I have to say that I have always fallen into the crowd who think the auteur theory is wrong. A film production is far too much of a collaborative effort to ever be the work of one person, no matter how much they do.

In that I class a lot of things. Some directors, take Robert Rodriguez for example, do a lot of hands-on, from writing the script to operating the camera to writing and playing the music (as Rodriguez does), but they still have help, direction and are impacted by other people on set and in pre- and post-production.

So, in my view, the only people who believe the auteur theory is anything but hogwash are theorists who have never been on set or involved in a production.

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The reason for stating that is because I have come across a nice little site run by the University of Nottingham’s Institute of Film & Television Studies where they publish their online journal Scope (also check out the old site/archive). Scope features a series of articles and reviews concerning film and film theory. I’ve been reading a few of the articles lately and one in particular caught my eye. It is titled, rather pompously (as is the way with academic papers), “Now That’s What I Call a Close Encounter!”: The Role of the Alien in Science Fiction Film, 1977 — 2001.

Now, as a Sci-Fi fan, I was intrigued to read it, even more so as it covers an era of moviemaking that during which I was introduced to, and fell in love with, film. To be fair they were fighting an uphill battle with me. Having studied the subject and been force-fed one or two things by my lecturers over the years, I am slightly jaded about film theory. Mainly because, hidden behind its deep academese, a lot of it is plain wrong. I also find the fact that the essays and opinions in these articles, or indeed complete books, don’t state, at any point, that what they are proposing is purely their opinion. Oh yes, they back it up with quotes from other academics, they state references to films, but it’s not an exact science and, as with anything, it can be interpreted any number of ways. That’s the accusation I am levelling at Lincoln Geraghty and Rebecca Janicker, the authors of the aforementioned article. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not writing off the entire article, but there are some obvious errors in my opinion (notice there, in my opinion, I state it, they don’t). I could spend weeks researching to prove my points, but I’ve got better things to do, so I’m just going to rip apart some of the essay using completely unsubstantiated accusations which you’ll have to take as gospel, unless you know better, then you can leave a comment.

One of the main reasons I think a lot of film theory is completely off kilter is because many film academics forget one rather large and overriding fact that is obvious to everyone else: the film industry is a business, an industry, an empire. Most works of art are created by either just one person or a very small group of people. The novelist, the painter, the sculptor, the composer. Movies don’t work that way. They may be written by a screenwriter (rarely just one and rarely does the script make it to the screen unaltered), but they have a serious amount of bureaucracy, checking and input from other sources. This is partly because producing films costs a large amount of money, far more than any of the other media (the average cost of a film in 2003 was $63.8 million – source). Keep this in mind.

Now, there’s a lot of bad assumptions and use of previous works as fact in the outline to the article (if Sci-Fi shifted away from dystopian views at the end of the 70s, how do you explain Blade Runner, released in 1982, the same year as ET? Though it wasn’t a commercial success from what I can see.), but I’m going to skip that and highlight a few points that, for me, are glaring errors.

Many science fiction films in the 1980s concentrated not simply on the relationship between the human and the alien but specifically on the relationship between children and aliens. Starman (1984), The Last Starfighter (1984), Explorers (1985), and Flight of the Navigator (1986) all featured encounters between adolescents and aliens, in which it was suggested that the young are simply more open to wonder and therefore more able to accept the Otherness of alien life forms. However, it is also related to Robin Wood’s shrewd observation that Hollywood had tended to construct the viewer as child-like and therefore receptive to the wonder of the cinematic illusion, a construction that is clearly related to the commercial success of Lucas’ Star Wars trilogy and Spielberg’s Close Encounters and E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (Wood, 1986: 163).

Right, so, they made films with aliens and kids in because teenagers are more open to accepting aliens? Not because teenagers happen to be the largest movie-going demographic and therefore stood to make the studios the most money? This was not a new revelation to Hollywood, Walt Disney broke the original thinking that adults were the market force with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in 1937 (source). You’ll notice too that most of the children featured in the films were boys. Maybe it’s a coincidence that the movie audience included (and still does) a higher percentage of male viewers and that Sci-Fi is much more popular among boys, that teenagers are the largest cinema-going demographic and that a large percentage of film-makers are men? I don’t think so. You’ll also note there were a significant number of films released around this time period that featured, and were aimed at, children, films like The Goonies, The Lost Boys, D.A.R.Y.L., Space Camp, Labyrinth and The Never Ending Story.

For example, E.T. not only features a benevolent and enlightened alien, who is willing to exchange ideas with others, but the child that he encounters also shares these same qualities. In the process, E.T. not only builds a close relationship with the child, Elliott, but is also able to heal Elliot’s troubled family. Furthermore, E.T.’s willingness to exchange ideas with Elliott is contrasted against the ignorance of the adult work of masculine authorities. The threat and menace within the film do not come from anything malevolent within the alien himself, but rather from the fear that he inspires in narrow-minded adult humans. The masked invader that comes to take him away becomes the real ‘alien’ for Elliott and his family, not unlike his absent father who is ‘alienated’ from the family and now lives in Mexico, far from his native land.

That’s right, yep, we all remember the scene in ET where the authorities gun him down in order to protect Earth. Hang on, no, I don’t. The people who are searching for ET and subsequently chase Elliott are not ‘narrow-minded adult humans’, they’re open-minded scientists who display the same wonder as Elliott but want to learn more using science rather than simply feeding him sweets and letting him drink beer. Towards the end of the movie they are desperately trying to save him, not inject him with a lethal substance. They’re drawn as dangerous, threatening entities purely to create drama and drive the story, they’re a narrative construct. This is something that film theorists would know if any of them actually tried to write a screenplay or make a film. (This is something I find galling about critics of any sort, it’s easy to sit and criticise, much harder to get off your butt and do it, those who can’t do, it seems, become critics — I realise the irony of this statement regarding this article) This is another of my pet hates and, as some might note, the reason Cahiers du cinéma produced so many groundbreaking works (don’t get me started on the auteur theory though): they were film-makers as well.

In these films [Cocoon (1985), Cocoon: The Return (1988) and *batteries not included (1987)], the alien allows humans to recover or discover their essential humanity. It is not only able to preserve or resurrect human life, but also to enable those who feel estranged from society to rediscover the joys of life. Thus, while the aliens in Cocoon enable the elderly to live forever, they also “change a swimming pool into a fountain of youth” and so “make children of senior citizens” (Grant, 1999: 25). Furthermore, the story also concerns the grandson of one of the elderly. Although not an adult, the grandson not only helps the aliens to return home but, in so doing, demonstrates a child-like open-mindedness that is contrasted with the attitudes of his parents who believe that both he and his grandfather are suffering from delusions. In other words, this grandson embodies all the qualities that these films associate with children — youthful exuberance, enthusiasm, curious innocence.

Perhaps this says more about the generation between the child and the grandparent. As we grow into adults we have more and more forced upon us and have to dedicate less time to our wants and needs and more to fulfilling our obligations (such as providing for our children and taking care of ageing relatives). There is an underlying theme that the current generation, the generation that was more dynamic, more consumer driven and more capitalist than any that have gone before (this is the eighties remember) have got it wrong and that both the older and younger generations, who aren’t interested in money or power, have it right. It’s nostalgic for the simple pleasures of childhood, especially for those of the older generation who gave it up so long ago and now have time to remember it. Arguably they are stories of self-indulgence and self-interest. No one in Cocoon tries to bring eternal life to everyone and the campaigners in *batteries not included don’t offer help to anyone else fighting off greedy property developers. I’m not saying I’m right, I’m just pointing out there are many sides to any argument. From a storytelling perspective, Cocoon is purely one of second chances, a new lease of life, while *batteries not included is all about good triumphing over evil (greed) and defending against hostile invaders (something the Americans have great affinity for).

The article moves on to cover ‘Alien Horror,’ discussing such films as Alien, Pitch Black and The Faculty. Apparently, Alien plays on our fear of the unknown and shows that curiosity is dangerous. Not mentioned is the fact that without the crew being curious they have a straight-forward flight home, the movie is much shorter and infinitely more boring. It’s a narrative tool for starting the story rolling, that’s all. The film does play on our fear of the unknown, more specifically, our fear of the ‘alien.’ It also plays on our fears of the lone, crazed, unstoppable, uncompromising and unreasoning killer. From Jaws to Silence of the Lambs, from Seven to Psycho this fear has been used to drive stories and scare audiences. Killers who cannot be talked to, do not have a motive, strike without warning and never stop are a deep human fear (I agree with Lovecraft’s quote that fear is our oldest and strongest emotion). Why do you think so many movies take the time to explain the killer’s motives or explain about how a bad childhood cause it all? In a society that works on principles and laws, written and unwritten, something that won’t play by them, that won’t get along, that doesn’t want to live in harmony scares us, because that path leads the chaos and anarchy.

Pitch Black plays on our overriding desire to survive, no matter what the odds. The environment is made hostile in that it has no hiding places, greatly increasing the threat, that’s all. Using Riddick bows to our desire to do anything to survive and plays on the notion that sometimes we must use the worst weapons to help protect humanity (the atomic bomb against Japan for example). The assessment of The Faculty makes no reference to the ‘outsiders’ resisting the call to join the alien and become like the others being a blatant attempt to reassert individualism in a world racked with globalisation and homogenisation. I’d also guess that it was an attempt by the film-makers (who were, I would guess, classed as ‘outsiders’) to silence some of their inner demons and make themselves look cool. There’s also elements of being able to change who you are (most of them transition from a stereotype to something else) and forcing people to accept you for who you are. I’d also dispute the claim that they ‘remain isolated from each other,’ especially as some of the characters end up in relationships.

Next the article tackles it’s third narrative type: Alien Invasions. One of the films covered in Independence Day. I’d agree that Jan Mair’s hypothesis that the aliens are in fact representative of ‘a much older Western fear — that of Islam as “the dark Other of Europe — the alien Saracen” (Mair, 2002: 37),’ is wrong. I don’t see any connection, overt or covert that shows links between the aliens and Islamic religion. I don’t agree with the hypothesis that Geraghty and Janicker put forward either though. They see the aliens as uniform indicators of globalisation and as threats to individuality and national identity. As the United States is accused of being the driving force behind globalisation I find this rather stupid. Surely it is a much more obvious allegory for the historical fight for independence? They have scaled it up to world level so as to appeal to a global audience, but this is an American film with the other countries playing a very small part in it. The invaders come in ships from afar (as did the British), their uniformity resembles the uniform red coats of the British army, the multi-cultural defenders mirror America’s multi-cultural society. At its heart though, is a simple survival story and of standing up for ourselves, of David versus Goliath. The big bully has come across the galaxy-sized playground and is trying to wipe us out, either we fight or we die, stand up for ourselves or be consigned to history. On a side note, the aliens are described as locusts, invading planets to use up their natural resources and move on. On a more practical note, our own history shows that having a standing army that size is dangerous for maintaining political power, keeping them fighting means they look outwards for enemies instead of within and helps the leaders maintain control (military coups are well documented). Maybe the aliens just sent them off to conquer Earth to keep them out of harms way and stop them rebelling against their authority? I don’t think anyone has raised that yet, and somehow I doubt the film-makers went into that much detail while writing it.

In many instances of these films it is not the ‘humanity’ of the defenders that makes them succeed, it is a trait that Sci-Fi has always favoured: brains. Perhaps the argument of brain over brawn is brought to the forefront because the stereotypical reader (and writers) of Sci-Fi is the skinny little dork with glasses. As mentioned in the article ‘the films “identify the inhuman with monstrous, gloopy, insect-like otherness, and leave no doubt that the only good alien is a dead alien” (Kaye and Hunter, 1999: 2).’ The strange appearance of the aliens also serves to stop any possible empathy or identification with the characters (hence the human or humanoid form of ‘friendly’ aliens in films such as Starman, K-Pax and ET) and plays on our distrust of anything alien in appearance.

The alien virus theme as previously discussed can also be identified in this section. Independence Day’s swarm of aliens has been likened to the threat AIDS poses to humans, the ‘alien’ being inside the body. According to Michael Rogin Independence Day takes the alien virus and turns it against the alien and at the point “when David (Jeff Goldblum’s character) plants his computer virus, he is entering the field of AIDS” (Rogin, 1998: 65).

I have no idea where the link to AIDS comes in, the uploading of a computer virus is simply a rip-off of the aliens catching a cold in War of the Worlds updated for the technological age.

Mars Attacks! is a true celebration of individuality in the face of the collective alien enemy: groups such as Congress and the army are destroyed whilst individuals and impromptu bands of individuals are seen to survive.

The alien invaders in Mars Attacks! can also be seen as a cleansing wind, removing the cancers of American society; the corruptors, the liars, the cheats, warmongerers and the self-interested.

The shift in Sci-Fi stories outlined by Geraghty and Janicker (“from the receptiveness of Close Encounters and E.T. to the cynical and defensive ‘close encounter’ described by Will Smith in Independence Day”) is perhaps more closely linked to American attitude changes about ‘outsiders.’ Once they were interesting and wondrous, now, in the wake of the Iraq wars and the terrorist attacks, they are to be approached with caution and if unfriendly, met with deadly force. Their assumption that “alien science fiction film has nowhere else to go but back to its roots, back to the initial encounters between alien and human as seen in E.T. and Close Encounters,” may well prove true, but for no other reason than film tastes are cyclical and what was fallen out of favour eventually rises again. I also don’t see a drop in alien horror or invasion narratives, film-makers will continue to play on the collective fear that has encompassed western (especially American) society. Let’s not forget that Sci-Fi films are also liked by Hollywood because they can succeed with very little plot and an over-reliance on explosions and effects, making spectacle the real star. This is much easier to achieve consistently, which makes them far more bankable than films in genres which require complex stories and skilled acting. It is also much easier to sell to a multi-lingual audience too (and William Goldman has repeatedly stated that Hollywood’s new target market is Asian teenagers as it’s their biggest marketplace).

I would say that Geraghty and Janicker do indeed raise many interesting points, but as I hope I have proved, many are completely wrong, but let’s not forget, like their article, this is only my opinion, my reading of the films they have stated. There are lots of ways to read films, that’s part of their attraction, part of their beauty, just because someone writes it down and states it as fact does not mean it necessarily is. I don’t know either of the authors, their views or motivations, but they seem to have fallen into the same trap as many others: film is a business, you can’t look at it without considering the financial implications that may have affected a decision, to do so is to begin with a false premise, a puzzle missing a key piece.

One of the aspects of Film Studies is psychology, referring to how the various elements of a film, either separately or combined, affect the viewer. This generally covers some fairly basic elements such as colour, association and connotation as well as more complex ideas. The one I have never understood and often refute is the constant claims that so much of what you see on screen has any sexual reference. This is perfectly personified in the two reviews mentioned above. I would like to say right now that there is some fairly unsavoury language in this article from here on.

The review of Kill Bill: Vol I by Brian Gibson (who writes a fair bit, usually about masculinity it seems and is a Graduate Student Instructor at the University of Alberta) I found highly amusing. Here’s a quick bit of it:

The faux-feminist aspect of Kill Bill is the film’s oddest addition to Tarantino’s oeuvre. Here, women kick ass only by co-opting patriarchal symbols or, in the Bride’s case, by using phallic weapons to kill women dominated by one man — Bill. (All the men in the film are latently misogynist because they want to kill or screw women: a sheriff who sees the Bride in the chapel calls her a “blood-spattered angel” and then “this tall drink of cocksucker”; Buck tells the eager trucker about the comatose Bride’s rebellious reflex: “this little cunt is a spitter”). After slashing his (Achilles) heel with a scalpel, then repeatedly ramming “I like to fuck” Buck’s head in the hospital door, the Bride steals his truck, nicknamed “Pussy Wagon,” thus reclaiming her sexuality. She lovingly surveys the long-bladed samurai swords at craftsman Hattori Hanzo’s workshop, sheathing and unsheathing the weapons, and soon after she’s efficiently eviscerating her opponents with her slicing shaft. At the end of her massacre of dozens of black-suited Japanese men in a nightclub, she faces the last remaining male fighter — a trembling boy holding his sword in front of him insecurely — and cuts his projected masculinity down to size. Whittling the boy’s sword down to a puny length with her own mighty steel, she then whips him on his backside with the flat edge of the blade while chastising him: “This is what you get for fucking around with yakuzas — now go home to your mother!”

I find it amusing for the discussion of the samurai sword as a phallic symbol. I always find references to everyday items as phallic when they are not being used in any sexual connotation (e.g. thrusting suggestively in and out of holsters, etc) as laughable. Rifles get accused of the same thing: it’s long, it’s pointy, it’s associated with men, it must be phallic. In this case though, sadly, not. Unfortunately, Gibson has overlooked a fairly fundamental aspect of the film: it’s a homage to Asian cinema. It would not be complete without marial arts, guns and, above all, samurai swords! Aside from this is the simple principle that swords in this day and age are exotic, unusual and, frankly, cool. Tarantino uses them for no other reason. Of course, what Gibson also misses is the fact that The Bride rises up, fights back and kills the man who has dominated her life (and that of her co-assassins) by using sex as a loyalty tool. Explain to me how that isn’t feminism in action (as a man I find discussing feminism a little uncomfortable, purely because, as a man, I am unqualified to comment, same goes for any man in my opinion)? I’d also like to add that the film contains lots of blood and is dominated by female characters who have fits of killing rage and there is no mention of menstruation in his article, curious.

So, having pointed out that a samurai sword is shaped that way because it makes it an effective killing device, honed over hundreds of years, and not because it’s a phallic symbol, I’ll move on to the second review that caught my eye, the review of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

The review was written by Alice Mills (who, assuming I’ve got the same Alice Mills, is properly addressed as Dr Alice Mills, Associate Professor of Literature and Children’s Literature, School of Behavioural and Social Sciences and Humanities at the University Of Ballarat, find out more about Alice here). Here’s a quick excerpt:

The masturbatory implications of this first scene [where Harry is casting light using his wand in order to do homework while under his bedsheets] are obvious: Harry is waving his wand under the sheet, attempting to create the maximum emission of light, while his substitute father keeps opening the bedroom door to check what he is up to. Towards the end of the film, Harry achieves an even greater emission of light when he casts the Patronus spell to save Sirius from the forces of death; this results in a few drops of life-essence falling suggestively back into Sirius’ mouth. Finally, in this phallic sequence, Harry’s jubilation when he takes flight at the end of the film, with the best of all broomsticks firmly between his legs, has further masturbatory overtones. The scene in which Harry collapses from his broomstick, which is then snapped by the Whomping Willow, suggests both castration anxiety and impotence—not helped by Hermione’s would-be consoling remark, when Harry regains consciousness, that he should not blame himself for what had happened.

Dr Mills comes back to Harry under the sheets later in her review as well. Quite frankly, I was left speechless. Er, that’s right, Harry under the bedsheets is actually about him masturbating. No, it’s not a perfectly harmless reference to all those scenes in films where young boys make a tent of their sheets and, using a torch, read banned material such as, shock horror, comic books. Absolutely no way. Of course the reference that in this house, even being a ‘good boy’ and trying to complete his homework (something most teenagers are nagged about) is actually frowned upon and so he risks punishment is completely missing the point. No, sorry, I meant to say: that is the point! Oh yes, and that white (referred to as ‘silvery’ in the books) emission during the Patronus charm is obviously ejaculate. That’s right, J. K. Rowling (a woman, for those who weren’t aware), obviously put a scene of simulated male masturbation into a children’s book. That’s right, in order to save himself and the only link he has to his family, he has to have a wank. You could argue it was done subconsciously, but as Ms Rowling happens to have a degree in English Literature, I’d like to think she was smart enough to be well aware of what she was writing. I’d be very interested to know her thoughts on sexual connotation and male/female role reversal in the Harry Potter series. I have a funny suspicion it would be along the lines of: ‘bollocks.’

I also find the suggestion that the broomstick, something usually associated with female witches, as a phallic symbol exasperating. Here we are again, it’s long and thin (he even sits astride it) it must be phallic. He could go side-saddle of course, but that would play into Dr Mills suggestions of male/female role reversal, besides, it’s not exactly practical for Quidditch. Dr Mills fails to point out that everyone rides their broom that way, in fact they’re taught to ride it that way in the first film. It’s a bit like saying motorbikes are male objects because you have a throbbing engine between your legs. Tell you what, you design a way to transport people that satisfies the requirements a motorbike does (fast, efficient, can navigate rough terrain, provide seating, etc) and I’ll write about it. It’s as daft as saying that cars are obviously feminine because you climb inside it to journey (references to the womb) and that getting out of a car is akin to a rebirth. There’s a word for that sort of thinking, it’s called bullshit. Funnily enough, there are no references to the fact that both witches and wizards use wands in Harry Potter, something that has phallic looks but is generally associated with fairies (who are, stereotypically, female).

I hate the sort of stupid, illogical reasoning displayed by the two authors above. They are far from the only culprits and this sort of thing is being force fed to students as fact on a day-to-day basis. Frankly (as should be plainly obvious) it bewilders and annoys me.