Category: 2024 Blog Posts

Walter Benjamin’s piece, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” stood out to me in a number of ways, neither his comments about the interactions between art and Marxism or attaching theory to “revolutionary demands in the politics of art” caught my attention the same way that his comments about Art and originality did.

In the second section of his piece, Benjamin discusses the reproduction of art throughout history, and how humans have valued reproduced or redistributed art in different ways. He begins the section with a bold assertion: “Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be” (714). At the surface this makes sense, and even in 2024, has some truth to it. If you find the Mona Lisa on Google Images, it is a much different experience than seeing the real thing with your own eyes. Rather, where I assess this claim as bold requires us to pay attention to the Benjamin’s word choice in his assertion.

Firstly, Benjamin’s vague generalization of ‘art’ is immediately problematic- particularly when adding judgement statements such as “perfect” or “lacking”. While “perfect” is technically attributed to the reproduction of art, it implies that one piece of reproduced art can be more “perfect” or simply better than another. Benjamin could have chosen to say, “more accurate” or “more precise” rather than “perfect”, but the author chose to attach a judgement to these claims. I find this decision not only significant, but revealing of the author’s biases towards what defines appropriately reproduced art.

To this, Benjamin also uses the word “unique” upon describing the “existence” of an original art piece. Ultimately, he asserts that these “perfect” representations lack one thing: uniqueness. I find this claim to be somewhat contradictory.

While a work of reproduced art is ultimately the same has the original, Benjamin argues that it is not- all the while claiming that this reproduced, different work of art is not unique. If an original piece of art is “unique” in its existence, so too must a reproduction be unique in its difference from the original.

 

The French expression “mise-en-scene” involves carefully choreographed visual elements both on a theater stage and on camera. This can be seen in Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, who is known for his skillful use of manipulating the scene with character staging, lighting, camera angles, and positioning of props. All of these elements are what makes Hitchcock the “master of suspense”. By intentionally positioning the camera so L.B. Jefferies is shown to be on the far left side of the screen, this allows the audience to get a beautiful view of the sunset and distant skyline of the city (1:34:43). Not only do the vibrant orange hues of sunset stand out, the neighbors across the way is given the biggest focal point. In a way, Jeff seems to be overpowered by the apartments taking over the screen. With Jeff’s apartment being the primary setting throughout the entirety of the film though, it would seem like this is a new angle and focal point to add variety to the film. Either that, or Hitchcock’s mastery genius in the art of mise-en-scene is in play.

The scene where Jeff is sitting in the bottom left corner while the sunset and skyline dominate the frame is full of symbolism. Hitchcock’s composition visually reinforces Jeff’s isolation, powerlessness, and role as an observer. It also speaks to the larger themes of the film-voyeurism, the unseen tensions within everyday lives, and the passing of time. The background contrasts the sinister events Jeff is beginning to uncover, making the scene not only visually striking but also filled with narrative depth. Much like Jeff is physically trapped in his apartment, his placement within a smaller portion of the screen may symbolically trap him within the confines of the frame. As a photographer, Jeff is used to framing the world through his lens, and now the world is framing him, stuck in a moment he can only observe. Even the skewed perspective of Jeff in the corner versus the large background reinforces the idea that he is a passive spectator. The world around him is larger and more complex than what he can control or influence. His reduced size and position in the frame can also represent how powerless he feels in comparison to the world he’s watching. While he’s the protagonist, his position and situation suggests he is far from in control.

In relation to the reading “It’s Just a Movie”: A Teaching Essay for Introductory Media Classes by Greg M. Smith, the important argument that every single thing in the film has a purpose can be used here. Smith points out the argument that, “Even if something occurred on film without their planning for it, they make a conscious choice whether to include that chance occurrence. What was chance in the filming becomes choice in editing” (Smith, 128). Alfred Hitchcock is one of the most influential directors in the entirety of cinema, especially in suspense. He is human which means he made mistakes, but it is clear the visual appeal in each of his films are precise and meticulate enough to have to analyze and view in multiple viewings.

Works Cited

Hitchcock, Alfred. Rear Window. Paramount Pictures, 1954.

Smith, Greg M. “‘It’s Just a Movie’: A Teaching Essay for Introductory Media Classes.” Cinema Journal, vol. 41, no. 1, 2001, pp. 127–34.

This film brings to light the line between privacy and awareness, and how these two things work in partnership with one another while also being opposites. These two things are represented through the technique of lighting. For one, the film often shows characters that are suddenly “enlightened” – whether it be to ideas or information– by depicting them in key light. Oftentimes, their surrounding environment is dark to emphasize this enlightenment. On the other hand, it shows characters who are “In the dark”– or in a state of unknown and mystery– depicted in darkness. An example of this is in 48:56-50:00. In the beginning of this scene, Lisa doesn’t believe Jeff’s theories about Thorwald committing a crime. She’s depicted in low lighting while Jeff has overhead lighting directly on him. Then, as she sees Thorwald putting something in a suspicious box, she stands up and becomes enlightened to Jeff’s theories. While she is standing up, she is stepping into the overhead light that is above Jeff. There is visual evidence that she goes from being “In the dark” to becoming “enlightened”.  This encourages readers to question what is means to be “enlightened”. At this point in the film, the viewer is still unaware of whether Thorwald committed the murder or not, but the change in visual lighting represents Lisa’s perspective opening up for more possibilities. This shows that for Lisa’s character, light represents awareness, and in turn can be translated to light representing safety and comfort. On the other hand, darkness – for Lisa’s character– represented the unknown. 

This contrasts with how light represents different things for Jeff’s character. After being conditioned to being a watcher, Jeff feels safer in the dark. In 39:28-40:00, Jeff steps out of the light to prevent himself from being seen by suspecting neighbors. At this point, darkness does not represent the unknown for his character but rather represents feeling secure. He hides in the dark because darkness provides privacy. This idea contrasts with the characters of the neighborhood residents. When the other characters are in their homes at night, their windows are dark. This leaves them unaware of anything happening right outside of their homes. They don’t know anything about their neighbors and therefore are always “in the dark” about them. This idea is even emphasized when the neighborhood dog dies, and the owner blames it on the neighborhood’s lack of care for one another. 

As a result, the viewer is made to question what it means to be aware. If darkness for one character is the unknown, but to another character is privacy, then what factors contribute to these differences in perspective? Through lighting, Hitchcock allows the viewer to feel either unsafe or safe depending on which characters are in certain lighting. He proves that the line between privacy and awareness is subjective. He shows the viewer the flaws of the two extremes: being unethically over aware and being completely unaware. He shows the extremes of this spectrum within Jeff’s character and the neighbors’ characters. Both sets of characters face their own internal issues that are only heightened by their opposing perspective of being aware. 

            Perhaps the most interesting scene in Rear Window is the one in which the Jefferies tells Lisa that he is no longer interested in marrying her because he is uncapable of providing the standard of living which she is used to. In watching this scene, it became apparent that in this moment, and in the film more broadly, Lisa and Jefferies have switched gender roles in the traditional sense. While they are sharing a dinner that she arranged and paid for he listens to her adventures, and day of business dealings while he was stuck at home. This is an example of the true central conflict of the movie, Jefferies is physically unable of caring for himself, and thus loses a significant aspect of what it means to be a man in the traditional sense. He is unable to work or move about freely, and thus struggles greatly with this loss of independence. It is the reason that he wants to break up with Lisa even though she is perfect. His subservience to her, or rather, the nature of this dynamic between them shifts in the climax of the film, when he is stuck watching Lisa fight and perform the physical acts required to bring the killer to justice. He is unable to assist her physically, and is instead stuck watching, in the position that would typically be reserved for the female love interest. In the end, though, Hitchcock allows Jefferies the small victory of saving her by calling the police, and further, surviving a physical confrontation with Lars Thorwald. Thus, in the end of the story, while Jefferies is still physically unable to move, he has reasserted his masculinity by saving his fiancé and defeating the villain in a David versus Goliath style victory. One which necessitates his outsmarting a physically more capable opponent.

At the movie’s outset, extreme boredom has driven its protagonist L.B. Jeffries into observing his neighbors’ lives through their apartment windows. Because Jeffries has a broken leg and is confined to a wheelchair, his perspective is limited and changes very little. Jeffries’ perception of his neighbors’ lives is conveyed through static shots of the outside of their windows. The decision to frame these scenes through windows, rather than through close-up shots of the apartments’ interiors, creates a sense of distance between Jeffries and the people he watches. Since the window frame is always present, the viewer is always aware of the act of watching they are participating in. As Jeffries’ neighbors move in and out of frame, it is as though they are moving about a movie screen, or a theater set. The effect of these shots is the impression of a frame within a frame, which highlights how boxed in Jeffries feels by his limited perspective.  

As the film’s murder plot progresses, what occurs unseen beyond the bounds of the window frames becomes just as important as what is visible through them. The limitations of this framing work as a visual device to increase the suspense of the film while also providing insight into character dynamics. The relationship of the Thorwald couple, around which the murder mystery turns, is emphasized by the framing of their apartment. Mr. and Mrs. Thorwald have separate rooms, which are painted distinctly different colors. Their rooms’ windows are separated not only by a brick wall, but also by a drainpipe that runs down it, creating a clear visual indication of separation and contrast that reflects their strained relationship.  

As the murder mystery’s stakes become higher, the limitations of these frames decrease to highlight Jeffries’ increasing personal involvement. During the climax of the film, Mr. Thorwald breaks into Jeffries’ apartment to confront him. When Thorwald attacks him, Jeffries falls out of his apartment window, breaking the restrictive framing of the film and his limited perspective. In this moment, Jeffries becomes an active participant in the world he had only previously been observing.  

Rear Window’s Single Room

The fact that the film Rear Window takes place in a single room is part of what makes it so intriguing—this has been said by many viewers, I’m sure, but their reasoning behind the statement varies. It is the aspect of connection to our main character that intrigues me in particular.

For the entirety of Rear Window, Jeff is confined to only his living space. By setting the entire film in one room, with only the rear window and other characters as ways to experience the outside world, viewers share in Jeff’s predicament and his experiences. What viewers see is what Jeff sees—this is additionally reflected in the unique camerawork when it comes to certain shots, as viewers focus in on what Jeff is looking directly at. Take, for example, when Jeff uses his binoculars: the shots while he uses his binoculars are seen through his eyes. (40:38-40:54). The binocular view is only interrupted by Jeff’s expressions, his reactions to the information he is seeing. This, too, connects us to him and his struggle to piece information together, as we likely share in his frustration, his panic, or his confusion as his facial expressions manifest. Perhaps we, as viewers, are making similar expressions to him at the time that his reactions are shown! 

A similar example of the camera focusing on what Jeff sees in his confinement, and how it leads the viewers attention in a similar way to his current experience, are his interactions with other people in his home. His tense interaction with Lisa while she first visits, when they discuss his job, is full of subtle details. While he attempts to push her away from him due to his lifestyle, the camera is very stagnant—alternating between still shots of him and Lisa (27:16-29:30). This represents Jeff’s current position on the matter, a stubborn one. Lisa even asks him if either of them could ever change, and he replies, “Right now, it doesn’t seem so” (29:50-30:01). After, however, the camera begins to follow Lisa’s movement as she makes her way out (30:05-31:08)—she is making a move at this moment, simply saying “goodnight” while Jeff begins to regret his stubbornness with her. The camera moving to follow Lisa reflects his focus on her, as well as the nature of her movement away from him. Viewers suddenly become quite conscious of her movement, just as Jeff is. 

Greg M. Smith’s “It’s Just A Movie” talks about the idea that “films are not telegrams”—that there is no single message to “get” about a film. I think this idea applies quite clearly to Rear Window, where there are numerous different aspects that instantly prompt the viewer to think. The one-room-choice is one of these things: if a common effect that this film choice has on viewers is bringing them closer to Jeff, is the film attempting to imply that he’s the most important protagonist to understand? My answer to that question would be “no,” while keeping Smith’s ideas in mind. That the ideas of the filmmaker and the audience are equally valid is a complex mindset, but I believe a necessary one when considering questions such as these. Personally, I believe Lisa is by far my favorite character, and I feel more sympathy for her than I do for Jeff overall. This does not mean that I don’t think Jeff is a worthy character to feel connected with throughout the film as well, because seeing the film through his eyes is compelling. It alerts us to his character growth and the events at hand in a different way than it would have looked through Lisa’s eyes, for example. Jeff’s perspective is only a single, rich, complicated perspective. My enjoyment of the movie’s suspense was enhanced by the closeness I felt to his perspective, despite his lack of relatability to me. This could vary for another viewer, who felt connected to his personality, hence why they were compelled by this closeness in perspective.

While watching Rear Window, I was constantly distracted by Jefferies’ handling of the wooden backscratcher—plainly, it felt annoying to watch. It is perhaps most prevalent during his second conversation with Tom Doyle, in which the detective details his preliminary investigation into the Thorwalds’ affairs. Specifically, Jefferies fiddles with this backscratcher as he laments the fact that he was asleep for the alleged last sighting of Mrs. Thorwald (56:46). He continues to tap the stick against his cast, gesturing wildly with it as he implores Doyle to grill the superintendent further and to treat the case with gravity. It was more than a nervous tic or a distracted moment—this little wooden stick becomes a sort of conductor’s baton, directing Doyle to key facts of the case that he is overlooking. The tool doesn’t leave Jefferies’ hand even once during the scene, closing out with the man leaning as far as he can with the backscratcher and still failing to reach his big toe.

At the risk of sounding corny, Jefferies is literally itching to solve the case of Mrs. Thorwald’s disappearance. He has all the tools of a brilliant investigative journalist—the camera lenses, the observant nature, the patience—but his broken leg keeps him confined to his room. All this is perfectly summarized in his futile attempt to scratch his leg. He has the tools—his trusty backscratcher—but still lacks the ability (or rather, mobility) to properly satisfy this itch. Furthermore, this moment of frustration comes directly after Doyle says that he cannot search Thorwald’s apartment without due process. Ultimately, he needs help from his friends to scratch the itch and to solve the case; he cannot do it alone. With Doyle, he is so close to achieving his goal, yet it evades his grasp. The backscratcher, and specifically its presence at these crucial scenes of tension in the case, represents Jefferies’ larger inability to solve the mystery independently in his injured state.

Shared Trauma Overcomes Class Differences

 

Long before the murder mystery gets under way in Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, the audience is faced with Jeff’s personal dilemma, regarding his love life—whether or not to marry Lisa, a woman who he loves and who loves him back, due to her social status. He doesn’t see himself as someone worthy of her and all her elegance, social connections, and expensive clothing. Lisa is a New York socialite, while Jeff is a photographer who travels for work in suboptimal conditions that can be dangerous. He can’t leave his life and job behind for Lisa, and he doesn’t want Lisa to do the same for him. In the first scene of them together, Lisa makes it clear that she wants marriage, but Jeff tells her he cannot see either of them changing for the other, and they come to an impasse.

It isn’t until their investigation into whether Lars Thorwald murdered his wife begins in earnest that their differences start to feel manageable. A large part of this is due to the fact that concerns over their class differences do not matter in the face of danger. While Jeff is still unable to leave his apartment, Lisa takes over the more aggressive aspects of sleuthing and gets caught in Thorwald’s apartment in the process. When Thorwald finds her and starts to assault Lisa, Jeff is paralyzed with fear at the prospect of losing her, as he believes in his heart that Thorwald is a man capable of murder. Subsequently, when Thorwald attacks and nearly kills Jeff in his own apartment, Lisa has a similarly panicked reaction. After he falls from his window, Lisa cradles his head lovingly while Jeff tells her he’s proud of her (1:49:50). In this moment, it is evident that their survival and safety is all that matters, making their earlier relationship troubles seem almost trivial. Having both been assaulted by the same man in an effort to discover the truth, Jeff and Lisa not only become closer but more grateful for their lives together. 

Marriage is not mentioned again, but the final scene of the film makes it clear that Jeff and Lisa will be able to make their relationship work. As Jeff sleeps with two casts, one on each leg, Lisa sits in the apartment in a far more casual outfit than she wore throughout the rest of the film. In a blouse and jeans rather than her $1000+ gowns, her clothing makes it clear that she and Jeff are trying to close the gap between them. Compromises are being made, though neither of them will fully change. As he dozes off, Lisa reads a travel book, clearly for Jeff’s benefit, then picks up something more to her liking once she knows he’s asleep. But the implication is clear—Lisa and Jeff are going to make it work and find a way to exist in the other’s world, even if it’s only halfway.

Over the course of the film, Jefferies makes a few comparisons between Lisa and his ballet dancer neighbor, Ms. Torso. However, not once does he draw a comparison between Lisa and his neighbor Ms. Lonelyhearts, whom Lisa herself seems to relate throughout the film. The first scene we get focusing on Ms. Lonelyhearts is the one where she is getting ready for a date. It is soon revealed that Ms. Lonelyhearts’ suitor is an imaginary one and while she tries to pretend to have a romantic dinner with said suitor, she ends up breaking down at the table. At the close of the scene, we see Lisa looking at Ms. Lonelyhearts just before Jefferies compares her to Ms. Torso. 

The scene may only last a few minutes, but it gives the audience a clear picture of Ms. Lonelyhearts’ loneliness and longing for love as she fantasizes about sharing a romantic dinner with a lover. As Lisa watches Ms. Lonelyhearts, her eyes soften and she is not quite frowning, making the expression seem empathetic. Seconds later, Jefferies comments that Lisa will never be like Ms. Lonelyhearts and after a brief hesitation, Lisa questions him. Lisa’s voice, witch at her arrival was upbeat and enthusiastic, now becomes soft and sad as she doubts Jefferies’ judgement. Both the look she casts at Ms. Lonelyhearts and her saddened tone help highlight how Lisa relates to Ms. Lonelyhearts. 

These similarities between the two women help highlight Lisa’s own feelings of longing and loneliness in her relationship with Jefferies as he tries to push her away while she just wants to be with him. The song, To See You Is to Love You (performed by Bing Crosby), which plays throughout the scene further highlights this idea. During the song we hear the line “To see you is to love you” twice and the line “To see you is to want you” once. Over the course of this song, Jefferies is watching Ms. Lonelyhearts, not Lisa, which helps emphasize Lisa’s feeling of loneliness in their relationship.

Light and Heat as Closeness in Rear Window

The introduction of protagonist L.B. Jeffries in the opening sequence of Rear Window correlates his proximity to the thermometer on his apartment wall with the implication of inescapable heat in a New York summer, and his inescapable position as a voyeur to the intricacies of his neighbors’ lives. The light from his window the first morning shown illuminates the sweat forming on his brow, and the restlessness he experiences sedentary in his cast. The thermometer in this scene is shown well above 90° but at the end of the film, the thermometer is shown around 70°, not only to show the passage of time through the summer, but the change in Jeffries’ mentality regarding the stagnancy of his life. In the beginning of the film, he felt trapped in his relationship with Lisa Fremont because of her perceived perfection and his stunted position as a traveling photographer. Though his body is still confined to the wheelchair at the end of the film, these things he previously believed to be perfect, or even real, no longer constrain him. Shown through Hitcock’s use of light and heat, the evolution of Jeffries’ character comes through his observation of what’s before him, and the illuminated reality underneath it all.

Because of the New York summer heat, most of the apartments Jeffries watches have their windows open at one point or another, and through these openings Jeffries becomes an audience to their lives. Walter Benjamin describes this phenomenon in the realm of film theory through the concept of the aura, or the contexts and histories that reside in the distance between two objects, defining one of them in the process. In film, the distance between actor and audience is immeasurable, so aura dissipates in the process (Benjamin 720). For Jeffries, he doesn’t recognize the lack of aura in his own observations as an audience to their lives, thus Hitchcock creates a suspended distance that closes through the use of light. In Ms. Lonelyheart’s apartment, lit candles and lamps are gradually introduced throughout the film as more of her life is revealed, and Ms. Torso’s dimmed business affairs construe her image to Jeffries, but her true self is shown when she dances alone in the light of day, or the morning her husband comes home from the army. In the confrontation between Thorwald and Jeffries, Jeffries himself uses his camera bulb to create light and heat, illuminating the reality of Thorwald’s aura and his true murderous nature. Lisa’s role grounds Jeffries’ observations in reality through not only her judicious nature, but in her constantly illuminating Jeffries space by lighting candles or turning on lamps. Reality then emerges through a combination of the surveillance he issues on his neighbors throughout the film and the ways in which light conveys the reality of their lives.