FM3 - Auteur Theory

Auteur Theory

You can't really be an auteur until you've got your type!

Tim Burton's Dark Shadows may have received a kicking from critics, but one person has emerged from the dust-up unscathed: Eva Green, the French actress who plays the evil witch Angelique Bouchard. With her red-lacquered lips, her crazy-beautiful eyes and possessed-marionette limbs, Green's lolling vamp represents the perfection of a type Burton has long been trying to get right – from Michelle Pfeiffer's Catwoman in Batman Returns, to Lisa Marie Smith's bosomy Martian in Mars Attacks!, to Anne Hathaway's White Queen in Alice in Wonderland.

Critics may be tired of the rest of Burton's directorial signatures – the ornate production designs, the seventies kitsch, the collaboration with Johnny Depp – but he's finally perfected his vamps: peroxide-blonde, big-chested, cinch-waisted, eyes like Bambi's.

All film directors have their types. Everyone knows Steven Spielberg for his suburban settings, alien visitations, and Godlike shafts of light, but equally consistent is his taste for hot moms in long T-shirts, cut-off jeans and morning-sexy hair: Teri Garr and Mellinda Dillon in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, JoBeth Williams in Poltergeist, and Dee Wallace in ET (dressed as Catwoman for Halloween, she even sends ET into a swoon).

Scorsese scholars find rich pickings in the director's Catholism, his taste for violence, his bruisers, misfits and loners, but less so the women in orbit around them, whether sexily-damaged like Rosanna Arquette in After Hours and Illeana Douglas in Cape Fear, or spitfires like Lorraine Bracco in Goodfellas and Sharon Stone in Casino, giving as good as they get.

To which we could add Tarantino's foot fetish ("He gave her a foot massage!"), Fellini's breast-love, the lifelong connoisseurship Michaelangelo Antonioni brought to women's legs, David Lynch's thing for misapplied lipstick, Darren Aronofsky's taste for brainy brunettes and David Fincher's love of skinny Goth girls viewed from the rear. As New York film critic David Edelstein concluded recently: "Fincher is an undies-and-butt man." You could be forgiven for concluding that the most enduring definition of an auteur is a film-maker who populates his movies with women he wants to boff.

The big guns of auteur theory are strangely silent on the matter. In his seminal essay Notes on Auteur Theory in 1962, the influential American critic Andrew Sarris determined that auteur status was conferred by meeting the following benchmarks: technical competence, personal style and something called "interior meaning", which he variously defined as a director's "vision of the world", his "attitude to life", and "élan of the soul." He said nothing about sexual pecadilloes.

Even though the two film directors hoisted highest by the French and touted as auteurist poster boys – Howards Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock – are famous for their taste in women, bequeathing us, respectively, the Hawksian woman and the Hitchcock blonde.

In his groundbreaking 1953 Cahiers du cinema essay, The Genius of Howard Hawks, Jacques Rivette identified Hawks as "a bundle of dark forces and strange fascinations" – his "obsession with continuity", his "obsession with primitivism" and "bouts of ordered madness which give birth to an infinite chain of consequences" – but passed over his equally fervid obsession with insolent, self-possessed foxes, lounging against doorways in tailored suits like Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not ("You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and … blow.")

Read more @ The Guardian Film Blog