“Anatomy of a Fall:” Perfect Setup
Anatomy of a Fall is the best screenplay of the year. The evidence starts on page one.
Anatomy of a Fall is nothing if not intentional. Every detail had to be considered in order to effectively construct its mystery. The fragility of truth. Deceit. The inability to truly know a person. The inevitability of the unknown. In its perfect execution, the viewer becomes a victim to the film’s mastery.
The groundwork for these themes are laid before we even hear a line of dialogue. Utilizing nearly every tool in the medium’s arsenal, Anatomy of a Fall’s opening scene effectively establishes its potential homicide/accident turned narrative lynchpin to fully explore its themes. At the same time, the opening establishes character, this world, and its rules with incredible efficiency and its own narrative structure to make for a truly complete sequence. Finally, the intro is also filled with subtext that generates new meaning on a second viewing, thereby reinforcing its own themes with every rewatch. In other words, the opening scene is the most effective set up I’ve seen in years, and acts as a complete narrative all its own.
We open on a black screen. The opening lines already speak to the heart of the film’s dramatic question. Sandra, a successful author and our lead, is being interviewed by Izzy, a graduate student who has visited Sandra’s cozy, isolated cabin in the mountains.
“So, what do you want to know?”
On initial viewing, the line is intriguing enough for its inquisitive nature. However, upon rewatch, the audience realizes that Sandra posits this as a challenge. A test to the viewer, as if she is the knowing mastermind behind the film’s deceptive narrative structure. I can see her smirk behind the darkness. She knows just as well as the audience will that, based on the film’s developments, it is impossible to know anyone, even herself.
Over the course of the story, the audience will only become more ensnared in Sandra’s deceitful web, claiming innocence to the crime of her husband's “accidental” fall off of their balcony. Reveal after reveal, subtextual line after a flash of uncharacteristic rage, Sandra becomes a walking question mark, blurred by the hazy snow that turns away any potential witnesses. More than once she is interrogated and exposed for both truths and falsehoods, assumptions and damn near fact. Ironically, all of this evidence is weighed equally in the court of law. The truths Sandra chooses to hide only build a stronger case against her innocence, a side that is just as convincing as Sandra’s genuine pleas. The fact that Sandra casually wakes up at five in the morning is just as damaging as, say, the accusation that she was flirting with Izzy in this opening scene. An outrageous claim on initial viewing; our Sandra? She could never! But this claim is supported by the fact that Sandra cheated on her husband in the past, one of those cheeky details Sandra chose to hide from the court, and the script masterfully kept from the audience until Sandra herself was just as shocked as the viewer when the prosecutor used it as evidence. The implication of pursuing further relationships with flimsy, stuttering excuses and a blush that proves Sandra purposefully withheld this information, who says she’s any different when it comes to admitting to murder? In this way, the film already demonstrates how it is effectively establishing its themes and characters from its outset.
Returning to the scene, the void of an introduction only works to enhance the opening line’s irony, as the audience cannot even see the very person who is, by self-definition and later proven to be the opposite, an open book. The seeds continue to be planted when thinking of the black screen as a means of establishing Samuel’s perspective of his mother. A crucial element of the story is that the primary witness is blind, and the film never spells this out, rather giving visual and audio cues to deliver this detail. Subtlety thrives in the intricacies of a good mystery, and the dramatic question is only further suspended in obfuscation when the primary witness was never able to see the actual crime.
This visual connection to character is further solidified with the first real shot being that of a set of stairs, where Samuel’s service dog stampedes down after a tennis ball. Introducing Samuel’s dog, who too becomes a thread in this patched quilt of a mystery, is but one way this shot serves the purpose of establishment. Sandra and Izzy continue their interview off screen, which reinforces the mysterious feeling the black screen introduced, and the ominous low angle peering up at the stairs, coupled with the booming thump of the tennis ball, works to plant the image of a victim tumbling down. If Sandra’s first line is a tease, the opening shot is a promise, cleverly planting the idea of an oncoming crisis in the viewer's mind. No scene exists in a vacuum; the film knows its premise, it knows its audience, and respects the viewer enough to make the connection between this shot and the film's dramatic conflict.
Before cutting to Samuel, we hear more of the interview, in which Izzy asks about “your son’s accident.” The reason this line deserves attention and praise is for its simplicity and effectiveness in its purpose, all without spoon feeding the audience. Instead of blatantly saying Daniel is blind because x, y, and z, Anatomy of a Fall revels in confusion, deceit, and subtlety, resulting in a film that only shows 2+2, sometimes even having them equate to 5. “The accident” is a source of turmoil between Sandra and her late husband, another detail eventually used as possible evidence against Sandra as possible motivation. It’s blasphemy…according to Sandra, and despite her attempts at finding one, there is clearly no right answer in the court of law.
Pairing this line with the black opening screen and clips of Samuel washing his pup, one could imply that the child is blind without it ever being directly explained, while at the same time effectively establishing multiple pieces of evidence that will be referenced throughout the film. Finally, it is notable that we can hear the faint echoes of Sandra’s interview from Samuel’s perspective when in the bathroom, as it works to establish the film’s own rules. The viewer will not be privy to all of the intricacies and details of our characters' lives, or even dialogue. The audience’s perspective is rightfully fixed, also neutral, and never concrete. We may try to treat Sandra objectively, but her seemingly contradictory character only works to confuse our most inherent assumptions established in the opening scene. The film is telling the viewer here the languages it will use to tell its story: cinematic ellipsis.
We’re not even two minutes in.
Cut back to Sandra, laughing gleefully with a cheeky glass of wine. Friendly, or flirtatious? The question ripens with every word. “What I do know is my interest in you.” seems innocent enough on an initial viewing. But, once again, Anatomy of a Fall delights in its own details and fallacies, its setups and payoffs; every word is given ample meaning, which is again demonstrated when Izzy asks “You had to meet me first…so, for you to start inventing, you need something real first.” Sandra is thus effectively established as an “inventor,” a mastermind in falsifying stories based on reality. While never being used in court as evidence for her ability to lie and deceive, it certainly could have been, as slight flashes of uncharacteristic anger show cracks in the calm facade Sandra parades to the court and the charming auteur she performs to allure Izzy.
“You say your books mix truth and fiction, and that makes us want to decide between which is which.”
“What?”
Sandra responds in confusion. Twice, actually. These lines serve to communicate Sandra’s ease with lying to the audience. To her, lying is nothing more than inventing a story. She is so absorbed in her own ability, that she doesn’t even recognize it as falsifying the truth. She withholds details from the court, gives her lawyer incorrect information, and pretends to play dumb more than once. Sandra may seem innocent in this opening scene, but on a second viewing, one can see the complex layers beneath the purposeful simplification of her own character.
Back to Daniel. He dries his dog as-
Music blares.
“It’s just Samuel working upstairs.” Sandra takes a long sip of wine while leaning in her chair. Still in the same, intimate close ups as before, the nonchalant attitude now reads as clearly practiced to me on a second viewing, with the real Sandra screaming behind the seductive smile she wears for Izzy, unable to tolerate Samuel’s interruption. To keep the facade, she leans in and asks Izzy increasingly personal questions. Sandra opts for the interview to be more like “a normal conversation,” telling Izzy to “forget her thesis” in favor of telling Sandra “what interests her.” A personable professor, or a potential partner?
“I work all day long, I see no one, you come here to see me. Of course I’m interested in you.”
We’ve all had the mentors we want to impress, the professionals we want to get to the personal. For Sandra, the dynamic reads closer to the opposite, and only more so on a repeat viewing after learning Sandra’s sins. We stay in these intimate close ups as Sandra attempts to push past professional boundaries. “Well, I like to run.” Izzy isn’t as receptive to the chit-chat, and she only becomes more confused as the music increases alongside Sandra’s laughter. Trying to pivot the conversation, Izzy returns to storytelling, only for Sandra to interrupt. “I don’t like sports. That’s the first thing.” Izzy gives a pained, polite smile. The audience can read her frustration behind the tolerance, just as Sandra is tolerating Samuel, and as we later learn in a scene just past the midpoint, just as Samuel seemingly tolerated Sandra.
The key to Anatomy of a Fall’s engaging viewing experience is Sandra’s unraveling as a trustworthy protagonist. In one scene her innocence reads as completely believable, only for the next line of dialogue to reveal that she, say, cheated on her husband on more than one occasion. While watching the film for the first time, the opening scene had me associated with Sandra. The only thing I could think about Daniel was how obnoxious of a husband he was, and how based on Sandra’s previous dialogue, she was seemingly trapped in a loveless marriage with an “artist” who cared more about his work and ego than his spouse. Remember, according to Sandra no one ever visits and all that occupies her time is endless work and interruptions. However, we learn that this description is, in reality, just as fitting for Sandra as it may have been for Daniel. When the prosecutor plays a recording for the jury, the film transitions to an objective scene. From static shots in the courtroom to a shaky handheld, we see Sandra as she would never describe herself. In this presentation, where the camera is quite literally in the space between Sandra and Daniel, Sandra is framed as the ungrateful spouse hampering her husband's success and ambitions. Sandra sees no fault when Daniel accuses her of cheating…again. She screams that it's his own damn fault he isn’t successful…even though it’s later revealed her most popular novel has a suspicious amount of similarities to one of Daniel’s drafts. Sandra bolsters herself as a proud mother by listing the single day she picks up Samuel from school…despite the fact they have a cleaning lady and Daniel picks him up every other afternoon of the week. Sandra’s hypocrisy doesn’t just reveal a character flaw, but acts as a seismic shift in the audience’s perspective of her. After this scene, Sandra is completely untrustworthy as a protagonist, and this makes a rewatch just as, if not more, engaging than the first. This is subtext executed and expanded upon at its best.
The conversation is interrupted by a cacophony of power tools. Samuel is seemingly building a house upstairs, which leads to the scene's midpoint: Sandra and Izzy end the interview early. Of course, only after a few more sips of wine to hide Sandra’s closeted aggravation. The camera follows Izzy out the door, which reinforces the film’s established rules of perspective. If the audience wasn’t clear before, they are made abundantly aware now that they will not be following Sandra as closely as would be necessary to learn her truth.
As Izzy enters her car we notice Samuel leaving for a winter walk, a situation that will also be painfully examined by investigators for even a thread of evidence. Izzy looks up to see Sandra, painting her in an ominous light from the harsh low angle. Left alone with Daniel, Sandra’s framing makes her read as villainous. This is the last we see of her before the accident. For some reason, I suspect that this cinematic choice was anything but.
The blaring music is silenced by the cool winter air. Samuel is captured in wide as he navigates the woods, oftentimes slipping on icy hills and pathways. While small, this detail only adds to the foreshadowing, and it’s these tiny elements that make Anatomy of a Fall feel complete and intentional in all of its choices.
From here, we follow Samuel as he returns home. Suddenly his dog rips from the leash and runs to Daniel’s bloody head inking the snow. It’s sudden, a jarring reveal that shocks the audience into being alert. After a second’s respite from Daniel’s blaring music, we return to the house, song on full blast, to a truly painful image. The camera cuts indoors to Sandra’s empty chair. From this shot, we see how even the cinematography is rich with subtext. Once this shot simply conveyed that Sandra may not be easily accessible to Samuel, that she can’t hear his pleas. However, rewatching the film, I can’t help but read this shot as foreboding and accusatory. Now, the empty chair hints at Sandra’s ghost, reminds the audience of her frustration, and tells the viewer “the last we saw, Sandra went upstairs.” Now less sympathetic towards Sandra, the shots take on new meaning, once again actualizing the film’s themes.
Sandra finally exits the house and rushes to Samuel’s body, notably, from upstairs. The film then cuts to the same eerie shots of the wooden staircase that opened the film, perfectly bookending this efficient opening scene. Finally, as Daniel’s and Sandra’s cries fade into the jaunty music that makes the scene all the more uncanny, we slowly zoom in on Daniel’s pet. He’s calm, staring straight into the camera as we hear Sandra’s subtextual lines. “I didn’t move him, I didn’t touch him” literally means that she hasn’t moved the deceased’s body, but doubly hints at her later claims of innocence when she repeats the same lines in front of a judge.
The closing zoom is made even more impactful on a second watch when the dog later becomes a symbol for Samuel’s presence. Late in the film, Daniel recalls a moment with his father after visiting the vet. Despite the positive visit, Samuel warns Daniel about death, that sometimes lives will be taken in a moment's notice.
“He was talking about himself.”
Samuel is revealed to be taking anti-depressants and has had multiple suicide attempts in the past. After learning this, Daniel is heartbroken, and his dog is forever linked with the spirit of his deceased father. This zoom is not just one on Samuel’s pet, but an eerie judgment from the ghost of the very victim who lies dead in front of his potential murderer. And just as the opening scene itself is bookended by parallel shots, the film itself clearly marks itself with thematic parallels that serve to continue complicating this winding narrative. At the end of the film, Sandra is found not guilty. Although we may have been hoping for this outcome in the film’s opening moments, I could not help but feel conflicted knowing that Sandra was let free. The final shot only sent me into further spiraling, as we see Sandra lovingly embrace the dog, embrace Samuel, as if she really did love the man she potentially killed. The movie ends on this image, a seeming paradox after all that we’ve seen.
It wasn’t until rewatching I realized the film began with one as well.