Sunday, February 5, 2012

All The President's Men

All the Presidents Men is a great journalism movie. Back in the early 70s, there were no computers, emails, cellphones. Just manual typewriters, finger dial landlines, smoking in offices and checked shirts. Woodward and Bernstein search through reams of library records, check and double check names and sources. Woodward resorts to having his leads confirmed or denied by the mysterious deep throat character, who is only “seen” in a deserted garage at night. The movie is a shining example of how "Freedom of the Press" is sometimes our only defense against big government. This film takes us into the illegal dealings those in power can do. It shows why we need to make sure our government is in check. Captured on film was Bernstein and Woodward's reporting of the Watergate scandal. This film made journalism look so good to so many younger generations. If it's not the thrill of possibly risking your life and career to hold the government accountable, it was the fame of catching such huge political figures. While this movie is about Watergate, what really gives it strength is its portrayal of life in a newsroom. All in all, it was a very good movie meant for historians, conspiracy theorists and budding journalists. “The following in an excerpt from a 1985 AFI seminar, Director-Alan J. Pakula outlines the central capability required of a director: to be able to translate your vision for a film from words on a page to magic on the screen. Part of the job is being an artist, part of it's being a general--organizing the troops--and part of it is being a communicator, so that the other creative people can do their best work within your concept. The other part is being a psychiatrist--in particular, working with actors. And that is not said in a facetious way, because acting is an emotional tool, and you have to have some sense of the person who's doing it and what they have to contribute to their character in order to get the performance you want out of them. Ingmar Bergman once said, "If you don't have something to say, don't make a film." And of course, he's correct. A director has to have a concept, some driving passion. Once you have that concept, you must communicate that concept to other people in the most effective way. You have to know exactly what will help the people you're working with. I don't, for example, discuss everything with the actors that I discuss with the cinematographer. On All the President's Men, I said to Gordon Willis when we discussed photographing the newsroom, "I want a world without shadows. I want a world that is a world of truth. Somewhere where nothing gets away, where everything is examined under this merciless glare." I subsequently worked that out with the Art Director and with Gordon Willis. I didn't sit down and say to the actors, "Now I want this to be a hard, sharp focus picture..."--they can't act sharp focus. But you do talk to the actors about what's happening in the character's psychology: "Why were you obsessed with that? Who were you? What were your fears? What were your motivations?" These are things they can act. It's crucial to choose what you say to each person very carefully. Your job as a director is to keep the whole integrated concept moving forward. On production design and locations The importance of casting well holds not just for actors, but for all the other key people as well: your cinematographer, your production designer and your costume designer. On using camera movement Once you've set your locations and had your sets designed, the look of the picture is locked in. I don't care what your cinematographer does. If it is a tiny room, you're photographing tiny spaces. If it is a colorful room, you're making a statement about bright color. To suddenly say, "I'm starting to shoot this film, now I'll create my visual style," is nonsense. The visual look is total ensemble work and it is extremely important that it be set very early on. The camera and camera movement are part of the vocabulary you use to make your statement. If you overuse camera movement, it's like screaming, "Help, help, help" all the time, or having 25 exclamation points. If you're looking at the eyes and face of a character and they're revealing emotions, why the hell move the camera unless that movement makes a statement? On the other hand, if I have a woman laughing on the phone and she gives this huge speech that's wildly funny and I pan down to her hands and her fingernails are digging holes into her palms and they're bleeding, there's a reason for that camera movement. There is one move in All the President's Men, which takes place in the Library of Congress. The camera starts on piles of library reference cards. The two reporters are on to something--you see dozens of these little cards. Then the camera pulls up slowly to the top of the library. They are in this huge, dome-like building, and they are dwarfed. It was a tour de force camera move, but it was making a point: "My God, how tiny these people are, and how endless the search!" On scoring films effectively In general, music and sound effects are dangerous weapons because they are overused so much. On choosing projects My films are very much narrative films. They reflect my childhood. They reflect going to films in the '40s and loving a story. They're far from avant-garde, although I experiment with techniques. I'd say I'm from a kind of Charles Dickens school of filmmaking. Somewhere we go back to the fact that we all have obsessions. If we're creative, if we're lucky, we have things that drive us, mysteries that we have to live and re-live and act out and re-enact. And each time, if you're creative and you're lucky, you get a picture or a book or a story out of it.” (http://www.fathom.com/feature/122255/index.html) “Stepping slightly out of chronological order to wrap up Pakula’s paranoia trilogy, we come to All the President’s Men, a film that for all its acclaim as the perfect Watergate movie might actually be underrated as a great American movie. Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman play Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, the Washington Post reporters who uncovered the Watergate conspiracy. In addition to being (to this critic) the best film about journalism ever made, All the President’s Men is a lot more complicated in its political critique than its unfortunate assimilation into the “because Nixon resigned, the system works” narrative would have you believe. Through sheer brilliance of technique, if nothing else, Pakula succeeds in creating an almost overpowering atmosphere of paranoia and menace that the two reporters are barely able to fend off. Redford’s meetings with Deep Throat in the deserted parking garage are chilling enough, but when Deep Throat tells him “your lives are in danger” and implies that Woodward and Bernstein are the subjects of electronic surveillance, the film becomes downright creepy, as the suggestion of an omnipresent watcher fills the viewer with so much dread that it is surprisingly easy to forget how the story turns out. Moreover, the real life “happy ending” (with Nixon’s resignation and the exposure of his dirty tricks operation) is downplayed as much as possible in the film, to the point where it is clear Pakula is making a deliberate statement. All the President’s Men closes not with a jubilant scene of vindication, but rather with one of the all-time great movie endings—as Nixon can be seen speaking on TV, the camera slowly pulls back from Woodward and Bernstein while their furious typing becomes increasingly loud, and eventually moves directly to a close-up of the Post’s teletype machine mechanically rattling off the Watergate headlines. The viewer is left with the unmistakable implication that while the immediate problem is solved, the larger question of governmental mendacity and official deception is still with us and requires constant vigilance.” http://www.stylusmagazine.com/articles/weekly_article/the-conspiracy-thrillers-of-the-1970s-paranoid-time.htm Memorable Scenes: Woodward's first meeting with Deep Throat, who lights a cigarette in a dark, dismal parking garage. Bernstein wheedles himself into house of Judy Hoback (the bookkeeper for the Committee for the Re-Election of the President) and ends up staying for hours drinking coffee and subtly interrogating her. The reporters need another confirmation before Bradlee will run the story implicating H.R. Haldeman, the president's chief of staff and the "second most powerful man in Washington." Bernstein calls a source and says he will count to 10. If he reaches 10 and the source is still on the line, that will verify the Haldeman is involved. The source stays on the line. He rushes across the newsroom to tell Woodward. The two then race to the elevator to tell Bradlee, who is leaving. Bradlee gives the okay to print the story. Woodward and Bernstein turn up the radio and type notes to each other after Deep Throat tells them their lives are in danger and that they are probably being bugged. Memorable Lines: "Follow the money": Deep Throat to Woodward. "Print that baby": Bradlee to Woodward and Berstein about the story that will implicate John Mitchell, the former attorney general. "Nothing's riding on this except the first amendment of the Constitution, freedom of the press and maybe the future of this country": Bradlee to Woodward and Bernstein after they discovered the mass involvement in the cover-up. Woodward and Bernstein were an unlikely match. Their personalities and backgrounds were different. Woodward an Illinois native, Yale graduate and former naval officer with upper connections. He was only nine months with the Post when the Watergate story broke. Bernstein was a D.C. native and college dropout with liberal leanings, who had worked his way up in the business from age sixteen onwards. Bernstein had more of an approach to force information out of someone. Where Woodward has the approach to kind of ease his way into their head and talk them into getting the information they need. Yet, over time they not only came to be friends but actually worked together so closely that their colleagues took to addressing them collectively as "Woodstein." Also, very unlikely was their pairing on the Watergate story, as neither of them was a senior journalist with the Washington Post, nor were they on steady assignment with its national desk. Yet, largely due to patronage by the paper's Metro Editor, as well as eventually Executive Editor Ben Bradlee, they were able to pursue their investigation to its very end. The life of a reporter is typically not glamorous. Big-time stories rarely fall ready-made into a reporter's lap. Endless hours must be spent chasing leads which might lead to a dead-end. "All the President's Men" captures the life of a reporter perfectly What I found amusing about the film was the inventive ways the journalists invented to allow their sources to divulge information. Everything from just having them nod their heads to confirming initials, Redford and Hoffman try everything to get their story. Sometimes the little guy really can make a difference.

No comments:

Post a Comment