Genre, Auteurism, and Spielberg

French filmmaker and critic Francois Truffaut has a major acting role in Steven Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind. It's an appropriate tribute by Spielberg to Truffaut, for the cinema in which Spielberg was to become the leading world figure was very much based on the notions of auteurism which Truffaut had been central to introducing to criticism. His career reflects the principles of auteurism as much as it owes its success to the assumptions of directorial responsibility and authority that this theory brought about. Yet Spielberg's success raises interesting questions, as it has occurred within the supposedly industrial (and hence genre based) Hollywood system. How does an auteur of such power (creatively and financially) operate within the genre system? Is their a place for true auteurs within the genre framework? Or, to turn the question around: is their room for a genre framework within auteurism?

Before addressing these questions it's worth giving an abbreviated history of each critical movement to try and give some idea of the rivalry that they have historically presented. Accounts of the idea of auteurism⁽²⁾ locate the starting point in 1948, with the publication of Alexandre Astruc's "The birth of a new avant-garde: la camera-stylo," which put forth the idea of cinema as a form for the expression of the thoughts of "the artist⁽³⁾." It was in 1954, however, with Francois Truffaut's article "Une certaine tendance du cinema francais" in Cahiers du Cinema that the politique des auteurs was first explicitly defined. Truffaut's article attacked the dominant modes of critical thought at the time (which devoted most praise to works showing clear "psychological realism," and which was, according to Truffaut, overly literary in approach) and stated instead that the measure of a film should be the extent to which it expressed something truly personal⁽⁴⁾. This of course, presupposed that one figure (the auteur) could impose their creative will on a project, and the auteur theory assumed that this figure was the director. This became one of the chief principles underlying criticism in Cahiers. The idea crossed over into English-language criticism principally through the work of Andrew Sarris (who was responsible for the much criticised⁽⁵⁾ translation of "politique des auteurs" as "auteur theory"). The Cahiers critics and (especially) Sarris saw the invoking of such a "hidden" artist figure as a way of overthrowing current snobbish attitudes towards cinema that assumed that American cinema's industrial processes precluded the production of great art. Of course, in doing so, they imposed their own ideology and their own snobbery (the distinction between auteur and mere metteur-en-scene⁽⁶⁾, for example) but that should not distract from the fundamental value of the analysis, if only in that it placed American cinema back on the agenda.

The origins of genre criticism, meanwhile, are less clear cut, as it is a tradition imported from outside the cinema⁽⁷⁾. In literature, ideas of genre can be traced as far back as Aristotle, who tried to identify different styles of literature and identify the traits associated with each. More disciplinarian versions of this idea turned these descriptions into prescriptions, and the idea of genre was further sub-divided. Hence we can go beyond divisions such as drama, poetry, and fiction and onward into divisions such as tragedy, epic and satire. This was a pre-existing strain of criticism (even if, as Edward Buscombe⁽⁸⁾ points out, it wasn't a particularly reputable one) and hence had been present in one form or another since the earliest days of film criticism: there is not an easily definable moment at which the theory was introduced as with auteurism. However, Pam Cook⁽⁹⁾ traces the evolution of current genre criticism back to Andre Bazin's essays on the Western in the fifties, which reacted to the extremes of auteurism⁽¹⁰⁾ that had followed his own journal's development of the approach. English-language genre criticism really started to emerge in the mid-60s to early 1970s. As Thomas Schatz⁽¹¹⁾ points out, however, there is a crucial difference between literary genre theory and the genre theory practised in film criticism. Literary genre theory uses genres as a categorisation method, a way of organising texts. Whilst the author and reader may well be aware of these critical frameworks, this is not necessarily the case. In film criticism, however, genre came to be intricately linked with the idea of cinema as industry. Genres make filmmaking more efficient (by allowing the re-use of plots, sets and the like) as well as more marketable (by using generic conventions as a way of "selling" the film to the audience⁽¹²⁾). Genres in film, therefore, were seen as more than arbitrary: they originated at the level of production.

This survey of auteurism and genre puts us at a point where we can pinpoint the nature of the conflict between the two. In literary theory, the notion of the single artist (which always was less problematic than filmic auteur theory, given the non-collaborative nature of most literature) does not conflict so greatly with notions of genre, because genres were always seen as a critical construct. These ideas might be drawn on by the author, and there might be generic rules that guided styles of writing, yet fundamentally the creation process remains with the author, who is easily identifiable. In film, however, not only is the true author a more elusive figure (with the director, screenwriter, and in the studio era, the producer, all having strong claims to the position), but genre theorists committed themselves strongly to two extra notions that strengthened the role of genre. Firstly, as mentioned, they emphasised the role of genre as an economic force. Secondly, some genre theorists introduced ideas from authors such as Levi-Strauss and Vladimir Propp⁽¹³⁾ that looked at the way genres represented universal narratives that played out deep concerns of society. These two rationales (though admittedly not usually applied simultaneously) between them more or less covered the creative process at both conscious and subconscious levels, thus accrediting genres with very strong dominance in the creative process. Whilst there might be a fair scope for creative individuals to shape a film within this framework, it hardly seems to ascribe the auteur (whether they're producer, director, screenwriter, dolly grip, or whatever) with the creative dominance that auteurist analyses would like to. Both approaches seem to have some validity, yet they seem to make conflicting claims for the same ground.

Which approach applies best to Spielberg, and does this provide any clue as to how we should treat this theoretical conflict? We can start by establishing that clearly, when he started making films, Spielberg was a genre director. His first film, a TV movie that gained theatrical release in some countries, was the highly acclaimed Duel (1971)⁽¹⁴⁾, a suspense film about a motorist being terrorised by a truck. After two more TV thrillers, he directed The Sugarland Express (1974), which was critically well received but not financially successful (an ironic counterpoint to later reactions to his work). This was followed the next year by Jaws (1975), which became a huge worldwide success and made him a household name. These early films, made before he was famous and influential, see Spielberg's emerging reputation based purely upon his skill at orchestrating two elements: suspense and action. The proficiency with which he did so suggested that this was a field in which he would continue to work, and in the old studio system he might have done so: Pauline Kael's comparison in her review of The Sugarland Express to Howard Hawks seems particularly apt⁽¹⁵⁾.

Yet, after Jaws, Spielberg took advantage of his position of power and pointedly avoided fulfilling these expectations. Whilst he continued to direct action (the three Indiana Jones films), he would not make another film in the suspense field until Jurassic Park (1993). Of all his work since 1975, only his two science fiction films (Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and E.T: The Extra Terrestrial (1982)) have fit easily into anything but the loosest genre categories (and science fiction is a pretty loose category anyway). From 1982, with E.T., Spielberg's works have shown a remarkable thematic unity, and despite their populism, have explored many issues close to his heart. Douglas Brode, in The Films of Steven Spielberg⁽¹⁶⁾, traces this passage of increasing maturity convincingly: from exploration of childhood dreams in Close Encounters, E.T., Poltergeist (1982) and Empire of the Sun (1987); a look at balancing work and personal commitments in Always (1989); issues of his own fatherhood in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989) and Hook (1991); to a detailed examination of his cultural background in Schindler's List (1993). Most writing on Spielberg's career has taken an auteurist approach⁽¹⁷⁾ for just this very reason (though the thematic threads they trace are sometimes rather different to Brode's). Despite the copious references in his films to classic movies of the Hollywood era, on the key thematic level his work links with little but itself. His borrowings are usually technical (as with the dolly out / zoom in shot of Brody in Jaws, which apes a shot in Vertigo (1958)⁽¹⁸⁾ or simply tributes to past masters (such as the cropdusting helicopters in Close Encounters, which recall North by Northwest (1959)).

This might seem to fit with the auteurist model of a director gradually rising above the material, going from a lowly metteur en scene to a true auteur, with the later works exhibiting more of a personal touch. This is one way of having genre and auteurism coincide: we simply place genre as subservient to auteurism. Genre is what you have if you don't have an auteur, and the auteur's job is to rise above genre, expressing his or her own concerns. Fundamentally, genre and auteur have very similar roles, after all: they both act as a thematic linking device between films. If there is no auteur, these thematic links are determined by a collaboration, tempered by industrial processes, and hence standard generic forms emerge. With an auteur, we get something personal, and more worthwhile.

Is this fair, though? After all, Spielberg is an unusual case. Firstly, he is not the kind of filmmaker that the first auteur theorists were talking about. He is not a neglected filmmaker being championed after the fact for the "hidden" meanings in his work: rather, he was a well known filmmaker, under intense scrutiny, being quite open about the meanings in his work. This leads on to the second, more crucial point: he is not working in the same Hollywood that the Cahiers critics wrote about. Auteurism, as a theory, has altered the critical landscape so much that it has become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The polemical power of the Cahiers work (as well as Sarris'), combined with changing Hollywood practices (specifically, the demise of the studio system and hence old style moguls and producers), has created a landscape in which the director is king. Producers can fire screenwriters without a second thought, but firing a director is simply not an option: hence Jaws had contributions by six screenwriters⁽¹⁹⁾ in order to get it right, yet Spielberg held his position despite the production being a famously troubled one⁽²⁰⁾.

Hollywood now expects the auteur, and will treat every new director, regardless of talent, as one: it is now routine for directors to receive "A Film By. . ." or "A [Insert Unknown Director's Name Here] Film" credit no matter what their credentials. In this environment, can we expect a particularly famous director's concerns to do anything but overwhelm genres? The whole point of auteurism originally was that it took especially talented filmmakers with strong personal points of view to get their message through the system. When this framework no longer applies, it seems reasonable to rethink the approach. Auteurism reacted against the undervaluing of directors due to snobbishness about the genre system: genre studies reacted against the undervaluing of generic influences that the auteurist critics had used to eliminate this snobbishness. Theories proposed in attempts to redress a perceived injustice may tend to be excessive themselves, so the approach that seems likely to be most rewarding is to scale back the excesses and find common ground.

Common ground, in fact, is astonishingly easy to come across. Genre theorists (probably because they were concentrating on American cinema, a field opened up to the critic by auteurist pioneers) have, in fact, taken an approach that is very similar to that of auteurist critics. Thus, Thomas Schatz's Hollywood Genres looks at genres from a decidedly auteurist viewpoint: westerns are discussed in terms of the work of John Ford, melodramas through the works of Douglas Sirk and Nicholas Ray, screwball comedies through the works of Frank Capra⁽²¹⁾. While introducing ideas of generic codes and evolution does, undeniably, open up the analysis and change its focus considerably, the range of work examined is still limited to the same auteur pin-up boys that Cahiers had lionised in the fifties. Of course, genre theorists have acknowledged the problem of such limited viewpoints⁽²²⁾ (indeed, the closely related problem of defining the range of films that make up a genre is one of the classic problems in genre analysis⁽²³⁾). Yet the fact that it is even possible to discuss these two ideological frameworks through the same bodies of work shows how similar the two theories actually are.

I have already made the point that both auteur and genre theories propose different mechanisms for essentially the same process: namely, the attribution of unity (be it thematic, stylistic, or otherwise) to groups of films. Yet critics using either framework have to avoid a number of traps when identifying these common threads. Common traits might be identified that are completely incidental and insignificant: for example, I might point out that in Spielberg's films, fences are often used as a dominant element of the mise-en-scene (and they are: within the opening minutes of Duel, Jaws and Close Encounters, and at critical points in E.T., The Color Purple (1985), and Empire of the Sun)). Yet The Color Purple is the only film in which I would dare attribute some kind of thematic meaning to the device: apparently, Spielberg just likes the look of fences. Yet if I did pick up on this element, I would hit the second problem: meanings may be attached to common threads which stem from other sources. For genre critics, the most severe danger here is mapping their own opinions and worldview onto the canvas of the genre. Hence Tag Gallagher⁽²⁴⁾ points out that Schatz's notions of generic evolution and the naivete of early westerns may be shaped by his own historical position. For auteurist critics, too, this problem exists, but they must also beware of attributing universal themes to individual directors. Thus Fereydoun Hoveyda admitted in Cahiers: "all our favourite auteurs were, ultimately, talking about the same things. The "constants" of their particular universes belonged to everyone."⁽²⁵⁾ Either way, the problem is clear: this style of criticism may over-simplify by ascribing too much significance to the roles of auteurs or genres in creating any given trait.

If the need for auteurist analysis to claim this ground as solely their own (which had enormous significance in the fifties when Hollywood directors were so underrated, but is less important now) is relaxed, then the resolution of such problems becomes more obvious. Auteurism and genre can be placed as parallel processes, with both simultaneously shaping a film's meaning and its relationship with the audience. The film becomes a result of different pulls. From the genre side, the film is affected by previous genre films and the generic codes and expectations that arise from them. On the auteurist side, the film is influenced by the characteristic concerns of its director as well as (and in varying degrees depending upon the circumstances) those of the screenwriter, producer or other collaborators. The end product can be seen as the product of these differing influences: in each case, different elements will exert different pulls and the balance between personal concerns and genre conventions will shift. This approach is messy and unsatisfying, but it has the advantage of avoiding the incorrect attribution of thematic or stylistic elements that is likely to result when everything is attributed to one cause. It also dodges a few traditional traps of auteurism, such as undervaluing screenwriters.

Turning to Spielberg, then, we can see these forces shifting through his career, and generate a slightly more realistic (though, in this context, necessarily truncated) picture of his career. His early work represents a director of considerable skill at work, but, notably, he is only able to influence the style of the films he worked on, rather than altering them at a thematic level. Jaws, however, became a massive hit, and the auteur-dominated critical landscape gave most of the credit to him. This gave him huge power: as well as demanding large budgets, he could write the script for his next work (Close Encounters) himself. After his next film (1941 (1979)) flopped, his power was slightly diminished, and on Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) he was more of a hired hand, with the concerns of the producer / screenwriter (George Lucas) showing more of an influence. With that another huge success he could realise his most personal project, E.T., though notably by this stage his concerns were well enough known that other screenwriters could write effectively for him. After an Indiana Jones sequel, two attempts at increasing his range followed (The Color Purple and Empire of the Sun): both drew criticism for imposing Spielberg's concerns on source material for which they were not appropriate. By Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade the balance of power had shifted enough that Spielberg's own pet issues (at this point, fatherhood) could be more clearly seen past Lucas' salute to old serials. Always and Hook involved more personal issues yet again, though somewhat awkwardly grafted into generic contexts in which the attitudes seemed somewhat incongruous. With Jurassic Park fulfilling audience expectations of his work and providing a welcome return to financial success, Spielberg was then able to realise yet another very personal project: Schindler's List.

The issue, then, is not finding a place for auteurism within study of genres, or even a place for genres within the study of auteurs. This is, essentially, impossible, because auteurs are not an influence that can really be slotted within genres (and vice versa). Auteurs act outside of, and in competition with, the genre system. As annoying as it may be, the influence of each should be evaluated with an eye on the other.

Notes

1. The course being "Genre Studies" at Melbourne University; Spielberg wasn't actually studied, but I got permission to do him anyway.(Back)

2. My principle sources for the history of auteurism are: Buscombe, Edward, "Ideas of Authorship," 1973, in Caughie, 1981, pp 22-34; Hillier, Jim, Cahiers du Cinema, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, 1985, pp 1-8; and Caughie himself in Caughie, John, Theories of Authorship, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London, 1981, pp 9-15. (Back)

3. Caughie, 1981, op. cit., p. 9. (Back)

4. Buscombe, 1973, op. cit., p. 23. (Back)

5. By all the sources listed in endnote 2, for example. (Back)

6. The distinction being that a metteur en scene may be technically proficient but has "no truly personal style." John Huston was one director cited in this category. Buscombe, op. cit., p.23-24. (Back)

7. My principle sources for the history of genre criticism are: Cook, Pam (ed), The Cinema Book, London, 1980, pp 58-64; and Buscombe, Edward, "The Idea of Genre in the American Cinema," 1970, in Grant, Barry, (ed.), Film Genre Reader, University of Texas, Austin, 1986, pp. 14-24. (Back)

8. Buscombe, 1970, op. cit., p.12. (Back)

9. Cook, 1980, op. cit., p. 58. (Back)

10. I have not established exactly which essays Cook is referring to as the references are to a 1971 anthology which I have not gained access to. However, three essays along these lines in Hillier's volume of Cahiers translations confirm the thrust of Bazin's thinking at this time: "Beauty of a Western," (1956); "An exemplary Western," (1957); and "On the politique des auteurs (1957). All from: Hillier, 1985, op. cit., pp. 165-168, 169-172, & 248-259. (Back)

11. Schatz, Thomas, Hollywood Genres, McGraw-Hill, New York, 1981, pp. 15-16. (Back)

12. Schatz, 1981, op. cit., pp. 3-11. (Back)

13. Both mentioned during this course and discussed in Cook, 1980, op. cit. (Back)

14. Basic filmography and biographical details of Steven Spielberg are taken from Brode, Douglas, The Films of Steven Spielberg, Citadel Press, New York, 1995, except as otherwise noted. (Back)

15. Originally anthologised in Reeling, but my source is Kael, Pauline, For Keeps, Dutton / Penguin, New York, 1994, pp 559-561. An eerily prescient review that extracts would not do justice to. (Back)

16. Brode, 1995, op. cit. (Back)

17. For example, Brode, 1995, op. cit.; Mott, Donald, Steven Spielberg, Twayne Publishers, Boston, 1986; and Taylor, Phillip, Steven Spielberg, B.T. Batsford Limited, London, 1992. (Back)

18. Bordwell, David, & Thompson, Kristin, Film Art: An Introduction, Fourth Edition, McGraw-Hill, New York, 1993, p. 225. (Back)

19. The six being Peter Benchley, Howard Sackler, John Milius, castmembers Carl Gottlieb and Robert Shaw, as well as Spielberg himself. See Brode, 1995, op. cit., p. 50, and (for Robert Shaw's involvement) Griffin, Nancy, In the Grip of "Jaws", Premiere Magazine, October 1995, p. 96. (Back)

20. For discussion of the impossibility of firing a director (including reference to Spielberg on Jaws) see Bach, Steven, Final Cut: Dreams and Disaster in the Making of Heaven's Gate, Faber and Faber, London, 1985, pp. 262-267. (Back)

21. Schatz, 1981, op. cit., Chapters 3, 6 & 8. (Back)

22. For example, in: Altman, Rick, The American Film Musical, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1987, Chapter 5. (Back)

23. As in Altman, 1987, op. cit. and Buscombe, 1973, op. cit., p. 12-13. (Back)

24. Gallagher, Tag, "Shoot-Out at the Genre Corral: Problems in the `Evolution' of the Western," 1986, in Grant, Barry (ed), Film Genre Reader, University of Texas, Austin, 1986, pp 202-215. (Back)

25. Fereydon Hovedya, "Sunspots," 1960, in Hillier, Jim (ed), Cahiers du Cinema: Volume 2, the 1960s, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London, 1986, p. 142. (Back)