“No spoilers!!!”: the infantilized audience and un-cinematic cinema

[Note: This piece was written in early January, but it wound up taking a back seat to my ongoing tribute to David Bowie. I herewith present it because I remain stunned by the sheer terror some people have for “spoilers.”]

When I first started getting seriously into film, my film teacher (who said many wise things) reacted to my asking him if it was "okay" to tell him about the plot of a movie he hadn't seen by saying, "it shouldn't matter if you know the end of the movie... it's how the director gets there that counts." I've heard his voice in my head for the past two decades each time I've seen/read/heard the Internet-spawned phrase "no spoilers!" Cautions about spoilers now even appear in essays in Criterion Collection booklets, where one *should* be able to safely assume the reader knows the end of the film they've paid for and are now reading an essay about — or do people read critical essays in DVD sets before they watch the classic films on the discs these days?

The fear that reading/hearing “spoilers” will ultimately ruin one’s experience of a film, TV show, or book (you rarely hear people complaining about books these days — more’s the pity) is, I believe intimately connected with the “trigger warning” idea that exists today. There always have been people who felt compelled to discuss plot details with people who haven’t seen the work, and there have always been people who wanted to exist in a bubble of innocence before they watched or read something.

Today, though, because of technology, the spoiler-shy individual can go around social media pleading with acquaintances not to “blow” a plot twist. Recently there was even talk of a filter that would block out any Web content that mentioned any item a person didn’t want “spoiled.”

There is an incredibly childlike aspect to the issue of spoilers. It’s as if the person avoiding them is a kid, not wanting to know that Santa and the Easter Bunny aren’t real. The more the person protests against spoilers, the more I have to wonder — is it really going to make that much difference in your life if you find out a plot twist, even a “major” one? (Almost invariably this twist involves the “surprising” death of a character.)

I spent three years editing a reference work (The Motion Picture Guide Annual) that provided the full plots of the movies reviewed; the esteemed British magazines The Monthly Film Bulletin and now Sight and Sound have provided full write-ups on movies that include the finales of the films discussed. It's a practice that serious movie buffs can deal with — the one genre I'd make an exception for would be whodunit murder mysteries, which are pretty much entirely predicated on their conclusion, so if you know the finale in those instances you have lost some of the goofy charm of the genre (I'd throw "twist" items like Homicidal and The Crying Game in there). With most of the filmmakers I deeply love, though, you can't ruin their films by telling me the end. A Godard film is like a poem — whoever had a poem ruined by knowing the last line?

The spoiler phenomenon applies entirely to the storytelling aspect of cinema. With TV, that winds up being the central aspect of a program — since the fervent cries that “modern dramatic TV is the new cinema!” and “…is better than literature!” are both incredibly wrong. Cinema and literature are about content *and* form, whereas 98% of television, including the hands-down best-written and acted shows of the last 20 years, pay no attention to form, they are simply concerned with storytelling. Many viewers in turn confuse superb production design with a program being “cinematic.”

These shows are in fact exceptionally good TV, not cinema or literature — is it not enough for something to be exceptionally good TV? (I’ve always felt that the cinema/lit references indicate that the speaker doesn’t feel television deserves admittance into the Pantheon of important media.) Truly radical and superior television would encompass the few shows that toyed with the medium itself (Ernie Kovacs’ video comedy, The Prisoner, Dennis Potter’s teleplays). Although you will rarely hear those who holler “no spoilers!!!” being disturbed by knowing ahead of time that a program will be playing with their senses.

So what occasioned this meditation on the “don’t tell me ANYTHING — you’ll ruin it for me!” panic-culture that proliferates on the Net? Why, the fervor (now past —but it will recur) over the latest Star Wars blockbuster, of course. My reaction to the SW series is apathy bordering on narcolepsy. I saw the first as a kid and enjoyed it, to a point (the point where I still preferred Star Trek and knew that Lucas was playing with characters and situations from Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers).

The deeply beloved second film I saw in a theater and thought was okay. I saw most of the third movie on TV and have never gone near the prequels (an extraordinary act of indulgence by the formerly talented gent who gave us THX-1138 and American Graffiti, and then never, EVER felt the need to make another non-benign film for adults).

So I had zero interest in The Force Awakens but knew that it would be overhyped to the max, and it was. The “no spoilers!!!” fever pitch fascinated me, though. Consider this: the one (and only?) *really* big revelation in the initial trilogy was one that was hoary and hackneyed by Dickens’ time. (“I’m your father! Oh, and by the way, the only important female character in this thing — she’s your sister!!!”)

What exactly could a “spoiler” be in the context of that kind of pedestrian, unimaginative (and downright irritating) mindset? Would someone important die? (Given the advanced of age of half-asleep action hero Harrison Ford, that’s not an unlikely scenario.) Would someone be revealed to be someone else’s aunt? Would one of the cutesy robots or Muppets or hairy sidekicks attempt a dry hump on another? Would the ghost of a talented sci-fi writer materialize to kill off the whole wretched series? Would one of the kids dressed in their cosplay finery puke up his popcorn in your local multiplex? Whatever happens, it surely won’t be original or innovative, or anything other than a sly move dreamt up to resurrect this moribund series of kiddie fantasies, of which so many adults have fond adolescent memories.

I hope that no one reading this blog entry had their experience of the SW movie ruined by an Internet reviewer, commenter, or troll who gave away the super-secret plot twist that I’m sure was super-fantastic. If that happened to you, may I suggest one of two things:

1.) Seriously consider avoiding further disappointments and life-ruining traumas by starting to attend (in a theater) films made by true artists. I guarantee that you will NOT be able to predict what’s going to happen next in a film by Godard, Greenaway, Maddin, Lynch, Herzog, Von Trier, or Kiyoshi Kurosawa.

2.) Aim to only watch the genres that the abovementioned Werner H. — who likes to make anti-arthouse cinema proclamations, even though his own work fits snugly into that category — has earmarked as “ ‘essential’ films: kung fu, Fred Astaire, porno. Movie movies, so to speak.” (Further thoughts from Werrner: “I love this kind of cinema. It does not have the falseness and phoniness of films that try so hard to pass on a heavy idea to the audience or have the fake emotions of Hollywood films.” Herzog on Herzog, p. 138). In this way you’ll never have your life ruined by finding out a spoiler.

Has Werner Herzog seen many Russ Meyer movies?
(The two sit here on a panel at a film festival.)

The genres that Herzog cites (I’m going to assume he means musicals in general when mentioning Astaire) won’t disturb you by acknowledging the medium you’re watching, or offering any stylization that calls attention to itself (unless you’re watching a Dennis Potter-derived musical, a Jackie Chan action vehicle [with repetitive Eisensteinian edits used for Jackie’s stunt scenes, to show he’s really doing the stunt], or a stylishly deranged “Rinse Dream” porn movie). No one will be able to spoil the plot for you, and you’ll have a lot of fun in the meantime.

To put it plainly, life is too short to be terrified that you’re going to find out that some ridiculously lame, poorly sketched character in a half-baked space opera is gonna kick off (or be brought back, or turn out to be someone’s son/father/uncle/pet ferret). Sit back, calm down, and enjoy some truly entertaining formulaic entertainment. Disney, J.J. Abrams, and other corporate forces behind the SW franchise will do just fine without your 15–20 bucks.

Unseen photos from the “maverick” era in Hollywood: The Edit Room Floor blog

It’d be impossible to count the number of movie-related websites that are currently in existence. On the Funhouse TV show, I frequently liken the Internet to that wood where trees are falling and no one is hearing the sound. The sound in this instance is that of historians, experts, and super-fans sharing their knowledge and personal collections for free.

Such is the case with the Edit Room Floor blog, run by Jordan Krug, an editor who lives in Toronto. Krug collects contact sheets of photos taken on the sets of his favorite movies. Lucky for us, he has excellent taste.

Although the films from which he provides unseen images range chronologically from The Hustler (1961) to Blade Runner (1982), my fascination with his blog is that the lion’s share of his rarities are from the “maverick” era of American film — borrowing a phrase from the comic book world, one could easily deem it “the Silver Age” of American filmmaking.

The specific purpose of Krug’s blog is to present on-set photos and explore deleted scenes from these films. He offers up images from the lost sequences and supplements those with the appropriate pages from the original scripts and anecdotes from biographies and autobiographies of those involved. In a few cases he even “animated” shots from lost scenes to provide the best possible approximation of what the lost scene looked like in motion.

Jordan has so far put up 61 entries on his blog, starting in 2012 and ending in 2014. I hope he has more rarities hiding up his sleeve, but as it stands the blog is still a wonderful source of new information about films that many of us have seen several times (and/or memorized, depending on our level of devotion).

Given the fact that so many restorations are being done at the moment, Krug refers to many of the images on his blog as “rarely seen” photos. In some cases it’s evident that, aside from the filmmakers themselves and other massive fans of the films (who are not wanting to share, as Jordan is doing), these images truly have gone unseen.

Thus we are treated to some wonderful on-set shots from a variety of cult favorites. The first category comprises films that fit handily into the “macho hero” category: Cool Hand Luke (1967), Prime Cut (1972), and The Cowboys (also ’72).

The second category of titles that Jordan provides rare images from are box office blockbusters. He spotlights Rocky (1976) (which was a terrific film — ignoring the crap sequels that it inspired) and the juggernaut Star Wars (1977). I have no interest in the latter but any rare images of Peter Cushing are fine by me.

The third category — mind you, these are my designations, not Jordan’s — are the films that are not only star-driven but are terrific auteurist works. These include The Hustler, The Train (1964), Help! (1965), Dirty Harry (1971), The Getaway (1972), Bound for Glory (1976), The Road Warrior (1981).

The final group of films that Jordan dotes on are unmitigated masterpieces, in mine ‘umble opinion. The first is Leone’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966). Jordan shares with us rare shots of the final shootout in the cemetery.

With Blade Runner, we are treated to shots from the last night of shooting, in which Deckard hangs from the ledge in the rain.

One of the linchpins of modern American cinema (from an era that now seems like it was a million years ago, not only in terms of the quality of filmmaking but as for the emotional attachment of its maker), Taxi Driver (1976) is represented through rarely seen shots from the famous mirror sequence and the “Scar scene” (labelled as such by Scorsese and Schrader, who felt that The Searchers lacked a scene in which Natalie Wood's allegiance to her Indian captor was explained), in which we see Iris and Sport (Harvey Keitel) as a couple in love. Also, Iris initially walking down the street with Travis.

Polanski’s masterwork Chinatown (1974) is represented by a wonderful array of color on-set photos. Included are moments from the sequence in which Jake has his nose cut by a mean little gangster (Polanski himself), as well an intimate moment between Jake and Evelyn. Also, images from a scene entirely cut from the film in which Jake drives by a “rainmaker” who is plying his trade.

The two films that receive the most in-depth treatment on the Edit Room Floor blog are John Boorman’s Point Blank (1967) and Coppola’s The Conversation (1974). Boorman’s film is represented by nine (!) separate blog entries in which Krug offers unseen images from the set and scenes that were trimmed or cut from the film.

Included are Walker walking in LAX, the sequences in Alcatraz, the death of Reese (John Vernon) and Walker being beaten up by Chris (Angie Dickinson). Not only that, but we are offered groovy pics of the wrap party, in which we see Lee Marvin palling around with Steve McQueen, Warren Oates, Charles Bronson, Burt Reynolds and other Hollywood tough-guys.

For me, there are several must-see blog entries on the Edit Room Floor, but Krug's many posts on The Conversation are his most valuable contribution to the online appreciation of the “maverick” era. He provides all available materials on the many deleted scenes he has images from, noting at the outset that Coppola left the film in the hands of his editor Walter Murch when he (Coppola) began to work on The Godfather Part II. Thus Murch had to cut a four-and-a-half hour film down to the two-hour mark.

The missing sequences covered by Krug include Harry Caul's visit to the apartment vacated by his mistress, more of the convention sequence, and several scenes that were easily cut because they provided Caul with friends and relatives, which would've mitigated the intensely lonely aspect of the finished film.

It turns out that the sequences that were shot but taken out of the film (and then sadly lost, meaning that these on-set photos and the original script are the only traces of these moments) included Harry receiving birthday wishes (and a cake!) from his neighbors, a subplot in which the neighbors were furious at their landlord (who we learn is Harry himself), and a subsequent visit Harry makes to his lawyer's office. 

The latter was initially so important to Coppola that he shot it twice, with Abe Vigoda playing the lawyer in the first version, and a young Mackenzie Phillips showing up as Harry's parochial school student niece (who winds up awkwardly telling him about her first time with a boy).

Point Blank wrap party: Marvin, Boorman, and Michelle Triola.

As I noted above, I hope Jordan has time to share more with us on the Edit Room Floor blog. In the meantime, he has already shared quite a lot and put some cult classics into a new light by providing a look at missing scenes and the on-set environment of the films. From one “tree falling in the forest” to another, I salute his efforts....