Thanks to a lovely projector my sister Sydney got me for Christmas, I was able to watch The Vast Of Night under the stars.
I thought about concluding that sentence by saying “The Vast Of Night under the vast of night”, but that would have prioritized wordplay over instinct, over honesty.
I looked at the stars throughout the film. Numerous times. Not for a terribly long period of time overall, but I remember each time I did it. While doing this, I saw two planes and a firefly, while the ISS was unseen, but I was informed by my Mom that it was visible at some point, and so I knew it was above.
There’s some sort of allegorical significance to be found there, a sort of evolution. I can’t fully elaborate on it, but what I knew was there ranged from the simplest of wonders to great Earth bound technology to great technology that is beyond the bounds of the air that an airplane flies through.
All this being said, I’m still talking about what wasn’t on the screen. And on the surface, saying you spent any time watching a film looking away from the screen sounds like a criticism, but The Vast Of Night taught me this is not always the case. Imagine if while watching a romance, someone was inspired to look at their spouse, or if a film centering on parental love caused someone to look at their child.
The Vast Of Night taught me, that if an artwork so earnestly reminds you of something dear to your heart, that you have to look away, you are having an almost divine artistic experience.
For art to transcend its form, be it a film transcending the screen or a book to transcend the page, does not make its form irrelevant anymore than any of the individual elements of a film are deemed irrelevant by their interaction with each other. The individual elements that make an artwork do not exist in a vacuum, and the artwork itself does not exist in a vacuum. Alfonso Cuaron said as much: “The camerawork serves … I don’t want to say it serves the story, because I have my problems with that. For me, the story is like the cinematography, the sound, the acting and the color. They are tools for cinema, and what you have to serve is cinema, not story.”
This is something that is particularly brought to light by The Vast Of Night, which is formally all over the place and yet totally united. There are empty screens where only dialogue is heard and a four minute shot without any dialogue at all. This is not the only long shot, nor are the shots only long, as the film employs rapid editing just as effectively. The film’s crystal clear 2.35 1 Red Epic images are contrasted by an occasional embracing of 50’s era television quality in good old fashioned 1.33 1. Each of these things are distinct from and intentionally contrast each other so that they may be united.
And they are all united into one thing so that I may take this one thing into my life and take it to other things.
I drink water so that I may live, I live so that I may watch films, and I watch films so that I may look at the stars. And The Vast Of Night is a reminder of these truths unlike any I’ve experienced in a very long time.
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