Beyond
the Continuity System: Subverting Narrative Clarity in The Wild Child (1970)
With the introduction of French New Wave cinema, the building blocks of classical filmmaking were vigorously challenged. Jean Luc-Godard use of jump cuts and counterintuitive screen direction flew in the face of the ideology traditionalist filmmakers promoted. Another New Wave director, Francois Truffaut, sought to subvert the continuity system. In his 1970 film The Wild Child, Truffaut tells the story of how a young boy discovered in the forests of Aveyron, France is captured and educated by a deeply curious psychologist. Aware of the principles of continuity regarding the development of a central character, reliable narration, and closure, Truffaut subverts the continuity system through his lack of a protagonist, ambiguous narration, and use of a morally challenged plot.
Although The Wild Child exhibits plentiful instances of subversions of the continuity system, the visual presentation of the story is done almost entirely with classical montage technique. The plot is directly linear, displaying the story with many devices that fulfill suture theory, such as match-on-action, point of view shots, and continuous diegetic sounds. Of all the mechanisms at work to ensure the audience coherently understands natural ruptures in the film’s continuity, the guidance of the film’s narrator, Dr. Jean Itard, is the most imperative. Itard’s voice is ridden throughout the film, shown early on to be reading from his written memoirs of the events. Given that the child, Victor, is almost completely dumb, the only interplay of dialogue occurs between Itard and his housekeeper, Madame Guerin. Therefore, the narration provided by Itard is necessary foremost for the purpose of revealing to the audience his intentions with each training lesson and psychological test. For example, prior to testing Victor and rewarding him with a walnut, Itard describes his decision to use rewards of food and milk to motivate Victor when engaging him in lessons (Truffaut). This form of narration, in which Dr. Itard provides certainty to a sequence of the film previously vulnerable to misinterpretation, builds trust between the viewer and the narrator. It is with this constructed trust that Francois Truffaut sets up a subversion of continuity.
The viewer’s ambiguous feelings towards Itard’s character are heightened at the revealing of Itard’s own regret towards the training. In reaction to another failed test, Itard ruefully admits, “I give up. I’m wasting my time with you. Sometimes I’m sorry that I know you” (Truffaut). Whereas towards the beginning of the story, Itard acted as a bastion of hope and knowledge for Victor, he begins illustrate himself as a detriment to Victor. A greater blow to the viewer’s confidence in Itard comes with his admission of Victor’s current state as inferior to his prior life: “Now, ready to renounce the task I had imposed upon myself, seeing the time I’d wasted and how deeply I regretted having known him, I condemned the curiosity of the men who had wrenched him away from his innocent and happy life” (Truffaut). The regression of Itard as a sympathetic and reliable narrator to a character of indecisive action and source of harm to another prominent character is a crucial dynamic to Truffaut’s tentative aura exhibited in The Wild Child. The narrator, the dependable guide of so many classical narratives, is carefully exploited here to rethink the ideological effect of suturing that narration normally provides.
Contemporary cinema, contrast to Truffaut, is characteristic of narrative certainty in the sense that the story belongs to one character. The events that occur are motivated to push forth the personal story of the protagonist, with the ultimate goal being to achieve character growth. In Truffaut’s The Wild Child, the identity of a clear protagonist is left vacant. Certainly, the title of the film could be interpreted to lend itself to resolve this dilemma; this is the story of a previously isolated boy of nature and his introduction to civilization. However, when watching the film, this theory is rebuked. Dr. Itard’s voice and actions is the engine to narrative motion, and, furthermore, Itard’s own emerging storyline seeks to overshadow that of Victor. During portions of the film, the progression or regression of Itard’s training, his vacillating optimism, and struggles to garner fundraising from the state become the pillar events of the plot. All of the information the film provides regarding Victor is through the lens of Itard’s character, provided in the context of his narrated memoirs. The ambiguity surrounding the identity of a central character creates a sense of uncertainty for the viewer that would cease to exist in the form of classical narrative. With these clashing narratives, Truffaut successfully subverts the narrative clarity essential to films of traditional nature.
As Itard divulges the hopes for his psychoanalytical experiments and the results are displayed on the screen, the viewer can track the level of success reaped along the way. As previously stated, one key indicator of a central protagonist is the existence of character growth or conflict resolution. Using this rubric, if Victor were to have shown noticeable improvements in his training, enthusiastically embracing his training and all aspects of civilized society, a sense of narrative closure would be apparent. Victor’s struggles to understand and obey Itard’s and his deep yearning for his previous home in the forest would be overcome in the event that Victor had found happiness in civilized society. Yet again, Truffaut prefers the contrary. Until the end of the film, Itard’s training is depicted, at times, less like the education of a boy and more like the torturous experimentation of a lab rat. The film exudes uncertainty not just in regards to any benefits the training provides the boy, but it is also dubious whether the training is inherently good itself. Truffaut is sure to avoid closure in the final minutes of the film. Victor flees the household to be reunited with nature, only to realize he has lost some former capabilities. His return to Itard’s home is accompanied with an aura of ambivalence and fear. Upon Victor’s arrival, Itard declares, “Tomorrow we shall resume our lessons” (Truffaut). Truffaut cuts to Victor, executing a closed iris to leave only the boy’s apprehensive countenance exposed. Concluding the film on such an unresolved note is another contribution to Truffaut’s effort to sabotage the ideology of the classical narrative.
The skittish state expressed by Victor in those final moments epitomizes the uneasy tone scattered in the rest of the film. Simultaneous with the presentation of Itard’s regrets, a moral and philosophical dilemma arises in the narrative text: is the decision to snatch Victor from his natural habitat, one in which he thrived well, and reform him to become a civilized being of society the right choice? Moreover, is human society truly a better way of life than Victor’s life in the wild? There exists a presupposed doctrine that drives the premise for The Wild Child; the good life is existence among other men, under a state of government. In her analysis of The Wild Child in Film Quarterly, Harriett R. Polt, film academic and journalist, addresses the quandary: “What is the meaning of his freedom? Is it freedom – or another sort of trap?” (Polt 44) Profound philosophical undertones such as these seep through the narrative and continue to fester with the mind of the viewer. Victor’s state in Itard’s household becomes more uncomforting to watch as he squirms under the glare of the psychologist.
Yet, although Victor’s struggle is irrefutably an origin of narrative ambiguity, Itard’s awareness of the contentious nature of the situation is equally as haunting. Seemingly honest in his motives from the upstart, Itard’s genuine interest transforms into blind determination by the conclusion. Polt addresses the fault of Itard to recognize the consequences of Victor’s newfound predicament: “More than just aware of Victor’s inability to learn true speech, Itard recognizes how his adoption into “civilized” life has deprived him of his freedom: Victor never loses his yearning for the outdoors…” (Polt 44). Towards the end of the film, Itard exposes his belief that conditioning Victor to be a civilized human may not necessarily be desirable, given the context. With this knowledge, the relationship between the audience, Itard, and the message of the film, viciously plummets. Itard’s depiction as a psychologist with ambitions that override his moral guidance alter his perception to nearly a villain. Completing the loss of faith in Itard, the viewer is left with little dependable source of continuity in the film.
In the context of cinema’s history, classical narrative films are foreign to this loss of a facilitating technique of narrative interpretation. Similar to the jarring jump cuts of Kar Wai Wong’s Chungking Express, or the shocking breakage of the fourth wall in Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless, The Wild Child subverts classical narrative creation. Through the development of an unreliable narrator, absence of a central character storyline, and a moral dilemma ingrained within the film’s basic plot, narrative ambiguity and moral uncertainty seek to challenge traditional filmmaking. In Film Theory: An Introduction Through the Senses, Thomas Elsaesser and Malte Hagener remark how, although a film may not meet standards of the classical narrative, every film is still viewed through a comparative lens: “…even where a film does not conform to this system, it implicitly refers to this system by breaking or transgressing its norms…” (Elsaesser, Hagener 90). Despite it’s ubiquitous use of visual techniques of classical montage, Francois Truffaut’s The Wild Child is a separation from the classical system in substance. Its challenging of the system and decision to bypass its narrative structures sends a message to filmmakers of the classical form and opens dialogue for alternative ways of storytelling.
The
classical form of narrative storytelling has firmly ingrained itself in the
world of film since the birth of the medium. Methods regarding camera movement,
character development, editing, and plot structure are essential to a
conventional production of a film within the continuity system. In Film Theory: An
Introduction Through the Senses, Thomas Elsaesser and
Malte Hagener, prolific film theorists and journalists, delineate the
phenomenon of natural narrative discontinuity. Elsaesser and Hagener’s main
concern dealt with how suture theory creates a natural bond of narrative
understanding for the viewer: “…how
is it that the discontinuities and ruptures introduced through editing do not
seem to break this “primary” bond with the spectator?” (Elsaesser, Hagener 88).
Using
the tenets addressed by suture theory, the discontinuous nature caused by
splices in the action of a film can be overcome with the employment of such
techniques as matching on action, eyeline matches, bridging diegetic or
non-diegetic sound across cuts, or the meaningful juxtaposition of two shots.
An especially intuitive facet of the classical narrative resides in the content
of the story. Central to continuity storytelling is the development of a
central character, a protagonist, who faces and conquers adversity. Any
conflict found within the narrative is undoubtedly resolved at the film’s
conclusion; the film exhibits narrative closure.
With the introduction of French New Wave cinema, the building blocks of classical filmmaking were vigorously challenged. Jean Luc-Godard use of jump cuts and counterintuitive screen direction flew in the face of the ideology traditionalist filmmakers promoted. Another New Wave director, Francois Truffaut, sought to subvert the continuity system. In his 1970 film The Wild Child, Truffaut tells the story of how a young boy discovered in the forests of Aveyron, France is captured and educated by a deeply curious psychologist. Aware of the principles of continuity regarding the development of a central character, reliable narration, and closure, Truffaut subverts the continuity system through his lack of a protagonist, ambiguous narration, and use of a morally challenged plot.
Although The Wild Child exhibits plentiful instances of subversions of the continuity system, the visual presentation of the story is done almost entirely with classical montage technique. The plot is directly linear, displaying the story with many devices that fulfill suture theory, such as match-on-action, point of view shots, and continuous diegetic sounds. Of all the mechanisms at work to ensure the audience coherently understands natural ruptures in the film’s continuity, the guidance of the film’s narrator, Dr. Jean Itard, is the most imperative. Itard’s voice is ridden throughout the film, shown early on to be reading from his written memoirs of the events. Given that the child, Victor, is almost completely dumb, the only interplay of dialogue occurs between Itard and his housekeeper, Madame Guerin. Therefore, the narration provided by Itard is necessary foremost for the purpose of revealing to the audience his intentions with each training lesson and psychological test. For example, prior to testing Victor and rewarding him with a walnut, Itard describes his decision to use rewards of food and milk to motivate Victor when engaging him in lessons (Truffaut). This form of narration, in which Dr. Itard provides certainty to a sequence of the film previously vulnerable to misinterpretation, builds trust between the viewer and the narrator. It is with this constructed trust that Francois Truffaut sets up a subversion of continuity.
By
acting as the source of narrative transparency, Itard’s narration quickly
becomes a resource the audience tends to lean on for reassurance. His
intentions to educate the boy seem honest and, as a viewer, one initially
believes Victor to be in a good situation. Deviating from the emotionally
static and unbiased narrators characteristic of classical cinema, Truffaut
eventually challenges the audience’s perception of Itard as a wholly virtuous
narrator. The training imposed by Itard slowly becomes too strenuous for the
boy to bear, causing him to frequently lapse into raging fits. Upon one such
fit, Madame Guerin scolds Itard, stating, “His
tantrums are your fault. You make him study from morning to night. You turn his
only pleasure into exercises. His meals, his walks, everything. You want him to
catch up in one fell swoop.” Madame Guerin’s protest of Itard’s actions is a
minor blow to the viewer’s relationship with Itard, breaking the initially
forged perception of Itard as a method of navigating the narrative.
The viewer’s ambiguous feelings towards Itard’s character are heightened at the revealing of Itard’s own regret towards the training. In reaction to another failed test, Itard ruefully admits, “I give up. I’m wasting my time with you. Sometimes I’m sorry that I know you” (Truffaut). Whereas towards the beginning of the story, Itard acted as a bastion of hope and knowledge for Victor, he begins illustrate himself as a detriment to Victor. A greater blow to the viewer’s confidence in Itard comes with his admission of Victor’s current state as inferior to his prior life: “Now, ready to renounce the task I had imposed upon myself, seeing the time I’d wasted and how deeply I regretted having known him, I condemned the curiosity of the men who had wrenched him away from his innocent and happy life” (Truffaut). The regression of Itard as a sympathetic and reliable narrator to a character of indecisive action and source of harm to another prominent character is a crucial dynamic to Truffaut’s tentative aura exhibited in The Wild Child. The narrator, the dependable guide of so many classical narratives, is carefully exploited here to rethink the ideological effect of suturing that narration normally provides.
Contemporary cinema, contrast to Truffaut, is characteristic of narrative certainty in the sense that the story belongs to one character. The events that occur are motivated to push forth the personal story of the protagonist, with the ultimate goal being to achieve character growth. In Truffaut’s The Wild Child, the identity of a clear protagonist is left vacant. Certainly, the title of the film could be interpreted to lend itself to resolve this dilemma; this is the story of a previously isolated boy of nature and his introduction to civilization. However, when watching the film, this theory is rebuked. Dr. Itard’s voice and actions is the engine to narrative motion, and, furthermore, Itard’s own emerging storyline seeks to overshadow that of Victor. During portions of the film, the progression or regression of Itard’s training, his vacillating optimism, and struggles to garner fundraising from the state become the pillar events of the plot. All of the information the film provides regarding Victor is through the lens of Itard’s character, provided in the context of his narrated memoirs. The ambiguity surrounding the identity of a central character creates a sense of uncertainty for the viewer that would cease to exist in the form of classical narrative. With these clashing narratives, Truffaut successfully subverts the narrative clarity essential to films of traditional nature.
As Itard divulges the hopes for his psychoanalytical experiments and the results are displayed on the screen, the viewer can track the level of success reaped along the way. As previously stated, one key indicator of a central protagonist is the existence of character growth or conflict resolution. Using this rubric, if Victor were to have shown noticeable improvements in his training, enthusiastically embracing his training and all aspects of civilized society, a sense of narrative closure would be apparent. Victor’s struggles to understand and obey Itard’s and his deep yearning for his previous home in the forest would be overcome in the event that Victor had found happiness in civilized society. Yet again, Truffaut prefers the contrary. Until the end of the film, Itard’s training is depicted, at times, less like the education of a boy and more like the torturous experimentation of a lab rat. The film exudes uncertainty not just in regards to any benefits the training provides the boy, but it is also dubious whether the training is inherently good itself. Truffaut is sure to avoid closure in the final minutes of the film. Victor flees the household to be reunited with nature, only to realize he has lost some former capabilities. His return to Itard’s home is accompanied with an aura of ambivalence and fear. Upon Victor’s arrival, Itard declares, “Tomorrow we shall resume our lessons” (Truffaut). Truffaut cuts to Victor, executing a closed iris to leave only the boy’s apprehensive countenance exposed. Concluding the film on such an unresolved note is another contribution to Truffaut’s effort to sabotage the ideology of the classical narrative.
The skittish state expressed by Victor in those final moments epitomizes the uneasy tone scattered in the rest of the film. Simultaneous with the presentation of Itard’s regrets, a moral and philosophical dilemma arises in the narrative text: is the decision to snatch Victor from his natural habitat, one in which he thrived well, and reform him to become a civilized being of society the right choice? Moreover, is human society truly a better way of life than Victor’s life in the wild? There exists a presupposed doctrine that drives the premise for The Wild Child; the good life is existence among other men, under a state of government. In her analysis of The Wild Child in Film Quarterly, Harriett R. Polt, film academic and journalist, addresses the quandary: “What is the meaning of his freedom? Is it freedom – or another sort of trap?” (Polt 44) Profound philosophical undertones such as these seep through the narrative and continue to fester with the mind of the viewer. Victor’s state in Itard’s household becomes more uncomforting to watch as he squirms under the glare of the psychologist.
Wrestling
with such questions is a conscious decision of Francois Truffaut. By
juxtaposing a boy native to isolation in its purest form with the domesticated
nature of civility, the auteur of this film is directly expressing his wariness
towards Victor’s new life. With each of Victor’s violent tantrums, the viewer
can discern a sense of severe uncertainty in the Truffaut’s narrative. As Polt
notes in her analysis, “Though little of this is alluded to in the film, the
very pathos of Victor’s condition, and the depiction of his suffering under the
constant, frequently monotonous training he is subjected to, give evidence of
Truffaut’s ambivalence over the sense of it all” (Polt 44). The ability of
Truffaut to illuminate the notion that civilized society may fall secondary to
a wild life in the countryside adds substance to an already existing emotional
imbalance in the film. Contrary to the sentimental evocation a viewer
experiences during this film, the conventional wisdom embedded in classical filmmaking
possesses more definite underpinnings and less inner controversy.
Yet, although Victor’s struggle is irrefutably an origin of narrative ambiguity, Itard’s awareness of the contentious nature of the situation is equally as haunting. Seemingly honest in his motives from the upstart, Itard’s genuine interest transforms into blind determination by the conclusion. Polt addresses the fault of Itard to recognize the consequences of Victor’s newfound predicament: “More than just aware of Victor’s inability to learn true speech, Itard recognizes how his adoption into “civilized” life has deprived him of his freedom: Victor never loses his yearning for the outdoors…” (Polt 44). Towards the end of the film, Itard exposes his belief that conditioning Victor to be a civilized human may not necessarily be desirable, given the context. With this knowledge, the relationship between the audience, Itard, and the message of the film, viciously plummets. Itard’s depiction as a psychologist with ambitions that override his moral guidance alter his perception to nearly a villain. Completing the loss of faith in Itard, the viewer is left with little dependable source of continuity in the film.
In the context of cinema’s history, classical narrative films are foreign to this loss of a facilitating technique of narrative interpretation. Similar to the jarring jump cuts of Kar Wai Wong’s Chungking Express, or the shocking breakage of the fourth wall in Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless, The Wild Child subverts classical narrative creation. Through the development of an unreliable narrator, absence of a central character storyline, and a moral dilemma ingrained within the film’s basic plot, narrative ambiguity and moral uncertainty seek to challenge traditional filmmaking. In Film Theory: An Introduction Through the Senses, Thomas Elsaesser and Malte Hagener remark how, although a film may not meet standards of the classical narrative, every film is still viewed through a comparative lens: “…even where a film does not conform to this system, it implicitly refers to this system by breaking or transgressing its norms…” (Elsaesser, Hagener 90). Despite it’s ubiquitous use of visual techniques of classical montage, Francois Truffaut’s The Wild Child is a separation from the classical system in substance. Its challenging of the system and decision to bypass its narrative structures sends a message to filmmakers of the classical form and opens dialogue for alternative ways of storytelling.
Works Cited
Elsaesser,
Thomas, and Malte Hagener. Film Theory: An Introduction Through the
Senses. New York: Routledge, 2010. 1-232. Print.
Polt,
Harriett R. "The Wild Child." Film Quarterly 24.3
(1971): 42-45. Print.
Truffaut,
Francois, dir. The Wild Child. United Artists, 1970. DVD.
Film Grade: Flat 7
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