The Quest on a Film

INTRODUCTION

"The best education in film is to make one." - Stanley Kubrick

Aristotle never said it, but it seems that man is a storyteller by nature.

From ancient times to the present, mankind has had a hunger for great stories. Novels, poems, stage plays, films - spanning the whole spectrum from comedy to tragedy - all give evidence of, and serve to satisfy, this hunger.

Something powerful indeed must exist in these forms of entertainment that draws us to them time and time again. Over 2,300 years ago, in The Poetics, Aristotle identified that "something": All art, he says, is imitation of life. "It is natural for man to delight in works of imitation...the reason of the delight...is that one is at the same time learning - gathering the meaning of things."1

Fictional stories are one of the primary means by which man "imitates" the world around him. Through this imitation comes illumination - we may be entertained by the elements of fiction, imagination, or fantasy in a story, or any work of art, yet we also come away deeply satisfied if they ultimately provide insights into our real lives.

The uniquely modern form of storytelling is cinema. The invention of the motion picture camera over a century ago introduced vast new possibilities in the telling of stories. Annihilating the physical barriers of the stage, it was able to transport the audience seamlessly through time and space. In ways never before possible, reality could be simulated, and illusions of whole new worlds created. "[Film] is par excellence the art of an industrial civilization....[It] is more complex than any of the older arts, involving as it does, some of the techniques of all of them."2

Pictures, sound, and music all combine to provide a powerful experience for the audience sitting in the darkened theater. While this seems to provide immense opportunities for the telling of stories in ways never before possible, is there a down side to this art of the modern age?

Aristotle warned playwrights to avoid trying to achieve an effect on the audience solely through the use of "spectacle" (or visual appearance), claiming that it was the least artistic of all the parts of a story, and thus, the least related to conveying deeper meanings about reality. If this was a possibility for stage plays of Aristotle's time, how much more of a problem is it today in movies, with their unparalleled ability to manipulate the images we see? Are we offered insights into reality, or escape into alternate "realities?" All too often, it seems that movies degenerate into spectacle for the physical senses alone, requiring no imagination or intelligence from the viewer.

How then, do motion pictures compare with the "older arts"? Can a film indeed serve to illuminate life, as a play, poem, or novel can? Can the "eye" of the camera help us to see the meaning of things, or does it actually, as some have feared, cloud or dull our minds and senses?

To explore this question, I was given a completely unexpected assignment

- to actually make a short film!

I had long had an interest in movies and how they are made, and through a combination of hard work and good luck, had managed to acquire some professional video equipment and learned how to use it. Together with two of my brothers in high school, I had begun "learning by doing", attempting a few amateur and "freelance" projects in my spare time - but I certainly could never have foreseen making a film for a senior thesis at Magdalen College! With little experience in the techniques or technology of cinema, my senior thesis depended on my ability to produce a dramatic film from scratch. And not just any film - it was to be an adaptation of Robert Frost's haunting, poetic, "domestic drama", "Home Burial". My assigned task was to take this existing written work by a great author and "translate" it into film.* Aside from the subject, I was given few specific requirements in completing the project - all creative and technical decisions were completely up to me. This was a great freedom, but a great challenge as well!

In the following pages, I will describe the incredibly fascinating, at times frustrating, time-consuming, exhausting, nerve-wracking, yet ultimately rewarding, journey of bringing Home Burial to life, and what I discovered in the process. I will attempt to convey my experience of seeing through the camera's "eye", what it showed me, and what it will (hopefully!) show you, the audience, as well.

PART I: THE POEM

My first task was to become as familiar as possible with the poem. I had to become completely immersed in the world of the story before I could attempt to re-tell it in a whole different medium.

In "Home Burial", Robert Frost presents a dialog between a husband and wife who have just experienced the loss of their only child, and are dealing with this loss in profoundly different ways. Neither one can relate to where the other is coming from, and the misunderstandings between them are threatening to tear their marriage apart. This intensely "realistic" situation is conveyed poetically - the narration and dialog both conform to a poetic meter with, generally, five stressed syllables per line. This is done so skillfully that the reader may not even realize at first that there is anything unusual about the dialog - it seems to flow like a natural conversation, and it is easy to picture the scenes actually occurring.

Frost himself in fact did experience the death of a young child, which then led to tensions with his wife. While the poem may not be strictly autobiographical, his personal experience undoubtedly influenced his writing of it.

The poem opens with a series of striking visual images:

He saw her from the bottom of the stairs

Before she saw him. She was starting down,

Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.

She took a doubtful step and then undid it

To raise herself and look again. He spoke

Advancing toward her: "What is it you see

From up there always--for I want to know."

The reader is immediately drawn in by