Irreversible (2003)

It doesn’t make sense to assume viewers will mimic what they see on a screen, no matter how impressionable they may be. But that’s not the only way violence on screen impacts audiences. From causing distress to desensitization, insensitive depictions of harsh realities and violence have a myriad of negative effects. As Lisa Damour surmises, just as with suicide or smoking, sexual assault should be of importance in the conversation on what’s considered safe for consumption by teenagers and adolescents. I’d like to go one step further and suggest that maybe sexual assault can be addressed in cinema without ever portraying it on screen at all. From a point of view of necessity in the depiction of post-traumatic stress disorder in survivors of rape or in those close to the victim, the rape scene barely contributes to the exposition. If anything, a poorly shot or distastefully made rape or sexual assault scene could just perpetuate harmful stigmas about openly addressing it, and even trigger viewers. So, at the center of this conversation lies the question “Who does a rape scene really serve?”

Now, I’m aware that dialogue isn’t always the best way of addressing something cinematically. I belong to the school of thought that prefers show over tell. But showing has its own limitations as it might, if not done with the utmost care, become an unwitting participant in what it attempts to critique. A great example of this is the film Blonde. It’s entirely possible that the creative team didn’t have the right intentions, to begin with, but I’m choosing not to be that cynical today. Whatever the intentions though, the film’s portrayals of Marilyn’s abuse and the innumerable transgressions against her are so unsympathetic that it seems complicit in the reduction of the woman into a commodity for speculation and worse, scopophilia. She’s inexplicably topless in a lot of scenes, and her abuse is filmed in such a way, it’s titillating and almost pornographic. So, it contributes to her abuse in a way.

Boiling Point (2021) presents itself as the perfect tool for raising awareness about current problems that every bar and restaurant worker must suffer in their day-to-day life. Philip Barantini paints a very vivid portrait of the hospitality industry and the stress suffered by all chefs, bartenders, dishwashers, and everyone who takes part in offering a great experience to the customer.

Lately, it seems like the continuous shot has become a trend in filmmaking. There are several movies edited to appear as one shot, such as Birdman (2014), 1917 (2019), Gaspar Noé’s Irreversible (2002), and Enter the Void (2009). Nevertheless, few of them are actually one single take. For instance, the recent Japanese project One Cut of the Dead (2017), the Norwegian Blind Spot (2018), or the movie reviewed here, Boiling Point (2021) are true uses of one, unbroken shot.

It seems like a lot of pictures are made using this technique just because they have the necessary means to produce them. A lot of directors don’t consider the fact that this is actually a very powerful storytelling tool. In this case, Barantini’s choice of shooting the whole film in only one take is brilliant. He doesn’t only achieve the goal of creating a dynamic idea about what it means to give a dinner service in a luxurious restaurant, but he also manages to transmit the stress that the characters are suffering, how everything works in these posh restaurants, and the problems they must cope with. You can sense the dense atmosphere and the feeling of being under pressure in every situation.