American movies and series have long dominated global screens, shaping our collective sense of what a story should look and feel like. Their approach is comforting: everything is said, every motive is explained, and the lines between good and bad are drawn with a confident hand. In this tradition, the story is a journey with clear signposts and a satisfying destination. But what happens when the journey is less about the road and more about the shadows between the milestones? When ambiguity is not a flaw, but a feature?
American Storytelling: Comfort in Clarity
The American screen tradition, rooted in fairy tales and gallant adventures, offers a kind of narrative security. Here, the protagonist’s arc is unmistakable, the antagonist’s motives are spelled out, and the moral universe is clearly mapped. This literalism – where everything is shown, told, and explained – provides the viewer with the comfort of not having to think too much, and the reassurance of knowing how the story ends. It’s a tradition that values action, resolution, and the catharsis of a story well and truly finished.
This approach can be seen in the way American films and series handle complex themes. Take, for example, the depiction of predatory behavior in episodes of The Morning Show. The harrowing event is shown, discussed, and dissected. The audience is left in no doubt about what happened, who was at fault, and what the consequences are. The story is yelled, not whispered.
European and Asian Storytelling: The Power of the Unsaid
In contrast, European and Asian filmmakers often embrace ambiguity and ellipsis – the art of leaving things unsaid. Their stories are steeped in the traditions of the Enlightenment, with a dash of Dostoevsky’s psychological depth and Chekhov’s unresolved tensions. Here, the narrative may not end as it “should”; sometimes, it doesn’t end at all – the film simply stops, leaving the viewer to fill in the gaps.
Consider recent French films like Anatomy of a Fall, The Night of the 12th, or Saint Omer: traditional crime or trial movies that resolutely refuse to offer a solution. The viewer is left with questions, not answers. Or take Drive My Car (Japan) and Black Dog (China), where major gaps in the story are left unfilled, demanding that the audience bring their own meaning to the experience. The ellipsis is not just a narrative device, but a philosophical stance: what is left unseen or unsaid can be more powerful than what is shown.
When watching the American film Mass and the French All Your Faces, both wonderful films about restorative justice, it is very obvious: one is powerful in the telling, the other in the showing. The American film lets its characters explore their innermost feelings, verbalise their hurt and suffering. The French film, true to its tradition, leaves more for the audience to infer, to feel in the silences and the spaces between words, most visibly in the heart-breaking scene between the siblings.
The Risk of Literalism: Oversimplification and Polarisation
There is value in the American tradition’s insistence on “yelling your story”—making sure every voice is heard and every truth is told. But the risk is that by making everything explicit, we oversimplify complex realities, reducing narratives to binaries and contributing to the polarisation of everything. The world becomes divided into heroes and villains, with little room for ambiguity or nuance.
In our current world, with its ever-increasing complexity, we must become reacquainted with shades of grey. Start with Claude Sautet.
Claire Tavernier 