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School of Film, AUTh

ARISTOTLE UNIVERSITY OF THESSALONIKI

FACULTY OF FINE ARTS

SCHOOL OF FILM

MASTER’S PROGRAM: FILM & TELEVISION STUDIES

Master’s Thesis

“Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films: Editing Goes Into Hiding”

Georgios Dimoglou

Prof. Eleftheria Thanouli

Prof. Betty Kaklamanidou

Prof. Stacey Abbott

Thessaloniki, January 2021

School of Film, AUTh

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly, I would like to express my deep gratitude to Prof. Eleftheria Thanouli and

Prof. Betty Kaklamanidou for their valuable guidance in regard to my thesis and their

unabated support since my undergraduate years. Their passion for research and

knowledge of film and television continue to motivate me as a student and aspiring

researcher. I also extend my gratitude to Prof. Stacey Abbott for the time she dedicated

to the evaluation of this thesis as well as for being a most inspiring teacher.

I would also like to thank my talented postgraduate colleagues for motivating me

and especially Pavlina, Eva and Paul for their support and friendship. The COVID-19 era

has been an extremely arduous one and a lot of my longtime friends came to my aid in

numerous ways. I am deeply grateful to Anna, Elena, Sofianna and Efi for having my back

when I needed them the most.

Maya, Kostas, Vasilis and Vaggelis are another huge part of my years in

Thessaloniki and I am most thankful for our shared treasured memories as well as the

memories we will create in the future. I would also like to express my deep sense of

gratitude to Alkisti for being a most supportive colleague and an irreplaceable friend. I would not have reached this point without her.

Finally, I greatly appreciate my family for believing in me, my uncles and aunts

Kostas, Mary, Michalis and Marianna for offering their total support, and my father,

Dimitris, for understanding me and for inspiring me to follow my dreams. My final thank

you goes to my mother, Martina, for her love.

In memory of my old friend, Alexandros,

who untimely passed away in 2020

School of Film, AUTh

Copyright © Georgios Dimoglou, 2021.

All rights reserved.

It is forbidden to copy, store and distribute this work, in whole or in part, for commercial purposes. Reproduction, storage and distribution are permitted for non-­­ profit, educational or research purposes, provided the source is indicated and the message is retained. Questions regarding the paper’s use for commercial purposes should be addressed to the author. The views and positions contained in this paper express only the author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction 7

Theory and Methodology: Approaching One-Shot Cinema 11

Narrative Space 12

Camera Movement 13

Classical Continuity and Intensified Continuity 14

Narrative Time 16

The Long Take 18

Rope: A One-Shot Film is Born 20

Birdman: The Manipulation of Space and Time 27

1917: Immediacy in the Contemporary One-Shot Film 34

Conclusion 40

Bibliography 42

Online Sources 45

Filmography 47

ABSTRACT

Films that consist of one single uninterrupted shot – or are edited in a way that creates

the illusion of a single shot – are typically called one-shot films. In recent years, this kind of

cinema has become more and more prominent, evidenced by the critical and commercial

success of films such as Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of

Ignorance) (2014) and Sam Mendes’ 1917 (2019). The history of the feature-length one-shot

film, however, goes back as early as 1948, when Rope (directed by Alfred Hitchcock) was

released.

This thesis aspires to fill the theoretical gap of one-shot films, which, as of yet, remain

relatively unaddressed due to their only recent surge of popularity, among other reasons.

Specifically, this project is interested in examining spatial and temporal continuity in one-shot

films, so as to understand the effect of the technique on the representation of cinematic space

and time. To explore our subject, the three aforementioned films come into focus as case

studies. These films were selected based on their feature-length runtime, their identity as

narrative fiction films and their uniqueness in terms of the execution of the technique. All three

are comprised of multiple shots edited into a seemingly continuous whole. This research

performs an in-depth analysis of the films, grounded on theories on representation (and

manipulation) of classical narrative space and time, spatiotemporal continuity, and camera

movements. The ultimate objective is to showcase the technique’s evolution through time and

technology, as well as determine the ways in which these films achieve continuity across space

and time without the help of perceptible editing.

Keywords: one-shot film, space, time, continuity, camera movement, long take

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

7

INTRODUCTION

In 1948, Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope was released, a crime thriller based on the play of

the same name (1929) by Patrick Hamilton, starring John Dall as Brandon and Farley Granger

as Philip. The two young men murder a former classmate of theirs (Dick Hogan) in order to

find out if they are able to commit the perfect crime. They are not alone in their wish to

“experiment”, as Hitchcock intended to create a film without precedent; he decided to shoot

the film in a way that generates the illusion of watching a single continuous take, albeit not

perfect, as the film actually contains visible cuts (as it will be later discussed). However, most

of the cuts are hidden,1 an effect achieved by moving the camera on darker surfaces (such as

the back of an actor) and restarting shooting from there. As the film reel could not last more

than approximately ten minutes at the time (Babis Aktsoglou 2003, p. 66), it was impossible

for Hitchcock to actually shoot the film in one take.

Hitchcock’s technique initially received negative reactions from critics and filmmakers,

such as Bosley Crowther (1948) and Billy Wilder (Neil Sinyard 1994, pp. 67-68). Even

Hitchcock himself admitted it was a failed experiment (Thomas M. Bauso 1991, p. 227), much

like the two murderers’ attempt to cover their crime. After Rope, the obscure one-shot

technique was more or less abandoned for decades, scarcely found in avant-garde films, such

as Andy Warhol’s Empire (1964) and Michael Snow’s Wavelength (1967). Yet shortly after

the turn of the millennium, one-shot cinema began to resurface with digital films such as Mike

Figgis’ Timecode (2000) and Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark (2002). A few years later, this

resurgence would culminate in Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s Birdman (2014), which became the first

(and to this date, only) one-shot film to win the Academy Award for Best Picture.

The purpose of this research is to study the one-shot technique and its impact on the

continuity of space and time in American cinema. David Bordwell describes classical

Hollywood cinema as defined by “psychologically defined individuals who struggle to solve a

clear-cut problem or to attain specific goals. […] The story ends with a decisive victory or

defeat, a resolution of the problem and a clear achievement or nonachievement of the goals”

(1985, p. 157). According to Bordwell, classical cinema subordinates both systems of narrative

space (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 50) and time (p. 12) to narrative causality. Furthermore, space

1 The number of cuts in Rope is debated, as D.A. Miller points out (2016, p 87), but it is widely accepted to be

somewhere around ten.

Georgios Dimoglou

8

and time are unified by continuity editing (Bordwell 1997, p. 133). Kristin Thompson defines

continuity editing as “a set of guidelines for cutting shots together”, with the aim of narrating

the story in an unbroken manner, “spatially and temporally, from shot to shot” (Bordwell et al.

1985, p. 289). While American one-shot films seem to adhere to the rules of classical

Hollywood, they do not make use of classical continuity editing. The question posed by this

research is thus formed as such: how do one-shot films achieve to represent narrative space and

time in a continuous way, without resorting to classical editing?

An in-depth presentation of our theoretical framework and methodological tools takes

place in the first chapter. Afterwards, three case studies come into perspective: Hitchcock’s

Rope, Iñárritu’s Birdman, and Mendes’ 1917. After a brief introduction to each film, they will

be analysed on the two axes of space and time. Finally, the ways that spatial and temporal

continuity are established are presented in the concluding section. Another critical point of

discussion is cinema’s transition from the analog to the digital era, the related technological

advancements and the resulting effects on the one-shot film. Lev Manovich mentions that

contemporary digital cinema is informed by past avant-garde filmmaking practices, stating that

“what used to be exceptions for traditional cinema became the normal, intended techniques of

digital filmmaking, embedded in technology design itself” (2001, p. 258). This thesis believes

that the one-shot technique, which was used in an avant-garde context during the latter half of

the 20th century, slowly entered contemporary mainstream cinema by way of the digital, along

with other avant-garde practices, as Manovich points out.

This type of filmmaking remains underexplored to this day. The leading reason behind

this theoretical void is the one-shot film’s popularity, which has only grown in recent years,

while the still limited number of cases has also played a role in the little attention they have

received. Nevertheless, the international acclaim and box-office success of contemporary

cases, together with the continuously growing number of one-shot films2 renders the project at

hand both needed and timely.

The selection criteria for my sample were the following: 1) their feature-length runtime.

While one-shot short films have a much longer history, this study considers them to be

drastically different due to their divergent narrative structure and should therefore be

researched independently of feature films. 2) The period of their release, so as to understand

2 According to information found on Wikipedia, more than half of one-shot films ever created have been released

after 2010. For more details: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One-shot_film.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

9

the impact of different technological capabilities. 3) Their narrational and classical character.

Nonnarrative films, such as underground and avant-garde films were not considered, as space

and time are not necessarily represented in a continuous manner. 4) The original way in which

each selected film adds to the discussion.

Here, it must be noted that two categories of one-shot films are generally recognised:

edited and unedited. Those that are considered edited actually consist of multiple shots which

remain hidden through montage and special effects. On the other hand, unedited one-shot films

are comprised of one single take from beginning to end. Rope, Birdman and 1917 are all

examples of edited one-shot films and in fact, all three visibly break the one-shot illusion in

specific moments, which are addressed later.

This research is primarily based on Bordwell’s theories on continuity and narrative

space and time in classical films. Since long takes and a constantly moving camera are elements

integral to the one-shot film, Bordwell’s ideas on camera movement, editing and long takes are

also taken into consideration, along with input from other theorists (e.g. Edward Branigan

2006; Lutz Koepnick 2017). The theoretical context is informed by observations on digital

technology as well (e.g. Manovich 2001), since it plays an important role in the evolution of

the one-shot technique, as it will be later shown.

In particular, Bordwell studies cinematic space through the prism of centering,

balancing, frontality and depth. These “narrational strategies”, as he names them, “encourage

us to read filmic space as story space […]. We can think of these strategies as aiming to

personalize space” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 54). Centering has to do with the position of the

main character of a scene at the center of the frame; balancing is a less-defined quality related

to the overall symmetry of the image; frontality is achieved when the bodies of the characters

are facing towards the camera; and depth refers to the in-depth composition of the image, which

leads to its perception as three-dimensional (p. 51). These terms are used by this thesis as tools

to study the representation of space in Hollywood one-shot films and affirm its classical

identity.

When it comes to narrative time in film, Bordwell and Thompson (2008, pp. 80-82)

recognize three parameters: order (the chronological order of the events in the plot), duration

(the time span) and frequency (the number of times a scene might be repeated). These terms

and particularly duration will also prove to be useful in the delineation of the temporality of

one-shot narratives.

Georgios Dimoglou

10

Lastly, this research deploys the concepts of motivated/unmotivated camera

movements, as developed by Branigan (pp. 26-27) and of hypermediacy by Jay David Bolter

and Richard Grusin (1999, p. 34), which are presented in detail in the following pages. The

former refers to the movements of the camera and the latter to screen space. Both of them are

crucial in understanding how one-shot films achieve continuity, not by editing but by

continuously moving the camera and using digital special effects (the differences between

Birdman and 1917 in regard to special effects will be discussed in their respective chapters).

Based on this theoretical framework and methodology behind the scrutiny of the three films,

this paper attempts to map spacetime in one-shot films and provide insight to their unique

identity.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

11

THEORY AND METHODOLOGY: APPROACHING ONE-SHOT CINEMA

As a new technology, cinema was born out of one-shot films; the first films ever to

appear only lasted a few seconds and consisted of a single static shot, such as those of the

Lumière brothers and Thomas Edison in the final years of the 19th century. However, as

pioneers began to tinker with the medium, the practice of editing multiple shots into a coherent

motion picture entered the frame. Georges Méliès’ contributions to editing and special effects,

as well as D. W. Griffith’s successful attempts at feature-length filmmaking in the 1910s,

among other notable firsts, indelibly influenced the future of film.

The classical Hollywood feature-length formula was already established by 1917

(Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 9). At the same time, editing was under the microscope of

experimenting filmmakers, such as Sergei Eisenstein and Lev Kuleshov (Gordon Gray 2020,

pp. 42-45). These conditions, along with the limitations of early-to-mid 20th century film

technology, which rendered longer than ten minute takes practically impossible, quickly led to

the disappearance of one-shot cinema and to the rise of continuity editing. As Bordwell

mentions, “continuity editing could maintain a cogent, unified time and space just when

narratives were becoming longer and more intricate” (1997, p. 133).

Before we delve into the practice of continuity editing and how it keeps narrative space

and time unified, it is important to first grasp these two systems, as Bordwell calls them

(Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 6). Broadly speaking, Bordwell recognises the following domains,

under which the techniques of the medium are used and systematised: “mise-en-scène3 (staging,

lighting, performance, and setting); framing, focus, control of color values, and other aspects

of cinematography; editing; and sound” (1997, p. 4). Cinematic space is determined by each of

these components. Here, it is important to note that there is a distinction between in-frame and

out-of-frame space, as Stephen Heath points out (1976, p. 80). This research focuses on what

is found on-screen in classical space.

3 Bordwell and Thompson explain that the term mise-en-scène is used to “signify the director’s control over what

appears in the film frame. […] The director stages the event for the camera” (2008, p. 112).

Georgios Dimoglou

12

Narrative Space

As mentioned above, classical Hollywood cinema subordinates space: “the classical

style makes the sheerly graphic space of the film a vehicle for narrative” (Bordwell et al. 1985,

p. 50). Bordwell analyses narrative space across the four parameters of centering, balancing,

frontality, and depth. A classical Hollywood film is characterised by “centered compositions”

(p. 51), which translates to the human body being made “the center of narrative and graphic

interest” (ibid.). Centering is achieved either through reframings “to accommodate figure

movement” or through frame-cuts (ibid.), which happen when a character moves out of the

frame and the next shot shows them once again at its center. Bordwell states that centering is

followed by balance: “once centered, the human body provides enough slight asymmetries to

yield a generally stable image” (ibid). Extremely flawless symmetry can be distracting, so it is

usually avoided; a balancing of the right and left halves is preferred (Bordwell and Thompson

2008, p. 143). Thompson also mentions that if two characters appear in the frame, they keep

an equal distance from its center, thus balancing one another (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 325).

Frontality is another important part of the spatial representation. As Bordwell points

out, “the narrational qualities of shot composition are also evident in the classical use of

frontality. […] The face is positioned in full, three-quarter, or profile view; the body typically

in full or threequarter view” (p. 51). However, he notices that “complete frontality–e.g., direct

address to the camera–is rare” (p. 52). This is in agreement with the classical narrative, which

strives for low self-consciousness and omniscience (p. 26). Frontality is open to change and it

“can be lost if it is then regained” (p. 52), with camera movement being one of the main ways

to do so. It is also worth noting that it is relatively unusual for characters to turn their backs to

the camera; if this happens, “it is usually an index of their relative unimportance at the moment”

(ibid).

Bordwell’s final tool for reading space is depth of field. He observes that “classical

cinema works to treat the screen as a plate-glass window in the representation of depth” (ibid.)

and recognises movement as “the most important depth cue” (ibid). Here, movement denotes

both a moving subject and/or object in the frame and a moving camera:

When a figure moves and creates a continuous stream of overlapping planes and

receding shapes, when the camera glides through or across a space —under these

circumstances it becomes very difficult to see the screen as a flat surface (ibid.).

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

13

Space inside the frame can be broken down into different planes. If the lens is focused

on the plane closer to the camera, the composition is of shallow-space; on the other hand, “in

deep-space compositions, a figure in the foreground might be out of focus while another in the

background is in focus” (p. 53). According to Bordwell, depth can be achieved “by interposing

figures and objects on various planes” and it is further specified by the addition of “pattern,

color, texture, lighting, and focus” (pp. 52-53).

Camera Movement

These observations seem to confirm the importance of camera movement in all four

parameters of space representation, as it is utilised to re-center, re-balance, reclaim frontality

and disrupt the feeling of a flat surface. Bordwell distinguishes camera movement4 from the

mise-en-scène, as it considers it an “independent variable” and a “feature of cinematography”

(2005, p. 16). Branigan developed a way of approaching movements of the camera by

separating them into motivated and unmotivated. He recognises seven motivations behind

camera movements (2006, pp. 26-27): “1) Establishes scenographic space. 2) Closely follows

or anticipates movement by a character or significant object. 3) Continues to hold or center a

character or significant object in frame (i.e., continuously reframes). 4) Moves away from, and

refuses to follow or reframe, a movement by a character or object for reasons of narrative

suspense, mystery, surprise, or good taste or censorship (e.g., a pan away from graphic violence

or sexuality). 5) Follow or discovers a glance. 6) Selects a narratively significant detail (e.g.,

an inserted dolly shot of a facial expression or important object). 7) Reveals character

subjectivity” (ibid.). In any of the above cases, a camera movement is motivated and thus

“invisible”. However, if the camera moves for any other reason, its movement is then

considered unmotivated and draws the attention of the viewer to itself (ibid.). A movement

might also be considered unmotivated if it is “too fast, is interrupted, or is prolonged in

performing one of the above functions” (ibid.). If classical cinema wishes to keep its self-

consciousness at low levels and “conceal its artifice through techniques of continuity and

‘invisible’ storytelling” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 2), the camera should try to steer clear of

4 According to Stephen Mamber (2014, p. 76), Bordwell emphasises perceptual camera movements over technical

ones, which can sometimes go unnoticed by the audience. When discussing camera movement, this thesis adopts

Bordwell’s viewpoint: “camera movement could be described as a system of perceptual relationships” (Bordwell

1977, p. 22).

Georgios Dimoglou

14

unmotivated movements. While these terms do not directly apply to narrative space itself, they

are tightly linked to it, as they concern the medium which records it. As a result, they are

utilised by this project for a more complete reading of narrative space in our one-shot case

studies.

Classical Continuity and Intensified Continuity

Apart from camera movement, another element that is tied to centering, balancing and

frontality is editing, as it is used to keep these three qualities in line with the needs of classical

cinema. Découpage, the practice of translating “the narrative action onto the cinematic

material” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 61) began to subordinate staging to editing in post-1915

American cinema, according to Bordwell (2005, p. 67), when the rules of classical filmmaking

started to solidify. He records the birth of what was to be named continuity style:

Around 1917 the Americans consolidated a powerful storytelling strategy that involved

building a scene out of several shots. A long shot, usually brief and at the start of the

scene, would establish the characters' positions. Then the bulk of the action was played

out in medium shots and close-ups, usually taken from a variety of angles, so that

characters' expressions and gestures were magnified for clarity and impact. […] This

quickly became known as the "continuity" style. (p. 46).

As films evolved from short to feature-length and plots were becoming more and more

complex, continuity editing emerged as a response (Bordwell 1997, p. 197). Bordwell brings

up the two basic premises of continuity editing, according to André Bazin: “1) The

verisimilitude of the space in which the position of the actor is always determined, even when

a close-up eliminates the decor. 2) The purpose and the effects of the cut are exclusively

dramatic or psychological” (cited in Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 56). Essentially, camerawork must

be “subordinated to the fluid thought of the dramatic action” and editing must be “seamless”

(p. 23), as well as reinforce “spatial orientation” (p. 56).

The “180°” or “axis-of-action” approach of spatial editing lies at the core of continuity

editing (p. 57). Bordwell describes it as shots that “will be filmed and cut together so as to

position the spectator always on the same side of the story action” and states that it has control

over more specific continuity editing devices (ibid.). Bordwell refers to some of these devices

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

15

as “shot/reverse-shot”, where the viewpoint changes from one end-point of the line to the other;

“eyeline-match”, where a character’s glance is used as a cue for linking shots; and “point-of-

view” (POV) cutting, a more specific and uncommon instance of eyeline-match in which a shot

of a character’s glance is followed by a shot of what they see (ibid.). In accordance with

classical continuity editing, a cut must be motivated by the narrative in order to take place; as

a result, techniques such as these came to be frequently performed. Generally, these devices

are all part of what is called analytical editing, which “moves the spectator into or back from a

part of total space” (ibid.).

In 2005, Bordwell wrote that this style still persists, as “present recognizable images in

legible compositions […] are assembled in obedience to continuity-editing principles” (p. 252).

Yet he also recognises a development of classical continuity editing into what he names

intensified continuity (p. 23). He notices that, since the 1960s filmmakers began to “dynamize

the dialogue through specific devices of cutting and cinematography” (ibid.). Even if “the

premises of spatial continuity still govern the way the scene is staged, shot, and edited” (p. 26),

we witness instances of a “free-ranging camera” that moves “independently of the action” (p.

28) and marks close-ups, fast cutting and sinuous camera movement as elements that point

towards this kind of continuity (2002, p. 21). Bordwell views present-day Hollywood style as

being “always on the move–if not through cutting, then through camerawork” (2005, p. 29)

and concludes that “if classical continuity streamlines the most salient interpersonal cues,

intensified continuity exaggerates and amplifies them” (p. 38). The concept of intensified

continuity plays an important role in understanding one-shot continuity, as the use of long,

sinuous camera movements in contemporary one-shot films can potentially create such an

intensified experience.

Eleftheria Thanouli (2009, p. 44) ties intensified continuity to hypermediacy, a term

developed by Bolter and Grusin to describe the hypermediated nature of contemporary visual

spaces (1999, p. 34):

where immediacy suggests a unified visual space, contemporary hypermediacy offers

a heterogeneous space, in which representation is conceived of not as a window on to

the world, but rather as “windowed” itself […]. Hypermediacy can operate even in a

single and apparently unified medium, particularly when the illusion of realistic

representation is somehow stretched or altogether ruptured.

Georgios Dimoglou

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The hypermediated image is facilitated by the use of digital special effects that can

manipulate space, as well as time. However, not all effects aim at creating an openly

manipulated image; sometimes, “invisible” effects are deployed so as to combine multiple

shots into one, a practice described by Manovich as digital compositing (2001, p. 130): “the

process of combining a number of moving image sequences and possibly stills into a single

sequence with the help of special compositing software.” He further explains how “computer-

generated morphs allow for a continuous transition between two images” (p. 135) and that, in

the case of digital compositing, elements are “blended”, not “juxtaposed”, and their boundaries

“erased”, not “foregrounded” (p. 145). Nevertheless, digital compositing can still lead to an

openly hypermediated screen, if special effects are used in a way that does not try to keep their

existence hidden. Bolter and Grusin explain that

the amazement or wonder requires an awareness of the medium. If the medium really

disappeared, as is the apparent goal of the logic of transparency, the viewer would not

be amazed because she would not know of the medium’s presence. […] The

amazement comes only the moment after, when the viewer understands that she has

been fooled. This amazement requires hypermediacy […]. (1999, p. 158)

This discussion of the hypermediated image and special effects will prove to be

especially useful in understanding the differences between the execution of continuity in

Birdman and in 1917. As it will be discussed in the respective chapters, Birdman uses

intensified continuity in a self-conscious way, in order to draw attention to itself and its

manipulation of space and time, in contrast with 1917, where continuity is traditional and the

goal is immediacy.

Narrative Time

Time in cinema is a long-debated subject. In 1957, George Bluestone argued that “the

novel has three tenses; the film has only one. From this follows almost everything else one can

say about time in both media” (p. 48). With tense, Bluestone means past, present and future

and believes that film narratives are only capable of unfolding in the present tense; Richard

Maltby also mentions the notion that “the audience always experiences it [the filmic event] as

being in the here and now” (2003, p. 432). Alexander Sesonske disagrees, stating that “an event

in a film may be seen as past, present or future within the world of the work” (1980, p. 425)

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

17

and Brian Henderson argues that “cinema has no built-in tense system as language does” (1983,

p. 6). Sarah Cardwell also emphasises “tenselessness” as a quality that guarantees “the

possibility of the film’s fluidity and flexibility of tense” (2003, p. 90).

An element crucial to cinema’s temporality is montage. Maltby makes an interesting

observation in noting that “film makes time in the editing process” (2003, p. 430) and he uses

the term “mise-en-temps” to refer to the construction of time in a film (p. 429). In a classical

Hollywood film, the dual function of mise-en-temps is “textual economy – excising the

irrelevant and maximizing our attention to the relevant” and “to preserve continuity within a

scene assembled out of material shot weeks or months apart” (p. 431).

Based on Gérard Genette’s analysis of time in Narrative Discourse (1980), Bordwell

and Thompson (2008, pp. 80-82) identify three variables of narrative time: order, duration, and

frequency. To understand these terms, it is first crucial to have a clear picture of the two main

components of narrative: fabula and syuzhet. Bordwell distinguishes between story and plot,

based on Russian Formalism, as fabula and syuzhet, respectively: fabula refers to “the events

of the narrative in their presumed spatial, temporal, and causal relations” (p. 11); syuzhet refers

to the plot, which “includes all the systems of time, space, and causality actually manifested in

the film” (ibid.). Order refers to the way events of the fabula are organised in the syuzhet;

duration regards their time span; and the number of times they are repeated is called frequency.

Bordwell uses Genette’s terms to analyse time in a filmic text.

Again, the classical film subordinates not only space but also time: “Time in the

classical film is a vehicle for causality, not a process to be investigated on its own” (Bordwell

et al. 1985, p. 12). This means that events are usually presented in a chronological order and

their duration and frequency remain as singulative as possible throughout, so that the

mechanisms of the narrative will remain invisible. As Bordwell further explains, “through its

history Hollywood cinema seeks to represent events in a temporally continuous fashion;

moreover, narrative logic has generally worked to motivate this temporal continuity” (p. 9) and

notes the flashback as “the only permissible manipulation of story order” (p. 43). Bordwell also

makes note of the importance of the deadline in a classical narrative: “the classical film creates

a patterned duration not only by what it leaves out but by a specific, powerful device. The story

action sets a limit to how long it must last […]. The deadline proper is the strongest way in

which story duration cooperates with narrative causality” (p. 44).

Georgios Dimoglou

18

Continuity editing is once more instrumental in subordinating time to narrative. Editing

creates ellipses by removing unimportant moments: “the narration shows the important events

and skips the intervals between them” (ibid.). Because the continuous time span of an

individual shot can only be disrupted by editing, single-shot sequences in classical cinema are

very rare (p. 46). Strategies used to cue temporal continuity are spatial editing, such as eyeline-

match cutting, which implies durational continuity, and diegetic sound (pp. 46-47). Of course,

Bordwell recognises that, while classical découpage is “realistic in its portrayal of spatial

relations”, it ισ “obliged to elide or stretch real time. A cut might trim a few seconds of

dramatically irrelevant action or exaggerate a gesture through a slight overlap. […] Classical

editing thus retained traces of an “intellectual and abstract” rhythm.” (1997, p. 62).

The Long Take

A final element in need of discussion is the long take, because of its strong presence in

one-shot films and its connection to both time and space. Koepnick defines it as

a prolonged and unedited capturing of profilmic events […] with the aim of integrating,

within the space of one extended single take, the narrative events usually comprised in

an entire filmic sequence. […] The notion of the long take is meant primarily to explain

cinema’s modulation of temporal passage, the way in which filmic technique defines

and explores the durational (2017).

It is worth noting that the measurement of a long take “depends on the textual […] and extra-

textual […] contexts in which it occurs” (Jeff Scheible 2014, p. 273), meaning there is no

universal and objective criterion as to what qualifies as a long take.

In his discussion of the long take, Bordwell notes that problems such as pacing,

maintaining interest and guiding the viewer to significant points of the action can arise (2005,

p. 82) and he uses Theo Angelopoulos’ cinema, where the long take is prevalent, as an example

of how to tackle these issues. The main way to guide and maintain attention is through

centering: “the central zone becomes an important guide to what is salient” (2005, p. 67). He

also points to in-depth precision staging: “a frontal figure in the foreground is an eye-catcher,

a point of orientation for the rest of the action. By presenting other figures as competing centers

of interest, or as engaged in more vigorous movement, the director could balance the shot and

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

19

encourage a scanning that would pick out the salient elements” (p. 82). Finally, Eirini Stathi

mentions that long takes have the power to emphasise the role of space in a film, functioning

as a link between space out of and in frame through constant movement and reframings (1999,

pp. 126-132).

These observations explain how one-shot films are able to maintain spatial unity and

temporal continuity without the need for visible editing. The following three chapters, one for

each film, will try to support this claim. Firstly, narrative space in Rope, Birdman and 1917

will be analysed by using Bordwell’s terms of centering, balancing, frontality and depth, as

well as Branigan’s motivated/unmotivated camera movements. Bolter and Grusin’s

hypermediacy and Manovich’s digital compositing will also be applied to Birdman and 1917,

as they both are digital films. Order, duration and frequency will then be used to study time.

With these tools, spatiotemporal continuity in classical one-shot films will be outlined.

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20

ROPE: A ONE-SHOT FILM IS BORN

In his chapter on Rope, Thomas M. Bauso quotes Hitchcock, who, in an interview with

filmmaker François Truffaut, stated that “as an experiment, Rope can be forgiven. […] I really

don’t know how I came to indulge it. […] I realize that it was quite nonsensical” (1991, pp.

227-228). Dan Auiler offers us a peek in Hitchcock’s and Sidney Bernstein’s minds, the two

producers behind the film: “when Sidney Bernstein and Alfred Hitchcock first planned the

filming of Rope as a continuous single take, the idea was heralded as a way to be creative and

save money” (1999, p. 483). Nonetheless, as “the execution of the long ten-minute takes was

never simple” (ibid.) and a small mistake was more than enough to cancel a take, they were

quickly proven wrong in their calculations.

Another possible reason behind Hitchcock’s long-take approach was the nature of the

source material – a theatrical play – according to David Sterritt. He notes that “Hitchcock

wanted to preserve the continuous, real-time experience of watching a play unfold onstage.

[…] Hamilton’s play also takes place in real time and is about the staging of a theater piece”

(1993, p. 22). To execute these long takes while taking into account the movement of the

camera in space, a moving set was created. As Aktsoglou mentions (2003, p. 66), “the whole

décor was moving on silent wheels constantly, so that the complex movements of the camera

could be executed”. The comment on set noise is probably influenced by Hitchcock’s account,

who made claims of a “direct sound track that was made possible by the elaborate set” (Bauso

1991, p. 228). Yet this account is contradicted by James Stewart, one of the protagonists, who

later recalled that “the set was noisy, so they had to record the sound of the film separately and

the dialogue was then added later” (ibid.). Hitchcock also had to deal with other technical

issues, such as lighting. According to Aktsoglou (2003, p. 66), “Rope was Hitchcock’s first

color film […]. The action begins in the afternoon and ends after nightfall, while we see the

skyscrapers of New York from a window”. As a result, in order to emulate the effect of

continuous duration, they had to “use a complex electrological system, which would gradually

change exterior lighting” (ibid).

Initially, Rope was not received very well. Film critic John Russell Taylor believed that

editing was Hitchcock’s most precious tool, so he wondered why he decided to deny himself

cutting (Bauso 1991, p. 227). Critics Raymond Durgnat and David Thompson also dismissed

Rope as the work of a “bold stylist” who displayed his impressive technical skills at the expense

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

21

of seriousness, moral depth and mystery (Thomas Hemmeter 1991, p. 253). However, the film

was reevaluated in later years. In his analysis of Rope, Bordwell named it “one of Hitchcock’s

greatest experiments” (2008, p. 32).

Closely following Hamilton’s source material (the screenplay was adapted by Hume

Cronyn and written by Arthur Laurents), Rope is a classical film that begins with the murder

of David, who is strangled by the hands of Brandon and Philip, two of his former university

classmates. The motive behind their heinous act is their belief in their own superiority; they

commit the murder just to prove that they can get away with it. Rupert (James Stewart), their

housemaster and mentor is the one behind their ideas on the act of murder and the perceived

superiority of some people on others. Brandon and Philip have invited him for a party, along

with some other friends, seemingly justified by Brandon’s wish to hold a farewell for Philip.

The guests are unaware of the reason behind David’s delay. His body is hidden within a large

chest, which is used as the dinner table at the request of the two killers. As the party progresses,

Rupert slowly becomes suspicious of them. After everyone leaves, Rupert returns back,

pretending to have forgotten his cigarette case and begins to unravel the mystery behind

David’s disappearance. Brandon becomes excited, as he believes that his mentor will be proud,

while Philip is more agitated. Realising the truth, Rupert opens the chest and is heavily

distraught by the sight of David’s corpse. He denounces his ideas in front of the murderers and

fires Brandon’s gun (which he snatched earlier by a drunk Philip) multiple times towards the

sky to alert the police. The film ends with the three of them waiting for officers of the law to

arrive.

It is believed that Hamilton was inspired by the Leopold-Loeb case of two students who

kidnapped and killed a classmate of theirs in the mid-1920s, the ideas of which mirror those of

the characters in the playwright’s story (Amnon Kabatchnik 2010, p. 245). As Jason Jacobs

observes (2000, p. 104), “the action of the play is continuous”, both spatially (there is only one

set) and temporally (the duration of the events match the play’s). In addition, Bordwell notes

that “Hitchcock likewise defended Rope’s style on the grounds that it preserved a stage play’s

fluidity, but he acknowledged that the technical challenge was another attraction for him”

(2008, p. 39). He also points out that Hitchcock wanted to create new “problems” for himself

to solve, such as substitute the absence of reverse angles with techniques such as frontal staging

(p. 42). Moreover, Hitchcock “restricts the space of the action to what would be the confines

of a stage” (Jacobs 2000, p. 104), in an attempt to re-create the experience of the play for the

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22

silver screen; the one-shot approach “mimics the stage experience to a degree” (Sterritt 1993,

p. 22) and further amplifies feelings of confinement and claustrophobia (Jacobs 2007, p. 272).

According to Bordwell, “the maximum length of a take for Rope would be around 10

minutes” (2008, p. 33). As it has already been mentioned, not all cuts were invisible. Bordwell

explains that this is due to exhibition practices at the time: “before the 1980s, theaters used two

projectors, with the projectionist switching between machines to project one reel after another”

(p. 34). As a number of visible cuts would be inevitable because of the technological limitations

at the time, this research argues that Rope should still be viewed as a one-shot film; Hitchcock’s

wish to create such an experience is only evident by his attempt to keep visible cuts at a

minimum, according to reel changes, and hide the rest of them.

An examination of the film quickly reveals its classical character. The practices of

centering and balancing are noticeable throughout the film. The main characters of each scene

are usually found at the center of the image (fig. 1.1-2), if there is one or more than two; in

case there are two, they are positioned in the spaces left and right of the center (fig. 1.3-4).

fig. 1.1 fig. 1.2

fig. 1.3 fig. 1.4

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

23

In the same vein, frontality is also sustained for most of the film. When characters

address one another, for example, their bodies are positioned towards the camera (fig. 1.5-6).

Their backs are only rarely turned against the camera, especially when it comes to the main

characters of a scene.

fig. 1.5 fig. 1.6

Because the space of the set is restricted, there is little distance among the foreground,

middle ground and background. However, Hitchcock still creates depth by positioning

characters while keeping a distance between them (fig. 1.7) and by breaking down space into

different planes (fig. 1.8).

fig. 1.7 fig. 1.8

All these elements prove the film’s adherence to the rules of a classical representation

of space. But how is spatial continuity achieved, despite minimal editing? First of all, it is

important to address the way the film is cut. Bordwell locates the duration of each shot and

each of the cutting points as well:

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24

Three shots run approximately 10 minutes, five last between 7.15 and 8.11 minutes,

the introductory shot runs a little over 2 minutes, and the last two shots are

comparatively brief, running 4.6 and 5.6 minutes. […] Hitchcock timed his cuts to

articulate the unfolding drama. The most evident instances are the eyeline-match cuts.

According to these observations, all cuts that take place in the film are motivated by the

narrative and work within the context of continuity editing. Bordwell notices that each visible

cut happens right after an important plot point, such as when Rupert openly expresses his

suspicion of Brandon and Philip and it is either an eyeline-match or leads to a shot of a

character’s glance (2008, pp. 35-36). The hidden cuts are not strictly motivated by the narrative,

as they are meant to be invisible.

The narrative unfolds through the use of long takes and camera movements. The set

can be separated into four rooms: the living room, the hallway, the dining room and the kitchen,

with the living room being furthest to the right and the kitchen to the left, based on the position

and viewpoint of the camera. The camera is looking towards the living room and the giant

window for most of the time, although it occasionally moves left, towards the hallway and the

dining room (though it never goes into the kitchen). In line with the 180o principle of spatial

continuity, the camera never turns to reveal the fourth wall, which should be opposite to the

window, as it does not exist in this constructed set. Thus, the spectator always remains on the

“same side of the story action” (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 57).

At the same time, all camera movements are motivated by the narrative, in accordance

with Branigan’s motivations. For instance, in the scene where Rupert tries to imagine how he

would commit the crime himself, he describes the victim’s movement in the apartment: how

he would offer him a drink, have him sit in the armchair and strike him from behind. While he

talks, the camera moves away from his face to show different parts of the apartment, closely

following his voice-over description. In a conventionally edited film, the close-up of Rupert

thinking could cut to each of these parts, which in turn could be presented in different shots in

analytical editing fashion; in Rope, they are all combined into one. The close-up becomes a

different type of shot while camera keeps rolling, almost resembling a POV shot. As Bordwell

observes, “Rupert has just been imagining how the murder might have been enacted, with the

camera tracing the path of the action, as if following his gaze” (2008, p. 36).

By studying narrative space in Rope based on Bordwell’s and Branigan’s terms, we

come to realise how spatial continuity is preserved through framing, reframing and camera

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

25

movement, all remaining within the boundaries of classical filmmaking. According to Jacobs’

notes, both André Bazin and Hitchcock were seemingly in agreement that the film “more or

less closely followed conventional Hollywood cutting practice” (2007, p. 272). Bordwell

comments that “this is exactly what some observers would claim that Rope does – translate

orthodox editing patterns into panning and tracking movements that connect distinct camera

setups” (2008, p. 38). While he does acknowledge this “effect”, Bordwell does not take a stance

and only describes the end result as a “bravura synthesis of long takes and camera movement

within a single locale, all presented in strict continuity” (p. 39). This essay argues that this is

exactly what Rope manages to achieve and in the process it tilled the soil for future one-shot

films to establish themselves in a similar manner, while being free of technological limitations.

Same as space, narrative time is presented in classical fashion. Time unfolds in the same

continuous way as in Hamilton’s play. This means that the duration of the plot matches the

duration of the film (minus the credits). Time indeed functions little more than a vehicle for

the narrative. Even if real-time films are relatively unusual, it is the story and its needs that

exert power over time, not the other way around. The syuzhet of the film is presented in linear,

chronological order, with no changes back and forth whatsoever. There are no changes in

frequency as well, since this type of order does not allow room for scenes to be shown in

repetition. Furthermore, as most classical films, Rope uses the “deadline” device (Bordwell et

al. 1985, p. 44) to set the duration of the plot: As Rupert deduced, Brandon and Philip had

killed David in daylight, right before the party (which could be used as an alibi) and had to

wait until night to dispose of the body unnoticed. If he failed to uncover their act the same day,

they could possibly escape the law.

These observations lead to the conclusion that Rope is indeed classical in its

representation of time. However, it should be noted that, unlike conventionally edited films,

where insignificant moments between shots and scenes are elided, Rope refuses to do so: the

film resorts to camera movement to fill the temporal space created by the absence of editing.

As Bordwell explains (2008, p. 40),

the refusal to cut obliges the camera to traverse the space completely and make us wait

for the men’s response. In an ordinary film, using a tracking shot to postpone their

reactions would seem ham-fisted, but such self-initiated camera movements,

independent of character movement, have become prominent in the later phases of this

film, so this tactic seems a logical culmination.

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26

Moreover, space is the main driving force behind Rope’s temporal continuity. The film

begins in the afternoon and ends after the sun has set. Because of the temporal character of the

story, Hitchcock decided to film in colour and gave this element a critical role in designating

the passage of time. According to Jacobs (2007, p. 276), colour was used to reveal “the change

in time of day from sunset to darkness which was of vital importance to the narrative”. Right

after the murder of David, Brandon opens the curtains and reveals the big window across the

position of the camera. Thus, Hitchcock gives the view of New York a function crucial to the

temporality of the story. As noted earlier, the long take points at the unfolding of time. With

editing almost completely absent, the filmmakers had to devise a way to depict temporal

continuity. As a result, they decided to shoot on color and literally capture the passage of time

on camera. The film does not “make time in the editing process” (Maltby 2003, p. 430), as

other classical films usually do; it depicts it on-screen, within the frame. The real-time character

of the almost two-hour plot makes this goal attainable. By having a real-time narrative,

presenting it without any manipulation of order, duration, and frequency and using camera

movements and space to make narrative time detectable, Rope succeeds in preserving temporal

continuity without the need for editing.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

27

BIRDMAN: THE MANIPULATION OF SPACE AND TIME

Birdman was created with the help of digital technology. According to Manovich,

digital cinema is the combination of live-action material, painting, image processing,

compositing, and 2D and 3D computer animation in varying degrees (2001, pp. 254-255). At

the same time, new technological features that supported complex camera movements were

successfully introduced, such as Steadicam technology, which creates smooth movements for

hand-held camerawork and was utilised during the shooting of Birdman. These advancements

made the film possible. Emmanuel Lubezki, the cinematographer behind the film, explained in

an interview that he was initially concerned, because “there was nothing really shot before like

that” (Kristopher Tapley 2014, HitFix). They used Steadicam for many scenes and a small

digital camera as well, which granted Lubezki more freedom in “intimate” scenes (ibid.). Prior

to shooting, they built a “proxy stage” and moved the camera in numerous ways, so as to

discover how to block the scenes (ibid.). Afterwards, they discussed possible approaches with

editors, still in the pre-production phase, in order to “figure out how to link some of the scenes

together” (ibid.). Lubezki specifically called the film “an upside down movie where you do

post-production before the production” (ibid.). While some cuts may be noticeable, most are

not. In fact, what might appear as one take might not be necessarily the case: writing for The

Hollywood Reporter, Carolyn Giardina (2015) states that

the visual effects team responsible for stitching the individual takes together into one

seamless whole is admitting that a fair amount of digital manipulation was involved.

For example, in one scene where Michael Keaton's and Ed Norton's characters are seen

together on stage, the film actually uses performances from separate takes, blending

them together in the finished shot. […] According to the company, it crafted roughly

100 "stitches" to bring together the different performances and takes. Plus, it completed

an additional 60 VFX shots for things like the destruction and flying sequences […].

By watching Birdman (or any other contemporary edited one-shot film, such as

Mendes’ 1917, for that matter), one realises the impossibility of trying to locate all possible

cuts; the fusion of elaborate camera movement, digital compositing and special effects render

such an objective an exercise in futility. In Rope, the hidden cuts are fairly noticeable, because

the camera needs to move towards a darker surface to end a shot and restart from there, while

in Birdman (and 1917), the hidden cuts are truly rendered invisible. It is precisely this

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observation that affirms the power of digital filmmaking to elevate one-shot cinema to its

fullest potential.

The original screenplay for Birdman was co-written by Iñárritu, Nicolás Giacobone,

Alexander Dinelaris and Armando Bo. The story follows Riggan (Michael Keaton), a movie

actor famous for his role as the superhero “Birdman”, who tries to revitalise his career by

staging and starring in a play on Broadway. He is portrayed as being gifted with Birdman’s

supernatural powers, which allow him to levitate and command the movement of objects with

his mind, although these abilities are typically disproved by scenes following them; thus, the

film effectively blurs the boundaries between the realities within and outside of Riggan’s head.

In his mission to establish his name as an actor and not just a faded movie star, he is set to face

unprofessional co-workers, a spiteful critic (Lindsay Duncan), the damaged relationship with

his daughter, Sam (Emma Stone) and, eventually, his own self. Bordwell considers the film to

be classical and its story to develop in “true Hollywood fashion” (2015). This analysis views

the film in the same light, while it considers its continuity to be intensified.

Firstly, it is important to note that Birdman does not stay entirely committed to the one-

shot approach; it contains deliberately visible cuts in the beginning, as well as near the end of

the film. The first one-shot take begins almost two minutes into the film and lasts for more than

90 minutes; the second one-shot take constitutes the last sequence of the film, which only lasts

for a few minutes. These two are interrupted by a series of quickly edited images that function

as the film’s climax. Apart from these cuts, all others are hidden by means of digital effects.

The use of technology that assists camera movements, along with CGI (Computer Generated

Images) effects result in edits that are almost flawlessly concealed.

When it comes to the representation of narrative space, we notice that, while frames are

not as centered and balanced as in Rope because of the much more frequent camera movements,

they fairly adhere to these principles. Characters that speak are almost always in frame and in

focus, even if there are multiple in a particular shot. Moreover, the main character of a scene

is usually in the relative center of the image. For example, when Riggan moves in the

passageway from his room to the stage and vice versa, he is usually positioned in the center

and the camera might be either in front of or behind him (fig. 2.1-2). At the same time, if two

characters converse, they usually keep an equal distance from the center of the frame (fig. 2.3).

Moments such as these reveal the balanced quality of the frame as well. Even in scenes where

the camera moves very fast, such as during Riggan’s flying sequence, he is almost always in

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

29

the frame, allowing the audience to have a point of reference on the screen (fig. 2.4). Yet, there

are sporadic instances in which the camera angle does not result in a symmetrical, balanced

image (fig. 2.5).

fig. 2.1 fig. 2.2

fig. 2.3 fig. 2.4

fig. 2.5

When it comes to frontality, the bodies of the characters are generally positioned to

look relatively towards the camera, especially when they walk and the camera is in front of

them. However, there are many instances in which bodies turn their backs to the spectator (fig.

2.6), even in important scenes, such as when Riggan attempts to commit suicide in front of the

audience (fig. 2.7). The camera is also free to get as close as it wants to the faces of the

characters, with close-ups being quite frequent (fig. 2.8-9).

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fig. 2.6 fig. 2.7

fig. 2.8 fig. 2.9

Unlike Rope, Birdman is mainly characterised by shallow-space compositions (fig.

2.10). As the space within the theatre is limited, the camera prefers to stick close to the

characters and keep them in focus, while the middle and back planes are blurry. Depth is not

needed; the camera remains close to the characters, who provide orientation. Shallow focus

also occurs in scenes where the space is more open (fig. 2.8). It is not completely exclusive,

however (fig. 2.11). These examples reveal the spatial continuity in Birdman, with the

sometimes unusual camera angles and frequent extreme close-ups pointing towards an

intensified continuity.

fig. 2.10 fig. 2.11

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31

The camera moves much more freely than in Rope, with constant reframings and

changes in focus; the 180o rule is abandoned. It mostly follows Riggan, but also takes time to

observe other characters. This continuous movement allows the viewer to explore multiple

spaces: Riggan’s dressing room, the backstage corridors, the theatrical stage, the roads outside

of the theatre, a bar and the rooftops of neighboring buildings are only some of the spaces

depicted. While a few of the scenes were shot in studios, some scenes were in real locations in

New York (Mekado Murphy 2014). Even if many of the movements can be described as

motivated, the camera is not afraid to perform unmotivated movements as well. For instance,

unmotivated movements are noticed when the camera moves to show a drummer perform the

soundtrack within the film, rupturing its non-diegetic character (fig. 2.12), or when it moves to

show an empty hallway, while action still unfolds elsewhere (fig. 2.13). These unmotivated

movements draw attention to the camera itself.

fig. 2.12 fig. 2.13

fig. 2.14

The film’s intensified continuity is also evident because of its use of digital effects.

According to Thanouli (2013, p. 355), the analog image “works affirmatively by representing

something that exists”, while the digital image can only simulate something that exists. This

means that the digital image has the power of simulating something that does not exist as well

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(ibid.). As a result, Birdman’s digital character works in favour of Riggan’s dream/superpower

sequences, which are seamlessly woven into the one-shot approach with the support of digital

effects (fig. 2.14). In an analog one-shot environment, the attempt to erase the lines between

Riggan’s subjective reality and the objective reality around him would be significantly more

difficult, if not downright impossible. Furthermore, even if Birdman’s special effects do

suggest a “unified visual space” and could be seen as an instance of immediacy, the screen

space of the film is decidedly hypermediated. As mentioned earlier, Bolter and Grusin state

that “the amazement comes only the moment after, when the viewer understands that she has

been fooled. This amazement requires hypermediacy” (1999, p. 158). The audience witnesses

Riggan use his superhuman abilities. Even if the special effects are convincing, we are well

aware that it is impossible for a human to have such powers, as well as in the context of a

narrative that does not accept superheroes as part of its reality. Lastly, while editing is indeed

unnatural to our own perception (Maltby 2003, p. 335), audiences have been quite familiarised

with it, owing to its established presence in all kinds of audiovisual media for a whole century.

This essay claims that the apparent absence of editing might prove to be even more unnatural

and divert the attention of the spectator from the “world” to the “window” (i.e. the surface of

the screen). The combination of complex, unmotivated movements and openly manipulated

images confirm Birdman’s self-conscious character.

This self-consciousness regards the manipulation of time as well. At first glance, time

in Birdman seems to move forward in a continuous manner. Events are organised in a linear

fashion and chronological order, and frequency is mostly singulative (with the rare exception

of the opening images of a meteorite and a beach, which return during the climax and split the

single shot in two). On the other hand, while the duration might seem to remain one-note for

most of the film, ruptures do take place. Birdman remains within fairly classical boundaries

when it comes to its temporal identity, yet time is manipulated in ways that disturb this

perceived continuity.

The first and more obvious instance of temporal manipulation is the application of time-

lapse effects. When the film wishes to designate passage of time and the camera is situated in

exterior places, it turns towards the night sky and then shows the coming of dawn by a mix of

fast-forwarding and intervening digital effects (fig. 2.15-16). According to Selmin Kara, who

discusses long takes and time-lapses in documentaries, “time-lapse technology used in

acquiring the long-take shots interrupts the duration of the image, giving it a relative continuity

that is based on machinic rhythms rather than human-based ones” (2013, p. 590). This leads to

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

33

an interesting point regarding Birdman’s temporal continuity: while it is true that time flows in

a “continuous” and straight line, it does not progress in the same way as we experience it in

our reality.

fig. 2.15 fig. 2.16

Birdman also manipulates time in a second way by using space as a medium for time

transitions. As the film is one-shot, the filmmakers are unable to denote time passage by means

of simply cutting to another scene. As a result, space is represented as being unbound by its

temporal dimension. The first occurrence of a time transition takes place in the ninth minute of

the film: Riggan returns to his dressing room after a disappointing rehearsal, in which an actor

was injured by lighting equipment and has to drop out of the play. We see him sitting alone,

talking to the “Birdman” part of his self. Positioned in the center of the room, the camera begins

to rotate and goes from Riggan being alone to four journalists interviewing him, who sit in a

couch opposite to him. Time has progressed without the need for a (visible) cut, owing to the

use of camera movement and invisible edits. This effect occurs multiple times throughout the

film.

Consequently, as duration fluctuates and alterations in time necessarily happen in-

frame and not between the frames, temporal continuity is mediated. Birdman is thus

differentiated by other classical and one-shot films in its use of the one-shot approach to self-

expose the manipulation of time. The temporal reality of the film is openly mediated, so that a

plot which lasts almost a week can fit into a two-hour film. Based on the above, this research

contends that Birdman secures spatial and temporal continuity in an intensified manner, by

openly manipulating narrative space and time through techniques such as complex camera

movements, hypermediacy, and changes in duration. As long as the editing “happens” in the

frame and on-screen, cuts are unnecessary for establishing continuity.

Georgios Dimoglou

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1917: IMMEDIACY IN THE CONTEMPORARY ONE-SHOT FILM

1917 came out in 2019, five years after Birdman and was likewise shot on digital and

edited with the help of digital effects. However, compared to Rope and Birdman, a notable

difference is that the camera never returns to a location it has been before: “1917 pushes it a

step further with its persistent action and the constantly changing terrain. It never uses the same

location twice” (Ian Phillips et al. 2020). The film was shot in the UK (James Medd 2020).

After they rehearsed in studios, they moved to shoot on location, where “the art department

built realistic sets from scratch. Each set needed to be able to accommodate the camera’s path”

(Phillips et al. 2020). Because of the way the story is structured, “the camera could never move

backward, only forward” (ibid.) and they tackled this challenge by allowing the camera to move

at 360o degrees: “this allowed the crew to constantly move forward and follow the characters

without making a visible hard cut” (ibid.). This kind of movement was made possible by using

Steadicam, camera stabilizers and by the small size and light weight of the camera (ibid.).

Because they shot on location, the film’s lighting was mostly based on natural lighting, with

the exception of the night sequence, which was artificially lit (Rahul Chettiyar 2020). Again,

similar to Birdman, the shots in 1917 were stitched together through digital effects to resemble

a continuous shot and what might seem to be one shot can actually be a fusion of multiple takes

(Marc Loftus 2020). According to visual effects supervisor Guillaume Rocheron, “some of the

shots would run for a couple of seconds, and others a couple of minutes. I think the longest

shot ran seven-and-a-half minutes, which is very long in terms of visual effect shots” (cited in

Loftus 2020). The way each shot is interwoven with the next does not allow any room for the

spectator to notice the cuts, with a single exception at the midpoint of the syuzhet, which is

addressed in the following pages.

The plot of 1917 unfolds over two days during World War I and follows two lance-

corporals, Will (George MacKay) and Tom (Dean-Charles Chapman), who have to carry a

message to a group of British soldiers in a different location, which instructs them to not attack

the seemingly retreating German army. If they do, they will only fall into their trap and be

quickly overwhelmed. There is no other way to inform the soldiers, as the phone lines have

been cut by the enemy. At the same time, Tom has a brother (Richard Madden) who serves in

that group. These facts make the mission extremely important on both a strategic and a personal

level.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

35

An analysis of the film in regard to narrative space reveals its representation in a

classical, continuous way. The vast majority of the shots are centered by positioning the main

characters at the center of the frame (fig. 3.1-2), as well as balanced by using their bodies and

their surroundings in order to create roughly symmetrical images (fig. 3.3-4).

fig. 3.1

fig. 3.2

fig. 3.3

fig. 3.4

Georgios Dimoglou

36

Generally speaking, the bodies of the characters are usually turned slightly towards the

camera when they converse (fig. 3.5), keeping the element of frontality intact. It is also typical

of them to turn their backs to the lens when they walk and the camera follows them from behind

(fig. 3.6). Nonetheless, with the exception of these walking and scanning sequences, in most

scenes where characters discuss important information, the camera will try to position itself in

front of them or to their right and/or left.

fig. 3.5

fig. 3.6

There are far more deep-space compositions in 1917 than in Birdman as well. While

the camera in Birdman is free to get close to characters’ faces, 1917’s camera altogether avoids

extreme close-ups and prefers to observe its characters from a slight distance. When a new area

is introduced or when action unfolds in depth, the shot is generally long and keeps all planes

in focus (fig. 3.7-8). Moreover, when the film wishes to highlight a character’s emotional state

and expressions, it will approach them in mid-shots (fig. 3.9) and close ups (fig. 3.10), keeping

the background out of focus. However, as the filmmakers opted for an approach that allows for

the camera to move in 360o degrees, in order to better capture space, action and performances,

the 180o rule does not restrain the camera’s movements.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

37

fig. 3.7

fig. 3.8

fig. 3.9

fig. 3.10

All in all, we can safely conclude that spatial continuity is well found within classical

boundaries. This claim is supported by the camera’s movements as well, which are always

motivated by either the characters’ movements, the need to establish a new space, or the need

to keep the frame centered and balanced through reframing. In contrast with Birdman, the

Georgios Dimoglou

38

camera of 1917 will not move independently of the narrative, showing a less self-conscious

personality that does not want to call attention to itself.

The special effects also serve the same goal. While the film is based on digital

compositing to create the illusion of a continuous one-shot experience, it does not openly admit

to the effects’ existence. While screen space is hypermediated in Birdman, this is not the case

with 1917, where the effects work towards an image of immediacy. The reason for this

difference lies in the motive behind their use. In Birdman, digital effects are not only supposed

to connect different takes together in a seamless way, but also to create unrealistic images (e.g.

by having two characters, both played by Keaton, in the same frame) and show the passage of

time through time-lapses. In 1917, on the other hand, the effects exist only to link takes and

support the reality of the story. For example, when Will comes across a blazing building during

the night sequence, it is not actually on fire; As Chettiyar points out, “the CGI fire was added

in post-production” (2020). Yet this effect does not disrupt reality in any way. This was the

intention of the filmmakers: Rocheron states that the goal of the effects was “to be invisible

and immerse the audience into the journey. […] It’s all about how you never call attention to

the visual effects” (cited in Loftus 2020). The scene where a plane crashes close to the

protagonists is another example. Rocheron explains:

Obviously, we didn’t crash a real plane. To me, that was a great combination

of CGI planes in the sky, and when it crashes, we created a blend — a stitch — a

transition to a practical plane that we built and put on a ramp and launched from 20 feet

in the air into the ground. We blend the two shots together (ibid.).

This insight into the film’s production reveals how a contemporary digital film such as

1917 can remove visible editing from the equation and still depict space in accordance with the

rules of classical continuity, through centered, balanced, frontal and in-depth images, motivated

camera movements and invisible digital effects.

The goal of immediacy is also evident in the film’s representation of narrative time.

First of all, it is important to note that the events of the fabula are organised in a strictly linear,

chronological order by the syuzhet. Additionally, no scenes or shots are repeated, keeping a

monotonous frequency. Then how is it possible for the film to depict events that transpired

over two days, all while not acknowledging the use of digital effects? Surprisingly, the answer

lies in a cut, the sole visible cut in the entire film, which affects the duration.

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

39

Around the midpoint of the narrative, Will tries to cross a destroyed small bridge and

is targeted by a German sniper. Will enters the derelict building where the German is also

hiding in order to protect himself. When he moves to the upper floor in an attempt to kill the

enemy, they end up shooting one another; Will manages to kill the German, while the German’s

bullet recoils off of Will’s helmet. Will survives as a result, yet he falls unconscious for a few

hours and wakes up after midnight. The time during which Will is incapacitated is elided by

cutting to black, which lasts for a few seconds. Since the film strives for immediacy, it cannot

show the passage of time on-screen and in the frame, in a way that would expose its artifice

(e.g. time-lapse). Consequently, the only way the filmmakers can trim time is by splitting the

film in two. Even though 1917 cannot be considered a real-time film because of this jump in

time, the two parts before and after Will’s blackout do unfold in a real-time manner. The

duration of the syuzhet matches that of the runtime of the two parts. This means that the

duration of the segments is not manipulated in any way whatsoever and time progresses

unmediated in strict continuity. Here, Bordwell’s “deadline” term is echoed: “the deadline

proper is the strongest way in which story duration cooperates with narrative causality”

(Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 44). The film’s ties to an urgent deadline allows for a “semi-” real-

time narrative, which secures temporal continuity in a traditional, classical way that almost

completely excludes visible editing.

Based on the above, this research argues that 1917 is a film that abides by the

laws of classical continuity and avoids the path of an intensified one opened by digital

technology. Despite the cut in the middle of the film, space and time successfully remain

unified throughout the film and its two sections without the need for conventional editing.

Georgios Dimoglou

40

CONCLUSION

The goal of this thesis was to study narrative space and time in classical Hollywood

one-shot films in terms of their continuity. One-shot films try to not make use of visible editing

and as a result, they resort to other tools in the classical inventory in order to achieve continuity.

This essay provides a framework through which classical one-shot cinema can be approached

in relation to its representation of space and time.

The broader theoretical framework was formed by Bordwell’s theories on cinematic

space, time and continuity editing. His concepts of centering, balancing, frontality and depth,

when it comes to analysing space (Bordwell et al. 1985, p. 54), and order, duration and

frequency, when it comes to analysing time (Bordwell and Thompson 2008, pp. 80-82), were

the main methodological tools of this research. In addition, the notions of motivated-

unmotivated camera movements (Branigan 2006, pp. 26-27), digital compositing (Manovich

2001, p. 130) and hypermediacy (Bolter and Grusin 1999, p. 34) were also utilised to decode

the continuous movements of the camera in a one-shot film and the digital aspect of

contemporary cases. Three films functioned as our case studies: Hitchcock’s Rope, Iñárritu’s

Birdman, and Mendes’ 1917.

Rope was the first one-shot film of its kind. Because of technological limitations at the

time, it is inconsistent with the one-shot approach, visibly breaking the illusion. However,

through hidden edits between long takes, it is able to create an experience of continuous space

and time. The film approaches centering, balancing, frontality and depth in a classical way,

while the camera is restricted by the 180o rule and always performs movements motivated by

the narrative. As a result, spatial continuity is preserved. Time also unfolds in a classical,

continuous way, as order, duration and frequency are conventionally linear and one-note in the

context of the real-time nature of the narrative, much like Hamilton’s play which inspired the

film.

Continuity in Birdman also seems to be classical. Again, space is represented in a

centered, balanced and frontal manner, if more loosely. In-depth, deep-space compositions are

rare, however, as the camera prefers to cling to the characters it records. The use of the camera

is different than that of Rope in more ways, as it performs not only motivated but also

unmotivated movements. Its complex, sinuous movements do not work within the 180o

Spatial and Temporal Continuity in One-Shot Films

41

limitations. Finally, its digital effects allow for smoother and more invisible transitions than

those of Rope but also openly admit to the manipulation of space and its hypermediated

identity, as well as the manipulation of time. Although order and frequency are mostly

conventional (with the single exception of an image of a beach that appears twice in the

beginning and the climax of the film, outside the one-shot sequences), the duration fluctuates

because of time-lapse effects and time transitions, which all happen on-screen. Birdman is an

example of a one-shot film that calls attention to itself and is thus structured along the lines of

intensified classical continuity, rather than traditional.

A film that treads in more conventional waters is 1917. For the most part, the frame is

centered, balanced, and frontal, while space appears either in depth or in shallow focus; the

camera also avoids moving in unmotivated ways, in consonance with the requirements of the

narrative, even if it breaks the 180o rule, being not afraid to approach its characters from all

angles. Furthermore, 1917’s digital effects do not have a hypermediated image in their mind;

in line with classical continuity and the low self-consciousness of the classical Hollywood film,

effects are used to sew multiple shots together in succession and to add elements through CGI

that nevertheless remain subordinated to the reality of the world of the film. Temporal

continuity is similarly left untampered with; a single visible cut in the middle of the film, where

a few hours pass in a few seconds, is the only instance of a change in duration, breaking the

film into two real-time segments. Thus, 1917 unfolds within the context of classical continuity,

just like any conventionally edited film.

This thesis concludes that, if the one-shot film wishes to preserve spatiotemporal

continuity, it is either obliged to narrate its events in real-time, or to openly use digital effects

to manipulate space and time as it sees fit. As long as one-shot narratives continue to evolve,

it is certain that more of their unique potential will be realised. The ambition of this project is

to contribute to this evolution by offering insight into their nature, as well as lay the

groundwork for future research on these fascinating cases. After all, one-shot cinema has barely

(re)started.

Georgios Dimoglou

42

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FILMOGRAPHY

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[Film]. Fox Searchlight Pictures.

Empire (1964) Directed by Andy Warhol [Film]. Warhol Films.

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Russian Ark (2002) Directed by Alexander Sokurov [Film]. Wellspring Media.

Timecode (2000) Directed by Mike Figgis [Film]. Screen Gems.

Wavelength (1967) Directed by Michael Snow [Film]. Canadian Filmmakers Distribution

Centre.