By Kit Brady-Brown

Whenever we sit down to watch a film, we’re putting ourselves at the mercy of the filmmaker and their artistic intentions. Fear, laughter, an existential revelation, or maybe just a few tears. In drama films, crafting some kind of emotional connection between the viewer, and the characters or themes explored in the film, is vital to creating a lasting, memorable and resonant cinematic experience. However, there is one type of cinematic moment that I have found to be most effective at creating true moments of empathy between the audience and the film’s characters.. Moments Of Reflection is what I’m calling them, in other words: moments in a dramatic film where, for one reason or another, the camera focuses on one individual character, with no dialogue. As that character reflects or wonders, the viewer, now without traditional narrative devices to guide them, begins to inhabit said character’s state of mind, considering and empathising with them, or simply reflecting on the events of the film thus far. We forgo our focus on the next, and park ourselves in the now, while reflecting on the past. Great filmmakers expertly utilise these moments to craft lasting and memorable cinematic moments that elevate the film as a whole.

We’d like to believe that igniting emotion in an active audience requires more than simply showing an actor looking to the distance with a contemplative soundtrack. So what else is at work in effective Moment of Reflection? 

Context is incredibly important in filmmaking in general, but when eliciting emotional responses in your audience, it can be everything. If an audience is not properly positioned to feel a certain way, the emotional appeal may fall flat, or take on a different meaning altogether.

Nicholas Winding Refn’s debut feature Pusher, is a gritty low budget crime thriller, following small time drug dealer Frank (Kim Bodnia) through the down and dirty Copenhagen underground. A big deal gone wrong, and one loan too many from kingpin Milo (Zlatko Buric) leads to Frank’s undoing; the film’s final sequence begins with his girlfriend Vic, the one person he could still trust, stealing what little money he has left and running for it. A manic shaky-cam chase scene follows,  a neon, blacklit nightclub with trance music blasting the setting of the chase. They eventually burst out the doors onto the dark, fire-barrel lit street. As Vic escapes in a car, the camera moves into a close up on Frank. With his money gone, no one left to trust, and with killers closing in, the clock is ticking on his life. As Frank stands on the street considering his next move, we are waiting for the next action sequence. Will he run? Perhaps try and reconcile with Milo? Or go out in a flurry of gunfire? Instead Frank doesn’t move, he breathes heavily, all out of luck, nothing he can do. A true sense of helplessness. To this point in Pusher, Kim Bodnia’s Frank has put on a brave face. Although things weren’t going his way, he had an exterior of confidence and self-assuredness. But that has now dissipated, Frank’s true fear showing on his face. We stay with this same shot for an extended time, before cutting to Milo and his bodyguard laying out a body-bag on the floor at their safehouse. We see some armed henchmen entering a van, seemingly on their way to Frank, and we see Vic, comfortably in her getaway car with Frank’s money. All of these shots are interspersed between that same angle of Frank, helpless on the street. We cut back one last time to Frank, and black. It’s a haunting finale, and a terrifically executed Moment of Reflection.

Frank (Kim Bodnia) in Pusher / dir. Nicholas Winding Refn

It may seem as though I just described the final minute of the film, but the context of these final moments is incredibly vital to the success of the sequence. Throughout the film we’ve been exposed to very little self reflection or even solace for Frank, he is constantly with another person or on his mobile phone. And coverage wise, there hasn’t been a shot that laid dormant on the same angle for the same length throughout the film. A combination of terrific understanding of decoupage and pacing, along with the soundtrack and Kim Bodnia’s performance, all lead to an effective and empathetic finale.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s Boogie Nights is another example of a film that contains a wonderfully executed Moment of Reflection, and the context both narratively and stylistically is integral to its success. In the second half of the film, ego, drugs and jealousy begin to be the downfall of our protagonist Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) and his best friend and fellow adult-film star Reed Rothchild (John C. Reilly). They, along with friend and loose-cannon Todd (Thomas Jane) find themselves at the house of a drug dealer Rahad (Alfred Molina), planning to sell him baking soda masqueraded as cocaine. With early-80s anthems blasting, and a Chinese boy called Cosmo throwing deafening firecrackers, the scene is one of contemporary cinema’s most memorable, and Dirk’s longing stare for almost 50 seconds midway through remains the scene’s most enduring image. With Molina’s Rahad singing along sloppily to Jessie’s Girl, taking regular hits from an unspecified pipe, along with the firecrackers and the phony drug deal hanging over all of it, PT Anderson creates an unmatched combination of discomfort, tension and humor. The audience is in the palm of his hand when he decides to turn the camera away from the magnetic Molina and the scene around him, and focus solely, for nearly an entire minute, on Diggler. His face changes from a nervous uncertainty to an almost deranged stare, a slight smile poking from beneath his dead eyes. It’s not entirely clear what this shot and his expression is attempting to communicate, but that only adds to the viewer’s intrigue.

Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) in Boogie Nights / dir. P.T. Anderson

It took me a second viewing, but the shot now conveys a feeling of hopelessness, and a realisation that this is Dirk’s rock bottom. He went from living a life of glamour as the most popular adult film star in LA to a criminal and an addict, and with this one shot, not only does it hit Dirk, it hits the audience. The extended static shot stands out even more considering the abundant camera movement used throughout the film. We linger on Dirk for so long that the viewer almost can’t look away, like he might explode at any moment. It’s engrossing, and it makes the remainder of the scene that directly follows even more so, as Todd tries to rob Rahad, and a shootout ensues. It remains an incredibly memorable scene for many reasons, but it’s effectiveness is undeniably elevated by the Moment of Reflection expertly placed at it’s core.

As seen from these examples, the contextual placement of Moments of Reflection is integral to the success of the moments themselves, and the films as a whole. However, context doesn’t do all the work, as these two 2017 releases (Good Time, directed by the Safdie brothers, and Call Me By Your Name, directed by Luca Guadagnino) expertly combine wonderful performances from their leading men with transcendent original soundtrack to create moving and memorable Moments of Reflection.

In Good Time, Robert Pattinson plays Connie, who along with his developmentally challenged brother Nick (Benny Safdie), attempt to rob a bank. Nicky is arrested and hospitalised, leading Connie on a night-long odyssey to break him free. After a tumultuous and action-packed night, and a case of mistaken identity, Connie ends up with an incidental accomplice named Ray (Buddy Duress), hiding out in a high-rise apartment block. As the police eventually close in, Connie is arrested. As he’s apprehended and brought to the police car, both Connie and the viewer see the innocent Ray, attempting to escape on the side of the building, and eventually falling to his death. It’s right at this moment that Connie is put into the vehicle. We see him look back one more time at the mess he’s created, before the car speeds off. A 60-second shot follows, a slow zoom towards Connie as he, and the viewer, reflect on the events of the film. Pattinson looks crazed, terrified, devastated, and stoic, all at once. Pattinson’s performance is stellar throughout the entire film, and the slow zoom allows the viewer one last chance to focus and absorb his on screen aura.

Connie (Robert Pattinson) in Good Time / dir. Josh & Benny Safdie

The Oneohtrix Point Never original score is one of the highlights of the entire film, and this final scene is no different. It remains dark and eerie, but with a reflective, hopeful feeling. A distinctive melody breaks through for one of the first times, which when partnered with one of the first steady shots (and by far the longest take), creates a feeling entirely unique to the rest of the film. As the police car’s cage puts our protagonist behind metaphorical bars, we, and Connie, realise that it’s all over. The entire film has been an attempt to evade the police, and reunite with his brother. Now, driven home by the final cut from Connie’s face into his brother Nick’s, they won’t be reunited, and Connie will be locked up. The question of whether Connie is beneficial for Nick and his condition is floated from the very first scene, and now it hits home, the viewer forced to consider what’s best for the brothers. The Safdie brother’s combination of Pattinson’s performance, the Vangelis-inspired original score, and use of camera techniques and contextual placement all create a powerful Moment of Reflection to complete Connie’s arc.

Call Me By Your Name, Luca Guadagnino’s adaptation of Andre Aciman’s novel, is a sun-drenched, sensual yet heart-wrenching love story of two young men set in the Italian countryside in 1983, starring Armie Hammer and Timothee Chalamet. The film’s final scene, which continues into the credit sequence, is one of the more memorable in recent years. Due in equal parts to Chalamet’s performance, the spellbinding original song by Sufjan Stevens, a beautifully constructed final shot, mise-en-scene, and of course the rest of the film that came before it. A few months have passed since Oliver (Hammer) and Elio’s (Chalamet) love affair, and Oliver is back home, and getting married. Elio is shown talking to Oliver on the phone, who tells him that he “remembers everything”. Heartbroken and deeply saddened, we see Elio kneel by the fire in his family home, as we hear nothing but the crackling of the fire. In the script for the film, the only direction was “Elio stares at the fire and thinks of his life”. Guadagnino and Chalamet together made that line into something much more. The final shot of the film, we cut to a close up of Elio, a tear twinkling in his eye, with an ever so small smile, wrought with longing. We see the snow falling in the background window, the summer sun that shone over their relationship now turned to winter. Sufjan Steven’s beautiful ‘Visions of Gideon’ was written for the film, and the mood is perfect for it’s heartbreaking finale. Instead of fading to black, or cutting to a montage, we remain solely with Elio, his smile twisting as he tries to hold back tears. Just as his father had advised him in the monologue preceding this scene, Elio doesn’t look away from his pain, he takes it on in full, as to not forget the joy. And by keeping the camera on Elio, we can’t help but feel his pain too. 

Elio (Timothée Chalamet) in Call Me By Your Name / dir. Luca Guadagnino

After just under a minute, the credits begin to roll, but the image remains. Eventually figures appear in the background, setting the dinner table behind Elio.  This shows that the world continues on around him, even after heartbreak, life goes on. We stay here for the duration of the song, just over 3 minutes, with Chalamet’s face communicating so much, with so little. To think how much this final scene left an imprint of those that viewed the film, especially in the cinema, and how just a few minutes of reflection, can elevate the material before it so much. This finale is a perfect combination of primarily acting and music, but the context, the mise-en-scene and the shot itself all work in harmony to craft an incredibly affecting Moment of Reflection.

As demonstrated by these four examples, all different kinds of films and filmmakers can and have utilised these specific moments to elevate the emotional resonance of their material. All kinds of factors are in play to create an effective Moment of Reflection. An understanding of decoupage, and of the film(s) as a whole, is vital to their effectiveness. In Pusher & Good Time, the camerawork and visual style throughout the film makes the final, static Moment of Reflection far more powerful. In Call Me By Your Name, feelings are constantly masked and hidden, but the final scene is nothing but unbridled emotion for over 3 minutes, giving the scene exceptional emotional weight. In Boogie Nights, the minute long static shot on Dirk is so out of place from the rest of the film that it sticks out like a sore thumb, but the audience can’t look away. It’s a fine-line between being inconsistent and being outstanding, and in Boogie Nights, Paul Thomas Anderson achieved the latter.

During this research project, I watched all kinds of films not discussed here, trying to find a commonality between them and these moments I’ve been searching for. I found in many of them, including Antonioni’s The Passenger, Roland Klick’s Supermarkt, Harmony Korine’s Spring Breakers, Claire Denis’ Beau Travail, Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog & Night on Earth, and Truffaut’s The 400 Blows, that fragments of these moments I was searching for where strewn about, but none were as concrete and as definitive as the 4 examples I’ve focused on. A common feeling when watching these films was that of unclear motivations and goals of the film’s protagonists. The question of why John Locke abandons his own life and steals a dead man’s identity in The Passenger is unclear, so a Moment of Reflection for his character may have fallen flat. Antonioni seems to be a filmmaker that communicates with visuals, less than emotional performances. In Beau Travail, the feelings of Sgt. Galoup towards the young soldier Sentain are largely unexplained, yet they are communicated poetically, using colour, pattern and space, as opposed to more conventional narrative devices. We don’t know these characters and their backgrounds, and this is purposeful, as the visuals and the feelings of the film are stronger communicators than any melodrama could muster. The disconnect is sometimes the strongest feeling.

Clockwise L-R: Beau Travail, The Passenger, Night on Earth, The 400 Blows, Ghost Dog and Supermarkt

The same goes for the other films I’ve mentioned. Feelings of reflection, introspection, wonderment, hopelessness, escapism and enlightenment are all abundantly present throughout, but the motivations are not as crystal clear as in the examples I’ve focused on, so techniques other than Moments of Reflection are employed. These films are undoubtedly more ‘difficult’ than the four I’ve focused on, and perhaps this says why. Moments of Reflection are a direct way to get your audience to empathise with the film’s characters, and perhaps that’s something not all filmmakers want. It’s important to understand that while these moments have their place, and can be invaluable as a tool to not only create an empathetic connection, but harbour a film and it’s feeling long in the viewer’s mind after it is over, they are not for every film. Every film has it’s own style, it’s own coverage that is dictated by the story, by the film itself. As David Lynch says, first comes the idea, then comes the rest. The visuals exist only around the idea, and if a moment of reflection is ideal for the success of an idea, than I compel filmmakers to use it. But to suggest that the feelings and ideas communicated by Beau Travail, Ghost Dog or The 400 Blows did not stick with me long after the films were over, I’d be lying.

FIN

LINK TO REFLECTIONS

Films referenced in this report:

Boogie Nights 1997, Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson
The Passenger 1975, Directed by Michelangelo Antonioni
Beau Travail 1999, Directed by Claire Denis
Call Me By Your Name 2017, Directed by Luca Guadagnino
Night On Earth 1991, Directed by Jim Jarmusch
Ghost Dog: The Way of The Samurai 1999, Directed by Jim Jarmusch
Supermarkt 1974, Directed by Roland Klick
Spring Breakers 2012, Directed by Harmony Korine
Pusher 1996, Directed by Nicholas Winding Refn
Good Time 2017, Directed by Josh & Benny Safdie
Les Quatre Cents Coups 1959, Directed by François Truffaut