Musicals as a challenge to Bordwell’s account of classical film

What makes a film classical in the sense David Bordwell means? He isn't just saying that it is old or especially good. He identifies a period, 1917–1960, and describes its style: clear characters move through a chronological plot, while the filmmaking techniques help us follow a realistic story.

The camera, lighting, editing, and sound should serve that story. We pay attention to what is happening to the characters rather than thinking about how cleverly the movie was made. That doesn't require simple or unskilled camerawork. A sophisticated technique could still direct our attention toward the story instead of toward itself.

Now the writer introduces a problem: what about 1930s musicals? Their stories pause for performances that may have little to do with the plot. Those performances can be enjoyable, but enjoying a musical number doesn't show that it fits a definition built around realistic storytelling. We need to track the role the number plays.

The Berkeley example lets us see the difference. First we see an audience watching a singer, then a close-up of the singer's face. So far, we could still be following a scene in the story. But the image then dissolves into fanciful aerial views of city life. Those images illustrate the song without advancing the plot being told between the numbers.

What changes is not simply the camera angle. The people become figures arranged into elaborate visual patterns rather than characters whose actions move a story forward. Editing and movement show off what the filmmaker can do. We are taking a break from the narrative to watch an artistic display. That is precisely the kind of attention to the film as film that Bordwell's initial definition says classical filmmaking avoids.

Bordwell's reply is about what audiences expect. Musicals, like comedy and melodrama, developed from live theater. Someone familiar with a musical's conventions expects the alternation between story and self-contained performance. On his account, being prepared for that structure lets the audience accept it as realistic. The origin in theater matters to his response because it helps explain those expectations; it isn't merely a separate historical fact.

But does expecting an interruption mean that it no longer interrupts the experience of a realistic story? The writer says no. These interludes are not just self-contained; they call attention to their own artistry. Knowing that we're watching a musical doesn't necessarily stop the shift from following the characters to admiring a display of filmmaking. The original problem remains even for a viewer who knows the genre.

That is why the final paragraph objects to pigeonholing genres. Putting a movie in a familiar category is an intellectual exercise. Watching its images is an experience, and the author thinks Bordwell moves too quickly from the category to a conclusion about that experience. Calling an expected convention realistic stretches the term instead of showing that the film maintains the kind of reality described at the start.

The final recommendation follows from this criticism. Genre knowledge is learned, so scholars should examine how viewers process images and come to accept conventions before generalizing about realism. We have moved beyond asking whether a particular musical belongs in a category. The larger point is that the musical exposes a weakness in Bordwell's approach: his classification doesn't adequately account for what viewers actually perceive.