The Incredibles is not just a kids film! Now if you'll excuse me, me and Santa are about to have some chocolate milk before bed.

(Note: I couldnt get the clip from the DVD, so I altered the times to correspond with the youtube clip.

The only shots I talk about are the first 16 seconds of the clip.)

The Incredibles (2004), a computer-animated Pixar film directed by Brad Bird, is ostensibly just a kid-friendly film about a family of superheroes who are forced into action years after all “supers” are prohibited from using their powers. However, it quickly becomes clear that Bird has bigger issues on his mind. The film offers arguably one of the best explorations of the American family in recent memory, and argues firmly against the celebration of mediocrity Bird sees as prevalent in society today. Indeed, the film certainly owes a debt to both Randian Objectivist philosophy and the acclaimed graphic novel Watchmen, unlikely inspirations for a children’s film. The Incredibles manages to explore these real-world themes only by establishing a firm sense of realism in an inherently unrealistic world, as animation must be an entirely artificial creation. This realism is also vital in establishing an emotional connection between the viewer and the characters, as without it, it is much harder for the viewer to identify with the characters, and even with film itself. In this paper, I will examine how the film uses conventional cinematic language and attention to key details to establish a sense of realism so that the film can maintain thematic relevance. I will concentrate on how this realism is established as opposed to why it is necessary.

The five-shot sequence I examined occurs towards the end of the film. The scene focuses on Frozone (Samuel L. Jackson), a retired superhero, attempting to react when a monstrous robot begins to wreak havoc on the city where Frozone lives. Frozone has, up until this point, not been directly involved in the central plot, and is still going about his day-to-day life. The audience has actually not seen this character for over an hour, so the first shot in the sequence is absolutely crucial. The shot directly preceding this sequence is a mild close-up on the face of a female character far away from where Frozone is, and the film must establish this through a clear transition. A confusing transition would only remove the viewer from the narrative logic of the film, and in doing so would detract from its attempts at realism.

The first shot effectively provides the necessary details for this new scene. The viewer initially sees, in the first shot (0:00-0:03), a set of hands pouring out some aftershave. The perspective comes from behind the person using the aftershave, starting at his back and then shifting into an over-the-shoulder shot. The first image of the shot provides the viewer with a completely new image, so there can be no confusion with the previous one. The viewer now knows that this is a new scene, so the transition is handled effectively in this regard. The second part of the shot clarifies where the action has moved to. This is handled by an upward shift in the image from Frozone’s hands to his face, where he begins to apply the aftershave. The reflection of the mirror indicates he is in a living room at some residence, presumably his own. By demonstrating the geography of the room, the shot is successful at transitioning from one scene to another.

Not only is the shot a successful transition, but it also manages to create a tremendous sense of realism by imitating the conventional cinematic language. It does so initially by using what appears to be a camera pan moving up from Frozone’s hands to his face. However, there is no camera being used in the scene itself. There may be a camera for the purposes of recording the film, but it serves a fundamentally different purpose than a camera in a live-action film. It is obvious that there is no camera behind Frozone, simply because Frozone doesn’t exist. Instead of using a camera to record Frozone’s actions, the animators at Pixar have simply designed a series of frames that replicate the effect of a camera. Why would Pixar animators deliberately attempt to imitate the existence of a camera? Couldn’t they liberate themselves from that perspective, and offer a new way of viewing these images? Quite simply, they cannot. They are beholden to the system, as it provides the best way for them to create a sense of realism.

Christian Metz, in Film Language¹, argues that cinema itself is a language, with conventions of grammar that signify what is occurring onscreen. When cinema is viewed as such, it becomes clear that certain techniques in film have universal meanings. Metz argues that these meanings are internally accepted by the viewer without conscious thought, and thus make communication via film simpler. I will discuss several of these techniques later, but what is relevant here is that the language is based upon the existence of a camera. Even though there are no cameras for animated films, the language of film as a whole is still dependent upon it. The animators realize this, and understand that the clearest way to communicate in film is through the established language. The shot of Frozone looking in the mirror uses this cinematic language to demonstrate the geography of the living room, and as this language is necessarily the replication of conventional live-action camera recordings, the shot must imitate the presence of a camera.

In the case of this film, the imitation of conventional cinematic language becomes doubly important. Not only does it make communication between the film and viewer simpler, but it also inspires an immediate identification with live-action cinema. The viewer subconsciously connects the technique as being an aspect of traditional films, and thus identifies these animated characters with actual actors, and perhaps even actual humans. Obviously, the viewer is still aware that these are animated images and not real people, but the subconscious connection makes him² more willing to accept the character as realistic. Therefore, when the viewer is misled to believe that a camera is recording Frozone’s movements, the viewer is tricked into a sense of identification with the character, just as he is tricked into believing that a camera is recording these proceedings.

The mise en scène of this shot is also crucial in establishing the sense of realism the film strives to achieve. The audience is viewing a very average, mundane action. The mirror’s reflection shows how the room is, upon first viewing, an average domestic household. A simple bookshelf is behind the dresser and mirror where Frozone is standing, and ostensibly this is just an average living room. The music, in contrast to the film’s jazzy, James-Bond inspired Michael Giannchino score, is light and dull, the sort of music one would hear in an elevator. The shot creates a tremendous sense of mundane domesticity, which is exactly what Brad Bird’s goal is. By juxtaposing the realism of this shot with the fantastical nature of the following shots, Bird makes the conflict of the scene more real and more imminent. These upcoming shots will change the ordinary into the extraordinary, allowing the viewer to believe that the fantastical situations that occur in the film aren’t too far removed from everyday life.

The second shot (0:03-0:07) completely destroys the sense of normality the previous shot worked to establish. This is no longer a scene about a man maintaining his hygiene; instead, it becomes a man working to save the city. The camera is 90 degrees from where it once was, and now gives the viewer a panoramic view of the living room. In the background, outside of Frozone’s window, the viewer sees a giant robot wreaking havoc on the city, and a helicopter unleashing gunfire on the robot. Frozone turns around, looks out the window, and immediately returns to his dresser to search for something. The shot uses light in an incredibly realistic and subtle manner. The sun reflects off of the metallic robot’s image, and both the robot and Frozone cast accurate shadows on the floor. The location of the sun is constant, even though the animators could easily have made a mistake and altered it from one frame to another. This attention to detail is crucial, as minor inaccuracies like incorrect lighting would detract from the film’s quasi-realistic nature.

The next two shots are very fluid and simplistic in nature, and therefore I will deal with them briefly. The third shot (0:08-0:09) is a very basic one. The “camera” is slightly further back than in the first shot, but from the same angle. Frozone rummages through several drawers and finds a remote that he uses after he turns around. This shot transitions directly into a fourth shot (0:10-0:12), where the “camera” is now where the dresser is, and the array of books behind Frozone shift to reveal a hidden, and empty, compartment. However, there is a cut-on-motion here, and leads into a fifth shot (0:13-0:16). The zooming in of this cut follows the motion of the fourth shot, so the cut is not immediately clear. The cut’s function is to highlight the absence of Frozone’s “supersuit.” The fifth shot initially is of Frozone torso, but again the image shifts upward to Frozone’s face.

The fifth shot sets up the conflict that proceeds after this sequence is over while continuing the film’s imitation of conventional camera and editing techniques. Frozone yells “Honey” to his wife, and his wife responds from off-screen. The viewer never sees Frozone’s wife, but the shot immediately shifts upward to Frozone’s face. This shift upward is identical in nature to the first shot of the sequence, and again forwards the illusion that this is all being viewed through the lens of a live-action camera. After the shift, Frozone’s eye line moves to the left, indicating the direction of his wife without the audience ever seeing her. This eyeline match, although in this case it matches eyeline to sound as opposed to another object, must occur, as a real person would look towards the person he was talking to.

The dialogue here is also crucial. It is the first dialogue of the sequence, and is simultaneously grounded in reality while being completely removed from it. Clearly, Frozone is asking for a “supersuit” that allows him to use his ability to instantaneously freeze water. Nonetheless, this is a very common and stereotypical domestic debate. A fight is occurring over the location of clothing, very much like when an average married person cannot find their clothing because their partner moved it. It’s a common domestic problem: it just so happens that this problem involves superpowers and the destruction of the city as well as the search for missing clothes. The tone of voice of both Frozone and his wife is a vital detail, as the tone really establishes the partially antagonistic relationship domestic couples may have. This dialogue reestablishes the sense of domestic normality the first shot gave the audience, and by doing so continues to ground this unrealistic film in reality.

The cinematic techniques of The Incredibles deliberately copy the techniques of conventional, live-action cinema. The shots pan up and down like a traditional camera would, and the eyeline matches create a sense of continuity consistent with the established cinematic language. The film uses these techniques in an effective manner, and this allows it to establish a sense of realism it otherwise could not have obtained. The Incredibles manages to be a realistic film in spite of its fantastical plot and usage of animation, a form of cinematic creation necessarily less realistic than simply recording the performances of actors. It succeeds only by pretending to be what it is not: a live-action film.

1. 1. The Metz article I reference is not the one read in class, but rather one from Film Theory and Criticism, although it’s ideas somewhat explored in the class article. However, the summation I give is the only relevant part of the article for this paper, and hopefully the point made is clear enough.

2. 2. I always try to clarify that, even though I think it’s a tad bit sexist, I use “he” as opposed to “one” or “he or she” as a singular pronoun, because “one” quite often sounds awkward, and “he or she” always does. I only do it once or twice in this paper, however.

Works Cited:

Bonitzer, Pascal. "Off-Screen Space." Cahiers du Cinema Dec. 1971: 291-305. Print.

The Incredibles (Two-Disc Collector's Edition). Dir. Brad Bird. Perf. Craig T. Nelson, Holly Hunter. Walt Disney Home Entertainment, 2004. DVD.

Metz, Christian. "Some Points in the Semiotics of Cinema."Film Language: A Semiotics of the Cinema. Chicago: University Of Chicago Press, 1990. 67-73. Print.