Journey 3
Journey 3
VANISHING POINTS
114 L’ ATALANTE JULY-DECEMBER 2011 (2013 reedition)
many big cities. It’s fascinating architecture: it seems
driven by a desire to exude clarity with its lines, yet at
the same time it difficulties hard to read” (WIGLEY,
2009: 47). It would be quite reasonable to attribute this
idea to the aforementioned sequence in the famous
New York museum, which is a highly complex exercise
in planning, visual structuring and editing which
results in a set piece that is shrewd in its execution,
and violent and dirty in its mood. The passage starts
with a demarcation, in a single crane-shot, of the space
and boundaries within which the action will take place,
upon the entrance of the main character, Lou Salinger
(Clive Owen). He is accompanied by other agents who,
together with Salinger, are searching for a possible keywitness
to uncover a plot involving corruption on a global
scale. Salinger enters the lobby and keeps walking
while raising his gaze to examine the interior of the
building, a movement that is followed by the camera
and that establishes the context with visual economy.
A few shots later, and before the shoot-out starts, we
witness an example of a skilful use of space and of the
possibilities of the setting. In the scene, Salinger and
one of his companions are hiding behind one of the
walls spying at their target, who is sitting on a bench
next to the consultant from the international bank that
they are investigating. When the latter leaves, the potential
witness, played by Bryan F. O’Byrne, stands up,
redirects his gaze as he walks and stops to stare thoughtfully
at the enormous hanging crystals in the centre of
the building. It is a shot that adopts his point of view
and allows us to see Salinger’s and his companion’s reflections,
and in the reverse shots we can see that they
realise they have been discovered. This set of shots
maximises the perspective of each character
and establishes a sense of ubiquity
for the spectator that is maintained
throughout this sequence: the audience
may be disturbed by the fast pace and
the sordid nature of the events, but it
will always be from inside the images of
the scene, immersed in a geographical
logic that will prevent them from losing
track of what is happening. The same
occurs once the spectators are plunged
into the heat of the action, where the
keys of visual perspective prove to be
vital. At one moment, we see a confrontation
in the setting described above,
but with the positions reversed: Salinger
remains hidden in the background
behind a corner of the wall, while now
in the place he was spying before is one
of the mercenaries who have burst into
the museum, shooting at him. In the
exchange of gunfire and of camera shots, the field of
vision of each character remains clear, information
possessed by both the spectator and the characters
themselves. However, this changes in the next shot: a
high angle shot shows Salinger crouching down in his
trench-corner and also reveals the lower floor of the Guggenheim,
where we can see the advancing positions
of the other two armed men. In this moment, the spectator
is privileged with information that is unknown
to the impromptu hero of the movie, a strategy that
is repeated almost immediately, when Salinger catches
sight of the (presumably) dead hand of the witness holding
a gun and decides to move forward to reach it. But
first, he turns around to offer a calming gesture to one
of a museum visitor in a state of panic. The spectator’s
privilege of information over the character is repeated
when we see, in the background, a figure crossing from
one side to another to hide in a different corner without
Salinger noticing. Immediately thereafter, we see our
hero leaving his shelter and running for the gun, dodging
the enemy fire on his way.