AIC, 1988 - AIC Associazione Italiana Autori della Fotografia ...

AIC
"One from the heart" di Vittorio Storaro
colour within a scene "One from the
Heart", 1982, F. Coppola) — without
counting all the different types of
lighting, i.e. direct or diffused lighting,
backlighting.
b) Set Design: in which the laws of
perspective and sign language place the
actor in relation to everything that has
been constructed around him
("Profession Reporter", 1984, M.
Antonioni).
c) Sound: which means dialogue, noise
and music and the different way in
which they are used. 1 can still "hear",
like a distant echo in my mind,
"Strategia del Ragno", 1970, B.
Bertolucci.
a) Acting: acting in the cinema doesn't
just mean learning dialogue, but all
the actions which create it. Enclosed in
a rectangular space, and obliged to
enter or exit from either left or right,
the actor's movements are confined
within limits and executed in relation
to precise camera movements. Not only
this, his actual body, divided up into
close-ups, full-shots and two.shots,
literally multiplies, without his being
aware, all the possible meanings that
can be communicated ("Casablanca",
1943, M. Curtis, is a fine example of
all of this).
However, if photography (light), set
design (space), sound (words, noise,
music), and acting (behaviour) are
essential languages of the cinema,
there are also others which exist, or
can be obtained by a process of
deduction. Any one of the above can
be added to or subtracted from the
other, can divide or multiply. Certain
cinema favours photography and set
design, other acting, and so on...
However, all these languages exist
because there is a camera which moves.
It moves equipped with specific lenses
that have been chosen. An entire story
is lived out between the different focal
lengths. And then there is that
fantastic way of filling a space, with a
camera movement. If my head were a
new Mitchell 35 m/m, and my range
of vision extended beyond 120°, I
could, by merely turning my head,
effect the most incredible pan-shots
(vertical, horizontal, any which way);
then, tired of remaining stationary, I
could get up and track in on my actor,
and around him; but then, if I
happened to become angry and decided
to take off, I could effect a dolly, and
play at escaping from, or homing in on,
the "reality" 1 was filming.
This way, I would be "declining" the
various languages indispensible to
cinema, bringing out certain qualities
at times, then others, and in the truly
great moments, all of them. Then, the
film really would be cinema!
Next, we come to the problem —
certainly not minor — of meaning.
Adopting all these different languages
and then "conjugating" them, it is
inevitable that they will be interpreted
in a particular way — even if the
possible interpretations are less than
one would imagine. The literal,
figurative, metaphorical and
metonymic meanings, and the complex
question of editing, immediately
become understandable if a
combinatorial analysis of the "writing"
is effected beforehand. One always
writes a story by starting at the end.
Knowing the end at the beginning,
permits the precise distribution and
construction of the significants and
significance. The advantage of this
narrative method is that there is far
less possibility of meaning getting lost
— although it might become hidden at
another point — as it is confined, and
has obliged the "text" to effect a
return journey before starting out.
The various points of view from- which
a film can be interpreted
(psychological, sociological, economical,
structural, linguistic etc...) become
material for as many analyses again;
one has to remember, however, that
meaning is always subjective, cannot
really be tested, and is certainly
deceptive.
It is knowledge that permits us to
understand, but we have to adopt a
pragmatic approach if we are not to
fall into the trap of emotional
judgement. The characters, imprisoned
their roles (whether they be jealous, in
love, unfaithful, or whatever) throw
down the gauntlet at the story,
without ever being able to vanquish it.
They will be brutally betrayed by the
"writing", which will run them through
the heart with its customary precision.
In a film, we see all the things that
happen in life, both to the characters,
and ourselves. In other words, the
cinema recounts all life's various
conflicts by transforming them into
"reality"; while reality itself having
too much time to communicate,
remains a sham.
Music is created by all the instruments
in an orchestra, each existing in
relation to the other, and a film is
created in the same way. It is therefore
a mistake, merely critically speaking,
to concentrate solely on the story while
watching a film, instead of trying to
define the different languages which
tum it into cinema.
The former distinction between cinema
and film returns to assert and avenge
itself, continuing, in the silence, to be
valid.