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If you’re in the habit of visiting art museums on a regular basis (and if you’re not, give it a try!), you might have a favourite painting.
It can be any painting you like. Shall we say…Jan Vermeer’s popular, yet somehow no less magnificent ‘Milkmaid’? Alright? (But you can obviously make it some other painting you like, as well).
In any case, you’re probably keenly aware of the fact that nothing about the painting in question is ‘real’: My Vermeer example from above doesn’t show a real scene in a real kitchen, for instance. All the objects depicted in it (the milk jug, the earthenware pot, the stale bread crusts, the basket hanging on the wall, etc.) were specifically chosen and arranged by the artist. The ‘milkmaid’ herself is most likely not an actual milkmaid, but a model working for him. The seemingly effortless and random genre scene itself obviously required a lot of effort, and most of the painting was most likely not painted in an actual kitchen, but in a workshop. The scene doesn’t capture a genuine moment of peace and quiet, with a dignified, yet humble woman going about her daily business in deep concentration, but was obviously staged, composed and arranged, ‘built’ from the ground up for months, with preparatory chalk sketches having been drawn and redrawn on blue paper for ages and the canvas itself having been painted and re-painted and then painted over again countless times…
And the story doesn’t end with the selection of the expensive ultramarine and lead-tin yellow pigment for the paint. Everything about this painting is ‘constructed’ and composed: its low vanishing point, which makes it seem as though we, the viewers, were sitting in a chair as we watch the standing milkmaid, the balance between positive and negative space on the canvas, the invisible horizon line and position of the vanishing point, Vermeer’s masterful use of perspective geometry – in short, the whole pictorial composition.
Whenever we stand in front of a painting (any painting) at a museum, we are, of course, keenly aware of all of this; we know the painting doesn’t just depict real life within the confines of its frame. We know it consists of artificially assembled elements. We know pictorial composition is an important way for the artist to communicate an idea or convey a symbolic meaning.
So, why do we so often forget about it the moment we examine a film shot? Is it because film as a medium appears to be so lifelike? Is it because, unlike the subjects in a painting, the characters in a film shot are all constantly moving? Is that why we tend to confuse it with real life, why we have to remind ourselves that what we’re seeing isn’t real, that it’s a movie or a TV show and that nothing about it is the result of an accident?
A film or a show is divided into scenes in a way real life is not, and those scenes are then subdivided into shots, some of which last only one line from the script. All of this results in a seemingly endless number of film shots for one single production, and each and every one of those shots has to be specifically set up (they’re often shot multiple times; they have to be lit properly, the camera angle needs to be right, etc.).
Because every single shot communicates an idea and has an effect on the audience, their composition (i.e. the placement of each element in the frame, the vanishing point, perspective, etc.) is far from arbitrary. It’s instead both the result of a lot of forethought by the director and cameraperson and the endpoint of a long artistic tradition that encompasses not just cinema and photography but centuries upon centuries of art history.
To demonstrate this, I have chosen a very beautiful shot from ‘Young Royals’ for you today (let’s call it the ‘lake date’ shot from episode five of season one):
I specifically picked a shot that doesn’t boast a barrage of props but works its magic through the mise-en-scène of the lake landscape. This way we can examine the manner in which the shot is composed, without getting distracted by too many details.
It looks so calm and peaceful, doesn’t it? So uncomplicated and effortless, spontaneous even. As if the two boys just stepped into the frame straight out of real life to share a smile and a kiss maybe.
You will see in a moment how even a shot like this, a shot in a seemingly empty landscape, a shot that shows us two characters acting in a very spontaneous and carefree way (with the actors incorporating some level of improvisation) is still meticulously constructed according to very specific rules of cinematic composition to convey more than just one symbolic message.
In other words, a lot of effort was put into making this seemingly ‘impromptu’ shot what it is.
In the article below, we will both analyze and compare it with many other contrasting shots from ‘Young Royals’ to understand where in them a cinematic rule is obeyed and where it’s broken and to what effect.