The Aesthetics of Cinema

Black Swan (2010), directed by Darren Aronofsky, is a masterpiece on film. I could spend hours, days, weeks writing about everything I love about this movie. Of course I can, it’s probably my second-favourite film of all time. Unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of that time, and this is just a simple blog about the aesthetics of cinema. So, this is me setting the stage early (pun intended), there is no way I will be able to cover every hidden symbol or colour choice in this movie. Though I do want to discuss some of my favourite and recurring aesthetic motifs that link to the larger themes and messaging of the film.

These motifs will be discussed in their own dedicated blog posts as follows:

Broken Mirrors and Our Mirrored Selves

Winged Creatures, The Butterfly and the Swan

Stolen Lipstick: Femininity, Sexuality and Womanhood

I’m really excited to discuss a movie that means so much to me, and hopefully, it will not take me too long to post each section.

"I felt it. Perfect. It was perfect." - Nina Sayers

Just like Nina's final performance, Black Swan (2010) is a perfect movie with timeless visuals that remain instantly recognisable even 16 years after its release.

Part 2: The False Meaning of Christmas (Commercialism)

So, back in Part 1, I discussed how the aesthetics of The Grinch (2000) represented the bombastic and comedic side of the Grinch, the main character within the film. If you haven’t read that blog post yet, I would definitely recommend doing so, as it’s a nice, lighthearted piece of reading.

Whereas in this second half, I will be discussing how the aesthetics of The Grinch (2000) also represent another side of the Grinch: his irritation and cynicism. Particularly his irritation and cynicism surrounding how the Whos have been celebrating and conducting Christmas. To do this, as previously explained in Part 1, I will delve in-depth into one section of the film to represent my thesis: that the aesthetics of The Grinch (2000) typify, well, the Grinch. Which is why it's actually quite ironic that in this second half of my blog, I’m actually going to be delving into scenes which don’t actually include the Grinch, yet still perfectly articulate his irritation and cynicism, and these scenes are the beginning sequence of the movie, which takes place just after the title card.

These opening scenes and their aesthetics are very important, as they act as an introduction to Whosville, the Whos, and the Whos’ culture, alongside establishing the tone and visual language of the motion picture. And this movie crushes this brief flawlessly. From the beginning, the aesthetics of this film are incredibly immersive in placing the audience within the magical micro-world of Whoville, alongside giving us effective insight into the Who society. The sets are colourful with Christmassy greens, reds and golds. The first Whos we are introduced to are a surreal-feeling marching band playing loud music through the busy streets of Whoville. Every building has Christmas lights and snow-busted Christmas trees, while every Who in the beginning is bursting with energy and vigour. Then we quickly transition inside to a busy store filled with Whos excitedly purchasing gifts. However, these scenes are not warm and fuzzy, like how you would expect a Christmas film to shoot a present-buying scene. Instead, these scenes are overstimulating with loud sound effects of tills opening, clustered camera shots overpopulated with Whos, disorientating Dutch angles, and topped off with a scene where a father struggles to find his own child, who is holding a mountain of presents. We are almost immediately made to feel a degree of discomfort, cynicism and irritation at these scenes, as our visual and auditory senses are being overwhelmed by these scenes of the Whos aggressively buying an over-the-top amount of Christmas presents, while seemingly lacking what makes gift-giving and Christmas in general feel sincere and truly beautiful, which is the process of retrieving gifts that we know will mean a lot or symbolize something about the gift receiver. The scene doesn’t feel like we are watching the Whos affectionately getting gifts for their loved ones; rather, we feel as if we are witnessing the twisted nature of a Christmas shopping trip smothered in commercialism and devoid of sincerity. This is visually illustrated by the fact that when Cindy Lou is holding a large heap of presents, all we can see is mostly the products, as it is the buying, selling and profit linked to the presents which are at the forefront of how the Whos prepare and celebrate Christmas, as outlined in the dialogue between Cindy and her father.

Cindy: “Dad, doesn’t this seem like a bit much?”

Lou Lou: “This is what Christmas is all about.”

Not community or experiencing joyful moments with those you care for, it’s the purchasing of products which is the ‘true’ meaning of Christmas for the Whos. This is pure commercialism, expertly visualised, when profit and commerce overshadow inherent worth, like Christmas's spiritual meaning or artistic integrity. This is irritating to watch, especially within the context of a parent teaching that this is the ‘true’ meaning of Christmas to their child.

After this exchange of dialogue, the opening scenes continue with the till going even faster and faster, with more money going in, and the cashier struggling to keep up with demand. Then we cut to outside the store, where a stampede of Whos are running with presents in hand to another vendor on the call of a Who loudly proclaiming that for the next 5 minutes, there will be a 99% discount on products. It’s chaotic and oozes with cynicism as the aesthetics of the film repeatedly emphasise just how lacking in sincerity the Whos really are with their gift-purchasing, which appears to be motivated by a culture of greed and commercialism rather than care, consideration and altruism.

And this is the exact viewpoint and feelings about the Whos, which the Grinch has. Although not always made explicit within the narrative, the Grinch is annoyed and cynical about the Whos for how they celebrate Christmas because of the effects of commercialism. The Grinch is frustrated by the increasing loudness of their celebrations, which is brought on partly because of the increasingly elaborate decorations and sales promotions which take place around the Christmas period. This is a sign of commercialism as the Whos are prioritising excessive commerce over tradition and quality. Furthermore, the Grinch is cynical of the way the Whos celebrate Christmas because he knows that the Whos don’t really care about or need the gifts they are buying, as so many of them end up going in the trash, which is located within his mountain home. This, too, is a direct consequence of commercialism, the oversaturation of buying and selling beyond its need.

Hence, it is clear that the Grinch, the aesthetics of this movie and the narrative of this film are all working together to consolidate the point that the way the Whos celebrate Christmas is irritating and should be met with cynicism. Ultimately, the message of this motion picture is that commercialism is the false meaning of Christmas, and the true meaning of Christmas is camaraderie and community.

With all that being said, these last few months writing blog posts have been so much fun and have really helped me improve my writing style. I hope to write more blog posts about movie aesthetics within the upcoming year. But for now, there is one thing to say:

 Happy holidays

 Part 1: A Bombastic Bad Banana You Can Root For

Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000), or The Grinch for short, is a motion picture that never holds back. The costuming, the sound, the set design, the performances, the dialogue, and even the prosthetics are all operating at an 11 on the immersive fantasyland-mometer. The movie’s style is the literal definition of ‘with all guns blazing’.

“With great but reckless determination and energy”.

And I love it for that. Every part of this film is the perfect accompaniment for the performance of the titular character, the Grinch, a being who happens also to be consistently coming out with all guns blazing, particularly in his pursuit to ruin Christmas for the Whos. In fact, I would go as far as to say that the movie’s aesthetics act as a mirror image of the Grinch. He can be bombastic, funny and quirky in a charming sense, while also being irritable and cynical at times – just like the aesthetics of this motion picture. To better explore these different aspects of the film’s tone and feel, I’m going to do a deep dive into two parts of the movie, which I believe best illustrate how the aesthetics of The Grinch (2000) reflect, well, The Grinch.

To do this to the best of my abilities, I am going to have to split this blog post into two parts. Within the first section, I am going to be focusing on the bombastic, funny and quirky side of the Grinch and how that is manifested in the look and feel of the scenes where the Grinch enacts his plan to ruin Christmas. Then, in part 2 of my blog post, I will be focusing on how the movie uniquely portrays cynicism and irritation, particularly irritation directed at commercialisation. With all that being said, let’s fully dive in.

A Very Green Santa:

For a film called ‘Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas’, it makes sense that such an elaborate part of the movie would focus on ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’. This segment of the flick literally kicks off with the Grinch doing what he describes as a ‘double-twisting interrupted forward-flying two-and-a-half with a combo tuck and pike’ down into a chimney while dressed as Santa before releasing an eclipse of moths into a Who’s elaborately decorated living room to eat a collection of oversized Christmas stockings. The scenes following this one show a montage of the many cartoonishly evil ways the Grinch is sabotaging Christmas, such as sucking up their presents and even their Christmas trees with a large vacuumous tube and stealing their Christmas feast, which looks like it was made out of plastic. These scenes are bombastic, cartoonish and littered with hilarious lines from the Grinch. And just like in the rest of the film, the lighting is immaculate. The colourful Christmas lights add so much warmth and charm to the Whos’ homes, and the Grinch himself, as the red Christmas lights radiate off his red Santa costume. The lighting even gives him further dimension and colour to his green complexion, which helps him to stand out even when he has his face directly through the middle of a green Christmas tree. The sound is also very well utilised, with the tempo of the backing track increasing when he is being mischievous and decreasing when Cindy Lou Who is on scene as a calming presence, contrasting to the Grinch’s chaotic energy.

It is within these scenes that we arguably see the Grinch at his most extreme, as he is literally breaking into the Whos’ homes with all guns blazing, literally somersaulting down their chimney, to steal all their Christmas decorations and food. Yet we still like the character. Partly this is because of the good character work done through the writing and performance by Jim Carry, but it is also arguably down to the aesthetics matching the feel of the character. The comedic set pieces, the camera work, and the sound all make us as the audience, feel as if we are on this bombastic heist with him; we are a part of the fast-paced action. Which is incredibly exciting and therefore easy to root for.

Furthermore, it is also easy to enjoy the ride of the Grinch stealing from the Whos because the aesthetics of the film don’t dwell on the morality or gravitas of his actions. The Whos' homes are cartoonish, their food looks like plastic, and their decorations are garish and therefore, his actions against the Whos seem to lack severity, as everything he is taking or destroying feels and appears to be artificial and doesn’t hold true meaning for the Whos. On top of that, it is also easy for us to believe as an audience that the Whos do not hold sentimental value to these decorations and food because narratively their take on doing Christmas is purely commerciaised, and therefore they would have probably just bought bigger and shinier decorations next year (if they hadn’t have learned the true meaning of Christmas at the end of the film). Hence, we do not feel sorry for the Whos, as the set design and prop design of these Christmas Decorations and food all lead us to not sympathise with the Whos. Instead, we are meant not to worry about the implications of the Grinch's cartoonish antics and to just enjoy the bombastic ride in all of its glory, with its hilariously comedic set pieces and impressively beautiful festive lighting.

And that’s the power of strong cinema aesthetics that match and support the narrative and nature of the motion people. We can so easily root for the Grinch, even when he is arguably making cruel choices, because both the story and the aesthetics of the movie place the audience within the framework which best highlights the most likeable attributes of the Grinch while creating a non-event out of his less favourable moments. Hence, the aesthetics of the film both match and at times cooperate with the worldview and characterisation of the Grinch.

Not fully convinced on how important aesthetics are when it comes to supporting the narrative and motivations of the main character, well, I leave you with one task then. Just imagine what it would be like if these scenes didn’t have the same cartoonish, fast-paced and colourful aesthetics. If the scenes were cold, dark, realistic and long. I’m sure the tone and feel would be very different, and arguably, it would be a lot harder for audiences to like and still root for the Grinch. But then again, that might just be me.

I look forward to posting part two in time for the Christmas holiday.

"Jury duty, jury duty, jury duty, black mail, pink slip, chain letter, eviction notice, jury duty"... and a new blog post from The Aesthetics of Cinema Blogger.

Controversially, I have always been a big believer that The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) is the ultimate November Movie. Not to say that those who watch it on the run-up to Halloween or as part of their regular Christmas movie bundle are wrong; at the end of the day, I’m an even bigger believer in diversity of movie-watching habits. If you want to re-watch Shrek in 3D alone while dining out on an elaborately expensive wine and cheese board, you go for it.

Ultimately, I am not here to convince you to stop watching The Nightmare Before Christmas every other month apart from November. Instead, I’m here to simply elaborate on why I believe the aesthetics of The Nightmare Before Christmas lend themselves to being a perfect November flick.

But first, before I fully dive into the aesthetics of the film, I must discuss a little about November itself. November, much like the majority of the film's runtime, is situated between Halloween and Christmas, two massive holidays with unique, iconic and in some ways contradictory aesthetics. Halloween is bombastic, theatrical and macabre. It is a celebration of all things spooky and monstrous. While Christmas is associated with cosiness, peace and wonder. A time to be jolly, watch bright sparkling lights and wait for Santa Claus. In comparison, November doesn’t have a large-scale, fantastical and supernatural-style celebration. Most of the holidays and observances that take place in November are either less decorative (Guy Fawkes Night, Thanksgiving, and Remembrance Day) or are more grounded in religious and cultural practices (Day of the Dead, the potential start of Hanukkah, and sometimes Diwali). Hence, November can often be understood as a transitional period between these two larger holiday periods. A chapter of reflection and change as autumn shifts to winter. And The Nightmare Before Christmas understands this, that November also has a feel to it, a certain aesthetic. An aesthetic that this film is able to perfectly represent, alongside also expertly representing the style of Halloween and Christmas.

Now, that’s enough of boringly banging on about the real world. It’s now the fun part to fully descend into the aesthetics of this movie. To keep it neat, I’m gonna do this in two sections. First, it’ll be how the film encapsulates the aesthetics of Halloween and Christmas, and then the second section will be dedicated to how the film’s aesthetics convey the feel of November.

How does The Nightmare Before Christmas achieve the feel of Halloween and encapsulate the ambience of Christmas?:

The answer to the title question is probably pretty obvious to anyone who has seen the movie. Within the film, our main character literally lives within a place called Halloween Town, and he goes on a journey to Christmas Town. On the surface level, Halloween Town achieves the feel of Halloween by using both dark and light-hearted imagery. The town is dark and has death imagery like gravestones, but it also has glowing orange pumpkins and a large warm moon. Not to mention the theatrical magnificence the town puts on for their pumpkin king ceremony. In contrast, Christmas Town is bursting with Christmassy aesthetics. In the centre, there is a large Christmas tree adorned with sweet little lights. Around the tree is a cluster of quaint little cottages, looking as if they were made out of gingerbread. And everywhere is covered in sparkling soft snow. At points, you can even see the Northern Lights in the background. The set design for both towns is immaculate and does exactly what it says on the tin.

Going a little deeper, the film has been able to represent both holidays so well because it is a stop motion picture, which has given the film an added, creepy yet also charming quality. Halloween Town looks creepier because the buildings are unnaturally shaped with jagged edges, abnormal curvature and windows which appear to be eyes lairing down upon you. And the townsfolk are creepier because of their distance from humankind. Whether that be Jack’s smile becoming impossibly larger than his skull made from clay, the painted-on look of the major’s two faces or seeing the fabric stuffing that filled Sally’s leg – all of these little textual and craft-based details add to the uncomfortable, otherworldly and strange feel of the townsfolk, and by extension the entirety of Halloween Town. Furthermore, Christmas Town looks even more charming because everything looks small and toylike. The set design isn’t trying to look like a realistic set where full-grown actors could prance around on. The candy cane street lights look like you could pick them up with one hand, and that’s delightful. Everything is so dainty and visually delicious. It is a perfect representation of Christmas.

So, there are really two answers to this section's title question ‘How does the movie do it?’. Well, the movie does it through the use of incredible set design and through utilising the benefits of the medium of stop frame animation, such as the lack of a tie to realism. As this is what has given Halloween Town’s architecture and people their distinctly unnatural proportions and look, it is also what has caused Christmas Town to be so unrealistically dainty and cosy.

How does The Nightmare Before Christmas convey the feeling of November?:

One of the most iconic visuals for The Nightmare Before Christmas is the famous spiralling hill in front of the large yellow moon. The first time we see this visual is when Jack, our main character, is walking up it singing ‘Jack's Lament’, a song where he reflects upon his life as the pumpkin king, confessing that he longs for change. As he is singing, you also see glances of Sally hiding in the shadows of an otherwise empty graveyard. She’s connecting to his song, as she, too, is seeking change. The hill is illuminated by the bright moon, a symbol of change and longing, yet the rest of the scene is dark, empty and melancholy. The music and the setting of this scene work amazingly well together to convey that our characters are transitioning from Halloween into November. A time which is more stripped back than Halloween, less bombastic. A period of reflection and transition as the nights become darker. It is a beautiful part of the movie that evokes popular motion picture imagery of a character moving to higher ground to symbolise them going on a journey or attempting to reach a significant goal.

We return to the spiral hill at the end of the movie, this time with Jack and Sally knowingly together. The hill is covered in snow, which twinkles in the moonlight. Our pair are at peace as although Jack couldn’t pull off Christmas, they have gained the change they craved at the beginning of the film, for now they have each other. Again, it is a beautiful scene where we see Jack starting from the bottom of the hill, where he must climb his way up it, serenading Sally before reaching the summit to embrace her. They have made it out of the transition period (November) and have settled with each other as the snow has fallen in late December.

So, how does the film’s aesthetics convey the feeling of November? Simply, the movie’s music, setting and character placements were able to perfectly visualise the character’s feelings of reflection and longing for change. And once that meaningful change had come, the setting also changed from Halloween to Winter, marking an end to our character’s transition period.

In Conclusion:

The Nightmare Before Christmas is a wonderfully stylised film, and whether you watch it in November or never in November, nothing detracts from the wonderfully well-crafted, creepily charming nature the movie continues to have even 32 years after its original release. If anything, the age has only increased the creep and doubled the charm.

Content Warning: This blog will touch on scenes depicting abuse, particularly gender-based violence. However, no details of the scenes are given or depicted.

Last Night in Soho, as the name suggests, is set in Soho, two distinct versions of Soho to be precise.  The first is the imagined Soho of the early 2020s, one which accurately depicts the rising property prices of the area and the increase in family-friendly eating establishments. However, unlike our timeline, the movie does not depict the COVID-19 pandemic. The second is the imagined Soho of the mid-1960s, which at first is full of warm lighting, beautiful colours and handsome automobiles. Only for the setting to become progressively darker with harsher splashes of violent red neon lighting as the scenes depicting abuse increase, visualising that our main character uncovers more about the mistreatment present within the nightlife of 1960s Soho. The City itself, both within the 1960s and 2020s, is well realised; you truly do feel as if the city is lived in. This effect was probably best achieved by the fact that many of the exterior shots were actually filmed in the real Soho.

Even more impressively, due to a combination of the set design, lighting, and the placement of supporting artists (formally known as extras), you can always understand how Eloise, our main character, experiences the city. A great example of this is how the indoor set pieces from the 60s scenes in the film go from being in a grand dancehall, which represents the glitz and the glamour of a bygone time, Eloise wishes she were a part of, to a cramped nightclub filled with men and disorientating unnatural lighting as Eloise comes to realise the dark underbelly of Soho. A place where not every young woman gets to become a star.

Furthermore, a personal favourite element of the film for me is the beginning scenes of Eloise moving to the big city (London) from what appears to be a cosy part of the sleepy English countryside. At first, she is filled with wonderment, and the city appears big and bright. However, as she meets disreputable characters - including her creepy taxi driver, her cruel roommate, and a whole plethora of other insincere, materialistic and vapid university students – the city becomes frightening. And as an audience, we feel that fear and discomfort with her. When Eloise is trapped within the small confines of her university dorm, the camera pans out to highlight how small and vulnerable she is, not only regarding how small she is in comparison to such a large bustling city, but also how small she feels in comparison to her metropolitan peers with their designer clothes and large amounts of self-assurance. She’s struggling to adjust to city life, and for much of the beginning of the film, she’s alone.

Her vulnerability, smallness, loneliness, and lack of nerve radiate off this film in the form of cold synthetic light sources, which illuminate Eloise even within the hours of darkness, condemning her to be seen, even when she doesn’t want to be, by those who harm or may harm her. Such as when she was trying to hide from her taxi driver in a brightly lit convenience store, or when she is forced out of her room and made to sit in the kitchen, all tucked up in her duvet, trying to listen to her 60s music while a crowded party smothered in cold blue lighting is taking place in the same room. Her loneliness and vulnerability are lit up for all to see. And for me, it is this use of film aesthetics that makes Last Night in Soho (2021) the most accurate depiction of my own interpretation and feelings of living in a city, as the film successfully captures the paradox of living in a big city where you feel as if you are both insignificant and yet overly surveilled.

Moving on from the City and how Eloise relates to it, I’m now going to discuss in more depth about Eloise herself and how the movie visually represents her hauntings. From the beginning, we meet Eloise as a young woman who can connect with the past, specifically her deceased mother. From then on, we witness how Eloise can connect to the past in a number of ways. The most recognisable way she can do this is through the use of mirrors. At the start, we see her mother through a mirror, and then when we enter 1960s Soho, we see Eloise multiple times projecting herself and experiencing the 60s through mirrors. She can also connect to the past through the use of music. Eloise travels to the 1960s through listening to her grandmother's records. It is also when she is listening to these familial records that we see her mum for the first time. Both the use of music and mirrors in this film is expertly done. The music sets the atmosphere and is a perfect backdrop to the story being told, and mirrors are used in so many creative ways, especially in moments when the line between Eloise and Sandie becomes blurred. Furthermore, the motif of the smashing mirror is brilliant as Wright uses it in moments when Eloise is overwhelmed with emotions and just wants to break out, like when she smashed the mirror to try and protect Sandie or when the stairs start to shatter when Alexandra’s chasing her in the final fight scene. This film truly is a masterclass on how to use consistent imagery to best tell a narrative about the negatives of city living while also providing greater insight into a character's psyche.

"When you're alone and life is making you lonely, You can always go"... and read next week's blog post on the aesthetics of Last Night in Soho.

Part 2: The Many Readings of The Pink Opaque

The aesthetics of ‘The Pink Opaque’ can be discussed from two angles. The first way that you can look at The Pink Opaque is from the within-universe perspective, in which The Pink Opaque was a real TV show that our characters watched. In fact, it was a young adult television show that aired in the 1990s and followed the adventures of two teenagers with a psychic connection, Isabel and Tara, as they fought against monster-of-the-week type villains. Including their most formidable foe, Mr. Melancholy, who has the power to warp time and reality. The second way you can discuss the aesthetics of The Pink Opaque is from the outside-universe perspective, which acknowledges that The Pink Opaque is not a real TV show but a plot device within the larger film of I Saw the TV Glow (2024), to develop the characters and introduce new elements to the story. This blog post will dissect in brief the aesthetics of The Pink Opaque from both of these viewpoints.

While Owen and Maddy are in their youth, The Pink Opaque is visually stunning, with dreamlike lighting and dynamic costuming, particularly the clothing of Isabel, which highlights her affinity for the colour pink. A colour often used to symbolise femininity and romance. At the same time, the show’s monsters are strikingly disturbing. I argue that what makes Mr. Sprinkly and Mr. Melancholy just so off-putting to look at isn’t their character design but their uncanny and unpolished appearance. We, as an audience, can see the performer underneath the costume, we can see the real face shape protruding out of the moon and the human-shaped hands of an ice cream. Hence, the monsters have a distorted look somewhere between man and monster, a twisted combination that would be scary to young people in the 90s growing up before polished CGI effects. It makes complete sense why a pair of (most likely) queer outsiders would be attracted to this show.

For Maddy, an alternative dressing teenage lesbian in the 90s, it would be euphoric to see two female characters, one femme and the other more masculine presenting, to have such a strong emotional (and sometimes physical connection) to one another. It matters that one of the most recognisable visuals of The Pink Opaque is that of Isabel and Tara sitting together near a lake as if they were having a romantic date in the psychic plane. A place where they can truly be together without barriers, a place they long to be. While for Owen, a character who arguably represents trans identity, watching this ‘show for girls’, as stated by his father, may resonate with his inner hidden identity, in a way that other forms of media and stimulation that he is ‘meant’ to consume don’t. Therefore, it is likely that The Pink Opaque operated similarly to many teen pop culture shows in our world, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003), a real-world TV programme that director Jane Schoenbrun stated directly inspired The Pink Opaque. Like Buffy, The Pink Opaque was a safe place where young people could gain a greater understanding of themselves and how they can express their identity (particularly their feminine or queer identity), all within a space of juvenile-friendly comfort.

It’s also significant to note that when Owen grows up and re-watches The Pink Opaque as an adult that the show’s aesthetics do change. The Pink Opaque starts to look childish and cheap, with the main actors in the scenes being young children, and Mr Sprinkly having a less intimidating design. However, I do not believe that this is an entirely accurate portrayal of what The Pink Opaque truly always looked like and before it just looked better through Owen’s nostalgia, especially given the fact that several times in the film, while Owen is an adult we see The Pink Opaque continuing to look more similar to the version Owen appeared to be watching in his youth. Instead, I believe that we are meant to understand that this dip in production quality is the effect of Owen rewatching the show many years later on a streaming service, the entity that exponentially heightened the need for traditional TV network shows to have sophisticated special effects and complex plots if they hope to compete in the age of streaming. Hence, compared to these expensive modern streaming shows and given that Owen is no longer an adolescent himself, The Pink Opaque looks cheap, tame, and childish. In reality, the aesthetics of The Pink Opaque are fluid, unfixed. It isn't that there is one true version of The Pink Opaque; the fact is, there are several versions of The Pink Opaque. After all, we as an audience should be aware that we are only experiencing The Pink Opaque through the changing interpretations of our narrator, Owen. The Pink Opaque isn't actually a real TV show, but a device by which the director can further detail themes of fandom, identity exploration and the sometimes-blurred line between fiction and reality. Hence, the choice to have the aesthetics of The Pink Opaque change depending on when Owen is watching or being nostalgic for the show is a fantastic choice to add further discussion about the messages of this film.

I would like to thank everyone who waited to read the second half of my blog for I Saw the TV Glow. I just had so much more I wanted to say about this film (and still do have more I’d like to say), but for now, I’m going to have a short break from writing about this film.

If you enjoyed reading this part of my I Saw the TV Glow, please go and read the first half, all about how the film’s aesthetics complement the theme of nostalgia.

- The Aesthetics of Cinema Blogger

References:

BBC Maestro (2023) What is a plot device?. Available at: https://www.bbcmaestro.com/blog/plot-devices

Jacobs, M. (2024) The Complex Ending of I Saw the TV Glow, Explained. Available at: https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/story/ending-of-i-saw-the-tv-glow-explained#:~:text=Schoenbrun%2C%20who%20uses%20they/them,t%20escape%20like%20she%20did.

Part 1: The Suffocating Nature of Nostalgia

I Saw the TV Glow (2024) is a non-linear masterpiece which beautifully, and sometimes disturbingly, explores themes of nostalgia, dreams and queer identity. Director Jane Schoenbrun uses visuals within this film to more fully realise, ‘make real’, these themes by giving them physical substance, which adds further commentary and nuance.

One such way Schoenbrun achieves this is by giving the audience a consistent colour motif, specifically the colour purple (or, if you want to be more precise, a pinkish-purple), to represent nostalgia. If the film were to be linear, one of the first instances where we would have been introduced to the colour purple and its significance within the narrative would be in what appears to be a school hall, where one of our main characters, as a child, walks around under a children’s parachute. At first, he appears timid, but as he wanders his curiosity fuels him, even touching the colours of the parachute while soft music plays in the background. However, before we can see him appearing fully confident, the parachute comes down on top of him and all the other children. This scene is incredibly visually stunning and a fantastic example of how this film views nostalgia and what the characters are truly nostalgic for.

Nostalgia, as depicted in this motion picture, is a wonderful thing. It allows us to transport ourselves to a time of youthful wonderment, hopefulness and connection. Three elements which our main characters appear to have briefly experienced while watching The Pink Opaque, but have subsequently lost.

Note: I will discuss more about the aesthetics of The Pink Opaque in the second part of this blog.

However, nostalgia can also make us stagnant in our progression to true happiness and acceptance in the present. This is perhaps best illustrated by some of the later scenes in the film, where a now elderly Owen is working at an entertainment centre surrounded by kids and childhood paraphernalia, and his physical health is deteriorating. His asthma has worsened, and he is suffocating. In his desperation to breathe/ escape his physical body to show what’s truly inside, he cuts open his chest to reveal what is inside of him/ what fuels him, and it is The Pink Opaque flashing boldly out of him with neon flashes of purple and blue. Although he smiles briefly in this moment, watching his favourite show from his youth, that brief instance of inner strength is fleeting, as when he returns from the bathroom, he instantly goes back to lacking self-assurance, timidly apologising to every partygoer for his asthma attack. Hence, although nostalgia can comfort us and bring back feelings of wonderment and hopefulness, it can also restrict us from properly coming into our own, as nostalgia alone can only take you so far if you are constantly living in the past, avoiding the present reality. That’s why it was an incredibly effective and emotive choice to have elderly Owen trapped in a mental state of incompletion, while having his body physically entrapped within a children’s entertainment centre. That’s why the message of ‘there is still time’, which is written in pinkish-purple chalk on the tarmac, is so powerful within this film. It reminds us to always strive to be the person you’re meant to be.

Owen almost acts as a cautionary tale within this narrative of the shortcomings of living only fueled by nostalgia and not addressing deeper questions within yourself while you move through life, like the questions surrounding Owen’s sexuality and gender identity. Questions that the movie keeps intentionally inconclusive. Both the narrative and Owen himself make no definitive comment about his thoughts on seeing himself within traditionally feminine clothing, just that being in Isabel’s dress and in many ways her life, feels almost as if it could be as real (or maybe even more real) than his current, more masculine presenting form. Furthermore, it feels very intentional that we never see who Owen is married to or his children on screen; we only briefly hear about them from a narration by Owen just before visually seeing him re-watching The Pink Opaque. The film is visually telling us that The Pink Opaque and nostalgia are more important to Owen, and the narrative being told by Owen, than his present-day partner and family. Perhaps the reason for this is that nostalgia plays a larger role in influencing Owen’s psyche (soul, mind and spirit) than his contemporary earthly placement, which is preventing him from fully addressing these internal questions, and it is the lack of self discovery that is preventing him from creating genuine and impactful connections with people within the present. Again, illustrating the point that nostalgia can be wonderful, as it may allow queer people to relive a time when they felt safe to be curious.

Nostalgia is also comforting as it can allow queer people to visualise a time where they gained connection, whether that be through seeing themselves represented for the first time on TV or through connecting with a queer friend over a TV show. This type of reflection is very valuable and important for queer people to remember and hold onto, as it can continue to provide a much-needed feeling of community for queer people, like Owen, who, at times in his life, have no obvious connection to a queer community, apart from his nostalgic memories of watching The Pink Opaque (a show his dad describes as a ‘girls show’) with his queer friend Maddy, as Owen navigates in a seemingly predominantly cis-het culture and environment. However, nostalgia can also be limiting. Trapping you within a specific time period in your life, not encouraging you to evolve internally or gain new and authentic connections with people.

To conclude, it's important to establish that it is not the fault of queer media (The Pink Opaque) that Owen turned into a nostalgia-fueled avoidance character who is suffocated by his own inactivity. The fault was that watching The Pink Opaque (and the memories of watching The Pink Opaque alongside Maddy) were the only points in his life where he felt true youthful wonderment, hopefulness and connection, particularly connection to his queerness and the queer community. Perhaps if Owen had more representation and community, he wouldn’t be so perpetually stuck in a time when he did feel that hopefulness and connection, which he is currently lacking in his adulthood. And that’s this movie’s take on queer media: that it’s valuable and impactful. However, we will have to discuss more about I Saw the TV Glow’s take on its own ‘within universe’ queer coded TV show The Pink Opaque in next week's blog post.

Thank you for being patient with me. I had a lot more to write about how this film portrays nostalgia, and I’m looking forward to discussing more about the aesthetics of The Pink Opaque and how those aesthetic choices further illustrate the themes of the movie.

It’s no secret that Batman & Robin (1997) was made and stylised in such a way to sell toys. The film has been labelled by many as a 2-hour toy commercial, with one of its main villains even having his signature weapon directly designed by toy companies. It was this objective, to sell more plastic to children, that supercharged the creation of the wonderfully toyetic, colourful, and campy landscape of Gotham, which our caped crusader found himself in.

From Mr Freeze’s lair being a masterclass on literalness to Batman and Robin’s infamous plastic-looking ‘bat-nipples’, 1997’s Batman & Robin feels like you're inside a really excitable kids' playroom, and it’s incredibly joyous. You can almost imagine the rush of exhilaration coming over a child’s face as they dramatically reenact one of Mr Freeze’s iconic (arguably iconically cringe) lines just before grabbing their Mr Freeze action figure to push over their perfectly upright Batman and Robin. But how is it that this film, in my opinion at least, has been able to marvellously capture the playfulness of youth? Well, for me it’s all about the aesthetics, the toy-thetics.

To do so, let’s discuss my two favourite elements of this film, the performances of Poison Ivy (Uma Thurman) and Mr Freeze (Arnold Schwarzenegger). Both Thurman and Schwarzenegger give incredibly playful and exaggerated performances. Marvelling and chewing on every piece of dialogue. Their charismatic interpretations of these characters are then only magnified by their pantomime-esque costumes, makeup, lairs, and even on-theme affiliates. You can criticise these villains for being too silly or campy, but what you can’t criticise is their strong visual branding. Poison Ivy owns all things botanical and aggressively green in this film, such as when she takes over the city of Gotham’s party in a larger-than-life pink gorilla costume to then slowly reveal herself in an all-green ensemble completed with an ornate leotard covered in an intricate leaf design. While Mr Freeze is synonymous with all things silver and icy blue, including his lounge ware (which is topped off with a rather comfy-looking pair of polar bear slippers) and his post-freezing accident skin complexion, which sparkles like sunlight reflecting off ice crystals.

These characters look and act dynamically against one another with their contrasting aesthetics and even contrasting performances, with Poison Ivy acting as the distinctly feminine Lady Macbeth type character, destroyed by her own ruthless ambition to save the planet above human life, all while styled like she’s competing on RuPaul’s Drag Race. In contrast to Mr Freeze, who casts a bulky figure in his armour when he turns to crime and violence in the name of protecting (and later avenging) his wife. In many ways, these characters are diametrically opposed to one another, and yet it makes sense for them to be interacting, obviously not within the universe of the film itself ( they have conflicting goals and barely spend any time together before it’s implied Ivy has a crush on Freeze), but because they serve the role of archetypal feminine and masculine characters often needed for a hearty dramatic romantic subplot essential for any good long play sessions round your cousins house. The film almost introduces them in the exact way you would introduce your He-Man to your Barbie, with Mr Freeze crashing into the jungle-themed party, saying a cheesy one-liner and Poison Ivy is immediately interested in working with him. They are dolls, characters, not people, and their visual styling never forgets that.

Furthermore, both Ivy and Freeze are consistently situated perfectly with their own germane playsets for them to monologue about their evil plans in with their henchmen. Mr Freeze’s lair is literally an all-encompassing winter wonderland, complete with one female character (Ms. B Haven, portrayed by Vivica A. Fox), adorned in snow-themed revealing clothing which is entirely impractical for the temperature conditions of the lab. The ice fortress itself is even ‘hidden’ in plain sight in an evilly camp ‘Snowy Cones Ice Cream Factory’. Gotham in this movie truly does have some incredibly diverse architecture in this movie. The Batcave looks like it came straight out of a cartoon, while Wayne Manor appears to have been moved brick by brick from some country in England.

Everything visual was designed with play in mind, and that has led the film to have a playful and electric aesthetic, which prioritises exaggeration, gaudiness, and perhaps one could say whimsy over a more grounded and believably formatted city (even though it could be argued in a film where there is a scene of Mr Freeze escaping Batman and Robin in his homemade rocket, perhaps it’s not the craziest thing that everyone just happens to find themselves constantly within set pieces that lend themselves to using their new official Batman & Robin licensed Batmobile or Batarang or even Mr Freeze’s Deluxe Ice Terror with Ice Crystal Rocket). To summarise, the aesthetics of Batman & Robin (1997) can be best understood through the supervillains of the piece. The film’s aesthetics are colourful, playful, dynamic and yes, heavily toyetic with everything, including the Bat credit card having an almost cheap plastic quality to it and as this film only becomes older, I don’t think that’s a bad quality to have. I love this film and have loved this film since I was a child, and with every yearly re-watch, I can pleasantly say that the film continues to be able to transport me to a place of childlike joy and salivate in unsophisticated glee at the question “Wouldn’t it be cool right now if Mr Freeze just had an ice-themed rocket?”.

-The Aesthetics of Cinema Blogger (2025)

"Today's forecast... a new blog post is coming".

Soon I will be uploading my first blog post discussing the aesthetics of the quote on quote "bad movie" Batman & Robin (1997).