In Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, the fourth wall is broken in many scenes. What breaking the fourth wall means is that the characters in the story are aware that they are in a piece of fiction, “breaking” the wall between them and the viewer (the screen). Since it is a romantic comedy, it doesn’t lessen the story when it happens. For example, in the scene where Alvy finally gets fed up with the chatterbox behind, he directly asks the audience if the man is frustrating them, too. Alvy then pulls out the director that the man was talking about from behind a floor stand, which isn’t quite breaking the fourth wall, but very close in regards to quirkiness. I did also consider the guy to be annoying, so I greatly appreciated Alvy’s acknowledgement of his widespread pretentiousness, and I found it amusing.
Another scene where the characters acknowledge something that they shouldn’t is when Alvy and Annie try to have sex, but she doesn’t feel like doing it without marijuana, so we see her “spirit” leave her body. Normally, this would indicate to the audience that Annie’s soul isn’t into whatever she’s doing, showing the disparity between her body and mind. This visual metaphor becomes a very real observation when Alvy can actually see her spirit sitting there. Both he and Annie comment on the separation actually happening.
One of my favorite scenes was when Alvy first went to Annie’s apartment, and they’re conversion on a balcony, complete with subtitles. In that scene, the movie is acknowledging that it’s a movie by having their thoughts appear as subtitles that are in the same format that home video versions of movies usually use. Even though the story was serious, since the movie was also a comedy, the “movie-breaking” techniques it used did not diminish the story at all.
The Godfather never beats the viewer over the head with obvious signals as to how much time has passed. In the beginning, we see Michael Corleone as a young man who is not that experienced in his family’s “business practices.” By the end of the movie, we see him as a grown man, finally taking the position of the Don. All of this happens with a lack of constant “Blank Years Later” title cards, and it’s better for it.
A good way the movie relays the passage of time to the audience is when Michael comes back from Sicily, he sees his old girlfriend, Kay, for the first time in a long while. When she asks him how long he has been back, the answer is an explanation to Kay and, by proxy, to the audience. This is a much better way of informing the audience than flashing ONE YEAR LATER on the screen. When information needs to be relayed naturally, it is usually through the use of a character that serves as a surrogate for the audience. For example, a character who has been left out of the loop and is lacking a large amount of information.
The best way the film let the audience know how long the story has been progressing is when it showed them Michael’s son. The audience had not seen him before. It is relatively common knowledge that the gestation period for humans is around nine months. So, when the existence of Michael’s son is revealed, the viewer instantly knows that at least nine months have passed. Based on the child’s appearance, it seems that at least a couple of years have passed. Again, this is much better than putting words on the screen that tell the viewer that three or four years have passed. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with providing exposition through onscreen text, but it can really improve a story when a movie shows instead of tells.
Despite being based on a novel, the film version of Psycho did many things that were subversive of the horror/mystery genre. Obviously, there will be major spoilers ahead. One radical thing about the film was that it was one of the first portray gore – the kind in the movie is extremely tame compared to the kind of violence we have now – after the Motion Picture Production Code loosened its grip a bit on cinema. The depicted violence was actually controversial at the time.
Something that this film did that’s rare among most movies is that it had the protagonist die about halfway through. After that, who the protagonist is becomes subjective. Many might think that Norman Bates is the protagonist of the story since we know the most about him and the story is centered on events that directly relate to him, but surely most of us are rooting for Marion’s sister since Marion – the former protagonist – was murdered by him, right? I’m sure this has been a point of much debate. I’m not even sure who I’d consider the main character to be.
Another cool thing the film did was have a twist that explained so much in so little time. We’ve seen the “mother” in the window, we’ve heard both Norman and his mother’s voices, we know that Norman is a loner, and we know that his mother‘s death has been officially recorded. In the short scene where we learn that Mrs. Bates is a corpse and we see Norman dressed as a lady, so much is revealed all at once. Norman has been doing the killings, almost the entire story about his mother was a lie, and that he’s mentally disturbed because he kept his mother’s corpse and he has been dressing as her. It was a very well-executed scene.
Aside from some scenes that could’ve been cut down, such as the first time we see Norman clean up after the murder, the movie did a lot of interesting things and had me surprised.
Citizen Kane is the story of the success and ruin of a newspaper tycoon. Throughout the film, and Charles Foster Kane’s life, the theme that recurs the most is desire, specifically, the desire for love. The protagonist spends the majority of his life attempting to attain love from the greatest number of people possible. This becomes his driving force and also the source of his downfall.
Kane was taken from his parents at an early age, which deprived him of their love. He grew up in a cold, business-oriented environment where he did not receive any of the compassion that he so desperately wanted. Since he wasn’t getting any affection from his guardian, Thatcher, Kane goes on his way to becoming the head of the New York Inquirer, which goes on to be exponentially more successful than before.
Kane’s obsession with maintaining his newspaper takes an irreparable toll on his marriage. His wife isn’t enough; Kane wants to make sure that he keeps the love of all of his readers. Eventually, he needs more affection than that and starts seeing, and eventually marrying, another woman, Susan Alexander. This affair costs him his chance at becoming governor of New York and being loved by millions.
After Kane’s loss, his coworker, Jedediah Leland, lays out the connection between Kane and love in black and white. He says, “You don’t care about anything except you. You just want to persuade people that you love ’em so much that they ought to love you back. Only, you want love on your own terms, something to be played your way, according to your rules.” This rings true for the remainder of his life, as his second wife reiterates this when she leaves Kane. Susan says, “You don’t love anybody! Me or anybody else! You want to be loved – that’s all you want!” Having no one left to love him, he destroys everything in the room that he can, until he sees a snowglobe.
The snowglobe reminds Kane of the last time he was happy and loved, when he was playing with his sled, Rosebud, outside during his final winter with his parents. He keeps the snowglobe until his final hour, as a reminder of what true affection is. Kane’s last word is “Rosebud,” the symbol of a time he wishes he could return to.
Love is a powerful thing, but so is the thirst for it.
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