Movie: Blackhat

[E.H. Ruddock]

So this was really good.

[Jorge]

It's nice that you and LV and like three other people thought so

[LoathedVermin72]

A piece I wrote on it:

Michael Mann’s Subversive Aesthetic, or: Why Plot and Characters Don’t Really Matter in Blackhat

If you focus your attention on plot and characters while watching Michael Mann’s Blackhat, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll find your mind wandering and your patience thinning. You might even find yourself becoming a little flabbergasted. The torrent of criticism that has been unleashed upon the film evinces this, with most of the negativity focusing on script problems, implausible plot events, a lack of compelling characters, a meandering narrative, etc. And I’m not saying such criticisms are invalid, but I would ask this:

Does Blackhat ever ask the viewer to focus on its narrative and characters?

Narrative, exposition, and characters are largely irrelevant to what this film is about and the cinematic language it is speaking, and Michael Mann makes this very clear in just about every scene, including the opening sequence.

Like any beginning, this scene of a hacker-induced disaster at a nuclear power plant lays the foundation for how the viewer will approach the film. Or, at least, it should. And what do we see in this sequence? Are we introduced to characters? Are we provided with plot exposition (or, for that matter, dialogue of any kind)? No. What we are provided with is imagery: a digital approximation of Earth, then a cityscape at night, and finally a surreal (and rather extended) visualization of the inner workings of a computer.

The rest of Blackhat follows suit. When I say the film doesn’t focus on narrative, I mean that literally; look at how Mann’s lens focuses on intimate, tactile details such as fingers and ears. Notice how expository dialogue is soft, low in the audio mix. Consider how a character’s monologue about his father drifts into inaudibility. Ask yourself: Are these scenes informing the viewer to focus on the verbal information being communicated? Or are these scenes attempting to realign our viewing habits to something more natural, more visceral, more cinematic?

In this way, Blackhat is an experimental film, and defiantly, subversively so, considering its major studio backing. It seems as if every moment wrestles against the modern viewer’s hunger for narrative clarity and character identification (see Drew McWeeny’s utterly flummoxed review). But does that mean it’s a bad movie? Or does that mean an audience weaned on information-focused* TV shows and movies is trying to force the viewing habits they’re comfortable with onto an experimental movie that challenges them? It begs a grandiose question: What is cinema? What are movies? Well, at the most basic level, cinema is audiovisual art. And we should always keep in mind that stories and characters are not the only filmic way to explore the human condition – just the most common. Film is not about storytelling or character development; these are merely tools, ways for a filmmaker to express his or her vision and ideas, just like visuals, music, setting, dialogue, editing, or any other part of the medium. A film’s story should not be what we, as viewers, focus on any more than we should only focus on an actor’s performance or a composer’s score. We should focus on the whole package, analyze what that package means and says, examine its components, and understand it on its own terms.

And when understood on its own terms, Blackhat is a brilliant work of art. What pushes it further than simply being subversive and experimental is that its unusual cinematic language is being used in service of something deeper, which I think is the mark of how a great film operates – rather than merely making points, it builds its entire aesthetic structure around illustrating its theme.

And Blackhat’s theme, distilled to its most basic form, is modern technology vs. sensuous tactility. It’s about how technology that was conceived to help us connect with humanity can actually insulate us from it. It’s about how the here-and-now is sacrificed when we become absorbed into our own personal techno-bubbles. It’s an attempt to remind us of the value of sensory experience.

Now, you may be thinking that you’ve heard this argument many times before. You may even be thinking that this is an alarmist point to make. And you wouldn’t be wrong. But, again, Blackhat goes further than just making a point; it illustrates the idea.

For example, let’s return to the film’s beginning. The first image we see is our planet. But it’s not Earth as we’ve seen it before; it’s glowing, green, covered in what appear to be translucent wires. Already we are seeing a visualization of theme; we can’t see the natural world – its land, its oceans, its mountains – because technological connections are obscuring it. We then zoom in to a city at night; traffic pulsing through streets, illuminated windows and business logos punctuating the darkness. This is then juxtaposed with a microscopic illustration of the inside of a computer. Note how the towering microchip structures look conspicuously similar to buildings and the pathways between them resemble streets – the parallel drawn between imagery is not coincidental. This tiny cityscape is then flooded with blue light that, in narrative terms, represents a destructive code a malicious hacker has sent through the system. But in symbolic terms, remember that this imagery is evoking the previously seen city – this technological destructiveness is flooding the streets, covering the buildings, taking over.

The code then disrupts the digital monitoring methods of two wordless workers in the nuclear plant, causing a disaster. Think about that: when the technology they are reliant upon fails, they don’t even notice the boiling tank through the window right next to them.

This sequence impressively epitomizes almost everything Blackhat is about: how modern technology can obscure tangible experience and engender insularity, and the alarming scope of our reliance upon that technology (which one could extrapolate to that technology’s hold upon our world). And – crucially – it conveys all of this through its unique cinematic language: juxtaposition that creates parallels, an absence of dialogue (conventional narrative information), and visual lyricism. All of this primes (or should prime) the audience for the film ahead.

Mann then spends the majority of the film stressing the importance of tactility, sensuality, sensory experience, and environmental awareness. This goes beyond the gorgeous shot composition, lighting, and cinematography; he gets more specific.

Consider the moment when Hathaway stands on a runway after being released from prison. All the images we’ve seen prior to this scene have been claustrophobic: a city at night, the inside of a computer, a compartmentalized office, a prison. This accumulation of confined imagery is now contrasted with the runway, the first open space we see in the film, bathed in natural sunlight. The noise of the nearby plane and people is drowned out in favor of ambient music as Hathaway stops and absorbs his surroundings, hearing the space, seeing the space. Mann highlights this through the camera lens, focusing on a close-up of Hathaway’s ear, his scanning face, then Lien’s hand touching his arm – the sensuality of human touch.

Consider how Mann shoots sex (likely the most intensely tactile and sensual experience a person can have) not erotically but sensually, again focusing on tactile details: fingers, hair, skin.

Consider how Mann constructs the vaguely Heat-esque gunfight not in terms of typical action kinetics but in terms of sound and space: the echoing boom of automatic gunfire in a tunnel, the shift in light from the tunnel to an outdoor environment.

Again, he’s not simply saying these things are important; he’s illustrating why they’re important by making their pleasure self-evident in the film’s aesthetics.

But Mann doesn’t lose focus of the specificity of the technological commentary while presenting this sensuality; the film is littered with moments that reinforce the theme of technology removing us from our environment.

Consider the scene in which Dawai asks Hathaway, while speaking through a headset (a symbolic technological barrier), to objectively evaluate his relationship with Lien, ignoring the emotional, visceral truth of their romance.

Consider the scene in which a grieving Lien despondently browses family pictures on her phone while Hathaway, just feet away from her, is also absorbed in his phone. The immediate, human connection and consolation they could offer each other are ignored (or, at least, delayed).

And, finally, consider the film’s climax. This is perhaps Mann’s most reactionary moment, but I think it’s also his most audacious.

Spoiler: show

Hathaway and the antagonist(s) wind up engaging in a violent battle in the middle of a cultural celebration in Jakarta. Prior to and during this conflict, they not only ignore the people around them, but they actively start pushing them aside, knocking them down, and, eventually, killing them with stray bullets. What better, more hilariously blunt way could there be to illustrate destructive insularity? Mann actually concretizes the abstract concept of culture his symbolic characters are ignoring, disrupting, and destroying into a literal cultural celebration being ignored, disrupted, and destroyed.

He opts for illustration over explanation to the very end.

*See Travis Bean’s excellent piece on Teacher of the Year if you’re not sure what I mean by “information-focused”: http://filmcolossus.com/teacher-of-the- ... tingreport

[Jorge]

a little flabbergasted

[E.H. Ruddock]

It's nice that you and LV and like three other people thought so

Did you see it jorge?

[Jorge]

Not yet and I really doubt I will.

[LoathedVermin72]

Not a Mann fann?

[E.H. Ruddock]

Not yet and I really doubt I will.

Huh. Based on what?

[Dev]

All I have seen is Miami Vice which I thought was a little mediocre. I kinda wanna see this though.

[E.H. Ruddock]

Not yet and I really doubt I will.

Huh. Based on what?

Would still like to know why Jorge won't see this.

[CopperTom]

Not yet and I really doubt I will.

Huh. Based on what?

Would still like to know why Jorge won't see this.

It was endorsed by LV. That should explain everything.

[LoathedVermin72]

Not yet and I really doubt I will.

Huh. Based on what?

Would still like to know why Jorge won't see this.

It was endorsed by LV. That should explain everything.

let's just get it over with and fuck already

[CopperTom]

Not yet and I really doubt I will.

Huh. Based on what?

Would still like to know why Jorge won't see this.

It was endorsed by LV. That should explain everything.

let's just get it over with and fuck already

I'm at the airport. Come to me.

[Bob Loblaw]

This was a good movie. Not great.

[E.H. Ruddock]

This was a good movie. Not great.

you can't just show up here once a month and sh*t on a movie I like and then leave again, rafa. How dare you.

[Bob Loblaw]

I'm not shitting on it, man. There's a lot I liked about it, but the ending almost killed it for me. Why would they meet at a parade?

[LoathedVermin72]

I'm not shitting on it, man. There's a lot I liked about it, but the ending almost killed it for me. Why would they meet at a parade?

i already explained this, bob

[E.H. Ruddock]

I'm not shitting on it, man. There's a lot I liked about it, but the ending almost killed it for me. Why would they meet at a parade?

They weren't going to meet in a secluded area, that would have certainly not ended well for Thor.

[E.H. Ruddock]

I just ordered this blu-ray. Can't wait.

[LoathedVermin72]

I just ordered this blu-ray. Can't wait.

Yes