High Fidelity (the film) is a mess of broken rules and cinematic personal pet peeves. Despite this, I adore it. I proselytize on its behalf. I watch it repeatedly. I love every second of it.
 |
How can it be? I mean, it should be simple logic, right? Modus Ponens. If P then Q. P is true. Therefore: Q.
P- If a film commits multiple personal pet peeves and breaks a number of cinematic rules that I strongly believe in, then...
Q- I won't like it.
This is true. Now, let's try it out.
P- High Fidelity commits multiple personal pet peeves, and breaks a number of cinematic rules that I strongly believe in, therefore...
Q- I love High Fidelity so much I'm a little attracted to it. (Head explodes.)
While there are surely explanations for this seeming breakdown in the fabric of reality, they are not the point of this essay. The purpose of this essay is to point out what these pet peeves and rules are and how they're broken. The speculation of "why", dear friends, is up to you.
Ok...maybe just a teensy bit of why I love this film:
The rules for storytelling in the film medium exist for a reason. Well written films hit important emotional beats and strengthen our sense of tension, empathy, surprise-- basically how much we care about the characters and what happens to them. If some punk-ass film student tells you he doesn't need rules, or the rules just hold him back, you have my permission to roll your eyes and possibly inflict some sort of mild bodily harm upon him. This person does not understand storytelling.
While there are always exceptions to these rules, (and times and places to "break" them correctly), I would venture a guess that somewhere between 99-95% of the films you've seen (depending on what type of movie watcher you are) adhere strictly to most, if not all of these rules.
Maybe you're aware of these rules. (I suspect some of our readers are.) But maybe you've never really thought about them. I suspect you would find that on some level you always sensed them, but you'd never considered them.
I was the same way.
To be clear, some people break these rules, and others toss them aside completely. But if you're going to break them, you'd better know them up and down first. You'd better be a master.
While some films ignore the rules altogether, High Fidelity is aware of them, and it follows some of them...sort of. What distinguishes High Fidelity from films that completely throw away the rule book is that, unlike movies like Waking Life and Before Sunrise, High Fidelity resembles a traditional film in many ways. It possesses the rules, it just wreaks havoc on them.
1. The narration. Is there any concrete rule of cinema that says "no narration?" Depends on who you ask, but I think the answer has to be no. While some would argue that narration is a storytelling crutch (and often, it is) some of the greatest films of all time use it, and do so masterfully.
But High Fidelity takes it to the next level. As you've already seen, the main character Rob Gordon, played by John Cusack, breaks the fourth wall and speaks directly to us throughout the film. It's an outright torrent of narration. Narration saturation. On paper it ought to be emotionally shallow and devoid of tension. But it isn't.
It's not just how Cusack narrates it either, it's what he says, which brings us to the next rule and one of my personal pet peeves.
2. All the men out there who aspire to screenwriting greatness, here is an area where you can learn A LOT from the ladies.
Good screenwriting is all about saying anything, and everything, except what you actually mean.
Hint, suggest, insinuate, and allude all you wish, but don't come out and say it. Trust that your audience is smart enough to get it for themselves, because that's part of the fun of watching a great film. We get to see and feel it all through actions and dialogue that is subtly laced with subtext, and we (usually subconsciously) decipher what the characters are thinking and feeling. We don't like to be told.
If Anthony Hopkins in Remains of the Day literally said, through dialogue, "Well, you see, character played by Emma Thompson whose name I don't remember, I'm actually in love with you but I haven't the courage or savvy required to tell you," the chemistry and sexual tension and mystery and humanity would be sucked away. It's like popping a balloon.
This is an easy trap to fall into for amateur screenwriters (I know all too well) because it's also essential that our characters' actions are motivated. Nothing kills the mood like arbitrary actions that only serve to move the plot along. So, what better way to fill our audience in on our character's motivations than by having the characters explain it? I'll tell you: Have them show it through their actions. Let the audience figure it out. It's tough, trust me. But it's better that way.
In High Fidelity, Rob is constantly telling us, directly, how he feels about these girls and why he's jealous of this guy and what he desires more than anything. He discloses all of his neuroses and explains why they hold him back from happiness. But it works. It's emotionally compelling. Somehow, we root and pull for Rob the whole way.
3. Three Act Structure- The three act structure isn't exactly Hollywood's best kept secret. But for those of you who don't know it, (very) basically, it goes like this:
Act 1 is the setup. It's where we learn all about the characters, the world in which this story is told and whatever back-story we need to be getting on with.
Act 2 begins when the "plot" really kicks off. It's that moment when some event occurs that propels the character/s into the story. It's Luke finding his Aunt and Uncle killed on Tatooine, compelling him to go and learn the ways of the Force. The remainder of Act 2 is a series of conflicts and setbacks the character must overcome, finally culminating in what feels like insurmountable odds.
Act 3 presents us with the solution for overcoming the conflict, whatever it may be. In Act 3, we will see the solution enacted, most likely see it succeed, we will have some sort of climactic showdown, and finally see how everything looks once the conflict is resolved.
There don't have to be battles and violence and overlords for these rules to apply. Romantic comedies and subtle dramas employ these same emotional beats, they just adapt to the tone of their respective genres.
High Fidelity uses the three act structure in the loosest sense. As my friend Luke observed, the movie seems to start with Act 2. At best, it's an Act 1, Act 2 mish-mash. The very first scene sees Rob dumped by his girlfriend. While we learn very quickly what kind of guy Rob is, what drives him, and why we should care about him, this primary event drives the rest of the plot: Rob dealing with rejection, specifically, with this particular rejection.
One could point to where the film breaks into Act 3, technically, (when his relationship looks to mend) but it's an event that just happens to Rob. Great stories, on the other hand, traditionally hinge on big, tough, decisions made by the characters. This can't be stressed enough. Choice is integral. If it's something that simply happens to them, the impact is weakened.
Rob doesn't make any integral choices. He comes to realizations (which he candidly shares with the audience), and he certainly changes by the end of the film (fulfilling the character arc criteria nicely), but the plot mostly just happens.
(Note- There is one semi-major choice that Rob makes well into Act 3 (can you figure out what it is?), but again, it doesn't move the plot in the slightest. It merely serves to illustrate how far Rob has come as a character. This is a classic example of how High Fidelity sort of plays around with the rules rather than breaking them outright.)
4. External Conflict- Go back to Star Wars. Consider the Galactic Empire's plan to destroy every damn planet in its path. Look at how the Empire is seconds away from destroying the rebel base when Luke saves the day. That's external conflict, baby: something you see and touch, with literal, physical consequences drawing ever closer and closer. The ominous, larger than life Death Star is the perfect symbol for this ever present danger, brilliantly conceived in its ability to convey visually the Empire's dominance and act as a literal conduit for the film's conflict.
And then consider High Fidelity. Sure, there's an annoying hipster new guy moving in on his girl, and there's...well...that's about it. The conflict in High Fidelity is all internal. It's not a literal threat outside of Rob's control that grows closer and ever more dangerous with time. It's his own neuroses, his own insecurities. This is a huge no-no (and a common mistake of student filmmakers), but High Fidelity simply doesn't care.
So how does it do it? How does High Fidelity manage to compel and entertain and provide insight and evoke empathy and stir emotions despite this mess of broken rules? Or maybe, God help you, you think High Fidelity doesn't work. If so, why? For the reasons listed above? For other reasons altogether?
I entreat ye fellow Infusers. Let's hear your thoughts.
And finally, if you haven't seen High Fidelity, seriously, what are you waiting for?
By Jonny Walls
4 comments:
I like to think that High Fidelity succeeds because of, amongst other things, John Cusack's relatable performance. He some how pulls off being an "asshole" but also makes us cheer for him.
Also great soundtrack, and great supporting cast. Best Jack Black role ever. Except for maybe Gulliver's Travels... kidding?
Don't know that I agree with the external / internal conflict comment.
On one hand, most movies that rely heavily on internal conflict also rely heavily on external conflict, so it doesn't bog down the film. Inception would qualify, as the action is spurred by an internal conflict, but that action creates external conflict in a dozen different ways that keeps us moving.
On the other hand, internal conflict is almost always the thing that holds up long after the credits have rolled. Vertigo, Citizen Kane, Shawshank, and 12 Angry Men are all really driven by internal conflict.
It's true that relying only on internal conflict can cause problems (sappiness, among other things), but the other end of that spectrum is pretty grim, isn't it, Mr. Bay?
Corman: Every great film is laced with internal conflict, on deeper inspection. That's subtext. But almost every great film employs some sort of external conflict to actually move the story. Inception most definitely relies of external conflict, but it's (actually) a story about Leo's internal issues. But the external issue of him working for these guys and making this inception is what drives the movie. His internal conflict is what intrigues the viewer and adds depth. This is the way great movies do it. Make no mistake though, external conflict drives ALMOST every great movie, internal conflict make them interesting, relateable, and human.
Vertigo IS a good example of one of the exceptions though. But make no mistake, external conflict is what drives Shawshank and 12 Angry Men, (and the first half of Vertigo) it's internal conflict that makes them great stories.
Post a Comment