Perfection in Cinema: the Moment when a Film says "I'm Finished"
What is perfection in cinema? There's no easy definition: for one it might be the film with the most perfect performances combined with the best writing -- the film that mimics reality best; for another, it might be the most entertaining film; for another still, it might be some ideal combination of cinematography, editing, music, writing and lighting; and for the next person, it might be some combination of all three of these points. Yet, the subjective experience of each of these descriptions will always fall in the way of reaching some definition of perfection; one person's perfect cinematography is the next persons compositional nightmare. So, we could then approach perfection in cinema as a game of universal definitions: good editing is this way, and anyone who says otherwise is wrong; but clearly this becomes problematic when it comes to creativity and expression within the art of film-making. This question becomes even more interesting as we approach the content of cinema: can a perfect film contain immoral characters? can the perfect film contain ideas/images juxtaposed in ways that we might not initially considered perfect? can it contain new metaphors and analogies, ones which might initially not make conceptual sense? This list of questions lead us to a sort of paradox at the heart of the question of the perfect film: can cinematic perfection exist on imperfect content? It seems to be a basic paradox that imperfect subject matter creates what we consider perfection: Daniel Plainview being a manipulative, greedy, soulless, imperfect human being is the source of the perfection that people see in There Will Be Blood; the imperfection within his character is the canvas upon which perfect shots and musical genius is allowed to flourish. It feels fundamentally imperfect, that imperfection is required for perfection to exist. So, is there a perfect film?
So, on the one hand: I don't think there is any combination of frames, cast members, lighting, music and edits (not to mention possible camera positions and possible word combinations) that would make some holy transcendental perfect films. I don't really think there should be either: perfection is stasis; if we were to attain some cinematic perfection, there would be no reason to make another film, and no reason to watch other films. Films operate on dissonance, on paradox, on juxtaposition and irony; these things are anything but perfection; they show that cinematic imperfection is often the driving force of quality within any film. Perfection is just as unattainable as God, just as unattainable as perfect complete knowledge. Films are built, written and viewed through change -- characters grow, sets are built and destroyed, cycles established and broken -- changes which always feels perfect, but also contain the imperfection of the past and future, the possibility of failure and death. The creation of a film itself -- drafting a script, creating characters, building sets, spending money, hiring and firing actors and stage-hands and extras -- always contain imperfection as well: maybe Willem Dafoe would have made a better David Plainview, maybe a different editor would have left something out that didn't need to be there. There is no perfection in either of these process: there is always something lost, something forgotten, something missing. Making a film is reaching out with an idea, and hoping things stick as it moves forward; an imperfect reach into the unknown of creation.
Yet, on the other hand: there is still something "perfect" about this process. When this process happens well, when the craft of the film happens to "stick the landing", there's a satisfaction that is indescribable. Everything feels right even though it's wrong. Everything comes out well even though it's unsettling. David slaps Eli; Eli slaps David; David kills Eli. Imperfect actions crafted to a perverse perfection. We get to the end ("I'm finished") and we feel a sense of relief, stunned silence falls over us. Things are left out, years are transgressed without a second glance, but the film still feels complete. And even more, the film feels complete, but ideas and scenes where left out, possible paths the film could have traversed were unexplored. The film expands outward once it's done; there's another story to tell, another character to follow. Here, the "perfection" of the film lies in the dedication to the possibility settled on. And maybe this is enough to make it perfect (I am clearly over thinking the definition); the perfect film is the film rooted in it's own choices so fully that one comes to the end feeling finished ("I'm finished").
This question of cinematic perfection comes up a lot when I approach writing a review (or in this case, a longish essay). The word perfect is used so often for so many different aspects of the cinematic experience (sometimes used to describe the fact that a shot simply lined up well, or that an edit made contextual sense, sometimes used to describe the effemeral quality that we often feel at the end of our personal favorite films ("I'm finished"); I feel like the word perfect looses it's meaning. So introducing a film -- There Will Be Blood -- that is frequently described as perfect, I think it's important to place a bit more uncertainty on the term "perfect" (hence the quotations around the term). Additionally, I think it's important to question the type of perfection that we should be aiming for when watching films: a film that is easily digestible and entertaining, yet safe and unassuming, might be perfect in the technical sense, but not perfect in the more important social, political, emotional, philosophical senses. Clarity is important, essentially, in describing why something is perfect.
For example, I think Naked Lunch is a “perfect” film for very different reasons than I think There Will Be Blood is a perfect film. Naked Lunch is a mess of themes, ideas and characters. In the traditional sense, it is highly imperfect: technical elements are somewhat rudimentary, script is bizarre, the most interesting aspect of it is probably the gross effects. Yet, I think this is precisely why I think it is perfect: there is something to discuss, there are things to consider when you approach Naked Lunch, precisely because it is not ordered and neat, precisely because there are holes. I like this type of imperfection: I find it meaningful; I find it perversely perfect, in my own way. There Will Be Blood, on the other hand, does not fall into this category. I think it's perfect for it mastery of technical film making and the epic scale on which it is shot. It's such an incredible thing to behold, such a wild thing to view, that it's hard not to call it “perfect” for all its cinematic qualities.
My question then: which film is more interesting? I get to the end of There Will Be Blood: "I'm finished". I am open mouthed. I am in awe. I loved it. It's a fascinating character study, an epic plot, a technical achievement on every level. It's achievement, however, are complete. They are over; they are finished. The work of the film does not leave the action open. Themes are tied together for the audience; the action is concluded in a satisfying way. Characters fulfill their arcs. Everything is accounted for. Finished. What do we get out of this? How do we participate in this? I don't know; I find it quite challenging. Naked Lunch, on the other hand, is a film that demands to be read, to be participated in. It's themes, at least to me, have never felt that closed, have never felt inaccessible. I always feel as if I can make my own conclusions about the film. In fact, it demands this of me. This is what I find far more interesting in cinema: the call to interpretation that a film can lead from it's audience. There is no perfection in this, as everyone is going to be called to different films, pulled into the reading of different plots and shots, different scripts and actors. That, at least, is far more interesting to me.
So, on the one hand: I don't think there is any combination of frames, cast members, lighting, music and edits (not to mention possible camera positions and possible word combinations) that would make some holy transcendental perfect films. I don't really think there should be either: perfection is stasis; if we were to attain some cinematic perfection, there would be no reason to make another film, and no reason to watch other films. Films operate on dissonance, on paradox, on juxtaposition and irony; these things are anything but perfection; they show that cinematic imperfection is often the driving force of quality within any film. Perfection is just as unattainable as God, just as unattainable as perfect complete knowledge. Films are built, written and viewed through change -- characters grow, sets are built and destroyed, cycles established and broken -- changes which always feels perfect, but also contain the imperfection of the past and future, the possibility of failure and death. The creation of a film itself -- drafting a script, creating characters, building sets, spending money, hiring and firing actors and stage-hands and extras -- always contain imperfection as well: maybe Willem Dafoe would have made a better David Plainview, maybe a different editor would have left something out that didn't need to be there. There is no perfection in either of these process: there is always something lost, something forgotten, something missing. Making a film is reaching out with an idea, and hoping things stick as it moves forward; an imperfect reach into the unknown of creation.
Yet, on the other hand: there is still something "perfect" about this process. When this process happens well, when the craft of the film happens to "stick the landing", there's a satisfaction that is indescribable. Everything feels right even though it's wrong. Everything comes out well even though it's unsettling. David slaps Eli; Eli slaps David; David kills Eli. Imperfect actions crafted to a perverse perfection. We get to the end ("I'm finished") and we feel a sense of relief, stunned silence falls over us. Things are left out, years are transgressed without a second glance, but the film still feels complete. And even more, the film feels complete, but ideas and scenes where left out, possible paths the film could have traversed were unexplored. The film expands outward once it's done; there's another story to tell, another character to follow. Here, the "perfection" of the film lies in the dedication to the possibility settled on. And maybe this is enough to make it perfect (I am clearly over thinking the definition); the perfect film is the film rooted in it's own choices so fully that one comes to the end feeling finished ("I'm finished").
This question of cinematic perfection comes up a lot when I approach writing a review (or in this case, a longish essay). The word perfect is used so often for so many different aspects of the cinematic experience (sometimes used to describe the fact that a shot simply lined up well, or that an edit made contextual sense, sometimes used to describe the effemeral quality that we often feel at the end of our personal favorite films ("I'm finished"); I feel like the word perfect looses it's meaning. So introducing a film -- There Will Be Blood -- that is frequently described as perfect, I think it's important to place a bit more uncertainty on the term "perfect" (hence the quotations around the term). Additionally, I think it's important to question the type of perfection that we should be aiming for when watching films: a film that is easily digestible and entertaining, yet safe and unassuming, might be perfect in the technical sense, but not perfect in the more important social, political, emotional, philosophical senses. Clarity is important, essentially, in describing why something is perfect.
For example, I think Naked Lunch is a “perfect” film for very different reasons than I think There Will Be Blood is a perfect film. Naked Lunch is a mess of themes, ideas and characters. In the traditional sense, it is highly imperfect: technical elements are somewhat rudimentary, script is bizarre, the most interesting aspect of it is probably the gross effects. Yet, I think this is precisely why I think it is perfect: there is something to discuss, there are things to consider when you approach Naked Lunch, precisely because it is not ordered and neat, precisely because there are holes. I like this type of imperfection: I find it meaningful; I find it perversely perfect, in my own way. There Will Be Blood, on the other hand, does not fall into this category. I think it's perfect for it mastery of technical film making and the epic scale on which it is shot. It's such an incredible thing to behold, such a wild thing to view, that it's hard not to call it “perfect” for all its cinematic qualities.
My question then: which film is more interesting? I get to the end of There Will Be Blood: "I'm finished". I am open mouthed. I am in awe. I loved it. It's a fascinating character study, an epic plot, a technical achievement on every level. It's achievement, however, are complete. They are over; they are finished. The work of the film does not leave the action open. Themes are tied together for the audience; the action is concluded in a satisfying way. Characters fulfill their arcs. Everything is accounted for. Finished. What do we get out of this? How do we participate in this? I don't know; I find it quite challenging. Naked Lunch, on the other hand, is a film that demands to be read, to be participated in. It's themes, at least to me, have never felt that closed, have never felt inaccessible. I always feel as if I can make my own conclusions about the film. In fact, it demands this of me. This is what I find far more interesting in cinema: the call to interpretation that a film can lead from it's audience. There is no perfection in this, as everyone is going to be called to different films, pulled into the reading of different plots and shots, different scripts and actors. That, at least, is far more interesting to me.
The two films that you describe as being perfect performed very differently during their respective award seasons. How is perfection modelled and shaped by institutions such as The Academy? Does this mean that the model of perfection—determined by the elite—shifts over time? Therefore, what can we say about perfections and how this stands over time?
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comment! This is probably one of my biggest pet peeves about talking about cinema -- that certain films are simply good because they are the most liked and awarded films. Yet, it is a sin we all commit: we all cite that academy awards as a way to defend our love of movies like Parasite, which is a good film regardless of which accolades it receives. I find this claim annoying because the reasons that people really like famous, well awarded, films (like the Godfather trilogy, Star Wars, 2001, Shawshank, name any other movie that people cite as the best, which also appears on the IMDB top 100 list) have often been lost, or at least remain profoundly under researched. They become this sort of eternal Form of goodness in cinema, which pervades all of cinema discussion. Sure they are great films, but I feel like there's a tendency to use them as a bench mark for all other movies, to hold them up a way to compare. I think the Academy is absolutely this sort of institution: they look for films that got good press, that seem to have a good message (ie. Green Book or Crash, two films which seem to have good messages but ultimately are too simple and apologist to be meaningful), and give the academy a good name. I guess this format was shaken up last year with Parasite being the winner, which is excellent. But Parasite is absolutely another version of a Perfect film, as I describe above, so I wonder if we might simply see the academy as a good metric on what is considered perfect -- good cinematography, good acting, good plot and pacing. They aren't there to judge high art but to assess the good enjoyable films which come out for everyone.... I wonder if maybe cinematic language is just really typical and there is a "tried and tested method" which people are looking for?
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