Analysis: The Opening Sequence from “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” (1966)

By: Muhammad Faraz Malik

Mike Nichols’ 1966 adaptation of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, by Edward Albee, has a deep, plangent undertone of emotional dissonance, which was achieved with the help of Nichols’ transcendent direction, Haskell Wexler’s Academy Award-winning cinematography, Alex North’s score, and the heartrending performances of Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, George Segal and Sandy Dennis. It is one of my personal all-time favorites.

Its opening sequence is relatively simple, but very effective.

The film starts with a shot of the moon, set to North’s calm but scornful music, which sets the ominous mood. This shot is a good example of effective use of the “Rule of Thirds”.

This film was also made in a time when black-and-white movies were on their way out, so making this one in black-and-white was, to an extent, a stylistic decision. It is actually believed by some that it was done to make Taylor look older on screen (her character is in her fifties, and she was thirty-four), but whatever Wexler’s intentions, the monochrome cinematography certainly serves to augment the film’s chaotic bitterness.

Sam O’Steen (editor) almost exclusively uses dissolves, but regardless, there is not much use of transitions beyond hard cuts after the opening sequence, as almost the entire film takes place inside of the same house in the course of one night. After the shot of the moon, the camera pans across the university building where Burton’s character works, from a low angle.

Wexler uses high contrast black-and-white film, and the stark chiaroscuros of his choice are best at display in these shots.

The camera continues to pan, and lands at a shot composed of the entrance of a building in the background, with a pathway leading out of it towards the foreground. We see George (Burton) and Martha (Taylor) exit from the door. They seem to be speaking, but their dialogue is entirely overdubbed with the (non-diegetic) music. This shot seems to be a brilliant first introduction to these characters. By the end of the film, we are so utterly aware of their undignified messes, that such a hyperopic introduction to them seems almost like a dark, ironic remark on Nichols’ part: we have much to see yet.

We see a long shot of them walking towards the camera, as credits, as well as the title, appear overlaid.

As they approach the camera, they turn and there is a tracking shot of them as they continue to walk. The next shot, which is beautifully composed, shows them walking straight through a crossroads. The shot seems to connote the frustration that Martha and George have with the recursive plebeianism of their routine lives: the shot captures them in all their un-glamour, walking home, lit by a single lamppost. Nichols also makes effective use of the crane shot here.

We next see them underneath a beautiful bokeh, which slowly lifts.

After another quick tracking shot of George and Martha continuing to walk,

We next see them underneath a beautiful bokeh, which slowly lifts.

we see a vital establishing shot of their house, as they enter it.

This shot serves as a kind of warning. The score progresses from subtle, to subtler, to silence. As their silhouettes approach the house, so do ours. And soon after, as they begin to spiral back down into the mire of their emotionally sadomasochistic marriage, so do we.