Ultimately, the challenge of composing only two Debriefs each month is sifting through all the cinematic trains of thought I have in my head and selecting only one film every two weeks to sit down and parse. I get backlogged rather quickly; the moment I published Debrief XI, I already had two new films on the docket and I spent a solid half hour paging through Google Images for quality screen grabs. And while I could fill years of Debriefs with my own inspirations, I thought about the long-term goal for this segment that I discussed last time. While I do take joy in encouraging our Debonair readers to watch films that I personally treasure, it is the conversation that I yearn for. So, I threw it out on Twitter for people to message me with films they think I should write about. I got several quick responders, including the brilliant @StrawSullivan suggesting Spike Lee’s 25th Hour and, so, here we are. Sorry to those dozens of people crying for High School Musical, not only do I question the artistic integrity of such a project, I’m also confident it doesn’t fall under the category of #dapperlifestyle. From this point forward, I’ll call for recommendations on every second Debrief, so that I can start learning from our readers and spreading someone else’s film love.
In my original Debrief I, I discussed the Cahiers du Cinema’s idea of auteurism. While many of the directors I’ve discussed since that first post have had distinctive styles, I think it’s an idea worth revisiting when it comes to Spike Lee.
When one thinks of Spike Lee, they likely think of some of the trademarks of his cinematic style. First and foremost is his attention to race relations. Since the beginning, in his early and important works in the 80s, like She’s Gotta Have It and Do The Right Thing, Lee has given much screen time to understanding the black experience in America. However, 25th Hour is a departure from this, instead focussing on Lee’s other trademark: New York City. Among Lee’s other signatures are his infatuation with (NYC related) the Yankees and the Knicks, and his repeated use of the ghost-float-walk. Lee uses this camera-dolly technique twice in 25th Hour and many times in his other films. By putting the camera on a dolly, shooting only the bust of the actor, and establishing a specific depth of field, it gives the illusion that the actor is floating instead of walking. Lee is by no means the only director to make use of this technique, but he’s revisited it so many times that it’s hard not to call it part of his style. It’s a convincing way of communicating a dream-state, or perhaps just intoxication. Finally, and perhaps more easily overlooked, is the way Spike introduces his work in the credits. In all of his films that I’ve seen, Lee credits the film as “A Spike Lee Joint” (as opposed to A Film by So-and-So, or a So-and-So Film). For me, this is a small but enjoyable change that alone gets me to think. Perhaps this is a piece of work that Lee wants his audience to puff on for awhile and then sit back and reflect on, while we’re still caught up in the cinematic world that we’re inebriated by.
25th Hour tells the story of Marty Brogan’s (Edward Norton) last day of freedom in New York City before he is to start his seven year prison sentence for drug dealing. Marty’s last day involves coming to terms with his decisions and the end of one of his life stages. He spends the day with his girlfriend, Naturelle (Rosario Dawson), his childhood friends; high school teacher, Jacob (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), and, Wall Street trader, Frank (Barry Pepper), his dad (Brian Cox), one of Jacob’s students (Anna Paquin), and the Russian mobsters who he worked for. This film is a wonderful example of a successful character study – not just of Marty, but of all the major characters.
A bookend is a narrative device used to frame a story. In some circumstances, you have an opening shot to the film that is repeated at the ending, but this is not a steadfast rule. You can have similar shots graphically or thematically, but what’s most important is that it frames the story in between the two bookends. The most obvious that comes to my mind is when David Lynch zooms into the decaying ear in Blue Velvet near the beginning of the film, then zooms out of the ear at the end. The interpretation of that is open to each viewer, but that frame gives a structure to the space between those two ears. In 25th Hour, I think Lee uses a non-traditional take on the bookend to set up a train of thought for the audience. As the very first opening credits appear on screen, even before we see the first frame of the actual film, the audience hears a dog being beat. Then, as world of the film appears, Marty and his gangster friend pull their car over to rescue a dog that’s been beat to an inch of his life then left bloody and abandoned. Marty manages to get the wounded but enraged dog into the trunk of the car and the scene cuts to the credit sequence. Our next shot of Marty is of him and the dog, now healed and clean, given a new chance on life. The last frame of the film is of Marty’s badly beaten face. While this frame is hardly seen for longer than a split second, it is undeniably a hark back to that first scene. The conclusions are left for the audience to draw, but what is obvious is that both the dog and Marty were bloodied and on “death’s” door, however you choose to interpret death.
What is it that makes a character sympathetic to the audience? I’d argue that what the character does and says on screen, are significantly more important than what happens “before” the film begins or what we’re told about that character. Lee sets up our relationship with Marty by starting the film with him rescuing the dog – Marty clearly has compassion for this animal. But what is more interesting is what Lee omits from the screen. The audience gets a fleeting glimpse of Marty’s relationship with one of his customers, as the junkie begs for some product. But, never once do we see Marty dealing the drugs that he’s been put away for. This is, undoubtedly, an intentional omission by Lee. Marty is going to jail for seven years, surely he must have done bad things. But, instead, his character is crafted as someone entirely sympathetic. He might be guilty, but he is still someone who we feel for and, perhaps, see ourselves in. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that we are to equate Marty’s character with some facet of the city of New York as an entity unto itself.
Similar to my discussion of Berlin in Wings of Desire, New York City can be interpreted as not just a character in 25th Hour, but one of the stars. The majesty of the city and the heartache of 9/11 dominate the opening credits, and the cityscape looms in several different establishing shots throughout the film. But the personality of the city seeps into every scene, sometimes with subtlety, other times with obviousness, like the two separate montages. It’s more than just a tribute, we are meant to ask if this story could have ever transpired in any other city. Lee means us to understand that Marty and the other characters are New Yorkers and because of this, they do act and will act a certain way, with a specific attitude and perhaps a certain level of dignity. Spike Lee has always tooted NYC’s horn, but this film goes beyond that. It’s a tribute to the resiliency of the spirit of the city, no matter how bloodied it’s face.
