Running and Reflecting

This week’s screening was Tom Tykwer’s Run Lola Run (1998), a German thriller, starring Franka Potente as Lola and Moritz Bleibrteu as Manni. The plot takes off when Lola recieves a call from her distressed boyfriend Manni, who needs to find a way to get 100,000 Deutsche Marks. Lola tells Manni to wait for her, and that she will come up with the 100,000 Deutsche Marks in the next twenty minutes. These twenty minutes are repeated three times, each with a different outcome.

It was my first time watching Run Lola Run, and I absolutely loved it. I really enjoyed the prominent themes of time and fate in the film—as well as chaos theory’s butterfly effect. I often think about how crazy it is that every single choice that I have made has lead me to a specific point in my life, no matter how insignificant the choice—or moment—is. Similar to how, in Run Lola Run, the story gets replayed three times, each time with a slight altering, which result in different outcomes.

I am a huge fan of techno music, so the soundtrack of Run Lola Run was a real treat for me. The techno soundtrack solidifies the elements of rhythm—Lola’s running to the beat—and repetition—the replaying of the story in sync with the repetition of the vocals of the music at the start of each sequence—in the film.

Tykwer makes use of bricolage throughout the film, a trip into the future of cinema. Bricolage refers to the creation of a work which uses mixed media—in this case a medley of live action and animation. As Kosta writes in his essay Tom Tykwer’s Run Lola Run and the Usual Suspects: The Avant-Garde, Popular Culture, and History, “The film’s visual playfulness and its copious allusions to game (roulette and video games) and risk taking emphasize a wild and reckless pleasure in experimenting with cinema’s recently discovered possibilities.” Tykwer’s use of bricolage gives the film the contemporary air that was booming in New German cinema.

Despite being contemporary and experimental, Run Lola Run is drenched in references to its cinematic ancestors. The use of spiral movements in the films references Fritz Lang’s M, and the painting of a woman’s head in the casino is a reference to Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo.

The film breaks boundaries—it plays with time and fate—and with the addition of the animations, a fantasy is created and everything and anything becomes possible. The illusion that anything is possible is further fortified by the setting of the film—scattered locations over Berlin with no real spatial unity.

Frank Potente did a phenomenal job at captivating an audience in her role as Lola, as well as being the embodiment of new Germany. Tykwer writes, “I imagined a woman with red hair and her hair had to blow and she had to project desperation and passion.” Potente did just that. Lola is the new Germany—she is determined and powerful; he is aggressive and she is tenacious.

I could not agree more with Kosta’s description of the ending of the movie in Tom Tykwer’s Run Lola Run and the Usual Suspects: The Avant-Garde, Popular Culture, and History. Kosta describes the ending of the movie as, “A self-conscious reenactment of a Hollywood convention.” I must admit, as much as I loved this film, I was left longing for a series of photographs giving insight into Lola and Manni’s life with the extra 100,000 Marks—much like the photographic sequences which followed minor characters throughout the film.

---

I really enjoyed this course. In these contemporary times, movies are one of the most prominent entertainment industries. While I have always known that I am particularly drawn to cinema, this film course has opened me up to things I previously had no perceptions of.

Before taking this course, I had never truly enjoyed a film produced before 1950–perhaps with the exception of William Wyler’s Wuthering Heights (1939). This course made me realize the value that knowing about films of the past can bring to my perception on more contemporary cinema, such as the references of classics which appear throughout films.

I can proudly say that, because of this course, my friends have grown sick of me gushing over the screenings. In all honesty, I really looked forward to the Wednesday night screenings as a specific time during an otherwise chaotic week to indulge in, and enjoy cinema.

This was my first ever film course, and it opened my eyes to the world of cinema. The lectures and the readings taught me about the birth of the motion picture, Germany and the Weimer Era, the Hollywood studio system, the Hollywood Production Code, Hollywood in the ‘40s, Italian Neorealism and the Exploitation era. As well as the French New wave, the Midnight Movie phenomenon, the birth of the blockbuster, Cinema du look, and New German Cinema.

What really made this course special for me, however, was watching the screenings with insight on the film movements and cinematic techniques. If you asked me what my favorite screening was, I would not be able to tell you. I thoroughly enjoyed most of them, but the films that stood out to me the most, were Bonnie and Clyde, The Fly, and Diva. I would also like to mention that watching films and knowing little random facts and quirks about the production, or having specific things to look for in a film, makes the viewing so much more enjoyable.

This course gave me an appreciation and much more thorough understanding of films that I grew up watching because of my parents, notably films from the French New Wave. The highlight of this semester was learning about French cinematic movements—namely the French New Wave and Cinema du Look. I found myself captivated by the lectures, readings, and screenings that gave me insight into an era of film which my parents grew up on.

If we’re being completely honest, and I know that this is no secret to Dr. Schlegel, these Friday night deadlines—including this one—loomed over my head every week and were the very bane of my existence this semester (a slight exaggeration, yes). I am, however, very happy that these blogposts gave me a platform where I could gush about films, and further my knowledge about film movements that I find fascinating.

All-in-all, I look forward to taking much more film courses throughout my studies, and learning more about the different aspects of film. Thank you Dr. Schlegel, and thank you classmates.

ILM, Cinema de Look, and Diva

In May 1975, George Lucas founded Industrial Light & Magic (ILM), a motion picture visual effects company. ILM was originally created when Lucas wanted to include special effects in his film Star Wars (1977) which had not yet been used in film. ILM started up in a warehouse in Van Nuys, California, where a collective of college students, artists and engineers came together to start a team which revolutionized film, and moulded it into what we know it as today.

Lucas made ILM’s services available to production companies all over, and this greatly benefited the film industry. In fact, Jar Jar Binks was the first CGI generated character in the history of film to fully interact with other characters played by live actors. ILM went on to work on major projects, such as Raiders of The Lost Ark (1981), Dragonslayer (1981), Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982), E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) and more recently, Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018), Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), and Bird Box (2018).

Jar Jar Brinks

Next, we learnt about the French cinema movement, Cinema du Look. Cinema du Look was prominent in the ‘80s. The directors who were prominent during the Cinema du Look movement—Luc Besson, Jean-Jaques Beineix and Leos Carax—were said to focus more on style, as opposed to substance. What this movement gets criticized for in hard-to-follow, or two-dimensional plots, it makes up for in gorgeous visual style.

On Wednesday, we watched the movie that launched the Cinema du Look movement—Diva (1981). Diva follows the story of a young postman, Jules, with a passion for classical music, and an obsession for opera singer Cynthia Hawkins. Jules soon finds himself in the midst of a messy police investigation revolving around drug trafficking and prostitution. With the help of his new found friends—a mysterious man named Serge and his muse Alba—he evades the impending doom that follows him throughout the movie. The film is thrilling, it is romantic, and it is beautiful in both cinematography, and musical score.

I think that the plot of the story got lost in the translation of captions. At the end of the screening, a few people mentioned that the plot was difficult to follow, but taking it in in French, I was immediately pulled into the story. I think it flowed seamlessly. 

Diva is a feast to the eyes. I had goosebumps throughout the screening—the shots were gorgeous, the colors were electric, and the overall aesthetic was to die for. The film was drenched in french class and groove. The musical score was heartbreakingly beautiful, it’s not hard to see why it’s such a cult score. 

I really enjoyed learning about Cinema de Look this week, it’s definitely my favorite content we’ve covered in class so far. Diva conquered my heart, and has definitely made it onto my favorites list. I look forward to watching many more films from the Cinema du Look era in the future.

The Eighties Were Fly

The 80s was when money really surpassed art and creativity in film. Marketing tactics were used to maximize box-office potential, but this meant less risk. Hollywood started making use of a strategy known as “front loading”. “Front loading” meant going all out on the promotion of a film before it’s actual release—releasing movie themes toys, posters, video games, merchandise and even food.

In the process of capitalizing profits, Hollywood reinvented itself and became a larger conglomerative media industry. In this day and age, it seems impossible to speak about the profits of Hollywood without sequels coming to mind. During the 80s, Hollywood observed what worked and what the audience liked, and stuck to what worked. Many franchises started to emerge, such as Star Wars, Star Trek, and Raiders of the Lost Ark. This paved the way for the future of Hollywood, such as the Jurassic Park series in the 90s, and Harry Potter in the 00s. Since then, Hollywood has pretty much stayed the same, if you add in the birth of the internet and online streaming.

When I think of film in the 80s, what comes to mind are teen films, like the iconic Pretty in Pink and The Breakfast Club. These films portrayed teen life and were greatly influential on a generation, and still live on as great teen classics today.

In the 80s, fantasy, horror and sci-fi boomed. Many horror series were started in the 80s, such as Halloween, The Amityville Horror, and A Nightmare on Elm Street. Sci-fi films such as The Fly and Alien came out in the 80s.

Every Wednesday, I am left thinking that I just saw the greatest movie of all time. After Wednesday’s screening of The Fly (1986), I am certain that I saw the greatest movie of all time. The Fly follows a journalist, Veronica (Geena Davis) on her quest to find her latest scoop. Soon, she encounters scientist Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) who has just discovered the secret of teleportation. They fall in love but things turn ugly when Brundle unknowingly shares a teleportation pod with a fly, fusing with it on a genetic level.

The Fly tackles romance, psychological horror, sci-fi, and even the aids epidemic that was prominent in the 80s. It revolves around losing control of your body—or rather your body turning against you, everyone’s worst fear. Geena Davis and Jeff Goldman’s chemistry is undeniable, which is not surprising considering that they were married the year after The Fly came out.

The Fly is so disgusting that it is impossible to tear your eyes away from the screen. At one point, Brundle is shown vomiting on his food in order to make the digestion process easier. At another, a baboon is shown with his insides out. Fingernails are plucked and puss is oozed. The movie may be a bit gruesome, but for me, the romantic story completely overshadowed the gruesomeness of it all. I was rooting for the couple until the very end, despite Brundle’s weird, disfigured fly figure.

Midnight Movies and Rocky

I thoroughly enjoyed learning about “midnight movies” and “cult classics” this week, and Wednesday’s screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show was exactly the mid-week pick-me-up that I didn’t know I needed.

Midnight movies took off in the early 1970s, when urban centers began screening films at midnight. What can arguably be pinpointed as the start of this era are the midnight screening of El Topo (1970) at the Elgin Theater in New York City. Eventually, midnight movies spread across the United States, attracting a cult film audience.

Cult films are films with a cult following. This entails a dedicated audience that watches the films repeatedly, quotes the dialogue, and actively participates. A prime example of this, is this week’s screening, The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975). The Rocky Horror Picture Show has been called “the very definition of the term cult picture” by American film critic Danny Peary, as well as the “queen of the midnight movie circuit”.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show gained such a cult following, that it would seem obscene to speak about it without mentioning the fans—and I write this with Dr. Gagne’s Wednesday night audience participation in mind. What started as merely dialogue quoting and commenting soon became a culture. Fans from all over would repeatedly go watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show every Friday and Saturday night. They would bring props, dress up as characters, and soon became part of The Rocky Horror Picture Show experience. I was dumbfounded to find out that people had seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show over a thousand times.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show is a wild trip, from beginning to end. The plot takes off when newly-engaged couple Janet (Susan Sarandon) and Brad (Barry Bostwick) encounter car troubles in a thunderstorm. They venture out to look for a telephone and stumble across a castle. Inside the castle, they are met by weird and whacky characters—namely the gorgeous transvestite scientist Dr. Frank-N-Furter, played by Tim Curry.

This musical horror comedy satisfies every aspect of it’s title. Whenever the characters break out into songs, it’s difficult to keep still and not bust out moves and sing along—which I guess further explains the cult following the film had. Susan Sarandon’s Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me would unwind even nuns, and I haven’t stopped singing it since Wednesday’s screening. The setting of the film—and eerie castle—gives the dash of horror, and sci-fi (when it is revealed that the characters are, in fact, aliens from planet Transsexual and that the castle was merely a spaceship).

The Rocky Horror Picture Show, directed by Jim Sharman, is everything anyone could ever ask for in a film. First of all, the film is hilarious. Next, the costumes, makeup, sets, and overall aesthetic is to die for. Lastly, The Rocky Horror Picture Show is fun and weird, and it is no wonder that The Rocky Horror Picture Show captured an audience and left such a legacy.

The Waves of Film

I thoroughly enjoyed the material that we covered in class this week. I was raised in a French household and I was exposed, by my parents, to Godard’s work when I was a child. In fact, the French New Wave was the first film movement which really captivated my interest, and Godard’s Pierrot Le Fou will forever be a favorite film of mine.

The French New Wave movement, called “La Nouvelle Vague” in French, emerged in France the 1950s and 1960s, and is seen as one of the most influential cinematic movements to ever exist. This film movement emerged when French film directors grew tired of conforming to conventional filmmaking techniques and style. They were fed up with how repetitive and artificial the films at the time all seemed, and they strove towards delivering a cinema that was more relatable, and natural—much like Italian Neorealism.

The French New Wave is notable for the emergence of a new style of cinematography and editing. The “jump cut” emerged from the French New Wave, which is an abrupt transition from one scene to another, as opposed to the classic “continuity cut”, which is when the flow of a scene or action sequence is maintained, in order to preserve the illusion of reality on screen.

The thing I love the most about the French New Wave, was the liberty that directors and actors took when it came to the characters and stories. French New Wave films usually have eccentric characters, and very loose stories. During this film era, actors were often allowed to improvise dialogue and make changes to the plot. The result of this is a beautiful medley of disorder, and nonchalant French class.

The dramatic change of pace in Europe in the 1950s and 1960s greatly influenced the entire dynamic of Hollywood in the 1970s, and the American New Wave was born. Many major directors of the American New Wave were trained by Roger Corman, such as David Lynch, Roman Polanski, Stanley Kubrick, Woody Allen, Steven Spielberg, Francis Ford Coppola, and Arthur Penn.

This week’s screening, The Poseidon Adventure (1972), was an American disaster film directed by Ronald Neame. The Poseidon Adventure centers on a ship—SS Poseidon—on her way to Athens, from New York. Everything changes during New Year’s Eve celebrations. Not long after the clock strikes midnight and everyone has exchanged new year greetings and wishes, SS Poseidon capsizes after being hit by a tsunami. Panic ensues and the guests are torn about what to do. We follow Reverend Scott as he attempts to lead The Rosens, the Rogos, Susan, Robin, Acres, Nonnie and Martin to safety.

What I really enjoyed about this film—and maybe it’s because I have not seen many disaster films—was that nobody was safe. You never knew who was going to die, or when, and just when you thought the movie couldn’t spare any more characters, another one died a tragic death. It was thrilling, funny, and I had a great time watching it.

Bonnie and Clyde

This week’s screening was Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde (1967). Bonnie and Clyde stars classic Hollywood beauties Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty as characters Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. This biographical crime film tells the story of the Barrow Gang—and American gang notorious for bank robberies during the Great Depression—and more specifically, Bonnie and Clyde.

The film begins with an instant spark between characters Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow. The pair meets when Clyde tries to steel Bonnie’s mom’s car. She is immediately intrigued and, bored by her banal life in Texas, soon becomes his partner in crime. The characters have intense chemistry and the movie oozes sensuality. When Bonnie and Clyde initially meet, they converse over bottles of Coke, and the scene drips sex. I thought Dunaway captured the longing and boredom of a small-town girl perfectly in their exchange, where she suggestively drinks her Coke.

After this exchange, the pair hits the road and soon picks up gas station attendant C.W. Moss, played by Michael J. Pollard, and link up with Clyde’s older brother Buck (Gene Heckman), and his wife Blanche (Estelle Parsons). The gang promotes from amateur heists to bank robberies, sometimes with casualties. The Barrow gang is pursued by law enforcement, and are seen multiple times in very tight situations.

Throughout the film, the audience builds and bond with the gang, and more specifically Bonnie and Clyde. We see the denouement of an epic love story, and witness Bonnie and Clyde’s passion and complementary temperaments. The film paves the way for the audience to fall in love with the characters—and their love affair—until the pair is slaughtered in what I am going to call one of the most soul-shattering scenes I have ever seen.

As expected as their downfall was, I was so taken aback by the abrupt end to their story that I couldn’t even muster up the tears to cry. Frank Hamer, played by Denver Pyle, a law enforcer that the gang had previously humiliated locates Bonnie and Clyde laying low at Moss’s father’s house, and strikes a bargain with Moss’s father. Hamer offers leniency on Moss, if he helps Hamer set a trap to catch Bonnie and Clyde.

At the peak of Bonnie and Clyde’s on-screen love for each other—sharing a pear and laughing—they are stopped by Moss’s father, and ambushed by a shower of bullets. The seconds before the violent explosion of bullets seems like it lasts forever. Bonnie and Clyde share one last look that expresses everything: their life together, their adventure, their love for each other.

Despite being set in the 30s, it is so obvious that this film was made in the 60s. It’s difficult not to notice the blatant influence that the French New Wave had on this film, both in terms of visual style, as well as editing. All-in-all, it’s easy to see why this film is seen as one of the most important films of American cinema.

Exploitation

In 1948, profound change came to Hollywood. The Supreme Court ruled that the “Big 5” (20th Century Fox, RKO Pictures, Paramount Pictures, Warner Bros, and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer) was a monopoly. The “Big 5” studios would sell their films in packages, and independent producers were struggling to get their films into theatres. The Paramount Decision of 1948 meant that theatres now needed a supply of from independent markets—in addition to Hollywood studio films. This led to a major increase in independent studios producing films free of the confinements of the production code. After this, Hollywood never fully controlled the market again. This was the end of the old Hollywood studio system, and hierarchies of taste started to emerge. This period was the beginning of an era of gentrification of previously taboo entertainment—sex, drugs, and violence now colored the screens.

By 1954, television had devastated the motion picture industry in the United States. Americans all across the nation would have rather picked watching I Love Lucy over a night at the movies. That was until films involving the taboo topics of sex and death, such as Plan 9 from Outer Space, started to emerge. With the emergence of films developing these previously taboo topics, Hollywood became “less hairspray” at a rapid pace, and the era of “Sinema” began.

The Paramount Decision of 1948 gave birth to the American independent studio American International Pictures, which was founded in 1956. American International Pictures was founded by James H. Nicholson and Samuel Z. Arkoff. American International Pictures targeted a new audience of film—teenagers—with low-budget double-features with the help of Roger Corman. Corman was American International Pictures’s leading filmmaker, in addition to directing and financing. Corman gave start to many now-iconic names of Hollywood, such as Francis Ford Coppola, John Sayles, James Cameron, Jack Nicholson and Sylvester Stallone. American International Pictures exploited the Paramount Decision of 1948 and, with Corman’s eye and guidance, started to spew out a grotesque number of low-budget films drowned in sex, violence and later, death.

The era of Exploitation was, in an abundance of ways, absurd. Great, controversial trailers were produced to grab an audience’s attention, but had very little to do with the films being promoted. Foreign films were bought and voiced-over and made comedic. Ridiculous horror movies with laughable gore were everywhere. Sexploitation films emerged, which were low-budget films that exhibited non-explicit sexual situations and uncensored nudity, such as Nude on the Moon.

If there’s one thing that this class has taught me, it is how greatly reflected history is in art. As eccentric and over-the-top as the Exploitation films seem in hindsight, these films do a beautiful job at capturing the political and cultural trends of the 60s and 70s. The abundance of taboo topics that boomed in these films are a reflection of the social change during that era, and the excitement of progression in teenagers and young adults—the audience of these films.

Revision, Italian Neorealism and Wild Strawberries

Monday’s class consisted of a lecture reiterating the content we have covered thus far this semester, as well as a snippet of the Italian Neorealist film movement.

We briefly spoke about Edison, Lumière, Méliès and Porter, and how they all shaped cinema as we know it today, from Kinetosope Parlors, to A Trip to The Moon. The characteristics of Edison Films such as the absence of editing and plot, and Méliès’s Tableau style shots. We then went on to go over Germany and The Weimar Era of film, notably German Expressionism, how the movement was fascinated with the sombre themes of horror, death, disease, illness, etc, and the iconic films that surfaced from this movement, such as The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Then, The Hollywood Studio System, with the vertically integrated major five studios (MGM, Paramount, Warner Brothers, 20th Century Fox, and RKO), the major minors (Universal, Columbia, and United Artists), and the poverty row (Republic Pictures, Monogram Pictures, Grand National PRC). Europe in the 30s and the Hollywood Production Code followed. We discussed how producers, directors, and stars fled Germany for Hollywood, as well as Hitchcock’s influence from German Expressionism, and the censorship that plagued cinema. We covered World War II and the major trends in 1940s Hollywood, such as Hollywood’s involvement in the war, and the Service Comedies that emerged. We concluded Monday’s class with Italian Neorealism.

Italian Neorealism, also referred to as the “Golden Age”, was a film movement which came about post-World War II in Italy. The “Golden Age” was prominent from 1945 to 1954. Italian Neorealism had a documentary visual style and was filmed on location, set among the working class. Many actors in Italian Neorealist films were non-professional actors, and the movement really helped to capture and immortalize post-war Italy, documenting everyday life, poverty, and social struggles. Stylistically, Italian Neorealism was raw—there was no buffer. No excessive editing, camerawork, or artificial lighting. What you see in Italian Neorealist films is what you get.

Wednesday’s class consisted of a screening of Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries (1957). Wild Strawberries follows 78-year-old Professor Isak Borg’s journey from Stockholm to Lund to be awarded the degree of Doctor Jubilaris, accompanied by his daughter-in-law. Throughout the film, Professor Isak Borg reflects on his life, reminiscing about his childhood, his first love, and his first heartbreak. The reminiscing is prompted by dreams and old age, and the transitions between Professor Isak Borg’s current life and his past are fluid like water and smooth like honey. For example, the beginning of Wild Strawberries is a dream of Borg’s, and a handless clock is shown, which later reappears in his reality. These smooth transitions and reoccurring symbols further intensify the dream-like mood of the film. The film oozes of nostalgia and revolves around a sorrowful frame of mind that is somewhat relatable. Wild Strawberries was my first Bergman film, and I was not disappointed. I am still daydreaming about those beautiful summer shots and wild-strawberry patches.

Let’s talk Censorship

In the 1920s, censorship emerged as an issue linked directly to the medium of film. By 1922, The Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA), later to become the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) had formed, with Will H. Hays as president of the association. The MPPDA was looking for evidence to back up their claims that violent and promiscuous films promoted and encouraged violent and promiscuous behavior. In addition, this postwar period was trapped in fear towards the power of the media to influence the masses. This controversy in the film industry led to The Payne Fund Studies, a series of research studies to examine movies and their effects on children, as well as the emergence of the Motion Picture Production Code.

The Motion Picture Production Code was the set of moral guidelines applied to most motion pictures released by major production studios in the United States. This code dictated what acceptable content for films in the United States was, and for more than thirty years, most motion pictures produced in the United States abided by the code. Censorship in the film industry emerged globally. The Production Code—also known as the Hays Code—had three “General Principles”:
1) “No picture shall be produced that will lower the moral standards of those who see it. Hence the sympathy of the audience should never be thrown to the side of crime, wrongdoing, evil, or sin.”
2) “Correct standards of life, subject only to the requirements of drama and entertainment, shall be presented.”
3) “Law, natural or human, shall not be ridiculed. Nor shall sympathy be created for its violation.”

This code meant that already established directors had to adapt and, not long after the emergence of this code, directors had learned to work around this code and many films produced in the 1930s flirted with the line of censorship with violent and suggestive scenes. One director that emerged as notorious for working around censorship was Alfred Hitchcock. His films oozed with sex and violence, yet managed to pass censorship inspection. Hitchcock’s ability to dance with the production code can be observed in his 1935 film The 39 Steps. Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps was passed for public exhibition to adult audiences by the British Board of Film Censors. The 39 Steps tells a story of espionage and follows the series of events of an ordinary man who gets caught up in the murder of a counter-espionage.

If we’re being frank, I did not enjoy Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps. It was painfully slow, and I was too focused on the fact that Robert Donat’s character was wearing a different coat in almost every scene to even try enjoy it more. I couldn’t, however, help noticing that Hitchcock very slyly avoided showing any actual vividly violent scenes, and rather insinuated the violence. An example of this can be observed when Pamela is seen with a knife in her back. Although the audience is not shown the stabbing, the violence associated with the stabbing is insinuated with the presence of the knife.

The end of the Silent Era

During the 1920s and the 1930s, film was a booming industry. This was a time of great change, and the movies produced during that time shaped cinema as we know it today. This week, I discovered the origin of contemporary fictional monsters, and was able to observe the not-so-smooth transition of silent film era actors to films with sound.
By the 1930s, Hollywood was well established and five major movie studios dominated the field of production, distribution, and exhibition of film. They created a monopoly and were almost impossible to compete with. These major movie studios were Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), which was the most impressive, 20th Century Fox, RKO Pictures, Paramount Pictures, and Warner Bros.
Although we only watched parts of the TV mini-series MGM: When The Lion Roars, this mini-series did a wonderful job of explaining the emergence of film studios at the time, and more specifically, the boom that MGM brought to cinema. MGM was described as being the “great film studio of the world”, producing about one film a week. In 1924, Louis B Meyer (American film producer and co-founder of MGM) introduced and iconized Leo the Lion to the world, in the film He Who Gets Slapped. This was the first MGM film that used the logo, one that remains iconic to this day.
Grand Hotel (1932) was another masterpiece by MGM. It was the first Hollywood all-star film, with an impressive cast, including Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, John and Lionel Barrymore, and Wallace Beery. Despite having adored this week’s screening of Grand Hotel, I unsurprisingly was not impressed by the acting in this film. Grand Hotel was produced at the cusp of the silent film era, and the time when sound films arrived in Hollywood. The actors in this film were silent era stars, trying to adapt to the emerging stage of films with sound, and it’s no wonder why I found their acting subpar when accompanied by weak voices and forced accents. Despite this criticism, however, the actors shone and oozed old Hollywood.
Another huge studio was Universal Studios, which gave changed pop-culture forever with reoccurring monsters as characters—the Universal Classic Monsters. Universal Studios began with The Phantom of the Opera in 1924, with Lon Chaney as the Phantom. Following The Phantom of the Opera was The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and soon after, Universal Studios was notorious for the drama of disfigurement. The art of disfigurement that was observed during this time became a scapegoat for people who thought movies promoted violence, which was fortified when a murderer claimed that the makeup in London after Midnight inspired his violence.
Not long after came the monster franchises Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Invisible Man, The Wolf Man, which shaped film. It is because of these iconic Universal Studio creations that symbolic monsters have become engrained in pop-culture. In these contemporary times, it is “general knowledge” that vampires are killed by sunlight and that werewolves can only die to the hands of silver, and this is because Universal Studios created and made these monsters iconic.