The Power of Simple Ideas

I think that we all struggle with it when we first start working with a new medium. We pick up a paint brush having discovered Rembrandt, and we expect to replicate his mastery. We plunge our hand into a mass of clay, and expect to emulate Rodin. While for years, the expense and difficulty of working with film led few to believe they could be the next Orson Welles, in the age of digital technology, even a novice will attempt to channel Spielberg. What is left out of this equation is that even the masters started with the basics, and in many cases struggled with them for years before finding success. So setting one's sights a tad lower is not admitting defeat, it's accepting reality. Making art, and making films in particular, is hard work.

On the other hand, just because we don't necessarily have the talent and vision of Martin Scorcese (yet) or the resources that Hollywood provides, does not mean we can't make interesting and well crafted work. We just have to think it out and be a little more creative to accomplish it. There are a number of films that come to mind which had those very advantages, and yet their directors chose to eschew this approach in favor of a much more minimalist style.

I've always loved the work of Billy Wilder, a director that has been known for his ability to both captivate with heart pounding suspense or searing drama, and in a moment cut that tension with uncanny wit and comedic timing. He did it in Hollywood for decades as a director, and often writer as well, for some of the most revered films ever made. From the dark and sinister Sunset Boulevard and Ace in the Hole, to the hilarious Some Like it Hot, his mastery of the medium is unmatched in my mind. Though these films were made in an entirely different era, well before my time on this earth, I still love to watch them and learn from them, as there is always something new to see. Stalag 17 is one that falls into this category, and it's remarkable not for the spectacle that we usually associate with popular Hollywood films, but for just how spare it is.

It was made in 1952, when the somber notes of World War II's destructiveness could still be felt by Americans, and seen throughout the battlefields that had spanned the globe. The smoke had hardly cleared in the intervening years, but Wilder, who had been born in Poland and later fled Germany for the US when Hitler came to power, decided to delve into the delicate subject head on. The story is not a typical sprawling war epic, with explosions and effects galore. In fact, it's very much the opposite. The entire film, which spans a full two hours, takes place in just a few locations, all contained within a German POW camp during WWII. Each space, from the barracks where the prisoners live, to the yard outside the barracks, to the edge of the prison camp lined with barbed wire are quite nondescript. The barracks are not much more than large wooden shacks on stilts, filled with bunks and clothing hanging from ropes tied from wall to wall. The lighting is often dramatic, either coming from the sweeping suveillance spotlights, or the dim lighting of the barracks. At least this is the illusion that is created, and it's effective. The deep shadows are set off by the glints from character's faces, and lighting is critical to the storyline and to heightening the emotions of the characters. It should also be noted just how difficult it is to achieve the deep focus that exists in many scenes. We take it for granted these days working in video that as long as our lens is set to a wide angle, everything will generally be in focus. In fact, there is a trend today of going to great lengths (and expense) to get that shallow depth of field that naturally occurs with film. In order for Wilder and director of photography Ernest Lazlo to achieve the deep focus, there had to be a lot of light on the scene, and probably some special equipment and expertise, but it is certainly subtle, and therefore does not detract from the film overall.

The true focus though, is on the actors and the remarkable performances that Wilder gets out of this ensemble cast. From William Holden's Sefton to fellow film directing legend Otto Preminger's German commandant Von Scherbach, the cast is superb. Wilder knows it, and he frequently lets scenes play out with few cuts to break up a great performance. Instead he stays wide, allowing his actors to move freely within the range of the camera, sometimes following them rather than cutting to a new angle. He saves his closeups for important details of the plot, which he so deftly reveals with a clear visual style. These scenes require no exposition for the audience's benefit. Although the story doesn't ever take us outside the confines of this dismal prison camp, it still manages to captivate. We are drawn in by those characters and the small details as the plot unravels. And the payoff makes it all worthwhile.

This economy of style is not unique to Wilder in this film, in fact there are a number of classics that take a similar approach. An extreme example comes from another film I watched just recently. My Dinner with Andre is one of those bold experiments in film that began with a simple idea, two characters having a meal, and from there it found itself with a sort of cult status surrounding it. When we consider this idea of two people sitting down to a meal and having a drawn out philosophical discussion, we might think it is a fairly conventional way to stage a scene. People have dinner all the time in real life, and in movies, there are plenty of scenes where this is the setting. But I can't think of one other film where this is the only setting. There is one character that is a struggling playwright turned actor Wallace Shawn, and the other also a playwright played by Andre Gregory. Other than the first few minutes where the camera follows Shawn's character walking down a Manhattan street on the way to dinner, and at the end when he is riding home in a cab, the entire story (if you can call it that) takes place during dinner with these two men. They discuss all sort of issues about life and art and question the two, commiserate and disagree at times. And while it might not interest some people to sit through for nearly two hours, it has captured the interest of enough people that its reputation perpetuates its cultural appeal. It was for this reason that I watched it, and I must say I didn't leave the experience feeling like I wasted the time spent viewing it, as I so often do with today's cinema.

I'm reminded of one other example of a film that is now considered classic that stuck with a very simple approach, unconcerned with sets and locations and elaborate story devices. The gripping drama 12 Angry Men from 1957 fit this mode in quite a similar way to Wilder's war picture. In this case, it's a court drama, though we never see the inside of a courtroom. In fact, almost the entire story unfolds inside the jury deliberation room, with you guessed it, 12 men who get quite agitated while arguing the details of the case they are charged with. The cast is top-notch, led by Henry Fonda, the inimitable Lee J. Cobb and Jack Klugman adding compelling support. The direction of Sidney Lumet is visionary. Who could imagine such suspense and tension being created with a narrative that is incased within the confines of four walls? One might imagine that this sort of thing could be quite boring, and in real life, it probably usually is. But in Lumet's hands, with such wonderful actors, I found myself glued to the screen, hanging on every word.

So as we think about our own work, we should not despair over what we lack in terms of resources. We should consider how we can best use what we do have. Focus on good writing and getting good performances out of your actors. Think about lighting and an overall visual style that will make the few locations that you use more intersting to your audience. Think about sound, metaphor and creating work with social and cultural relavance. Consider who will be watching your film and how you can captivate them with the story that unfolds on the screen. If that story is well planned and executed, it does not matter if it is a piece of spectacle or minimalism. Whether it was made for $1 or $100 million, if a film has a good story, people will watch it.