Thoughts on the Auteur

In “The Cult of the Auteur” Robert Stam recounts the introduction of the auteur theory to the American public by way of Andrew Sarris. Stam discusses not only the critical reactions to such an idea but the requirements of the theory as well. The article almost instantly becomes a thorough introduction to the theory itself for anyone unfamiliar with how engrained it has become in our modern commercial filmmaking industry. As much as I cringe to admit it, this article was one of my first in-depth looks into the idea of the auteur, or at least specifically by that name. Yet for any one at least minimally familiar with the film industry and the placement of film in our society as a whole, the idea of the auteur seems self-evident.

Countless modern films are marketed by listing the director’s partial filmography in the trailer. The studios seem to understand, and much marketing research likely supports that audiences who like a film will probably enjoy something similar. At times, it becomes a point of pride to identify whose latest film one will see. And much of the time, expectations about upcoming features will be heavily influenced about what creative minds are involved. Even if, in the case of Antichrist, the minds involved have a history of depression preventing work and social obligations from being maintained. This marks our arrival at Lars von Trier, a self-promoting and mentally afflicted Danish filmmaker whose auteurship is far from debated. In this 2009 release, von Trier’s connection to the Dogme 95 collective is self-evident as the main characters interact as if in real life, the camera simply documented their escalating struggles. Certain scenes, whether actually adhering to the strict mandates of Dogme 95, appear natural and unadulterated. Further, Trier, whose often describes as visually distinctive, manages to blend the aforementioned realism with the otherworldly and haunting discomfort of an evil forest.

Yet auteurism is more than each film looking the same. Perhaps an auteur-to-the-extreme would find each and every one of his films a carbon copy of its predecessor. Conversely, Antichrist’s tone suggests a filmmaker in confusion, perhaps disarray. Be it the intense violence without need of graphic accompaniment, the brutal and misdirected sexuality, or the eerily unforgettable horror of the woods, the fact the von Trier suffered from depression while making this film only makes sense. Criticized for blatant misogyny, the film explores the gender relations of countless years in modern context with what seem ancient roots. The film, while in fact having Trier’s name written in uncomfortable handprint, would have his name all over it regardless. What I find interesting here is how the process of filmmaking, as well as the mental processes surrounding it, influences the final product. Immediately evident is that filmmaking is indeed a process, not a simple and immediate product. And, to hammer it further, such a process needs direction or else it will falter and fade. Thus the auteur, the film’s ultimate author, directs this process to his or her preference. The Wizard of Oz notably passed creative hands many times before finally residing with Victor Fleming. Von Trier’s film, conversely, was scripted and envisioned by the director and nothing about the ultimate mood achieved seems to suggest otherwise.

Auteurism, as I understand it, becomes directly linked to he whom most self-exposes in the final product. Film and filmmaker are inextricably linked by common effort and desire. In the end, much the same as any other desire to create something tangible, film succeeds in immortalizing its creator. At least for the moment.