From Leo McCarey’s Going My Way (1944):
Officer McCarthy (Tom Dillon) pays a visit to Father O'Malley (Bing Crosby). He has brought a stranger along with him named Carol (Jean Heather). Right away we see that the door is wide open for McCarthy, but not necessarily for Carol, framed and obscured by the window pane.
As the sequence continues, McCarey makes ingenious use of a simple soundstage setup, finding ways to be expressive through spatial play, blocking, and framing.
Look here at how McCarey follows the most classical rules and yet finds possibility within them. McCarthy informs O'Malley that Carol has run away from home and refuses to go back. The center-framing of Crosby is then offset by his curious peek over to the young woman in the other room. The film cuts to a wide-shot of her. Completely logical, this is O'Malley’s POV, but in cinema, all perspectives and subjectivities are invented, so the already chosen positioning of the actors and spatial arrangement allows for this simple POV shot to beautifully frame Carol in the space, alone in wide-shot, alienated by the ornate Catholic décor, her packed suitcase in view.
Who holds the authority here? O'Malley welcomes Carol into the piano room. Note the sense of distance we are made to feel by watching her get up and walk over in a single motion, but we also feel two different dynamics at once: O'Malley’s back being turned connotes potential disapproval, but Carol’s confident stroll could be a source of intimidation for O'Malley.
The power dynamics between them are ambiguous—intricacies of their body language, positions, and spatial relations express how they shift back and forth.
At first, the young Carol sits politely while the priest does his duty in coaching her to return home where she belongs, but sensing that approach wont do any good, and upon finding out she wishes to be a singer, he accompanies her on piano before offering some tips and providing some vocal stylings himself.
—But then the less progressive Father Fitzgibbon (Barry Fitzgerald) comes downstairs and catches them in the act:
Leading to another brilliant POV shot...
…And another flip in power dynamics and in who holds the authority—now O'Malley is on trial alongside Carol for his conduct (note the positioning of their hands!):
Once Father Fitzgibbon has shooed Carol away, we return to a composition that frames Carol outside the piano room. Again it is she that comes off as stronger and more dignified, we feel Fitzgibbon’s discreet, mixed feelings about his closed heartedness. Then, framed in between the two priests, Carol’s defiance and independence is palpable—another oscillation of power dynamics—all they can do is look on.
After she walks off, we feel the emptiness of where she once stood, the room is less lively for her having left. O'Malley’s head turns, and we know exactly towards where because of our familiarity with the space.
We cut to one last extraordinary POV shot that now finds Carol now framed by the welcoming space of the opened door, another completely new composition in this seemingly simple sequence that inventively uses every element at its disposal.
Then, in spite of losing face with him, Father O'Malley is able to convince Father Fitzgibbon to lend Carol ten dollars:
This scene is something like a dance, an elegant, graceful movement about a space that finds (and takes advantage of) so many subtle opportunities for expressiveness within classical form.
Please consider supporting Long Voyage Home with a paid subscription.