I’ll start with this: I promise I usually watch “good” media. I like quality television. I also love Suits, a fairly trashy legal drama from the late aughts. Suits is, in my film-student view, terrible. But Suits isn’t always empty collars and ties. The show has some incredible moments of Mise-en-Scene (“what is in a scene”): the combination of it’s lighting, setting, blocking, costume, and action.
In trying to understand why I love this show, and as application and practice of my understanding of this week’s Film Art reading, I’m going to examine the mise-en-scéne (setting, lighting, costumes, blocking, composition) of the first forty seconds of the pilot of Suits––and maybe, in the process, prove its brilliance.
Suits opens with a shot of the Manhattan Bridge. Not it’s famous cousin (the almighty Brooklyn Bridge), but it’s functional, steel sister. The lights are bright enough to see the cars, but it’s still dark. Here, Suits has set the aesthetic tone: this is going to be professional, dark. We see cars drive over the bridge, then hard cut to the Chrysler Building. Now we immediately know the setting––no narration or title card required. Even if you don’t recognize the Manhattan Bridge, you know the Chrysler. We’re in New York City, we’re in Manhattan.
The third shot is the most telling. We cut again to an empty wall, then pan down. We’re looking at a skyscraper (Citigroup Center, for all interested), and somewhere around the fiftieth floor, we see men in suits dancing. They’re centered and bathed in an orange light, a sharp contrast to the blues and blacks of the previous shots. This, the show says, is what you should pay attention to. These people are different.
So, within literally sixteen seconds, just based on what is physically in the shots, we know where we are (NYC), what type of people we’re going to be watching (Rich People), their status (High), and what we’re going to be watching––not the most beautiful, polished conduct (not the Brooklyn Bridge)––but the functional, real, beautiful-and-terrible lives of these people.
We cut in to the office floor and see that they aren’t dancing, but arguing. Every character in the titular suits, all chatting excessively––except one. Even in the chaos of this scene, again without a single word, we know who to focus on. The camera settles on the non-arguing man, waiting patiently in the corner. His body language is sharp, he stands tall. He is our focal point, and we know it.
The frame at 0:36 (above) is, to me, a work of art. Our focal character is the only one lit with low-key contrast; it’s so far from the soft, relaxed light of every other character that we could infer his mixed emotions based only on the lighting. On the scale of importance, he sits at the very top, further highlighted by a silhouette comprising the entire left half of the frame. And, with such a shallow space, our focal man becomes the entire background. The actor’s highly individualized (but not overly-stylized) performance stands out too––he fits in, mostly, but he is clearly different from the rest of his cohort. His hands are laced together. His head is tilted down, almost a slight Kubrick Stare. He’s wearing the costume of everyone else in the room, but he isn’t with them. He’s not like them. We linger on him, confirming with time: he is unique. He’s worth paying attention to.
Each element of mise-en-scene: setting, costume, lighting, staging, spacing/composition, and time; they are all done perfectly here. We know this man. We know his attitude. We know his world. All this, without a single word––just by what’s in the shot.
So, in light of all this, is it okay for me to like Suits? Is this an over-read of fairly obvious filmmaking, or a brief glance at a masterclass in mise-en-scene?
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