Final Paper

“We’ll be listening to you.” This phrase sparks the final unraveling of a man on the edge of his sanity in Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation. The heartbreaking last scene of this film encompasses nearly all the key themes of the tragic story. Through aspects of editing, cinematography, sound, and mise-en-scène the final sequence not only highlights Caul’s characteristics and his dramatic descent into desolation, but also emphasizes the audiences understanding of the pervasive nature of voyeurism, the destructive power of paranoia, and the illusion of security. The editing of the final scene, although perhaps the least notable of the four aspects, still plays an important role in heightening the tension of Caul’s downfall. The first half of the scene consists primarily of longer, steady cuts, allowing the tension to simmer before it explodes. It is not until Caul destroys his Virgin Mary statue that the pacing of the edits increase, along with the tempo and drama of the music, to emphasize Caul’s faster and faster decent into madness. By cutting quickly from Caul destroying one thing to another, in his search for any trace of a bug or surveillance device in his apartment, emphasizes his panic, which climaxes as he rips up his floorboards. At this point, Caul sits completely disheartened and beat, and the editing appropriately returns to a more steady, downtrodden pace. In addition to the editing accentuating the intensity of the scene, it also reminds the audience of Caul’s initial invasion of privacy through the use of a brief insert. After the footage of Caul destroying the floorboards in his apartment, Coppola cuts to a insert of the couple, the man and woman whom Caul recorded in the city square. This insert serves as a reminder that Caul was originally the one doing the spying —prying into people’s private affairs was, after all, his job. The irony, however, is that it is by the very same form of voyeurism that he applied to the couple, that he himself feels threatened and trapped. Caul lives in a world of paranoia, of which he is both a creator and a victim, and the quick insert of Caul’s previous targets highlights that paradox. Closely related to the editing, the cinematography in this scene also makes it one of the film’s most memorable. The cinematography particularly emphasizes Caul’s isolation and disparity. It also highlights and completes the character’s transformation to a victim and creates a further sense of voyeurism for the audience itself. The scene begins with a medium close-up shot of Caul playing the saxophone in his apartment. The telephone rings, and there is a slow pan to the telephone, where the camera rests, as if to emphasize its intrusion into Caul’s safe and secure environment. When Caul begins an impassioned search of his apartment, one particular shot, the camera revolving around Caul as he looks around the room, not only clearly isolates Caul spatially within the room, mirroring his own isolation from the rest of society, but also visualizes Caul’s entrapment within this threatening world of surveillance. The movement starts from his point of view and circles around the room with him at the center. The camera movement is reminiscent of the circular panning that is present when Caul first enters the hotel room, where he believes a murder has taken place—another instance in which paranoia had Caul fully in its grasp. Caul feels paralyzed in the hotel room, caught up in the story because of his own involvement through a snooping look and a secret listen. It is fair to say that his invasions of other’s privacy have trapped him in this increasingly sinister plot. Back in the apartment scene, it is as if the camera movement again represents this idea that he is trapped because of his own prying—visually trapped within a gaze that he himself initiated. The points of view of two additional shots in this scene create the sense that it is now Caul who is being watched and provide the audience with the sense that they are invading his privacy. The shot from the angle of the telephone is one example, but more prominent is the shot that pans, mirroring Caul’s gaze, to the Virgin Mary statue right before he rips it apart. Both of those shots emphasize the fact that they stem from a distant source, implying the presence of somebody else — an absent other. This particular point of view creates the sense that the audience is now being voyeuristic, and Caul’s transformation, from an outsider looking in, to an attempted mediator of murder, and ultimately, to an isolated victim of voyeurism is complete. The audience realizes Caul’s ambiguous role in this film. Throughout the film, the audience is watching the story unfold as Caul, through his point of view, but at the same time the audience is looking at Caul as a troubled individual, alienated from the story with which he is so obsessed. The point of view of an absent other in this final scene reminds the audience of Caul’s two roles. The viewers at this point definitively seems to be the surveillance expert looking in, completing Caul’s transformation and reminding the viewers of the pervasiveness of surveillance. The very last shot of the scene exemplifies some of the same themes. Now completely disconnected from Caul’s own point of view, the last shot is one of an indifferent gaze, as if that from a security camera perched high on the wall, that scans the destroyed room, no longer focusing on anything in particular. Again, this use of cinematography forces the audience into an act of voyeurism and mimics the techniques Caul previously used to spy on others. The audience can now see that Caul is trapped and ruined by his own methods; he is an outsider within his own deconstructed home. The relentless panning of the camera in this final shot allows the audience to relish this elemental irony and come to the realization that Caul’s whole sense of security, sense of privacy, and understanding of his own profession and way of life have been shattered. Another key aspect of The Conversation is its use of sound. The sound in the last scene is no exception. First of all, non-diegetic music in this scene very much compliments the editing in that it heightens the drama and contributes to the tension. The music emphasizes the sense of panic that is evidenced by Caul’s increasingly frantic actions after he smashes the Virgin Mary figurine. This music at this point has a strong, steady beat of dissonant chords, a pattern that is all but identical to the sounds heard at other instances of intense emotion, such as Caul’s reaction to witnessing the murder. The dissonance and quick pace of the music accents Caul’s descent into near-madness and perfectly compliments both the quick editing and the panicked nature of his actions in this scene. It is also important to note the instances of silence, most prominently when Caul first begins to search his apartment and the camera revolves around him, and also when Caul is about to smash his religious statue, a painfully obvious metaphorical moment which will be examined later. The silences at such key points create tension very effectively by almost creating a sense of uneasiness or an expectation of something to come. Also, they allow the audience to focus on the events unfolding on the screen. The images speak for themselves. An additional instance of silence occurs when Caul has finished pulling up floorboards — he sits dejected on the floor, his home in ruins around him. Not a sound is heard, which emphasizes the emptiness and isolation he now experiences. In addition to the non-diegetic sounds, or lack thereof, sounds within the scene of course play important roles. The sounds produced within the story further reveal Caul’s character and alienation, as well as exemplify personal invasions of privacy and instances of voyeurism prevalent throughout the whole film. The scene opens with Caul playing the saxophone along with a recording. Playing the saxophone is yet another example of his obsession with sound manipulation. Rather than by himself, he plays the saxophone with a jazz recording. We originally see him play with the recording towards the beginning of the film, at which point he bows his head at the end, as if accepting the applause on the track. Interestingly, he plays the saxophone at that instance after a minor infringement on his privacy (his landlady leaving a gift in his doorway). A saxophone is also seen and heard in the first scene, in which Caul is recording the original conversation, so it may not be too far of a stretch to say that saxophone music corresponds with acts of voyeurism and violations of privacy. At any rate, by playing with the recording he is relying on interactions with impersonal strangers to enjoy himself. He is alienated even from the music he loves to play. He forces himself into a world of others—other musicians, other successes, other lives. The sound of the saxophone along with the recording is a subtle reminder of his isolation and desire to always be the outsider looking in. Then the telephone rings. Invading his personal time and music, the telephone harshly cuts through the song. Eventually, a recording of Caul playing the saxophone is played back to him through the phone, prompting his rampage through the apartment. This sound clip, the recording of Caul’s playing, perfectly exemplifies the invasive nature of surveillance. At a time when he feels most comfortable and at home, he is still being watched, or rather, listened to. His privacy is invaded in just the same manner that he invaded the privacy of others before him. That the tables would one day turn has been his greatest fear, and they now have. Caul’s victimization is again emphasized, this time through sound, and with that recording the audience realizes that Caul will forever be trapped in this world of voyeurism and paranoia. His descent into panic is, in a sense, justified by that one replayed sound. In the last shot of the scene, Caul plays the saxophone completely alone, without the recording. Instead of the recording, he is playing along with the score, the non-diegetic music. This use of sound, solely Caul’s saxophone coming from the scene, one one hand serves to emphasize his final desolation, hopelessness, and isolation. On the other hand, because of the accompanying music outside of the scene —disconnected and yet involved just like a voyeur or surveillance expert would be, the mix of sound reminds the audience that somebody, somewhere, may be listening. Throughout the whole scene, diegetic and non-diegetic sounds emphasize Caul’s panic and isolation and further the themes of voyeurism and invasion of privacy. The final focus of this essay, the mise-en-scène, plays an essential role in not only the understanding of Harry Caul’s character, but also the understanding of the films previously mentioned core themes. Caul’s costume in the final scene is notable because this is one of the few times we see him without a suit and his transparent raincoat. He feels safe in his apartment, although not rightly so, and so he does not feel the need for the outer layers that both physically and metaphorically shield him and disconnected him from the world. However, even in his apartment he wears his glasses, which are basically a constant part of his wardrobe, and they, apart from helping him see of course, symbolize his alienation from the rest of society in that he is always looking at the world through a lens, and nobody can truly look back in. In addition to his costume, the Virgin Mary statue is an important and symbolic aspect of this scene. When he believes his apartment is bugged, he eventually destroys the figurine in his search for the device. This action is the definitive step off the edge of sanity as Caul then proceeds to tear his whole apartment to pieces. As a self-professed man of religion, who hates to take the Lord’s name in vain and goes to confession when he is deeply troubled, the destruction of the statue clearly represents Caul’s abandonment of religion in the face of his paranoia. The destructive nature of his paranoia is so strong, coupled with intense pervasiveness of being a spy and being spied on, that his faith cannot hold its ground. The figure of the Virgin Mary marks the point of no return for Caul’s unraveling. Through its meaning the audience can understand the power of his obsession and the dangers of invading privacy. These costume and prop elements of mise-en-scène reveal important aspects of Caul’s character, but the setting is also a key factor. The apartment in which the final scene takes place is a sanctuary of sorts for Caul. He guards it with three separate locks and an alarm. He wants to have the only key. Even a seemingly minor intrusion, the landlady giving him a birthday gift inside his doorway, fuels his instability. So it is when this sanctuary is violated that the pervasive and threatening nature of voyeurism hits home, at least for Caul if not for the audience. His paranoia is justified, his security breeched, and he has become a victim in his own home. The setting of the apartment allows these complex meanings to unfold when he realizes he has been bugged. The audience can understand the tortured mind of the character as he rips his apartment to shreds. It would seem that it is always when he feels the most secure that he is exposed or betrayed—when his fellow private eye bugs him with a pen, when the woman robs the tapes, and in this case, when he is home alone and happily playing music. In the final shot, with Caul playing the saxophone alone in the dark, with his gutted apartment around him and all his possessions, save the instrument, destroyed, the audience senses that Caul is in a sense absolved, freed by utter and irretrievable desolation. The apartment’s violation and subsequent destruction are all the more potent because it had become the symbol of the privacy and the security that Caul so desired, yet never truly obtained. Every element of this final scene, from the editing to the mise-en-scène, speaks to the films themes of voyeurism, privacy, and alienation. Harry Caul’s tragic story concludes with his complete ruin, and through those cinematic elements viewers understand the aspects of his character that contributed to his downfall. After watching the man torn apart by obsession and violation, the audience cannot help but sympathize with Caul’s paranoia, and perhaps wonder if somebody, somewhere in their own lives, is always listening.