Watching Movies in a New Way

Philippe Rousselot--the “little Frenchman,” as he called himself, who won this year’s cinematography Oscar for “A River Runs Through It”--is not what most people think of as a star in the movie world. But Rousselot is a master of the art that, more than any other, makes the motion picture what it is.

Jean Cocteau, a filmmaker as well as a poet, once called filmmaking “picture writing,” but the etymologically literal meaning of the word cinematography is “motion writing.” The pictures move, and the cinematographer moves incessantly in taking those pictures. Few cinematographers can match the grace and intelligence Rousselot displays in the film version of Norman Maclean’s beloved novel.

If you have seen the film, watch it again with the sound off when the videocassette becomes available. Assign yourself Rousselot’s job. Say “cut” to yourself every time his point of view changes, every time--in a dining room scene, for example--he moves from one brother’s face to the other’s. Each “shoot” is a new camera shot, and this is the just the beginning.

Notice the camera moving back and forth from raging rapids to the anxious faces of young men on the riverbank. Notice why, when two of the boys shoot the rapids, the camera does not just watch their plunging and pitching boat from a fixed spot but seems to plunge and pitch with them. Notice the framing: why some lines are spoken against a mountain backdrop, others in indoor intimacy; why some scenes are shot from a plane; why, at key moments, Rousselot chooses a scene with no human beings in it at all.

The videocassette, though it undeniably shrinks and distorts the cinematographer’s work, also facilitates critical viewing, as printing facilitated critical reading. Before printing, books were rare and readers had to go to a library where, often, the precious books were chained to reading stands. Before the videocassette, a student who wanted to view a great film repeatedly had to go to a film archive like the one at UCLA. Today anyone may own a film like “A River Runs Through It” and participate, through it, in the creative process of a Philippe Rousselot.

Many of the artistic decisions are the editor’s, of course, or the director’s. Robert Redford, who directed “A River Runs Through It,” shares this Oscar with Rousselot. But then as much might be said of Redford’s contribution to his actors’ performances. The director is everywhere. Our point, before this year’s applause dies away, is simply to honor the elegantly hidden mastery of a great artist and to suggest that the videocassette players of Los Angeles may be used not just to watch old movies but to watch all movies in a new way.