Rantings and Ravings: Cannibal Cinema

As is often the case, I’m sitting on a train four hours prior to an interview, 24 hours prior to an assignment deadline and I’m thinking about films. I’m sure that if you’ve actually stumbled across this blog, then this is a problem that you’re no doubt already familiar with - however will we manage? Fanaticism wasn’t invented by Hollywood and it certainly isn’t exclusive to movies either, but it definitely preaches it. One thing that has been made very clear from a (albeit short) lifetime of movie-going, is that cinema is a huge fan of cinema.

Apart from the films made at the beginning of motion pictures, I can’t remember the last time I saw a film that didn’t reference another in one way or another. Even then, it can be argued that the works of F.W. Murnau are just as influenced by Reinhardt and Munch as Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds (2009) is to Sergio Leone. Is this a necessity of cinema? What makes it so different to any other art form?

An obvious argument would suggest that, as cinema is in fact an amalgamation of different technical processes (visual, sound, writing, etc.), it has been in debt to various art forms since birth. Surely it is just a natural progression from painting to photography to cinematography, and each should be highly influenced by each other? I believe that cinema differs to anything else, as it is more likely to make its homages and references resonate emotionally. Consider this example; imagine seeing a photo trying to replicate Picasso’s Guernica by using pre-existing photographs. No matter how accurate or inventive the photographer may be in achieving this, it would be nothing more than a dry exercise. It may be very clever and it may be very pretty, but its emotional effects are lost in comparison to something akin to the finale of Cinema Paradiso (1988). During this film, not only does Giuseppe Tornatore get to highlight and praise some of his favourite films as a youngster but also create a unique and powerful moment completely out of pre-existing footage from other films.

Cinema is very prone to referencing its own history, utilising the viewers’ knowledge of pre-existing works. This was the case even as far back as Citizen Kane (1941), where Orson Welles allegedly set up marathon screenings of John Ford films for the purpose of employing his techniques. Like any other art form, exploiting and/or breaking old conventions can create wonderful experiences for the audience, however, some films are prone to feeling like a history lesson or a who’s who of cinematic techniques and innovations. That is the only way I can describe the career of Brian De Palma. Playing games with the existing rules of cinema can also yield great results, to which the filmography of Jean Luc Godard shows.

Film usually goes one step further than the other art forms – in that it doesn’t suffice to just examine its own techniques, but frequently dissects and assesses the methods of creation. Honestly, I think that a list of ‘movies about the making of movies’ would be longer than the wait for the next Kubrick film. What does impress, however, it’s the percentage of those films that rate as some of the greatest works in cinematic history. Just a quick glance will raise such varied and prestigious titles as Sunset Blvd., The Player, Mulholland Drive, Shadow of the Vampire, Barton Fink, Adaptation, 8½, and Camera Buff. It makes sense that literally hundreds of film makers and screen writers would “stick to what they know” when formulating ideas for their works, but the sheer consistency of insightful and imaginative films on this subject astounds. Who’d have thought that anything could eat itself for so long and not only keep living, but grow stronger as well.