9In its simplest terms, the 180 degree rule maintains that the relative positions of all protagonists are clear in the mind of the viewer at all times. It obliges the director to begin every scene with an establishing shot, an image which presents the space in its entirety and in which we see each of the protagonists that populate it. This initial shot establishes the line of action (an imaginary line that runs between one actor and another) and positions the camera to one side of the axis it demarks. Simultaneously, the line of action indicates the relative positions of the protagonists who, as in this case, normally maintain a spatial relationship parallel to the screen. It ensures that in any shot–counter shot sequences we never lose sight of the positions of the protagonists and we always have an eyeline match, with Susan looking to the right and Kane to the left. For a simple but more extensive explanation, see: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Film Art: An Introduction, Ibid. p. 262–278.
10A wealth of introductory texts and more detailed examinations of the role set design plays in film narrative, symbolism and character formation is available. A basic introduction is again available in: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Ibid. p. 156–191. A more detailed examination is available in: Gibbs, John. Mise-en-scène: Film Style and Interpretation, Wallflower Press, New York, 2002.
11For a general overview of editing techniques and, specifically, the use of the cut, see: Murch, Walter. In the Bink of An Eye: A Perspective on Film Editing, Silman-James Press, Los Angeles, 2001.
12The standard interpretation of graphic discontinuity originated with the Soviet discontinuity school in the 1920s and was formalised in the writings of Sergei Eisenstein throughout the 1930s and 1940s. See: Eisenstein, Sergei. The Psychology of Composition, Methuen, London, 1988.
13This approach to “static camera filming” is examined in more detail in Part 3 of this work in the context of Yasujiro Ozu. Again, for a general overview of Yasujiro Ozu and his filming style, see: Richie, Donald. Ozu. Ibid.
14If the scene had been filmed through a series of cuts, the inevitable changes of attention that occur when each one of the protagonists speaks in turn would have been made instantaneously by a cut. In a scene filmed with a moving camera, these changes would have been facilitated by a smooth reorientation of the camera. In the first instance, a certain level of fragmentation would have resulted whilst, in the second, a much more fluid sense of change would have pervaded the scene.
15For a basic introduction to deep-space construction through the use of wide angle lenses, see: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Ibid. p. 198–203.
16The use of the long take in this scene is reminiscent of the film’s of Jean Renoir and his avoidance of the “cut”. Based on the analogy between the eye and the camera, this continuous, fluid filming style became associated with Renoir’s approach to “realism” and one of the characteristics of his filming style most celebrated by André Bazin. For more information of Bazin’s interpretation of Renoir’s filming (and, by extension, its applicability to this scene), see: Bazin, André. Jean Renoir, Da Capo Press, New York, 1973.
17An overview of sound in film is offered in: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Ibid. p. 291–323. Specifically, they argue that sound and dialogue are techniques used to control audience attention. Ibid. p. 296. For specific information on the role of dialogue in narrative film, see: Kozloff, Sarah. Overhearing Film Dialogue, University of California Press, Los Angeles, 2000. p. 33–64.
From the contradictions of film to the creativity of architecture: Design workshop
After the initial introductory breakdown of Citizen Kane and the introduction of the concept of “cinematographic space”, just outlined in the previous section, Stage 1 of the workshop entitled “From the contradictions of film to the creativity of architecture”, involves an analysis of the spatial models employed by a variety of different directors.1 It focuses on certain celebrated scenes that epitomise their “style” or approach to space and involves the use of storyboards, plans and sections as tools of investigation. The aim is to deepen an understanding of spatial cinematographic construction across a broader spectrum of practices. The example selected here is the mutiny scene from the Sergei Eisenstein classic The Battleship Potemkin, 1925 (Fig. 1). The initial characteristic dealt with is the spatial design of the set which, in this case, is noticeable for its simplicity in aesthetic terms, that is, the deck of a real battleship that employs no artificial lighting for dramatic effects.2 The set was designed for a totally non-cinematographic use, and thus, the creation of the on-screen spatial impression revolves exclusively around choreography, composition and, above all, the filming and editing style.
Figure 1: The Battleship Potemkin: the mutiny scene.
By using the storyboard to isolate each shot in the sequence, it was identified that normally three fixed cameras were used to film any significant action from a number of different perspectives. For example, in the scene in which the mutinying sailors throw an officer overboard, the action was filmed from below, from the side and from above (Fig. 2). In addition to the graphic fragmentation that this inevitably produces, in some shots the frame of the camera is twisted so as to create diagonal and fragmentary compositions. Consequently, the various trajectories and movements of the protagonists conflict with the orientation of the camera, and further heighten the sense of dynamism created by the camera positions. These initial spatial and compositional decisions represent the first steps in the “constructive” process of the director.
Figure 2: Storyboard of the mutiny scene.
This construction is continued in the post-production process where the most important factor in the creation of the work undoubtedly occurs, that is, the editing. What gets drawn out from this analysis is that Eisenstein’s editing revolves around the juxtaposition of images that are graphically, narratively, spatially and temporally different, and that these juxtapositions create disconcerting sequences that deliberately break the rules of the continuity system.3 Indeed, at times, this editing ensures that the presentation of the space is totally incomprehensible. In addition, effects such as temporal expansion that augment this fragmentation through secondary editing effects also tend to be identified, as do his frequent use of symbolic elements, protagonists and other features.4
The process of applying the cinematographic lessons taken from these “analytical exercises” to actual architectural design begins in Stage 2 of the workshop when, momentarily, the use of storyboards is put to one side. At this stage, the aim of the workshop is to investigate and understand the site of the later design projects in cinematographic terms5 (Fig. 3). Rather than employ a photographic camera or sketch book, the tool chosen for this investigation is, naturally, the film camera, tool that ensures that the building’s “cinematographic characteristics” are identified and highlighted. The filming process applied at this stage of the workshop tends to be a purely formal exercise in which attempts are made to counter the absence of narrative typical of film by making the film visually interesting.6 This often results in the employment of visual characteristics such as the use of tilted frames and multiple view points, the employment of unusual camera angles to distort the eye’s normal perspective or the identification of unusual lighting effects to name but three (Fig. 4).
Figure 3: The Cebada Market: exterior.
Figure 4: The Cebada Market: interior.
This formalistic approach to the filming process is further heightened by the employment of the filming styles introduced in the earlier stages of the workshop: fragmentary, static or continuous and fluid, for example. What results is that certain characteristics of the space, that would not normally be considered of importance or even identified, become central to our “way of looking”.7 For example, when a continuous filming style is employed, the camera filming this particular space tends to follow the movements and routes taken by the building’s users as they walk along its long intertwining corridors. Consequently, the lineal, fluid and continu
ous nature of the building’s secondary spaces is what became highlighted. By contrast, the films that employed the fragmentary approach of discontinuity film emphasised “dynamic features” such as staircases whilst those that employed a more static editing style emphasised formal features that framed simple actions (Figs. 5, 6).
Figure 5: Fragmentary filming – fragmentary space.
Figure 6: Long take – long space.
In the case of the static filming examples, the camera tended to be positioned at the points of interconnection between corridors so as to use them as framing devices for the still image. Being positioned at an interconnection, however, also meant that the camera captured movement that was both perpendicular and parallel to the screen. The movements of people walking perpendicular to the screen were long and continuous as they passed from fore to background. By contrast, the movements of those moving parallel to the camera were far more momentary; they entered and left in a matter of seconds. The employment of this filming style, clearly inspired by the work of Yasujiro Ozu, did not highlight the potential spatial continuity or fluidity of the building, but rather its potentially regimented but fragmentary visual effects.8 What becomes clear is that depending on the method of filming employed, we begin to identify different, but equally inherent, spatial characteristics of the space. As the architect’s standard methods of recording and looking through the eye and the sketch are replaced by the lens, there is a concomitant shift of focus to a different set of spatial qualities, qualities that may even be called cinematographic.
Stage 3 of the workshop returns once again to the use of storyboards. However, instead of being employed purely for a form of spatio-cinematic analysis, they are now used in a way that more directly facilitates architectural design. This is done by creating a storyboard for the scene examined in Stage 1, only this time set in the site of the design project. Consequently, what we have here is the mutiny scene from The Battleship Potemkin now visualised on the location of the project. In this process, the designer is obliged to examine the architectural setting for particular cinematographic characteristics, ones that facilitate the recreation of the scene in question (Figs. 7–8). Just as occurred earlier with the employment of the video camera to record the building, the use of storyboards here directs the attention of the designer to the site’s cinematographic rather than traditional architectural qualities.
In this specific case, we have a film scene characterised by its lack of lighting effects and the basic aesthetic character of its battleship setting. However, it is a scene in which we see an extreme visual decomposition, irregular camera movements and an almost chaotic choreography of movement. In trying to recreate these characteristics, it is necessary to identify fragmentary spatial characteristics inherent in the site; characteristics found in the entrance zone where a series of platforms at different levels are interconnected by a number of individual staircases (Fig. 7). This relatively irregular spatial distribution facilitates the selection of multiple camera view points as well as the possible recreation of the dynamic choreography realised by the actors in the scene. In the storyboard that results, we see a proposed sequence of camera movements that change between quite contradictory positions and angles (Fig. 8). The duration of each proposed shot ranges from one to three seconds and the sequence of movements planned for the actors is both fragmentary and conflictive. Together, the site, the proposed filming method and the choreography of movements are intended to create a final dynamic effect on screen.
Although we have focused on the case of Sergei Eisenstein and The Battleship Potemkin here, it is only one example of the films and directing styles used as templates in the workshop exercises. With the aim being that as many different characteristics of the space are highlighted as possible, the various participants in the workshops begin their design process by using the filming styles of other, quite different directors and films: Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark or Mike Figgis’ Time Code, for example.9 As is to be expected, the effects suggested by people working through these frames of reference tend to be very different and emphasise fluid and continuous movements and open spaces. What begins to occur at this point is that the requirements and characteristics of film begin to play an ever more important role in the consideration of how the space is used, a fundamental step in developing the architectural design proposals that follow.
Figure 7: Physical set of Storyboard 2.
Figure 8: Storyboard 2.
Before these purely architectural questions are introduced however, there is one more storyboard made in Stage 4 of the workshop. On this occasion, the storyboard is not based on a scene from a film but rather a typical event related to the selected design project. In the year of the examples used here, the architectural project carried out was the design of a small sports stadium/centre. Consequently, each participant of the workshop was asked to identify one typical action associated with a stadium and to subsequently make a storyboard of it set in the market site. The example shown here centres on the moment in which two basketball teams leave their respective changing rooms and walk onto the court together (Fig. 9). It is based on a continuous style of filming and consequently employs long takes and a moving camera.10
Figure 9: Storyboard 3: design proposal.
The ‘scene’ begins with an image of one of the teams coming up a staircase. They are backlit and consequently are seen as shadowed figures against a clear background in shot number one. As they continue to come up the stairs, the camera swivels 180 degrees in order to frame the second team coming up another staircase positioned opposite in shot three and which is frontally lit11 (Fig. 10). Once both teams are introduced, the camera begins to track backwards and move into the centre of the court itself. At this point, both teams are now formed in two parallel lines and follow the route laid out by the camera. Once on the basketball court proper, the camera begins to move with more freedom in-between the players who also break out into more fluid and free lines of movement. After a few seconds moving in this way, the camera retreats from the action and tracks backwards. It ends up in a long passageway positioned off to the side of the court at which stage a secondary narrative is introduced and two additional non-specified characters are seen in shot. At this point, we have an image with a strong central perspective in which two unknown protagonists are positioned in the foreground and the basketball players are seen occupying the background (Fig. 11). Upon returning to the court, still without having resorted to a cut, the camera takes up its final position in the commentary box, at which point a cut is introduced. This cut signals the end of the scene as the film switches to the television images of a commercial TV channel (Fig. 12).
Figures 10–12: Stills from Storyboard 3.
These storyboards are set in the site used for the design project and deal with actions typical of that type of project. As a result, it is inevitable that some of the ideas contained in them will be directly applicable to the designs that follow. In this instance, we see the use of frontal and back-lighting effects that are later introduced into the design proper. Similarly, there is a proposal in the storyboard for the use of a path marked out on the floor by a change in floor finish. Intended to emphasise the lineal movement of two groups of protagonists, it is applied easily in the real proposal that follows. Both these examples would fit perfectly in the category of “aesthetic” cinematographic factors described earlier, given that they are equally applicable in both an architectural and a cinematographic context. In this sense, they are indicative of the close relationship developed between cinematographic exercises and architectural projects at this stage of the workshop.12
In Stage 5, participants pass from storyboards to actual design proposals for the project. They work in more standard ways at this point, and the aim is to find multiple approaches for incorporating ideas, concepts and visual effects studied in film into the architectural proposals put forward. At its most basic level, this may involve the repeated use of a lighting effect or a floor design a
s just described. More interestingly however, it may involve the creation of visual effects that require a certain level of abstraction in their transition from one medium to another. In some cases, it may even involve the employment of cinematic spatial concepts as models for architectural spatial planning. During the course of running this workshop, it has been identified that most of the design proposals developed correspond to one or other of these three strategies. Consequently, they have been categorised into what is referred to as “strategies for transference”; three ways in which cinematic ideas can be incorporated into architectural design.
The first of these categories is called the strategy of direct incorporation. The lighting effects mentioned earlier are clear examples of this, as too are ideas such as incorporating floor patterns to direct the public. Other similar effects would include the framing of certain views with architectural elements or the emphasising of a perspective through a lineal treatment of surfaces. What these ideas have in common is that they do not require any manipulation at all to facilitate their employment in a building or spatial design. In short, they can be “directly incorporated” from a cinematic context into an architectural proposal (Figs. 13–14).
Figure 13: Uplighting effect.
Figure 14: Framing a perspective view.
By way of contrast to this simple and direct method of transferring cinematic ideas into architectural proposals, the second category identified involves a more creative manipulation of cinematic effects. It is referred to as the strategy of analogy. In the framework of this model, one finds architectural effects based on cinematographic techniques such as the long take, the cut and the fade. Simply explained, the fade involves the closing and/or opening of a scene with an image that disappears or emerges from a blackened screen.13 It is incorporated into the proposals put forward in this workshop through the use of glass walls that are partly transparent and partly opaque. At one end of the wall, the glass is opaque. However, along its length it gradually lightens until, at the other end, it becomes completely transparent. As well as acting as a spatial division between the inside and the outside of the building, this wall demarcates an access route leading to the entrance. Thus, as users move along the path to enter the stadium, the interior of the building is gradually revealed as if it has “faded in from black” (Fig. 15).
The Architecture of the Screen Page 20
