Bordwell’s claim that “filmmakers—scriptwriters, producers,
directors, editors, and other artisans of the screen—build their films in ways
which will coax most of their spectators to follow similar elaborational
pathways” appears evident within the first 70 seconds of (500) Days of Summer. The
average spectator would, presumably, see Summer and Tom’s first scene together
on Day 488 as the joyful culmination of more than a year of ups and downs, the
happy ending to a story not yet witnessed.
After all, as they are sitting on the park bench, Tom turns to Summer
longingly as she gazes with amusement at the midday city skyline; Summer
reciprocates, turning her head toward Tom, and they stare into each others’
eyes determinedly yet anxiously. Tom, at
least, seems somewhat out of breath. The
close-up reveals a possible source of Tom’s nervousness: the diamond ring
Summer is wearing hints at the context of the setting. We are witnessing the tail end of a proposal
or perhaps seeing the newlyweds on their first lunch break together as a
married couple. The narration that
coincides with the close-up does nothing to betray the general assumption at
this point: “This is a story of boy meets girl.”
As the
narration continues, though, the spectator becomes aware of the temporal
structure of the film, which operates unconventionally. A calendar with a
smudgy pencil drawing of the city in the background and two colored trees in
the foreground signals the rewinding and fast-forwarding of time. In the middle of the screen, in parentheses,
is the number indicating the specific day.
(488) rewinds to (1) with an audible clicking. In retrospect, the flashback to (1) is not
the first flashback in the film; the same clicking noise takes us from the
title screen, (500) Days of Summer,
to the first scene with Tom and Summer, (488).
That the film does not follow traditional temporal norms complicates the
assumption that “the patterns of elaboration are shared by many spectators.” In fact, (500)
Days of Summer’s out-of-order (but purposeful) sequencing invites multiple
elaborations, opening pathways for both the “trusting” and “skeptical”
spectator.
The
aforementioned clues that lead the trusting spectator to conclude that Tom and
Summer end up happily together are cues,
which “initiate the process of elaboration, resulting eventually in inferences
and hypotheses.” Most viewers have
sufficient schema to elaborate on the hand holding close-up cue, made complete
by the sparkly ring. One need only
recall the slogan “A Diamond is Forever” to infer what is happening. On closer inspection, however, the skeptical
spectator will find counter
cues. Why, for example, does the film
start at the end (or nearly the end)? If
Tom and Summer end up together, as we are led to believe, what is the purpose
of watching the film? The trusting
viewer might claim a “curiosity hypothesis” as a reason to engage in the story,
despite knowing the ending (i.e., the ending itself is not as important as the
past events that lead to their happy union).
An engagement (or marriage) as the unequivocal resolution would
certainly kill any suspense the film attempts to generate in Tom and Summer’s
backstory.
Many films
and novels begin at the end, but (500)
Days of Summer, perhaps surprisingly, is not one of them. On first impression, the spectator
might infer resolution based on norms and cues.
If “this is a story of boy meets girl,” one would assume it ends with boy getting girl. The skeptical spectator, though, elaborates
on the explicitness of the calendar. The
scene of Tom and Summer on the park bench is clearly not a flash-forward to the
end of the film and the end of their story, for this scene takes place on (488)
(and it is critical that we know the exact
day). If this seeming resolution were
truly the end of their story (and therefore the end of any conflict), what
would we expect in the final 12 (of the 500) days of Summer? Uneventful wedding planning? Even if things are what they seem in the first scene of (488), the skeptical spectator
sees trouble, if not in the scene itself then in the days to come.
These
inferences and elaborations, as mentioned, come to the spectator via the calendar, which periodically appears,
not unlike a title card in a silent film.
Calendar as cue card functions
as an indicator of the ebb and flow of Tom and Summer’s relationship in all of
its nonlinear glory. The calendar
especially denotes Tom’s worldview at a given time; when (488) recedes to (1),
we learn that Tom “grew up believing that he’d never truly be happy until the
day he met “the one.” Summer, in
contrast, begins (1) “not [sharing] this belief.” Tom’s belief in finding “the one” subsides as
he and Summer grow apart; by the time he learns of her engagement he is
completely disillusioned, to the point of quitting his romantic job as a
Hallmark-style card writer.
At the
return to (488), this time near the end of the film, we discover the meaning
behind Tom and Summer’s expressions during their park bench encounter and
discover “the film’s opening narration has misdirected” the trusting
spectator. Summer holds Tom’s hand, not
so much an embrace as a reassurance; in a reversal, Summer now believes in
fate, having met her husband by chance in a deli. “Tom was right,” she says, in reference to
his previously held beliefs of “destiny, and soul mates, and true love.” Tom smiles, the same smile we see during the
first (488) scene, a smile all spectators
(trusting and skeptical) recognize as a signifier of renewed hope. Using cues, can one elaborate this scenario
on a first viewing? Skeptical spectators
might not agree on the specifics of the couple’s situation at first glance, but
the placement of (488) next to (1) implies Tom’s state of mind on the park
bench, even to someone who knows nothing else about his story: he is someone
who believes in finding “the one.” By
the end of the film we understand that Tom has come (nearly) full circle,
thanks to Summer’s validation.
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