My greatest strength in writing has always been my prose; I’m usually able to “flower” up my essay a lot before turning it in. This has also, however, been one of my greatest weaknesses, since I often use this flowery language in place of real analysis, rather than as a part of it. I often find myself struggling to reach the page count I need and, rather than incorporating more thorough evidence or analysis into the paper, I frequently just throw in some longer, more eloquent words and sentences that just rephrase earlier sentences.

Rereading my earlier papers in the cluster (especially the first one), it’s very apparent how I used this technique to pretend like I knew more about my topic than I actually did, and therefore the paper isn’t as clear and analytical as I would have liked. I’ve been trying to turn this around since last quarter, and I hope that I’ve fixed at least part of the issue with this paper. I’ve put a lot more time into the actual research of the paper (I actually made spreadsheets, which is definitely a first for me when writing papers!) and hopefully it shows in the paper itself. There are definitely other flaws that come into play with the papers that I’ve been writing (I still need to work on clarifying and focusing my argument a bit more), but this is the big flaw that’s been pointed out to me by several of my high school teachers, so I’ve been mostly focused on improving this aspect of my writing with this cluster.

To Mr. Mundt,

Using a genre-based and nationalist mythological approach to market No Country For Old Men is a good financial decision because you can draw directly on people’s nostalgia for western movies. Let’s be real, sir, the western genre more or less died (in the eyes of the public) about 50 years ago, so this might be a tough sell. Instead of selling the film as a western, then, it might be more profitable to market it as a kind of retrospective towards the genre. Think about it, the movie is all analyzing why people are nostalgic for old western movies, just market the movie about the story of the western “myth” and you can appeal to multiple generations: the older ones who are nostalgic for westerns themselves and the younger ones who love deconstructing things that older people like.

People also love movies that subvert genre roles. Remember how much everybody loved Get Out (or, I guess, remember how profitable it was)? That movie was all about using the horror genre to make off-genre conclusions about American society (did I mention you can use this same nationalist approach too?). No Country For Old Men can use the same angle; using the elements of a western to analyze what about the genre characters connect with. Sure, you could use the over-the-top violence to market the film, but plenty of ultra-violent movies flop. Instead, I would suggest using the way that the film plays with genre to sell it, so that we can secure the postmodern millenials who just love deconstructing genre the way that this movie does. Maybe use the music-less soundtrack in your ads, or include some of the voice-overs about how they did it in the “good old days.” Either way, No Country For Old Men’s take on genre conventions is also its most interesting and possibly profitable option, and I hope you’ll consider this approach when deciding how to market it.

There are a few concrete changes I would like to make to my paper in my second draft. The first and probably biggest change I would like to make is incorporating the production history of my films into the paper. The first draft has a very brief paragraph detailing the style and philosophy of the Coen Brothers, but nothing more. Additionally, the source that I thought would actually contribute the most to my paper, No Country For Old Men: From Novel to Film didn’t make it into the essay at all, since I couldn’t find a way to incorporate it. I would like to use that source in my second draft, though, maybe replacing part of the paragraph analyzing No Country For Old Men as a western (that part is a good amount longer than it should be).
Another thing I would like to do is make my paragraphs and topic sentences more arguable and concrete. Right now, I have multiple paragraphs talking about the semantic and syntactic elements of the two movies, but I don’t really come to a clear resolution on what genre they fit into. I would like to revise the paper to show clearly whether or not they fit into the genres they are presented as. To do this, I want to use more sources that describe elements of Western movies, or maybe just do deeper analysis of the sources I have.
Finally, I want to do a more thorough analysis of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs. Right now, I only really analyze one of the stories in the movie, kind of just assuming that the others clearly fit into the genre role that I’ve presented. I want to make the section about this one vignette more concise and incorporate the others as well (though I’m concerned that this might be too much, since there are so many stories in the film.)

Dear Great Aunt Helga,

I hope Orlando is treating you well! I appreciate your concern about my final paper in GE 30CW, and I just wanted to write to you about some of the problems I’ve been facing. As I briefly mentioned in my last letter, I’m hoping to write my paper on a couple of western movies (I know you’ve seen westerns, remember when you told me what a hunk you thought John Wayne was?), and I want to write about how they fit in the western genre and how they use mythological elements.

The two movies I’m writing about, No Country For Old Men and The Ballad of Buster Scruggs were made by the same people, but they’re very different. I think Buster Scruggs is probably a lot closer to what you’re used to seeing in the old pictures you used to go to with your best friend Gladys, but both of them are actually totally different from the usual westerns in theme (You know how all the ones you watched were about the good cowboys versus the evil Indians? These ones are about the bad cowboys versus the other bad cowboys).

The main problem I have is that both of them are really similar in theme, but I need to find some clear way to differentiate them for my thesis. It sounds complicated, but mainly what I want to differentiate between the films is the semantic and syntactic elements of them, which Rick Altman talks about in the journal I’ve attached to the back of this letter (since I know you’re always looking for more reading material). Basically, I want to incorporate this in my paper and hopefully convincingly argue how the movies differ in their semantic elements, but that they come to the same syntactic conclusion, also addressing how Buster Scruggs uses more mythological elements. I hope to make this argument more clear by the next time I write. I hope I can visit you soon, and please make sure Rufus doesn’t wander into any more swamps for me!

Love,

Hayden

Though I thoroughly enjoyed Terminator, it, like any movie, has flaws. Among more obvious ones, such the often hilariously lacking special effects (in one scene Arnold Schwarzenegger briefly transforms into a horrifically lifeless stop motion figure, then jarringly regains his humanity in a single cut), are flaws present throughout the entire experience, largely due to its overriding focus on carnage and violence.

The main flaw that I found present during the entire film was the poor characterization of nearly all of its characters. Partially due to the sheer amount of time in the film dedicated to violent action sequences, the movie leaves little time to allow characters to interact and demonstrate emotional depth. Of the three main characters, the most well-defined and, frankly, interesting personality is that of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator, whose chillingly robotic characterization is interesting mostly because of its simplicity. We, as the audience, understand that the film will not devote much (if any) time developing his character, but we also understand his motivations and personality completely from the beginning of the film.

Of course, I would never claim that simplicity is the mark of a good character; on the contrary, more complex characters are nearly always more interesting to watch than more basic ones. In a movie like Terminator, however, it is immediately clear that the protagonists of the film will be granted the same lack of character development time as the Terminator, leaving us with characters like Kyle Reese, whose interesting concept is overshadowed entirely by the bland and brief portrayal of his character and motivations. In the few moments that he’s not shooting at the Terminator or screaming vaguely at Sarah Connors, he inhabits an almost comically hyperbolic vision of the future, where his “love” connection to Connors is established briefly and unsatisfyingly before returning to gratuitous (and, of course, awesome) displays of violence. Similarly, Sarah’s actions and dialogue do nothing to establish either her love for Reese or her world-weary angst at the end of the film, and seem thrown in as an afterthought to the adrenaline-fueled action of the movie.

In my (expository) essay I would like to analyze the 2007 Coen Brothers “neo-western” No Country For Old Men as a story which, rather than serving strictly as a nationalist tale, examines how a character conditioned by mythological storytelling (such as classic, clearly mythological westerns) reconciles this with the gritty realities of the real world, subverting tropes common in these stories. I would like to compare this interpretation of the story with the most recent Coen Brothers film The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, which embraces the nationalist storytelling which No Country For Old Men rebels against. I would like to examine how the storytelling methods of the two films (such as score, cinematography, tone, etc.) differ based on the theming and messaging of the story, and I would like to examine how elements of Buster Scruggs which No Country For Old Men’s narrative subverts serve as mythological storytelling, such as the presence of binary oppositions and certain very specific storytelling decisions in the film.

Concerns:

I’m not sure how much we’re supposed to incorporate the production history into our papers, since my films have relatively boring/uneventful productions. Would it be better to pick a different movie with a more interesting production history?

I’m also concerned that by addressing so many elements, it might be hard to encompass them all under a concise and singular thesis. For an expository essay, would it be better to just use one film?

The Graduate’s final scene provides important insight into the overarching archetypal themes throughout the film; as Benjamin dramatically “rescues” Elaine from her own wedding, the film documents the two’s reactions as they contemplate their actions. At first, like other similar films about forbidden love, they beam at each other, content with their youthful passion and impulsive rejection of the status quo. Then, as the camera remains uncomfortably fixed on them well past where any other film would cut to credits, their smiles fade, and the passion of the moment disappears and is replaced by worry about the future. Throughout the film, Benjamin experiences the universally disappointing reality behind impulsive decisions. To reserve a hotel room for his affair, he must first awkwardly interact with a judgemental concierge. To take Elaine on a spur-of-the-moment date, he is forced to deal with rude customers blaring music. To dramatically interrupt Elaine’s wedding, he finally has to deal with the life after his hasty decision: a theme which is, by nature, is a universal human experience.

The opening of The Graduate demonstrates clearly the film’s nationalist storytelling approach,  demonstrating the terrifying uncertainty of the purposeless and directionless life of a 20th Century college graduate. As Benjamin stumbles aimlessly around his own graduation party, he repeatedly (and literally) bumps into vaguely introduced acquaintances, each of whom either question or insist his future plans as he is released into the world. Finally, however, a sense of overbearing freedom and equally overbearing expectations compels Benjamin to refuse any agency at all, instead passively accepting any direct, tangible opportunities presented to him. Here, the film presents Mrs. Robinson as Benjamin’s first tangible opportunity; as each of his guests offers an incredibly vague depiction of his future, Mrs. Robinson offers a direct opportunity for Benjamin as she attempts to seduce him. Later, Benjamin abandons Mrs. Robinson as he is handed another opportunity: this time to form a life with her daughter. Consistently, Benjamin rejects personal agency by accepting unsustainable lifestyle choices which lack any long-term planning or longevity.

F. W. Murnau’s 1927 silent film Sunrise: a Tale of Two Humans may, at first glance, appear to share few similarities with Howard Hawks’ 1948 western Red River.

To a certain extent, these films tell opposite stories; as the unnamed protagonist of Sunrise desires to abandon the farm life he now resents for a more glamorous place in the “big city,” Red River’s Thomas Dunson desperately attempts to hold on to the life he proudly built for himself – though both characters, as the plot begins, lack the resources to reach their goals.

Here, the conflict builds and, in both films, culminates in a dramatic clash not simply in characters, but also in a struggle between radical idealism and traditional values. Dursen’s conflict, carried throughout the film, represents a struggle between his prideful sense of honor and his underlying sense of familial loyalty, leading to his expulsion from his own expedition, as well as his ultimate redemption in the conclusion of the film. The early death of his significant other highlights his character’s arc as, in the climax of the film, he abandons the idealistic values which led to her death to take on the role of a father figure to Clift (reaping the benefits of his cattle drive despite the “dishonor” and mutiny which directly promoted its success).

In Sunrise, on the other hand, the protagonist chooses his family over an idealistic life in the city in a decision which would be retroactively justified throughout the rest of the film, dramatically returning his relationship to the state allegedly enjoyed (through exposition) before the introduction of radical temptation by the “city girl.” In this regard, the film fails to establish this theme as effectively as Red River; as, though the former certainly expresses a personified conflict between its protagonist’s wife and the “city girl,”  the latter establishes its familial relationship more thoroughly, contrasting it in direct opposition to Dursen’s rigid values.

Having grown up surrounded by movie theaters which strictly and promptly enforced etiquette rules, Hayden finds himself disheartened when, consistently, the theaters in his new home of Los Angeles seem to have no problem as patrons brazenly scroll through Instagram or nonchalantly converse during quiet movies. Maybe, he figures, this is simply an issue in certain theaters, and that a more thorough dive into the artsier, more specialized LA theaters could provide a solution to this undoubtedly first world problem.

When he stumbles upon a “secret movie club” screening of Pan’s Labyrinth, then, he is quick to invest more of his ever-draining finances into two tickets allowing his girlfriend and him to attend the screening. Arriving early, already shaken up by their Uber driver nearly running over a pedestrian, they enter the beautiful, ornate theater, and Hayden finds himself immediately impressed and excited by the experience.

Elaborate sculptures adorn the walls, and an array of other attendees excitedly discuss the film which many of the patrons had ostensibly already seen. Soon, an employee runs down the stairs and offers an introduction to the movie, complete with trivia and analysis of the movie they are about to see. As the lights dim and the movie begins, Hayden already finds himself enthralled, thoroughly invested in the film and in an especially joyful spirit.

This, of course, would quickly change as the movie would drain him mentally and, somehow, even physically. Each moment of the film carries a sense of oppressive hopelessness, finally culminating in a gut-wrenching bittersweet (though mostly bitter) ending which leaves him physically incapable of  leaving his seat as the credits roll.

The movie experience, already crushingly sad in itself, is easily amplified by the enthusiastic, enthralled crowd of patrons surrounding him: a massive auditorium of people sharing the same miserable, amazing, horribly depressing movie experience.