Non-Fiction

Re-Imagining Noir: David Lynch's Mulholland Drive

2010-02-26T15:09:00.000-08:00

Centering the film on two women and largely drawing on the ‘Hollywood’ experience, David Lynch wrote and directed a brilliant example of Postmodern Noir. While it’s nearly impossible to tie up the loose ends into a coherent piece, Mulholland Drive is an ever-rewarding film. With each exposure to the coarse realities and delightful fantasies Lynch constructed, the viewer is tempted to develop an answer to the question: What just happened?
As a result of this, my intention is neither to explain the events of the film nor is it to derive meaning from the work; however, it is impossible to avoid giving certain interpretations—the subject is Mulholland Drive. My focus instead is on the narrative devices Lynch employed to tell the convoluted tale of a Hollywood reject. The film is largely the fantasy world constructed by Diane Selwyn; she is known as Betty in the dream. Distorting many of the “real” aspects of her life just before her suicide, she creates a world worth living in. The director does not attempt to hide this fact from his audiences; before the credits role the camera closes in on a pillow over which the soundtrack is that of someone sleeping; also, Betty refers to Los Angeles as a “dreamplace” (Mulholland Drive). Many of the narrative elements of Mulholland Drive are torn from the pages of Neo-Noir—especially that of an inconclusive ending, or at least an ending without closure—however, other elements are not limited to that of the Noir, but are generally associated with Postmodernity in film.
On the subject of closure, and perhaps an explanation for the lack there of, as in several of his prior works, Lynch develops a story corrupted by the the limitations of not only the narration’s focalization but one of the principle characters as well. These limitations of the narrative are a result of the point of view—Diane’s imagination. Almost the entirety of the film is composed of Diane’s dream; the vignettes all appear to be non sequitur. This provides for a de-centering of the narrative itself. Because the story is told in a non-linear fashion, key moments in the story become lost in their surroundings, a nonsensical dreamscape. Through Lynch’s use of symbolism and his placement of objects, one may be able to infer a ‘true’ chronology; however, strong arguments can be made in favor of any number of time-lines.
In addition to Lynch, many Neo-Noir auteurs include a character who is afflicted with some kind of limitation. In Mulholland Drive, this character is Rita, “an amnesiac” who “epitomizes the vagueness of conceptual borders, confusion of place, and incoherence that have become staples of Lynch’s aesthetics” (Hudson 20). She drives the story forward by thrusting Betty, and the viewers, into a mystery—who is Rita? Betty becomes a detective, focuses on Rita’s past, and practically abandons her plans to become a movie star. The film retains certain self-reflexive characteristics in their pursuit, which help deepen, and further delude, the narrative. One example of this is when Betty and Rita call a number found in Rita’s purse; “It’s strange to be calling yourself,” Betty tells Rita just before they reach the answering machine with Betty’s own voice(Mulholland Drive). As the film progresses, the two of them fall in love.
It is hard to determine which one of them can be classified as the femme fatale. In classic Film Noir, the femme fatale uses her sexuality endanger the protagonist for her own benefit. Two reasons for the inconclusiveness are 1) that neither girl attempts to put the other in danger and 2) the lack of seduction. Though Betty is acting as the detective, she often has to convince Rita to continue their research; Rita, however, is the impetus of their investigation. In the case of Mulholland Drive Betty and Rita proceed toward intercourse through their reciprocal desire, not coercion. The displacement and obscuration of the femme fatale Lynch develops is a key example of the film’s Neo-Noir genre.
This displacement, of course, only applies to Diane’s fantasy. In reality, the bitter and unfriendly world of Diane Selwyn leads the viewer to a better determining of the femme fatale: Camilla Rhodes. Rita’s real world counterpart is unethical and heartless—effectively the opposite of how she appears in the dream. Though only a few scenes of reality are presented, Camilla’s are extremely revealing. One in particular takes place on the set of The Sally North Story—a fictional film being directed by Adam Kesher. The director is explaining to one of the male actors how to act in a specific scene; when he stands in for the actor to show him how he wants it done, he kisses Camilla and calls for everyone to leave the set and to shut the lights. This shows viewers her ability to achieve success, not by way of her talent, through seduction. Just after Kesher shouts, “Clear the set,” she asks him, “Can Diane stay;” presented here is her first act of cruelty: subjecting Diane to her sexual encounter with the director (Mulholland Drive). In Camilla’s last scene, she kisses another woman and announces her engagement to Adam, despite Diane’s display of anguish.
All that in mind, Diane is not quite the ingenue she concocted in her fantasy. In reality she is psychologically deranged; in the film’s last scenes, she pays a hitman to murder Camilla and commits suicide. On many internet forums, the film is argued to be a fantasy she escapes into prior to the suicide, and this re-appropriation of images and concepts is certainly the patchwork of a person mentally unwell. As her reality is depicted, she is seen in a shabby apartment, interacting with an ex-girlfriend, crying and masturbating, and talking about her life in L.A.. Through these instances viewers get short but powerful insights into Diane Selwyn. Her suicide is directly the result of her life’s unexpectedly awful path: she simply couldn’t live any longer.
Interestingly, as the film depicts her last moments viewers see Diane externalizing her problems. Just before she runs into her bedroom and shoots herself, she is chased by an elderly couple who yell and reach for her. For the viewer, this externalization of purely internal problems correlates with Betty’s experience at The Club Silencio. As the entertainer is announcing “No hay banda” and talking about the artificiality of the show the club had just presented, Betty realizes her whole existence has been fake (Mulholland Drive). The scene culminates with “Llorando” being performed by Rebekah Del Rio. When the performer collapses in the middle of the song and it continues to play, Betty discovers a little blue box inside her purse. The box represents reality, and once it is opened the viewer plunges into the hell that is Diane’s life.
The Club Silencio also functions as a key element of both Film Noir and Postmodern Noir. Because of the umbrous atmosphere and types of people who frequent them, nightclubs often play a pivotal role in the Noir genre. In this case, the nightclub acts as a catalyst to Betty’s acknowledgment of her existence. Taking her to The Club Silencio, Rita forces Betty to realize herself, to stop lying to herself. The room is dark and most of the seats are empty; additionally, this is one of the few scenes that takes place at night. This further emphasizes its Noir influence, and as Betty and Rita take off for the club at two in the morning Betty’s dream begins to sour. The nightclub effectively marks the film’s transition from fantasy into reality.
Along with other seedy settings, the nightclub has become a standard of the genre; in Mulholland Drive, Lynch also includes a motel. In the dream, Adam leaves his wife and stays in Cookie’s motel—a dilapidated place the owner personally runs. The same evening Adam arrives, Cookie comes to his room, tells him that he’s out of money and that he’s the focus of someone’s surveillance. After calling his assistant, she informs him that The Cowboy needs to speak with him. The conversation between Adam and The Cowboy is another scene that takes place at night. Though they are standing on a range, the lighting effects allude to that of Film Noir. As Adam approaches the gate, a light flickers on and off for about thirty seconds, and when The Cowboy arrives the light stays on. Once he walks away from Adam, the light turns off, leaving him alone and confused in the dark.
The aforementioned surveillance is another key aspect of Postmodern Noir; often used in conjunction with stories about detection and investigation, surveillance in the Postmodern age has intensified. Throughout the film there are scenes implying the lack of control a director has over his own film. Aside from commenting on the Hollywood nightmare, Lynch portrays these nearly transcendental figures as gods. “Then we’ll . . . shut everything down,” one man says to his boss; the purely terrified delivery of these lines implies the sheer power of the collective (Mulholland Drive). Combined with the Castigliane brothers, an implication that a ‘higher order’ determines everything is made. Feeding into the obsession with conspiracy many Postmodern authors and auteurs use, Lynch allows the audience to draw their own conclusion as to the extent of the power of this group.
Though there are several other examples and elements of Postmodern Noir in Lynch’s Mulholland Drive, the aforementioned points seem most relevant. He employs several filmic devices to distinguish Mulholland Drive as a noir—particular lighting effects, shots that are out of focus or grainy, and highly stylized camera angles among them. As a storyteller, Lynch fully explores the realm of Neo-Noir.

Works Cited
Hudson, Jennifer A. ""No Hay Banda, and yet We Hear a Band": David Lynch's Reversal of Coherence in Mulholland Drive." Journal of Film and Video 56.1 (2004): 17-24. EBSCOhost. Web. 26 Feb 2010.

Mulholland Drive. Dir. David Lynch. By David Lynch. Prod. Alain Sarde. Perf. Naomi Watts, Laura Elena Harring, Justin Theroux, Ann Miller. Universal Studios, 2002. DVD.

Film Journal 14 – Double Team

2009-10-16T10:51:00.000-07:00

Dennis Rodman, who speaks almost entirely in basketball terms (note the title), is partnered with Jean-Claude Van Damme in this absolutely hilarious action movie by the supposedly renowned Hong Kong filmmaker Tsui Hark. I have only seen this film, and as a result intend to stay away from anything connected with his name. I did know, even before I was aware of the movie, that it would be god-awful; however, my expectations were surpassed by quite a bit. It was hard to follow the story because every scene was interrupted by some act of violence (be it an explosion, a gun fight, or even just a fist fight).
I’ve watched a decent number of action movies because they are reliably terrible. The inept actors and positively ludicrous stories really make me laugh quite a bit. There are some elements of this film (Double Team) that seem essential to all bad (possibly the good as well—though good action movie sounds paradoxical) action movies: explosions before the opening credits, a super-agent who has moved on, a wife who opposes the super-agent’s line of work, young children as collateral damage, some sort of conspiracy, and finally a villain* who wants to destroy the world .
The conspiracies involved, as I said in Journal 12, are probably what draw my interest. In this movie, the government has a secret island where they send all of their agents who are “too valuable to execute, but too dangerous to be free”. This entire movie seems to have been written by 10-13 year old boys. I would highly recommend this movie if you are looking for one that lacks ALL aspects of decent film. When you know this before watching it there is a certain amount of enjoyment that can be had. It’s the kind of Schadenfreude that one does not have to feel guilty over.

*Antagonist, to me, implies a certain depth. The writer’s of bad action films can decorate the villain with as many details as they want, but they (the villains) always seem to have extremely evil plans, power, and wickedness at the expense of depth.

Film Journal 7 – Delicatessen

2009-10-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

The first film by collaborating filmmakers Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro, Delicatessen, takes place in France—time unspecified, however it seems to be either an economic depression or post-apocalyptic. Whichever the case may be, the economy is so bad that people have been reduced to cannibalism. The depression is certainly underlined by the atmosphere both in and outside the building. Outside everything is foggy and the buildings all seem to be decaying. While inside, the butcher and landlord, Clapet, has been killing his newest tenants and serving them to his regular leasers. All of the people in the building are aware of the goings on, and some even get short-tempered because of the amount of time it takes Clapet to “ice” Louison, the newest tenant.
Throughout the movie Louison proves himself to be a very talented musician, skillful worker, and a genuinely good natured individual. He becomes close with Julie Clapet—the butcher’s daughter—which allows him slightly more time; however, the film’s climax comes during a rooftop battle between Clapet and Louison during a screening of Louison’s clowning with his partner Dr. Livingstone.
This film exhibits some of the most quirky characters with incredibly interesting idiosyncrasies. The most notable side-character, Aurore, continuously attempts to commit suicide with very, almost Rube Goldberg-like methods. Her attempts further emphasize the idea that one cannot change fate. There are a few conversations involving ideas of fate, at least one of which ends with the phrase: “The winds are shifting.” The winds certainly do shift when Clapet kills himself (with the Australian) in an attempt to kill Louison. Following this Julie and Louison presumably take over the building and the last scene is the two of them on the roof and for the first time the sky is blue—the winds had certainly shifted. There could not be a better ending than these two shy, quirky individuals playing their music (Livingstone’s favorite song) on the roof, during a beautiful day.

Film Journal 11 – Wendy and Lucy

2009-10-16T10:26:00.000-07:00

“Indie” credibility, in my opinion, began with Little Miss Sunshine and peaked with Juno. The former is a guilty pleasure, but I absolutely detested the latter. The problem with this trend is the shift in the films’ form. The idea of an “independent” film has ceased to mean a film made independently and has become a specific style and aesthetic: drawings (that all have the same/very similar style), affected dialogue, and everyday occurrences handled in witty, even extraordinary, ways. Examples of the trendy, formulaic style of drawing:

One of the many things Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy does very effectively is allow Wendy’s characterization to show through her actions and the obstacles she faces. Though the film lacks any real plot (Wendy is going to Alaska, she stops in Oregon, she loses her dog, and she finds her dog), the basic elements that are provided, in addition to the portrayal of Wendy by Michelle Williams, is all anyone truly watching the film needs to understand Wendy. As Roger Ebert said in his review of the film, “I know so much about Wendy . . . at this moment: stranded in an Oregon town, broke, her dog lost, her car a write-off, hungry, friendless, quiet, filled with desperate resolve.”
An interesting aspect of the film is its setting’s complacency. Everything in the town is at a standstill, except Wendy. She becomes trapped by the police, the mechanic, and most importantly the pound. When she is able to sever ties with all but her dog she continues on her journey, after she’s made a promise to come back for Lucy when she’s made a lot of money.

Works Cited
Ebert, Roger. "Wendy and Lucy." Rev. of Film. Sun Times [Chicago] 28 Jan. 2009. Rogerebert.suntimes.com. 28 Jan. 2009. Chicago Sun Times. 21 July 2009 .
Juno Picture: http://www.soundstagedirect.com/media/juno_soundtrack.jpg
Away We Go Picture: http://screencrave.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/away-we-go.jpg

Film Journal 3 – Miller’s Crossing

2009-10-16T10:23:00.000-07:00

Joel and Ethan Coen have time and again proved to be the most interesting mainstream filmmakers in contemporary America. Whether one is watching a Coen brother’s original (Fargo, Raising Arizona, The Hudsucker Proxy) or one of their adaptations (Oh, Brother Where Art Thou?, No Country For Old Men) it is almost impossible to dislike their incredibly skillful composition and their story telling ability. Their characteristic long dramatic shots are effectively utilized to emphasize a pensive mood or a powerful, and power shifting, action sequence.
Miller’s Crossing is their follow up to Raising Arizona about a conflict between the Irish mob boss Leo, who runs the town, and the usurping Italian mob boss Caspar, who is “tired of gettin’ the high hat!” The film actually centers on the gambling and alcohol addicted right-hand-man (of Leo) named Tommy. He has a secret relationship with Leo’s partner Verna, and eventually switches “teams” and replaces Caspar’s right-hand-man Eddie Dane. He does this through a series of well calculated “plays” and deceit.
One of the principle themes in this film is the idea that these men are all very similar to children. Much of the dialogue, with regard to one’s status in either mob, uses terms such as: “play,” “side,” and “team”. Another one of the themes has to do with the imagery of hats. A strong focus on the hat with relation to the person can yield interesting results. Jung suggests that wearing a hat is like becoming somebody else, and this could certainly apply to Tommy. Whenever he [Tommy] is not wearing his hat—after a beating, after losing it on a bet, or after falling down because of how drunk he is—he is truly a representative of himself; however, whenever he is wearing his hat he has a tendency to switch sides, tell lies, and be perceived as powerful.

Film Journal 1 – Aguirre: Der Zorn Gottes (The Wrath Of God)

2009-10-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

Herzog’s first work with one of his favorite actors and self-proclaimed “dearest enemy”, Klaus Kinski, chronicles the vain searches of Spanish conquistadors to find the land of El Dorado. This mythical land, which contains quantities of gold and jewels, the likes of which no man has ever laid eyes on, is said to be just a few days up the river.
Once Gonzalo Pizarro has been tried, before the “emperor” of this new land, and proved to be unfit to lead them onward and guilty of mutinous intentions, Aguirre becomes obsessed with his plans to reign as ruler of South America. He forces his men to continue onward to the fabled El Dorado, and his obsession leads, inevitable, to insanity. Herzog’s direction plays a major role in the depiction of Aguirre’s insanity. Often there are shots of Aguirre staring menacingly beyond the camera. In addition to the insanity these long views reveal to the audience, they also underline the utter alienation and isolation Aguirre feels. He is completely, both physically and mentally, apart from all of civilization; this of course fuels his greed for land. The film ends with Aguirre giving his last monologue to the only creature who would listen: the monkey he has caught in his hand. Again, the direction indicates his insanity because the camera (all on shot) is spinning all around the raft, on which only the animals and Aguirre remain.
A theme prevalent in much of Herzog’s films is the desire for the unattainable. In the case of Aguirre: der Zorn Gottes, the unattainable is not only the land of El Dorado, but a place to proclaim as home in the distant continent. A similar theme is expressed in Woyzeck, when the town’s children come running up to Maria (Franz Woyzeck’s wife) and ask her to sing them a song. Instead, she tells them the story of a little girl who was born with no father and no mother. She travelled to the moon, the sun, and the stars—and none of these things were what she had hoped they would be. Now she sits alone in the universe crying.

Jungian Marital Psychology In American Beauty

2009-07-16T10:50:00.000-07:00

When thinking about the American dream, one must acknowledge that marriage is one of the most complex and difficult tasks one can undertake. The main goal of most marriages is to procreate—to have a child and a pet seems most common. In Sam Mendes’s American Beauty, Lester Burnham has a wife [Carolyn] and a daughter [Jane], a house in a nice suburban community, and a middle-management position at an advertising agency. He seemingly has everything one hopes for; however, he is utterly miserable: “Look at me, jerking-off in the shower. This will be the high point of my day—it’s all downhill from here” (American Beauty). Aside from work, his time is monopolized by his wife—they drive to work together, they drive home together, they live together, they go out together. Lester and Carolyn’s relationship exemplifies marital psychology, in accordance with C.G. Jung’s observations; however, the mid-life shift in ideals (from “I must” to “I want”) is the opposite of what Jung describes.
As a result of Lester’s unassertive nature Carolyn and Jane think that he is, in the parlance of the film, a loser. Jung’s observation of marital partners contains a description of the psychology of the two partners, with regard to their relationship. He refers to the simpler in nature of the two as the “contained” and the more complex in nature as the “container”:
The one who is contained feels himself to be living within the confines of his marriage; his attitude to the marriage partner is undivided; outside the marriage there exist no essential obligations and no binding interests. . . . The container, on the other hand, who in accordance with his tendency to dissociation has an especial need to unify himself in undivided love for another, will be left far behind in this effort, which is naturally very difficult for him, by the simpler personality. (170)
In the beginning of the film, Lester is the contained and Carolyn is the container. Lester is simply living to avoid any kind of altercation with Carolyn. He makes conversation with Carolyn, to which she responds negatively and disinterestedly:
Carolyn: There is no decision; you just write the damn thing!
Lester: Well, you don’t think it’s weird, an’ kind of fascist?
Carolyn: Possibly, but you don’t want to be unemployed.
Lester: Oh, well, alright let’s just all sell our souls and work for Satan cause it’s more convenient that way.
Carolyn: Could you be a little bit more dramatic, please? (American Beauty)
She disregards the way he feels, claims he is being ridiculous, and then ends the conversation—redirecting the subject to herself. During the first dinner scene, Lester mutters under his breath a comment about the way Carolyn treats their daughter. She screams, “What?” in a rhetorical manner, and when he does not repeat himself she has, once again, proved to be the more powerful (American Beauty). As a result of her perceived ego-consciousness, Carolyn is more complex [in nature] than Lester.
Carolyn, the container, does begin to dissociate herself from Lester. In the same evening that sparks Lester’s transformation—marking the exact opposite reaction to Jung’s idea concerning the mid-life shift in ideals to say “I want” rather than “I must”—Carolyn begins her relationship with rival realtor Buddy Kane. Her extramarital activities that ultimately lead to her being left behind by Lester, the simpler [in nature] of the two. Once Lester knows she is having an affair, Buddy discontinues seeing her to avoid an expensive divorce. Lester is contained by Carolyn, and she by Buddy.
Lester’s metamorphosis is best explained, as are most aspects of this film, by Lester after he is caught masturbating by Carolyn:
Carolyn: Don’t you mess with me, mister. I will divorce you so fast it will make your head spin.
Lester: On what grounds? I’m not a drunk. I don’t fuck other women. I don’t mistreat you. I’ve never hit you. I don’t even try to touch you, since you’ve made it abundantly clear just how unnecessary you consider me to be. But, I did support you when you got your license, and some people might think that entitles me to half of what’s yours.
Carolyn: Oh!
Lester: So, turn out the light when you come back to bed, okay? (American Beauty)
Carolyn pretends she is the victim and asserts her power over Lester by threatening divorce, which backfires. Lester then realizes that he has become the container, the more complex—the one in control. Jung describes the forming of consciousness for a child, with the image of separate islands coming together to form one solid land mass (164). This image is applicable to Lester’s understanding of his relationship with the other people in his life. This is the point when his islands come together to form one solid land mass. He has made it clear to Carolyn where he stands, and he has seen her powerlessness in the face of the “new” Lester. Jung’s description of how one’s ideals shift is the exact opposite of what happens to Lester: “’I want’ becomes the inexorable ‘I must,’ and the turnings of the pathway that once brought surprise and discovery become dulled by custom” (168). From this point on, Lester begins to say “I want” rather than “I must”. He begins to do things for himself, and only himself. He extorts his boss for close to sixty-thousand dollars, he begins running and lifting weights, he smokes pot, and he buys the car he has always wanted.
Lester’s introduction gives the audience the impression that he is living an American nightmare; however, once his ideals shift he begins to live the dream. Jung’s views on marital life are applicable to this film because of his thoughts regarding power in relationships and the moral responsibility of middle aged people. Despite the fact that Lester’s lack of desire to grow more responsible is in direct contrast with Jung’s conception of the mid-life psyche, his analyses are quite useful.

Works Cited
American Beauty. Dir. Sam Mendes. Perf. Kevin Spacy and Annette Bening. Dreamworks Pictures, 1999. DVD.
Carl, Jung G. "Marriage as a Psychological Relationship." The Portable Jung. New York: Penguin Books, 1976. 163-77. Print.

Propaganda Is Art

2009-05-28T20:16:00.000-07:00

This essay was written in response to the question, "is Testament propaganda OR is it art?":

The notion that a text can be either art or propaganda, and never both, is absurd. Throughout history art has taken on various forms—many were an attempt to sell an ideology. The Sistine Chapel in Rome, Michelangelo's famous work made under duress, was made to sell people Christianity. Dante Gabriel Rossetti painted his conception of the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary in 1849-50 titled Ecce Ancilla Domini for a similar purpose(Rose 40). The communist artist Diego Rivera painted with the idea that art’s purpose was to serve political and social function; a majority of his work consists of political murals such as Distribution Of The Arms (Phaidon 390). Perhaps the most famous work of propagandized art from the twentieth century is “Guernica” by Pablo Picasso. “The best-known 20th-century work of art. It relates to a specific historical event, and expresses Picasso’s political commitment. For this reason, art and politics, the creative hallmarks of the work and its historical circumstances, must be treated as inseparable” (Warncke 387). given the long history of art, and its ties to political and social beliefs, clearly the film Testament is both artistic expression and propaganda. Another case of combining these two concepts, in film, is Leni Riefenstahl’s opus Triumph Of The Will, which is a well-known Nazi propaganda film, which is obviously only respected for its artistic form and not for its message. The director, however, remains well-known not only for her Nazi affiliations, but also for her unique visual aesthetics and directorial innovations.

The director’s portrayal of the realistic events in the aftermath of a nuclear attack, as well as her use of storytelling devices such as foreshadowing and symbolism certainly qualify the film as artistic expression. The most notable use of symbolism in the film is the mentally challenged boy, Hiroshi. This representation of Hiroshima is utilized because of the lasting effects that radiation poisoning had on the city.

Visually the film is very bleak and disturbing. Many aspects of the film show, effectively, how hopeless their situation is in Hamlin, California. This hopelessness is perhaps most effectively displayed through Henry Abhart, who continues to attempt contact with the outside world despite incessant failure and criticism. This hopelessness also leads to the end of social habits and practices. The priest is shown in the beginning of the film with a devout and pious appearance which gradually changes to no uniform. When he is last seen he’s wearing denim pants and a casual blue shirt.

In addition, flashbacks are effectively employed to foreshadow death. The flashbacks, shown with grainy home-movie film, often center around a singular member of the family. When Carol, the mother, is the only one left a home-movie is shown of the whole family; just before the credits roll the camera pans in on her face and she is smiling. The audience understands this to be the inevitable death of Carol and the community.

The artistic statement of the film is overt—disarm the nuclear weapons. Lynne Littman seems to have attempted to show, as realistically as possible, the potential aftermath of a nuclear war. As opposed to blockbuster Hollywood movies, this film is not filled with action, explosions, war, or anything else. This film focuses on the reactions to nuclear war in a community similar to where many American's reside. In choosing a small town, she is making the film identifiable with many people. She uses very sensitive scenes to show the effects without having characters discuss. One of the most horrifying scenes is when the mother is bathing Scottie and he is bleeding from his anus. This is an effective way to show the effects that radiation can have on a person. The rotting of his insides is shown to the audience in a very quiet and oblique manner. The scene when the daughter, Mary Liz, asks her mother what making love is like the audience is made to understand that she will never experience this. Brad asks his mother to dance because he has never danced with a girl before, and he never will. These effective ways of portraying the sadness of youths losing their lives due to nuclear war strike viewers perhaps more so than adults. The saddest thing about this film is that everyone knows that they are going to die; they are just waiting for it to end. The actions of those who fired the nuclear weapons put these innocent people into endgame.

Though this film is both art and propaganda, it does not distort facts to convince its viewers. Many works of propaganda do in fact exaggerate certain details in an effort to alter the viewer's opinion on the subject. With subject matter such as nuclear weapons, however, the need to exaggerate claims and show falsifications is simply not necessary. Despite its lack of fantastical elements, and even if the film did distort facts, it remains a work of both art and propaganda.

Works Cited
The 20th Century Art Book. New York: Phaidon P, 1999. 390-91.
Rose, Andrea. The Pre-Raphaelites : Colour Library. New York: Phaidon P, 1992. 40-41.
Warncke, Carsten-Peter, and Ingo F. Walther. Pablo Picasso 1881-1973: Part II 1937-73. Taschen.