3, the radio is framed more tightly than it would appear to Baker, but it is shot from the driver's seat position that he occupies, indicating that his reaction to the announcement is more important than Vincent's.

A straight cut to shot 8 returns the camera to Vincent's point-of-view as Baker slows and stops the car to compare Vincent with the description being read over the radio. We see Baker's eyes look up as the announcer describes Vincent's hair, then look down when Vincent's trousers and shoes are described. This downward look is the perfect setup for Baker's eyeline match, but the straight cut to shot 9 gives us a shot of the radio from Vincent's point-of-view instead. While the two previous straight cuts have interrupted Vincent's point-of-view, this is the first that violates it — this cut implies no lapse in time, but certainly a change in perspective. Vincent could not instantly change his perspective this way and would need, as is illustrated by the various rapid pans, to turn his head to do so.

A rapid leftward pan conceals a cut and a return to an outdoor location in shot 10, which shows Baker from a slightly higher angle, indicating, perhaps, that Vincent is no longer sitting. Vincent then punches Baker with hands that swing from behind camera right and left. As Baker falls forward, there is a straight cut to shot 11A, which, though still presented as Vincent's POV, uses a noticeably different framing to show Baker's head hit the steering wheel. Once again, Vincent appears to have instantly changed position without any camera movement to show a transition. Vincent then reaches from behind camera right, takes Baker by the collar, and drags him out of the car and begins to unbutton his jacket in shot 11B.

Irene's apartment

The sequence begins with a dissolve from the previous shot. Unlike the dissolve from the previous example in Baker's car, though, this dissolve does present a lapse in time, however brief, between when Vincent and Irene get out of the elevator and their first moments inside Irene's apartment. Even though this dissolve is between two of Vincent's POV shots, it aids in the a transition of time and place, and is not a violation of a seemingly uninterrupted POV shot.

1A opening dissolve
2 pans left, conceals cut
6G dissolve

In shot 1B, Vincent's point-of-view follows Irene as she ascends the stairs, the camera movement motivated by her action. She pauses close to the top of the stairs to say, "Turn on the music if you like," motivating a straight cut to shot 2. Immediately after this cut, we hear Irene's final footsteps up the stairs, which appear to aurally continue an action she makes in the very last frames of shot 1B, as she turns her head, ostensibly to continue up the stairs that instant. This would indicate, then, that no time has been omitted between shot 1B and shot 2. Therefore, this cut clearly violates the consistency of Vincent's point-of-view by changing his perspective instantly, without a pan to simulate the movement of his head and eyes to the record player.

Irene's return to the room is shown when a rapid leftward pan conceals the cut to shot 3A. Irene walks toward Vincent, looking him in the eye (that is, looking right into the camera), then stops and hands him the newspaper clipping, which Vincent accepts and looks at in shot 3B. Then, when Vincent begins to read aloud, there is a straight cut to shot 4, a close-up of the clipping which shows Irene's letter to the editor. This instant change of framing, which does not indicate a lapse in time, is another violation Vincent's fluid point-of-view.

After Vincent reads the second sentence, there is a straight cut to shot 5, the most problematic shot of the sequence. It begins with Irene looking down, listening as Vincent reads. At one point, however, she looks up, directly into the camera. In Dark Passage, to look at the camera is to look Vincent in the eye, but we know that Vincent can not be looking back to see Irene looking at him, because his eyes are on the newspaper clipping that he is reading aloud. Furthermore, we know from Irene's placement in shot 3B that she is standing face-to-face with Vincent, but shot 5 is from an angle to Vincent's right. Her look into the camera, then, could not be at Vincent's eyes. This shot therefore creates the illusion of being Vincent's point-of-view, even though it is not. (Or perhaps the illusion excuses her look into the camera — this could have been a cheat shot inserted during editing, though the effect it has is confusing.)

Another straight cut to shot 6A brings us back to almost the same framing as shot 3B. The rest of the sequence plays out in this shot, with the movement of the camera/Vincent's eyes motivated by narrative elements: the ringing telephone (6C), Irene talking on the phone (6D), Irene walking back to her position behind the table (6E), Irene sitting at her desk (6F), and Irene standing and gathering her things (6G). As in the previous example in Baker's car, Vincent's eyes are constantly trained on Irene or other important elements; there is no stray camera movement to simulate wandering eyes.

George's apartment

The first scene in George's apartment is comprised of seven shots. All but the first three or four (depending upon how you consider shot 4) are from Vincent's point-of-view. What makes this sequence interesting is that all shots are joined by straight cuts which, in the case of the point-of-view shots, violate the consistency of Vincent's point-of-view.

7B dissolve

The sequence opens with a shot of George sleeping on his bed, then cuts to the newspaper on his chest which bears a headline about Vincent's escape. This omniscient point-of-view occurs regularly in the film, even in the first 37 minutes. We switch to Vincent's point-of-view perhaps at shot 4, which is a close-up of Vincent's thumb ringing the doorbell. This may or may not be Vincent's actual point-of-view. It seems unlikely, given the tight framing and the angle from which it is shot, but certainly Vincent's point-of-view beings by shot 5A, when George opens the door and looks directly at Vincent/the camera. If we consider shot 4 the start of Vincent's point-of-view, then the cut to shot 5 instantly changes Vincent's perspective without using camera movement as a transition.

Shot 5 continues, with camera movement motivated by George — each time he moves to a different part of the room, Vincent's eyes follow and the camera reframes the shot. It's at the cut to shot 6 that we get the first serious violation of the fluid presentation of Vincent's point-of-view. In shot 5F, George opens a drawer at the head of his bed to get a key for Vincent while Vincent is seated at the foot of the bed. The cut to shot 6A reframes George and the drawer in a medium close-up, from a much different angle, but matches George's action with the keys in the previous shot. When Vincent's hand appears from behind camera right, we see that this shot is also Vincent's point-of-view, indicating an immediate change in Vincent's position on the bed. George's dialog gives some justification for this — right before Vincent reaches for the key, George says, "Lie down Vince, and make yourself at home," possibly suggesting Vincent's change of position is due to his lying down, though offering no explanation for the speed at which Vincent is able to do so. Another equally abrupt transition occurs in the cut to shot 7, where Vincent is instantly repositioned further down the bed, looking at George from a higher angle, apparently standing up once again.

The end of point-of-view: the "coming-to" shot

Vincent goes under
Vincent's hallucination
Vincent's hallucination

The surgery scene is the last one to feature such extensive use of Vincent's point-of-view. We watch the moments before surgery through Vincent's eyes, up to when the surgeon covers Vincent's face with the wet cloth. We then see what could be called Vincent's "psychological" point-of-view in the form of the anesthesia-induced hallucination he experiences during the surgery. This hallucination fades to black, and is immediately followed by what I call a "coming-to" shot.

The "coming-to" shot, part 1
The "coming-to" shot, part 2
The "coming-to's" reverse shot

I have written about the "coming-to" shot before; it is used to show a person regaining consciousness and typically shows one or more people shot from a low angle, looking down, entirely out-of-focus, suggesting that we are looking through the eyes of a person coming-to as others look on. As the shot comes slowly into focus, however, we see that the people in the shot are not looking into the camera lens, but off to the side, exposing the shot as not truly subjective. As Vincent comes to, the surgeon and Sam, the cabbie, looking down at him, come into focus, and we ultimately see that they are not looking at the camera, but off camera left. The next shot is from over their shoulders, of Vincent's bandaged face looking up at them. This traditional technique is perhaps fitting, as it marks the point where Vincent's point-of-view stops being used so extensively and the film reverts to more traditional methods.


1I am not considering such concealed edits a violation of Vincent's POV, because in most cases they function to create the illusion of an uninterrupted point-of-view shot by extending a shot that would otherwise need to end (due to the finite amount of film in the camera or on-set restrictions on camera movement) or by creating a unified cinematic space from different shooting locations.

2In this case, I am certain that no time has lapsed, though uninterrupted conversation is not always an indication of temporal consistency — see Rachael's Voight-Kampff test in Blade Runner, e.g.

3Something else not indicated here, or in the majority of cinema's true point-of-view shots, is blinking.

4Indeed, any aimless camera movement would not fit in among the rest, which appear to always be motivated by something, whether immediately obvious (like Baker's question about the wet shoes in shot 2B) or not (like the pan from shot 5B to 5C which reveals the distinctive seat cover, which will tip Vincent to Baker's presence later).