Melodramatic Spaces: Reign Over Me and American
Victimhood
Nathaniel Pope
June 2007
I am a simple man
So I sing a simple song
Never been so much in love
And never hurt so bad at the same
time.
I am a simple man
And I play a simple tune
I wish that I could see you once again
Across the room like the first
time.
I just want to hold you
I don't want to hold you down
I hear what you're saying and you're
spinning my head around
And I can't make it alone.
The ending of the tale
Is the singing of the song
Make me proud to be your man only you
can make me strong
Like the last time.
I just want to hold you
I don't want to hold you down
I hear what you're saying and you're
spinning my head around
And I can't make it alone.
-“Simple Man”
Graham Nash
These calm, yet mournful lyrics of painful
contradictory love are characteristic of Adam Sandler’s recent attempts
to take on a multiplicity of more serious roles and function as the
musical accompaniment to the title sequence prologue of Reign Over Me (Binder, 2007). In
this pensively mournful twilight scene, Charlie Fineman (Sandler)
glides through New York City streets and alleyways on his scooter, in
an evasive, smooth fashion invoking feelings of a lonely man yearning
for the love of a woman. However, as the film progresses, the
irreconcilable nature of this desire becomes increasingly evident
through melodramatic depiction of both East Manhattan and Charlie’s
struggles to overcome post traumatic stress after having lost his wife
and three daughters in the attacks of September 11, 2001. The scene
foreshadows the resolution of the film: bewildered wandering and
courtroom melodrama, warning “the ending of the tale/Is the singing of
the song.” These struggles reveal a repressed sense of American loss
and mourning through an emotional depiction of American space and
locality. Found at key points in the film, this mode serves to
reinforce American ideology of victimhood and innocence through
melodramatic spaces.
Definition of melodrama
Hollywood melodrama can be defined as nostalgic
spectacle: an exploration of lost American innocence and virtuous
suffering that begins, unfolds, and ends in a place of innocence.
Indeed film scholars such as Linda Williams and Thomas Schatz have
extensively examined the way in which the genre/mode reveals America’s
self-declaration as Mecca of innocence and virtue (Williams 50) in
response to uncontrollable political events and social conventions that
lead to inevitable suffering (Schatz 222). All is manifested by
excessive emotional appeal. In this spirit and the bitter aftermath of
the September 11 terrorist attacks, it is perhaps fruitful to look at
recent cinematic depictions of NYC, Reign
Over Me (Binder 2007) in particular, to explore the function of
locality as melodramatic space, locus of pathos driving emotional
efficacy in times of lost innocence and unrecognized virtue. By
exploring how melodramatic cinema techniques transform NYC into a
center of collective mourning, reinforced by mournful musical
accompaniment, we can begin to understand modern melodramatic
tendencies within a larger generic corpus.
Melodramatic Spaces
It is useful to begin by defining melodramatic
spaces as “realist” physical locations, typically urban semantically,
yet imbued with suburban purity syntactically, especially those actions
of the characters. Much of Reign
Over Me takes place in NYC streets, apartments, medical
complexes, dental offices, a psychologist’s office and a courtroom, yet
the syntactic message runs contrary to these typical generic building
blocks and work to mediate the film viewing experience through
emotionally patriotic penetration. The following analysis traces the
way the film begins and ends as innocent spectacle through the creation
of nostalgic and victimized “realist” milieu by looking at three scenes
in particular. First, the title sequence prologue, a pensively mournful
and mobile scene accompanied by Graham Nash’s “Simple Man” follows
Charlie Fineman’s scooter ride down these beautified city streets and
corridors. Second, Charlie’s bewildered acceptance of reality and
wanderings in the streets immediately after having recounted his
family’s tragic 9/11 experience to college roommate Alan Johnson (Don
Cheatle). Finally, I will examine the way in which the film’s climax
employs courtroom melodrama to cement a message of victimhood by
revealing Charlie’s innocence. In sum, I will argue that melodramatic
spaces in these scenes, on the border between the real and sensational,
draw power from authenticity, yet only to the extent they establish,
reinforce, commemorate, and reinsert America’s sense of innocence,
laying the foundation and meaning of Charlie’s emotional plight and
final outburst.
Nostalgic Milieu
The opening exposition works to establish Charlie’s
simplicity and innocence. His ride embodies American ideology through
images of NYC which evoke nostalgic pathos of virtuous suffering. Here,
American ideology can broadly be understood as patriotic and
sacrificial duty and love between families, friends, and communities.
More specifically, however, these responsibilities simultaneously
conflict with democratic freedoms to travel, consume, and live in a
perpetual state of distraction. Although this message is hidden by an
initial sense of familial love, its nuances are revealed by Charlie’s
mournful ride. Mise-en-scene, cinematography, and lighting support
Nash’s nostalgic lyrics, creating a synergy of NYC adornment.
Establishing shots show Charlie in silhouette from a mobility of low
angle rear perspectives that follows his scooter ride in an evasive,
smooth fashion creating prideful images of the bond between an
estranged man and a defiled, yet beautiful city. Cinematographically,
the smooth camera movements and moderately long takes are accompanied
by crisp focus and choreographed staging. Subjective cross dissolves
and cuts partially interrupt this flow building dramatic suspense.
Limited third-person perspective restricts one’s view of Charlie to
that of omniscient follower. He is only shown from behind. The effect
draws attention to his surroundings further aided by lighting. The well
lit scene highlights street lights, buildings, McDonalds, Ace Hardware,
and over emphasize lights’ reflection on the street asphalt,
accentuating the land and feelings of loss and emptiness by drawing
attention to neon and this 21st century soil. This expressionistic
impressionism creates melodramatic space and is most evident as Charlie
passes McDonald’s, the neon reflection of its orangish red sign and
golden arches surrounding Charlie who except for a bit of blue from his
jeans is entirely engulfed by the consuming black skyline. The low
angles further accentuate the weight of the world on his shoulders:
deep within this large city, despite the power and ease to travel
suffers victim-hero Charlie Fineman. Nash’s lyrics act as a calming
force, almost as a lullaby to draw the viewer into a false sense of
security only to be exploited as Charlie turns suicidal and bursts into
demonic tantrums. In addition to nostalgic security, the music creates
a mood of loss and victimization to be examined shortly.
But how exactly is the space depicted melodramatic? The answer
lies in the scene’s contradictory nature and foundation, providing the
sandbox in which melodrama may unfold. This is best understood in terms
of realism, especially in light of Christine Glendhill’s studies on
melodrama and the woman’s film. In her attempt to explain the
“relationship and difference” between melodrama and realism, she has
rooted the distinction in popular traditions: spectacle, performance
and music (17). This framework is a good way to look at the scene in
question. Charlie’s ride (performance) can first and foremost be seen
as spectacle, NYC being the object of attraction. For example, although
the film makers claim “Binder focuses his lens on the everyday places
that give the city its character” the story being born out of his
experiences there on the day of the tragedy (Sony 3-5), this persona is
very much created aesthetically by means formal elements. One technique
of spectacle is to sensationalize the mundane, another is to bolster
the already extraordinary, landmarks in the case of Reign Over Me. Here
again, melodramatic potential lies in the contradictory nature of these
representations. Whereas most of this scene shot in East Village
employs the dark effect noted above, the scene also contains
inconsistent chronology errors that highlight Washington Square Arch, a
famous monument and cinema favorite. Although the scene begins at the
moment of dusk, subsequent shots regress to moments obviously shot
before imminent dusk. The lighting effect, whether intended or not is
melodramatic in that this arch works to stand in place of the fallen
towers, connected in a fashion similar to architects’ renderings of
future World Trade Center possibilities. So when Charlie glides past
this monument only to swing out of frame to the left at the last
minute, the arch remains as center of attraction only slowly dissolving
to the darker McDonalds/Ace Hardware shots as if to assail viewers with
the reminder of the fallen towers. This nostalgic symbology of lost
innocence gains force as the film progresses reaching its pinnacle at
the height of Charlie’s despair. These scenes, especially resonate
later on; Charlie suicidally wanders the streets as intense reminders
appear on screen in the form of two towers well-lit silhouetted,
distorted, and mutilated.
In order to explore the creation of physiological and auditory
melodramatic space, it is important to consider Sandler’s acting
performance in conjunction with Nash’s lyrics. While Charlie’s ride
through the city continually draws attention to his surroundings rather
than himself as seen with the Washington Arch, Nash’s music works as a
mechanism of distraction (Pope), immersively lulling the audience into
a relaxed state, unfocused on either the city, Charlie, nor the music
itself. The rhythm of the song, emotionless soft lullaby featuring
gentle slurring of notes with instruments rather than voice is almost
motherly in nature, yet highly melancholic. Just as Charlie glides off
screen, Nash can be heard singing, “And I can’t make it
A-L-O-O-O-O-N-N-E,” slowly trailing off as the line ends. The result is
an easement of innocence- a relatively empty American space ready to be
filled with melodramatic pain, nostalgic because of the way it works to
implicitly and sorrowfully lament Charlie’s past created by popular
tradition crossover effects.
But where does the intersection of these popular traditions
lead? In light of Linda William’s postulate that “melodrama begins and
wants to end in a space of innocence,” Charlie’s ride can be
characterized as a melodramatic quest to find that which was lost, New
York being the realm of innocence. Williams generalizes
This quest, not for the new but for the old space of innocence, is the
fundamental reason for melodrama’s profound conservatism. The most
classic forms of the mode are often suffused with nostalgia for rural
and maternal origins that are forever lost yet- hope against hope-
refound, reestablished, or, if permanently lost sorrowfully lamented.
(65)
Williams thus argues that melodrama’s link to nostalgic
lamentations are deeply associated with the desire to return to the
purity and simplicity of the past, afforded by maternal love. Bender’s
prologue embodies this effort as empty/contradictory images of NYC and
Charlie’s “simple” yet futile search to find and “hold” his deceased
wife and children. The fact that the audience will only later discover
this object of desire through flashback makes the effect powerfully
melodramatic. For example, the opening search is manifested by the
relative emptiness of the streets. They are free of all people but
Charlie. All cars appear pushed to the side of the road or else easily
dodged by Charlie’s whimsical bodily movements. However, despite the
power to go wherever he wants, Charlie’s search maintains ambiguous
hopelessness: the foundation of melodrama and nostalgic basis by which
this film draws its power. The quest to find lost innocence irrevocably
leads to suffering, creating pathos of hopeless attainability, but
longing nonetheless.
Victimized Homeland
Once Charlie gives up the futile quest to repress
his loss, there is a gradual transition from a highly nostalgic to
highly victimized portrayal of NYC– a process that works to
reinforce an American sense of innocence and begin to establish a
similar sense of victimhood. As mentioned above the change is
particularly manifest in his uncensored use of media, interactions, and
wanderings after having struggled to recount his story to Allen in
their psychologist Angela Oakhurst (Liv Taylor)’s waiting room. While
the office represents a melodramatic space in and of itself, it also
functions as mechanism of distraction. As Charlie exits the office,
however, there is a cut from a medium shot of Angela lowering her head
in disappointment to a medium long shot of the skyline and night shot
of the distorted buildings mentioned above. After this shot, however
the scene’s driving force becomes localized within the medium of
television. Charlie no longer seeks to distract himself by playing the
video game “Shadows of the Colossus” but submits to watching the
evening news, informed that NYC may be the target of a “credible terror
threat,” warranting increased security in subways, busses and airports.
These localities and security measures are simultaneously shown on
screen aided by the patriotic yet solemn melody of Bruce Springsteen’s
“The River.” The effect is a victimized portrayal of NYC that achieves
emotional efficacy through Charile’s suffering. Immediately after
watching the news story, Charlie makes a trip through his completely
darkened neighborhood, as seen initially from a high angle crane shot,
to a liquor store where a similar story is playing on the television
behind the cashier. He then returns home to see a story about violent
demonstrations characteristic of “the on going war on terror.” Despite
his virtuous attempts to deal with the tragedy and one last attempt to
distract himself by watching the film You Were Never Lovlier (William
A. Seiter, 1942) he soon becomes overwhelmed, intoxicated and suicidal,
retrieving an old gun and leaving the apartment. Despite not having any
bullets, he draws the gun on a taxi cab driver in front of two police
officers leading to his arrest and eventual mandatory
institutionalization hearing. In effect, within the film’s overall
melodramatic space we find the inter space of media, which leading to
an outward manifestation of emotional outburst and crime creates a
highly victimized portrayal of a broken man and city.
Law, Justice, and Innocent Territory
Revealed
Charlie's hearing and the melodramatic space of the
courtroom during the film’s climax function to pool evidence of
Charlie’s innocence through the injustice of unrecognized virtue. In
particular, the courtroom’s seemingly realist physicality and
confinement serve as locus of pathos. In this prototypical Adam
Sandler courtroom scene, the judge is responsible to determine the
extent of Charlie's competency, sanity in this case. However, the
hearing proceedings rapidly transform, moving towards family melodrama
by placing Charlie on trial for his distractive mourning techniques.
The court’s inability to recognize Charlie’s virtue, sensitivity, and
vulnerability to reminders of his family’s death are manifest through
claustrophobic formal techniques especially mise-en-scene, lighting,
editing, and narrative plot. It is interesting to note that the scene
was filmed in a Los Angeles studio yet maintains a significantly
realist feel, drawing from authenticity of scenes past. Regardless,
formal techniques work to create a confined space that functions to
heighten the melodramatic affect of the scene. Sunlight enters the room
at a downward angle, slightly silhouetting those in attendance who seem
to surround Charlie. Graphic match editing dictates the flow of the
proceedings, heightening emotional percussion, especially when Donna
Remar (Saffron Burrows) comically enters during Angela’s testimony.
Here a timely cut introduces the film’s rather “pat” ending in which
Charlie ends up with this sexually promiscuous victim of spousal
infidelity. Finally, the narrative serves as powerful mechanism in the
creation of claustrophobic space. This is seen when the in-law’s
attorney appears to taunt, abate and torment Charlie, culminating when
Charlie finally reupts in a fit of repressed anguish while listening to
Pearl Jam’s “Reign O’er Me.” In sum, the courtroom scene
represents an apex of pathological outburst both for Charlie and the
viewer, building on the melancholy emotional outset of the film
resonating so clearly with Charlie’s scooter ride. The viewer, already
emotionally invested in Charlie, manipulated and distracted by the
film's “simple tune” becomes at least as susceptible as Charlie to the
torment of the prosecution. Yet perhaps the scene's greatest impact
stems from the spectator's absorption of Charlie's anguish, ill
afforded Charlie’s emotional outlets of release. It is this effect that
allows the film to make its final message, offering the viewer freedom
only by heeding the film's tag lines: “let in the unexpected” and “only
love will make it reign” ending in Charlie’s new apartment as he and
Donna share pizza. The impact of melodramatic spaces work to conceal
this reinstatement of the status quo.
Discussion
In conclusion, melodramatic space in Reign Over Me embodies 21st century
neorealism, obtaining emotional force not entirely from interpersonal
conflicts, but also from the seemingly authentic settings in which
these interactions take place. These settings however should not be
considered on account of objective realism, but rather considered on
the level of subjective melodramatic affects. As Linda Williams has
warned, “we should not be fooled...by the superficial realism of
popular American movies,” especially real city streets for “if
emotional and moral registers are sounded, [and] a work invites us to
feel sympathy for the virtues of beset victims... concerned with a
retrieval and staging of innocence...then the operative mode is
melodrama.” (42) And a powerful style at that. Bender is able play off
of and perpetuate people’s sense of nostalgia and lost innocence
regarding NYC, America, and the terrorist attacks. However, and perhaps
most importantly the film is able unearth repressed feelings, allowing
collective society emotional communication outlets and a means to begin
thinking about how these events have shaped our lives as Americans
despite an overly happy ending. Superficial realism aside, emotions are
what defines and binds films across time. Despite relativistic
arguments that may discount the idea that there can ever be truly
“real” cinema, such arguments should never discount the authenticity of
cinema’s emotional power, especially in the wake of tragedy.
Bibliography
Glendhill, Christine. “The Melodramatic Field: An Investigation.” Home
is Where the Heart Is. Ed. Christine Glendhill. London: BFI, 1987.
4-39.
Hanet, Kari. “Does the Camera Lie?” Screen. 1973: 14.3, 59-66.
Pope, Nathaniel. “Mechanisms of Contradiction: A Formulaic System of
Distraction.” unpublished, 2007.
Production Notes
http://www.sonypictures.com/movies/reignoverme/site/media/Production_Notes_PDF.pdf
Retrieved 26 March 2007.
Reign Over Me. Dir. Mike
Binder. Columbia. Madison 23/Sun Light Productions. 2007.
Schatz, Thomas. Hollywood Genres: Formulas, Filmmaking, And The Studio
System. Boston: McGraw-Hill, 1981.
Williams, Linda. “Melodrama Revised.” Reconfiguring American Film
Genres. Ed. Nick Brown. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998.
42-88.