Intro to Film 2025 • Professor Gregory Zinman • Emory University

Author: Kate Goldberg

  • Is Letterboxd Changing the Film World?

    If you are taking Film 101, you have likely heard of the app Letterboxd. If you are a user of the app, you likely have felt the experience of watching a film and wondering at some point throughout the movie what your Letterboxd review would be, rather than fully enjoying the movie. Launched in 2011 in New Zealand by Matt Buchanan and Karl von Randow, Letterboxd serves as both a tool for cinephiles and casual movie-goers alike to log films they watch, stay up to date with their friends films, write their own reviews, and most famously users can post their top four favorite films on their profile. This top-four film feature has become an iconic marking of the Letterboxd platform, becoming the foundation of their red-carpet interviews or the new go-to icebreaker question amongst young film lovers.

    Still, the demographic of the app is relatively young. The biggest age cohort for Letterboxd members is 18-24, followed by 25-35. The platform has also grown massively in recent years, with help from the isolated nature of the Covid-19 pandemic. In 2020, the app only had 1.8 million users, and in 2025 it reported 17 million users worldwide. Louis Chilton of The Independent examines how Letterboxd’s impact on younger generations can shape cinema in the future. Letterboxd has provided a way to see what movies younger generations are actually watching, and enjoying. The app’s top 250 most popular films “gives valuable insight into what sort of films will be considered the classics of the future, and indeed which classics from years past look set to endure” (Chilton). The app does more than tell users what to watch, however. It provides a chance for conversation and community to happen. In a world in which community spaces are constantly being diminished due to social media, Letterboxd allows a more informal style of cinema discussion. Any person can share their thought on a film, organize a list of their favorites, or comment on another review. Critiques are not exclusive to the critics anymore. This is not only exciting, but neccessary, because “if cinema is to survive into the future, it must adapt to a world that revolves around social media, and Letterboxd is, so far, the best attempt to reckon with this” (Chilton).

    With any social media platform, there are concerns on how that can change the natural habits of a behavior. Rhys Hope, an A-level student studying film, expresses his concerns with the app on his blog Film East. While he acknowledges the app’s ability to connect cinephiles with each other and introduce new directors, writers, genres, and styles to users, he also shares how “since using Letterboxd, I have made a conscious effort to watch over 100 films each year, but I’m unsure who — or what — this goal is for.” (Hope). Hope’s sentiment stuck out to me because my 2025 new years goal was to watch 100 movies as well, a task I took as inspiration from a friend who completed the challenge in 2024. Due to a very film-heavy summer break and a convenient Film 101 course, I have already reached that goal, but I cannot help but wonder how the movies I chose to watch in this past year have been influenced by my Letterboxd account, and if I would have even given myself that goal in the first place if I did not have the app. I have always enjoyed the ability to organize and track my viewing habits, and compare with my peers our opinions on films, but I feel more influenced to choose a movie based on what is trending or what is deemed a good movie and not what I am in the mood to watch. After every Film 101 screening I have witnessed an immediate rush of Letterboxd reviews amongst other classmates accounts, but not once has there been a discussion after the screening. I am not criticizing myself or my classmates for getting up and moving on with our lives, but in a room full of people with ideas and excitement to talk about a piece of media we consumed, I find it fascinating that we love to log a few sentences into our phones and have not considered turning to the person sitting next to us and asking, “What did you think about that?”

    The community power of Letterboxd holds power, but it still confines you to a screen. With that, “choosing your four favourite movies has gone from a fun way to show off the films you love to a meticulously crafted presentation of how well you appreciate, understand and respect the artform of filmmaking” (Hope). With any social media platform, theres a multitude of reasons for advancement in connectivity. You will find stories of families reuniting or failing businesses finding success again and much more. Letterboxd is simply about movies but it is also about creativity, self-expression, and exploration. The top-four feature can mean a multitude of things to different users, but just as Hope expresses, Letterboxd is not immune to the fact that it is a social media platform, and its impact on the self-esteem and effort put in by users, especially young users, is still seen in various ways. Letterboxd has been around for a decade and a half, but as it is expanding rapidly, I am curious to see how the app survives future social trends. I hope that it continues to boost a love for cinema in the younger cohort, but not at the cost of film becoming a performative art rather than a genuine interest.

    Link to The Independent Article: https://www.the-independent.com/arts-entertainment/films/features/letterboxd-app-movies-celebrities-users-b2775948.html

    Link to Film East Article: https://www.film-east.com/s/stories/letterboxd

  • Do The Right Thing: A Masterclass in Historical Subjectivity

    Spike Lee exhibits the simple manipulation of truth in a less than three minute sequence in Do The Right Thing (Lee, 1989) that barely stands out in a film rich in commentary on American race relations. The scene unfolds as a young boy runs in front of a car excited for ice cream, and Da Mayor jumps out to save him, toppling both the child and himself. What the boy’s mother and other viewers of the incident see is the drunk mayor attacking a small child, and when the mother asks her son what happened, he does not want to admit that he ran in front of a car, so he lies and allows the belief that he was attacked to ensue. Da Mayor defends himself, and to his luck the mother believes him, but this simple scene represents exactly what historians, or anyone listening to a story for that matter, have to grapple with when understanding the past. The third party viewer, the mother, has to examine the evidence given to her, one that is true and one that is not, and determine what she believes to be true. If she believed her son, than that would be known as the perceived truth, regardless of what the actual truth of the story was.

    Da Mayor in Do The Right Thing

    This filmed is filled with examples of stories that can be easily manipulated, and have been. Each character’s perception, biases, and lived experiences influence how their outlook on society is. This is why Lee so urgently addresses throughout the film that the notion of a monolithic African American experience is not true, and that the idea of the “right thing” to do varies in generation, gender, class, age, and relation to those around you. It can be argued that many of the actions throughout this film were not the correct thing to do, because of what they led up to, but it can very well be argued with the contextualization of their singular perspective that they did the only “right” thing that they could in that moment.

    Furthermore, Spike Lee shows the manipulation of truth and justice through music, physical objects, and celebrities in media. The distinct differences in how characters view the world around them, both contrasted between races and within races, highlights how stereotypes are harmfully used to categorize groups, while remaining inaccurate. One person cannot represent all stereotypes at once. Still, this film is brimming with a multitude of themes and representation. There are moments of action and tension coupled with moments of connection and romance. This display of African American representation in film is still rare in today’s standards, and incredibly rare at the time of this film’s release. Lee is able to “fight the power” in his own medium, film, by directly addressing the large extent of experiences and attitudes held by communities in this neighborhood.

    My questions while watching this film were: what do you think the public reaction to this film was after its initial release, and how do you think that it translates to today’s society? Do you think that watching this film a second time would lead to a different perspective or clearer understanding on the character’s internal motivations, especially regarding the incidents leading up to the riot at the end? When do you know something in history is a complete objective truth, and when does this film feel like a commentary on the objective truths of its time and subjective truths of its time?

  • ETERNITY Advance Screening Invite

    Hello class! I have been on this email list ever since I saw A Complete Unknown (Mangold 2024) last December, and every once in a while I get offers to see advanced screenings of films. Besides the ability to see a major film before its release, these events usually feature really cool opportunities like Q+As with the actors/production team, merch giveaways, free food, dress up events, and other features that you wouldn’t normally get at a regular movie theater. Its also a super cool way to connect with other college students in Atlanta and its free to attend! Anyways the reason I am mentioning this is because I just got another email about the new A24 film Eternity starring Elizabeth Olsen, Miles Teller and Callum Turner this week and thought it might be of interest to some people in the class. Here are the details:

    Wednesday, November 12

    7PM @ Regal Atlantic Station

    RSVP FORM*: https://forms.office.com/pages/responsepage.aspx?id=eyk5BEZnPUeEqxjQbr8MNHc01kevvK9AnNaf1I1Zip1UMUxYRE5UUEg0V1M3UlpIWVlROUhDTERWNCQlQCNjPTEu&route=shorturl

    *Seating is first come, first serve. I recommend showing up early to ensure you get a seat!

    If anyone goes, let me know how it is, but if you can’t make it I would still suggest signing up to join the email list for future events!

  • Documentary and Ethics in Grey Gardens

    Back in September, I attended the Emory Cinematheque’s screening of Grey Gardens (Maysles, 1975), and knew I wanted to wait until the week on documentary to fully unpack what I had witnessed. In only 95 minutes, viewers are taken into the home of Edith and Edie Beale, also known as Big and Little Edie, an eccentric mother and daughter duo who are relatives of Jackie Kennedy Onassis living in their run down Long Island estate. The pair argue, sing, perform, share stories from their past life, and seemingly ignore the garbage-filled mess that is surrounding them. Ralf Webb of the White Review discusses the use of direct cinema, the ethics of the film, its historical impact, and more in his 2018 review: https://www.thewhitereview.org/feature/film-direct-cinema-grey-gardens-summer/

    Still of Little Edie from Grey Gardens, 1975

    What is fascinating about this documentary, compared to any others that I have seen, is its commitment to direct cinema, in which they committed to be invisible to the object they were observing without narrative form or musical overlay. In the golden rule, direct cinema is where “interaction with the subjects should never evolve into direction” (Webb). This was exemplified through many shots of Little Edie being interrupted by the calls of Big Edie in the background, or through the subjects consistently talking to the film crews, presenting that they were not restating or asking questions until they got an acceptable answer. Watching this film reminded me of the ethics discussed in class during the first week on Rear Window, however, and how voyeuristic attitudes are only validated when what is being watched has a purpose. This mother and daughter were only relevant due to their cousin’s status, and throughout the cinematheque moviegoers laughed at their remarks, which admittedly were funny throughout the film. Still, there was a clear exposition of two women in crisis, living amongst rodents, and are now solidified in history as entertainers.

    Big Edie sits amongst her run down estate

    Their story is seen through the eyes of the documentarians, and what is told is manipulated by the production of those making the film, not themselves. The film raises ethical questions because “the Maysles, it seems, are acting in bad faith: they’ve gained the Beales’ trust, maneuvered into their private lives, and act innocently inquisitive, when, in actuality, they’re wise to the documentary gold in front of them. I could not help but think of this when watching Paris is Burning (Livingston, 1991) and wonder if my own entertainment and knowledge acquired throughout the film was ethical. Still, I believe that documentary holds a power in solidifying parts of history that may go underrepresented, and maintain the capacity to amplify voices in ways that would not be for forever. Big and Little Edie do get their stories told to the world, as do the subjects of Livignston’s Paris is Burning that would not be exposed to such a wide audience without the oppurtunity.

    Albert and David Maysles pose with Big and Little Edie

    Big and Little Edie have been remembered through movie adaptations, a Broadway show, and drag queen interpretations. After Grey Gardens‘ was released, Little Edie noted feeling accomplished in her portrayal of the film, “as though the power to partly construct a filmic version of her own reality gave her some freedom from it” (Webb). Theories like Webb’s remind us not to look too personally into the lives of the subjects we watch in these films. After spending an hour and a half with Big and Little Edie, it is easy to feel as though one can make generalizations about their lives as a whole. That is just an hour and a half of years of living in Grey Gardens, and the documentary could have been different if filmed at any other point in life.

    Grey Gardens (musical), 2006

  • Narrative Form and Cinema of Attractions in About Time

    In this weeks reading on narrative form, we learn how events in film unfold through causality, time, and space within a coherent diegesis, the film’s world of story action. Temporal relations, such as order and duration, also guide how audiences process the story such as whether events are shown chronologically or through flashbacks and repetitions. This structure provides clarity, creates emotional and thematic unity, and leads viewers toward resolution and meaning.

    In my favorite film, About Time (Curtis, 2013), narrative form is approached in a unique way, because the main character, Tim, is able to time travel to points in his life. The film plays with temporal order by repeating events in new variations, allowing viewers to compare how choices shape meaning. Duration, or how time is represented, varies across the film from quick rewinds to long stretches of lived experience. By the end, when Tim stops time traveling and embraces the present, the pacing slows. The audience feels the emotional weight of time by the end because the narrative stops manipulating it.

    Tim’s narration unifies these shifts in time and space. His reflective voiceover anchors the audience during a nonlinear storyline, shaping understanding of both the story itself and his internal transformation throughout.

    In Tom Gunning’s essay, he looks at an earlier stage of cinema before narrative form became dominant. He defines early film as a “cinema of attractions,” where the emphasis was on showing rather than telling. These films directly addressed the audience, highlighting spectacle, novelty, and surprise rather than character development or plot. Gunning argues that while later narrative cinema wanted to immerse viewers in a continuous story, the cinema of attractions invites awareness of the act of looking. Cinema was about the experience of seeing and being amazed by motion and illusion.

    About Time also contains moments of cinematic attraction in Gunning’s sense. The time-travel sequences momentarily pull viewers out of the story to look at the visual spectacle of time manipulation itself. These instances seem to pause narrative progression for the purpose of emotional spectacle.

    For example, when Tim relives an ordinary childhood day on the beach with his father after learning of his death, the scene functions less as narrative advancement and more as what Gunning would call a “cinema of attractions”: a moment of direct emotional address to the viewer. The slow pacing, golden lighting, and sense of suspended time invite viewers to live in the experience and be in awe of the ocean’s beauty with them, rather than think about the future. It’s an attraction not of shock, as in early cinema, but of sentiment—a spectacle of feeling. The story pauses and time itself seems to hold still. It’s not about narrative logic anymore but about emotion, the beauty of the moment, and the connection between father and son. These scenes remind viewers of film’s power to manipulate and reshape time and shape, creating a sense of wonder that is distinct from the plot’s emotional or overarching “romcom” narrative arc. It reminds viewers that Tim is not on a quest to fall in love with a woman, but rather on a quest to fall in love with life itself.

  • Singin’ in the Rain: Encapsulating a Feeling

    While regarded as “pure entertainment” without much substance, musicals are equipped with capabilities that traditional films are not. The characters in musicals can express themselves fully through song and dance, in a way that is unnatural in any other setting. They can profess their love, declare their passions, and reveal their innermost thoughts. Throughout Singin’ in the Rain (1952), the use of musical numbers is vital to contrasting the theme of superficiality and allows characters to translate their innermost feelings through song and dance.

    From “Good Morning,” a number key to signifying the optimistic outcome of the film

    As a group of performers, the characters in this film know how to best express themselves through the extravagant means of large sets, flashy costumes, or big show-stopping numbers. When Don Lockwood expresses his love for Kathy Selden during “You Were Meant For Me” he takes her to an empty soundstage, illuminating her with lights, a blowing wind, and a hazy pinkish purple background. The mise-en-scene is vital in this scene, as it places the viewer into the consciousness of the film being a film, reminding them of the aspects of a soundstage. The sound, however, works to transform this conscious realization, as the song takes over and the couple then sings together and dances as if their romance had been a choreographed routine that feels just right. The contrast of the soundstage to the genuine feelings of Don and Kathy represent the films overarching theme of being “in” and “out” of sync, they dance in sync, yet Don still needs his artificial setting to express his authentic emotions to Kathy.

    From “You Were Meant For Me”

    Later in the movie, during the over-the-top “Broadway Melody” that reflects on Don’s past career, a ballet dream sequence is employed, and is incredibly similar to that of “You Were Meant For Me.” What is noticeably different in this number is the lack of sound stage equipment. This could be because this is how Don remembers this moment in his past, not as a scene in a film but a true representation of his love for Kathy. It could also serve as a way to remind viewers of this scene, without reminding them of the film within a film aspect at all, and let themselves get swept away in the theatrics and emotions of it all. Regardless, this entire sequence of the film is supposed to take place in the mind of Don, showing his true memories of his success story, his love story, and how he envisions himself.

    From “Broadway Melody”

    Feelings of true love are not the only ones evoked through song throughout this film. The slapstick number “Make ‘Em Laugh” utilizes sound effects to both provide comedic effect and help the viewers visualization. Using Cosmo’s language of song to give a pep talk to his friend, and make the actual film viewers laugh, actor Donald O’Connor is able to express through his character and himself a translation of comedy. The non-diegetic implementation of music throughout the film both reminds the viewers of the artificial element that this film has in its nature, being a film, but evokes feelings throughout that allow viewers to forget these realizations and again lose themselves in the entertainment.

    What can we learn about the significance of movie musicals after watching Singin’ in the Rain? How would Singin’ in the Rain have been changed if not for the dramatic, cheesy songs and dance numbers, and had instead focused on a more realistic interpretation of reality?

  • Douglas Sirk: The Great Melodramatic Philosopher

    The moment the end credits rolled in, All That Heaven Allows, I was fixated on two aspects of the film. The first being the implementation of the deer, which seemed to keep reappearing when I least expected it, and the second being my amazement at how powerful this tale of female individualism told in the 1950s was. I was curious to learn of the creative who put this together, and decided to do so in a melodramatic fashion. In a 2015 article, film critic Richard Brody writes about Sirk’s work as a director Sirk’s work as a director in The New Yorker Magazine, highlighting his thematic contributions to history as “crackpot philosophers and identity-shifters” (Brody). Sirk built a world in his films in which his characters were outsiders to their societies, but made monumental changes that took a philosophical stance on society and all of its dysfunctions. Sirk was known for his melodramas, and his comedic ability. He creates movies about widows, career oriented women, children, and racial injustice, among others.

    His stories are presented in this melodramatic fashion as a way to express complex and underrepresented realities, but with a genuine lesson attached to them. Take All That Heaven Allows for example, a film seemingly about a love affair between an older widow and her younger gardener. The scene where the film’s protagonist, Cary, finds a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden” and not only reads but discusses a portion of the book’s message to march at the beat of her own drum displays how “Sirk doubles Thoreau on himself, showing American philosophy not as an academic discipline but as the residue of a way of life, a trace of vital and ongoing experience” (Brody). Sirk is not only imparting life lessons on his characters, but he is doing so to his audience in a way that is tangible and relatable. American philosophy would be easier understood from a melodrama, rather than a textbook. Sirk is also giving Cary a permanent solution in this film, one where she and Ron choose to live away from both of their lifestyles in their new home, rather than a temporary rebellious moment for a happy movie ending that the audience knows would realistically never work.

    As Brody describes the different films that Sirk has created, the consistent theme of self-determination is apparent. He focuses on an American dream tale that is not commonly told, but still possible. In Week-End with Father (1951) there is representation of a woman wanting to continue her career even after marriage and having children. In Imitation of Life (1959), Sirk addresses the racial inequities in Hollywood cinema and calls out codes of silence. Brody states that he does not simply contribute to cinematic history, but to the history of thought as a whole.

    I wonder if the political climate of his time made a lot of the messaging in his films more subtle, or if you think that the use of melodrama helped Sirk to make his messages almost too glaringly obvious? Was the dramatic storytelling a way to share his philosophical ideas, or were they a deeper layer in his film?

    Link to article:

    https://www.newyorker.com/culture/richard-brody/douglas-sirks-glorious-cinema-of-outsiders

  • How do we make sense of the universe?

    Mark Levinson’s The Universe in a Grain of Sand (2024) stems from one of the most fascinating questions that has been asked throughout human history: how do we make sense of the world we live in? The documentary combines the scientific explanations from IBM researchers, technological historians, computer scientists, and more with the works of artists in all fields ranging from sculptors, experimental filmmakers, and even famous painters such as Van Gogh or Picasso. The small selection of extraordinary individuals in this film represent the expansive amount of human contribution to answering the question of what our place in this world is, and how to understand how journey in this universe. It truly puts the viewer through an existential crisis of sorts, but reminds them of their capacity to learn.

    Levinson takes science and art, two fields notoriously different from one another, and argues for their necessity to collaborate. Without science, we cannot create memory banks to capture human progress, and create tools to better our society and our intrinsic curiosity of the world. Without art, we cannot capture the deeply human emotions that we feel and express that to others, and connect in ways that even the most advanced quantum computers can try. The artists featured in this film would likely never have guessed their work to be shown alongside explanations of complicated physics, but it is quite beautiful to remember that art can never mean one thing, and the meaning of the universe has no one answer. As said in the film, who would have thought that the sands of the deserts thousands of years ago could have brought up to the world we live in today?

  • Jaws: An Exploration of the “Great White” Unknown

    When I walked into Emory Cinematheque’s viewing of the 1975 blockbuster Jaws, I braced myself for two hours of bloody waters and jump scares. What I did not realize was that I was about to experience a tale of manhood, pride, and the deep effects that fear can have on not only an individual but a community as a whole. I would preface the rest of this blog post with a spoiler warning, but it seems as though I am one of the last people to have not seen Steven Spielberg’s groundbreaking summer blockbuster, which I learned was a pioneer for the film marketing industry. Even my seven-year-old camper, who spent an entire lunch block describing to me the genius of John Williams, was surprised at the news that I had yet to see Jaws.

    I must admit, however, my reasoning for not having seen this film in the first place is quite ironic now that I have seen it, as it contributes to the greater purpose of Jaws entirely. In its simplicity, the film concentrates on the fear of what is not seen. The most obvious fear is the shark attacking the community of Amity Island, which goes unseen for a large portion of the movie.

    The strategic decision to make the audience see the early attacks from the shark’s point of view builds suspense and leaves the horror of the creature to the imagination of the viewer. The use of framing throughout the film to show the expansiveness of the ocean reminds characters in the film and viewers alike of the isolated nature of boat life, and instills a sense of fear when the shark attacks.

    The fear in Jaws is not exclusive to the terror below the surface. The mayor fears the uncertainty of his town’s success without the summer crowd, leading him to continue allowing Fourth of July operations. Quint was afraid of displaying signs of weakness, destroying a radio that could have potentially given the men help. The confrontations of these men, learning when their pride is hiding their fear, there are moments of vulnerability and progress. Viewers may not be able to resonate with the experience of being attacked by sharks, but they can understand the effects that masculinity has on the confines of society.

    When confronting my own fear, which admittedly is horror movies, I can see the reason movies like Jaws have resonated with millions for 50 years. I was surprised by not only the largely comedic tone of the film but also the depth of the character building. One audience member commented on how horror movies of the present day focus more on the scare factor and less on the world-building, making the deaths of their characters less impactful to the overall film. Quint’s monologue about his experience on the USS Indianapolis, crafted with a shallow depth of field focus, leaves viewers to mourn his death in a way that they may not have had Jaws been made in 2025.

    I must be honest, I likely would have never gotten around to seeing Jaws if not for Emory Cinematheque’s feature. I was luckily reminded that the possibilities of fears, even small ones, can halt us from experiencing iconic pieces of cinematic history. This was an enjoyable night at the cinema, but also a reminder to confront what is under the surface in life, as even great whites can be fought.

  • Lights, Camera, Mise-en-Scene!

    This past week’s reading on Mise-en-Scene was a revealing explanation of the components that are brought together in film. While it may seem common sense that there is thought put into costumes and makeup, setting, lighting, and staging of a scene, it is fascinating to read how they all intertwine to set a tone for the audience. Mise-en-Scene can also be utilized to contribute to the form of a film, such as when a film’s motif is seen through Mise-en Scene. An example of this would be the red coat in Schindler’s List (1993), a film otherwise entirely in black and white. It is up to the viewer’s interpretation of how the Mise-en-Scene can be used to shape the form and meaning of a film, but it still does have a large impact.

    One example of Mise-en-Scene that came to mind when reading was the monochromatic color design of But I’m a Cheerleader (1999). Throughout the film, which takes place at a fictional conversion camp, the set and costumes are obnoxiously pink or blue.

    The perfectly pink world of this conversion camp filled with bright props of common chores of a stereotypical mother in a nuclear family. It looks nothing like a real household, and the design of it contrasts the hair and makeup design of the women living in it. Furthermore, the brightly lit rooms of the camp, likely created by a key light and fill light, are starkly contrasted when the members of the camp leave and go to a bar where they can be their truest selves.

    In this bar scene, the stark change in costuming and lighting is immediately noticeable. The use of low-key lighting highlights how different this setting is from the uncanny conversion camp, and reminds the viewers that this is a safer, quieter space for the characters on screen. There is no pink to be seen, the characters are able to be their truest selves in this scene. Mise-en-Scene is a vital tool throughout But I’m a Cheerleader to satirically comment on the construction of gendered norms in society and call attention to the artificiality of conversion camps.

    Has anyone else who read about Mise-en-Scene thought of a film they had watched in the past that utilized excellent Mise-en-Scene that they may have overlooked beforehand? I also wonder if there is a scene that comes to mind that could have been enhanced with a better concentration on Mise-en-Scene?