Overuse of Close-Ups Blurs Movie Context

A highlight of the last Academy Awards show was the tribute to cinematographer Jack Cardiff. As the screen filled with one lush, color-drenched scene after another, I was struck by how foreign these images seemed. We don’t see shots like that anymore up on the big screen. Actually, we don’t see much of anything on the screen anymore.

Pondering the whys brings up a current cinematic paradox--that at a time when filmmakers have the largest array of technological tools at their disposal, our cinematic viewpoint is shrinking. Panoramic vistas obscured by cluttered frames, actors grouped together replaced by individual close-ups, Fred & Ginger dancing cheek to cheek from head to toe reduced to the whirling body bits of “Moulin Rouge.” Great if the goal is to keep an audience off-balance, not so great when trying to follow a story.

My thoughts turned to the Cardiff tribute after I returned home from a screening of “The Score,” unable to shake images from the film (shot by cinematographer Rob Hahn): the cool-hep interiors of Robert De Niro’s jazz club, the exquisite decay of Marlon Brando’s pool, the scene between De Niro and his girlfriend, played by Angela Bassett--a wide shot showing him in the kitchen, her in the bedroom, the two in movement, in discussion, the camera still. As the scene played on, I braced for the inevitable cut to dueling close-ups, a cut that never came. Instead, the audience was allowed to view the scene however they saw fit. For viewers used to being force fed, it was a moment to savor.

The audience needs context. Who are we looking at? What are we seeing? Where are we in the story? To provide us this information is not an act of old-fashioned filmmaking, but one of coherent storytelling. Today’s filmmakers, schooled in the small-screen world of advertising and music video, unfamiliar with the rhythms of dialogue-driven scenes, too often resort to sensory overload: hyper-editing, soundtracks cranked up, camera movement for movement’s sake. The resulting films may entertain, they may do big box office, yet they leave no impression longer lasting than the walk to the exit door. To feel, to care anything about what’s on screen, one must first have the chance to see.

A prime culprit for our current cinematic state is the proliferation of the on-set monitor, that small device whose power to shape what we view on screen is unmatched. From “action” to “cut” and all points in between, production personnel gaze into its orb as if seeking the truth. Problem being, the image projected is only an approximation of what the shot will look like up on the big screen. In the hands of those versed in camera lenses and lighting and shot composition, the monitor is a useful tool. For others, it becomes a video siren, luring them into the overuse and abuse of the close-up. Can’t see what’s going on in the monitor? No problem. Move the camera closer, closer, until the end result is what we have crowding our screens today: faces. Giant, discombobulated faces. For Gloria Swanson’s character in “Sunset Boulevard,” they had faces in her day, too. They also had arms, legs, feet, hands ... one attached to the other and all often shown at the same time.

Midway through “The Score” comes a pivotal turn. As De Niro and Edward Norton case the scene of their upcoming crime, there’s a moment, an instant, when we witness a change in plans. A brief look down. A quick consideration. And nothing’s gonna be the same from this point forward. The audience is able to follow De Niro’s train of thought; we’re able to make this connection because we’re given the information to do so. No clunky expository dialogue. No lingering close-up on “significant object.” Nope, a simple matter of shot composition giving us the big picture, and a director (Frank Oz) confident enough to let the actor carry the moment.

Context + Execution = An Engaged Audience. It’s an increasingly rare formula in movie-making today.

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Ann Reinhart is a Los Angeles-based writer.