The Graduate

Supposedly Ben is rebelling against conventional, and uniform world that his successful parents and friends live in. However, he has no problems still living at home, laying on a raft all day in their pool drinking beer and working on his tan. To me, that's not being a rebel, that's being a spoiled, rich kid! Ben is a lazy, spoiled, self-absorbed, unambitious, aloof, whiny loner with almost zero charisma. Ben doesn't seem to have any friends, that the audience saw? At his graduation party there was not one person there his own age. The guy seems to be completely anti-social to everyone he meets. Nichols employed a series of camera techniques that had been extensively used in television commercials. A shot of Ben driving across the Golden Gate Bridge suddenly sweeps us far into the air; the camera cuts at a rapid rate to convey a sense of Ben's subjectivity. Cinematographer Robert Surtees was given a chance to experiment with "arty" techniques and created moments that were both original and effective; the best remembered example comes when Ben, rushing madly to stop Elaine's marriage to a fraternity row type, is seen running toward a camera that photographs him in extreme depth through a telescopic lens; though Ben runs at a phenomenal speed, the technique makes him appear to be running in place, never getting anywhere. Thus, the film's essential theme is wordlessly conveyed. There was the equally important decision to change the notion of the musical score, and instead of just featuring music composed expressly for the picture, Nichols included currently popular songs by folksingers Simon and Garfunkel ("The Sound of Silence"; "Scarborough Fair") without necessarily correlating them directly to a scene. (Referenced in the text, Chapter 7-9) Ben's alienation from his culture throughout the film is symbolized by shots through glass, cutting him off from direct participation in others' experience. At the party, the guests are seen in wide-angle distortion through the eye-mask of Ben's new diving suit. Mrs Robinson's first approach to him is shown through a fish tank- she will be the predator in their relationship. Several times Ben's individual and nonconformist viewpoint is emphasized in subjective shots through the lenses of his sunglasses. When he finally runs off with Elaine, the audience sees the couple through the windows of the bus, creating a final barrier through which even their ultimate silence is unheard. The opening shot provides a close-up image of Ben's face, then zooms out to reveal he is in a plane, surrounded by people of varying ages; at the outset, the point is made visually that even when surrounded by others, he is still alone. At the film's end, the reverse procedure is employed: we see Ben and Elaine on a bus full of people, but after revealing the couple in a two- shot, the camera then closes in on Ben's face to isolate him once again, insisting even after winning away the woman he wants from another man he is still alone. In between these two framing shots, further evidence of Ben's "aloneness" abound. During the title sequence, for instance, Ben -- having departed from the airplane that's carried him from an Eastern college back to California -- rides the moving ramp into the lobby, and we view him as a singular figure again, as the camera slips in to isolate his image onscreen even though we know, from his context, he is surrounded by others. The music itself is important: one reason Ben was widely interpreted as a generational hero was the musical score by Simon and Garfunkel which, according to most critics, leant the film a sense of timeliness by employing then- currently popular songs instead of a more con- ventional soundtrack. Actually, the S and G songs were not current hits, but golden oldies from the recent past; soft folk ballads ("Sounds of Silence," "Scarborough Fair,") of the type that had been popular just before the folk-rock psy- chedelic sound eased such softer music off the air. The songs the hippies at the burger stand are listening to ("Big Green Pleasure Machine") and which is associated with them, not Ben, is strikingly different in style from all the other S and G songs in the picture, sounding as though it were devised as a satire on such songs. (Referenced in the text, Chapter 8-9) (http://www.unc.edu/~ablount/moviereview.html) Interview with Mike Nichols: SCHWARTZ: I’d like to hear a little bit about how you work with your production designer. You’ve generally worked with Richard Sylbert on most of your films; you’ve also worked with Tony Walton and Patrizia von Brandenstein. [I’d also like to hear about working with] your cinematographers. You’ve worked with just a roster of the greatest cinematographers—Nestor Almendros, Giuseppe Rotunno—so I’d like to know a little bit about your relationship with those people. NICHOLS: You’re really asking (and partially answering) the same questions that you do with the writers and the actors that I was talking about. ‘What happens?’ and ‘To whom does it happen?’ But also you—there are secrets—and you find physical secrets around which to organize the look. I mean, in The Graduate it’s no longer a secret because we went so far. You know, that we were concerned with glass, water, plastics, all the barriers between people—invisible in some cases; that we conceived Mrs. Robinson as the beast in the jungle, and she is indeed always in her jungle backyard. At one time I was almost going to send an ape through, and then I… (Laughter) They talked me out of it. And all her clothes are animals, they’re leopards, and zebras, and tigers. And I don’t even know if it was a good idea, but it gave us something to do. (Laughter) We organized the whole thing around these certain secrets that we had, and it does indeed give you something to do, and it hooks everything on in the story. SCHWARTZ: You seem to create an atmosphere where all the craftsmen can—the designer, the editor, the cameraman—can all chip in and the lines get kind of blurred. I was surprised to read—there’s a moment in The Graduate when Ben sees Mrs. Robinson naked for the first time. She walks in and there are flashes from his point of view of what he sees. That suggestion didn’t come from the editor or the cameraman, but from [production designer] Richard Sylbert—you described that that was his idea. NICHOLS: I didn’t even remember that—I would have said it was the editor! But I do know that Elaine and I used to have a rule: Right is might. And that is certainly my rule in a play or a picture. Wherever the idea comes from, you know the right one when you hear it, and that’s the one you do. I don’t care whose it is. It seems to me spiritually and otherwise that a very important aspect of that rule is not to keep track. If you keep track, you’re not doing it right. And in fact, I had a—I didn’t get along with Haskell Wexler on Virginia Woolf. And he did an interview afterward in which he said he had brought so much, he felt, to the film and that the idea of the taillight flashing, which people for some reason felt was so moving and evocative—that that had been his idea. And I thought, “What a strange thing to do.” It didn’t seem to me the way you play to say, “This was my idea, and that was his idea.” In fact, that particular one had been my idea because you have to build the whole thing. Taillights won’t flash unless the engine is running, and you can’t run an engine in a movie because it wrecks the sound. So you have to anticipate those things. Nobody has that idea in the moment. But it’s the keeping track that I find slightly nasty. And the idea is that everybody throws in whatever happens, and the director’s job is to say, “Thanks, that’s all great; this is the way we will go because this is what happens next.” And that’s our real master. We are obligated to tell what happens, and then have what happens after that, and then what happens… And whatever ideas will help you in telling that story, those are the right ones. SCHWARTZ: Okay, I’d like to bring up the house lights now, and we’ll take your questions. Right down in front. AUDIENCE MEMBER: Several of your earlier films were wide-screen or anamorphic productions. I’ve noticed that in more recent films, you decided to shoot your films flat instead. Is this basically a compromise [because of] the problems of home video? NICHOLS: No, although I am very happy to see everything I shot instead of half of what I shot, a random half [when the widescreen films are panned and scanned to fit television’s aspect ration]. I think for me, it’s part of this change in me, that I was very conscious of composition, and the “Golden Third” and all that stuff. And for that, the Panavision aspect ratio is a very interesting one, because it never says, “Just this face. Don’t worry about any of the rest of it, just look at this face.” And of course that’s what [the] 1.85:1 [aspect ratio] does. I like 1.85:1 because it seems to me that the ideal movie has no visible technique at all. It’s all gone. There are no shots, no cuts, and no montage. You’re just watching life. As in Jean Renoir. As in, now, in Louis Malle. I think that’s the highest form of movie. Louis Malle and Jean Renoir—you have no idea what they did. They didn’t do anything as far as you can see. There is no shot where you say, “Wow, look at that.” And you’re not aware of the cuts. You’re not aware of any technique at all. The idea of technique surely is—for the events and the feelings and the story—to burn it away. So there is no technique, and for that, I think 1.85:1 makes everything far less self-conscious and composed. That’s why I like it. It’s more half-assed! (Laughter) AUDIENCE MEMBER: When you decide to direct a movie and you’ve read the script, how closely, once you start to shoot the picture, do you work with the writer and screenwriter? NICHOLS: Oh, very closely for a very long time. It changes a lot. I sort of don’t believe in directors taking screenwriting credit, but I, to varying extents, have always been part of writing the screenplay. And in the case of Postcards, I would say it was about—well, as I told you, I don’t like to assign percentages or say this was mine and that was yours—but we did a lot of it together. And I always have the writer on the set, for several reasons: One is that things are always shifting and changing, and it’s necessary to be able to say to the writer, “This doesn’t work anymore because she’s now doing so-and-so. Let’s work on something where it stops here and you have a new line.” You’re doing that all the time that you’re shooting. AUDIENCE MEMBER: So there are always immediate changes? You might shoot something with certain dialogue, and then change it right on the spot? NICHOLS: Yes. I’ll say—you might rehearse it and change it in rehearsal. If you want to change it yourself or the actor is improvising it, it’s nice, it’s polite to say to the writer, “Is that okay with you?” That’s the most wonderful part of a movie. It’s constantly changing, as you rehearse it, as you shoot it, as you cut it. And it’s nice if the writer is there to make the adjustments just as the rest of you are.” (Referenced in the text, Chapter 11) (http://www.movingimagesource.us/files/dialogues/2/98603_programs_transcript_html_203.htm) Questions that remain: Will Ben and Elaine have a lasting future together?   If so, how will these dynamics work with their parents for years to come?  What will Ben end up doing with his career? I found this movie interesting and entertaining enough, but I didn't fall in love with it. It left me amused, but underwhelmed. Whenever "The Sounds of Silence" or "Scarborough Fair" is heard, the images on the screen become surreal: images of reality mixed with what is going on inside Ben's imagination. The effect takes hold of you and makes you feel what he's feeling. (Referenced in the text, Chapert 10.) Ben goes from a shy, not confident boy to a confident man. Throughout the movie Ben is reminded of how he feels trapped in a world he did not make. The monkeys in the zoo, pounding the glass in the window of the church, even at the very end, looking through the glass in the back of the bus, the entire movie is a constant reminder that Ben is trapped, even if the trap is in his head. Ben's character showed what almost everyone has felt at that point in their lives, the lack of direction, the loneliness, confusion,etc. I also like the fact that the end is not a happy-ever-after. Although he does get the girl, the expressions on their faces betray a bit of insecurity and uneasiness. I found that to be very realistic. The Graduate is a film about the search for true happiness and the stress that comes along with the experience.