No Peeking…

The shower scene in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is one of the most influential and terrifying sequences in film history.

The way in which Hitchcock alternates the speed of the camera shots, as well as how he intersperses elongated moments of silence and stillness with the action, is what captures the brilliance of this scene.  Even when the murder is not directly occurring, the viewer remains in a perpetual state of shock and horror.  This is evident as the camera at one point meticulously tracks the bloody water washing slowly down the drain, and then fades out to a close-up of the woman’s eye, dead yet eerily alive.  Moreover, Hitchcock, escpecially in this scenario, capitalizes on the voyeuristic nature of disturbed individuals, a concept rarely delineated in film up until that time.  However, following Psycho, this constituted a major element in the films made by notable directors such as Brian De Palma.

Down for the Count

This scene from On the Waterfront is like a film within a film.

In a mere 5 minutes, it manages to relate to the viewer a parable about the duality and irony in power.  What most exemplifies this is actor Marlon Brando’s flawlessly executed portrayal of a man on a desperate quest for identity and stature.  As former boxer and mob affiliate Terry Malloy, he drifts in a flotsam-like manner, unsure of where to go.  He once held a position of power in the ring and in his brother’s inner circle of crime.  Yet that same power which temporarily raised him up has now knocked him down onto the mat.  Power is constantly toying with and snatching away his identity, fragmenting his sense of character and place.  He and his brother Charley, while seemingly sitting next to eachother, have been driven farther apart.  This scene elicits this feeling so profoundly through the interspersion of close-up face shots, as well as Brando’s implaccable inunciation of “I coulda been a contender, Charley.”

Just Riding Along…

Vittorio De Sica’s The Bicycle Thief is a film which understands the transient course of identity.

The father, Antonio (Lamberto Maggiorani), loses his bicycle to a thief, and spends a major portion of the film searching for it, but to no avail. For him, the bike constitutes a part of his identity. As one of many working class Italians struggling against the harsh economic times following World War II, he feels that the bike will distinguish him from others. One of the profound themes that the film addresses is the influence of material goods on a person’s identity and destiny. However, what makes this paticular scene so brilliant is that one sees a tempory shift in Antonio’s perspective. For a time, Antonio seems to revel in the simple and essential pleasures of life, a quality which his son Bruno (Enzo Staiola) embodies fully. At least for a short while in the restaurant, Antonio seems to realize this quality and shares in Bruno’s enjoyment before receding into his stupor again. In addition, one will come to see by the end of the film that Bruno serves as the last symbol of innocence for Antonio.

Buon Appetito…

This scene conveys a tension in both build-up and character like no other.

 

There are obvious and subtle pychological moments in the scene which make the build-up all the more palpable and mesmerizing.  Obvious moments include when Michael gets up to go to the bathroom, much to the suspicion of his fellow diners, and when he finally is in the bathroom groping for the gun for what seems like agonizing minutes.  A subtle moment comes as the sound of the passing train reaches a crescendo, just a split second before Michael goes in for the kill.  Moreover, this scene is very unique in how it shows the frailty, yet ultimate transformation of a character.  Actor Al Pacino does a superlative job here in portraying the tortured psyche of Michael Corleone, who has in the film just returned home from World War II to a family whose infrastructure is based on crime and bloodshed. For a significant portion of the scene, the viewer sees a very defensive, perhaps even passive posture in Michael. However, come to reach the time in which the train is heard passing by, a drastic change in Michael’s demeanor is evident. One sees a conflicted, though nevertheless murderous countenance in the split seconds right before he finally shoots the two men. Aside from making the build-up in the scene all the more painstaking, the jarring, clamorous sound of the train could serve as a prelude to Michael’s induction into a family whose business lies in killing.

Call It… Friendo

This scene redefines the mien of the typical movie villian.

Actor Javier Bardem’s smug, cold, emotionless stare as hitman Anton Chigurh penetrates the viewer in a razor-like fashion.  His character employs these qualities so well that someone might think there were a heinous crime being committed right before their eyes.  However, it is the other way around.  It is the dearth of activity and long pauses that fuel Bardem’s sinister chemistry so well.  This type of setting draws the viewer even closer to the edge of their seat, leaning forward in anticipation while cringing in fright at the same time.