Psychology of World Building in Cinema

Like my favorite film critic, Roger Ebert, I find that talking about films and the story—-how it relates to the director personally or myself even—is a very relaxing and quiet way for me to unwind. Here is something I wrote over five months ago to try and get published on this cool cinema review website:

I didn’t get the chance to be published there. But, one day, maybe! Anyway, this was my first attempt. I loved writing it.

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The history of cinema and how it relates to us in such a stunningly visceral way, as it can reach the core of your darkest dreams and fantasies, and keep your childlike wonder alive—almost like it can reach your true self without you even realizing it. It grabs you and pins you down to absorb its own perspective, draining your own mind for what’s to come, and you find yourself in an entirely new set of shoes on a new, strange road.

One thing we can all universally understand about cinema is that it can break boundaries and unlock social chains—-to level our understanding of each other and of our eccentricities and grief. Even in the most sweeping fantasy epic like Lord of the Rings, we can still appreciate shy and timid Frodo, and even with all the fantastic elements of the characters and lore, we can still relate to them because they are us—just with incredible circumstances.

Different directorial styles can change the tone of a film and it’s message, the way that the characters view the world and it’s inhabitants can drastically improve or destroy expectations for the events that follow. What comes next is how each of us (publicly and privately) react to it, and whether we can change our viewpoint or keep it firmly unfettered, if not, more than likely, more cynical than ever. With each new film a director presents, it builds upon everything else they have done, complementing it or satirizing it. It’s a world they know and trust and what we have come to understand and expect, love or hate.

Tarantino; gritty, raw, unapologetic, and disturbing at times, the human experience without censorship. He builds upon his works like a layered canvas that only becomes more clear with age, like a fine wine. He doesn’t edit anything about how humans can actually be, he just edits history. Inglorious Basterds set out to change the events leading up to the end of World War II and how the characters he thought up helped in that respect. Yes, he changed a dramatic historical event and it’s conclusion in what could be a metaphor for cinema’s role in the Third Reich’s destruction; but we love him for it and enjoy the ride.

History is a horror story in of itself; change a few elements and it becomes a hero’s story, or a tragic event with a new twist. The love of cinema and art is always a welcome platform for these grandiose fantastical dramas, however absurd and disturbing they can be. Living in a sheltered and quiet life as a mother of two in the midwestern United States, I can appreciate these paradoxes of complicated historical facts being twisted in the name of art and entertainment, by understanding that, cinema, in every way, reflects us now more than ever and how we relate to politics worldwide and at home.

Kurosawa as a writer and a director has a longstanding relationship with balancing the subtle art of humanity and violence that has built his own worlds in unprecedented originality and style. As one of the most influential directors in cinema history, the juxtaposition of the 1961 samurai film Yojimbo and the 1952 drama Ikiru are jarring, yet you could argue that within the world of Ikiru, the red tape and bureaucratic system that holds the main character in line, there’s always the looming threat of the mob pursued by action to take care of a public health hazard. In Yojimbo, the protagonist defeats all odds with a sword and knife against a man with a gun, and that perfect western long shot of the lone hero with the town surrounding him encapsulates modern western cinematography to this day. In a much wider way Kurosawa has influenced an even larger world; in a galaxy far, far away. George Lucas, who has been heavily influenced by Japanese master Kurosawa, drew heavily on the director’s designs with character, costume, cinematography and of course, the singularly autocratic sound and visual style of Kurosawa. All of these very intense and different worlds, as idiosyncratic and detailed as they are, all build on the writers aspect of to show, not tell. They show you their worlds, and as we live In them for a brief time, we’re entirely entranced In it. That’s the magic of the movies.