Different Camera Shots in a Sequence

The above shot is a (behind) mid shot. We used it so as to cause unease from the get-go, as we cannot see the front profile of the character. This shot also acts as the POV of the murderer, increasing the tension as we can sense the character's vulnerability.

We then went on to use a long shot (again, from behind) to keep up the suspicion and discomfort now felt by the audience; this shot also serves as an establishing one, as we can now clearly see that this character is on a staircase, undoubtedly heading upwards in a building. Furthermore, this builds on the audience's tension, as, from countless films, we know that the higher up a building you are, the more difficult it is to escape. Now the sense of foreboding is undeniable.

This is a mid shot, capturing the staircase on which the character walks and the lower half of her profile. We also decided to shoot on this staircase as this shade of blue is dark, cold and therefore unsettling, much like the tone of our story!

The shot above is what is known as an over-the-shoulder shot, where we are given the first glimpse of the killer. This shot clearly portrays the victim in the killer's direct eyeline, and, as a result, increases the tension felt amongst the audience. The dark black of the killer's clothing also dominates the right hand of the shot and therefore acts as foreshadowing for the fact that he will be the more dominant of the two, having eventually killed her. The fact that the victim is the smaller profile in this shot also points towards this.

This is a long shot, as it frames the whole killer. We used this shot as it clearly demonstrates how near the killer now is to the victim and gives up some detail to their surroundings: closed, locked doors and close walls, allowing for no easy escape.

This is an establishing shot, as it establishes that the victim has now entered the bathroom. Again, we chose this particular door because it is the same cold, hard blue, and therefore has mostly negative connotations such as gloom and sadness.

This shot is now a close-up, as we are now focused entirely on the blue of the door and the fact that it is, as it reads, 'engaged'. This unnerves the audience as we can now comprehend that the victim is trapped, and the killer lurks only on the other side of the door.

We now put to use the shot known as a Dutch tilt; we used it here as naturally it is meant to cause unease and this shot perfectly encapsulates that.

This is a close-up shot, and again of the victim's profile from behind. The fact that she is turned away from us just as the killer has opened the door elicits nervousness amongst the audience, as she will have absolutely no warning when the killer strikes and therefore no defences.

The above shot is a mid shot, as it captures both the victim and the killer from waist/chest up. We used this shot as it allows us to glimpse the detail, such as the victim's reflection and the dark form of the killer.

This is the first time we are shown a front profile of the victim; we intended this as now we see her properly for the first time, just like the killer. This shot again is a mid shot, and the detail now is on her reaction and on the knife in the killer's hand.

This shot is now a close-up, focusing on the knife, the victim lying still and the blood splatter on the wall behind her head (it's really just paint!). We used this type of shot to relay these three significant elements in close, high detail.

'Don't Look Now' Opening Sequence - An Analysis

The first thing we notice about the opening sequence to ‘Don’t Look Now’ is the colour red, appearing in almost every frame: in the form of the young girl’s coat, dotted around in the room in which the two parents sit, on the ball. This can be deemed as very significant to introducing the story as the colour red connotes a sense of danger that, quite possibly, lingers everywhere, or can be a representative of blood, linking with danger.

The first frame of the opening sequence is accompanied by a slow, peaceful melody, which is largely appropriate as the camera depicts a young girl wandering through a field. In this same frame, we see a white pony (perhaps acting as a symbol of innocence, suggested by the colour white), probably belonging to the girl’s family, running in almost the opposite direction in which she is heading – towards the darkness of the trees before her. This could be interpreted as being a striking metaphor for what is to become of the girl’s fate and the state in which her family is left: shrouded in darkness.

26 seconds into the opening sequence, we’re given a below shot of the young girl, who appears almost as a silhouette against the background of sunlight filtering through the trees. This camera angle and depiction of the girl adds an element of mystery to the frame, in the way that shadow/darkness wraps around her, perhaps foreshadowing/posing a metaphor of what is to come. In this same frame, the left side of the screen (the more dominant side) is also the side that holds the darkness of the trees, whereas the right hand side (the weaker side) is where the girl is – this could also be foreshadowing the fact that the girl dies as a result of nature (she drowns in the river), making nature (ie. the left side) dominant.

As the girl steps closer to the camera in the same shot, she becomes more visible, and the glossy quality of her red coat becomes apparent, resembling blood in a stark manner. This could be a very likely tactic of Roeg, the director, of unnerving the audience from the get-go, and making them question the worst: is this young, innocent girl going to die?

At 40 seconds, our eyes follow a tracking shot depicting the girl moving alongside the river, following the ball she has just thrown in. The fact that she is moving so clearly parallel to the river and the ball it carries could be a representation of her acting parallel to the ball (which is to say the same or similarly), which ended up in the water. The lighting towards the bottom of the frame – the river and the riverbank – is considerably darker than the top of the frame – the light of the sky – creating a further sense of unease among the audience, who begin to fear that the river will come to play a significant part in the girl’s fate.

At 59 seconds through, a shot of the girl’s back is shown, and the audience is given its first view of the house: significantly far away from where the two children are. This builds on the tension, as the sense of foreboding grows heavier knowing that the children are just out of reach of the parents.

Mere shots later we are taken inside the house, introducing us with a warm shot of the crackling fire, connoting peace and tranquillity, easing our tension slightly – or perhaps a technique of Roeg to let down our guard. We are then shown the two parents, the father flicking through his photographs of a church. An element of mystery replaces our tension as we notice a red figure in the corner of the photograph he pauses on; we are shown this image again mere moments later, the father’s face quizzical. By the time we are shown this image for the third time (the father now inspecting it with a microscope), it is through a Dutch tilt; this disorientates the audience and elicits uncertainty.

Upon zooming in on the red figure, Roeg then takes a match cut to an upside-down reflection of the girl; he uses another tracking shot to capture her running and hopping alongside the river. This repeated red grows more prominent in the moments leading up to her death, causing the audience to build up tension again. The fact that we are shown her reflection upside-down in the water hints at perhaps her ending up there – which, of course, is what happens.

From 2:22 to 2:25, we are shown three moments of action, acting as a turning point in the opening sequence: the girl going through a puddle, the boy cycling through glass and the father reacting.

In reply to his wife (who is perusing her books), the father states, “Nothing is as it seems.” This line sticks out as significant as it hints at the red figure and what is now happening outside.

When we are shown a shot of the boy close up spinning the wheels of his bike, the girl has been made visible in the background, a speck of red in the green landscape; this is largely significant as it causes uneasiness among the audience, who are instantly reminded of the red figure in the father’s photograph.

Water seems to be a recurring theme in the opening sequence, for moments before the girl seems to fall into the river, the father spills water all over his photographs. An odd effect begins to take place, in which the red begins to weave its colours across the rest of the picture. Our tension then returns in full blast when realisation hits the father and he looks up slowly, horror etched upon his face.

We are then shown the girl slipping beneath the water, becoming a red blur beneath the surface.

The father, now running for the river, stumbles in after her, but it is too late. We feel his agony as his heartfelt cries are all that can be heard as he grips his daughter close to him, her red, glossy coat now more notable than ever. The second that the girl’s foot leaves the water, the sound of a harp accompanies it; this seems to me to signify angels – for many early portrayals of angels have them playing harps – and therefore the fact that she has departed life in this world.

Meanwhile, the red blotch on the photograph is expanding, curving upwards until it fades into a light golden glow, perhaps illustrating heaven or purity.

The opening sequence ends with a sound bridge between the moment when the mother first sees her dead daughter – now on the ground beneath the father – who screams, immediately followed by the harsh, cutting sound of a drill, reflecting the urgency and desperation left in the wake of this effective opening scene.

28 Days Later - An Analysis

(the opening scene)

In this opening clip to the film 28 Days Later, we are immediately faced with a naked man lying helplessly in a hospital bed. This instantly connotes vulnerability, putting us as the audience on edge right from the start and developing a sense of wariness.

The frame then changes to a close-up of the character’s face as he peers through the blinds to the corridor beyond; his eyes are the focus here as we note the obvious confusion there.

Following this shot, we are then given a frame of what he is seeing: a hallway littered with clutter and an overturned bed, increasing our suspicion. Upon breaking out of the ward in which he has been locked, the character then clothes himself in vividly green scrubs – perhaps to make him stand out more once he’s out on the streets or to connote the feeling of safety often associated with the colour green – and shuffles through the hospital, continually calling out, “Hello?”

When the protagonist stumbles across a mess of vending machine stock and begins to slurp on the Pepsi can, we gain an understanding of his obvious thirst and therefore the suggestion of him being there for a long time; this poses the question among the audience of How long has the hospital been completely empty, save for one, like this? Where has everybody gone? The shot depicting him as a small figure on the screen compared to the clutter on the floor could signify that perhaps he – or humanity as a whole – is insignificant now, whereas before they were thriving.

A few frames later brings the character outside onto the streets of London, which he – and we – discovers is completely empty and abandoned.

We’re also shown another shot where he is a tiny figure on the screen, further suggesting insignificance or perhaps the idea that humanity is no longer the most powerful and influential being, but rather small in comparison.

As the character moves on, the camera depicts only his feet, crushing miniature Big Bens that cascade across his path; this seems to me to symbolise the fall of civilisation, relating to the feeling of insignificance and loss of power.

Mere frames later, we are met with the shot of an overturned bus (in the middle of the screen, making it the focus) with its windows shattered; the fact that it is so clearly overturned seems to stand as a metaphor for an overturned world.

Money litters the streets, too, coming as quite a shock to the audience, who begin to understand its lack of worth in this new, deserted world. The fact that the character begins to scrape it all together with fear/awe etched on his face suggests that he fears the worst – that he is the only one left in a world where humans are scarce.

We note the character’s gait changing rapidly as he discovers a devastated London: at first he is cautious, visible in his uneasy shuffling, but then he quickly gets more anxious and afraid when he realises he’s alone, illustrated by his gangly traipse through the streets. As he quickens his pace, the music – before, calm – begins to quicken too, becoming more urgent, especially when a car alarm pierces it, making the character and the audience jump out of their skins! The sound of the car alarm and the surprise it causes is significant to the film as it accentuates the desolate city and the solitude felt by the character.

One of the final shots of the opening scene is a close-up of a newspaper stating that there has been an ‘EVACUATION’ in big bold letters; this seems to offer some closure to the audience, who previously have felt uneasy due to the not knowing. The music continues to grow ever faster following this discovery, reflecting the character’s anxiety, who by this time has stumbled across a wall plastered with people’s messages and photographs. The camera panning around the character’s face as he looks around desperately reflects his hopelessness and, as he leaves the shot (which then goes on to focus on a photograph before fading to black) we are left with the same feeling for him.