Columbia Pictures Corporation
Directed by Frank Borzage
Based on a novel  by Ferenc Molnár
Written by Jo Swerling
Cinematography by Joseph H. August
Edited by Viola Lawrence

Nemecsek (George P. Breakston)
Boka (Jimmy Butler)
Gereb (Jackie Searl)
Feri Ats (Frankie Darro)
Csonakos (Donald Haines)
Ferdie Pasztor (Rolf Ernest)
Henry Pasztor (Julius Molnar)
Kolnay (Wesley Giraud)
Csele (Beaudine Anderson)

Within the medium of film, it’s easy to convince yourself that you know what a film is really trying to say by accepting the surface message. In the case of Frank Borzage’s “No Greater Glory,” the apparent surface message is essentially that war is bad. However, upon closer inspection it becomes clear that the war portrayed gives the characters purpose, and the war alone is responsible for the eventual unity reached by the end of the film. Through the use of deliberate staging and framing, Frank Borzage effectively represents the social status and progression through the social hierarchy of certain key characters within “No Greater Glory.”

The film opens with a war montage, before quickly cutting to a classroom packed with boys. A few of the boys are passing a note, and as a result are asked to stay after the class is dismissed. Here we are introduced to the primary characters including Nemecsek (George P. Breakston), Boka (Jimmy Butler), and Gereb (Jackie Searl), among others. Together, the boys form a faction known as The Paul Street Boys. One day, Gereb deliberately leaves the door to the Paul Street lot unlocked, giving Feri Ats (Frankie Darro), the head of rival gang the Red Shirts, the opportunity to steal the boy’s flag. Boka, Nemecsek and Csonakos (Donald Haines) go on a mission to recover their flag, only to discover that Gereb is the traitor.

Nemecsek falls ill from the previous night’s exploits, but still attempts once again to recover the flag. In doing so he earns the respect of Feri Ats, but exhausts himself even further. Eventually Nemecsek is bed-ridden. The Paul Street Boys and the Red Shirts agree to have an organized war for control of the flag. Nemecsek, out of a deep-seeded responsibility and an onset of hallucinations, forces himself to get to the lot in time for the war. He finds Feri Ats, and wrestles him to the ground for the flag, only to die moments later. The film concludes with his mother walking him back from the lot, with all the boys following closely behind. Shortly after, the boys memorialize Nemecsek in the lot, just as it is revealed that the vacant lot will be developed after all.

Borzage’s utilization of cinematic techniques has been pretty well exhibited in the portion of his works we’ve seen thus far this semester. By far, the most apparent element is the exposition he provides through the way characters are framed. Perhaps the only time we see all of the boys represented equally on the screen is in the classroom at the beginning of the film. There is a shot when the boys are addressing the teacher after class, which is essentially a profile shot of Nemecsek, Boka, and Gereb (from left to right). Each of them takes up almost exactly one third of the frame, and it is one of the only times Gereb appears to be almost as tall as Boka, presumably because of the slight upward angle it is shot from. Even Nemecsek in this scene appears to have more of a presence than his other appearances around this point in the film. The representation of a socially equal environment by Borzage through the staging here is unique to this moment in the film.

In the case of “No Greater Glory,” a good place to start when discussing the significance of framing would be with Gereb, the traitorous Paul Street boy, whom Borzage apparently has a lot to say about. Following the boys’ initial appearance in the classroom, the next time we are introduced to them, they are in their full military regalia in the Paul Street lot. During the scene, Nemecsek pleads to become an officer, like everyone else, and the camera frequently cuts back and forth between Nemecsek, and Boka and Gereb. It is at this point Borzage begins to develop his own commentary on the characters through framing, as is evidenced by Gereb’s apparent stature throughout these shots. The entire left half of the frame is devoted to Boka, and while Gereb is directly to his left (the audience’s right), he appears to be substantially shorter than he was when we were introduced to him one scene ago. What could otherwise be attributed to slouching seems deliberate on the part Borzage, because immediately behind Gereb is another unspecified Paul Street boy, who towers above him. Even though the boy placed behind Gereb is a few feet behind him, and slightly more to the right of the frame, his head actually touches the top of the frame, just as Boka’s does. This can hardly be attributed to the angle from which the shot was taken, because the camera appears to be at about eye level with Boka, pointed down at only a very slight angle.

At the conclusion of the previous scene, as well as in the next scene, Borzage uses the same techniques to once again portray Gereb as small of stature, or insignificant against the rest of the Paul Street boys. First there is a wide-angle shot of that described above. Nemecsek, in front of a number of the Paul Street boys, is on the left, and Boka and Gereb are in the right half of the frame, also backed by a number of the other boys. The shot is once again taken at a slight downward angle, from just about the level of the top of the boys’ caps. Only the profile of Gereb is visible, closest to the camera, but once again it is evident that he is shorter than the rest, with military caps behind him extending above his own. Moments later Borzage transitions to the election scene. Gereb is only visible on three occasions in this scene. First a wide-angle shot is utilized to once again show him backed by some of the other Paul Street Boys. Gereb is immediately in the center of the frame. Directly behind him is the single tallest Paul Street Boy so far. To the right of the frame is vacant lot’s watchman, a war veteran. Visible behind him, only by the top of his cap, is a very short boy (shorter than Gereb by about 6 inches or so), who position-wise is directly to the right of Gereb, as opposed to the watchman who is to his right and closer to the camera. As if the enormous boy behind him weren’t enough, Borzage cuts to a close up (a sequence he uses twice in the scene) of Gereb. His face is in the center of the frame taking up a good portion of it, however to the left of the frame you can see the body of the tall boy. He is so tall, however, that his face is out the top of the frame, and only his neck is visible. To the right of the frame, behind Gereb’s left shoulder, the short boy who was moments ago obviously dwarfed by Gereb is standing. His cap is entirely out of the frame and the majority of his face fills the upper right hand corner. This cannot be attributed to the angle, as the camera is at eye level with Gereb. Either Borzage swapped the boy for a taller boy for the close up, or he gave the short boy a box to stand on. When one begins to wonder why Borzage didn’t let the short boy fill the space behind Gereb, even though it contested the continuity of the scene, it becomes clear that he had an agenda,

That agenda apparently was to exhibit Gereb as diminutive and minuscule, in order to parallel the character he exhibits, or even the way the other Paul Street Boys think of him. Considering the literal interpretation of the plot, Gereb gets only two votes for the office of president out of the whole lot of the Paul Street boys, one from himself, and one from his gracious opponent. It stands to reason that Borzage could be sympathizing with this, by representing Gereb as an insignificant part of the group. His social status appears to be elevated only a few short scenes later, after framing Nemecsek for leaving the door to the lot open. In another shot, straight on from eye-level, Gereb is to the left of the frame, Boka is in the center, and Nemecsek is to the right. Finally, Nemecsek appears diminuitive in contrast to everyone else in the frame. At the same time, Gereb appears just as tall as Boka, both of their caps just barely leaving the top of the frame. How Borzage achieves this is unclear, as they appear to be standing directly next to one another. What is much more clear, is that the shot seems to signify an upward movement for Gereb. His deceit, while not yet apparent to the audience, has increased his social status among the Red Shirts, and seemingly bolstered his self confidence. The scene continues and the Paul Street Boys run to check on their flag. Gereb stays behind and is framed in alone, as Borzage cuts back and forth between him and the high angle shot of the rest of the Paul Street Boys. Once again, the framing here is indicative of Gereb’s social status as an outsider.

It is a stark contrast when Gereb is welcomed into the Red Shirts camp. The boys, gathered around with their spears at hand, kneel down so that Gereb is visually high above them all, in the very center of the frame. Feri Ats is the only Red Shirt left standing (or, sitting, but sitting high on a rock), and he practically sees eye to eye with Gereb. Moments later, the rest of the Red Shirts rise to their feet again, and Gereb in the foreground is practically the same height as these boys who are now standing in the background. This would be fine except these boys are supposedly older, and as evidenced elsewhere in the film, for the most part taller. It’s intriguing that the shot appears to be from approximately the same slight angle that the earlier shots are taken from. The only reason Borzage would possibly go to such great lengths to show Gereb in this manner is to visually depict the contrast between his social status among the Paul Street Boys and the Red Shirts. Through these techniques, Borzage doesn’t necessarily justify Gereb’s actions, but he does subtly inject sympathy into the audience. Through the framing and staging of Gereb, Borzage communicates the notion that he is appreciated and heralded as a welcome spy by the Red Shirts, while when he is with the Paul Street Boys  he is an outsider who has little or no value to the group. It seems as though Borzage is using this contrast in social status to ask the audience, can you blame him?

There is a shift later in the film for Gereb, at least among the Red Shirts. In a scene that is set up similar to how it was before, Gereb speaking with Feri Ats surrounded by the other Red Shirts, there is significant visual distinction setting it apart. While Feri Ats is once again sitting on his rock, at practically eye-level with Gereb, the rest of the Red Shirts are standing this time, for the entirety of the scene. A number of times the camera cuts to straight on angle, with Gereb centered in the frame, Feri Ats filling the left of the frame, and the Red Shirts this time standing taller than him in the background. His presence is minimized this time around, as he has lost some of his importance to the Red Shirts. To the contrary, in the final war scene of the film, Gereb is depicted as somewhat of an equal. He is never staged in front of the taller individuals, and he is not depicted alone in the frame at any point. Also, in his exchange with Boka, the two basically see eye to eye, before Gereb assumes his place among the other Paul Street Boys. While his social status may not be incredible with that faction, it has notably improved since the earliest scenes in the film. Borzage appears to be depicting a boy who has redeemed himself. He made a mistake, his sin was forgiven (through the selflessness of another), and he made good the second time around, content with his role in their microcosm of society.

The boy who helped Gereb to redeem himself is none other than Nemecsek, the individual Gereb tries to wrongly incriminate earlier in the film. It seems that Borzage has no less to say about Nemecsek than he did about his foil. Revisiting the opening scene where we are introduced to all of the boys, we once again encounter the socially equal environment mentioned earlier. In one shot, the teacher, his head practically reaching the top of the frame, takes up the leftmost quarter of the frame while the six boys are lined up in profile in the rest of it. The boys get further from the camera as they extend from the right of the frame,to the center, where Nemecsek stands. It is interesting to note that Nemecsek is the only boy at this point not in profile. He is literally facing the camera in the center of the frame, though his presence is still minimized because he is the furthest from the camera. The staging may be representative of the degree to which Nemecsek is exposed later in the film. Both his social difficulty early on, and social advancement later seem to stem from this degree of candidness (plot-wise, his willingness to cry and bare his feelings, and cinematically, the exposure Borzage grants him on the screen to emphasize the genuineness of his character).

One scene which reveals this vulnerability in particular is just a few scenes into the film, when the audience first encounters the Red Shirts. Descending from the top right corner of the frame, to the left center down a set of stairs no less, is Feri Ats and two of his henchmen. Feri Ats once again leans on the masonry to the far side of the stairs in the left of the frame, while his henchmen stand in approximately the center. The scene cuts to a wide angle shot of the whole scene, clearly taking place under a bridge which arcs over the top of the frame, jutting into the right half a bit. The stairs are visible in the background, with Feri Ats still leaning on the railing in the far left of the frame, directly above Nemecsek’s counterparts. Feri Ats’ henchmen approach Nemecsek who just crossed from the left of the frame to the right, against a wall constituting the base of the bridge. At this point there is a quick cutaway to the henchmen kicking Nemecsek over, before cutting directly back to this wide-angle shot. Nemecsek is huddled in the lower right corner of the frame, barely taking up a small fraction of it. Meanwhile, the two thugs standing in the dead center of the frame are hunched slightly over, which in of itself would be a monstrous sight even discounting the enormous shadows they throw over the inside wall of the bridge Nemecsek is leaning against. The idea Borzage is trying to supplant at this point seems to be that, as insignificant as Nemecsek may feel within his own ranks, he cannot so much as stand up to the enemy, literally or figuratively. At this point in the film, he is at the bottommost portion of the social hierarchy presented. Borzage does not clarify at this point if he feels that Nemecsek’s position is justified, purveying solely the idea of powers greater than him keeping him down.

Another interesting scene commenting on Nemecsek’s literal movement through the social hierarchy of the groups occurs when Gereb tries to frame him for leaving the gate to the lot open. The shot in question begins when Hector (the watchman’s dog) leads Nemecsek to one of the towers in the lot. There is a quick shot with the full frame being filled by Nemecsek’s face, looking upward before cutting quick to the dog and immediately back to Nemecsek. He begins to scale the pillar on the far left of the frame, grabbing and stepping onto planks jutting out from it as he ascends upwards in the frame. Borzage cuts to a closer angle, with Nemecsek framed directly center as he continues his ascent. Once he reaches the top, there is a shot of his face peeking over the corner of the pillar, before falling back down, scared of what he saw. The significance of this scene lies almost entirely in the slow ascent and rapid descent of Nemecsek. Borzage appears to be paralleling Nemecsek’s predicament. Here is an instance of Borzage positively portraying the idea of bravery, with Nemecsek overcoming his fear and scaling the pillar. There is no reason the pillar had to be as tall as it was, except that it gave Borzage an added excuse to show Nemecsek climbing upward, and making his fall from grace even that much more significant. On the one hand, one could say that Nemecsek’s climb was representative of his potential social improvement if he were to stop Feri Ats (the culprit at the top of the pillar) from stealing the flag. His failure to do so quite literally puts him right back where he started. On the other hand, this one scene could very well be representative of Nemecsek’s character through the entire film; a gradual increase in social status with both factions over the course of the film, with one traumatic fall from grace at the end.

There is one scene that comes to mind that parallels this scene. In a bold move, Nemecsek attempts to recapture the Paul Street Boys’ flag from the Red Shirts. He successfully does so, however he falls from his hiding place in a tree while the Red Shirts are gathered below. One moment the camera is locked on Nemecsek sitting on the branch of a tree, shot through the foliage. The next, it is a wide angle shot of the Red Shirts meeting which Nemecsek literally falls directly into the middle of, down from the top center of the frame to the bottom center. Where as before it was his fear of Feri Ats that caused him to fall, this time it was the fall that caused him to overcome his fear of Feri Ats. The bravery exemplified, a feature admired and respected by both Borzage and Feri Ats is the catalyst for Nemecsek’s upward movement within the social hierarchy of both camps.

The final two scenes of utmost significance for Nemecsek tie directly into one another. In the final conflict, Nemecsek dies after attacking Feri Ats for the flag. This is quite literally him overcoming his biggest fear, and in taking the flag, he achieves the highest renown within his own faction. The scene best representative of this is that immediately following his death. Nemecsek’s mother is at the center of the frame carrying him down the street, and behind her the street is literally filled with the boys. There is literally no empty space behind her that isn’t occupied by a boy. Nemecsek, by this point, has earned so much respect by the two warring factions that he literally has both sides fully behind him. The allusion becomes even more clear when his mother stumbles, and Boka and Feri Ats both rush to either side of her (immediately left and right of the center) and help lift Nemecsek. At this point, Nemecsek has reached the pinnacle… or almost. In the scene immediately afterward, the boys are gathered in two single file lines in the vacant lot. In between the lines, at the very center of the frame is a box with a flag. At the top of that flagpole sits Nemecsek’s hat, high above any of the other boys. Borzage at this point is just echoing his point that Nemecsek’s place in the social hierarchy has reached its apex. While his death may very well be considered a fall from grace, that does not change the fact that the imagery Borzage presents is consistent throughout.

There are simply too many instances to list every time Borzage uses clever framing or staging to signify the social significance of an individual within the film. There is no question that Borzage was deliberate and meticulous in his effort to do so, and the film resounds with sincerity because of it. Borzage’s admiration of quality character traits is fairly well represented, and through understanding his perspective of the film’s social hierarchy, we can attain a better understanding of Borzage himself.

Related

It is generally agreed upon that postmodernism has no single or easily-identified definition. It is more of an idea or concept rather than a specific term. As a result it has become easier to define ‘postmodernism’ through examples rather than words. Considering this fact, between class discussions, personal observations and opinion, I have come to the conclusion that something (technology, books, architecture, etc.) can be placed in the category of ‘postmodern’ if it has one or more of the following characteristics: a critical reflection on the society in which it was created; a creation of something new from one or more things that already exist; and an abstract or concrete presentation of what could be, which usually presents itself as the future. A comparison of the two films, Brazil and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind will give an illustration of what it means to be postmodern through their use of the aforementioned characteristics.

The 1985 movie Brazil follows an average white-collar worker who is deeply entrenched and devoted to his excessively bureaucratic job and way-of-life when he realizes there’s been a fatal mistake committed by his department. In his attempt to correct the error and find the woman of his fantastic dreams, literally, his eyes are opened to the reality of what’s going on around him. On the other hand, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which was released in 2004, dives in to the memories of an average guy who, after breaking up with the love-of-his-life, discovers that she’s had him erased from her memory and decides to do the same. In the middle of the procedure, he realizes that he really doesn’t want to go through with it and tries his best to keep his memories. Although he is unsuccessful in saving his memories, in a curious twist of fate they do end up meeting again and falling for each other.

Both movies are presented in a very unusual manner which helps draw attention to their substance and the different messages the creators may be trying to convey. Both Brazil and Eternal Sunshine give their own commentary on the respective societies and times in which they were released. Brazil very obviously reflects on the ideas of terrorism and bureaucracy. The first scenes in which the audience is given a glimpse into where Sam Lowry, the main character, works show a very gray, depressing, monotonous environment full of drones who live for the seconds when their boss isn’t paying attention and they are able to all crowd around one television. When Lowry accepts a promotion, he is sent to a different department where he is given a dreary office smaller than the size of most bedroom closets in which he is forced to share a desk through a wall with the man next to him occupying the same type of office space. It is hard not to appreciate the idea being presented here that most 9-to-5 jobs offer nothing but gloom and despair to the many men and women forced to fill the positions unless you are one of the lucky ones who resign themselves to their situation and allow their minds to leave their bodies for eight hours out of each day. This probably hit home for a lot of people during the eighties because that decade saw a huge increase in the number of cubicle workers with the onslaught of female workers and the recent technological revolution.

Another comment on bureaucracy is made when Jill Layton, Lowry’s love interest, is forced to fill out an unnecessary amount of forms when trying to retrieve information about the same mistake Lowry has become aware of and is later required to go through the same unnecessary paperwork. This is an experience that I can safely say most Americans can identify with. It’s pretty much goes without saying that any progress is quickly brought to an excruciatingly slow pace when trying to accomplish anything that involves the government or corporate endeavors. The need to be organized combined with the fanatical need to document has resulted in a lot of wasted trees and time.

Brazil also comments on an issue that may have seemed a little comical and out-of-place in 1985 but has become much more prevalent in the twenty years since the release of the movie. Many of the wealthy older women in the movie were experimenting with a new kind of plastic surgery. Because this is a postmodern film, the plastic surgery that was presented in the movie would have purposefully seemed a little extreme at the time, but looking at it now doesn’t seem so. When the audience meets Lowry’s mother she had just undergone a procedure that removes a layer of the skin after being wrapped in cellophane. Another one of her wealthy friends undergoes another type of plastic surgery on her face that involves acid. Throughout the movie, it is evident that the procedures are gradually deteriorating the woman’s face as a result of “complications,” but her doctor always has a reason and she keeps accepting them in the desperate goal to achieve “beauty” again. We can now see how important it was to heed the warning this film provided. With the staggering amounts of operations and increasing amounts of silicon or Botox complications ending in death or permanent disfiguring, it is hard to ignore the message that was sent twenty years ago.

Interestingly enough, Brazil also focuses on the very relevant issue of terrorism. Throughout the majority of the movie, the audience is led to believe that the main enemy of the people of this ambiguously located society is terrorists. Towards the end of the movie, it is evident that the ‘terrorists’ may in fact be the government cleaning up behind themselves or getting rid of people or problems that they do not or cannot handle. Layton, Tuttle, Lowry’s renegade electrician, and eventually Lowry himself are all labeled as terrorists because they refuse to comply with the government in one way or another, although none of them have anything to do with the random bombings that occur throughout the movie. This is an ingenious way of stating the obvious- governments use scare tactics, lies and sometimes illegal means to accomplish their goal which is to stay innocent in the eyes of the public, no matter what.

On a slightly lighter note, Eternal Sunshine deals with the more personal matter of using technology to manipulate mental or emotional activity. The relative ease with which Joel Barish and Clementine Kruczynski, the couple around whom the story revolves, find Lacuna, the company that erases memories, and decide to undergo the procedure is nothing short of alarming. It speaks of a society that has placed personality, nature and that which makes us human way below technology in the hierarchy of deference. The relatively recent increase in the use of mood-altering drugs like Prozac, Zoloft or Dexedrine definitely takes a step across the boundary of science/technology and the psychological. According to the movie, this development does not constitute positive progress and will ultimately be useless because nature/psychology will overcome as exemplified in the fact that Clementine and Joel were drawn to each other even after the procedure and Kirsten Dunst’s character, Mary, was drawn to her married boss even after she had had their previous affair erased from her memory.

As stated earlier, the creators of both films chose new and different ways of conveying their stories. Brazil director, Terry Gilliam, chose to create a bureaucratic, retro-futuristic terrorized world by showing extreme and almost comical situations instead of using the realistic straightforward sequence approach. Scenes in which Lowry’s new boss is perpetually being followed by a gang of eager employees up and down hallways that appear out of nowhere and in and out of rooms that don’t seem to exist illustrate this new style of directing. Gilliam also latched on to the relatively new trend that has become a calling card of a lot of postmodern films, which involves adding a retro element to what are supposed to be futuristic worlds. The not-so-far-off future of Brazil contained extreme high rises with more advanced forms of transportation while its inhabitants donned ‘50s style clothing. Lowry has an automatic wake-up system which turns on his shower, offers his outfit for the day, makes his breakfast and turns on the television (although it did malfunction at the beginning of the movie), but they still use typewriters and suction ducts to transport mail. It creates a world that can’t be placed. Although it was not a new method, his unusual use of dream sequences adds a nice postmodern touch.

Eternal Sunshine definitely cut out a new path in its directorial style. Director Michel Gondry created the feeling of actually being inside someone’s memory by using the idea of a dream sequence and tweaking it to the point where it most closely resembled what we think of when recalling our own memories. Memories do not have a smooth flow about them in real life, therefore Gondry made Joel’s dreams very choppy as seen in his recollection of Clementine and himself sitting in front of the television eating Chinese food. Parts of the conversation were missing and Joel’s location in the room kept changing while certain items would disappear and reappear. In other memories, the direction in which Joel or Clementine were walking would suddenly change, objects would change color or chunks of a memory would be cut out because it had simply been forgotten. In an attempt to stay true to real life, Gondry also did not allow Joel to remember things he had not seen or experienced in real life which caused certain things or people to be disfigured or ambiguous in the actual memory. For example, Joel could not see the face of Clementine’s new boyfriend after believing he’d only seen the back and side of him once, no matter how hard he tried to see him in his memory. By following these rules, Gondry had to come up with the creation of certain scenes and their transitions like no other director before him. Portraying dreams while fading in and out of them in the most realistic way possible is not an easy feat to accomplish on film, which is part of what makes Gondry’s way of tackling it very postmodern.

With all the critical analysis and new creations contained in both films, it would be hard for the creators to not make some kind of statement about what they think the ultimate result will be. Brazil very cleverly makes the audience believe that there will be a happy ending more than once, but it is made very clear at the end that there is no happy ending and that bureaucracy has won the battle. None of the “good guys” have won and the government is still on top without having been exposed. This is not a fairy tale ending and neither should it be. The movie is depicting a society much like the one we live in today where the government is either heading or are involved in shady dealings while dissenters who are telling the truth are silenced under different labels while the public is given excuse after excuse after excuse. The recent battle between Cynthia McKinney and the Bush administration concerning the 9/11 attacks is a perfect example of this. The point is that this has probably been happening since 1776 with the signing of the Declaration of Independence and it won’t end until there is a serious change in society. If the main character in a movie could not overcome the evil powers of a government just imagine how difficult it would be in real life!

Brazil gives a very clear idea of what could be. Bureaucracy could take over the world, inundating it with paperwork until everyone is confused, lied to and frustrated to the point where they couldn’t even think of having a voice. It tells of a world in which violence and corruption is so rampant that people become desensitizes and are no longer concerned with it. Extreme plastic surgery and poverty become a way of life.

Eternal Sunshine’s happing ending gives the impression that even with all the new science and technology we are coming up with, there will never be anything stronger than human will. No matter how complex or sophisticated we think we have become, it will never be enough to truly delve into the human mind and completely understand or control it. Even with something as “basic” as anxiety pills, the never-ending list of side effects that goes along with the drug is the tell tale sign that we really don’t have a strong grip on the psychological/biological activities of the human brain.

The idea of what could be is not as clear in Eternal Sunshine as it is in Brazil. It is clear that there is a sense of hope and strength in human will but at the same time it raises the question of “how far will we take it in trying to overcome that human will?” It is this question that makes Eternal Sunshine’s ending not so happy or so clear anymore. The fact that Lacuna was doing such good business, granted such easy access to the public and serviced all types of people trying to rid themselves of all types of memories created the feeling that having the procedure done was just like going to get a haircut. If it had become such a common or accepted thing to do, that only means that people were ready to be presented with the next more advanced procedure that could have more permanent altering effects. Of course, according to the movie, the human will would still prevail but at what cost and why make ourselves work so unnecessarily hard.

It should now be obvious to see how these two films represent postmodernism. Brazil analyses bureaucracy and government propaganda while Eternal Sunshine analyses how far we will take science and technology in the pursuit of personal modification. Gilliam’s different ways of portraying the 9-to-5 grind in a retro-futuristic world along with Gondry’s innovative manipulation of dream sequences to portray realistic memories offer new ways to perceive the stories being presented. When it’s all put together, both films offer their own views of what the future might hold, whether it be about bureaucratic conspiracies or the dangers of mixing technology and psychology, they provide cautionary tales of what could be, which is almost a must for something to be considered postmodern.

Cited

Brazil. Dir. Terry Gilliam. Perf. Jonathan Pryce, Robert DeNiro and Kim Greist. Universal, 1985.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Dir. Michel Gondrey. Perf. Jim Carrey, Kate Winslet and Elijah Wood. Focus Features, 2004.

The Internet Movie Database. 29 July 2005. Amazon.com. 20 July 2005.

Thacker, Eugene. What is Postmodernism? Georgia Institute of Technology, Georgia. 17 May 2005.

Related

In the Iliad, the story ends with the women of Troy crying out, grief-stricken as they cast their eyes upon Hector’s lifeless body. The author chooses not to end the tale with dramatic action, but instead with the external exploration of human emotion. Though the Iliad is filled with scenes depicting the brutality of war-related violence, it also contains scenes of humanity, such as Hector’s touching reunion with his wife and young child. Similarly, The Trojan Women immediately continues the Iliad’s closing theme of grief, but now their despair is for their own fate. And like the Iliad, The Trojan Women does have moments of brutality; Andromache’s young child is killed by order of their captors. The brutality of war, as well as the sorrowful aftermath, are woven into both tales. The Iliad concerns itself more with themes of violence and glory, while The Trojan Women continues the exploration of the psychological effects of war that were prominent toward the end of Homer’s story.

Because this film was not driven by action and climactic events found in the Iliad, the element which contributed the most to the movie’s effect was the acting. Four famous Trojan women (Hecuba, Cassandra, Andromache, and Helen) were the sole focus of the plot, and because the audience finds them in the most dire of circumstances, the cast requires actresses with a knack for drama. Luckily, the most prominent character, Hecuba, is placed in the hands of the always fiery Katherine Hepburn.

As the once powerful queen of a nation ravaged by war, this character has the most to mourn. She has lost sons, a husband, and her daughter is carted away before her eyes and tossed into the bed of an enemy. Though her heart is breaking, every member of her family is either dead or enslaved, and she’ll soon be forced into lifelong servitude, she remains a pillar of strength and fire. Hepburn infuses her character with the grace and dignity Homer’s Hecuba exhibited; though she is defeated she carries herself, head held high, refusing to collapse in an emotional heap before her enemies. Her words are always spoken with venom when addressing her captors, empathy when addressing her people.

The actress playing Cassandra perfectly captures the character’s fleeting moments of clarity followed by frenzied rants. The character of Helen is given a morality makeover in the film, played saucily by Irene Papas. Interestingly, this film portrays Helen as a materialistic temptress, a departure from the noble and angelic Helen in the Iliad. The scene in which Hecuba, then Menelaus, condemn Helen and sentence her to death is very intense; at one point Hecuba seems as if she is about to leap forward and strangle Helen with her bare hands.

The only uneven performance comes from Vanessa Redgrave (as Andromache). She constantly teeters back and forth whining, speaking calmly, yelling, and weeping. Her roller coaster of emotions shifts so suddenly that the actress seemed better suited for the role of Cassandra. I know Redgrave is a revered actress of stage and screen, but in this role her depiction of Andromache struck me as erratic and directionless.

The only prominent male role in The Trojan Women was that of the Herald, the leader of the captors. Though his dialogue was minimal, his character was interesting because it reflected both compassion and resolve. He was firm in carrying out his orders, whether it was to haul off Cassandra and deliver her to a man intent on sexually enslaving her, or killing Andromache’s innocent child. But there were times he also attempted to comfort his captives, telling them to be strong, almost empathizing with them. In a way he served as a father figure to the tribe of frightened women; he was both stern disciplinarian and nurturer.

As a visual experience, the film’s cinematographer did the best he could with the minimal setting and lack of physical action. Because the play focuses almost exclusively on the four central women, the majority of shots were close-ups or group shots of the band of women as they reacted to what was being said. The affecting speeches and expressions of rage, despair, and fear were what drove the film and these were emphasized over action and setting. Still, the way in which these scenes were shot did convey a certain amount of drama and creativity. The camera often used the sun directly or indirectly to add the element of heat to the women’s suffering. Quick glimpses of stark landscapes under the pulsing sun furthered a sense of unrelenting torment to the women, and when trickles of sweat streamed down their dirty faces during an impassioned plea, their words had an even more powerful effect.

Though The Trojan Women was a continuation of themes present in the Iliad, there was an emotional richness throughout the film that was given more sparsely in the story. Epic stories, though they contain female characters, often lack true female voice. This film allows women to give another perspective of war, the aftermath, a much needed voice.

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