First, What Is Formalism?
Let’s get the film-school term out of the way. In cinema, “formalism” isn’t about wearing a tux to the movies. It’s a filmmaking approach where the style—the “how” it’s filmed—is just as important, if not more so, than the plot or characters. Think of a Wes Anderson film. You’re not just watching a story about a dysfunctional family; you’re experiencing a world of perfect symmetry, curated color palettes, and whip-pan camera moves. The form *is* the content. Formalist directors use the tools of cinema (camera angles, editing, color, sound) not just to tell the story, but to be the main event. In these movies, a meticulously composed shot or a jarring cut isn't just window dressing; it's a primary source of meaning, emotion, and narrative. Instead
of the camera being a neutral observer, it has a personality. It’s opinionated, artistic, and demands your attention. This approach often feels alienating to audiences accustomed to plot-driven Hollywood blockbusters, but for those who love visual language, it’s pure catnip.
When Cinematography Becomes a Character
In a conventional film, cinematography serves the script. The camera’s job is to clearly show what’s happening. In a formalist masterpiece, the cinematography *is* what’s happening. The way a scene is lit or framed tells you everything you need to know about a character’s internal state, often more effectively than a line of dialogue could.
Consider Nicolas Winding Refn’s *Drive*. The plot is a simple neo-noir thriller, but that’s not why people obsess over it. They obsess over the slick, neon-drenched visuals of Los Angeles at night, the slow-motion moments of intense violence, and the stark, detached framing of Ryan Gosling’s stoic driver. The cinematographer, Newton Thomas Sigel, didn’t just capture scenes; he created an entire mood board of cool dread and romantic fatalism. The film’s look became its identity. This is the core of the obsession: the visual texture is so rich and deliberate that you can study a single frame like a painting, discovering new layers of meaning with every viewing.
The Cannes Connection: A Stage for Audacity
So why Cannes? The Cannes Film Festival has cultivated a reputation as the world’s most prestigious stage for auteur cinema—films driven by a director's singular, often uncompromising vision. Unlike the Oscars, which frequently reward crowd-pleasing narratives, Cannes juries are known for celebrating artistic risk and technical mastery. It's a place where a slow, meditative film with sparse dialogue can win the top prize, the Palme d'Or, precisely because its visual storytelling is groundbreaking.
Directors know this. They bring their most ambitious, stylistically bold work to the French Riviera, hoping to make a splash. For a formalist film, a Cannes premiere is the ultimate launchpad. The global press and cinephiles gathered there are primed to appreciate and analyze visual artistry. A rave review from Cannes that praises a film's “painterly compositions” or “hypnotic camerawork” immediately establishes its credentials as a must-see for anyone who cares about the craft of filmmaking. It becomes part of a conversation that extends far beyond its box office potential.
Case Studies in Visual Poetry
The festival’s history is littered with examples. Think of Terrence Malick’s *The Tree of Life*, which won the Palme d'Or in 2011. Its story is elliptical and abstract, but its cinematography by Emmanuel Lubezki—with its floating, god-like camera and breathtaking cosmic imagery—is universally revered. It’s a film experienced more than it is understood.
More recently, Céline Sciamma’s *Portrait of a Lady on Fire* became a global phenomenon after its Cannes debut, where it won Best Screenplay and the Queer Palm. While the script is brilliant, the film’s lasting power comes from its visual language. Each frame, courtesy of cinematographer Claire Mathon, is composed with the precision and emotional depth of an 18th-century painting. The film’s slow, deliberate gazes and use of candlelight aren’t just stylistic choices; they are the engine of its romance and its commentary on the female gaze. The obsession wasn’t just with the story but with the sublime beauty of *how* that story was seen.
