Naked City

I'm jumping around in my to-do list, half of which is stuff that's past due and half stuff that's due over the next week. I actually intended to finally watch Scarface tonight which was from last week but Netflix wouldn't stream it so I watched Naked City instead. As a person overly fond of the detective genre both on TV and in films this was right up my alley. It wasn't film noir or the hard boiled detective and I'm wondering if it was the precursor to both. We'll find out more next week. In the meantime it was just a fun film. It had this wonderful narrator with a mix of telling us what's going on and sort of "talking" to the detectives. But it's a style you don't see any more. And it ends with that great line: there are 8 million stories in the naked city, this was one of them. 


What I liked about watching it was to see how much has changed and not changed in detective work in the last 65 years. They were taking finger prints, they were showing suspect's pictures around the neighborhood, they were using clues from other cases to find more in this one, they were looking at bruise patterns on the body to determine number of killers. So in a lot of ways it was very similar. Just everything took longer. No searching the internet for pictures, or running fingerprints through the database. I'm sure there's something deeper we're meant to be getting out of it but for now I'll just enjoy it for what it is. 

In class we discussed Citizen Kane. When I watched that myself a couple of years ago because I thought I should it bored me. When we started picking it apart in class it became more interesting. Wells was a very detail oriented director. Every pixel of every frame (allow me a modern metaphor) was meticulously planned for maximum effect. And it's full of more and less subtle social commentary. It's on my list to watch it again and I'll probably appreciate it better this time around, though it'll never be my favorite movie. 

We also got a student presentation today about Dorothy Arzner who was the only woman director working in Hollywood between 1927 and 1942. After her there were none for 6 years and then someone else came along. The first woman to get nominated for an Oscar was in the 70s and the first woman to win an Oscar was just a few years ago. So things aren't really all that better now. And even though I have very little interest in Hollywood studio films that kind of makes me want to go out there and kick the boys' butts. Anyway she seemed really cool and I'll add her films to my list for when I don't have so many mandatory films queued up.

I had a screenwriting bit of homework due today:

For next week, please write a one page character exploration:

 a) a list (worksheet from Russin/Downs p. 85)

 b) 3rd person omniscient OR

 c) 1st person description OR

 d) 3rd person description from another character in film story

It was an interesting writing exercise but I wasn't feeling confident that I was doing it right just because it wasn't meant to be like a character description that you see in scripts. It's just meant to help you find who your characters are so that later you can write them in the actual script. I did Molly's observations of Greg while on the bus. I'm going to have to workshop my shorter script by the end of this month so I thought I needed to start spending time with those characters. Here's what I wrote, we'll see what feedback I'll get from Debbie next week.

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There's a guy on the bus that scares me. At first I thought he was a junkie. He's got that twitchy restless thing going on like he's going to vibrate right out of his skin. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg and it’s making the whole seat shake. At first glance he seems dirty, it’s just his jacket though. I wouldn't wear that to do yard work in. Maybe it’s second hand. Maybe he’s homeless.

I don't think he is though. He's too clean cut. His hair is combed, he doesn't need a shave. In fact he smells like my father's aftershave. No, he’s clearly not homeless, not unless he stole that phone. If he stole it he shouldn’t be that good at using it. Nobody even borrows a phone and knows how to use it without poking around looking for the right button.

If his hands weren't shaking so much I would have missed the blood under his finger nails. He keeps panting like he's about to hyperventilate. And his eyes are so wide. Not furtive and shifty like he’s paranoid, more like he’s scared and trying not to miss anything. He keeps slouching down and looking out the window like he wants to see if anybody sees him.

There is something going on with him and whatever it is the person on the phone with him is not helping. Mostly he’s muttering, but when he does speak clearly enough it’s not anything I want to hear. He sounds frustrated that his friend is not helping. His voice keeps cracking. He’s so tense I bet the air can barely escape his throat.

He seems completely oblivious. He didn’t see me when I walked by him to sit in the seat behind. He didn’t look up when the old lady pulled me out of that seat. He hasn’t noticed that half the bus has their own phones out ready to call 911. The only time he came out of his bubble was when the ambulance went by with its sirens on and then he nearly hit the roof.