by Tony DayoubEvery film writer today should pay particularly close attention to Farber's essay, "The Gimp" (written for Commentary in 1952), one of four landmark essays editor Robert Polito singles out in his introduction to Farber on Film: The Complete Film Writings of Manny Farber (824 pp. Library of America $40.00) as "B-movie-steeped, careering slams of the 1950s and '60s" that gave Farber some measure of "notoriety as a film critic." In it, he warns the reader of the "Gimp," derived from a string lady golfers used in the Victorian era to raise their hem ever so slightly when preparing to hit the ball. He proceeds to apply this concept to fifties cinema:
Something like this device has now been developed in Hollywood. Whenever the modern film-maker feels that his movie has taken too conventional a direction and is neglecting "art," he need only jerk the Gimp-string, and—behold!—curious and exotic but "psychic" images are flashed before the audience, peppering things up at the crucial moment...His subsequent takedown of such now-venerated films as Sunset Boulevard (1950) and A Place in the Sun (1951) can be quite shocking to today's film aficionados. But it also reminds one that it is the victors that write the history books. Twenty, thirty years from now, won't it be Slumdog Millionaire—last year's flash-in-the-trash winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture—which will be remembered over the far superior Synecdoche, New York, which received nary a nomination? One doesn't even need to go back that far to see a good example of this. Go back to 2007 and scratch your head when you wonder why David Fincher's Zodiac continues to be ignored by all but the most informed movie-lovers. But I digress...
The point is that "The Gimp" is quite a relevant essay at this particular point in 2009, when film writers start determining their best of 2009 lists, or for that matter their best of the 00s; when Hollywood starts getting its "For Your Consideration" ad campaigns together; when theaters start exhibiting its Oscar-bait films that seem to have something important to say (some try to say it before you even sit your ass in the theater—Precious Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire anyone?) but don't know how to do it without hitting you on the head. "The Gimp" speaks to this, and film writers should heed its warning:
The Gimp is the technique, in effect, of enhancing the ordinary with a different dimension, sensational and yet seemingly credible. Camera set-ups, bits of business, lines... are contrived into saying too much. Every moment of a movie is provided with comment about American society. "Original" characters are sought, the amount of illogical and implausible material is increased, to such a point that movies which try to be semidocumentary actually seem stranger than the Tarzan-Dracula-King Kong fantasy.
Farber so convincingly breaks down the contrivances set up by filmmakers, he even manages to zing this writer with one of his favorite films 1951's A Streetcar Named Desire by pointing out the manipulation behind one of this writer's favorite performances, that of Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski:
...the hero, a sharp-witted Polish mechanic, conveys heavy passion by stuttering the first syllables of his sentences and mumbling the rest as though through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, a device that naturally forces the spectator to sociological speculation; disgusted with the fact that the hero has apparently been raised in a pigpen, the spectator is impelled to think about the relation of environment to individual development. Tennessee Williams's hero is getting ahead in his work, is a loving husband, makes "those colored lights" with his sexual genius, and is possessed of a delicate moral sensitivity. But all these bourgeois attributes have to be matched with their opposites for the sake of excitement, and so [director Elia] Kazan pulls his [Gimp-]string and you see the Polack slobbering, licking his paws, howling like a troglodyte, hitting his wife so hard that he sends her to the maternity hospital, playing poker like an ape-man, exuding an atmosphere of wild screams, rape, crashing china and drunkenness. And to make sure every two-year-old will understand how bad life is in this Grimm's fairy-tale hovel, Kazan hammers his point home with continual sinister lights, dancing shadows, gaseous oozings.Farber's cranky expressiveness is so persuasive in its description of Brando's performance (as directed by Kazan, he keeps reminding you), by the time one gets to the final line of the paragraph and he says "every two-year-old," one realizes he is the two-year-old to which Farber is directing his diatribe. See? Farber is not above pulling his own Gimp-string when necessary.
To contemporary audiences, more so than his 1952 readers, the most astonishing aspect of the essay is how Farber utilizes Citizen Kane (1941), of all films, to drive his point home. This essay is surely one of the earliest ones to praise Welles' film, even with a backhanded compliment like this one:
Citizen Kane and its Gimp-effects were generally laughed off by high-brows in Hollywood and elsewhere...But one had the feeling, during the war years, that, as Hollywood turned out dozens of progressively more realistic action films... it was more than a little concerned with what Welles had done in the symbolic enriching of a movie through florid mannerisms.And what are these "florid mannerisms?" Why some of the techniques that have become standard in today's cinema: dark cinematography, unusual camera angles, deep-focus photography, worm's eye views, flashbacks, fragmented storytelling...
...mismated shock effects that had never been seen before in Hollywood... The spectator had trouble arranging these disparate items into a convincing visual whole, but his brain was mobilized into all sorts of ruminations about avarice, monomania, and other compulsions. Even the devices for moving the story along were complicating and interrupting...
Farber's conclusion?
There were certain dramatic high points like the rough-cut in the "March of Time" projection room, the kid outside the window in the legacy scene, and the lurid presentation of an electioneering stage. But in between these was a great deal of talk, much less action, and almost no story.One could easily mistake such words about the Welles' landmark film as damning, but Farber is really just saying, sure, it worked great in Kane, and the film was innovative, but the cult of Hollywood filmmakers that sprung up around the film has learned the wrong lessons from it. He goes on to lament the virtual extinction of the naturalistic film, wondering if Hollywood will ever "be able to go home again."
Are there any Hollywood filmmakers currently out there, eschewing the use of the Gimp in their films? Maybe because I just reviewed Public Enemies, the type of B-movie Farber might have championed, Michael Mann, with his attempts at verisimilitude through his use of the digital camera and emphasizing action over expository dialogue, strikes me as a rather obvious example. What filmmakers can you think of that aspire to stay clear of Farber's Gimp?
7 comments:
It's a great essay, like so much of Farber's work, because it not only perfectly describes a particular cinematic approach, but it does so with style and wit. It's also a reminder that what we take for granted today as the foundations of film style are actually coincidences of history and influence, and that we needn't have arrived at this particular place if certain films hadn't existed or hadn't held quite the sway they eventually did over the cinematic imaginations of those who came after them.
As for your question, there are contemporary filmmakers who shamelessly pull the Gimp-string who I nevertherless admire: Richard Kelly, David Gordon Green, Quentin Tarantino, Darren Aronofsky, Michael Haneke. Paul Verhoeven more than anyone, and more self-consciously than anyone.
But who eschews such devices? Robert Altman often, but not always, did. Michael Mann, sure. Otherwise, I wonder if the quality of avoiding the Gimp is more common in non-American directors these days: Claire Denis, Claude Chabrol, Jacques Rivette, Eric Rohmer. Oliver Assayas' sublimeSummer Hours resists all impulses towards melodrama or Gimping, though the story would've naturally lent itself towards such histrionics. I love movies like theirs, where when you walk out afterwards not knowing what to think, it's not because you're confused or ambivalent, but because the directors have genuinely given the audience some credit, have left themes and emotional undercurrents beneath the surface to be explored and teased out, instead of smearing the screen with obvious symbols and manipulative conceits.
Then again, there is something to be said for filmmakers who use the Gimp well, who acknowledge that they're jerking the audience around, pushing the audience towards a predetermined reaction in an artful way. Hitchcock, anyone?
I actually think QT, picking up from Ed's post, is effective at using the Gimp to lead people away from deeper messages. The mood of Inglourious Basterds is one of jubilation, lost in its "movie-movie" revelry, yet it's not entirely evident at first that he isn't celebrating the story as a revenge fantasy (though in retrospect that juxtaposition between German audience and IB's real-life audience is impossible not to see once it clicks). Also, the "eggplant" speech in his script for True Romance showed a sly understanding of racial hatred without making it absurdly obvious.
But for a skilled Gimp user I'd probably cite Scorsese, who can make some wild contrivances and emotional moments work through the visceral nature of his direction.
As for someone who doesn't, that's tough. Farber's definition applies to the vast majority of cinema (or at least commercially viable films). Jarmsuch, maybe? I think he said more about race and American imperialism in Dead Man through stark minimalism than Paul Haggis ever has through shameless Gimp-pulling. Bah, this is difficult, but it only reminds me that I need to order Farber's collection after Xmas (it is, of course, nowhere to be found in a bookstore chain).
Great thoughts here, Tony. And I love the Farber essay, too. I like the list that Ed mentions in his comment. One of the things that interest me about the Gimp-string device is that I have often -- and I can only assume we all have -- fallen for it and hold many films in high esteem that use this method.
Like you and Ed both claim: it's not there aren't good filmmakers out there who employ this method. I like your example of Mann, who I couldn't agree with you more on Public Enemies (I loved your Blu-ray review, by the way), and his abilities to eschew the Gimp method. Of course if you mention Mann you have to mention Terrance Malick, two contemporary poets working with cinema. Also the French new wave master Jean-Pierre Melville...well let's just assume, as Ed rightfully does, that most non-American filmmakers are better at eschewing the Gimp method...the Dardenne Brothers come to mind here, too.
I also love what you say here:
Twenty, thirty years from now, won't it be Slumdog Millionaire—last year's flash-in-the-trash winner of the Academy Award for Best Picture—which will be remembered over the far superior Synecdoche, New York, which received nary a nomination? One doesn't even need to go back that far to see a good example of this. Go back to 2007 and scratch your head when you wonder why David Fincher's Zodiac continues to be ignored by all but the most informed movie-lovers.
The thought of Slumdog being more remembered than Synechdoche or Zodiac is a nauseating one, but I don’t know if it’s necessarily true. Sure mainstream critics and worthless ranking endeavors like what the AFI does will view it as a better film, but I don’t think Boyle’s film is worth a damn where it counts: film classrooms. Perhaps I’m giving too much credit to film teachers, but I think that films like Zodiac will be studied and taught with the proper amount of attention while films like Slumdog will fall by the wayside. At least that’s what I hope for, hehe.
I'll add that I like Ed's list of filmmakers who shamelessly "pull the Gimp-string" and agree with most of them. Good stuff here, Tony. I'm sure I have more to add so maybe I'll come back and add a little more to the conversation later...I'm off to write another paper for grad school, hehe.
Great post and discussion. This is a reminder of why Farber on Film is on my Christmas list.
The only thing I don't like about the "Gimp-string" analogy -- and correct me if I'm wrong -- is that Farber applies it so liberally that it almost means nothing. Essentially it's a way to look clever when criticizing a film for going too far. It makes a very subjective (and often emotional) analysis seem scientific (and cerebral).
In general spirit I understand where he's coming from, and I nod my head in agreement that Public Enemies would seem to fit. Whether Farber would agree, I don't know. He might find the Biograph sequence, in which Dillinger's self image is played for him on the big screen, to be Gimp-string-ish. Or maybe not. Again, it comes down to a very subjective analysis of when a film goes too far, whatever that means.
Having said that, some well stated thoughts here by Ed, that are worth repeating:
It's also a reminder that what we take for granted today as the foundations of film style are actually coincidences of history and influence, and that we needn't have arrived at this particular place if certain films hadn't existed or hadn't held quite the sway they eventually did over the cinematic imaginations of those who came after them.
Amen, brother.
As for the aside on Slumdog Millionaire ... No question, history is written by the victors, so the film will be more memorable than it would have been had it lost. Then again, as I just touched on in a recent post, when's the last time you've thought about Chariots of Fire? Winning ain't everything.
What will be interesting is this: Awards remain. Lists remain. But the blogosphere is new and is changing the way film fans process and remember cinema. I have to think there will be some effect as a result (some positive, some negative), and part of it will hopefully be that a film like Synecdoche will continue to be championed (if not by me), while less impressive or only fleetingly entertaining pictures drift away. Awards and lists often had the final word before. Not so much anymore, or so I hope.
Lastly, I think Zodiac is a special case. It came out in what happened to be an atypically great year in cinema. It's a shame that the debate regularly seems to include only No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood, but hopefully Zodiac will linger. Linking it back to Mann, movies like Heat are reason to have faith that greatness will be recognized in the end.
I agree with you on Assayas' SUMMER HOURS, Ed. What a glorious film. I'd also add Desplechin, and last night I caught a great Chilean film, LA NANA (THE MAID), that never pulls the Gimp-string. What's amazing about all of these films (and you're right about it being a quality more common to non-American directors) is how they often border on the mundane (for lack of a better word), but still manage to be extremely interesting. American audiences are so conditioned to wait for the other shoe to drop that when one of these films avoids contrivances designed to amp up the stakes in the story it completely messes with their heads. THE MAID plays with those expectations in an interesting way. But sometimes, as in SUMMER HOURS, one is so intent on "something" occuring that they miss the actual story as it unfolds.
Jake, here's another director I'll throw out there who's blossoming as he grows less dependent on the Gimp: James Gray (TWO LOVERS). I highly recommend that film if you haven't seen it.
Kevin, I've fallen as often for the Gimp as you have if not more so. But once you read this essay, it makes you hyperaware of it. I hope that's only a temporary effect because if not it will probably potentially ruin more than a few films for me. See, I also love Malick, but I tend to think Farber would see him as the ultimate Gimp-meister. His narrators often seem to exhibit a kind of thoughtful prescience that seldom seems evident in the actual text of the film. I'm not complaining necessarily... I hold all of his films in high regard, particularly DAYS OF HEAVEN and THE NEW WORLD. But the language in each of these film's narration often strikes me as a bit too eloquent even if one assumes the character is speaking in hindsight. To paraphrase BAD LIEUTENANT's Terrence McDonagh, it's like their soul is talking. It certainly isn't the actual character in the film.
The only thing I don't like about the "Gimp-string" analogy -- and correct me if I'm wrong -- is that Farber applies it so liberally that it almost means nothing. Essentially it's a way to look clever when criticizing a film for going too far. It makes a very subjective (and often emotional) analysis seem scientific (and cerebral).
I think it only feels like he applies it liberally, because the point I may have failed to bring into my piece is that Farber believes that the Gimp so appropriately used for CITIZEN KANE had the unexpected side effect of impressing filmmakers so much that almost every subsequent American film after that began to emulate (not always successfully but in a more shallow way) KANE in its style. Many would agree that yes, KANE did change American cinema. I just think he disagrees that it was for the better. He implies that before KANE, American cinema was less theatrical and more naturalistic.
Sorry if I'm being didactic, I just want to make sure I get the point across.
I do hope you're right about the effects and influence the blogosphere might have on the future of cinema. But I tend to think that it's going to ultimately be the death knell for Hollywood in much the same way it blew up the lanscape of the music industry. With digital filmmaking and the flexibility of watching films on multiple platforms, I believe that the audience will become so fragmented that small cult clusters will sprout up around individual films, but you'll rarely see a financial success on the level of TITANIC, if ever, again. You can already see the cults growing around BASTERDS and A SERIOUS MAN this year, despite the fact that it's arguable either is widely known to the masses.
First on Malick: ...it's like their soul is talking. It certainly isn't the actual character in the film.
Yes! Indeed! Amen! In other words, I particularly love that about Malick films, and yet some of the people who don't "get" Malick, don't get him for exactly this reason, because for some reason they assume the voice-over should sound like the actual character. I've always thought the poetry of the voice-overs works, because I believe our souls are eloquent ... they speak to us in profound ways, even if not in the same words. Anyway, had to touch on that.
As for the Gimp ...
Not didactic at all. Indeed, I need to read the full piece. I guess I'm saying that if he applied the Gimp only to filmmaking devices, I think it would have more meaning by being about less. Because at that point the Gimp would represent -- in large part -- any moment in which we're concentrating on the filmmaking and not the end result. This is something I repeatedly bring up related to uninterrupted tracking shots or other long takes. So often the allure is in the lack of a cut ("Wow! How'd Alfonso Cuaron do that!?!?") and not in the effect of the lack of cutting. In other words, the lack of cutting calls attention to itself, rather than enhancing what's going on. (I've been slowly working on a piece about this, by the way.) But I digress.
Anyway, since Farber also applies the Gimp to Brando in Streetcar, it just seems a bit too broad to be useful.
Admittedly, I still might not be getting it. I need to read the full piece. But that's my gut reaction to this point.
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