Films have been a part of the human experience from the very beginning. Even before the “big screen”, humans have enjoyed watching a story unfold in front of their eyes, to depart from reality, even for a short while, and be transported to another world, another time, and observe the life of someone or something else. From the 1960s on, in a mere fifty-three years, film has rapidly evolved to the amazing cinematography and technology seen today.

However, aside from the technological advances that allowed film to expand beyond the movie theatre and into televisions, laptops and cell phones worldwide, have films themselves changed?

Throughout the past few months of exploring films from a variety of decades, genres, and directors, I have come to realize that films themselves have not changed in their objective – to transport the viewer somewhere else, and by successfully doing so, hopefully benefit from the craft financially. Rather, the roles of those in charge of fulfilling a film’s objective have changed. The film making power dynamic has shifted and, although at first, some decisions seemed controversial, with time, their efforts to “transport” have become more appreciative by the surrounding society. This shift all began with the emergence of the American New Wave in the late 1960s.

The American New Wave began to develop as early as the late 1950s, however, Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde (1967) solidified the movement and officially brought it into Hollywood. 

The violent crime film was a breakthrough for the director and showcased a model where the director, not the studios had the final say on film. In a novel, Penn describes reading a Pauline Keal’s review of the film in the New Yorker, where the journalist chose not to interview him and reflecting that “Kael may not think highly of me, but if she thinks that Bonnie and Clyde is “art,” I can tell her it didn’t get to be that through democratic process. If I am not its “auteur,” whatever that is, I sure as hell directed Bonnie and Clyde” (Penn, 2000). The film received mostly negative reviews from critics, being astonished by the vast amount of violence in the film and the horrific ending where Bonnie and Clyde are ruthlessly shot down by the police.

However, that was not reflected in the box office, or by younger movie critics, like Pauline Kealy (mentioned above) and Robert Ebert calling it, “a milestone in the history of American movies, a work of truth and brilliance”. The film ended up grossing $70 million, making it the second highest grossing film of that year.

Essentially, Bonnie and Clyde represented the rising cultural rift between American societies. The views of the old-fashioned studios and movie critics, those belonging to “Old Hollywood” (where musical and historical epics dominated the screen) have become void in the face of the rising younger population – “The Baby Boomers”, the children of a post-Great Depression society, and teenagers living through Vietnam. As said by Lester Friedman, “The appeal of Bonnie and Clyde for its late-sixties audiences seems clear: it fired a subversive shot across the prow of mainstream American society. By doing so, the film forced an older generation of movie makers, critics, and audiences – one shaped by their Great Depression and World War II experiences – to confront the emerging power and rebellious values of a new and different generation – one molded by the assassination of John F. Kennedy and by the Vietnam War”  (Friedman, 4). This younger population has seen violence, greed, and vulgarity expressed in their everyday reality and having a movie that properly reflects that allowed them to finally have something to relate to.

The support from younger generations and the rise in popularity of following the director’s method of movie making, appeared internationally as well. In Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris (1971), the clear vision of the director is seen in the film, not the studios or even the original novel’s writer. As said by Peter Swirski in his article about the progression of the novel into two movies, “Even as it tries to do justice to Lem’s vision, the 1971 film swiftly establishes that it’s not just a visual recreation of the novel” referring to the Tarkovsky’s choice of shooting scenes in longer sequences than were described in the novel (Swiski).

This science fiction film is an excellent example of how directors feel the need to make a film in a certain way, portraying the influence of the New Wave movement in cinema. Despite having a model of how the plot should be laid out through Lem’s novel, Andrei Tarkovsky had his own visions for the portrayal of these ideas on screen. And using his artistic talents he was able to show millions his own interpretations of the film – he explored he self, memory, consciousness, and philosophy itself, and leaving the audience with questions they did not even know they had.  As Tim Helwig said from his previous post on the film, “Tarkovsky may not have the same name recognition as Kubrick, but he will forever be the true master of the “film experience” (Helwig).

In addition to the shift in power dynamics where the director gets the final say, the demand for a new type of film, where topics that were considered “taboo”, like sexuality and brutal violence became more mainstream and were continuously explored in films including Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980). Being one of the most controversial and misunderstood movies of all time, The Shining is an excellent example of a film being a form of art to express the director’s point of view of society, regardless if it is a hit or not.

Kubrick designs his film in a way where everything and nothing is possible. This initially aggravated critics, with Janet Maslin of the New York Times reporting that “the supernatural story knows frustratingly little rhyme or reason […] Even the film’s most startling horrific images seem overbearing and perhaps even irrelevant” (Maslin, 1980). In fact, most reviews talked about Kubrick’s ambiguity and omitting important moments from the plot of the novel it was based on (Of the same name, by Stephen King).

Just like in Solaris, the director chose to stray from the original content of a novel, and apply personal narratives to the story, once again strengthening the New Wave movement.

Most notably, critics noted Kubrick’s choice to omit a substantial soundtrack which caused the film to lack forward movement and a feeling of unease. The switch between awkward moments of silence or static sound, followed by bursts of dramatic violin, indicating danger, and old-fashioned singles, which stand alone, are quite pleasing, but put into the context of the film, creating an eerie sense, were wildly disapproved at the time, but are now the cornerstone for all horror movie soundtracks for its residual effects on the viewer.

The film itself is now considered a staple of pop culture, having critics (who have previously spoken against the film) to revert their opinion and applaud the haunting vagueness, making The Shining one of the best horror films ever made, and its model of directing studied by many aspiring horror movie directors worldwide.

The cyclical trend of films previously harshly criticized by reviewers but accepted by the general public like Bonnie and Clyde, or rejected by all initially only to be praised later like The Shining, show how it was not the movies that changed, but the opinions of the audiences watching them.

Realizing this, more directors became independent within the filmmaking process, which also motivated actors to define their roles with their own perspective.

Two movies come to mind where the main actors defined the success of the film, and not vice versa, with Sylvester Stallone in Rocky (1976), and Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator (1984).

In Rocky, if it was not for Stallone embodying Rocky Balboa’s struggle for success as a second tier boxer, relating it to his personal harsh climb to stardom, the cliché sports movie would have been at most a mild premiere, not a Hollywood sensation. Playing Rocky (a screenplay he wrote but refused to sell unless he played Rocky, risking him thousands of dollars) was most likely Stallone’s last chance to break through as an actor before becoming homeless. As he mentioned in an interview with Dinah Shore and Joey Bishop in 1976, “you have nothing to lose when you have nothing to lose” (Stallone).

The story’s plot matches Stallone own path to acting, beginning with a battle with self-identity. Eric Lichtenfeld, author of I, of The Tiger: Self and Self-Obsession in The Rocky Series, comments how the use of cinematography highlights Rocky’s lack of self-confidence, portraying how in the opening scene with Rocky boxing and being “photographed from outside the ring, Rocky appears in the shadows, with his back to us. Even between rounds, when Rocky is seated in his corner, his face is partially concealed” (Lichtenfeld). The inability for the viewer to see Rocky parallels Rocky’s inability to see himself as being successful.

That all changes when Rocky is given a chance to fight the heavyweight champion.  The internal fire to succeed that begins to develop within Rocky as the film progresses is what makes the film exceptional, and accomplishes the film’s objective: “To transport” and provide hope for the viewers. As said by Elise Settle, who also reviewed the film, “The film proudly presents a happy ending, one of the reasons audiences keep coming back to the film. Stallone created a hope for future unknown actors and actresses, that no matter the odds, they could make it in Hollywood” (Settle).

Similarly, in The Terminator, James Cameron excels in his big production science fiction directorial debut. However, it was the antagonist cyborg himself, played by Arnold Schwarzenegger, who made the movie into the must-watch classic that it is today. In a review by The Hollywood Reporter, “No doubt about it: Arnold Schwarzenegger was born to play The Terminator … A remarkably spare script by James Cameron and Gale Anne Hurd gives a new dimension to this age-old morality play … But it’s Arnold’s movie all the way” (THR, 1984).

Schwarzenegger took a character, who is literally emotionless (being a robot), and gave it life by drawing from his own characteristics of physical size and presence in a room.  In a prospective interview with Cameron and Schwarzenegger, Cameron mentions how Schwarzenegger changed the idea of who the Terminator will be, stating, “The visual concept the Terminator was the anonymous character who could walk out of the crowd and kill for no apparent reason except for what your life would mean in some future time and that concept changed because “Arm” [Schwarzenegger] does not vanish into a crowd, it took a slightly more hyperbolic visual style, it was a little larger than life” (Cameron). Cameron, realizing the potential of Schwarzenegger’s effect on the film further emphasizes the physical overshadowing of The Terminator, and the horror that he inflicts, by including numerous slow-motion special effects in the scene (most notably Schwarzenegger approaching Sarah Conner at the bar and being saved last minute by Kyle Reese).

Cameron’s way of directing, by building on the film’s advantages is noted in James Clarke’s book about the notable director, where he states “Cameron’s authorial presence and film awareness, each a component of his “visionary” approach, but less in terms of “originality” and more in terms of being a synthesiser who through this process of recombination creates new work, fusing established narrative traditions with technology that allows for the ‘new’ to occur.” (Clarke)

With Schwarzenegger as The Terminator, the film became one of the first “Blockbuster”, grossing $78.3 million with a mere $6.8 million for production.

These films would have still been produced and seen by many, but without Stallone and Schwarzenegger, the lasting effect would disappear. This, yet again, portrays that there has not been a significant change in the films themselves, rather in the perceptions of those viewing who is making, or in this case, starring in them.

Throughout the last five decades, films still fulfill their objective, transporting the viewer to the outlaw life in Bonnie and Clyde, questioning our conscience in outer space through Solaris, discovering true lunatic isolation in The Shining, showing real life heroism in Rocky and the dangers of untamed technology in The Terminator.  

These examples and film itself essentially are a mode of communication between the creator of the visual art and its observer. Since 1965, the concept of the art itself has not changed, it still inspires, saddens, excites (or sometimes neither of those) just as it did before.

However, with the years, the endpoints of the communication mode (the creator and observer) have undergone changes. The creator, shifted from studios to the autonomous director with the introduction of the American New Wave, and later on the actors themselves. And the observer, the audience, became more receptive to the content, even if the content may be out of ordinary, or even at times controversial. These changes go hand in hand with the changes within American society, along with changes in the political and global landscape in the years the films were released.

Even now, with the production of films using advanced technology (as written in Garcia Palencia’s post) and the introduction of Netflix in the 21st century and the shift from movie theatre to laptops and smartphones, films themselves have not changed, the creator and observer have.