Bridge of Spies Film Analysis

Though the Cold War did not involve direct engagement on the battlefront between the US and the USSR, it still remains a tense time of war of information between the two belligerents. From spies to plans for nuclear warfare, the Cold War engaged many assets of both nations. In 2015, renowned director Steven Spielberg produced a film addressing this kind of warfare, questioning the patriotism, dedication, and loyalty of soldiers on both sides of the battlefield. Starring Tom Hanks, Mark Rylance, and Alan Alda, Bridge of Spies explores the integrity of spies and morality of citizens under pressures of war.

    An American lawyer, James Donovan, played by Tom Hanks, is hired to defend Rudolf Abel, an accused Russian spy. At the height of the Cold War, Donovan’s duty to practice the constitutional beliefs that all men are granted the right to a fair jury raises suspicion among his friends and family. However, when a top-secret American spy is captured by the Russians, it is up to the lawyer Donovan to negotiate a deal with the Soviets: to trade one spy for the other. Though Spielberg’s film is a war movie and a spy movie, at heart, it delves into the moral complications surrounding Donovan’s decisions to defend a Russian spy and to abide by the rules even when his own country tells him otherwise.

    The film itself is rich in color and music, a visual experience as well as a thought-provoking one. Bridge of Spies mostly relies on muted colors, such as the gray color scheme of a jail cell, or the warm light hanging over a dinner conversation. This predominant color scheme emphasizes the various instances where Spielberg paints his frames with sharp lighting: the floodlights of a watchtower, the light of an interrogation room, white snow on the Berlin Wall. In addition to this, the orchestral soundtrack amplifies the films most poignant and climatic moment, swelling with the rush of anticipation or lamenting the end of a friendship. From the first scene where Rudolf Abel rushes through a New York subway with CIA agents on his heels to the final shot where Donovan reflects on the horrors he has seen in East Germany, Spielberg employs muted lighting and quick camera work to engage auditory and visual senses. Moreover, Spielberg cuts between two separate stories: the tale of Donovan and Abel, and the story of the American spy, Powers. Often times, cinematic transitions from Russian spy to American spy highlight the parallels between each storyline, revealing the unwavering loyalty of both soldiers.

For example, in one scene, Abel, upon meeting his American lawyer Donovan, requests for pencil and paper with which to draw. Although Donovan initially refuses, Abel reasons that America also has spies in similar positions in Russia. He then asks Donovan to consider the spies in Russia, and how Donovan himself would like those spies to be treated. As Abel suggests the parallels between American and Soviet spies, the scene in jail, where Abel sits discussing with Donovan, fades into a frame of Francis Gary Powers, an American spy later captured by the USSR. For a moment before the scene completely transitions to Powers, both spies -- Abel and Powers -- are visible in the same frame. This dissolve shot places the American spy adjacent to the Russian spy, which mirrors Abel’s words, emphasizing the parallelism in the transition as well as the situation: both the US and the USSR wish to obtain knowledge from each other and have sent spies out to do so, placing both spies in similar situations. In addition to highlighting parallels between Russia and the United States, this dissolve shot echoes words of the lawyer Donovan. In an earlier scene, Donovan commented, in response to his wife’s statement that she believed Abel was a traitor, that Abel in fact was a loyal and dedicated citizen of the USSR. The transition bridging Abel’s scene with Powers’ scene brings back the notion of dedication, loyalty, and commitment in both spies. In the film as a whole, this scene reflects the parallelism seen throughout both character arcs, a more explicit comparison of two citizens resolutely dedicated to serving their nations.

In combination with the sensations of this film, Spielberg’s underlying messages regarding patriotism and perseverance complement the few action sequences in the film, making Bridge of Spies not only a classic war movie, but also a film that questions the morality of such stubborn dedication that Donovan displays.  

    Spielberg carefully brings together sound, cinematography, and story to build a suspenseful plot and intriguing characters. In terms of audio, Spielberg often employs silence as much as sound. The opening scene where several CIA agents track down suspected spy Rudolf Abel contains little dialogue, all of which comes from the CIA agent in charge of the investigation. This example heightens the suspense from the start of the film, leaving the nationality of the suspected spy unknown until he speaks several scenes later in an accent. Though the nationality and loyalty of Abel is unknown for the first scene of the film, Spielberg introduces Abel in such a way that hints at Abel’s alliances and his impending arrest. Abel is seen making his way through a crowded New York subway in the beginning of the film. Though his loyalty to the USSR is not known yet, the long shot of Abel walking to the park, followed by several government agents, suggests that Abel is a person of high interest to the United States government. As Abel makes his way through the busy station, panning the camera back to focus on several government agents following Abel, then panning again back to Abel creates a sense of speed and movement. The camera panning speeds up as Abel walks faster, switching back and forth between the government agents and the spy, the chaser and the chased, to the point of nearly blurring the frame; this emphasizes the confusion and the anxiousness of both parties, establishing Abel as a very important character in the rest of the film.

In a following scene where Spielberg introduces the lawyer Donovan, the audio characteristics of this introduction are almost opposite: the frame is black first, and only Donovan’s voice is audible, before the lawyer himself comes into the shot. Spielberg often employs longer shots to capture conversations, whether it be between Abel and Donovan, Donovan and his family at the dinner table, or Powers and his interrogator. These uninterrupted sequences of pure dialogue place the film directly into James Donovan’s life, revealing the entire scope of his motives as well as the values of the people criticizing his decisions.

Although the film is centered around spies in the Cold war, Spielberg combines both the thrill and action of a war movie with the more thoughtful values and questions of Donovan’s internalized reasoning. Bridge of Spies begins with a chase scene -- Abel narrowly avoiding several CIA agents pursuing him -- and an ingenious way Abel receives and opens a nickel to find a code inside; the movie features large spy planes and enormous cameras to conduct reconnaissance over Soviet territory, but also involves scenes of domesticity and dense conversations: like Donovan talking to his family over dinner about how he believes Abel is not a traitor, and scenes of pure dialogue between Donovan and a CIA agent that question the roots of patriotism and dedication. In one memorable scene between the two, Donovan says something along the lines of: one of us is Irish, one of us is German, but the thing that makes us American is that we follow the rules. Thusly, Donovan refuses to tell the CIA what his client is sharing.

And throughout Bridge of Spies, Spielberg weaves in subtle parallelism: as mentioned, several transitions hint at parallelism. At one point, as Donovan rides a train from one side of Berlin to the other, he views a few German boys climbing the wall separating East from West from his train window, only to see guns shot down the boys attempting to escape. In the final scene of the movie, Donovan sits on a train in New York. In a frame with the same angle, Donovan watches a few New York boys jump over a wall in an alleyway. Though the scenes are so different, their cinematic angles are similar enough that one is reminiscent of the other.

Additionally, in one of the final scenes of the film, the lawyer Donovan has negotiated with both the East Germans as well as the Soviets, agreeing to exchange the Russian spy, Abel, for the American prisoner of war, Powers, and the American graduate student. Though all parties have agreed to the negotiation, the actual exchanging of the prisoners must take place on a bridge between East and West Berlin, and Donovan must see whether or not the Russians and the Germans will hold their ends of the bargain. Once again, in this scene, Spielberg brings the parallels between both stories -- the Russians and the Americans -- into the cinematography of Bridge of Spies. As per their agreement, both the Russians and the Americans have brought their prisoners to the bridge. (The East Germans bring the graduate student to another location, Checkpoint Charlie, for release.) With an aerial shot of the bridge, the Russians can be seen on one side, and the Americans on the other; the frame itself is perfectly symmetrical, with both parties on either end of the frame. The angle of the shot makes it nearly impossible to distinguish which side is American and which side is Russian; both sides are clad in dark coats and both sides have a spy. This symmetry reflects the idea that both sides of the war are fighting in similar ways, even if for contrasting beliefs. When the frame eventually does cut, switching from an aerial shot to head-on shots of Donovan and Abel, then the Soviets, Spielberg uses a reverse angle to depict either side in the same type of frame. As the spies from either side walk across the bridge, the background music is quiet, but as soon as the spies make it safely to their respective sides, the orchestral brass trumpets, signalling the success of Donovan’s negotiation. And yet, the frame cuts to a shot from the American side of the bridge, catching Powers embracing a comrade on the side, while on the opposite end of the frame, Abel is coolly received by his handler, a reminder of the unhappy life of an unsuccessful spy Abel may live in Russia. Nevertheless, the aerial shot and the following reverse angles symbolize the parallels in America and the USSR in their race to power, a motif seen throughout Bridge of Spies.

After viewing the entire film, it is evident that Spielberg creates a movie about people and emotions that were a result of the Cold War, not a movie dedicated to the war itself. The film, which features loaded dialogue and pressure to conform, delivers powerful messages about integrity while still containing a suspenseful plot and several action sequences. In all, Spielberg creates a movie more than worthy of its accolades, appealing to all audiences. Combining sound with dialogue, action with morality, Bridge of Spies is a movie for all audiences to see.

A Well Worn Path (Analysis of Walden by Henry David Thoreau)

Of all of the things I’ve read this year in AP English Language, I think that Walden by Henry David Thoreau has definitely been one of my favorites. Out of my favorite book, here are two rhetorical devices from two of my favorite passages.

Sometimes I rambled to pine groves, standing like temples, or like fleets at sea, full-rigged, with wavy boughs, and rippling with light, so soft and green and shady that the Druids would have forsaken their oaks to worship in them; or to the cedar wood beyond Flints’ Pond, where the trees, covered with hoary blue berries, spiring higher and higher, are fit to stand before Valhalla, and the creeping juniper covers the ground with wreaths full of fruit; or to swamps where the usnea lichen hangs in festoons from the white-spruce trees, and toad-stools, round tables of the swamp gods, cover the ground, and more beautiful fungi adorn the stumps, like butterflies or shells, vegetable winkles; where the swamp-pink and dogwood grow, the red alder-berry glows like eyes of imps, the waxwork grooves and crushes the hardest woods in its folds, and the wild-holly berries make the beholder forget his home with their beauty, and he is dazzled and tempted by nameless other wild forbidden fruits, too fair for mortal taste…These were the shrines I visited both summer and winter. (197)

Here Thoreau’s ethereal imagery and descriptions of nature and references to ancient mythology in his writing show that there is beauty in even the simplest things in life, but one must look for these finer things first. He describes pine groves that “stand… like temples” and look “like fleets at sea,” which connotes places worth of worship and power respectively (196). According to Thoreau, nature is not unlike places of heavenly gods. Thoreau describes a particular swampy area in a decorative fashion: “wreaths full of fruit” are present, “lichen hangs in festoons,” “beautiful fungi adorn the stumps” (196), and then proceeds to call toadstools “round tables of the swamp gods” (196). This evokes an image of an ancient dining hall for ancient gods, elaborate and decorated, brimming with food and drink, showing how there is power and legend in even simple things, like swamps, if the perspective is correct. Moreover, the beauty of nature can make people “forget [their] homes” (197). Visitors are “dazzled and tempted by… forbidden fruits” (197). This allusion to both the story of Persephone in Hades’ garden with the forbidden pomegranates as well as Adam and Eve with the forbidden apples in the Garden of Eden furthers the beauty and fable-like qualities that Thoreau imbues nature with.

Additionally, Thoreau references ancient literature and cultures to show how nature can be beautiful and wondrous as well. In his descriptions of the pine groves, Thoreau claims that the trees are so majestic, the ancient Celtic race of Druids “would have forsaken their oaks to worship them” (197). The reference to Druids, who are known for worshipping their oaks, serves two purposes: first, it links nature and the pine groves to ancient mythology, and second, it elevates the status of this particular set of trees. The cedar trees that Thoreau discusses are “fit to stand before Valhalla,” which according to ancient Norse mythology is a great hall of immortality where only great heroes achieve afterlife (196). Both of these references to ancient peoples and beliefs emphasize the majesty of nature and show how nature, often underappreciated, can have characteristics similar to those of mythological gods.

Overall, this passage, by showing how there is beauty in simple things such as nature, supports Thoreau’s belief that there is beauty and fine details in all life, and that one simply has to search for them.

And the second passage:

Though the view from my door was still more contracted, I did not feel crowded or confined in the least. There was pasture enough for my imagination… Both place and time were changed, and I dwelt nearer to those parts of the universe and to those eras in history which had most attracted me. Where I lived was as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers. We are wont to imagine rare and delectable places in some remote and more celestial corner of the system, behind the constellation of Cassiopeia’s Chair, far from noise and disturbance. I discovered that my house actually had its site in such a withdrawn, but forever new and unprofaned, part of the universe. If it were worth the while to settle in those parts near to the Pleiades or the Hyades, to Aldebaran or Altair, then I was really there, or at an equal remoteness from the life which I had left behind, dwindled and twinkling with as fine a ray to my nearest neighbor, and to be seen only in moonless nights by him. Such was that part of creation where I had squatted…

The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour. Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night. Little is to be expected of that day, if it can be called a day, to which we are not awakened by our Genius… by our own newly-acquired force and aspirations from within, accompanied by the undulations of celestial music, instead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air—to a higher life than we fell asleep from; and thus the darkness bear its fruit, and prove itself to be good, no less than the light… All memorable events, I should say, transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphere.

If [men] had not been overcome with drowsiness they would have performed something. The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face? We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done. (93)

In the chapter Where I Lived, and What I Lived For, Thoreau explores the extent of his imagination and comments on the careless way that most people live their lives through comparisons of his home and the universe and using the morning as a symbol for wakefulness and careful thought. This passage begins as Thoreau explains that his home at Walden Pond, though small and isolated, was not “crowded or confined in the least” (84). Although there are places in the universe -- “parts near to the Pleiades or the Hyades, to Aldebaran or Altair,” all of which are constellations and stars -- that are “far from noise and disturbance” (84), with his imagination and his thoughts, Thoreau can travel anywhere he wishes. With his mind and with his own thoughts, Thoreau delves into his own world and his own constructed fantasy, a place where “both place and time were changed… as far off as many a region viewed nightly by astronomers” (84). Thoreau’s comparisons of his imagined world and far-off galaxies show how vivid his imagination can be, and how even though he has little materialistic property, Thoreau still enjoys his life. This first part of the passage answers the question that the name of the chapter poses: “where [Thoreau] lived” (78).

In answer to the second half of the chapter’s title -- “what [Thoreau] lived for” (78) -- early morning symbolizes the awakening of man’s self-awareness and emphasizes the importance of active thinking and living. Thoreau claims that men are “overcome with drowsiness” (84). Although many are awake for “physical labor” (84), only a few are intellectually awake. Thoreau even claims that to be “awake is to be alive” (84). In this way, the morning represents awakening, represents man becoming aware of himself and aware of the world around him. Other times of the day, man sleeps and works mindlessly, without thinking of the finer things in life, the valuable fruits in life. Being awake and staying awake are essential, and there must be “an infinite expectation of the dawn” (84). This means that people must always be living actively, living deliberately, and not mindlessly going through the motions of life. In this way, every hour of man’s life becomes important and elevated, thus elevating man’s life as well; man elevates his own life, consciously, and improves the quality of his time. This analogy between morning and awakening highlights the significance of living deliberately and, combined with vivid descriptions of Thoreau’s imagination, Thoreau illustrates the power of thought and the importance of active thinking.

I think Walden is a culmination of Transcendentalism and naturalism, while also representing various ideas like spiritualism and isolationism. Thoreau brings together concepts from these areas in a memoir that carefully analyzes modern society and materialism, reflecting on the changes in people’s lives due to the industrial revolution and rise of consumerism. Walden accurately depicts the modern Transcendentalists’ values in a way that combines several interdisciplinary areas: Thoreau carefully observes his bean plants and records his every purchase in display of the meticulous, careful values scientists had at that time; the vivid descriptions of life around Walden Pond and the animals that Thoreau encounters are categorized in the same way an attentive naturalist would; in his first chapter of Walden, Thoreau analyzes the fault of a modern man, drawing upon various sources such as Hinduism and the hierarchy of needs to highlight the materialism that has taken over society; and Thoreau’s own personality shines through in Walden as well, as he scrutinizes the human condition and speculates about loneliness and man’s place in the world. All of these ideas and movements reflected in Walden are worthy of analysis: from science to philosophy and literature to satire, Thoreau imparts many ideas that combine together in a memoir that is still relevant today, perhaps even more so than it was when Walden was initially published. In particular, Thoreau’s criticism of materialism and consumerism become increasingly relevant as supplies are more and more readily available for consumption; Thoreau’s belief that such surplus of the lower levels of the hierarchy of needs will ultimately prevent society from moving forwards towards the higher, more intellectual levels of need. And in a time when there are furious debates over environmentalism and global warming, Walden remains a timeless piece worthy of analysis in many areas.

Initially, I chose Walden to read because I was interested in how Thoreau could combine literature and nature. After completing Walden, however, I learned so much more than that.

Economy, the first chapter of Walden, deals less with nature and literature and more with Thoreau’s satire on modern society and materialism; reading the chapter reminded me of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and I enjoyed reading Thoreau’s discourse on how is prone to man losing himself in work much more than I thought I would. In his writings, Thoreau employs beautiful metaphors -- he uses fine fruits to represent literary and intellectual values -- to explain his argument, and the style of writing is just complicated enough that I have to slow down to understand every point Thoreau makes. Though his beliefs are not radical -- in Economy, Thoreau illustrates his belief that materialism can be detrimental to higher thought -- Thoreau presents in his arguments in a way that forces me to reconsider my own values.

In regards to science and nature, Thoreau meticulously catalogues the things he notices in the woods in an interesting and descriptive way, using references to ancient mythology and careful rhetoric to describe nature and the animals around him. Then, Thoreau combines those descriptions of nature with his philosophical beliefs, often using Walden Pond or small pieces of nature as microcosms representing the world: to Thoreau, an eagle might represent the solitary man and a path might represent the pressure society puts on people to conform. As he uses nature as a segway into many philosophical musings on the human condition, Thoreau raises many probing questions that caused me to reevaluate some of my definitions and values: he dissects the definition of loneliness, of existence, and questions the way many people live their lives. In my opinion, Thoreau combines a plethora of topics -- nature, animals, the human condition, materialism, consumerism, human existence -- in a memoir that is difficult to read at times, but often rewarding in the ideas and rhetorical devices that it imparts, making Walden a book to be read in the years to come.

Superhero Swap! (A Quick Write on Which Superhero (or Villain) I’d Trade Places with (Magneto!))

A quick write on which superhero (or villain) I’d trade places with! Here I choose Magneto, for neither category:

The soft clicking of fingers against a keyboard fills my room, harmonious with the symphony of rain whispering at the window and wind rustling the trees outside. It’s stormy today.

Every tap of a key sends a current of electricity to the computer, like a trickle of sweat down skin, a soft secret whispered in your ear.

My metal necklace hangs heavy. I reach up to touch it, feeling the molecules, the very structure of each atom resonating with a reservoir of energy. With a twitch of my pinky, the metal melts into the shape of a raindrop.

Outside, the storm grows angry. Every lightning bolt that splits the sky in half feels like energy splintering into spidery veins, like soft but fizzy soda under your tongue.

It seems like I’m working, but the superpowers of Magneto make even ordinary tasks extraordinary.

Even if it weren’t the age of technology, magnetism and metal are everywhere.

The iron in my blood sings to me quietly, humming a song in concert with the storm and the rain; every heartbeat is a wave, like the pulse of the ocean. Even quieter is the low rumble of the electromagnetic fields that surround the earth, encasing all of us in a nearly inaudible song. Quieter still is the earth and all of the metal within, breathing softly, so as to not disturb its people.

And, at the forefront of it all, I am the conductor, bringing all of these sounds together in cocktail that fits into the curve of my ear, transforming metal into song.