Author: jesshaleyordonez

Persona and Portrayal

Who is who? Whose mind am I in? Is this reality or one character’s fantasy?

Persona blurred the lines between reality and dream, while also somehow making it excruciatingly clear what was which with the use of visuals and music that merited particularly dreamlike sequences, and the silence that accompanied real life interactions. However, once you think you understand and know what you are seeing, the film shifts once more, such as when at the end we see a camera crew filming the character of Alma, and we are once again left to ponder reality.

Before going into the intricacies of the film’s story, the film in itself is a work of art – a disturbing one, to say the least. The very first sequence of black and white scenes showed scenes that begged its viewers to be uncomfortable – the nailing of the hand, the lamb slaughter, and the close up images of photographs and videos in history Elisabeth examines later on in the film. In hindsight, the scenes that left me most uncomfortable were perhaps the ones shared between the two characters.

A paradox I experienced while watching was that, initially, I believe this film is multiply diagetic – many times it reminded me that what I was watching was a film, and I was merely a viewer. And yet all throughout the film I felt discomfort at the intimacy I was experiencing with the characters – many times I felt I was intruding, that I was so connected to these two characters, real characters, living real moments of intimacy that I shouldn’t be watching. Perhaps this was due to the exceedingly close up visuals the two characters, the consistent lack of space shared between them, the scene wherein Alma watched and smelled Elisabeth in her sleep. Furthermore, all throughout the film, as the two women seemingly merged into one, this is made clearer to us both through imagery and the narrative.

Story-wise, as Elisabeth remains quiet and Alma speaks at length about her life, we may come to the conclusion that the premise of the story seems to seek to imply that as the two women spend more and more time together – one in silence and one in awe and admiration of the other – the lines between the two women blur. More tangentially, that Elisabet is a representation of the persona we portray to others at first sight in our apparate unknowability, while Alma represents the chaos and range of stories and emotions that actually comprise our person – throughout the entirety of the film, Alma portrays a range of emotions – some straightforward, such as anger, frustration, drunken joy, guilt at her abortion. Other times, she reflects a multiplicity of conflicting emotions (re: the climactic scene at the end wherein she is chasing after Elisabet and alternates between cursing her and crying on the ground.

However, this insight is made only clearer through the use of visuals in the story – the picture of the two women merged as one, the entirety of the scene with Elisabet’s husband, the scenes of the two women when Elisabet places her hand on Alma’s forehead and they look towards the side. Persona asks more questions than it answers, and the beauty of the film is the multiplicity of ways we can interpret it depending on who we are and where we are in our lives.  Is this a story that shows two women merging into one? A story that highlights how strikingly similar they already were to begin with, bonding over the guilt of postpartum depression? A story of the chasm between who you are to others and to yourself? Or is it about none of those, and rather a simple story about an actress who refuses to talk, her nurse, living in a house together for a time, interacting and spending time with each other, before going their separate ways? Are the assumptions of merging and other things we may draw only a figment of our overactive imaginations based on how their simple story is portrayed on-screen? What astounded me in Persona was that it made me realise how cinema has the capacity to make simple stories come alive – to make us feel things such as fear, a sense of eeriness, a sense of discomfort; to make us draw conclusions about life and reality and the characters and their story, simply from how their story is portrayed and plotted – the visuals, the music, etc.

The lack of proper closure at the end of the film when the two women part, though feeling like a betrayal, could also be interpreted in in a variety of ways – it could be a reflection of our reality in that in real life, closure is not always guaranteed, and some things merely end as is. It could be a testament to Art Cinema and its rebellion against Hollywood’s desire for a proper ending. The latter would be further justified by the scene showing the cameramen at the end, as it further shatters our immersion in the story. But then again, it could be an artistic display pertaining to the idea of how, as Alma leaves the set, she is no longer connected to Elisabet, the woman she was becoming, the woman represented her and all Personas. I left the film with more questions than answers, feeling a multiplicity of emotions I hadn’t felt prior to viewing – merely by watching two women spending time with one another. Simply talking, simply living.

A Woman is a Woman – Cinema is not Sacrosanct

The very first words that may come to mind while watching Goddard’s A Woman is a Woman: eccentric, different, and inarguably avant-garde. From the execution of the film to the actual premise of the story itself, almost everything about the film seemed to pointedly go against traditional Hollywood cinema.

The very beginnings of the movie lulled me into believing that the story’s premise would semble normalcy,  simply because it reminded me of Breakfast at Tiffany’s (with the quirky, independent female protagonist living in a rather modest apartment, and her apparent string of admirers). However, the parallels end there, especially when the male protagonist comes into the picture. Perhaps I am simply unused to such an untraditional romantic relationship as theirs- maybe relationships like this are considered normal in Europe. Nonetheless, the narrative is merely the beginning of what makes the film so compelling to watch.

If there was one thing that made this film similar to Hollywood, it was that it was entertaining – in mainstream cinema, there is a need to entertain viewers in order to sustain our interest. Through its hilarity, the captivating female lead and to some extent the two male protagonists, the film was (at least in my case) successful in this sense. However, what separates this film from Classical Hollywood is that while it did entertain, it by no means allowed for benevolence nor transparency – a lot of the time I was rather confused, flabbergasted by the ridiculousness of their relationship, and the fact that almost absolutely everything else was portrayed in such a way that demanded viewers to remember that this was a film – from the fourth wall break at the very beginning, to the outright ridiculous scenarios the characters acted on screen (e.g., the ‘We’re Not Talking’ scene). At times, the narrative seemed completely non-sequitur, with some scenes that seemingly don’t contribute at all to the central plot. While there is a singular storyline and conflict, the film seems disjointed and disconnected, broken by several moments that are downright absurd. An example would be the completely random sequence where the police arrive at their apartment announcing that a terrorist threw a bomb – this sequence wherein no significant action takes place, and overall seems superfluous to the unfolding of the story. Another, more direct example of this (re: continuity editing) was the scene wherein the female protagonist threw up an egg, picked up the phone, and went back for the egg, catching it once more in the pan after being away for a significant portion of time.

Furthermore, I liked how the music stopped and started at random intervals. Music in a film is meant to guide and enhance our responses to the story. Here, however, the music seems to be the only thing that makes this film a musical, overlaid over normal conversations amongst the characters. It also provided a semblance of continuity. Thus, while the scenes seemed intransitive, it was not reckless, as every scene was beautifully done regardless, both visually, performance-wise, and otherwise – I wasn’t mad at its disjointedness.

Overall, it was a wake-up call to the fact that the rules normally followed in cinema are not sacrosanct, and that a film can be enjoyable despite its obvious plausibility. Mainstream superhero movies aren’t realistic, too, after all – the only reason this film seemed more implausible was its portrayal of normal people, in a normal setting, portraying their story in a non-normal way – not allowing viewers to be lulled into immersing themselves into the film. The film was charming in its absurdity and ability to make viewers do a double-take, but also laugh at the blatant comedy and haphazard, abject non-realistic scenes on screen. I was confused, but completely entranced all throughout. And at the end of the absurdity, the message of the film A Woman is a Woman was made clear – “Damn you” “No, a dame, me” – one way or another, women ALWAYS get what we want.