The Hi-Concept aesthetic privileges affect over intellectual engagement. Discuss.

(I had to remove the footnotes so I could post this).

A film of intellectual engagement allows an audience to not only be immersed in the intensity and rhythm of a new experience or situation in a film, but it also provides the opportunity for a viewer to reflect on the way that these moments can be read and interpreted in different ways. It is the ability of an intellectual text to be read and reread by future generations though that ensures that they are timeless and irreplaceable. Although Hi-Concept cinema allows us to engage in a sense of velocity and tempo, this affect is often derived from stories and experiences of such repetitive and similar structures, narratives and character archetypes that they are easily replaceable by films of improved visual aesthetics. The development of characters in these films retains such a minimal level of complexion and reading that these archetypes merely function as a means of conveying the narrative itself and reaching the film's climatic goal. Steven Spielberg's horror film Jaws (1975) remains masterful in its appreciation of tension and suspense. Yet its development of the main protagonist Brody remains highly conventional and archetypal in keeping with Spielberg's other films and his fixation of the failure of the father and the need to rediscover his abilities as a parent. In contrast, Alfred Hitchcock's suspense thriller Psycho (1960) privileges affects of tension, while also visualising a highly unconventional character arch for its protagonist Marion Crane that allows the film to read and interpreted through Platonic readings, such as the death of the object. Thus it is through its aesthetic affects as well as its subtext that allows Psycho to remain an example of timeless and irreplaceable Cla$sic Hollywood cinema. It is necessary to contrast a film that purely appreciates velocity, with one of intellectual engagement, in order to show the simplicity of the formers narrative and the way that its characters and structure can be substituted by films of similar archetypes and improved visual effects.

Hi-Concept cinema regularly uses the formal features of montage, specifically the spatial areas of characters as they collide, to increase the film's sense of velocity and urgency as the character's move towards their ultimate goal. American cinema in particular has been criticised by Sergi Eisenstein for not using Griffith's montage to create any new meaning between the parallels. Eisenstein felt that montage had developed beyond the standard Griffith technique of parallel sequences used to increase the tension and tempo to entertain audiences.[1] Rather, Eisenstein believed that the montage exists in the theme of conflict and represents a clash of two images to create a third, unseen entity: the films subtext.[2] As the ideas of the montage are continued throughout a film, a sense of entirety for the films themes and an emotional response is created. The five levels of montage that are used to elicit this emotional cord for the audience are described by Eisenstein as being: metric, rhythmic, tonal, overtonal and intellectual.[3] Spielberg does not use the cinematic montage to intellectually reflect on Brody's psychology as a failed parent. Rather, the character of Brody represents a continuation of the archetype of failed father, used consistently throughout Spielberg's films. Todd Mcgowan believes that Spielberg's films not only create an image of the father as he becomes a protective force, but they also visualise the redemptive qualities of the failed parent too. He suggests that in showing the father as an initial failure, his paternal powers are gradually increased as he overcomes the obstacles throughout the film and surges towards his redemptive goal. [4] It is this conflict between failure and success as a parent throughout Jaws that privileges an affect of urgency and tension for the plot, in moving toward the narratives climax and goal for Brody to restore order to the community, instead of offering any form of intellectual engagement.

The second attack on the beach in Jaws is pivotal in seeing how the Hi-Concept aesthetic features are used to increase the tension of the picture in visualising Brody's external responses and actions to protect his children. The fast cutting, as people block Brody's vision while he watches the water, along with the eventual close up of his face in distress, reflects his external needs to watch and patrol the beach in case the shark strikes. The formal features of the montage in this scene do not serve to create a third entity of any particularly intellect. There is no reflection on what it means to be a parent or a guardian of this town. Rather, these aesthetics are used to immerse the audience into the Brody's increasing urgency and his dread in anticipating the attack, demonstrating how the film favours affect rather than intellectual engagement. The lack of objectivity towards the shark further increases this sense of momentum and urgency in the film. The shark is never viewed in its natural life form, as a animal merely relying on its own natural instincts of hunting to survive. Rather, Mcgowan refers to the shark as an 'impossible object' as we do not know where it is going to strike within the spatial integrity of the water [5] and the film's aesthetics reflect this. The use of a point of view shot places us into the shark's hunting gaze, which along with John William's brooding score, increases the rhythm and tempo of the film. As this perspective repeated, we constantly associate it with the carnage and thus we cannot view the animal objectively, but rather as a faceless monster, whose spatial integrity in the ocean cannot be contained, and cannot be viewed merely as creature hunting for the sake of its own survival. Thus, our limited perspective of the shark, juxtaposed with the rapid cutting on the beach, privileges an affect of urgency and dread for Brody as the father figure, rather than creating a third entity of any intellectual engagement, like how these situations affect him psychologically or the thought that the shark is merely an animal struggling with its own sense of survival.

Even in the absence of the shark, Jaws persists in maintaining its sense of urgency and dramatic tension rather than being intellectually engaging. In continuing Eisenstein's efforts to criticise films for only using montage for the intent of rhythm and tempo, contemporary screenwriters have stressed the importance of ensuring that there are breaks between the action sequences, giving the audience breaks from the action of a film. Script adviser Raymond G. Frensham believes that it is important in the balancing of the pacing of a film that moments of conflict and climax are interspersed with moments of reflection and pauses. A script with no variation is more likely to become dull and lose the interest of the audience.[6] Given that the commuters of the town and the shark itself share the spatial integrity of the ocean, the thought that the shark is still somewhere in that space, even though it is unseen to the spectator creates and maintains an affect of tension and dread. One scene that reflects this is when Brody and his wife are at home, looking over a shark book, while their sons are sitting in a boat on the water. The use of the long and medium shots captures the gaze of the parents as they watch their children and the physical distance from where they stand from one another, suggesting that they might not be able to reach their kids in time if the shark attacks. By capturing the entirety of the spatial area of the water through the long shot, the tension and urgency of the film is sustained as we know that this area, possessed and dominated by the shark, is currently overlapping with the children's own sense of space. Brody's reaction to desperately telling the children to get out of the boat, pertains to his archetype of the failed parents and his pure external actions in attempting to assert his role as the successful father, rather than reflecting on what this means to him in an intellectually engaging manner. In visualising Brody's external actions of trying to protect his children, the affect of urgency is increased as we fear that Brody will not be able to stop the shark's attacks and that the narrative will not reach its overall goal of seeing order restored to the community. Thus, even in the absence of the shark, Jaws still persists in maintaining its dramatic tension and privileges an affect of fear over a thorough sense of intellectual engagement.

Throughout Psycho the death of the protagonist Marion Crane provides the film with a unique end to a character arc that privileges an affect of shock on the audience and also with an intellectual discussion about the death of the object. Frensham describes the protagonist throughout a film as being the character whose point of view the audience experiences the story through, who will be onscreen most of the time and whose goals and motivations will drive the plot of the film.[7] Marion's murder in the shower scene, at merely forty-four minutes into the film, subverts all of these conventions, making it entirely unforeseeable and affectively shocking. The aesthetics throughout this scene are also integral to sustaining the tension. Robert Kolker highlights how in this scene Hitchcock cuts 180 degrees and then cuts again with a high shot. The high angle shot above Marion is meant to convey an affect of danger to the audience and raise the tension of the scene. [8] The tracking shot that floats towards the shower curtain and then moves into a medium shot to reveal "Mothers" face drenched in the shadows is also highly immediate and shocking to behold. The composure of the slow movements from high to medium shot are juxtaposed against the involvement of Bernard Hermann's piercing musical score and the rapid cutting as 'Mother' begins stabbing Marion. Kolker describes it as being constructed like a 'series of slashes' [9] and that it is also both a 'visual frenzy' and a 'collision of images'.[10] The overlapping nature of the images as described by Kolker and the overall lack of composure in this sequence, compared to the stillness of the rest of the film, is what makes it affecting and shocking for the audience. The final shot of Marion's eye, as she lies on the ground, is also significant as it removes the audience from her perspective entirely and confirms that she is dead and will not return in the film, further privileging the feeling of shock as the audience's hopes for the apparent protagonist of the film are crushed.

Intellectually, Psycho's shower scene cannot be viewed in isolation, but as an integral component of the film's thematic montage, reflecting the death of the object. The death of the object is based on Plato's theory of the replication of the real, whereby people would only see the shadow of something: an imperfect copy of a perfect object.[11] Pivotally, it is the relationship between the shower scene and the film's climax, revealing Norman as "Mother" that intellectually engages with this reading. Together these scenes are not just aesthetically affecting in their shocking nature but rather they serve to intellectually enhance the entirety of the film, specifically our thoughts as to why "Mother" murdered Marion. One could suggest that by dressing up as his mother and impersonating her voice, Norman has rejected all notions of the real and embraced the imaginary. According to Freud, everyone has a consciousness or what is called an "internalised Other", that listens to and judges our desires. In psychosis however, one believes that the Other is to be real and listening to these thoughts and desires. [12] Norman Bates epitomises this case of psychosis by believing that his mother is speaking to him and that she has grown jealous of Marion: "Go on, go tell her she'll not be appeasing her ugly appetite with my food or my son!" [13] From these words, supposedly spoken by "Mother" we can view that Marion is like an imperfect shadow version of Norman's mother and that she is an attempt to recuperate the real and eventually replace "Mother". This idea of capturing, reproducing and holding to the Platonic form is initially conveyed when Norman makes a comparison between Marion and a bird stating: "You eat like a bird".[14] He says this in a room that is aligned with stuff birds, as though he has tried to keep them alive and failed. In being alive it is Marion who reminds Norman of the reality about the death of his mother. With the absence of Marion's body there is no access to this reality. Thus it remains imperative in Norman's mind to protect his mother by killing this imperfect version of her. Ultimately, as a result of the relationship between the climax and the murder in the shower scene, we have a greater understanding of the motives for Norman and the psychological state of his mind because of the films accessibility to intellectual discussion and engagement.

Hi-Concept cinema, through generic and conventional character archetypes, frequently serves to only visualise the external actions of the main characters, rather than their internal psychological thoughts about situations, as a means of creating tension and urgency throughout a film and maintaining the rhythm and tempo of the picture. The character of Brody, particular in relation to the Spielberg films that have followed Jaws, is an archetype for Spielberg's fixation with the search for the father. Brody's main goal is to protect his family and restore order to the community by killing the shark. This is an external goal as the audience can read it through the aesthetics that serve to visualise Brody's urgency and through his actions of killing the shark in the films climax. There is no sense of intellectual engagement with this goal or any need for it to be read in a psychological way. Brody does not reflect on what it means to be a father nor does his character undergo any significant character development. Instead, the aesthetics of filmmaking, such as the rapid cutting and the music score, demonstrate immerse us into Brody's emotions, rather than his thoughts, to make us feel the same affects of dread and urgency, rather than any intellectual engagement. In neglecting the chance for intellectual debate, Hi-Concept films overtime become increasingly generic and derivative in their character arches and in their overall narratives. Constantly improving special effects ensure that the aesthetics of these films are persistently replacing outdated methods of affect and immersion into these situations. Yet examples of Cla$sic Hollywood cinema like Psycho remain timeless and irreplaceable. While the film's aesthetics still maintain tension and shock, it is the depth of the film's narrative in allowing a character's psychology to be intellectually read and analysed in Platonic terms which ensures that the film will continue to be viewed and appreciated academically for generations to come.

Bibliography

Eistenstein, Sergei. Film Form: Essays in Film Theory. San Diego, New York, London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1969.

Frensham, Raymond G. Teach Yourself Screenwriting. Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1996.

Katz, Ephraim. The Film Encyclopedia. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1998.

Kolker, Robert. "The Man Who Knew More Than Too Much." In Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho: A Casebook, by Robert Kolker, 246. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Leitch, Vincent B. The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. 2001. http://opac.library.usyd.edu.au/search~S1?/Xplato+book+7&searchscope=1&SORT=D/Xplato+book+7&searchscope=1&SORT=D&SUBKEY=plato%20book%207/1,3,3,B/l856~b3517678&FF=Xplato+book+7&searchscope=1&SORT=D&3,3,,1,0 (accessed September 21, 2009).

McGowan, Todd. The Real Gaze: Film Theory after Lacan. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007.

Psycho. Directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Performed by Anthony Perkins. 1960.

Samuels, Robert. "Psychoanalytical approaches. Epilogue: Psycho and the horror of the bi-textual unconscious." In Alfred Hichcock's Psycho: A Casebook, by Robert Kolker, 150. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Jaws. Directed by Steven Spielberg. Performed by Roy Scheider. 1975.

Looking for Eric begins when a man named Eric Bishop (Steve Evets) is hospitalised after a car crash. Eric's life is in a mess as he is struggling physically and mentally. As a postman he has failed to deliver any mail and he is struggling to share a home with his son and stepson. Both teens are extremely lazy, regularly inviting their freeloading friends to stay in the house and dump their stolen goods. Eric's life is further complicated through his relationship to his first ex-wife. She sees Eric so that he can mind their older daughter's grandchild. Eric's friends, who also work at the post office and are mad soccer fans, try to help him by performing an exercise whereby they look through the eyes of someone famous they admire to see themselves. Eric chooses Manchester United Forward, Eric Cantona and soon he imagines Cantona regularly giving him advice on life.

Ken Loach has always been interested in the working cla$s of Britain and this film, though peppered with humour at times, covers similar territory about the hardships of ordinary day life. Due to both divorces, Eric Bishop is a man that has been disconnected from his family and we immediately feel his confusion. One of his son's is white and the other is Black English. The latter must therefore belong to his second wife, who we never see in the film. Adding to this is, Eric must also look after his granddaughter, regularly brought to him by his first wife. While some of these details are rather unclear and convoluted at first, it seems to be a deliberate affect to immerse us into the same stress and disorientation that Eric must feel with the branches of his family. Eric's relationship with his first wife is really the core of the film and it is handled with a great sense of maturity. A number of flashbacks are used to show how Eric met his wife at a dance competition and their enthusiasm and attraction to one another provides a sad contrast to their current lives of misery, reflecting how the weight of time and age presses on a person's shoulders.

Eric is wholly embodied by actor Steve Evets, who previously worked on television, with shows such as Heartbeat. As a very scrawny and slight man, Eric appears physically and emotionally weak, allowing other characters in the film, particularly his sons, to undermine his authority. It's a really believable performance of internal and external. In only a smart part, Eric Cantona as himself is solid as well, though actual fans of soccer might appreciate his legacy somewhat more. Refreshingly, the film does not opt to be bogged down in psychological pretentions about the appearance of Eric Cantona. His appearances are often very humorous and perhaps it shouldn't viewed as a fault of Bishop's mind but rather a means of releasing his frustrations in drawing from what his idol would do in these situations. All of the other actors are equally as effective, though sometimes the film's heavy accents are not always clear and audible. Subtitle would have been a particular preference.

Although similarities to Sweet Sixteen can be drawn, it is surprising how much the last quarter of the film also resembles the Australian film, The Combination. Just as George Basha's character in that film had to defend his kid brother from a drug dealer, Eric must protect his son from a gangster nicknamed The Prophet. Regardless, these scenes involving the gangster are vividly handled by Loach for an utter sense of realism and an emotional impact. The shock of these scenes is perhaps a result of how funny a lot of the rest of the film is. A lot of humour is derived from Eric's friends in particular, who are incompetent, but at the same time good willed. As they sit around a pub discussing how to deal with the gangster, one of Eric's friends walks in and presents to the table a self-help guide on how to deal with psychopaths. The climax of the film too, while absolutely absurd, is a very unexpected but hilarious surprise.

Looking for Eric is another small film about working cla$s Britain and the way that ordinary people struggle with everyday life as much as the more extraordinary moments too. The contrast between humour and drama is a powerful technique throughout the film, reflecting the ups and downs of life, making us feel for Eric when something positive happens to him, only to be setback once more. Performed with truth from the entirety of its cast, this is quite a touching little story, particularly for those that felt that Sweet Sixteen was too nihilistic.

In 1976 a mother named Norma Lewis (Cameron Diaz) lives with her son Walter and her husband Arthur (James Marsden). One night a box is placed on the doorstep of their home and the following morning they cut open the box to reveal a button device that must be opened with a key. By the late afternoon, a man with terrible scarring on his face comes to their door and presents Norma with an offer. This man is Arlington Steward (Frank Langella) and he announces that if they push the button someone in the world that the family does not know will die and they will receive a million dollars in cash. If they don't press it, nothing will happen and the offer will move on to someone else. Norma and Arthur are not allowed to tell anyone including their son about this deal. The incentive for the family to push the button is heightened by their financial difficulties. Arthur, who is currently working for NASA, fails to be accepted into a new job he applies for and Norma, who is a teacher, learns that her faculty funding is being cut.

One's enjoyment for this bizarre sci-fi thriller, based on the short story "Button Button" by Richard Matheson, will be determined by how far they are willing to take this ludicrous premise. The opening of the film is particularly problematic in grounding itself in a sense of realism with the household. Richard Kelly's previous film Donnie Darko cleverly used the condition of schizophrenia to justify its excursion into paranormal activity and parallel universes. Without the dream-like state of that far superior film, The Box and the very thought of a device that can kill anyone in the world, is entirely implausible. That Norma would also accept someone into her house that has almost the same scarring as Two-Face from The Dark Knight and believe this offer, seems equally contrived.

If this sounds unlikely so far, what follows is even more absurd, involving a conspiracy about someone who was struck by lightning, the possibility of alien life or some other Godly being influencing these situations. Scenes involving gateways opening up in public libraries, random nose bleeds and mindless drones stalking the Lewis family, become almost unintentionally comical in their absurdity. To a point, the film could be called intriguing purely to see where it is going. Kelly is occasionally clever in his ability to hold our attention through many of the films contrivances. In one scene Norma is teaching a cla$s and then is asked by a strange boy about her foot. He taunts her about it as she is missing four of her toes. Later, at a rehearsal dinner for a wedding that Norma and Arthur are attending, this same student appears as a waiter and seems to be stalking them. Yet the eventual justification for these all of these oddities is wrapped up in a highly contrived sci-fi revelation that many will find implausible and difficult to swallow.

What is most disappointing about the film is that once the button is pressed surprisingly early on, many of the moral implications that were initially promised are diminished for much of the pictures duration. The ending, which won't be spoilt here, resurfaces these moral questions again in the hope of echoing that of a Greek tragedy. While the resemblances can be seen, by this point, given the unlikelihood of so much of the film and the uneven performances, there is little reason to care. Cameron Diaz's Southern accent might be unnecessary but it is surprisingly Langella who is the most disappointing in the film, with a very unsubtly written role, as the mysterious scarred man, who seems to be hiding a military base that would make Dr. Evil proud. It really is just a shadow of his towering performance in Frost/Nixon. There is not a lot for many of the other actors in the film to do; in particular both Norma and Arthur could not be regarded as characters but mouthpieces for Kelly's pastiche of ideas. Underdeveloped and brief conversations, such as where Norma sympathises with Arlington over their deformities and also when Norma and Arthur question whether they really know each other in case the button kills either of them, highlights this.

Since 2001, Richard Kelly has failed to make a film that has lived up to the quality and the imagination of Donnie Darko. Though this film might be intriguing for a little while, it is too absurd and implausible to be fully enjoyed and it would certainly not warrant multiple viewings given the film's rather illogical revelations. Science fiction fans might be able to appreciate it somewhat more and draw their own conclusions, but what Kelly is really trying to say beneath the surface remains cryptic. The Box is one film this year that should have been shelved.