by Paolo Braga
Los Angeles – a metaphor of barriers that suffocate people in their solitude. Barriers of space (a vast city where no one knows anyone), ← 129 | 130 → physical barriers (people are forced to sit in cars for hours, isolated and hostile towards others), relationship barriers (parents, children, husbands and wives who are sucked into the complexity of the contemporary metropolis and do not communicate), social class barriers (the upper class being suspicious towards people of a lower class of society), racial barriers…
Crash (written by Paul Haggis ‒ also director ‒ and Bobby Moresco, USA 2004) breaks through these barriers with its story of the lives of six people whose destinies collide. Brief, random encounters that forever change the lives of people who are worlds apart. It seems that “fate” wants the characters to understand that if they open up to others, they can free themselves of their limited mindsets and guilt.
One of the characters, Cameron Thayer (Terrence Howard), is African American and is the director of a TV series. He is sensitive, well mannered, wealthy and respected by his colleagues. He holds a lofty position that many other African Americans would have been excluded from on the basis of color. Despite on-going racial discrimination, despite the number of blacks that remain victim of social-economic conditions that offer no chances in life, Cameron has made his way up. In fact, he has climbed so high up the social ladder that racial barriers no longer burden him. He has internalized these barriers and while he does not support them, he does not openly challenge them either. That is, until fate forces him to experience the enduring harshness of these barriers.
As Cameron and his wife are driving home from a party, a white policeman (another protagonist in the movie), stops him and orders him to get out of the car. The policeman is irritated by Cameron’s wealth and his wife’s beauty and decides to humiliate him. First he searches Cameron, then he searches his wife, sexually harassing her as he does. Cameron is afraid, but does not react. He knows the word of a black man would not hold up if he were to attack a white policeman. For Cameron, this is the beginning of an existential crisis, but only the beginning.
Even though this act of brutality has put a strain on his relationship with his wife, Cameron is not yet willing to deeply question his inner feelings. While his reputation as a respected black intellectual still ← 130 | 131 → makes him feel strong, even this will crack the very next day when his role as a director is called into question. Silently called into question, through the subtext.
THE SCENE. A TV set. A good take has just been shot.
CAMERON
Cut! Print! Moving on.
Cameron removes his headphones and leaves the monitor. He is content with the take and is going to get some coffee. Meanwhile, he congratulates the actors, in particular a black guy:
CAMERON
Jamal, that’s what I’m talking
about!
While the director is walking through the backstage, Fred, a white producer, stops him:
FRED
Cam, Cam, you got a second?
CAMERON
Yeah, Fred, I just wanna grab some
coffee.
FRED
Yeah. Listen, I think we need
another take, buddy.
It’s always the same old story. Everyone has their own idea of what is good. Cameron thinks the take was great so he responds with little forethought. He is calm and pays more attention to the cup of coffee he pours than to Fred:
CAMERON
That looked pretty terrific, man.
Fred draws closer and explains. Cameron finishes filling his cup.
← 131 | 132 → FRED
This is gonna sound strange, but
is Jamal seeing a speech coach or
something?
CAMERON
What do you mean?
FRED
Have you noticed, uh… This is weird
for a white guy to say, but have
you noticed he’s talking a lot less
black lately?
CAMERON
(laughing)
No, I haven’t noticed that.
FRED
Really? Like in this scene, he was
supposed to say, “Don’t be talkin’
‘bout that.” And he changed it to,
“Don’t talk to me about that.”
Fred is overly critical. Why is he uselessly complicating things? While returning to the set, Cameron minimizes the situation, smiling:
CAMERON
Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You
think because of that, the audience
won’t recognize him as being a
black man?
(laughing)
Come on!
But the producer doesn’t agree and frowns. He wants to be taken seriously.
FRED
Is there a problem, Cam?
← 132 | 133 → Cameron must stop, turn around, and pay attention to him.
CAMERON
Excuse me?
FRED
Is there a problem, Cam?
Cameron pauses. He begins to understand. Haggis, who has both written and directed this dialogue, now gives even greater emphasis to the moment. The lights on the set go out. Darkness suddenly falls behind them, and not only behind Cameron, but inside him as well.
Cameron understands that Fred is not just being picky, he is being racist. Cameron has unintentionally caused Fred’s racist side to appear.
Through subtext, Fred is actually saying: “Black people should stay in their place. You might not have done it on purpose, but with this take, you have gone against the silent rule every black person must obey. Fix it. I am telling you indirectly so you can do it without being humiliated.”
“Is there a problem?” Subtext: “Don’t you want to understand? Maybe you did do it on purpose… are you trying to defy the system? Do you want to go against me and jeopardize your career? Do you want to put you reputation on the line? You work here because everybody here thinks you don’t cause problems. Do you want to cause problems now?”
This is not a question. This is a threat. Fred knows he has the power and connections to do what he wants.
Cameron gives in, making an effort to conceal his humiliation:
CAMERON
No, we don’t have a problem.
Fred makes sure that everything is kept in subtext. This act of discrimination must serve its purpose, but he does not want it declared as discrimination, that would be dangerous:
FRED
I mean, ‘cause all I’m saying is
it’s not his character. Eddie’s ← 133 | 134 → supposed to be the smart one, not
Jamal, right? I mean, you’re the
expert here. But to me, it rings
false.
CAMERON
We’re gonna do it one more time.
FRED
Thanks, buddy.
The director turns to his actors:
CAMERON
(to Jamal)
Jamal, uh…
The audience is involved in the subtext and senses that Cameron is closer to reaching rock bottom. Fear, humiliation and hypocrisy pull greater weight when left unsaid.
Through the antagonist’s ulterior motive, fate has made the protagonist’s need more urgent. Fred knew nothing of Cameron’s inner conflict, but worsened his crisis all the same because fate gave him the chance to do so, despite his lack of knowledge. Cameron falls victim to chance. From the moment he realizes Fred is being discriminatory, he begins to feel as if life itself were stalking him and decides to pursue the question that matters most to him.
The Lives of Others. “I am your audience”
In a Berlin café, a Stasi secret agent, Wiesler (Ulrich Müe), leaves his table and approaches the table of a woman who has just sat down. The woman is alone and wears sunglasses to conceal her face. She is Christa-Maria Sieland (Maritna Gedeck), a famous theater actress. The woman does not know Wiesler. Wiesler, however, knows everything about her.
Wiesler has been spying on her for days and knows that the actress is cheating on the man she loves with the Minister of Culture. The actress gives her body away with repugnance, only to protect her career. ← 134 | 135 → Wiesler knows this and also knows that in a few minutes, Christa-Maria, who now sits with her head bowed, intoxicating herself to gain confidence, will soon be secretly meeting the minister.
Wiesler, however, has come to understand and respect this woman, which is why he is about to do something he would have never imagined doing a month earlier, something that could jeopardize his career and his life.
Corruption within the ministry has caused Wiesler to lose faith in real socialism. Spying on artists persecuted by political censorship has introduced him to new dimensions of the human being that he had previously ignored. The people he spies on are kind and sensitive. They read poems by Brecht, assert you can no longer be bad if you listen to Beethoven’s Appassionata and play music entitled Sonata for a Good Man.
Wiesler intends to persuade Christa-Maria not to meet the official. The audience knows his objective and is apprehensive as they follow the dialogue. Wiesler, however, never says: “Do not go to your appointment. Do not have sex with the minister.” His objective can be found within the subtext.
WIESLER
Ma’am?
CHRISTA-MARIA
Please let me be. I want to be
alone.
WIESLER
Frau Sieland.
CHRISTA-MARIA
Do we know each other?
WIESLER
You don’t know me, but I know you.
A lot of people love you, because
you are how you are.
← 135 | 136 → CHRISTA-MARIA
Acting isn’t real.
WIESLER
With you it is.
The agent sits down at her table.
WIESLER
I’ve seen you on stage. You were
more yourself then, than… than how
you are now.
Wiesler’s speaks as if he were a fan. He praises the actress for her spontaneity on stage, but the meaning of his words is much deeper. He is not talking about acting. He’s talking about her conscience. His words have a second meaning.
Wiesler is really saying: “Your greatness consists in your skill to judge good from evil. In your abhorrence for what is evil.” In fact, Christa-Maria has never abhorred anything as much as she does now, sitting all alone here, in a café, drinking cognac and feeling queasy. This reference to “what she is like now”, is what fills the scene with deep, troublesome meaning. Wiesler guides the actress to where he wants her, but does not hurt her sensibilities. He hides behind the irony of fate and uses it very strategically. He remains a mere stranger to Christa-Maria and she is convinced his words, though painful, are unintentional. She is convinced they have only met by chance:
CHRISTA-MARIA
So, you know how I am?
WIESLER
I am your audience.
CHRISTA-MARIA
I have to go.
She stands, upset.
← 136 | 137 → WIESLER
Where are you going?
CHRISTA-MARIA
I’m meeting an old schoolmate. I…
WIESLER
You see? You weren’t yourself at
all just then.
CHRISTA-MARIA
No?
WIESLER
No.
Wiesler skillfully continues to make reference to her acting abilities and yet warns her. If she is disloyal to her own conscience and suffocates its voice with lies (“I’m meeting an old schoolmate”), she will forsake the essence of her art, because she will have forsaken the essence of her very own person (“You see? You weren’t yourself at all just then.”)
The woman sits back down. She removes her sunglasses. The subtext has now become quite real for Christa-Maria and she feels forced to face it:
CHRISTA-MARIA
You know this Christa-Maria Sieland
well. What do you think? Would she
hurt someone who completely loves
her? Would she sell herself for the
art?
Christa-Maria wants to put fate to the test (“What do you think? Would she hurt someone…Would she sell herself?). It does not matter if this man is only a well-informed stranger or if their meeting did not exactly come about by chance. Christa-Maria desperately needs to feel ← 137 | 138 → encouraged. She needs for someone, anyone, to tell her she can pull through and make amends.
Christa-Maria’s question has pushed the subtext closer to the surface, even though she still avoids admitting her guilt (she refers to herself in the third person, using the conditional and never mentioning the minister).
In order to boost her confidence, Wiesler decides to bring the subtext even closer to the surface with a direct allusion:
WIESLER
Sell herself for the art? But she
has sold the art already. That’d be
terrible business. You are a great
artist. Don’t you know that?
The Stasi agent knows the actress well. He knows the error has been made (“She has sold the art already. That’d be terrible business.”), but he also knows she can still save herself, that no one can take something from her if she doesn’t want them to (“You are a great artist. Don’t you know that?”).
Christa-Maria is touched. Before she stands to leave, she shows him her appreciation. This is the climax of the dialogue:
CHRISTA-MARIA
And you are a good person.
The woman has no way of knowing she is talking to a spy going though an inner crisis, or that one day that same spy had overheard a conversation between her and the man she loves, a conversation inspired by music entitled Sonata for a Good Man (the director the actress is in love with asked her “Can someone who has listened to this music… really listened, still be a bad person?”).
Christa-Maria believes she is talking to a fan that may know her secret. At this point, she does not care how or why he knows, the only thing that matters is that he has helped her.
← 138 | 139 → Wiesler, however, interprets Christa-Maria’s last line as much more than an expression of gratitude. Her parting words strike such a deep chord in his heart that he believes fate has guided him to her as well.
Christa-Maria’s last line is also an expression of encouragement. She encouraged him in the same way he encouraged her. It is as if she were saying: “You are on the right path. You are no longer an evil man. You understand who you are, keep on fighting the system you work for.”
At the same time, these words highlight another painful aspect in Wiesler’s life. He is stuck between good and evil (“You are a good person. But you are still a Stasi agent”).
The subtext expresses a universal theme found in each and every story – the need to be a good person. ← 139 | 140 →
_______
44Scott W. Smith, “All The Corporations’ Men. The ‘Insider’ director Michael Mann talks about corporate morality, muckraking and the drama of making real life decisions”, interview with Michael Mann on the website:
45A general introduction on subtext (not just in dialogue, but also in visual and metaphoric elements of the movie) can be found in Writing Subtext. What Lies Beneath by Linda Seger, Michael Wiese Productions, Studio City 2011.
46The connection between subtext and conflict is not organically analyzed in manuals, but taught by American screenwriting teachers. This passage refers to the lectures given by Bobette Buster, John Truby and Barabara Nicolosi for a Master’s program in Screenwriting for Film and Television and Executive Production at the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart in Milan. Barbara Nicolosi defines this kind of subtext as “the elephant in the room”, the issue that everyone is afraid to talk about.
Adotpting the perspective of pragmatics and of polite
ness theory, the defensive attitude a character adopts to protect his need from the lines of the antagonist or from those of his mentor, can be seen as a reaction to “face-threatening acts”. See on this specific topic Penelope Brown, Stephen C. Levinson, Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge 1987.
47McKee dedicates quite a few pages to this aspect of subtext in his book, Story. He begins by quoting a typical Hollywood saying: “If the scene is about what the scene is about, you’re in deep shit”. Story, pp. 252-257.
48The Gibberish is a particular exercise used at The Actors Studio to train players to find a connection within the subtext. The players are asked to improvise a dialogue that makes little sense according to the literal meaning of the movie. The meaning is given by the intentions implied by the players. The ‘give and take’ is performed according to the meaning hidden between each line. Cfr. Lee Strasberg, Strasberg at the Actors Studio, Theatre Communication Group, Inc., New York 1965.
Lee Strasberg (father of the The Actors Studio) makes an interesting observation about subtext while reflecting on how the dialogue of Hemingway’s famous short-story Hills Like White Elephants should be acted out. In this short story, a man wants his girlfriend to abort their baby, but she doesn’t really want to. The issue, however, is never openly discussed between them. Strasberg states that the dialogue should not be acted out as a fight. The subtext should be heavily hidden behind the expressions and poetic, dream-like personality of the female character and should only become evident in that brief moment the man leaves the woman alone in order to pay their bill at the bar. Cfr. Lee Strasberg, A Dream of a Passion. The Development of the Method, Little, Brown & Co., Boston 1987.
49Screenwriting manuals generally tend to focus on strategic subtext without calling it by name. The distinction we are proposing here is based on the consideration that the subtext found in many brilliant scenes of dialogue does not belong in this category. In many exchanges of dialogue, the unspoken meaning is generated by a different source; this source is the dramatic essence of the story, or rather, the internal transformation of the main character including his fears and efforts. On the other hand, when manuals insist on the importance of a main character’s need, they often end up making considerations regarding subtext without calling it by its name. Here we try to analyze this concept by attempting to define it as “deep”, or thematic, subtext.