Object #33 - The Worst Toilet in Scotland - Trainspotting (1996)

Dir. Danny Boyle 

Well this one was inevitable wasn't it? One of the most recognizable and iconic objects in all of film, the as-titled 'worst Toilet in Scotland' is a revolting thing, and shows us the lengths our protagonist, Mark Renton (Ewan McGregor) will go to continue his addiction to heroin. Thanks to Miramax, you can watch this scene in glorious HD here.

Mark has purchased suppositories to fulfill his hit, and has inserted them anally. He tells us in a voice-over that one of the (as we will see in the film, many) downsides of heroin addiction is constipation. His last hit is fading, the suppositories haven't taken effect, and so he, to but it bluntly, needs to shit, very very badly. He runs, doubled over, to the nearest toilet, residing in a betting shop. The patrons stare at this skin-head junkie, as Renton fantasies of 'a massive, pristine convenience'. What he's met with...isn't.

There's a few things at play stylistically. Boyle has a fish-eye type lens used as Renton sees the patrons stare at him. Their leering judgement is amplified this way, and we get a sense of Renton being an 'other'. The way Renton sets up his fantasy of an ideal bathroom and toilet is very much contrasted by the toilet he finds. The titles that infrequently appear in the film do make an appearance here, overlain on the sides of the hanging 'Toilet' sign, to tell us, with full hyperbole, that it's the worst toilet in Scotland. Honestly, I'd be hard-pressed to disagree. 

The room is filthy. Broken taps and urinals, covered in dirty water, the water itself full of mud, piss and shit. No seat on the toilet, grime and shit caked into the porcelain, the water brown. Renton, revolted, has no other choice, an attempt to flush is met with a broken chain, he has to sit, relieving himself in bliss. Then he realizes to his horror that the suppositories have been lost in the process, so he gets on his knees and searches with his hands in the foul, soiled water, retching as he does it. 

We then get a mark of brilliance, which is what makes this scene so unique. As he searches and searches, Renton begins to climb and fall into the toilet basin. It's clearly impossible, and is a fantastical representation of what this search feels like to Renton. Whimsical, classical music begins to play from the opera Carmen (you'll know the one) as Mark falls into the toilet, legs sticking directly up, comically. 

In the water, the music is similarly uplifting. It makes Renton's trial to retrieve his suppositories an epic affair, as he swims in clear water to a rock floor, finding the drugs he needs, letting out a bubbled cry "Yes, I'm fucking dancing!". It's utterly fantastical and once again, contrasts with the revolting bathroom. The music swells as he re-emerges, a hand at first, then a head spitting water, gasping for air. 

We cut to Renton, in his room, walking to his table, with suppositories in hand. He tells us "And now...I'm ready". He's ready for withdrawal, and after what we've just seen, boy does he need it!

Trainspotting is a film that deals with the allure of heroin addiction, and how, when addicted, the world seems bright, and yet when sober, the world is bleak. The title refers to this, as the hobby of trainspotting seems utterly pointless to an outsider, and yet to an enthusiast, it makes complete sense. Heroin addiction is the same, and the film deals with this in detail, with the death of an infant, and the haunting of this loss life during withdrawal as the absolute low-points, as well as, of course, the toilet scene. 

The toilet scene acts then as a sort of prelude to the themes of the film, a fantastical simplification occurring soon after the bold 'Choose life', Lust for Life opening. We see how far into the dirt, and the literal shit, that Renton will go to have one final hit. How good must this drug be, to be worth all this? Clearly, good enough. Again, as outsiders, it seems ridiculous to imagine anything worth this much trouble, but again, that's the point. 

The almost religious Valhalla conveyed by the clear water Renton swims in, the music, and the shininess of the suppositories, white - pure, like the taps in Renton's fantasy bathroom, tell us that through drugs, Mark reaches a state of ascension, not beyond his horrific surroundings, but through them. 

Object #32 - The Tunnel - Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)

Dir. Mel Stuart

There's no earthly way of knowing
In which direction we are going.
There's no knowing where we're rowing,
Or which way the river's flowing!
Is it raining, is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing,
So the danger must be growing.
By the fires of hell a-glowing,
is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes! The danger must be growing,
For the rowers keep on rowing,
And they're certainly not showing,
Any signs that they are slowing!

The ability of children to take things in their stride is a unique quirk of being young. Now I know this isn't the case all of the time, as everyone knows a child who questions absolutely everything. But with films, it tends to be, at least in my own experience and from the experiences of people I've known, that kids can accept the most off-the-wall things without much questioning, particularly if watching a film alone. The tunnel scene in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory is the prime example I find.

You likely know the story already, either from the classic Roald Dahl book, this film, or even the 2005 Tim Burton adaption. Willy Wonka (Gene Wilder), the reclusive and eccentric chocolatier invites the finders of five golden tickets, with an escort, to tour his famous chocolate factory. Inside, they find delights of 'Pure Imagination', with rivers of chocolate, everlasting gobstoppers, and the Oompa Loompa helpers.

Early in the film, after being wowed by Wonka's auditorium, full of edible mushrooms and the chocolate river, the children and their family member escorts ride a boat on the chocolate river, taking them deeper into the factory. What, before this, has been a magical film, with musical numbers such as 'The Candyman', 'I've Got a Golden Ticket', and 'Pure Imagination' (also 'Cheer Up Charlie', but nobody likes that one), takes a turn for the surreal, the psychedelic, and the frightening.

The scene is here, in poor quality. They enter the dark tunnel, with both parents and children shouting their displeasure, as Wonka tells the Oopma-Loompas to increase speed. The boat, and the tunnel, becomes cast in psychedelic lights of red, blue, and purple. Henry Salt (Roy Kinnear) tells Wonka that he can't possibly know where he's going, to which Wonka responds "You're right, I can't". This is the magic of Gene Wilder in this scene, he goes from absolutely insane, with eyes wide in pure insane joy, to utterly reserved and scheming as he responds to the parents. It's passionate! 

Not soon after, the horror begins. Lest we forget, this is a film aimed at children and families. Moving images appear on the walls of the tunnel, flashing quickly, registering in your brain and then being cast away by a cut. We see a millipede-like creature crawl over a woman's mouth, as she appears unmoving; we see a chicken, and an axe fall, decapitating it; a reptile eating a bug; and a maggot extend it's mouth. Also, of note, is that Charlie (Peter Ostrum) sees an image of Slugworth (Gunter Meisner), the rival of Wonka who asked the winners to smuggle out one of Wonka's creations for a business advantage. Charlie and Grandpa Joe (Jack Albertson) are the only two who aren't completely frightened by the tunnel, and so there's a suggestion that as Slugworth appears to Charlie, that the tunnel is reflecting the fears of the boat-riders back at them. This could be wrong of course, as most of the images are universal in their ability to disgust and revolt us.

Wonka begins to sing, see the lyrics above. He paints a picture of hopelessness and loss of control, as both he, the owner and imagination behind the factory, the Oompa-Loompas (all the only authority figures in the factory essentially), and the boat riders are hurtling out of control at high speed. He taps into the fear everyone feels, as even the Oompa-Loopmas row and row, as they want to escape the fearful images. It's so primal, and so at odds with everything we've seen in the film so far that we honestly have no idea what will happen next. Wilder plays it as a slowly increasing mania, until he crescendos with a wild scream, the light flashing around him, the people he's welcomed into his home screaming in terror.

The fact he mentions hell brings to mind a theory I read online, which in typical internet fashion, is fairly outlandish and not the intention of the story, but is interesting nonetheless, that the tunnel is a pathway to either Hell or Purgatory, as the fearful images welcome them to the land of death and hopelessness. The children are then judged appropriately by Wonka as the story unfolds, each falling to a sin, Gloop - gluttony, Violet - pride, Veruca - greed, Mike - sloth. Charlie, who remains mostly honest, passes the test of offering the Gobstopper to 'Slugworth', and is accepted into a glass elevator, which takes him upwards into Paradise. 

I love that theory, it's not the intention of the film or the book at all, but it lines up near-perfectly and actually solidifies a lot of the themes Dahl was going for in the book. It's why I like the tunnel scene so much, as the mention of Hell subconsciously brings this to mind over the course of the film. It's also an addition to the film not present in the book. 

Henry Salt pipes up again, telling Wonka that this has gone far enough. Wonka replies far more rationally and calmly "Quite right, Sir. Stop the boat!". We cut to black, and the shot above is shown. No inertia of the boat stopping, they simply have arrived at their destination. It really does make it feel like they've all shared a bad LSD! Also of note, is the fact that Wonka did actually have the power the entire time to stop the boat. He was in control, despite his song, and so he orchestrated the event for his own end, for his own pleasure. It's a startling start to the tour, and perhaps this is what Wonka was going for in his insane head, but it's clear that they've now found their way, and that anything coming after this is unlikely to be as frightening as what was just experienced.

In all honesty, you don't need to go into much depth to see why the tunnel is such a unique and fascinating part of this film. For a children's film, it's adult, scary, and as I said earlier, primal. It sets a wavelength for the boat-riders but also we the audience, that this is a factory, a world, that plays by it's own rules. Are you ready for the tour?  

Object #31 - Mannequins - Killer's Kiss (1955)

Dir. Stanley Kubrick

Killer's Kiss is a fascinating little film, literally, it has a brief 67 minute run time, not much longer than a modern episode of TV. It's fascinating for being the second feature film of the cinematic virtuoso and legend, Stanley Kubrick, director of such masterpieces as 2001: A Space Odyssey, Barry Lyndon, A Clockwork Orange, and Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Killer's Kiss however is the product of a younger, 26 year-old Kubrick, and his technique hadn't been refined to its eventual peak. Kubrick himself shunned his first feature, Fear and Desire, for it's amateur nature later in his life. Killer's Kiss is only once removed from that, and it isn't until his third feature, the superb heist film that is The Killing does Kubrick begin as a true filmmaker. But that's what makes his early work so fascinating, to see the rough edges of a future master!

As you'd expect there are flairs of brilliance. In Killer's Kiss, it's mostly the cinematography of the piece. Kubrick, a renowned photographer, particularly due to his age, knew how to shoot New York in such a way as to capture the essence of the place. 

[ASIDE: I've often wondered if you watched every single film set in a big city whether you could truly know the city. The same with massive world events such as World War 2. Take the duality of Flags of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima, both envisioned by Eastwood to explore this idea. If we compared Saving Private Ryan, a modern Hollywood take on the war, to the older, slightly hokey John Wayne films like Sands of Iwo Jima, we'd call Saving Private Ryan the more realistic. But neither are, both are hyper-real in their own ways. And more to the point, the beauty of films like Sands of Iwo Jima is the way the American filmmakers (and indeed British, and other Allied countries) portrayed the war a short ten or twenty years after. Even more to the point, if we analysed Birdman, Killer's Kiss, Manhattan, and Kubrick's later staged version of New York in Eyes Wide Shut, which is the closest to the real New York? Of course, the answer is, all are valid, even films merely passingly set there, like The Avengers, tell us something about how the city is considered in the popular psyche, and indeed the director's. I may write a separate post about this in future, as frankly, I think it's fascinating.]

It's unfortunate then that in his final film Eyes Wide Shut, Kubrick made New York feel so unnatural by using sets. This choice was made out of necessity, as he hated flying and was now permanently living in Britain. Also, famous perfectionist that he was, I believe Kubrick preferred the use of sets as he could control every aspect of it. In Killer's Kiss, due to budgetary reasons, the film was set on location, and so New York is real, but it's in how Kubrick chooses to frame it that makes it interesting. 

In typical ObjectsInFilm fashion, I've gone and spoken a lot about something I don't want to really talk about! My point was that Killer's Kiss has some, not many, but some aspects that reflect his later, more refined, and well-received work. Also, that it's beautifully shot, and should be watched on that merit alone. The scene I wanted to discuss comes near the end of the film, it's the climatic fight between Davey Gordon (Jamie Smith), our main character, a lightweight boxer who wants to run away with Gloria Price (Irene Kane), and Vincent Rapallo (Frank Silvera), the gangster employer of Gloria, who has kidnapped her. It's a simple premise, if Davey kills Vincent he can run away with Gloria, but if Vincent wins, he will likely escape the police with Gloria in tow. You can watch the fight here.

The two fight in a mannequin factory, with various mannequin models scattered in various states of disarray around the factory floor. The mannequins achieve a few things in the scene, the most obvious and physical is being used as props, as fighting implements between the two before they find deadlier weapons. More interestingly, is the subtext that the use of mannequins have. You can see from the screenshots that the mannequins are almost always in shot during the fight. Their lifeless faces look on, disinterested in the fight. What I feel this reflects is the sense that the affair that is being fought over, Gloria, is a dime-a-dozen in New York. The 'crowd', unlike the crowd of the earlier boxing match, have no investment in the outcome of the fight, as they, like the inhabitants of New York, are merely background figures in the game being fought.

 This is true of any film set in a city, the denizens are normally passers-by, each with their own stories but none that factor into the plot of the films we are watching. By having the mannequins in the background of the scene, Kubrick is reminding us of the setting of the film, and the world at large, and how little each effect the relationships at play. New York won't care who wins the fight, as Davey, Vincent, or Gloria don't care about any of the citizens of New York outside their respective social circles. By casting unknown actors as Davey and Gloria, this feeling is heightened, as the actors are as unfamiliar to us as the characters they are playing, and so there is no baggage to disconnect.  

The other aspect, and I think the most salient and obvious, is the fact that nearly all of the mannequins are female. As the two men fight, they use women figures as weapons, destroying their opponent bit by bit, but also the women-figures in the process. It isn't men who suffer in the game of love and lust, but women. They are used as objects here, just as they are objectified in 1950's New York, as the end-goal of men, both romantically, as shown by Davey, and sexually, as shown by Vincent. Gloria is a woman, with her opinion of little value in the matter. I watched the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice lately, and the same themes arise there, and what makes it such an interesting and enduring novel (and ergo the adaptions) is the fact that Elizabeth Bennet does have agency and choice, despite the time the novel is set. In Killer's Kiss however, New York is portrayed as a place to be gotten out of by Davey and Gloria, so that their love can bloom free. New York, civilization, is where the women are objectified, showing us as modern audiences (and let's not take the high horse here, we have a LONG way to go before portraying women realistically in film generally) how backwards the 1950's was, despite the fact that New York, a bastion of old-age modernity had been chugging along for many a decade. 

My final point is a superficial one, but just one I thought should be noted. The use of mannequins in Killer's Kiss seems like a pre-cursor to the most obvious use of an object in Kubrick's filmography, in my opinion, the penis sculpture from A Clockwork Orange, one I may eventually write a post about in future. It shows us that Kubrick understood how objects could be used as symbols of deeper themes. The most interesting thing, I think, is that they are normally quite obvious and overt. The use of female mannequins as weapons would seems quite amateur of Kubrick if he didn't go on to use just as obvious a symbolic object, the penis sculpture in A Clockwork Orange. Let's not beat around the bush here, Kubrick wasn't above a cheap gag when using objects, as some certain genital-shaped lollipops can attest...

Object #30 - Coffin - Nosferatu (1922)

Dir. F.W Murnau 

'Say “Dracula” and you smile. Say “Nosferatu” and you've eaten a lemon.' - Roger Ebert

 This quote from the great critic Roger Ebert sums up the difference in tone that Nosferatu has from any other Dracula adaption. Most adaptions of Bram Stoker's Dracula fall prey to camp, particularly, well, Bram Stoker's Dracula, directed by Francis Ford Coppola and featuring such oddities as Dracula's stylized armour (which may well be a post in it's own right in the future). Even Tod Browning's Dracula (1931), starring Bela Lugosi in the iconic role, has since fallen to near-parody, as it's the inception of nearly every trope later used to parody vampires and Dracula films. The Hammer Horror Dracula films, well...need I say more?

Nosferatu, by virtue of being adapted so early in the history of film, feels like the origin of the beast that is Count Dracula, or rather, Count Orlok (Max Schreck). Nosferatu has name changes due to the filmmakers being sued by Bram Stoker's descendants for creating an unauthorized adaption of the novel, and so Count Dracula becomes Count Orlok, vampire becomes nosferatu, etc.. It's a miracle the film survived, as all copies were ordered to be destroyed. Thankfully, oh so thankfully, the beast lives on. This production fact I think adds to the mystique of the film, as if the film itself hid in a coffin somewhere, in the dark, waiting to emerge.

The coffin is central to the story of Dracula, as you likely know. It's almost impossible to not know the story of Dracula these days, due to the novel being a well-read classic and plenty of adaptions through the years. Nosferatu is special however as Orlok seems more synonymous with his coffin than any other adaption. Throughout the film, the coffin is never far away. It's where he sleeps at night, in that classic pose, but we've become so dissolusioned to the image of a vampire in a coffin that we forget the obvious. The Vampire is undead, and lies in the coffin, a symbol of death in our culture. He sleeps in it, our beds are a source of comfort to us, but to Orlok, his coffin is where he rests at night. He rests among death. Death and the vampire are synonymous, via the coffin.

Orlok in particular in this adaption personally carries his coffin with him. Like a hermit crab, he takes his 'home' with him everywhere, literally carrying death with him at all times. In one scene, which you can see here, Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim) sees Orlok leave his castle, placing the coffin on a carriage, opening it, climbing in, and by supernatural means, telekinetically placing the lid atop himself. He is ready for his journey across the sea to the England. In the boat, the sailors open one of the coffins, and it's filled with rats (I'll come back to this point).

Later, the sailor returns, ready to open Orlok's coffin and we get this iconic image. Orlok rises from death, alive, but as a personification of death. Even more-so, as when he arrives in England, the deaths that occur to state his hunger are attributed to plague rats from the ship, themselves a symbol of death. Importantly, Orlok takes his own coffin with him in this new land, literally carrying death with him. 

I mean look at this other iconic image: 

The shadow of death, in profile, is horrifying. It's still, yet with clawed fingers outstretched, ready to take life as it moves unnaturally about it's business. As is typical with vampire stories, it's lust for a woman that trumps the monster. Here, rather than the more loving relationship of vampire and prey as explored in more recent media, it's the classic element of lust. Orlok drains Ellen's (Greta Schroder) blood all night, so engrossed that when it becomes daytime he vanishes in a puff of smoke, defeated. 

The sexual undertones are obvious, and ingrained in the vampire mythos, and it's refreshing that in this nearly century old film, it's lust that characterizes the beastly Orlok, not love. We've matured in our age to humanize the vampire, but here, it's a legend, a tale to terrify children, warning them of the sexual predator that is synonymous with death. A monster that lives and sleeps in death, in a coffin, ready to emerge, to hunt, to kill, and take pleasure from it. 

'Those things that live only at night do not need to talk, for their victims are asleep, waiting.' - Roger Ebert

Object #29 - Piping - Aliens (1986)

Dir. James Cameron

Androids in films have had some interesting portrayals. Ridley Scott portrayed the android Ash (Ian Holm) in Alien as a human for all intents and purposes, of course that's the point, yet Ash turns glitchy, and become an Other: milk-blooded, surviving great damage, and utterly relentless when the human 'facade' fades away. Scott, of course, also directed Blade Runner, likely my all-time favourite film (Final Cut, naturally), and brought to the screen the fantastically complex androids, headed by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer), whose 'Tears in Rain' death-speech remains one of the most beautiful things in any media I've ever seen. Hauer's portrayal fills Batty with eccentricities, which carry over to the other androids, but it's Batty that is the most human android of them all. In the Final Cut of the film, having Deckard (Harrison Ford) be an android really hammers home how truly human, or rather 'More Human Than Human' Tyrrel-Corp have made their androids. 

There have been other androids in media, with the Cylons of Battlestar Galactica on TV, Ava (Alicia Vikander) in the recent Ex Machina, and David (Michael Fassbender) in Prometheus, (Scott's return to the universe of Alien). You can see critic Mark Kermode discuss his top five artificial people here, a list I mostly agree with. Kermode selects one artificial person in particular, the android Bishop (Lance Henriksen) from James Cameron's Aliens. 

In the sci-fi action film that is Aliens, Bishop shines as a character, no small feat in a film that has created action-character archetypes, due to great and iconic side-characters such as Vasquez, Hudson, and Apone. Bishop is more than human, with increased speed and precision as evidenced in the knife scene near the beginning of the film, and Cameron plays with the inherent 'evil' of the android, based on our knowledge of Ash from Alien, and twists it, with the cowardly company-man Burke being the traitor of the group. That in itself makes Bishop a more reliable character, but the prime moment that shows off how human Bishop really is, is the pipe scene.

Trapped in the colony, our heroes, and our main hero Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) are told by Bishop that the colony's power plant has been damaged in the Xenomorph attack. It's apparent that the only possible route to the power plant is via hundreds of meters of narrow, tight, piping. The goal is to get to the power plant and resolve the issue, which requires some extra tech taken with. Bishop volunteers for this. And this tells us a lot about the world and Bishop himself.

If anything, it's almost expected of androids to do such duty, as that's what they're designed for, as intelligent workers that can move cargo, solve tech problems, and, frankly, do all the little jobs that humans would rather not. Yet, none of the characters have this bigotry, and if so, don't express it. Bishop sees the problem in a logical, android way. He is less likely to panic, and he's the best suited to solve the tech issue on the other end. And oh boy, is there reason to panic. The way he moves down this pipe is by shuffling, and shifting his body along, pushing the tech in front of him. I don't suffer from claustrophobia, but I'd dare anyone to take on this duty. Crawling through kilometers-long piping, with only a torch as a light-source, in a facility crawling with deadly aliens out for your blood, be it artificial or not. 

But Bishop volunteers for this. Even though he's guided by logic, it's a brave act, a human act. But most importantly, a selfless human act, one that goes beyond the pettiness of humans, the panic, the selfishness, and goes straight into 'More Human Than Human' territory. The androids are the best humanity can offer, and yet they aren't human. Due to many early films dealing with androids, including Blade Runner, and Aliens, this has become a trope, but an important one. So much dystopia, not excluding Cameron's own Terminator, portrays technology as the downfall of humanity, yet in Aliens and numerous others, androids become the best of us, the true humans. The piping in Aliens facilitates this, and atop that, is an iconic and fascinating shot, with Henriksen's face eerily lit and the unfamiliar movement, coming directly into the screen, making the shot all the other interesting and unique. 

Bishop goes on to become even more of a hero, returning to save Ripley from the exploding colony, and even when torn apart by the Xenomorph Queen, he reaches out to grab and save Newt (Carrie Henn) from the certain death of the vacuum of space, once again using his android qualities to be utterly selfless and heroic. In Aliens there are characters to aspire to: Ripley, who uses her inherent humanity and femininity to become a badass action hero; Hicks (Michael Biehn) who does his duty and more; Vasquez (Jenette Goldstein) who gives her life to save others; and, of course, Bishop, who despite his artificiality, becomes, to overuse a phrase, 'More Human Than Human'.

Object #28 - Signal Lamp - Ponyo (2008)

Dir. Hayao Miyazaki 

Why do we watch films? Is it to be thrilled, to be frightened, to be amazed, or to be told a good story? Films fulfill all these things and more, often giving us more than one at a time. The older I've gotten, the more I want one thing out of the films I watch - humanity. In a horror film, I expect the victim to react like a real-human would. In a summer blockbuster, if I see a little human conversation between two or more characters not related to the plot, I'm happy. Jaws has many moments like this, and it pretty much makes the film. In the tense and horrifying situation of a killer shark on the loose, there is the friendly banter of the leads, the mourning of the victims, and the happy play of children before a shark attack. A lot of Edgar Wright films like Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, or The World's End have lots of moments of humanity, and yet remain stylized. Frankly, any good film worth its salt has at least one human moment.

Ponyo is certainly a good film. Studio Ghibli, like Pixar, have never made an out-and-out stinker of a film. Hayao Miyazaki, director and artist of many Ghibli films is one of the greatest living directors, and likely the greatest director of animation. Watch any of his films and the environment above-all else shines, and in Ponyo the environment takes center stage. 

The signal light scene in Ponyo is a perfect example of a human moment in among a film's plot. Ponyo isn't a film lacking in humanity at all, it's a magical story about a boy and a girl, the princess of the sea, falling in childhood love. The signal light scene, which you can view here, with the English dub (featuring a stellar voice-cast including Tina Fey, and Liam Neeson), has Sosuke (Frankie Jonas), wearing the Navy cap of his father, Koichi (Matt Damon) use a fitted signal lamp to signal Koichi, who is passing by the home of his child and wife, Lisa (Tina Fey). Sosuke is clearly excited as he looks through binoculars searching for his father, telling his mother to dim the light so they can signal. The posing of Lisa is great, she clearly doesn't want to signal Koichi, as he's deployed later than usual tonight and she's annoyed at him, and we see this from her body language - draped across the bed, legs up on the bed, head on the floor.

Picture is from a similar scene

Sosuke signals 'Hello' to his father, gets a response of 'Sorry' from his father, he calls to his mother "Dad says he's very sorry". Her response is "B-U-G O-F-F", which she repeats a few times, again, clearly annoyed. Sosuke relays the message. Koichi replies saying that he loves her, "lots and lots". Lisa rights herself, legs crossed, pillow in her lap, annoyed. She runs over to the signal lamp, and rapidly signals out the 'BUG OFF' message, over and over, as the text appears on screen (even that being beautifully drawn), pushed to the side, typewriter like, as each 'BUG OFF' is signaled. The noise itself is amusing, contrasting with the slower pace of the young Sosuke. Coupled with the previous motion of Lisa, and the on-screen text, it's a funny scene, and more than anything - believable.

Koichi messages back, but this time the entire ship's lights flash with his signal. It's a charming signal (literally!) of love, wowing Sosuke, less so with Lisa as she walks off in a huff. It's clear though that the couple have a history of love, as Koichi's charm here is easy to fall in love with. Sosuke signals back, with the letters appearing slower on screen 'GOOD LUCK'. As the ship head off to the horizon, it messages back 'THANKS. LOVE AND KISSES'. 

In this two minute scene, we know that Sosuke's father is a good-man, a man who signals his apologies and love across the sea to his infant son and annoyed wife. We see Lisa interact with her husband, far differently than she does with the infant Sosuke and Ponyo (Noah Cyrus) or the other adult characters in the story. Lisa and Koichi are clearly in love, she is despondent at his loss in the house, and Koichi wants to communicate with her and Sosuke, however briefly. 

Their love is a great counter to the mystical love of the human, turned demi-sea-god Fujimoto (Liam Neeson), father of Ponyo, and the sea-goddess, the Mother of the Sea, Granmamare (Cate Blanchett). These two do not interact as much, and when they do, it's clear that Granmamare is more god-like than the irritable Fujimoto, who hates the polluting humans with a passion, and seeks to stop Ponyo loving the human Sosuke (to a degree). It makes sense, the love of gods and demi-gods is obviously going to be different than that of a human man and woman, but what it does is, by contrast, highlight the humanity of the familial relationship of Sosuke, Lisa, and Koichi. The signal light scene is beautifully animated, simplistically written but to-the-point, and wonderfully performed by all involved. It's so damned human it's perfect, and in a film brimming with the mystical, it stands out as a beautiful human moment of film.  

Object #27 - Eggs - Fury (2014)

Dir. David Ayer

This scene in question  occurs about an hour into the film. Before this, the film has focused on battles involving War Daddy (Brad Pitt), his crew, and his squadron, against the, overwhelmingly, Nazis of Germany (as opposed to the German army); as well as the introduction of Norman (Logan Lerman) to war, particularly this brutal time of World War 2.  But then, in a captured town, we get the heart of the film. After clearing the town with both tank shells, and gunning down a SS leader, War Daddy and Norman search a house, ensuring no soldiers remain. War Daddy enters, finds a German woman, Irma (Anamaria Marcina), and acts aggressively towards her. He, a German speaker, commands her to tell him where the hidden person is. He intuitively knows someone is hiding, and he's right, it's Emma (Alicia von Rittberg) under the floorboards. He orders Norman to shut and lock the door. Norman reluctantly does so. 

There is an air of tension that lasts a while. The scene is silent, except for War Daddy asking for some hot water. He kicks a chair, a violent action, so that he can sit down. There is a strong sense that War Daddy could, and indeed might, force himself upon the women, and rape them. Anyone who knows World War 2 history knows that American soldiers regularly slept with German women. At the start of the film, Coon-Ass (Jon Bernthal) tells Norman, as they pass a German women in the muddy deadlands "She'd have fucked you for a chocolate bar". It's crass, but there is an air of both truth and lie. 

However, what happens in the scene, is that Irma returns, War Daddy reaches into his bag, her eyes darting to what he will reveal. It turns out to be a box of eggs. Boom, tension gone. We, as are the women, are relieved. It says a lot more though. Eggs are fragile, yet War Daddy has manged to bring these precious items with him through concussive, explosive tank battles, shoot-outs, and among poor food rations. He clearly has wanted these eggs cooked eventually, and now, in the bastion of civilization that is this house, his moment has arrived. It contrasts not only with the environment, but with War Daddy's previous character, as we saw earlier in the scene with the tension of sexual assault , but also with previous events of the film, where he forces Norman to shoot a captured soldier, and rubs his fresh-face in the brutality of war. This isn't wholly true, we the audience know that War Daddy is effected, as we've seen twice so far that when he goes for a cigarette alone, he breaks down. Interestingly, one of these times imprisoned SS soldiers witness this, just as the German women do now. 

Norman goes to the piano in the room, as Irma sets the table. Sets the table, in a war-torn town. Norman begins to play a tune, which deeply effects Emma, as this beautiful melody is joined by her singing, in German. This beauty transcends nationality and language, as they all bond over music. Norman, young man that he is, falls for Emma. 

Here, we reach the questionable aspect of this scene, one that critics such as Mark Kermode find invalidates the scene. War Daddy orders Norman to take Emma into the bedroom or he'll do so himself. Emma understands despite the language, takes Norman's hand, and leads him to the bedroom. War Daddy believes that as they're both young, they should enjoy themselves, which he tells Irma. Norman and Emma connect quite beautifully, as he reads her palm, telling her of a particular line that means she will have one great love. Again, despite language, Norman's tenderness wins her over, and she kisses him willingly. Now, how willing is this really? Personally, I think their sleeping together is fine. However, I completely understand how some could still consider this rape, as Irma, if she doesn't sleep with Norman would suffer consequences. In the context of American soldiers invading the country, it's appreciated that they will try and sleep with the German women. It's lucky for Irma that her 'rapist' is Norman, who is tender, and doesn't want to commit violence.

Anyway, they sleep together, and return for a meal. The eggs begin to be eaten, at last. Unfortunately, this moment doesn't last long. The crew of the Fury, War Daddy's tank, our main characters enter, drunk. They ruin this tender moment in the hell that is war. They sit at the table, and Coon-Ass asks where his food is, where his eggs are. The crew make fun of Norman for 'claiming' Emma before any of them. (I'm skipping though this as the scene is nearly 20 mins long). He eats the little food that is left, then, clearly annoyed at the treatment of the German women as, well, women. He hands Emma her plate, but not before grabbing her egg and licking it. Emma is trembling for this aggressor, even as he enters the scene, and her she begins to sob. War Daddy, calm, yet with an underlying anger, reaches for her plate, and swaps it with his. It's a solid moment, one that really shows War Daddy respects these women, and is deeply sorry for how brash his brotherly crew are being.

The eggs that he carried with him, remnants of a more civilized time, are spoiled by Coon-Ass. The tenderness both Norman and War Daddy, and both Irma and Emma enjoyed for an hour at most, is gone. The war has returned, not by machine, but by man. These men, the crew of the Fury that have been deeply ruined in their own war by the war, are now the people that ruin the peace. If we want to get really symbolic, and frankly this is definitely reading too much into it, eggs are a symbol of new life. War Daddy protected these items for this moment, where he believed this was the time to begin the post-war peace (symbolically), and it is unfortunately not true. Even in Germany itself, in 1945 a month before the end of the European War, the battle, the war, isn't over. The spoiling of the eggs both shows that war is still present, and shouldn't be ignored, but also that this symbolic peace will be tainted by the past, by the psychologically damaged soldiers of the current war.    

I'll ignore the rest of the dinner-table conversation, as the eggs are not prominent. But what is important is that after this 20 minute or so sequence of peace and disturbed peace, we get a short briefing scene of the tanks' future movements, and then the house, again, this bastion of peace in war-time, it shelled. Distraught, Norman, who clearly was infatuated with Emma, runs to the rubble, and we are shown Emma, covered in rubble, dead. The entire build-up of this scene is payed off in death, form war. The spoiling of the eggs by Coon-Ass is synonymous with the destruction of the house by shelling. War cannot be ignored, or avoided, until it is truly over, and even then the influence of this trauma continues in the soldiers. The influence is felt in the robbing of potential love between Norman and Emma, a love that only began due to war, and is ended by war. 

It's unfortunate that the remainder of the film decides to devolve into a tank vs. SS squadron battle as it's in this house-bound sequence that we get the heart of the film, and the majority of it's commentary on war as a whole. Fury is nowhere near a perfect film, but it's always amazed me how despite all the films on World War 2, and War in general, we still can have different interpretations and commentaries from different authors and directors (David Ayer here acting as both) that are unique, and expressed in unique ways. Fury is well-worth seeing for the house sequence alone, give it a watch, and see what you think.