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Writers’ names, or at least book titles, are often printed on each page. Painters sign their work. Yet after the opening titles and before the closing credits, the director’s name doesn’t appear to mark their work. Film demands the dimension of time, unlike painting, so having a signature appear on the bottom corner of every frame would be distracting and unsightly. Yet as we have established, recognizing a director’s work is not only possible but occasionally very easy. Where, then, does this come from? How can we recognize immediately that so and so made this film? Is it in the stock characters they bring to every story? Is it in the continued use of special effects, witty dialogue, or symmetrical composition? Indeed, it is in all of these. The piece as a whole becomes the author’s signature and allows its viewers to identify it as such.

As stated, I remember my first foray into the world of David Cronenberg. It was marked by moments of combined shock and amazement. Likewise, I remember my first experience with the savage and upfront (in)humanity of Stanley Kubrick in his 1971 film, A Clockwork Orange. It wouldn’t be until years later, in the formal structure of film classes, that I would identify the possibility that their work could carry over film to film. I had certainly seen other entries into each of their oeuvres and recognized the repeated elements; I had simply not put a name with it. Now, being conscious of the relevance of the auteur theory and the practice of observing characteristics of film authorship, I am more curious than ever how exactly we come about labeling the auteur. And how thoroughly their style is stamped into each film.

Is it possible, given a certain film or director, to immediately recognize their presence by watching but a fragment of any part of their film? Or do we require at least a scene, an interaction, to grasp its content? Perhaps obviously, story and thematic elements as well as visual style play a large role. If we want dramatic slow-motion and hard-hitting underworld Englishmen then we will likely turn to Guy Ritchie. But what of the case where we get one over the other? What if a director’s work clearly exhibits his signature visual style in photography and editing but branches off into entirely new thematic areas? Or the reverse, familiar plot elements and values exhibited in an unfamiliar style? Where would such a piece fit into the oeuvre and how immediately do we see the signature?

Considering a filmmaker’s body of work is requisite in discussing their recognizable authorial presence. And sub-standard films can be disregarded. But what of outcasts that don’t suffer in quality? What if a director makes a great film that is far removed from their other great films? On the one hand we could give this as validation of their skill, on the other hand we could condemn it for not being their style. More interestingly, could we identify a director whose films bear no resemblance to any other of their films for this reason? Could a director be more original in every piece to the point that their auteuristic film authorship is characterized by diversity and ingenuity?

I seem to have asked more questions than I have answered, yet artistic credit is of utmost importance. We can agree that both form and content is important in recognizing anyone’s work. And recognizing work and assigning it a place is standard human practice of categorization and organization. And with this comes evaluation, the ranking of particular works I briefly discussed before. Certainly a film that stands out in an artist’s body of work demands attention for its placement and for its displacement. Yet the auteur theory would likely reject such a stray from the norm. It would be forced to abandon the expected signs of authorship and instead observe new ones. Perhaps.