Opening Shots Project

Opening Shots: ‘Annie Hall’

Alvy Singer speaks.

From Hiram M:

If a movie’s opening shot provides the compass with which to navigate the ensuing film, then this simple set up needs commending. Unexpected, efficient, and funny from frame one (relying as it does on the “Woody persona”), this fourth wall-breaker immediately establishes the anything goes storytelling so unique to “Annie Hall.”

JE: Good one, Hiram. The shot doesn’t have to be complicated (or even long) to do what it has to do. This shot from “Annie Hall” not only sets up Alvy’s profession and character (a writer and stand-up comedian with an anhedonic view of life), it establishes him as the narrator even when he’s offscreen. (Seinfeld would later borrow the device of having the story grow out of the framing device of Jerry’s monologue.) We’ll return to this shot near the end. And, of course, Alvy (and other characters) will break the fourth wall at key moments in the movie (most memorably in the Marshall McLuhan scene with the pompous guy in the movie line), reminding us that this is Alvy’s subjective take on his relationship with Annie. As he illustrates, she sees things quite differently. Here, for the record, is what Alvy says to frame the funny valentine to the girlfriend he can’t quite get over:

ALVY

There’s an old joke. Uh, two elderly

women are at a Catskills mountain

resort, and one of ’em says: “Boy, the

food at this place is really terrible.”

The other one says, “Yeah, I know, and

such … small portions.” Well, that’s

essentially how I feel about life. Full

of loneliness and misery and suffering

and unhappiness, and it’s all over much

too quickly. The-the other important

joke for me is one that’s, uh, usually

attributed to Groucho Marx, but I think

it appears originally in Freud’s wit and

its relation to the unconscious. And it

goes like this-I’m paraphrasing: Uh …

“I would never wanna belong to any club

that would have someone like me for a

member.” That’s the key joke of my adult

life in terms of my relationships with

women.

Opening Shots: ‘Withnail and I’

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From Ali Arikan, Istanbul, Turkey:

The first shot of “Withnail and I” is deceptive in its simplicity. As the camera opens on the eponymous “I” of the title, obviously depressed and downtrodden, we see a 30-something-man at the end of his tether, drowning in angst; both literally and figuratively, trying to breathe. A desk lamp, the single light source, and the books and notepads scattered over a desk in front of him betray the possibility that he is a writer. The rest of the furniture has that all-too-familiar aura of the maudlin British middle class. All this, combined with the sluggish zoom of the camera and the melancholy use of the last ever King Curtis live performance of “A Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum, presents the audience with an irrevocable feeling of denoument. Almost as if this is the final shot of a film and not its first.

Opening Shots: ‘Day for Night’

A bus crosses the frame from left to right and we follow a woman in red walking from right to left, who stops to get a magazine. Notice the curves and circles that establish a pattern for the shot — the curb, the kiosk, the fountain.

View image The bus re-enters in the background, driving around the circle and now moving in the same direction as the lady in red and the camera — an indication that the shot (and the movie) will loop back upon itself.

From Kathleen Carroll, co-founder and artistic director of the Lake Placid Film Forum (and “non-practicing film critic”):

I still smile at the very thought of Francois Truffaut’s opening shot in “Day for Night,” the amazingly long tracking shot that gradually reveals the film-within-the-film. I interviewed Truffaut at the time that “Day for Night” was first released in this country. This is how he explained his purpose for making the film. “I wanted to show a film to the public about the making of a film, a film that would give the most information and from which one could learn the technical aspects of movie making. The film will help those who are thinking about making films. And, as far as the ordinary public is concerned, the film doesn’t spoil anything.”

View image Still following the woman in red, a pair of figures in black appear in the background, moving forward on the diagonal, on a trajectory that just might intersect with the camera’s. Will the shot turn out to be about them instead of the lady in red? Or are they somehow connected with the lady in red?

View image The pair in black split up. The woman heads down the subway entrance — and so does the lady in red. The man in black continues toward the camera. Are we going to meet up with this guy?

During the same interview Truffaut told a funny story about “Jules and Jim” which, as he explained, he deliberately tried to make “like an MGM film.” There were those who did not see “Jules and Jim” as just another MGM movie. When the film was first released here, the then all-powerful Legion of Decency (which later became known as The National Catholic Office of Motion Pictures) threatened to give it a condemned rating. Truffaut was asked to speak to a group of priests on behalf of the film. He went reluctantly, feeling “like a little juvenile delinquent.”

View image Nope. The man in black falls out of the frame and the lady in red descends into the subway, casting a (fond?) look back as she leaves us. We fix upon another lady, one we saw back at the magazine vendor, walking a dachshund.

“Do you realize the girl in the film is behaving like Elizabeth Taylor?” asked one of the priests. “It was the time of ‘Cleopatra,'” and the Taylor-Burton affair was all over the newspapers,” recalled Truffaut. “I pretended that I didn’t know what he was talking about.” “It’s in the newspapers,” insisted the priest. “I only read film reviews,” said Truffaut.

View image Jean-Pierre Leaud comes out of the subway, and turns in the direction the camera is already moving. OK, we’re abandoning the lady with the dog. This is who we’re going to watch — he’s the star of the movie! (Yes, casting will often tell you how to watch a shot.)

JE: Oh, Kathleen — joy is right! This really may be the Ultimate Opening Shot in many ways, because we actually get to go back into it and critique it in the movie itself. The whole thing looks perfectly random and natural (I don’t want to know how many takes it really took), as if the eye (camera) were just alighting upon one thing and then another as its interest is piqued. But we soon see how carefully and precisely it’s all choreographed. Day for night. Illusion for reality. Artifice in the service of art. Notice, too the use of strong colors like red (dress, car, little girl, etc.) and white (car, overcoat, etc.) — the alternating colors of the awning in the background — and black (suits, car roof, etc.) to focus our attention. Doesn’t this just make you want to go out and make a movie?

(Shot continues after the jump)

Opening Shots: Spider-Man 2

From Kris Pigna:

“Spider-Man 2” begins with an extreme close-up of a woman’s face, a dissolve from the last image of the opening credits. Against a stark white backdrop, she stares right into the camera, deeply, with the kind of eyes that are easy to fall in love with. “She looks at me every day,” Peter Parker says in voiceover. “Mary Jane Watson. Oh boy. If she only knew how I felt about her.” The camera slowly pulls out on this ideal, dreamlike image.

“But she can never know. I made a choice once to live a life of responsibility, a life she can never be a part of.” The camera pulls out far enough to reveal we’re actually looking at a billboard, a perfume advertisement Mary Jane posed for. “Who am I? I’m Spider-Man, given a job to do. And I’m Peter Parker, and I too have a job.” The camera pulls out farther, and we see Peter come into frame on his pizza-delivery moped, gazing at the billboard over his shoulder with full attention. Suddenly we hear a man calling his name, and Peter’s attention is snapped. So is the dream.

Opening Shots: ‘Thieves Like Us’

From Dennis Cozzalio, Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule, Glendale, CA:

When Jim invited me to participate in this survey, I accepted with enthusiasm and then immediately began to worry. Every example of a great opening shot that was coming to mind (“Touch of Evil,” “The Player,” “Shadow of a Doubt”) had already been pawed over and written about to such a degree that I certainly didn’t think I would have anything more to add to the discussion that hadn’t already been said, and far more eloquently than I would be able to say it. And as I continued to drag my feet, I saw some of the off-the-chart top choices I had come up with (“Dazed and Confused,” “Kiss Me Deadly”) get snapped up and written about, again, quite eloquently, by others. Now, after digging through my DVD and laserdisc collection, I’ve finally come up with what I think are some great ones, and as usual I haven’t the discipline to hold myself to just one.

UPDATED WITH FRAME GRABS (07/14/06) JE: Dennis, the owner and proprietor of Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule, of one of my favorite movie blogs, has contributed several great shots and analyses. I’m going to spread ’em out over the next few weeks or so — and try to get frame grabs for ’em. I hadn’t seen “Thieves Like Us” since I showed it in the ASUW student film series at the University of Washington in about 1980, and it isn’t available on US Region 1 NTSC DVD — but I found a German Region 2 PAL version through an Amazon.com z-shop importer, DaaVeeDee.

“Thieves Like Us ” (Robert Altman, 1974; photographed by Jean Boffety)

Robert Altman has had more than one rich, visually stunning opening shot in his long career. From the Panavision image of helicopters racking into focus to kick off “M*A*S*H,” to Rene Auberjoinois’ mysterious lecturer announcing a series of avian themes and questions while surrounded by bird skeletons and other classroom at the beginning of “Brewster McCloud”; from Elliot Gould’s Philip Marlowe stretched out on a bed, counteracting the proactive image of Raymond Chandler’s private eye to the strains of “Hooray for Hollywood��? [and “The Long Goodbye” — ed] to open “The Long Goodbye,” to the K-Tel-esque record commercial that serves as the opening credits of “Nashville,” to the raising of the flag by bugle call leading into the staged massacre that opens “Buffalo Bill and the Indians, or Sitting Bull’s History Lesson” (proclaimed on-screen with satiric bombast as “Robert Altman’s Absolutely Unique and Heroic Enterprise of Inimitable Lustre!��?), Altman knows how to kick off a movie.

One of his most beautiful opening shots, however, occurs at the beginning of “Thieves Like Us,” a shot that artfully prepares us for the somber mood, the deliberate, unhurried pace of the film as a whole, and its naturalistic attitude toward the story it intends to tell, that of the doomed relationship between a young escaped convict and the naпve young woman with whom he falls in love.