脆弱的观众:节奏和线索外文翻译资料
2022-12-29 11:38:26
脆弱的观众:节奏和线索
原文作者 Amelie Hastie
摘要:本篇文章主要从影片角度出发探索导演是怎样通过镜头带给观众这种不信任感。通过很多不同类型的小说和影片中的人物角色、台词等来论述影片《消失的爱人》的独特叙事角度,以及带给观众的感受。
关键词:电影; 恐怖小说; 阅读; 电影批评; 小说情节; 丈夫; 纪念日; 纹身; 表演; 摄像;
一、序言
在这个专栏的第一年,我把自己奉献给了当代电影。在允许自己在电影里感受“脆弱”的过程中,我试着去研究感受和相信意味着什么,尽管是在剧院的受控空间里,以及在里面花费的时间。我一直在探索信仰感是如何让一种可能性的感觉通过-一起思考和一起感受-在电影中和从电影中分离出来的。而且我也曾问过自己:在电影中感受到的脆弱是如何让人产生同情心的?
我建议,许多当代电影理论和文本分析,如阅读(我也喜欢的一种方法),将观众锁在与屏幕上的图像的斗争中。在这个过程中,观察、阅读和写作成为控制的行为。考虑到现在的主流电影是什么样的电影,这种反应是不可避免的,也是必要的。但我也试图寻找替代的移动图像,或替代的存在模式,这些模式本身也是不可改变的,并允许其他的写作模式和批判性实践。
现在我想问另一个问题:当一部电影的中心是怀疑和重复的时候,你会做什么?这是最肯定的经验。如果电影,就像他们的图像一样,让我们感动,那么让我们更快,更接近。就像在游乐园里搭便车-想想《400拳》中的纺车(1959),影片一旦包含和控制着情感的方向,那么它就掌控了观众的思想方向。影片的观众就会跟着整个电影不同的导向走。这种体会是很好的经验,但不论电影导向怎么控制观众的思考,这都是非常脆弱的一个问题。某种程度上,大卫·芬奇对吉莉安·弗琳的小说《消失的爱人》进行的改编是因为他独特的叙事而被人们熟知。影片的核心是不信任感。毕竟,开头和结尾都在问“你在想什么?你感觉怎么样?我们对彼此做了什么?”特别是结尾增加的一个问题“我们应该怎么做?”他们展示了这部电影在叙事和风格两个层面上,是怎样将这种怀疑感遍及整个电影。即使在情节接近尾声的时候,观众仍然会问同样的问题,仍然坚持怀疑的态度。
作为恐怖小说中的主导地位,怀疑本身也会引发调查,当然也是由它的人物角色所决定的,也是由观众来决定的。把这种怀疑转回到电影上,去问自己,例如:它是如何让我感觉到的,它到底对我做了什么,或者,它做了什么——不可避免地也是为了争取控制,这就犹如回到一场测试和竞赛中。
- 第一幕
《消失的爱人》的叙事核心就是这种怀疑与调查的竞赛。在丈夫和妻子、尼克和艾米的声音之间,以及在现在和过去之间的双重叙述中,它是一种迂回曲折的变体。如此之多,以至于观众在纽约电影节上看了首映后,导演也反复地说出“警觉!”在新闻发布会之后的问答中(他继续这样做,甚至在明星Rosamund Pike提醒他,他的观众实际上已经看过了。)
到底什么发生了变化呢?首先,吉莉安·弗琳的小说精神是婚姻的制度,也是古典叙事电影的一贯目标。“消失的爱人”是对婚姻持有一种怀疑的态度,尤其是不同阶段伴侣们为自己和彼此的忍受。这部电影是在剧中人物的五周年纪念日的早晨开演的,影片将现在是疲倦的丈夫尼克和过去得意扬扬的艾米形成对比。他走向酒吧,他和他的孪生妹妹一起拥有酒吧,他们在那里喝酒,玩棋盘游戏,对艾米将留给她的线索充满好奇和好奇。当一个邻居从酒吧给他打电话回家时,尼克发现客厅里有只猫,一张玻璃桌子被打碎了,他的妻子艾米失踪了。对失踪的怀疑不可避免地落在她丈夫身上。和艾米的寻宝一样,这部电影提供的线索可能会让观众得出同样的结论。毕竟,他的行为是不公正的,一开始我们不可能不问这是明星的“坏”演技,还是尼克表现得不好,就像他试图让人讨厌的事情一样,发现内在的难以置信。
就像尼克的“演戏”一样,这部电影从一开始就有点不对劲:它的节奏太精巧,它的对白太活跃了,它的场景也非常有层次。在谜底揭开前,尼克独自一人带着线索:他带着棋盘游戏走进酒吧,观众主观地就会把他的行为解读为“让我们做个交易吧!”还有“紧急情况!”
很快,更糟糕的事发生了,当尼克和艾米见面的时候,他们的对话似乎是无动于衷的,他们的对话显得有些含糊不清。有人可能会想:这两个人看过很多电影吗?他们是什么角色?当然,他们是彼此挚爱的伴侣还者是相互讽刺的关系这个问题也是两个角色的核心问题或者他们也不会成为那种唠叨的妻子,不听话的丈夫这类的夫妻关系。但更多的是观众对丈夫和妻子的间糟糕行为越来越多的怀疑。大卫·芬奇导演的这部影片的视觉节奏包括持续时间足够长的停顿,在影片继续播放之前,它带给观众很大的不确定性。相机的特写镜头,移动的方向总是那么轻微,把看不见的地方留给观众思考。是艾米在无形中操控尼克,还是导演通过独特的镜头控制观众?
别忘了1995年的《七宗罪》,1999年的《搏击俱乐部》,2011年的《龙纹身的女孩》还有很多数不清的影片都是这种拍摄手法。通过独特的镜头来误导观众本身的思考。
这位导演就是这样的:能量自上而下。这种转变-也就是对自己的反对-定义了《搏击俱乐部》,而本杰明·辛尼(2008)的案例则把这一想法作为了一步之举。 当主要人物从古老的年龄发展到婴儿的时候。能量的向内和爆炸的褶皱组织了他的电影。大卫·芬奇已经有自己的拍摄节奏了。“消失的爱人”的情节也是同样计算出来的,它的风格是刻意的。从本质上讲,这部电影的导演是非常具体的,特别是在它的系列中。换句话说,它所构造的不确定性是精确的。
就像艾米给尼克的周年纪念礼物一样,“消失的爱人”这个影片其实是一种寻宝。它告诉听众们:“这里有线索。听我说。”,但要看电影是遵循它的逻辑;阅读 反对它,另一方面,是设置自己的一种斗争的控制与它。同时,即使用它的纹理来阅读,也是一种随心所欲的方式,因为它的节奏是不一致的。 它的叙述不可靠。
那么批评家该怎么做?
剧透警告:艾米其实没有死,她设计的一切其实只是为了报复丈夫出轨。艾米还活着的消息出现在影片的一半时间里,尽管有足够的线索表明这是给观众看的。然而,在这一发现之后,这部电影发生了变化。 女主神秘的消失变成一场追逐,一场竞赛。在这里,它的怀疑语气和语气在一定程度上发生了变化。这两种看似相似的模式是相辅相成的:受害者变成了替罪羊,嫌疑人变成了受害者。在这些转变的核心,有一件事是明确的,艾米是一个疯子。
- 第二幕
女权主义者该怎么做?
吉莉安·弗琳认为,对于电影和文学中女性的缺乏表示哀悼,相反,她认为像艾米这样的女性更复杂,更“邪恶”。利用她的故事本身的元素,人们可能会认为艾米自己的复杂性是基于一个事实:即她既是虚构人物的模型又是现实生活的人,她的父母写了一系列的书,书中主人公是令人惊奇的艾米。这种早期的双重-这是一种新的标准-总是比血肉之躯的标准高出一步。与现实生活的艾米相比,书中的她是一个更好的音乐家,更顽强的运动员,一个较早结婚的新娘。“真正的”艾米无法达到小说的要求,或者说复杂性的论证可能暗示。作为回应,她加倍自我,投射和虚构一个新角色。在这样做的过程中,她发现自己被婚姻囚禁。
询问我自己对艾米的明显仇恨,出现了一个问题:喜欢这部电影使我成为受虐狂吗?因为这个想法发生在我第一次观看的过程中(要通过第二次观察来缓和),我开始对实际看到的影片情节产生怀疑,艾米,也是女性的象征。
吉莉安·弗琳和大卫·芬奇通过主语隐性叙事,呈现出一种全新的阅读方式。这部电影是不是显示了一种无意识的状态,一种被某种熟悉的感觉所取代的感觉?
然而,产生弗洛伊德的读数已经预先遵循为读者/观察者绘制的方向。书籍和影片在一开始就融合在一起了。《消失的爱人》揭示了婚姻的鬼屋,爱就是恨,舒适就是控制。就艾米和尼克来说,我们可以看出男性和女性是如何彻底地互相创造的。当然这些都是预测,或者说是间接的预测。毕竟,艾米在日记里写下的秘密是“我们很高兴假装是别人。”
- 第三幕
在这里也有其他的戏剧。大卫·芬奇也喜欢一些很好的书。例如,看《搏击俱乐部》和《龙纹身的女孩》,还有《十二宫》和《本杰明·巴顿奇事》。电影“娱乐周刊”的前作家吉莉安·弗林也喜欢一部好电影。 她告诉你,她是一个电影教授的孩子。 在心中写下了电影——甚至是导演芬奇——她“注定”她的书成为一部电影。
接到好莱坞的电话难道不是当代作家的梦想吗?这是一部想成为电影的小说。 反过来,它是一部想要证明其优于其他媒体形式的电影,尤其是对于低俗的电视。“消失的爱人”是一部小说/电影,也是关于“精神创伤”的模式,就像在电视和社交媒体中所说的那样,高超的艺术是在与低水平的电影、网络和二十四小时的艺术作对手戏。热爱这部主流电影,就是爱/恨其他形式的当代主流媒体,也许最值得注意的是吉莉安·弗琳曾经写过的非常媒介(电视)。
这些元融合包含其他形式的计算:不仅仅依靠什么样的小说才能制作出好的电影,还隐含地预测对电影本身的批评。所以这部电影是对“创伤的批判”。这部电影是比大多数电影都不一样,还是仅仅是一种更好看的形式呢?毕竟,大卫·芬奇和吉莉安·弗琳在其发布后宣布,他们正在合作制作一部HBO电视改编的英国电视剧。
这两人看过很多电影。这一事实是否在一定程度上解释了“消失的爱人”自身的能量转向自身的原因呢?他的电影是如此的精心制作,如此严格的控制,以至于除了他所指出的方向之外,他们几乎没有任何地方可供观众观看。就像她的书一样,改编的影片这是一个很好的框架的配方。讽刺的或者说可预测的是观众看到影片所思考的,这对批评家来说是一个容易的目标。但我不想要一个目标,我厌倦了这场特殊的战斗。我宁愿用我自己看到的电影来感觉和思考,而不是争夺控制权。这是身体的行为,这是想象力。
外文文献出处:Film Quarterly, Vol. 68, No. 2 (Winter 2014), pp. 52-56
外文文献原文
The Vulnerable Spectator: Rhythm and Clues
Abstract: This article mainly explores how the director brings the distrust of the audience through the lens from the perspective of the film. Through many different types of novels and characters in the film, lines, etc. to discuss the unique narrative angle of the film the' Gone Girl', and the feelings brought to the audience.
Keyword: movies; Thrillers; Reading; Film criticism; Narrative plot; Husbands; Anniversaries; Tattooing; Acting; Cameras
prologue
In the first year of this column I have given myself over to contemporary film. In allowing myself to be “vulnerable”at the movies, I have tried to investigate what it means to feel and to believe, albeit in the controlled space of the theater and the time spent therein. I have sought to explore how the very sensation of belief propels a sense of possibility—of thinking and feeling together—in and out of the movies. And I have asked: how does feeling vulnerable actually enable a sense of compassion?
Irsquo;ve suggested that much contemporary film theory and textual analysis, such as the symptomatic reading (a method I love, too), locks the viewer in a struggle with the images on the screen. Viewing, reading, and writing, in this process, become acts of control. Given what sorts of films actually control the mainstream screens today, this response is both inevitable and necessary. But I have tried also to seek alternative moving images—or alternative modes of being—w
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The Vulnerable Spectator: Rhythm and Clues
作者:Amelie Hastie
Abstract: This article mainly explores how the director brings the distrust of the audience through the lens from the perspective of the film. Through many different types of novels and characters in the film, lines, etc. to discuss the unique narrative angle of the film the' Gone Girl', and the feelings brought to the audience.
Keyword: movies; Thrillers; Reading; Film criticism; Narrative plot; Husbands; Anniversaries; Tattooing; Acting; Cameras
prologue
In the first year of this column I have given myself over to contemporary film. In allowing myself to be “vulnerable” at the movies, I have tried to investigate what it means to feel and to believe, albeit in the controlled space of the theater and the time spent therein. I have sought to explore how the very sensation of belief propels a sense of possibility—of thinking and feeling together—in and out of the movies. And I have asked: how does feeling vulnerable actually enable a sense of compassion?
Irsquo;ve suggested that much contemporary film theory and textual analysis, such as the symptomatic reading (a method I love, too), locks the viewer in a struggle with the images on the screen. Viewing, reading, and writing, in this process, become acts of control. Given what sorts of films actually control the mainstream screens today, this response is both inevitable and necessary. But I have tried also to seek alternative moving images—or alternative modes of being—which themselves beget and allow other modes of writing and critical practices.
Now I want to ask another question: what does one do when the very center of a film is suspicion and disbelief? That is most certainly the experience of the thriller. If films, like their very images, move us, then thrillers move us a little faster, a little jerkier. Like a ride at an amusement park—think of the spinning wheel in Francois Truffautrsquo;s The 400 Blows (1959)—the thriller at once contains and controls the very direction of feeling. It charts the direction of thought. The thrillerrsquo;s spectators are oriented, disoriented, reoriented all over again. This experience is a kind of thrill, however contained, but it is one that delimits vulnerability.
David Fincherrsquo;s adaptation of Gillian Flynnrsquo;s Gone Girl is a sort of thriller, known already for its narrative twists. And at its heart is a sense of disbelief. After all, its opening and closing lines ask:“What are you thinking? How are you feeling? What have we done to each other?”In these lines themselves and in their place as bookends—particularly with a final question added at the end: “What will we do?”—they demonstrate how suspicion pervades the film at the levels of both narrative and style. Thus, even at the close of the plot the audience is left still asking the same questions, still committed to its stance of suspicion.
As a dominant sensibility of the thriller, suspicion itself begets investigation, by its characters, of course, but also by the viewers. To turn that suspicion back onto the film—to ask, for instance, how does it make me feel, what exactly is it doing to me, or, perhaps, what has it done—is inevitably also to fight for control, to return to a test and contest of wills.
Act One
Such a contest is at the very heart of Gone Girlrsquo;s narrative. Told through a double narration—moving between the voices of husband and wife Nick and Amy as well as between the unfolding present day and flashbacks of the past—it is awash with twists and turns. So much so that even after the audience had watched the premiere at the New York Film Festival, Fincher repeatedly blurted out “spoiler alert!” in the midst of the Qamp;A that followed the press screening. (He continued to do even after star Rosamund Pike reminded him that his audience actually had already seen it.)
What is there to spoil exactly? First, in the spirit of Flynnrsquo;s book, there is the institution of marriage itself, the clicheacute;d goal of classical narrative films. Gone Girl is a cynical take on marriage, particularly the staged pretenses that partners produce and endure for themselves and one another. Opening on the morning of its charactersrsquo; fifth anniversary, the film presents present-day weary husband Nick in contrast to perky flashback Amy. He heads to the ironically named The Bar, which he owns with his twin sister Margo, where they drink bourbon, play board games, and turn curious and snarky over the clues Amy will leave for her annual anniversary treasure hunt, her traditional passive-aggressive gift to her husband. When hersquo;s called home from the bar by a neighbor who has spotted their cat outside, Nick finds the living room in disarray, a glass table smashed, and his wife Amy missing. Suspicion for the disappearance inevitably falls on her husband. And as with Amyrsquo;s treasure hunt, the film offers clues that might lead the viewer to the same conclusion. His behavior is stilted, after all—itrsquo;s impossible not to ask initially if this is a case of a starrsquo;s “bad” acting or if it is Nick who is acting badly—as he attempts to disprove something that he himself finds inherently unbelievable.
Like Nickrsquo;s “acting,” something is just a little off about this film from its very beginning: its rhythm is too crafted, its dialogue too perky, its scenes just a little too staged. Nick carries clues on his own body even before the mystery opens: he walks into The Bar with the board-game “Mastermind” in his arms and then sets it atop “Letrsquo;s Make a Deal!” and “Emergency!” The flashbacks that soon follow also seem overly rehearsed. When Nick and Amy meet, their dialogue seems scripted from a 1940s noir, with a little screwball thrown in for good measure. One might wonder: have these two seen a lot of movies? What roles are they playing exactly? Of course, that question is at
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