My experience of SCMS was, indeed, that of being in attendance at two very different conferences: a cinema conference, on the one hand, and a television & new media conference on the other. This isn’t to say that these two fields are in any way opposed to one another or antagonistic; on the contrary, the people I encountered within both realms—and those who float in between them—were all quite collegial and friendly. I detected the split through the confluence of my Twitter feed and my sleeping arrangements. I bunked in New Orleans with my GSU colleague, Noel Kirkpatrick, and our fellow graduate student, Myles McNutt from Madison (their blogs may be found here and here). Noel and Myles are both TV scholars, and the close quarters of a hotel room offered opportunities for me to gain some insight into TV studies, a world that I, as a rather traditional film scholar, knew nothing of.

If one were to glance at the Twitter backchannel (#SCMS11), she might get a rather limited picture of what was in actuality a quite diverse conference. The TV folks, it seems, are far more vested in Twitter than are their counterparts in film. For nearly every television panel, there were multiple people tweeting the proceedings. For the film sessions, little information made it to the Twittersphere, despite my best efforts. Moreoever, this investment in Twitter seems to have fostered a particularly close-knit group of TV folks, as my conversations with Noel and Myles confirmed.

As a first-year PhD student still learning the ropes of academia, I am, quite frankly, jealous of the community my colleagues enjoy. The distance between senior scholars and graduate students appears decidedly less hierarchical as a result of their online interactions. I don’t mean to suggest that film scholars are somehow un-friendly; rather, I think that admiration and nervousness on the part of young scholars can make approaching established academics more than a bit intimidating. How I’d love to see such esteemed cinema faculty giving and taking via Twitter. Who’d have thought there would be such a pronounced divide in terms of social networking?

This divide between the C and the MS of SCMS is coupled by another one relating to presentation format. The 20-minute presentation model of SCMS was called into question numerous times on Twitter and in conversation around the conference, and, by and large, this sentiment seemed to come from the TV and media studies folks. In its stead, most preferred the workshop and shorter presentation format of FLOW. Most seemed to complain of being “read to” and the lack of interaction and collaboration, and I certainly understand where they are coming from—panels can be exhausting, especially when the arguments are tight and the presentation lacking. However, I think there is a place for both models. As I see it, workshops are ideal formats for “state of the field” conversations and for sharing ideas. And yet, I’d hate to have presented my paper—one that I’ve has been gestating in various forms for nearly two years—in any time less than twenty minutes. Hell, I had trouble trimming it to even that point.

I tend to agree with Mabel Rosenheck’s point that many in TV studies are focused upon “contemporary popular media” and, thus, the audience is likely to know quite a bit about the topic and not need a great deal of literature review or setting up of the aesthetic object in order to “get” the argument.  However, in my case, I sincerely doubt that every member of the audience at my panel was hip to Deleuze’s notion of free indirect discourse in sound-image realtions. Such an argument is built on a number of steps and doesn’t lend itself to short formats and give-and-take. I don’t mean to suggest that my discipline is more “advanced” or “sophisticated” than another, and nor do I want to paint TV studies as monolithic. Instead, I’d simply say that certain topics and papers are more natural fits for certain formats.

When I suggested as much to a media scholar who questioned the 20-minute talk model on Twitter, I was told that “scholars should have the skill to present a fully-developed argument in a roundtable format.” I don’t think this a matter of the skill of the presenter so much as it is the goal of the session and the aims of the argument. In fact, I think its quite insulting to suggest that one who can’t shoehorn an argument into less than 10 minutes is neccesarily lacking in skill. There are numerous formats out there to dessiminate schoarlship, from blogs to shorter outlets like In Media Res and FLOW to conference presentation to traditional journals. Therefore, I think one should tailor his or her content to the model to which they are submitting, or, alternatively, propose more workshops as opposed to submitting to the open call.

All things considered, though, I saw some terrific presentations at SCMS (and my fair share of duds) and gained some insight into how the “other half” lives. I’m looking forward to next year’s meeting in Boston. Hopefully by then I’ll have roped a few more film people into contributing to the backchannel.

Neo-noir is by no means the only case in which filmmakers self-consciously juggle generic conventions. Below is an example from Scream (Craven, 1996) in which a character in a horror film explains the “rules” of horror films. However, what’s interesting about Scream is that it acknowledges these rules (“only virgins survive”) and then breaks them. This layer of meaning only translates if we’ve seen enough horror films to recognize the conventions right away. (Note how the Jamie Kennedy character is the still shot from the video features his arm in the same position as the murderer on the television.)

When you screen Brick this week, keep an eye out for how it mimics the visual look, plot, tone, and, especially, the dialogue of Double Indemnity and other classic films noir. If you don’t “get” what noir is, then you’re missing a large portion of the payoff for watching a movie like Brick.

After a two-day movie marathon, I’m mostly caught up on the Oscar-nominated films: 9 out of 10 best picture nominees are accounted for (after Slumdog Millionaire, I’m boycotting 127 Hours and, for that matter, most any future Danny Boyle film). So, to join the chorus of countless others who have opined on the matter, I have filled out my ballot below. For each category, I’ve listed both my predicted winner and my personal preference. The entire list of nominees may be found here. Note: unlike most years, I haven’t read any other predictions yet, so if I mention “front-runners” and whatnot, that’s an educated guess more so than a gauge of what’s been said in the press and the blogosphere.

Supporting Actress

When considered in a vacuum, Melissa Leo’s performance in The Fighter seems the one Academy voters would gravitate towards: showy, un-subtle, with a thick accent to boot. That being said, she’s up against her co-star, Amy Adams—who I found to be far more compelling—, so I’m banking on these two canceling each other out. Helena Bonham Carter was poorly utilized in an underwritten role. I doubt many voters actually saw Animal Kingdom (full disclosure: I didn’t). Thus, my vote goes Hailee Steinfeld in True Grit. Historically, the Academy likes an ingenue, so Steinfeld fits the bill.

Prediction: Steinfeld / Preference: Adams

Supporting Actor

A two-man race between Christian Bale and Geoffrey Rush. Bale’s performance, like Leo’s, is big, showy, and over-the-top, just the sort of stuff that Oscar voters eat up. However, Rush appeals to the more conservative Academy member. If this category goes to Rush, then I’d guess The King’s Speech will dominate the night. And yet, my hunch is that Bale will win: physical transformation + Brit doing New England accent +multi-nominated film that won’t win anywhere else = statue.

Prediction: Bale / Preference: John Hawks (Winter’s Bone)

Actress

This, along with the best actor category, seems to promise little in the way of surprises. Annette Bening was adequate in The Kids Are Right, but the screenplay thinks slugging back wine qualifies as character depth. Jennifer Lawrence, in Winter’s Bone, was the best performance of the year, but her nomination is her prize. Natalie Portman coasts.

Prediction: Portman / Preferecne: Lawrence

Actor

Colin Firth is the easy pick here. The Academy’s anglophilia is hard to keep at bay.

Prediction: Firth / Preference: Jesse Eisenberg (The Social Network)

Original Screenplay

The script for The King’s Speech is nothing if not solid, which is less than I can say for most of its competition (I haven’t seen Another Year). The Kids Are All Right might be a dark horse here, though, as the Academy likes to pat itself on the back for acknowledging “progressive” movies in the less-visible categories.

Prediction: King’s Speech / Preference: King’s Speech

Adapted Screenplay

A battle for “best dialogue” between True Grit and The Social Network. The old guard of the Academy will surely go for True Grit, while Aaron Sorkin’s script will attract the votes of the younger (“hipper”) voters. This seems to me the tightest race of the night, and it serves as a bellweather for The Social Network: a loss for Sorkin spells a clear path for The King’s Speech. Sorkin by a nose.

Prediction: The Social Network / Preference: Winter’s Bone

Cinematography

I’d be prefectly content with either Black Swan or The Social Network winning this one. Swan had a beautiful grainy texture and I loved how Portman was frequently shot in the dead-center of the frame. The film, in that regard, is insistent in its focus upon her. Social Network features such lovely lamp-lit rooms that glow with a type of warmth I’ve never seen. I think voters will—once again—go with the “safer” film, and that’s Social Network. Upset potential: True Grit.

Prediction: Social Network / Preference: Social Network (by a frog’s hair)

Direction

David Fincher (The Social Network), I’d imagine, is the front-runner here, as The King’s Speech merits lie in script and performances more so than its paint-by-numbers direction. Aronofsky, for Black Swan, might sneak in here, but my money—and my pretend vote—are with Fincher.

Prediction: Fincher / Preference: Fincher

Best Picture

Simply put, The King’s Speech is the type of movie Oscar voters love and reward. While The Social Network is the more daring, original, and, frankly, better film, I suspect that the aforementioned Academy old guard simply won’t “get” it. As my previous preferences might suggest, Winter’s Bone is the film that most resonated with me. Its a shame it won’t find a larger audience.

Prediction: King’s Speech / Preference: Social Network

I’m a bit late to the party on Inception, which dominated my twitter feed a week or so ago. The consensus from the assortment of academics, bloggers, and film journalists that I follow was that the movie was both visually stunning and intellectually intriguing, a largely successful combination of the popcorn film and the “mindfuck” genre. My response was a bit more tepid, though. I arrived at the theater not expecting to like the film, as I’ve grown a bit weary of what has been lately termed the “puzzle film.” My skepticism proved warranted in the film’s first half-hour or so, which, to my mind, played like a well-polished but second-rate James Bond flick. However, once the world-making sequences began, my guard was down and I was enraptured. These sequences align nicely with my own interest in realism, specifically the notion that the tie that binds everyone from Bazin to Benjamin, Deleuze and Barthes is the irrational that subtends the rational, that the sublime threatens at any moment to rupture the world as we experience it. Watching Ellen Page and Leonardo DiCaprio sit at an ostensibly real cafe that begins to dismantle before their eyes was thus quite a treat for me. The ideas floating about the film—of which there are plenty—are indeed mesmerizing, and Christopher Nolan manages for nearly 2 hours to keep all these plates spinning. However, by the time we arrive at the dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream (in Siberia, I suppose?), I’d ceased to care about the narrative of the film. It was here that my rapt attention gave way to intermittent glances at my watch.

What intrigues me most, though, is that commercial audiences are apparently finding the film quite palatable. We’ve seen successful puzzle films in the past—Donnie Darko, Mulholland Drive, and Nolan’s own Memento come immediately to mind—but those examples were niche films, confined largely to the art houses, or late-night cult or DVD screenings. The only other mindfuck movie that I can think of that has achieved such box office success was another recent DiCaprio vehicle, Shutter Island, of which Inception might be said to be an unintended companion piece. The classical Hollywood model of Bordwell/Thompson/Staiger is one organized around narrative clarity, of “excessive obviousness” that ensures that no spectator might get lost within the story. In that regard, Inception seems to me a curious case in which popular audiences are more than willing to suspend their demands for narrative signposting and go along with the flow, so to speak.

That isn’t to say that Inception isn’t without expositional tethering. Ellen Page, a most charming performer, manages to be compelling despite serving little purpose in the film beyond asking questions of the other characters, questions that, no doubt, the audience is asking as well. Moreover, Nolan’s conceit of having each dream occurring within a different temporality is an ingenious one: the image of the van falling from a bridge that we repeatedly return to is a remarkably vivid reminder of this complex temporal arrangement, a shrewd variation on the sands of the hourglass. (This temporal structure, as one sharp spectator has pointed out in a YouTube video, is echoed in the film’s score.)

Despite these very clever cues and devices that are designed to keep us grounded, I came away with only a loose sense of what actually occurred within the film. This happened, and then this happened, but the why—that crucial Hollywood link of cause and effect—remains rather murky. Clearly, the puzzle film genre welcomes repeat viewings, which may, of course, add to a film’s bottom line; perhaps, then, the real genius of the film is that it has built-in repeat business. And yet, might it be that we’ve reached a point where narratives don’t necessarily have to make sense so much as progress? Within each of the dreaming nesting dolls, there is a reiteration of the stakes of layering another dream as well as change of setting. Hence, as long as we continue to move towards designated plot points (dream #2, dream #3, the “kick”), it doesn’t really matter if we remember why its happening. It is as if the narrative reassures us that indeed we are making progress and will soon arrive at catharsis.

The snowy dream sequence is the one where the plot became the most unintelligible for me, for both the “good guys” and the “bad guys” were dressed in an almost identical garb. Of course, this indiscernibility might have been Nolan’s aim, one last evocation of the slipperiness of dreams. But therein lies the rub: the film doesn’t, as many have said, operate according to “dream logic,” for the worlds we see are designed by an architect, each move within worlds initiated by the manipulators themselves; I wouldn’t expect logical coherence from a film that actually were to function as dreams do, such as, say, Mulholland Drive, Un Chien Andalou, or Waking Life (still my favorite dream flick). After only one screening of the film, my hunch is that more rigorous viewings will not reveal the film to be more “transparent,” but rather bare it be more illogical and incoherent, as this parody video suggests. Perhaps the Byzantine structure of Inception serves to obscure the holes in its premises, like a magician that draws attention to one hand while conducting the deception with the other.

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND that you take a look at this. It is an excellent demonstration of how to analyze editing patterns and figure out how they work on the viewer. This should prove very helpful to you on your short essays, midterm, and final paper. Do yourself a favor: read it.

This essay delves a bit more into the theoretical realm that what we typically do in FILM 1010; however, it illustrates how watching a movie closely can lead us to questions beyond the film itself. In fact, we may often find that a movie sparks larger questions about cinema in general. I encourage you to take a look at this short essay. It may open up some new avenues of exploration for you.

Clearly the plots are similar, but what about the images? It might be interesting to watch Lost in Translation and note how it uses cinematography and mise-en-scene to tell its story of loneliness and isolation in comparison with In the Mood. Obviously, this is not an assignment but simply a suggestion for those who are interested and have the time. Let me know what you think!