American Cinematographer - September 2015 - 12

President's Desk

Photo by Dana Phillip Ross.

Dustin Hoffman - one of our greatest actors - was quoted recently in The Independent as
saying that the present state of feature filmmaking is the worst it has been in 50 years. The everincreasing number of mindless tentpole movies churned out by the major studios - and their
reluctance to embrace the more thoughtful, character-driven films with which Hoffman made his
reputation - make it hard to disagree. I would caution him, though: A lot of garbage is
produced during every Golden Age. And Richard Brody, writing in The New Yorker, presented a
counterpoint by arguing that today's independents have filled the gap with a surge of films that
surpass their 1970s predecessors in both gravitas and craft. There's an element of truth in each
position, but I think they both miss the more profound issue lurking beneath the surface. What
has happened to the human touch?
About 70 minutes into Arthur Penn's seminal 1967 film, Bonnie and Clyde, something
takes place that I find enchanting regardless of how many times I see it. The camera booms up
to reveal a high, very wide shot of Faye Dunaway's Bonnie Parker as she runs off into the sweeping vista of a sun-parched cornfield. Halfway through the move, a cloud slides in to create a dark,
threatening shadow that rushes to meet her from the treeline ahead. It's a once-in-a-lifetime
occurrence, and in this context it's the type of happy accident that cinematographers pray for -
a portentous indication of the fate awaiting the title characters.
It's also an oddly gratifying moment during which you can sense the presence of the filmmakers. I trust they were smiling.
There's no question that this natural - if unlikely - phenomenon was captured in-camera as part of the original photography. Audiences should be thankful to cinematographer Burnett Guffey, ASC (who picked up an Oscar for his efforts) for not yelling "Cut!"
and to Penn for choosing to use the take.
A similar but less obvious moment can be seen in Citizen Kane, when a matte-box shadow briefly passes over the doorjamb
of Kane's library as the camera pushes through. It's a minor thing, of course, and the vast majority of viewers will never notice it. But
as much as we always strive for perfection, I find this sort of flaw appealing. It's the cinematic version of the hidden mistakes intentionally woven into Navajo blankets so as to remind us that man is not perfect. With the deep immersion in technology our profession
demands and - thanks to digital - the bloodless, antiseptic nature of so much of what we currently see, it's nice to realize every
once in a while that living, breathing people are the true cause of what we're looking at.
I think this is what Hoffman was really trying to get at with his comments. The human touch is still there in contemporary
cinema, though it might not be as easy to see as it was during the height of his career. For proof, I would refer him to the work of
the cinematographer.
We occupy a unique position from which to deliver a great deal of ourselves to a project - at least as much as the writer,
director and performers. We not only share in the development of the visual plan, but are charged with turning the abstract into reality. And the essence of that is a deeply personal effort. Under the best of circumstances, we're able to tap into our own feelings and
put them on the screen with total freedom, "mistakes" and all. Surely, that fleeting impression of Gregg Toland, ASC's matte box
took nothing away from Citizen Kane, which 74 years after its release is still recognized in nearly every quarter as the greatest film
ever made.
If I let myself go just a little, I can imagine Toland sitting in the screening room and, for reasons known only to himself, signing
off with a thin smile on that little mistake. He was one of the best cinematographers who ever lived, and it's safe to assume he could
have ordered a reshoot of the offending moment. But the fact that he didn't do that gives me even more respect for his choice. It
shows that, yes, after all, one of our gods was really one of us.

Richard P. Crudo
ASC President

September 2015

American Cinematographer

American Cinematographer - September 2015

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