Continuum: The Australian Journal of Media & Culture
Vol. 5, No. 2, 1992
Film: Matters of Style
Edited by Adrian Martin

The Magnificent Ambersons: deep focus, the long take and psychological representation

Stuart Cunningham

Le cinéma americain parle psychanalyse avec un fort accent. Marc Vernet 1

America discovered Freud in the years immediately before, during and after the second world war. Initially, as elsewhere, American professional psychology and psychiatry was generally cautious and often antagonistic to Freud's psychoanalysis; not without significant adaptation did it eventually become institutionalised in professional practice. 2 Its initial impact outside the medical and psychiatric profession, during the 1920s, was primarily on artistic and intellectual sub-cultures seeking precedent and definition for dissent and dissatisfaction with superannuated manners, mores and thought. Its extensive popularisation and diffusion into mass culture was not, however, achieved until the 1930s and later. The reasons why "the United States should have become the country in which his [Freud's] theories found their most enthusiastic reception anywhere, or why they became such a decisive influence in American culture" 3 are complex and certainly exceed the purview of this paper; what is intriguing for present purposes is that a series of factors - historical, cultural, technological, economic - converged during the late 1930s and 1940s to produce an American cinema which had reached its economic apogee, its golden age of greatest cultural penetration and financial success, and was both technologically innovative and extraordinarily responsive to rapidly shifting cultural conditions.

I want to examine an aspect of this complex convergence in some detail; specifically, the articulation in certain Hollywood films of the period of psychological and psychologically-influenced interpersonal relations through deep focus and deep space. This is not to suggest an automatic privileging of these techniques over other significant forms of cinematic representation of psychological states during this period, for instance, codes of lighting, acting and narrative construction in, say, film noir. However, the examination of the relation of cinematic technique and psychological representation reveals important connections among technology, technique, style and the justifying or critical discourses concerning them.

Cultural and intellectual historians examining the influence and diffusion of Freudian thought in America have pointed to the paradoxical situation that a theory of human society which was "stern, if not gloomy" 4 and ultimately tragic and deterministic would be assimilated so powerfully and popularly into such a prototypically open society as America. While there was active resistance at a professional level to the implications of Freudianism for the American liberal tradition of William James, John Dewey and Charles Horton Cooley, 5 there was also much adaptation of it to American cultural conditions. This took a variety of forms, among them the growth of a specifically American Freudian revisionism with Erich Fromm, Theodor Reik and Paul Goodman and an extensive psychoanalysisation of popular culture which, Hendrick Ruitenbeek observes, was unique to America. 6 From a professionally orthodox stance, this 'psychoanalysisation' was at the cost of vulgarisation of Freudian principles to the reductio that all neurosis and unhappiness is to be traced to sexual repression and a fierce determination, far beyond Freud's own hopes, to find socially acceptable resolutions and cures. 7 In relation to cinema, the most influential mode of popular culture, Vernet can say that Hollywood evacuated the dynamics of the Oedipus complex, mythified the role of the analyst, provided a misconceived apology for familial relations, created simplistic thematisations of psychoanalytical concepts, and ransacked psychoanalysis for new legitimations of the hegemony of narrative realism:

Ce tamisage de la psychoanalyse par le cinema de fiction explique que les films americains n'aient retenu, comme modele de cure, que celui defini par la methode cathartique. Le cinema americain en fait le modele, alors qu'on sait qu'il ne s'agissait que de la premiere etape, qui fut tres vite depasse et qui reste tres limite dans le temps. Pourquoi des films tournes a partir de 1940s en fiennent-ils a l'etat des travaux en 1890. La conduite de la cure telle que Freud a pu la pratiquer entre 1880 et 1895: la methode cathartique? Mais parce que c'est ce modele qui correspond le mieux aux schemas du cinema classique de fiction. 8

[This sifting of psychoanalysis by fictional cinema explains why American movies never retained any other model of treatment than that defined by the cathartic method. For American cinema it is the model. Yet we know that this model was only a first stage - one which was very short-lived and soon became obsolete. Why would films shot after 1940 keep to the state of the art of 1890 (the type of treatment conducted by Freud between 1880 and 1895 - the cathartic method)? It is simply because this model is the best suited to the patterns of classical fiction cinema. (Trans. A-M. Medcalf & A. McHoul)]

This seems, however, too sweeping a judgement. As Richard Harvey King identifies in his intellectual history of post-war America, there was a gap between liberal beliefs and economic progress and the "deep places of the imagination" 9 exacerbated, one might certainly add, by war-time dislocation and uncertainty. Historically, this contributed to certain types of filmmaking in the 1940s which clearly eschewed many of these appropriations of Freudianism. Film noir, with its involuted narrative structures (against linear, simplistically cathartic, narrative) and moral darkness (against the 'happy end'), clearly problematises Vernet's conclusions. Certain films such as Citizen Kane (1941), The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), Gaslight (1944), The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), Crossfire (1947), The Locket (1946), King's Row (1942) and Mildred Pierce (1945)must also be examined for their deployment of deep focus and deep space as a technique of psychological representation which also problematises Vernet. 10

Deep focus and deep space, used extensively albeit erratically throughout the century, was nevertheless put to a series of specifically psychological uses in certain films of the 1940s. Filmic depth cues (both as a function of the camera - deep focus, and of mise en scene - staging in depth) have been used in mainstream films to express interpersonal and intrapersonal states of characters via proxemics - the spatial relationships of people to people and/or of people to objects in their environment. 11

It is the crystallisation of this more general attribute in order to represent specific psychological states in such films as those mentioned above which is at issue. Following Jean Mitry, the central issue of the "psychological spatialisation of the drama" can be further specified:

Il ne s'agit plus seulement de presenter des individus n'ayant d'autres liens que d'etre simultanement presents, mais de nous faire voir dans le meme temps plusiers individus reagissant differement a partir d'une meme cause, cette cause ayant ete saisie au cours des plans precedents ou pouvant l'etre d'une facon egalement simultanee. On determine ainsi une unite dramatique a la faveur de l'espace utilise et l'on souligne le comportment des individus en profitant de leur situation respective. Il s'agit donc d'une veritable spatialisation psychologique du drame, c'est-a-dire de l'emploi d'un procede connu a des fins tout a fait nouvelles. 12

[It is no longer a matter of introducing individuals who are related to one another purely by the fact of being in the same place at the same time. Instead, it is a matter of showing us, within a single time span, several individuals, each reacting differently to the same cause. And this cause can have been apprehended in earlier shots - or else simultaneously. In this way, dramatic unity is defined according to the space being used; whilst the behaviour of each individual is emphasised by taking advantage of their unique situation. What we have here is, indeed, a psychological spatialisation of drama - or, in other words, the use of a well-known process (unity of time and space) for altogether new ends. (Trans. A-M Medcalf & A. McHoul)]

What is "altogether new" for Mitry is a psychological dynamisation rather than the attribution of architectonic or plastic qualities to cinematic space. 13 Mitry also argues an intellectual rather than emotional or cathartic resonance for such spatialisation: in the scene of Susan's attempted suicide in Citizen Kane, contra Bazin, the spectator is distanced, neither with Susan or Kane, but out front, "doubtless interested by the drama but in a quite intellectual fashion." 14 We thus have a certain objectivity or detachment.

The films under consideration tend to deploy deep focus and deep space in sequences which 'lay out' psychological interaction in a privileged or condensed fashion. There are the obvious instances in Citizen Kane: the sequences at the start of Thatcher's flashback in which, while the young Charles plays in the snow in the extreme background, he is being signed away by his mother and erstwhile father; Susan's suicide attempt; Kane finishing Leland's notice panning Susan in the Chicago Inquirer office. 15

The Magnificent Ambersons offers many such privileged sequences, discussed in detail in section II. The case of Jezebel is interestingly different in that deep focus is used quite sparingly but almost uniformly at points of psychological suggestiveness. In the opening sequence, Pres' hand enters in an extreme CU to offer Miss Julie a drink: the dominating image of Julie is intersected and dominated by an initially enigmatic but dominating figure, as the narrative amply enacts. When Julie is introduced to Pres' northern wife Amy, deep focus is used to maintain our attention on both Julie's reactions and those of the unassuming (and at this stage ignorant) Amy, thus magnifying the dramatic tension while withholding any unqualified identification with the upstaged Julie as she must herself be withheld in such a formal situation.

In Gaslight, again a film shot almost throughout with more conventional 'lensing' and staging, there are highly privileged moments shot in deep focus. Paula (Ingrid Bergman) and her tormentor husband Gregory (Charles Boyer) are attending an evening of chamber music. The suspicious investigator Cameron (Joseph Cotten) is observing them at a distance from the back of a large room. A deep focus shot places Cameron between, though well behind, the couple; his intervention in their troubled relationship represented spatially. Preternaturally, Gregory 'senses' this intervention, turns his head slowly toward Cameron (all other gazes meanwhile fixed on the musicians), a 180 degree reverse angle from behind Cameron maintaining extreme depth of field matches the action of Gregory's head turning. It is an absolutely electric moment; the preternatural power and possessiveness of Gregory, Cameron's growing threat to his power, and Paula's uncontrolled response (which dramatically breaks the strongly-coded decorum of the event) are all established through deep focus.

Findley's (Robert Young) position as privileged enunciator in Crossfire - he delivers, remarkably for Hollywood (but not for Edward Dmytryk), a sustained direct address lecture on the destructiveness of ethnic prejudice as the film's coda - is not so much thoroughly narrativised in the film, but suggested through mise en scene in the opening sequence's use of deep focus and deep space. Findley, a detective, immediately dominates the scene of the murder. In the close foreground questioning Gloria Grahame, he masks her completely from view before he turns aside thus affording us 'vision'. His body also intervenes initially between our position and the corpse. His pipe crosses the face of Robert Mitchum (Sgt. Keely). We are drawn to these unmistakable marks of enunciation by their being presented in deep focus. Kings Row, an exemplary articulation in form and content of psychological representation, also uses depth of focus and space at significant moments; for instance, when Paris' aunt lies abed with cancer and Paris, from another room, sees the syringe and medication at the bedside in a deep focus shot strongly reminiscent of the scene of Susan's suicide attempt in Kane.

In the light of these observations, both technical and theoretical-critical accounts of deep focus (and its relation to psychological representation) may need to be somewhat recast. The technical discourse of The Journal of the Society of Motion Picture Engineers (hereafter JSMPE), International Photographer and American Cinematographer (to which might be added the work on deep focus of Patrick Ogle and Barry Salt 16 ), when it (infrequently) addresses itself to questions of the representational effectivity of the use of technology, usually falls back on critical nostrums which do little more than indicate, through symptomatic contradiction, a space for clearer analysis. 17 Accounts of the psychological effectivity of film in JSMPE usually arise explicitly in relation to overt 'manipulation' presumed only to occur in propaganda, educational and public relations films. 18 Otherwise, the perceptual 'illusion of depth' in film is treated purely as a question of creating the appropriate "trick" or technical sleight-of-hand 19 and the psychological effectivity (never itself discussed, even within the discourse's own terms, as 'manipulatory') of Hollywood fiction is celebrated as "spellbinding" 20 and always within the model of cathartic projection and identification. 21

Certain material in American Cinematographer reveals more interesting insights. There is both valorisation and mistrust of the achievements of "extreme focal depth" in the 1940s. That Hollywood was attempting to develop ways of representing newly-perceived psychological dimensions is clear in Lightman's statement that:

star names, smooth production, lavish sets are no longer sufficient to guarantee the success of a film. The novelty of lavishness has worn thin, and producers now realise that they must give an audience something it can "sink its teeth into", a story of substantial fabric based on sound psychology. 22

There is clear awareness that extreme focal depth may extend the range of psychological treatment, but the extent and unanimity of writers' reservations about the technique reveal that Mitry's notion of "intellectualisation" through deep focus posed a crisis, however short-lived, for Hollywood's classical (i.e., technologically self-effacing) realism. 23 Herb Lightman considered Gregg Toland's work on Kane as "somewhat theatrical" 24 and its excessiveness (any excess indicating the limitations of the system of realism) disturbing:

However, there were sequences when too many of these devices were used at the same time, vying for audience-attention in such a way as to cloud the dramatic issues presented. Too much of a good thing weakened the impact of an otherwise masterful film. 25

With these observations in mind, I want now to turn to a detailed analysis of depth of focus and staging in a film that epitomises its use and potentialities in the 1940s, The Magnificent Ambersons.


The Magnificent Ambersons: Selective Description


1. Welles' voice-over, montage of late 19th century lifestyle and fashions, the passing of the seasons, the ritual of the serenade. A woman rejects a man who clumsily attempts to woo her (in this section, these are not yet specific characters identified by the narration).

2. Introduction to the "magnificence of the Ambersons". Intermittent continuation of voice-over. Man and woman from 1 now identified as Eugene Morgan (Joseph Cotton) and Isabel Amberson (Dolores Costello). Isabel marries Wilbur Minafer (Don Dillaway). Montage of introduction to George Amberson Minafer (Tim Holt).


3. Twenty years later. The last great Amberson ball, in honour of George. Eugene and daughter Lucy (Ann Baxter) at the ball. Introduction of the complex interaction and history of the main characters: Isabel, Eugene, George, Lucy, Wilbur, Aunt Fanny (Agnes Moorehead), Uncle Jack (Ray Collins), Major Amberson (Richard Bennett).

4. After the ball. Isabel introduces Wilbur's ill-health to George. George confronts Wilbur, Fanny and Jack with his unease about the relation of Eugene to the family. George and Fanny argue over Eugene.

5. The snow adventure in Eugene's automobile.


6. Death of Wilbur. Eugene and Lucy arrive at the mansion to pay their respects.

7. Fanny feeds George in the kitchen and indirectly plies him with questions about Eugene and Isabel. Jack enters. Fanny reacts hysterically to George's 'innocent' questions about her getting married.

8. The visit to the Morgan automobile factory.

9. George and Lucy in George's buggy. Lucy is unresponsive to George's proposals for marriage. Major Amberson and Jack in carriage.

10. The dinner. George insults Eugene. George and Fanny on the stairs. Fanny exposes the 'bad reputation' of Isabel.

11. George 'protects' his mother's honour. Confronts Fanny's confidante. Refuses to allow Eugene to see Isabel.

12. Eugene's letter to Isabel. Isabel submits to George.

13. George and Lucy farewell.


14. Five years later. Jack reports to Eugene and Lucy on the condition of Isabel and George in Paris.

15. Isabel and George return. Eugene prevented from seeing Isabel. Jack farewells George in train station.

16. Eugene and Lucy walk in their garden; the Indian names.

17. Fanny and George alone in empty mansion. George seeks work to support them. George injured in an accident. Eugene and Lucy visit the hospital.

The Magnificent Ambersons has not received the extensive critical attention that Citizen Kane, The Best Years of Our Lives or La Regle du Jeu have in terms of their deployment of deep focus, depth of field and the plan sequence. This is possibly because it sits in the shadow of Welles' tour de force of the previous year and doesn't deal with as explosive a subject as Citizen Kane; possibly also because of the extensive changes made to the film by RKO in post-production, about which Welles commented, "they let the studio janitor cut The Magnificent Ambersons in my absence". 26

Notwithstanding this notorious mutilation of the film, especially the end, 27 the film is arguably no less innovative than Citizen Kane, but innovative within more classical parameters of narrative structure and character development. Welles himself contrasted the unity and simplicity of The Magnificent Ambersons to the "bric-a-brac" of Kane; and Bazin comments that:

reversing the usual process, Welles had produced his 'baroque' film before his classical work. Basically, however, what is essential in the stylistic innovations of the first recurs with greater mastery and is more intelligently pared down in the second, often pushed further. 29

Another of the reasons that has made Ambersons "less famous", as Bazin mentions, 30 is that Welles doesn't himself act in the film. However, this meant that the film achieved a balance of emphasis among several leading characters - Eugene, Isabel, George, Lucy, Fanny - and its narrative was structured according to the complex interrelations obtaining among equally developed characters. I want to discuss the film in terms of its exemplary deployment of deep focus, depth of field and the plan sequence in representing psychological interrelationships.

The film is structured with subtle rhythmical variation. It begins (I. 1, 2) with a rapid series of establishing scenes. The body of the film is divided into two styles of mise en scene: the first (II. 3 - III. 6, 8) is characterised by fluid camera movement in relation to which characters dynamically interact, the second (III. 7, 9-13) involves both camera movement, but more rigid, lateral movement, and more static scenes. Certain final scenes evidence extreme rigidity and stasis (IV. 14, 15), while the end (of dubious pertinence to the film's original organisation) returns to a modicum of movement. Deep focus and deep space are used, as is camera movement, to articulate clearly delineated shifts in psychological interaction.

II. 3 is 11 minutes 40 seconds long, has 22 shots and includes takes of almost a minute and one of 1:30. It introduces all the principal characters and economically establishes their interrelationships. Major Amberson, Isabel and George stand together to greet their guests; as Uncle John Minafer expiates to the three in the foreground, Eugene stands silently but intently gazing at Isabel. The shot's depth of focus and staging maintains the attention on Eugene which an otherwise 'shallow' shot would have given over wholly to their ambuctious uncle.

The first exchange of glances of Eugene and Isabel is done in conventional shot-reverse shot, Isabel in soft focus. Both shot-reverse shot and soft focus are extremely rare in Ambersons; its use here dramatically privileges the film's central relationship. A series of shots connected by a dissolve and a soft-focus wipe, with elaborate camera movement laterally and in depth, involves George and Lucy in a humorous obfuscation of Eugene's identity, something which the mise en scene of the shot amply, though subtly, establishes. The camera's choreography of the ballroom takes in various couplings - Eugene and Isabel, George and Lucy, Eugene and Fanny, Eugene and Uncle Jack - which are momentarily held as the camera stops, pulls from deep to shallow focus to 'spot' the couples' dialogue, then racks back to deep focus to replace the characters in their wider relationships.

The first more conventional static shot, of George and Lucy sitting on their chairs, nevertheless involves a subtle pattern of movement in sharp deep focus below them. Eugene leaves Fanny, with whom he has been dancing, Isabel leaves Uncle Jack, both ascend the stairs to form a spatial choreography which is central to the film's plot: George and Lucy, and Eugene and Isabel are paired in terms of their position in the foreground and background respectively, with the position of Uncle Jack and Fanny in extreme background congruous with their role as 'chorus' and commentators for the film's central relations. However, there is 'conflicting' visual evidence: George and Isabel are paired to the left of frame, Eugene and Lucy to the right. The plot revolves around this tension, established through deep focus and deep space.

The scene concludes with a lateral wipe to an extreme long take of 0:90 which choreographs the central characters frontally in relation to the camera as their relations are more 'frontally' revealed in dialogue. Fanny, Eugene, Isabel and Jack approach the refreshments table as the Major offers Eugene some egg nog. Wilbur joins the group (to deliver one of his two speeches in the film). Eugene declines the Major's invitation:

Major: I see you kept your promise, Gene. Isabel, I remember the last drink Gene ever had. Fact is, I believe if he hadn't broken that bass fiddle, his belle never would've married Wilbur. (moving to Isabel, taking her head) My jingo, she's blushing.

Isabel: Who wouldn't blush?


(camera pans right, following Eugene)

Fanny: The important thing is that Wilbur did get her and not only got her but kept her.

Eugene: There's another important thing, at least for me. In fact, it's the only thing that makes me forgive that bass viol for getting in my way.

Jack: What's that?

(George and Lucy cross in front of the group)

Eugene: Lucy.

Throughout these crucial scenes deep focus and staging in depth is choreographed succinctly with camera movement to establish, through spatial arrangement and variation, the psychology (and incipient psychopathology) of character interaction. The constantly shifting groupings of central characters spatially delineate the history of past relationships and fantasies (especially Fanny's and Eugene's), the vectors of new relationships (Lucy/George) and implied future developments (Isabel/Eugene).

In III. 6, the scene after Wilbur's death, a sort of moving tableau of spatial relationships provides a condensed isotope of the narrative. In one long (0:35) slow pan left, from a low angle in deep focus, the trajectory of character interaction is presented spatially. Eugene and Lucy have come to pay their respects. They move together past George, then Eugene passes Fanny and they exchange glances, Eugene goes to Isabel and they exchange looks, Lucy looks to George, George then moves in front of Fanny, Fanny moves towards and gazes at Eugene and Isabel as the latter two move off left of frame. The camera and Fanny approach each other as the camera pulls focus; there is a minor jump cut to a close up of Fanny in shallow focus. The scene is silent until a sombre and foreboding refrain plays over Fanny's insistent gaze at Eugene and Isabel.

Narratively, Eugene and Lucy 'cross' the lives of the 'magnificent' Ambersons, as II. 3 as well as this tableau so fluidly demonstrate, each in different fashions interacting with, and precipitating conflict among, the members of the family. This variety of interactions is represented in differential, dynamic spatial relations formulated in deep focus/deep space from a low camera angle which places Wilbur's bier prominently in the foreground: glances are exchanged (Eugene-Fanny, Eugene-Isabel, Lucy-George, Fanny-Isabel and Eugene), characters mask others as they move in front of them (Eugene-George, George-Fanny), couplings occur (Eugene-Isabel, George-Lucy) and the position of Fanny as nemesis for Eugene-Isabel is established in the last seconds of the take.

This scene, along with III. 7, 9-13, provide a transition from the remarkably fluid camera movement and constantly shifting staging in depth of III.3 to the extreme stasis of IV. 14, 15. In these scenes, there is camera movement, staging in depth and deep focus (though not consistently throughout), but they tend towards increasing rigidity, stasis and the separation of characters into smaller groups, pairs, and individually as characters are absorbed into the mise en scene. Camera movement, when it occurs, is predominantly lateral tracking or tilting on one plane, with no movement in depth. For example, the long (2:17) single take of Lucy's unresponsiveness to George's plans for marriage in which the camera tracks parallel to their buggy but remains almost uniformly in an 'observer's' position, distancing us as they distance themselves from each other (III. 9).

The dinner scene in which George insults Eugene (III. 10) is initially structured in conventional continuity editing, but deep focus emphasises the increasing 'distance' between characters, which is more dramatically presented as Fanny and George converse on the grand staircase. The staircase, which in III. 3 had served as both a means for camera and character movement through which the spectator also moved up the stairs, and as a point of convergence for the main characters, now is the means by which characters are separated. The camera, also, no longer shoots from the stairs, but at a distance, on a crane.

In this scene, and in III. 7, 11 & 12, because the camera no longer moves in depth when it does move, and because scenes such as George and Fanny in the kitchen and on the stairs (III. 7 and III. 10 respectively) are extreme long takes (4:25 and 2:52 respectively), the consistent deployment of deep focus contributes powerfully to the growing absorption of increasingly isolated and privatised characters into the mise en scene. The sumptuous decor and architecture, whose significance and presence is consistently foregrounded by deep focus and staging in depth, and was initially represented as a mark of 'magnificence', now resonates with the absence of hitherto dominating character interaction. The spatialisation of character interaction staged in depth and shot in deep focus was dynamised by camera movement in depth; now this spatialisation, deprived of camera and character movement, functions to greatly increase the sense of isolation and privatism.

The fourth movement of the film completes this process. Characters are increasingly absorbed into their environment, the camera moves less and less, and then rarely in depth, deep focus now emphasises absolutely static tableaux. Jack visits Eugene and Lucy's mansion after five years of Isabel and George's absence (IV. 14): the extreme long take (2:13), with an absolutely static camera, and staging in considerable depth and deep focus, epitomises this rigidification and stasis of relationships. When Isabel and George return from Paris (IV. 15), a relatively long tracking shot (though not by the film's standards) (0:20), which covers similar ground to the tracking shot of Lucy and George in the buggy (III. 9), is nevertheless contrasted with it in terms of the former's strong suggestion of pathological relationships through expressionistic lighting and gesture, formulated as a tableau by deep focus.


1. Marc Vernet, "Freud: Effets speciaux. Mise en scene: USA", Communications 23 (1975), p. 223. Although this important article has never been translated into English, see two later, related essays by Vernet: "The Filmic Transaction: On the Openings of Film Noirs", The Velvet Light Trap 20, Summer 1983 (translation by D. Rodowick of a 1980 piece), and "The Look at the Camera", Cinema Journal, Vol 28 No 2, Winter 1989 (translation by D. Polan of a 1983 piece).

2. See Nathan G. Hale, Jr., Freud and the Americans: The Beginnings of Psychoanalysis in the United States, 1876-1917 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1971), Hendrick M. Ruitenbeek, Freud and America (New York: MacMillan, 1966) and John R. Seeley, The Americanization of the Unconscious (New York: International Science Press, 1967).

3. Thomas Elsaesser, "Tales of Sound and Fury: Observations on the Family Melodrama", Monogram 4 (1972), p. 11.

4. Seeley, Americanization of the Unconscious, p. 7.

5. Gardner Murphy, "The Current Impact of Freud on American Psychology", in Benjamin Nelson (ed.), Freud and the 20th Century (New York: Meridan Books, 1957), p. 116.

6. Ruitenbeek, Freud and America, p. 13.

7. Ruitenbeek, Freud and America, pp. 71-89.

8. Vernet, "Freud: Effets speciaux", p. 229.

9. Richard Harvey King, Freud and Post World War II American Radical Social Thought, Unpublished PhD dissertation, University of Virginia, 1971, p. 77.

10. Additionally, films which fall within Vernet's time span (1940s through 1960s), though outside mine, which exceed his strictures would include the "sophisticated family melodrama" of the 1950s about which Elsaesser, in "Tales of Sound and Fury", speaks.

11. Charles H. Harpole, "Ideological and Technological Determinism in Deep-Space Cinema Images: Issues in Ideology, Technological History, and Aesthetics", Film Quarterly XXXIII, (Spring 1980), p. 15.

12. Jean Mitry, Esthetique et psychologie du cinema 2: les formes (Paris: Eds. Universitaires, 1965), p. 40.

13. Mitry, Esthetique et psychologie, p. 51.

14. Mitry, Esthetique et psychologie, p. 43.

15. Editor's Note: Stuart Cunningham's article, written in 1980, here commits a common error. Some of the examples cited from Citizen Kane are not in fact instances of deep space and deep focus, but simulations of this spatial effect through a combination of effects processes such as glass shots, in-camera mattes, etc; i.e., not single images composed for the camera, but composite shots put together from pieces of several images in post-production. I have left this 'mistake' uncorrected, because I doubt whether any critic, writing before the publication in 1985 of Robert Carringer's The Making of Citizen Kane (Berkelely: University of California Press) would have described these examples any differently - even though the truth uncovered by Carringer was always clearly there to be seen on the screen. This is a fascinating instance of a powerful critical/theoretical description (Bazin's) determining the literal perception of even those (such as Gerard Gozlan) who violently disagreed with the interpretation that accompanied it. [Adrian Martin]

16. Patrick L. Ogle, "Technological and Aesthetic Influences upon the Development of Deep Focus Cinematography in the United States", Screen 13 (Spring 1972), reprinted in Screen Reader 1 (London: SEFT, 1977), Barry Salt, "Film Style and Technology in the Thirties", Film Quarterly XXX (Fall 1976), "Film Style and Technology in the Forties", Film Quarterly XXXI (Fall 1977).

17. This space has been mapped out by Edward Branigan, "Colour and Cinema: Problems in the Writing of History", Film Reader 4 (1979) and Charles Harpole, "Deep-Space Cinema Images".

18. e.g. Col. M.E. Gillette, "Psychological Factors in Training Films", Journal of the Society of Motion Picture Engineers (JSMPE) 41 (September 1943) and L. Mercer Francisco, "Psychology of the Sound Film", JSMPE 49 (September 1947).

19. e.g. Howard T. Souther, "The Illusion of Depth in Motion Pictures", JSMPE 46 (April 1946).

20. Francisco, "Psychology of the Sound Film", p. 199.

21. Francisco, "Psychology of the Sound Film"; Leon S. Becker, "Technology in the Art of Producing Motion Pictures", JSMPE 39 (August 1942); B.V. Morkovin, "The Interrelation of Technical and Dramatic Devices of Motion Pictures", JSMPE 26 (March 1936); "Presentment of Psyche", International Photographer (April 1948).

22. Herb A. Lightman, "Psychology and the Screen", American Cinematographer 27 (May 1946), p. 160.

23. Before commenting on Kane, Lightman reminds us pointedly that "our cinema appeals not to the intellect, but to the emotions". "Psychology and the Screen", p.160.

24. Lightman, "Mood in the Motion Picture", American Cinematographer 28 (February 1947), p. 69.

25. Lightman, "Psychology and the Screen", p. 160. See, for further critical comment: "Technical Progress in 1941", American Cinematographer 23 (January 1942), Charles G. Clarkes, "How Desirable is Extreme Focal Depth?", American Cinematographer 23 (January 1942), Walter Blanchard, "Aces of the Camera XIII: Gregg Toland, A.S. C.", American Cinematographer 23 (January 1942) and Toland's own account, "Realism for Citizen Kane", American Cinematographer (22 February, 1941).

26. Quoted in Joseph McBride, Orson Welles (London: Secker and Warburg, 1972), p. 55.

27. See McBride, Orson Welles, pp. 80-85 for detail of the changes made.

27. Quoted in Andre Bazin, Orson Welles: A Critical View (London: Elm Tree Books, 1978), p. 59.

29. Bazin, Orson Welles, p. 59, 62.

30. Bazin, Orson Welles, p. 59.

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