Deconstructing Film Openings

 Today ill be deconstructing the first 2 minutes of a film opening. The extract is from oppenheimer

The action begins with a succession of disjointed, impressionist images. Close shots of drops of water ripple over the screen, preceded by a resonant, heavy sound, increasing in volume. A man's face is half-hidden in shadows, his face expressionless, lost in contemplation. The camera focuses on his eyes, underscoring a conflict within. The images change abruptly—darkness, followed by a flash of crackling energy, almost sparks or a far-off explosion. The tension between quiet and sound, immobility and sudden movement, is unnerving, as if something huge is going to occur. The cuts are quick, jumping from one moment in time to another, so it is impossible to tell if these are visions, memories, or reality.

Some of the shots are in brilliant color, but others are harsh black-and-white, implying a division between views or eras. The audio design is deep and immersive; there is no conventional dialogue, just a creepy musical score that throbs like a heartbeat, creating tension. Throughout the course of the scene, the man is alone in the frame, his environment blurred or unfocused. It's as if he's imprisoned in his own head, cut off from the world outside. During the sequence, there's a feeling of tension built into the cinematography and mise-en-scène. Lighting is low-key, with deep shadows that conceal detail, and camera movement is measured, alternating between smooth tracking shots and sudden, disjunctive cuts.

Books and mathematics come and go, suggesting the man's intellectual abilities and motives, but bring no resolution—only more ambiguity. The amalgamation of fragmented visuals, dense audio, and disjunctive narrative compels an intimidating feeling of suspense, leaving viewers with the notion that something enormous, maybe calamitous, is transpiring.