Late Showing: The Fabelmans + A Note on Thanksgiving & Home
the difficulties of seeing and being seen
The Fabelmans
Of all Steven Spielberg’s trademarks, I think the most iconic is the Spielberg Reaction Shot, or the “Spielberg Face.” He shows us a character’s reaction— their wonder, surprise, shock, terror, love— often before he shows us what they’re looking at. He knows that the real story is in the character’s emotion about the thing, not the thing. The seeing, not the sight.
Think of Alan fumbling with his glasses and Ellie standing in shock when they see the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park; Private Ryan’s determination, shaken by fear, as he lands on Omaha Beach; David looking out into the ocean with permanent innocence in A.I.: Artificial Intelligence; Elliot tearfully watching as E.T. finally goes home.
The theory of the close up goes back to the silent era, philosophically detailed by Jean Epstein and Béla Balázs, masterfully illustrated in the iconic example of Carl Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc. It is a staple of film language. But Spielberg’s shots remain unique and masterful. He has a patience with faces, giving precious screen time for us to watch the progression of micro-expressions and gaze into the eyes of the characters. While Spielberg is a master of pacing and momentum, it’s these paused moments where the emotional core of his films reside, and where we as an audience get to truly connect with the emotion expressed.
It’s no surprise that The Fabelmans, Spielberg’s latest and most autobiographical film, has a reflective nature to it. He’s always been a sentimental guy, and as the now 75-year-old filmmaker looks back on his childhood he views it and presents it with an insight and empathy best expressed through those lingering reaction shots. While it depicts the coming of age of a talented artist, and the fragmentation of a family, overall it is a film about the difficulties of seeing and being seen.
The film begins with the young Spielberg stand-in, Sam, going to his first-ever movie with his parents, Burt (Paul Dano) and Mitzi (Michelle Williams). With the lore of Spielberg’s prodigy you may think that this first experience was magical, but instead it’s the opposite— a nightmare. Little Sam is tormented by the image of the train crash in The Greatest Show on Earth, and is unable to move past it until he recreates the scene with his toy trains and films it with his dad’s camera. “I need to see them crash,” he tells his dad, insistently.
With a camera, Sam begins to see the world differently. Cleverly blocked shots take us from the insular world seen inside the camera’s frame out to the larger picture, where we see what’s really going on— Sam’s friends blowing dust and setting of firecrackers all to contribute to the in-frame illusion. Looking through the camera lens, Sam can control and manipulate the world to his liking; he can make sense of what he sees.
That is, until he’s editing family vacation footage into a short film for his mother. Going through the reels of film he shot on their camping trip, the very images he shot lead him to see a new reality: his mother Mitzi and his “uncle” Bennie (Seth Rogan) are clearly in love.
Such a revelation shakes Sam to his core, upsetting the balance of his life and his illusion of a happy family life. However, the film has also given us the context of Mitzi’s point of view.
Mitzi feels invisible in her marriage. While kind and doting, the mathematically-minded Burt fails to see Mitzi wholly. He dismisses her love of silliness and her artistic pursuits as mere hobbies, and struggles to understand her emotional turmoil. Bennie, their beloved family friend, joins in with her jokes, laughing heartily all the time. On their camping trip, a tipsy Mitzi dances in the headlights of their car, and Burt, Bennie, and Sam all watch. Burt with a genteel, reverent appreciation; Bennie with amusement, fondness, and desire; and Sam through the lens of his camera. Perhaps none of them see her fully.
Sam vacillates between his frustration with his mother for her intense emotional needs and frustration with his father for failing to see the ways he is letting his family down. He’s learning to see his parents as the complex, imperfect adults they are. He sees their blindspots. And all the while, he feels as if few people see him and his own potential.
When Sam makes a short film using footage he shot on “Senior Skip Day,” his classmate Logan— a bully— sees himself in a different way. Sam has edited the film to place Logan in the role of hero, and instead of thanking Sam, Logan lashes out in anger, unsure how to deal with the discrepancies between how he sees himself and how Sam’s camera sees him. Neither Logan or Sam knows how to see themselves; they don’t yet understand who they are.
I don’t want to reveal too much about the film. It’s a gentle, deeply felt, often hilarious family drama that depicts a family trying their best to love each other. And, as always, Spielberg and his collaborators have crafted something beautiful. To me, it felt like a much-needed hug. It’s best experienced yourself.
Toward the end of the film, Sam worries that his goal of becoming a filmmaker will disappoint his father too much and ruin their relationship in an already fragmented family. His soft-spoken father grasps his shoulder and assures Sam, “I will always know you.” And the two truly see each other.
A Note on Thanksgiving & Home
Last night I showed my apartment to a few potential subletters. One of them, a very kind and friendly woman, explained her situation and admitted she wouldn’t quite meet my landlord’s rental requirements. She would be able to pay rent with no issue, but due to past medical bills she wouldn’t meet the credit score requirement, and due to current medical treatment she wouldn’t be employed. I really felt for this woman, and while I can’t change my landlord’s mind, I sincerely hope that she has success in finding her new home.
How awful to live in a system where it is so hard to come by a right as fundamental as a home.
I’m so grateful for the home that’s served me so well the past few years, and for the home my boyfriend and I will create together. I’m thankful for the many homes I am welcome in, for the people who provide refuge and love. I grew up in a family that always had “stragglers” for Thanksgiving— neighbors who were far from loved ones, students unable to travel home for the holiday, long lost cousins looking for family and a bit of mashed potatoes.
This Thanksgiving I’ll be in the midst of moving out of one place and into another, my immediate family on a different continent, and yet I’ll be welcomed like family over the Thanksgiving meal. This Thanksgiving, I look for ways to make this a reality for everyone.
Thanks for reading this special midweek edition of Midnight Snacks. I’ll resume regularly scheduled programming on Tuesday, November 29th.