Micmacs Trailer: Show and Tell and Sell

Posted on August 31, 2011 by Frederick Greene

As any minimally competent trailer watcher could tell you, Jean Pierre Jeunet’s MICMACS A TIRE LARIGOT (2010), in which a makeshift “family” of junk salvagers takes on and vanquishes a large, profitable armaments manufacturer, is a populist revenge fantasy with a leftist bent and a French attitude.

And yet, whatever one’s feelings toward our Gallic Allies, it’s unlikely an American viewer would decide against buying a ticket on the basis of the trailer’s unapologetic politics (what some might call sentimental socialism). After all, the plot– insignificant victim takes on powerful corporate malefactor with predictably satisfying results—is as American as buddy films or inane Summer blockbusters.  Indeed, the converse of this plot is commercially inconceivable.  (Would you want to see a comedy in which a maker of cluster bombs defies and defeats its critics and victims?)

So as a piece of marketing, the trailer is forthright in representing the film it heralds. It uses provenance (the director’s reputation and previous films), critical reception (blurbs from movie critics), and unembellished story elements to establish the art-house (with strong cross over potential) appeal of this film and it delivers the shots to prove its promise of visual invention and cinematic imagination.

What I’d like to discuss in this post is the trailer as a film text, especially the editorial decisions taken by the trailermakers, choices which add an aesthetic, moral and emotional dimension to the marketing information explicitly conveyed by copy, dialogue and scene selection.

Since editorial craft is the critical component of trailer artistry—naturalizing events, images and relationships that are thoroughly constructed and artificial– I propose we consider this trailer in terms of the four fundamental relationships that obtain between any two segments (or pieces) of film: graphic, spatial, temporal and rhythmic.    At the risk of repeating myself, I’m suggesting that non-verbal information conveyed through the editing of the MicMacs trailer overdetermines, rather than subverts or contrasts  the copy and scene selection.  The editing is skillful, seductive and entertaining, as in the best trailers. But beyond our aesthetic admiration, this trailer deserves our critical attention for its formal practice, the manner in which it coordinates shots.

Let’s begin with temporal relations, which in this trailer present a chronological narrative from initiating incident/accident to likely resolution (revenge obtained!) Bazil is hit by a bullet fired from a dropped handgun. Surviving, though damaged, he meets an old man who introduces him to the MicMac clan, a discretionary family living beneath a junk yard where, according to the matriarch, “we recover and then we repair,” (a line which applies equally well to Bazil).  He is welcomed into the “family.”

Discovering the manufacturer of the bullet which struck him in the head, Bazil asks whether any of his new “relations” wish to help him “get revenge.”  Each of them votes, “yes” and the caper is on, involving surveillance, breaking and entering, explosives, disguise, out-smarted authorities and ultimate success, at least if the chorus of hooting laughter that concludes the trailer can be trusted.  (From the synopsis, I learned that Bazil’s father was killed by a bomb manufactured by the same villainous weapons maker, and presumably his discovery is conveyed by flashback in the film. The trailer leaves out this expository nugget, however, suggesting rather that Bazil’s injury is sufficient cause to attack Les Arsenaux D’aubervilliers –The Auberville Arsenal).

Graphic relations (patterns of light and dark, line and shape, volume and depth, movement and stasis) are most salient in the editing of the MicMacs trailer. The sunburst backdrop of yellow and red stripes emanating from a central orb, (used for copy as well as a backdrop for bullets and bombs) is a central albeit ambivalent image, signifying light, life, rebirth but also the heat, shock waves and destruction of an explosion.  In that image –which is etched on the bullets the arsenal makes– both sides of this age-old conflict are represented, their enduring tension given equivocal expression.

In the rotation of bomb, bullet, man in chair, dress and marionette rat, as well as the robotic movements of Bazil and his contortionist love interest, the trailer presents a ballet mechanique, the integration of organic and inorganic forms into objects of beauty and grace.  Significantly, it is the MicMacs who reclaim the detritus of capitalist production, whether to restore their use value or to create original objects of beauty.

Throughout, the contrast between pointing up (cannon, human cannonball, raised hands, devil’s flames) and dropping down (hook into chimney, falling bomb, descent into the MicMac lair, Bazil’s tears, etc.), reinforces the conflict between underground and overlord, the marginal, eclectic, chaotic, creative, joyful, junk-yard existence of the MicMacs versus the  airy, orderly, uniformed, profit oriented and death dealing world of the Aubervilliers Arsenal.   Yes, we’re talking unsublimated class warfare.  And in this trailer, as in this film, the rich and powerful don’t always win.

Spatial Relations (e.g, that obtaining between shots A and B, relating them through similarity or difference or development, and deriving from an underlying assumption of coexistence and the inference of a spatial whole.)   In MicMacs, the usual relation of “up” and “down” is reversed, with the underground artisans—these multi-cultural scrap workers and junk-engineers—occupying the privileged position of sympathy and competence in their assault on the homogenous business men and generals, presented as paper pushing, money grubbing merchants of destruction, who inhabit light-filled suites far from the manufacturing floor.

The struggle between insurgent and dominant cultures is revealed in that simple distinction between above and below, with the underdogs fated to rise ethically and spiritually by rising up and destroying (or actively discomfitting) the destroyers.

There are several visual puns through which the spatial politics and ideology of the trailer are set forth:  my favorite, the onomatopoetic “Boo” uttered by the bearded, Franco-African MicMac, a sound, a lip gesture and a signifier of fright, that initiates (or detonates, as a consequence of the Kuleshov effect) a series of explosions in the factories of the Arsenal.  The polished receptionist is surprised and frightened (yes, the French too, fear the African “other”) while the audience is amused by the “joke” of the startling noise which is also a revelation of his presence (and, as my thesaurus reminds me, of “contempt”).  The “boo” shot immediately succeeds a shot of the confused/curious Receptionist, although nothing in the lighting suggests that he is revealing himself to her.  It’s just that contiguity defaults to causality or consequence (unless otherwise indicated), as a function of the way we read film texts.

Earlier, when Bazil is brought to the MicMac’s warren, he enters through a door marked “Tire Larigot,” which is an idiomatic phrase that means “pull to your hearts content” (often as a drinking metaphor) or “take as much as you’d like.” It’s a pun that refers simultaneously to “opening the door” –literally– and the warm welcome waiting inside and figuratively to abundance, satisfaction and excess.  This is not the world of scarcity, private property and self-denial, which Bazil– once a lone, alienated observer (he managed a video shop); now, an active, integrated participant in life—has left behind.

Rhythmic Relations

In the 2:09 trailer, human faces and emotions play long, while the details of the revenge plot – the surveillance, the scheme, the explosions, the chaos of the plan’s unfolding—arrive fast and furiously.   Why might this be?  The obvious explanation is that the complexities of story are such that only a rapid presentation of images is possible given the relative brevity of the trailer.  Moreover, in trailers, speed is shorthand for excitement and energy, which such a film would want to advertise.  But we also read shot length as a proxy for importance, and in this trailer graphic design and copy, facial reaction and whimsical spectacle linger on screen, emphasizing feeling and emotion, human creation and consequence, the “heart” of the movie, over and against the plot details which, while essential, are nonetheless subordinate elements in the artistry and conception of an auteur like Jeunet.

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Where The Wild Things Are: Civilized Misdirection

Posted on August 29, 2011 by Frederick Greene

 

In my first post about “Where the Wild Things Are,” I considered the choice of a musical cue for the trailer.  In this post, I’d like to examine the visual elements that appear in the trailer in terms of their coordination in the editing.

The trailer opens with the sound of slow footsteps (or deep, resonant drum beats). A boy awakes in the arms of a huge, furry beast, whose astonishing silhouette he sees in the shadow cast on the forest floor as he is carried through sunlight.  The giant creature (voiced by Tony Soprano, no less) soothingly mutters, “I didn’t want to wake you, but I wanted to show you something,” which works not only in the scene under discussion, but also extra-diegetically to address the theater audience, sitting in the dark, awaiting the feature presentation.  We, like the child, emerging from the darkness of slumber, want to see what he has to show us.

At 27 seconds, Arcade Fire’s music begins and we see both the boy and his point of view, as he observes tiny creatures in a boat in a grotto (presumably, what the large furry creature wanted him to see), and then more commonplace scenes from the classroom, of his teacher, and through the window, where ominous clouds gather. Next, he rides a sailboard through choppy waters, and later spies on his mother’s date from the hallway.

Cut to scenes of the boy running in the forest and through the snow, joining the furry giant on the beach, viewing the sunset, and then to the sailboat shown before, now sailing before a terrible storm.

On a black screen, a card with copy reading “inside all of us is…..Hope” introduces a series of happy, positive, heartwarming images, of hugs, smiling faces and embraces, concluding with a bear hug between the boy and his mother.  The next card appears, featuring the copy, “Inside all of us is…..FEAR” followed by scenes of hands reaching out for hands, tears and sad or anxious faces, and the boy glimpsing a frightening face (unseen by the audience) from which he backs away. This section concludes with footage of the sail boat racing down a cresting wave amid pounding surf, at risk of foundering.

Cut to the next card on which appear the words, “Inside All of Us is Adventure,” with the final “E” of adventure drawn as a pair of hairy feet.   This card introduces a series of action shots: of the boy jumping, throwing (snowballs, etc.) running, falling, dropping and smiling. Here at the center of the trailer, excitement and kinetic energy abounds.

“From one of the most beloved books of all time” introduces the next section, featuring a series of match cuts of the boy running away from the camera in a variety of settings.

A card reading “From Author Maurice Sendak” appears, followed by match cuts of the boy running toward the camera, jumping, sliding, and smiling.

“From Director Spike Jonze” reads another card, which opens a series of action shots, skillfully  match cut and syncopated to the strains of “Wake Up.”  The boy tumbles down a snow field; his furry companion crashes into the walls of a trench.   Next, the creature and the boy, circle a tree in the forest, throw snowballs, hurl themselves and each other through the air as trees crash around and explosions litter the landscape.  This is no longer frolic and exuberance: something dangerous is chasing and threatening: a battle is taking place, although the cards and the scenes don’t explain the events shown.

“Inside all of us is a Wild Thing” is the penultimate card, followed by the gathering of furry creatures and the boy, on a bluff overlooking the sea, a scene of celebration and communion, which is followed by the Title Card and the End Credits.

The concept that appears to animate these sounds and images is, well, conceptual.  Atmospheric, emotionally direct, but vague on plot detail, the trailer for Where the Wild Things Are is generally about a boy, his imagination, discovery and danger.   With this trailer, the makers have the benefit of source material that’s already widely known; because the story is familiar in its particulars to audiences, they have the privilege of selling impression and emotion rather than narrative specifics.

From a marketing perspective–rather than an aesthetic one—selling this film through misdirection away from what might be less appealing or frightening in the story, makes commercial sense. I read this trailer as an example of well-founded discretion on the part of the marketing team, insofar as the subject matter is actually very serious and not a little disturbing.   There are hints, no doubt, audibly and in the dread and urgency of certain shots, which imply that all is not sunny and innocent in the wilderness.

As is common, the editing pace and emotional energy build steadily, following key and tempo changes in the music. While not exactly cut along the “let ‘er rip” pattern, a pronounced dramatic climax is made from the thoughtful, beautiful and affecting concatenation of images.   It has integrity and force, borrowed from the music no doubt, but equally a result of the inspired match cuts, directionality of figure and movement and the punctuating repetition of looks, gestures, faces and actions. Elements of sound, rhythm, tempo are woven with graphic elements of movement, pattern, repetition to create a bold, appealing fabric of sensory spectacle, a sampling of something familiar and as yet unknown.

I mention a few of the most distinctive: Running—toward and away from the camera, as well as across the screen—is the most common movement depicted.   But it’s the matching of  jumps, rolls, slides, hurls and drops that speeds hearts and lungs.   It’s joyful and beautiful.  Watching this trailer makes me eager to see the movie.

And that, when you tell it to the market research people, is the measure of a effective—and therefore successful–trailer.

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Where the Wild Things Are: The Power of the Perfect Music Cue

Posted on August 26, 2011 by Frederick Greene

The 2:06 theatrical trailer for Where the Wild Things Are (2009), demonstrates the centrality of the music cue (and the music librarian) to trailer making.  I love this trailer for the stirring, evocative, and narrative Arcade Fire anthem (Wake Up) that provides a de-facto Voice Over to the visual presentation.

This is a traditional trailer in many ways.  It’s a common length; it uses graphic copy (words on screen) to sell the atmosphere, attitude, tone and general content of the movie heralded, and to emphasize the provenance of this collaboration between children’s lit icon Maurice Sendak and Indie/Arthouse sensation cum-studio stalwart, director Spike Jonze.   There is no cast run, per se, although the credit block is presented in the closing seconds after the title appears for a second time.

The font used (for copy and title) is either an homage to Pablo Ferro, the pioneering editor and graphic designer responsible for such trailers as Dr. Strangelove, A Clockwork Orange, Stop Making Sense, etc. etc., or his actual work. (He was alive and active when I interviewed him in 2005.) Ferro’s signature typeface is an uneven, child-like, elongated hand lettering, an apt choice for an adolescent epic adventure of the imagination.

Like all truly inspired music selections, “Wake Up” not only conveys the emotion, the energy and the drama of the trailer’s story, its lyrics caption what we are seeing (e.g. “Children wake up /hold your mistake up/ before they turn the summer into dust….
If the children, don’t grow up/ Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up/ We’re just a million little gods causin’ rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.”) and conclude with a “call to action” that would be equally at home on the DVD Packaging, i.e. “Look out below.”

Indeed, the lyric “Children Wake up” speaks both to film’s protagonist, who leaves his bed to spy on his single mother, and as an exhortation to the audience—children of all ages–to be alert, on guard and conscious of the passage of time.

In the second stanza, the “if” of the lyric is swallowed, so that what comes across on the trailer (or in concert) is the observation that “Children don’t grow up/ their bodies get bigger but out hearts get torn up,” suggesting that inside all of us is a bruised child.  Coincidentally (or not) that’s the literal subject of the movie as well as the nostalgic anchor this adaptation of an acclaimed work of children’s literature is counting on to attract audiences.

As I said, it’s an inspired choice, and full credit belongs to the editor or music librarian who suggested its applicability. Prescient too, given the breakout popularity Arcade Fire has since achieved.

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