Object #5 - Pudding - Dragon Ball Z: Battle of Gods (2013)

Dir. Masahiro Hosoda

If you're a child of the 90's like me, you're far more likely to have enjoyed the brilliance that is the Dragon Ball Z series, and maybe even the original Dragon Ball, and Dragon Ball GT spin-off. I've never lost my love for this series despite it's conclusion back in, for us English readers, 2003. The more I watch other fantasy and science-fiction shows, the more inventive I find Dragon Ball Z. The concept of the Saiyans, an ape-like warrior race from space; the villains, from galactic tyrant Frieza, the cool and collected Androids, the egotistical Cell, and of course, Majin Buu, the pink blob demon himself; and all the characters of the series, with Krillin, Yamcha, Bulma, and the like from Dragon Ball, and the new characters of DBZ - Vegeta, Gohan, Trunks, and so on.

It's characters that make this show so special, and it's for that reason that today's object, the Pudding, is being discussed. Battle of Gods was the first official continuation of DBZ written by Akira Toriyama, since the anime series concluded back in 2003. It was released in Japan in 2013, with the English Funimation dub released in 2014 in the US. In it, the God of Destruction Beerus, pictured below, awakens from his 39 year slumber, with a premonition of a Super Saiyan God, a warrior to match his talents, now being active. We know from the series that our hero, Goku, has attained Super Saiyan form multiple times, from the first from to the most powerful, Super Saiyan 3. So too have other surviving Saiyans such as Vegeta and Trunks, although only Goku has reached Super Saiyan 3. 

Lord Beerus meets Goku, who knows nothing of a Super Saiyan God, and completely outclasses him in a short fight, even with Goku in Super Sayian 3 form. We know that Beerus will mean business if he gets angry, which is a valid concern as he's an impatient God, who only seems tamed by food and simple distractions. Beerus and his guardian Whis travel to Earth to speak to Vegeta about any information on the Super Saiyan God. Vegeta's wife, the human Bulma is having a birthday party and nearly all of our beloved characters from the series are here, including some cameos from original Dragon Ball villain and crew, Emperor Pilaf, Mai, and Chou. 

Out of the context of the film, this is clearly a celebration of the Dragon Ball universe. The first in 10 years. The plot is thin, the characterization superb, and it's just so damn enjoyable. Anyway, on to the object. Beerus loves his food, Whis asks if he's tried pudding, a rare Earth delicacy to the two. Beerus hasn't and so goes over to the fat version of Majin Buu. Now Buu himself isn't a stranger to enjoying delicacy, once a villain for the final arc of the original series, the fat Buu, the good personality of the demon, branched off. This left Super Buu and Kid Buu to be later defeated, and now fat Buu is a welcome friend to the Z fighters. This is a particular brilliance of this show, Vegeta, a central character of the series was once a villain, so too was Android 18, now married to long-time character Krillin. This sort of thing happens a lot in DBZ. So Majin Buu hogs the pudding to himself, and when asked by Beerus, need I remind you, the God of Destruction, for a cup or two. Buu, being his rude self refuses, licking all the pudding and eating it all. You can see the scene here, in behind-the-scenes form starting from :59. I recommend it just so you have an idea of how Beerus sounds, as you may be getting the wrong impression from the images, and of course Buu himself. 

This is the spark that lights the powder-keg. Beerus loses control of his anger, and threatens to destroy the entire Earth, a feat he's easily capable of. The Z fighters try and stop him, particularly Vegeta who loses his temper after Beerus slaps his wife. There's a trope in gaming called Power Creep, where newly introduced content is far more powerful than the old content. This applies to DBZ, where the first villain Frieza is defeated using Super Saiyan, Cell, the second main villain defeated with Super Saiyan 2, and Buu, the final villain of the seires, with Super Saiyan 3 and fusions of various powers. Here, Beerus is a massive power-creep, he can destroy entire planets and suns with energy blasts, and so seeing our heroes and even old villains, such as Android 18 and Majin Buu be trounced by Beerus, well, we know he's remarkably powerful. Here, the build up of hours and hours of Dragon Ball content, with slowly succeeding powers is invalidated by one new God character. 

Isn't it just hilarious that this whole fight is only happening due to pudding cups? I think so. It's such a, dare-I-say, Japanese approach...maybe that isn't right, it's likely more a Toriyama approach to the plot and characters. We have this notion, based on other TV shows and films, as well as DBZ itself, that ultra-powerful beings such as this should be serious. And yet what Toriyama does is make Beerus have rather un-threatening characterization beyond his short temper and power. Hell, earlier in the film, the God of Destruction himself does some break-dancing for fun!

All he wants is to try some pudding, as shown here in the original Japanese. And because he can't have it, he'll use his tremendous power to destroy the entire Earth. It's such a stupidly brilliant way to move the plot along and get some action, and what I love about it the most is that it involves characters above all else. Characters that we've known for years react to this pudding-obsessed God, and in typical fashion, it's Buu that sets things off. In the end, after Goku becomes a Super Saiyan God and the two fight (Beerus winning), Whis and Beerus both get some Earth food back home in their plane of existence and Beerus decides to spare the entire destruction of Earth. All because of pudding. 

So in anticipation of the Japanese release of the new Dragon Ball Z: Ressurection 'F' film next month, I hoped you've enjoyed this light-hearted foray into the world of DBZ! Anyone else hungry for some pudding...?

  

Object #4 - Jean Valjean's Candlesticks - Les Miserables (1934/2012)

Dir. Raymond Bernard (1934). Tom Hooper (2012).

Being based off the classic novel by Victor Hugo, Les Miserables has had many adaptions over the years. The most recent, an adaption of the stage-musical directed by Tom Hooper, and starring Hugh Jackman as Valjean, was successful with audiences and critics alike...mostly. Bernard's 1934 French-language adaption, clocking in at approximately 4 and a half hours in length, is hailed to this this day as the most faithful to Hugo's original work, with good reason. It stars Harry Baur as Valjean. The 1934 film was so extensive it was split into three smaller films. 

I mention all of this because it's interesting to compare how film-making changes over the years with the same work. There was also a popular version in 1998, directed by Billie August, starring Liam Neeson as Valjean which I've yet to see. Despite the obvious differences in musical vs. straight adaption, both films are a delight to watch. The 2012 version positively zips by after watching the 1934 version, in no small part due to musical numbers keeping everything engaging. But for a near five-hour film, the 1934 version is no slouch, the story moves fast enough through the plot-events of the book and is never dull enough to warrant a lack of attention. The biggest differences I noticed was the different approach to Javert's suicide. In the 1934 version, a letter is received, written by the now-deceased Javert detailing why he felt his life was no longer valuable, we see nothing of his death. Compare this to the 2012 version where one of the most pivotal songs in the film is 'Javert's Suicide', where Javert (Russell Crowe) conveys the same message as the letter, but we see it directly, including his jump into the Seine. 

But anyway, Valjean's candle-sticks. The convict Jean Valjean, released on parole from his nineteen-year sentence, is rejected from town-to-town for being a convict. He reaches a town, and seeks refuge in a church. Here, a kindly Bishop allows him to stay the night. The next day, Valjean is captured by the police, brought to the Bishop, and told that he stole the silver from the church for his own ends. The Bishop however, being a saintly man, speaks to Valjean as a friend, and tells him that he forgot to take two silver candlesticks in his haste. He relinquishes the valuables of the church, stopping Valjean from being re-imprisoned, and giving him more valuables to sell.

The approaches of the two versions are great to see. In Bernard's version, the maid of the church is extremely hesitant to allow Valjean, a convict,  to stay in the church, fearing for her life. The Bishop allows it however, and yet Valjean falls back on his old ways, stealing from the church regardless of this kindness. The same message is conveyed in Hooper's version, but far faster, and of course, through song. You can see the 2012 version's approach here, and the 1934 version here. [A nice bit of trivia also, The Bishop in Hooper's version is played by Colm Wilkinson, the original actor to play Jean Valjean in the musical stage-adaption, adding a nice meta-element to the entire exchange, as we feel that it's Valjean's actual future redeemed self influencing him. Some of the best meta-casting I've seen this side of Birdman.]

This leads to a change in Valjean's entire character. Despite the fact he only was imprisoned for stealing a loaf of bread, we see that he continues to steal, in fact, worsens, stealing more valuable objects. What the Bishop's intervention does here is make Valjean question himself, the path of his life, both past and future. You can see it here, and you should, mainly for the crescendo. Despite all criticisms of Hooper's direction, his overuse of only either close-ups (which you can see in the clip) or long tracking shots, it's damn fine cinema. Melodrama is a part of all musicals, and here it's entirely focused on Valjean. 

Skip now to far later in the film. And this is the moment that I think is brilliant, moreso in the 2012 version due to it's brevity. After Cosette (Amanda Seyfried), Valjean's adopted child has met her future love Marius (Eddie Redmayne), she wishes to stay in Paris. Valjean doesn't, as earlier in the day they saw Javert, the police inspector who has hunted Valjean his entire life. There is a quick shot of Valjean praying in front of the candlesticks. This is the first time we know what occurred to the candlesticks after Valjean re-lives his life as an honest man. In this one shot we see that he's kept them, as a symbol of the kindness of the Bishop.

It's so powerful. It tells you so much about the man without words, which are plentiful elsewhere in the film. I'll praise Hooper for this, the contrast is brilliant. Throughout his entire travels, becoming mayor of a town, meeting Fantine, escaping Javert, bargaining with the Therandiers for Cosette, and reaching Paris, he has kept these candlesticks. At his lowest low he never sold them, and in his moments of desperation he ensured that these candlesticks, gift of a now long-dead Bishop, were kept with him. They are a symbol of his redemption, his penitence, and his piety. The long-running influence of a kindly Bishop, leading to a changed man. Valjean adopts Cosette from the abusive Therandiers, redeeming his failure to save Fantine. He enters the revolutionary battle-zone to save Marius for Cosette, and succeeds. He doesn't take revenge on Javert, when he is at his mercy. This act is returned, as Javert allows him to escape saving Marius. In Bernard's version this is spoken aloud, in Hooper's it's done through the use of a gun. It leads to Javert's crisis of faith, and his suicide. And in the ending of the film, as Valjean dies, we know that Cosette and Marius will marry, happy in future. 

All of this, because of the kind actions of a Bishop, who gave a convict two candlesticks. Bravo Victor Hugo, and bravo to Bernard, Hooper, and every other director who has kept these important objects in their adaptions. In the closing moments (2012 version here), Valjean is at peace with Cosette and Marius, who know his entire tale. Hooper brings back the Bishop and Fantine as personifications of how Valjean has changed so much for the better. The film ends in heaven, a barricade, with the dead young revolutionaries, Fantine, and Valjean singing "Do you hear the people sing?". It's cinematic, it's rousing, and it encapsulates all the threads of the film, a musical celebration of liberté, égalité, fraternité, and of course redemption. 

The 1934 adaption is quieter, Valjean lays old in his bed, Cosette and Marius support him. He tells us the core message of the book, and particularly this adaption: "To love another person is to see the face of God". The camera pans to the table, to the two candlesticks alight on the table. We know that all they represent is culminated in this moment, and yet the flames, like Valjean, must die. Hooper uses The Bishop to remind us of the pivotal moment that changed Valjean's life, Bernard used the candlesticks. Both are excellent, and both transcend differences in time, film-making techniques, even colour and black-and-white, to symbolize that most pivotal of themes - love.  

Object #3 - The Joker's Pencil - The Dark Knight (2008)

Dir. Christopher Nolan

The villain's introduction. It's one of those filmic things that is a joy to behold. In the introduction of a villain/antagonist, the director normally chooses to sum up that villain's best capabilities, and more than anything, make it memorable. Hannibal Lecter standing alert in The Silence of the Lambs, Hans Landa and his pipe (spoilers!) in Inglorious Basterds, Anton Chigurh in No Country For Old Men, and most superhero films in general.  Lecter uses his sense of smell, and his wits to outperform Clarice, Landa intimidates with charm and intelligence, Chirgurh, well he kills. There's a dual purpose usually, they are not only introduced to the characters, but to we the audience.

In The Dark Knight, Heath Ledger's Joker gets a few. The initial bank robbery, and the reveal of the insane man under the clown mask. Later in Bruce Wayne's apartment - "Hello ladies and gentle-men, we are tonight's entertainment!". But this scene, the pencil trick scene, the mobster scene, the magic trick scene, whatever you want to call it, this scene is a superb introduction to the Joker's character. 

Here's a link to the scene. The role of the pencil is simple, the Joker enters laughing. The Mobsters turn surprised and incredulous. They threaten him. He responds "How about a magic trick?". He slams a pencil intro the table,"Now I'm gonna' make this pencil disappear", the mob goon moves to attack him. In one move The Joker grapples the goon, slams his head into the pencil, killing him - "Tah-da! It's...it's gone."

It's The Joker in an object. There's many others, his knives, his mask earlier in the film, his Joker card. But I think this object is the most important because it's the one used to introduce him. Oh sure, earlier in the film we get the smoke grenade in the bank teller's mouth, but this is personal, the pencil has theatrics, the pencil is a weapon, the pencil is a magic trick, a joke. The Joker's psychopathy is distilled into the deadly magic trick. We all know that magic tricks pretend to be deadly, sawing a man in half, tied up underwater, swords into a cabinet. But The Joker's, his are the real thing. The joke is on you if you don't realise this, and it's a deadly joke - A Killing Joke if you will (ha ha, nice reference). It tells you that the Joker is mean-spirited, at least on the surface. it's actually far more likely that The Joker genuinely thinks that this trick is funny. He's so insane that he needs the death to make it funny. 

It's difficult for me not to refer to other Joker portrayals as they're obviously not part of the film. Every viewer's millage with The Joker will vary. But all the pencil makes me think of is The Joker's 'BANG' gun. It's a theatrical joke at first, then it fires the flag, harpoon like, killing you. The joke that kills you personified. In The Dark Knight, it's the pencil. 

It's a perfect introduction to the Mobsters, as it's intimidating, it's a perfect introduction to us for all the reasons I've said above - it's The Joker's character distilled to an object. There's no clever film-making at work here in all honesty, just shot-reverse-shot, the element of surprise, and some damn fine acting. It's basic, it's old-school, it's...un-theatrical? Now isn't that interesting? Could this be Nolan failing to take advantage of his medium to really convey The Joker's character? Or is it more that Heath Ledger's Joker is so much more grounded than most other portrayals? His theatrics would be like this in the real-world, no camera-tricks, no fancy editing, just a pencil in someone's skull.

Then again, there is a slight degree of artificiality. The pencil clearly wouldn't be able to stand upright, or even penetrate the desk. The pencil would have to be solid metal for this to work...oh wait, it's The Joker isn't it? Hell, maybe it is metal! In all honesty I don't think we need to think about it. There's clearly an inconsistency in that Chang can even see the Joker and the mob, there's no webcam, it's an old TV, we see the goons carry it in. Was Nolan lazy? The more important question, did you even notice that Chang shouldn't be able to see events on your first viewing? You're a more pedantic person than me then, and frankly, you're clearly not enjoying Ledger enough as he is magnetic in this scene. 

So there we are, The Joker's pencil. Theatrics, psychopathy, and magic, the magic of movies.  

P.S And in an alternate universe:

Object #2 - The Earrings - Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Dir. Wes Anderson

Our second object comes from the whimsical mind of Wes Anderson. If you've never seen a Wes Anderson film before, then you're truly missing something special. His films feel like sinking into a comfy armchair, they're light, breezy and hilarious when it goes against this atmosphere. The Grand Budapest Hotel, his most recent effort to-date is likely my favourite of all his films, Fantastic Mr.Fox, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, and his most under-appreciated in my opinion, The Darjeeling Limited, are superb feats of film-making and design.  

Moonrise Kingdom tells the tale of two young kids, a Khaki scout, and an isolated girl with a penchant for old French vinyl. After both run away from their camp/home, they meet and take themselves to a secluded beach. Neither have properly hit puberty. Our scout, Sam, has made fishhook earrings for his new flame, he tells her this, and asks her 'Are your ears pierced?' (Here's another, unfortunately, poor-quality link to the scene).

Anderson cuts to both of them in their tent, both in underwear, with Suzy moaning and gasping in pain from being pierced. Sam hands her a mirror and she remarks "It's pretty, do the other one". Now it's fairly obvious what this represents but that doesn't make it any less effective. It's a metaphor for both Sam and Suzy's sexual awakening. Suzy is pierced and bleeds, clearly in pain, her virginity taken. It's at this moment that the two of them have lost their childhood innocence. 

The two pretend to be mature beyond their age throughout the first half-or-so of the film, Suzy discussing her books and records, Sam displaying his traditional male prowess at tying rope, setting up camp, typical scout details. Not long after this scene the two awkwardly dance to the French record, link here. Frankly it's both achingly sweet and hilarious to watch. Sam in particular has no idea what he's doing. They're clearly still children, their bodies are pre-pubescent, their first kiss is quickly followed by Sam spitting "I got sand in my mouth", such a childish action. She feels him getting hard, he touches her chest, Suzy says"I think they're gonna' grow more".

The thing is, out of the film we realise that they are old beyond their years. Sam is an orphan growing up in a scout camp. Suzy's parents (Bill Murray and Fransces McDormand), both lawyers, have clearly fallen out of love. Sam's future adoptive parent (Bruce Willis) and Suzy's mother are romantically interested in each other. The camp-leader (Edward Norton) seems to have nothing more in his life than leading his scout troop. All the adults in Wes Anderson's world are just that, adult, unahppy, unfulfilled in some way. These scenes, where it's clear that Sam and Suzy lose their childhood innocence together, aren't what they seem. In reality, they are both older in mind than they should be, and so this time, the awakward dancing, the kiss, the earring piercing, is them holding on to their non-existent childhood. 

The transience of this moment is hammered home at the end of the film fantastically by Anderson. The two remark that the name for the beach they share their moments, it slips my mind but it's essentially a load of numbers and letters, is boring, and that it should have a better name. We never see what they decide, as Suzy says she needs time to think about it. After the disastrous storm later in the film, the Narrator (Bob Balaban), tells us that the beach was wiped off the map. We get a shot of the beach, and the stones read 'Moonrise Kingdom', the title of the film revealed: 

The ending is happy, Sam gets a new father, Suzy and Sam get to keep seeing each other, and the Narrator states, in relation to the storm, "The fruits were plentiful". It's all encapsulated in the tile of the film, and even smaller still, in those earrings. The loss of childhood innocence, the transience of vital moments, and love over all. 

Object #1: The Cymbals - The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956)

Dir. Alfred Hitchcock

Using Hitchcock may as well be cheating when it comes to this blog. The man used objects like no other, popularizing the entire concept of the MacGuffin (see TvTropes' page for a bevy of them) so much so that it's impossible to mention one without the other. 

MacGuffin: an object, event, or character in a film or story that serves to set and keep the plot in motion despite usually lacking intrinsic importance (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)

I'm certain that I'll be discussing more of these eventually, the classic is the Microfilm in North by Northwest, the rope from, uh, Rope, and my personal favourite, the Maltese Falcon in The Maltese Falcon. What do you know? One post in and I've already explained my profile picture!

Anyway, today's object happens to be a MacGuffin, a Hitchcock MacGuffin so we know it'll be a good one. The reason the cymbals pictured above are important is relatively complex. But do you know what? You don't need to know why. All you need to know is that when these cymbals crash in a crowded Royal Albert Hall concert, someone will die. A foreign Prime Minister will be assassinated for all the reasons one imagines a foreign Prime Minister would be assassinated for. 

Before I go on I'll link the scene here, it's very low quality so be warned (but then again it's Hitchcock so come on, you will understand what's going on!).The Assassin hides in one of the balcony boxes. Our heroes Ben (James Stewart) and Jo (Doris Day), American tourists entangled in the sinister plot, know the importance of the cymbals. Jo stays on the bottom floor, as Ben goes upstairs to confront him and stop the assassination. And oh boy is it tense, believe me it's tense! In typical Hitchcock fashion we have obstacles, a police officer who won't let Ben pass to the balconies.

Screenshots courtesy of blu-ray.com

 We don't hear anything but the music. The choir singing dramatically, and that's the word in a nutshell, dramatically. This is drama! We see Ben talk to the police, we don't need to know his exact words, we understand the meaning. Hitch cuts to Jo frequently, keeping the focus on her for her payoff later in the scene. He also cuts to the choir, the women dressed in white, the men in black. It's so simple but so effective, White - life, Black - death. Look at the man holding the cymbal in the first screenshot, the man who holds life and death in his hands, dressed in white and black.

Hell, look at the Prime Minister's suit! What's he wearing? The same outfit as the cymbal player, but with a red sash across the shirt. Red - Blood! Seriously Hitchcock is the master of details like this, so glaringly obvious in retrospect but in motion, in the heat of the scene you don't care. All you want is for Ben to stop the assassination. 

The music builds, we see Ben try different doors for different balconies, cuts to the choir, cuts to Jo watching in disbelief and dread, the assassin standing, raising his gun, the cymbal player standing ready. We get this great shot:

Symmetry - the audience, the band, the cymbals, with only the conductor moving events onwards. The emphasis is on the music, the oh so dramatic music. The gun slides slowly from behind the velvet curtain, like a snake ready to strike. Turns slowly, a cut to Jo who looks from the gun to the target, reminding us of the link between the two people.The Assassin looking down a barrel of the gun, eyes so sinister, and the music swells.

And then we get it: Jo's scream. 

The Assassin is distracted. The cymbals crash. The PM shot in the arm, wounded but alive. The crowd in motion. Ben finds the Assassin, wrestles the gun from his hand. The Assassin stumbles, runs to his target, falls. A woman in the crowd screams. 

And that's it, the MacGuffin served its purpose. The cuts to Jo throughout all make sense now, as we needed to know her position and emotional state to understand how her scream changes events. This scene, is, in Hitchcock's own words, 'Pure Cinema'. And at the heart of the scene, our object, the cymbals. 

The only other thing I didn't mention going through the scene is the dramatic irony we as the audience received from Hitch at the start of the film: "A single crash of cymbals and how it rocked the lives of an American family." These words are presented overlain with the image of the cymbal player. Throughout the entire film we've known that the crash of these cymbals will happen, and will be important. By the start of this scene the dramatic irony is lost, Jo and Ben know the importance of the cymbals as much as we do, but it's been an underlying source of tension and intrigue throughout the entire film, building and building. And the payoff, well, I think you'll agree that it's pretty damned good?

P.S This image...I'm saying nothing.

Elvis Presley's Hips: An Introduction

A Film A Day -The original concept and title of this blog. The general gist was to use my voracious appetite for film as an excuse to improve my writing, by discussing, you guessed it, one film each day, normally one I'd just seen that day. ...And then it turned out that someone already did that - crafty sods. Admittedly they've not updated it since 2004, which at the time of writing is 11 years ago. But I'm not one to lift ideas, so instead we have this - Objects in Film.

So what is Objects in Film? Well, simply put, it's a sneaky backdoor-pilot sort of way to discuss a particular film. The idea came to me watching Tom Ford's beautiful adaption of Christopher Isherwood's A Single Man, starring the man above, Colin Firth. In this scene (and I strongly recommend watching it), our protagonist George Falconer, a closeted, gay, university lecturer diverges from the class discussion of Huxley, to present his views on fear:

Let's leave the Jews out of this just for a moment. Let's think of another minority. One that... One that can go unnoticed if it needs to. There are all sorts of minorities, blondes for example... Or people with freckles. But a minority is only thought of as one when it constitutes some kind of threat to the majority. A real threat or an imagined one. And therein lies the fear. If the minority is somehow invisible, then the fear is much greater. That fear is why the minority is persecuted. So, you see there always is a cause. The cause is fear. Minorities are just people. People like us.

Now, it's pretty damn obvious what George is getting at here, but remember this film is set in 1962, he can't out-and-out say that he's talking about gay people. In fact, what he says here isn't strictly tied to the invisibility of gay people, particularly in the 1960's. The link to the Jews is interesting as we know that the Nazi's approach to creating fear was to initially portray the Jews as the Other, being physically different, with large noses and the like, speaking their own language, having their own customs, and so on. When openly persecuted they were forced to wear the Star of David, the invisible enemy become visible, ready to ridicule, avoid, be prejudiced at, etc. But the Jews weren't a true threat, as George says, they were 'an imagined one', scapegoats.

What George does during this section of his monologue, in a not-so-subtle way to modern eyes, is slyly address the issues that minorities such as gay people face when they are targeted. The link to the Jews puts in the minds of his audience their plight, their stigmatization. A bit of brilliance in this scene is how Ford's cuts to the audience hammer home this message. He cuts to a straight audience member. How do we know this? Because during the pause after 'somehow invisible' we get the cut, the audience member casts his eyes downwards after George's pause, because he feels targeted by the silence and George's eyes, but it's likely he doesn't know why. Following this, still in the pause, we get cut to a close-up of Kenny's (Nicholas Hoult) eye, which doesn't look away, is the opposite in fact - rapt.

See the video 1:19 for the correct cut, this is merely illustrative

We'll know by the end of the film that Kenny is also gay/bi for certain, but it's this cut that tells us. He understands George's message, empathises with it, is enraptured by the fact that George is being so brazen (by 60's standards) by lecturing this point. And we'll know later of course that he's attracted to George, if not already. George's line ends 'then the fear is much greater'. Ford just told us that, he told us in that pause. We see the invisible in Kenny and George, we see the subconscious fear of the supposed-straight audience member as he misses the subtext. Even if I'm completely off the ball here, and I very well could be, the very fact this can be read out of two cuts is a testament to Ford for putting them in that pause. Hell the 'straight' audience member may just look away out of awkwardness at being stared at by a lecturer, and the cut to Kenny only reinforces his attraction to George. But I don't think so, there's a reason those specific cuts are in that pause.

We're going to talk about fear. Fear after-all is our real enemy, fear is taking over our world. Fear is being used as a tool of manipulation in our society. It's our politician's federal policy, it's how Madison Avenue sells us things we don't need - think about it. The fear of being attacked. The fear that there are Communists lurking around every corner. The fear that some little Caribbean country that doesn't believe in our way of life poses a threat to us. The fear that Black culture may take over the world. The fear of Elvis Presley's hips! ...actually maybe that one is a real fear.

I got there in the end. Elvis Presley's hips. That's the object, if one can even call it an object, that triggered this blog. It perfectly encapsulates for me what this entire scene is trying to do. It's showing us how George thinks as a gay man in the 60's. No straight lecturer would give those hips as an example, but George would. He's incredulous at the idiocy that people have to fear Rock n' Roll, as a corrupting agent of the youth, and of society at-large.  The lines above encapsulate the fears of the late 50's/early 60's, and we as a modern audience know they weren't a real threat. Even back then they were never a true threat. They're only a threat in their perception. George sums up the pointlessness of all these fears in one object - Elvis' hips. His wry comment afterwards, spoken quietly to himself, betrays his attraction to those hips. It ties in everything that George said about the world at large, to him.

The lines following all outline George's fears, growing old, alone, with no one listening - these fears are real to him. That's the difference. His students don't listen to the very words he's just said, none expect Kenny who follows him after class. He lost his partner in a car accident, and is now growing older and alone, not only romantically but within the world at large. He may be an invisible minority, but George understands the consequences of becoming visible. If people fear Elvis' hips then what the hell will they think of George?


So that's why I'm writing this blog. The object of A Single Man, Elvis' hips, carry with them so much more meaning in the context of the scene, the character, and for the film as a whole. It's objects such as these that I'll be writing about in future. There may be diversions of my own into film reviews, and film news in general but I'll be keeping those to a minimum. As you have already seen above, I will tend to diverge, like George, quite a bit, but I'll try and keep it interesting. The format of the entire blog will become clearer as we go, so stick with it if you want, ignore it if not.

I'll end it on Elvis' hips.