Still Walking, Still Believing

(for a more pleasant experience please go to this link and listen to the music while reading)

                        When evaluating a work of art in light of realism, there are a number of ways to approach the subject. The three authors we studied this week didn’t seem to have much in common in regards to their approach, only in their concern with “realism” in general. Our example this week, Still Walking, has elements of realism seeping out of every pore. Any of our three experts would be able to find things they approve of and things they disagree with in regards to reality. But by exploring the content of the film, the creation of the film, and the audience’s (myself) experience with the film, the approaches to realist cinema can be easily observed.

Let's not even mention the choice of using a painted scene as the cover for this realist film

                            In one sentence, this film is the story of a man who visits his estranged parents on the anniversary of his brother’s death. There is, of course, so much more to it. The looming facts of his unemployment, previously married wife, and parents’ determination to remain stubborn are among a multitude of things that complicate the visit. Unlike so many films produced, the story itself is simple and plausible. There are no radioactive spiders, magic fairies, or flying cars. It’s easy to relate to the situation(s) presented and almost impossible not to. The seemingly mundane and imperfect events of the story mirror our own experiences effortlessly. Although Brecht was, generally, not interested in the audience relating to the characters presented or their experiences, I still find Brechtian elements represented. The purpose of art, Brecht may argue, is to inspire the audience to action. His immediate concern was far more political than this film’s content, but the same spirit is evident. The audience doesn’t leave the theater having experienced something through the character and feeling complete, quite the opposite, in fact. Ryota is, at times, stubborn and prideful and ignorant and wrong. All of the characters are. But by observing his failings, we recognize them in ourselves. The film ends with his voiceover, wrapping up the loose ends. He and his mother never talked about that sumo wrestler they couldn’t name, his father died shortly after, and he never took his mom on a ride in a car – these aren’t the types of endings you typically get from Hollywood. Creating a situation in which the protagonist makes obvious mistakes, elicits a desire for change in the observer. I didn’t leave class feeling complete or like I had had a cathartic experience, I left feeling the need to call my parents, to share my life with those I love, and to accept that I’m not always right. Although these may not be the grand acts of rebellion that Brecht was hoping to inspire in the hearts of the oppressed, they are life changing and life bettering.

Ryota and his father, not facing each other or their problems

                        The way the film was shot aids in the realistic experience. Bazin argues that cinema is, inherently, the most realistic art form. The use of the camera and the minimal interference of the artist, or filmmaker, give film its legitimacy. In that sense, everything that was shot is real. Whether or not the line was scripted, it was actually said by an actual person and that exact moment was captured on film to watch over and over again. Hirokazu Koreeda, however, takes the medium’s natural realism to another level. There isn’t much editing and the music is used very sparingly and obviously. Extremely long shots allow the actors to live in the space, they allow the audience to experience something organic and less forced than a 37-cuts-per-minute Borne film. The awkward meal Ryota shares with his father is a beautiful example of this. The camera is set at the foot of the table and a very long scene takes place without cinematic interruptions. There are plenty of interruptions, though - real interruptions. While the meal is taking place, family members come and go, the watermelon is massacred, phone calls are initiated, etc. By not forcing the viewer to look at important details through close ups or zooms, Koreeda showcases the importance of everything and every day. The most obvious nod to realism is the empty shot. Several times throughout the film, we see nothing but a chair, or a window, or some papers on a desk. An audience accustomed to the IMR could be confused at first, wondering if the chair is of some significance, or if the papers contain a plot-twisting letter. When the mediocrity and insignificance of such shots becomes clear is when their true importance is exposed. During these scenes there is dialogue happening in the next room or in the entrance down the hall. There may even be action happening outside of a window, or in the shadows on the floor. Koreeda doesn’t hand-feed his viewers; he makes them work for it. By straining to hear or see, we feel as if we’re eavesdropping on a family’s personal affairs. We then remember that it’s not real.

Ryota's brother-in-law and nice are seen in the background dominating a watermelon

                        McGonigal, however, may disagree with that last statement. She attests that gamers (for the sake of this paper we’ll say “viewers”) are well aware of the pretense at every point in the movie. We don’t actually forget that they are a fictitious family comprised of actors delivering scripted lines, but we pretend to forget. By doing so, we allow ourselves a deeper, more rewarding experience. This view is much kinder to the audience, assuming them completely in control of the experience. To an extent, she is correct, but throughout this film there are moments when things become too real. Benjamin warned us before the viewing that we would see our family in this film and he was absolutely right. There were lines that sounded so much like me and my father, or scenes that felt so like my sister and my mother that I had to step out of the film for a minute and then ease back in. I did make the decision to step out, but only because I found myself unwillingly pulled into a false sense of reality, even if just for a split second. I believe that the effect realist cinema has on an audience is as unique as the viewers themselves and that can mean, at times, a true belief, not a choice.

                        As Brecht states, realist art doesn’t have a form, rather it’s given the title based on what it represents. For me, Still Walking qualifies because of the feelings it stirred in me. These feelings were achieved through the cinematic elements of editing, acting, writing, cinematography, etc. to hide the medium when appropriate (long shots, no music) and to remind us of the illusion (music, voiceover). I fell for it over and over and was inspired to look at life just a little bit differently in the end.