| Film Fanatic February 2003
Suspending Disbelief: Part One
A film is an emotional journey -- an illusion that
triggers our capacity as humans to feel. Without an emotional connection you may as well
be consuming that bag of popcorn in a sensory-deprivation tank.
An illusion cannot be created unless a film is able to
suspend an audience’s disbelief. No amount of cool camera work, super-cool digital
effects, or wicked-super-cool surround sound can compensate for a film that fails to sell
an audience on its story. If a film’s plot requires that a human fly, then the
filmmakers had better come up with a compelling reason how and why a human can cheat
gravity. If a film depicts a happily married man having an affair, then there had better
be a plausible and convincing reason for it.
Contrary to what one may think, getting an audience to
suspend disbelief in a flying human requires less effort than making them believe a
happily married man would cheat on his wife. Unlike fantasy, drama is meant to mirror
true-to-life situations. We all have some level of life experience -- we have experienced
love and death, and we understand how people could behave in various scenarios. Therefore
we are more sensitive to inconsistencies in a filmed drama. A film that doesn’t get
basic human experiences right has little chance of convincing an audience that other story
details are plausible.
But convincing someone of a situation’s plausibility
requires trust. Ultimately the audience has to have faith in the filmmaker’s ability
to create an illusion.
Internal logic
Society has rules that govern civilization, and science has
laws that govern our physical existence. Gravity, for instance, dictates that humans
can’t fly. Social mores dictate that it is unethical for married individuals to have
sex with someone other than the person to whom they’re married. Most humans
understand these rules because they are directions that rationally map the internal
operation of our "real world" and give order and security to our lives and the
survival of our species.
A film creates a realm that may be the same or similar to
the real world. And like the real world, the filmed world needs to have rules that follow
a certain logic. If a filmed character is able to fly then the script must logically
support that action. Often filmmakers will counter the rules of earthly existence by
having a character that is "not of this earth." For instance, Superman can fly
and repel bullets because he is from Krypton and is therefore not restricted by the rules
of Earth’s physics. He does, however, have his own set of rules and restrictions
based on his origins. How interesting would his character be if we didn’t have some
details regarding his existence? His fatal aversion to Kryptonite and his love for Lois
Lane are not only rules but also plot devices that give his character dimension. These
details also offer his enemies (and screenwriters) a means of creating conflict and giving
the audience a reason to root for the good guy.
If a film didn’t hold true to the rules and details of
a character, the story’s internal logic would break down and its characters would
lose credibility. What if the filmmakers allowed Superman to become immune to the effects
of Kryptonite, or suddenly lose affection for Lois whenever they felt the conflict was too
great? What if Superman began developing other weaknesses? Or humans didn’t follow
the rules regarding their physiology? If you’ve seen the disastrous sequels,
you’d get an idea. Both Superman III and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace
have such egregious lapses in the rules of Superman and humans that their plots fail to
suspend disbelief. I’m not sure which was worse: Richard Pryor splitting the Man of
Steel into two opposing personalities via Kryptonite and tobacco, or Nuclear Man towing a
helpless human into space without oxygen!
Internal logic doesn’t have to relate to a concrete
plot device like Kryptonite. It can also involve less tangible ideas, like sin or desire. Fatal
Attraction grounds its story in Dan Gallagher’s solid but arguably unexciting
family life. The situation that brings Dan and Alex together makes sense logically and is
therefore plausible, so we believe it. Dan meets Alex at a party and then at a business
meeting that both of them are required to attend. It’s apparent through their eye
contact that there is an attraction, but neither of them is willing to cross the line.
Then fate steps in. Fate often bridges a logical gap in films, but it works because
coincidence is frequently a part of life. The key is to keep the coincidence to a minimum
and its context believable.
Fatal Attraction uses rain as a plot
device to get Dan and Alex into a more intimate situation. It’s a coincidence that
Dan’s umbrella won’t open, but it works because many of us have experienced such
a malfunction. This intimate moment under Alex’s umbrella logically turns into
finding shelter in a bar when taxis prove unavailable. Being in a bar, of course,
naturally segues into having a drink. The alcohol, along with Alex’s comment about
being "discreet," break down whatever inhibitions remained between the two. And
the affair commences.
Charisma can compensate
A film can still work even if it has problems with
coincidence or logic. Action films, in particular, push the envelope of believability but
can hold together if the actors are charismatic and likable. Bruce Willis is such an
actor. His 1991 film Hudson Hawk threw logic out the window within the first 10
minutes, but Willis’s charisma holds the film together. His considerable presence as
"everyman" also made the Die Hard trilogy
feel more plausible. The coincidence that John McClane has with terrorists is a rather
large stretch, but Willis pulls it off because he is in constant denial of what is
happening around him. Often the disbelief a character has in a situation reinforces
suspension of disbelief for the audience. John McClane doesn’t believe the absurdity
of his situation, but has no choice but to accept it because he’s living in it. As an
audience we agree to his predicament because we agree with his reactions. The situation
may be absurd, but McClane’s own skepticism drives the audience to believe
what’s occurring onscreen.
A more classic example of charisma overcoming stretches in
a film’s logic is the opening scene of Indiana Jones. Harrison Ford
doesn’t simply traverse a complicated obstacle course of deadly traps with a straight
face. He reacts to each brush with death in a unique, but believable way. Like John
McClane, Indiana Jones uses humor coupled with a healthy sense of self-preservation to
tackle his hell on earth. If Ford chose to stare death straight in the face without a
subtle flinch, he wouldn’t be human and if he didn’t tip his hat and smile at
the grim reaper, he wouldn’t be a hero.
I’m there to get lost in the illusion, not pick it
apart
It’s not an audience’s job to be levelheaded --
our job is to get lost in the film story. When I watch a film for the first time, I expect
it to pull me into its world and only let go when the end credits start rolling. A film
fails if I start thinking too much the first time through. If I’m sitting in the
theater questioning the plot, character motivation, or plausibility, the film has failed
to suspend my disbelief. As a result the illusion is broken. Without the illusion the
actions of a character and the conventions of a script are no more than words on a page.
But the weight of suspending disbelief doesn’t simply
fall on the shoulders of actors and a script; it also depends on what goes on behind the
camera.
Next month we’ll talk about how errors in editing and
directing the camera’s eye can compromise suspension of disbelief.
...Anthony Di Marco
anthony@hometheatersound.com |
