Oppenheimer (2023) Film Analysis & “Ending Explained”

Oppenheimer (2023), directed by Christopher Nolan, chronicles the life of J. Robert Oppenheimer (Cillian Murphy), the theoretical physicist often called the “father of the atomic bomb.” The film follows his academic rise, his internal moral struggles, the pressures of World War II, and the race to build the bomb via the Manhattan Project. Key political, scientific, and personal relationships fill the narrative: Oppenheimer’s engagement with government officials, his interactions with other scientists, his marriage, and his growing awareness of the implications of his work.

As the bomb is built and detonated, the film doesn’t shy away from showing both the technological triumph and the devastating human cost. Post‑war, Oppenheimer’s reputation becomes fraught—he faces hearings, accusations, betrayal by colleagues, public fear, and the weight of his own conscience. The film ends balancing scientific achievement with existential horror, leaving us to question what it means to create something so powerful and irreversible.

Themes & Symbolism

• Ambition, Responsibility, and Regret: One of the central tensions is the conflict between scientific ambition and moral responsibility. Oppenheimer is driven, brilliant, but often tormented by what he helped unleash. The regret is not just personal—it's societal.

• Power and its Consequences: The film shows both the allure and the danger of power. Power over nature (nuclear chain reactions), over diplomacy, over life and death. The chain reaction metaphor itself becomes symbolic of uncontrollable outcome once things are set in motion.

• Duality of Science and Ethics: Science here is not isolated from politics, ethics, or human cost. The film repeatedly juxtaposes laboratory precision with human suffering, abstract equations with radioactive fallout, theoretical calculations with destroyed lives.

• Identity and Legacy: Oppenheimer’s personal identity is layered: patriot, scientist, ethical man, public figure. The film grapples with what legacy means when what you create has consequences that outlive you in both global and moral terms.

• Secrets, Betrayal, and Truth: The secrecy inherent in the Manhattan Project, government surveillance, McCarthyism‐style accusations, betrayals by associates—all point to how truth and moral clarity are often obscured by politics, fear, or ambition.

Cinematography / Mise‑en‑scène

• Scope & Scale via Visuals: Hoyte van Hoytema’s cinematography delivers large sweeping shots (Los Alamos, the Trinity test site, the explosion) alongside detailed close‑ups (Oppenheimer’s face reacting to his own creation) that emphasize scale and intimacy.

• Time & Structure: Nolan’s non‑linear structure and frequent time shifts are conveyed visually: flashbacks, memory, future consequences. The mise‑en‑scène reflects past, present, and future, often intercut to heighten foreshadowing and emotional impact.

• Lighting & Color Palette: Stark contrasts—bright, arid sunlit deserts of New Mexico vs. shadowed laboratories, dim‑lit hearings, glowing furnaces, the flash of nuclear explosion—reinforce the duality of creation & destruction.

• Set Design & Costumes: Mid‑20th century scientific labs, military facilities, political hearings rooms, and Oppenheimer’s domestic life are all carefully rendered to a high degree of historical authenticity. Clothing, hair, architecture reflect the period but also highlight class, power, and the burden of secrecy.

• Symbolic Visual Motifs: The recurring visuals: the looming mushroom cloud, the chain reaction process, ticking clocks, reflections (mirrors, glass), eyes witnessing disaster—it all works to deepen themes of observation, consequence, inevitability.

Sound / Music

• Score by Ludwig Göransson: The score underscores both grandeur and dread. From moments of scientific discovery and wonder to the tense buildup before the Trinity test and the fallout afterwards—the music shifts fluidly, with strings, brass, silence.

• Sound Design as Character: The roars of bombs, the silence after explosions, the hum of laboratories, the whispers in hearings—all are vivid. Sound is not just background but part of the emotional fabric, especially in disaster moments.

• Use of Silence and Dissonance: Key moments are almost silent—just ticking, just breathing, very little dialog—to let the horror sink in. Dissonant tones in the score when moral conflict surfaces.

• Dialogue & Performance: Oppenheimer’s internal monologues, conversations with colleagues, political confrontations—all handled with restraint. Performances (Murphy, Blunt, etc.) make the weight of every decision felt. The dialogue doesn’t over‑explain; it allows space for audience inference.

Ending Explained

The ending of Oppenheimer (2023) serves as both culmination and reflection. After the explosion of the atomic bomb, the film shifts into the aftermath: moral, political, personal. Oppenheimer is celebrated for his achievement but soon becomes vilified. The film ends not with triumph but with lingering trauma, suspicion, and a man realizing that science cannot be separated from its consequences.

The hearings—part of the early Cold War paranoia—symbolize how society turns on its own creators. Oppenheimer loses security clearance; he is publicly condemned. Yet, the film ends with him aware—fully aware—of what has been done, what is irreversible, and with an implied question: what does accountability look like when the damage is global, when consequences span decades?

Thus, the ending is not neat. It does not absolve, does not simplify. It underscores that legacy is mixed; scientific breakthroughs can save lives and destroy them; that moral clarity is often elusive. The film invites the viewer to live with uncertainty, to acknowledge both wonder and horror, to ask what we owe future generations.

Final Destination: Bloodlines (2025) Film Analysis & Ending Explained

Final Destination: Bloodlines (2025) reinvigorates the iconic horror franchise by placing a fresh spin on destiny and fear. When college student Stefani Reyes begins experiencing chilling flash-forwards of a 1969 skyscraper disaster that her late grandmother narrowly escaped, she realizes the family is bound by a haunting legacy—that Death is coming for them. As uncanny premonitions unfold and elaborate Rube-Goldberg–style death traps emerge, Stefani and her allies scramble to alter fate. What sets this chapter apart is its connective horror architecture—interlinked sequences pulling multiple characters into an inescapable, high-stakes puzzle. Their dread isn’t just for survival—it’s for coherence, as each step toward safety tightens Death’s grip.

Themes & Symbolism

Several core themes drive the film’s chilling core:

• Inevitability vs. Resistance – The franchise’s central concept remains potent: can one escape preordained death? Bloodlines deepens this by emphasizing familial destiny and ancestral contracts.

• Interconnected Vulnerability – The film’s branching narrative structure, where multiple characters’ fates entwine, underscores how individual decisions can ripple toward collective doom.

• Memory as Warning – Stefani’s inherited visions blur generational lines. Her grandmother’s escaped fate isn't closure; it's a guide, a curse, and a blueprint.

• Spectacle as Trap – Elaborate death sequences blend awe and terror. These aren’t just thrills—they’re narrative crucibles through which character and viewer alike confront the fragility of life.

Cinematography/Mise‑en‑scène

Under the visual guidance of cinematographer Christian Sebaldt, Bloodlines delivers crisp framing that heightens both methodical dread and kinetic terror. Settings—from claustrophobic dorm rooms to looming skyscraper scaffolding—are captured with precise depth, enhancing each trap’s spatial logic. The filmmakers often employ long takes, allowing suspense to build in real-time as viewers track shifting elements within each environment. The grayscale shadowing in interior spaces contrasts with the harsh glare of outdoor sequences—visually grounding fate in the ordinary before detonating it.

Sound/Music

Tim Wynn’s score underscores narrative tension through haunting motifs, electronic pulses, and sudden crescendos timed to on-screen threats
. It’s not heavy-handed—occasionally sparse or silence-struck, amplifying dread rather than drowning it in bombast. Key commercial songs (“Bad Moon Rising,” “Ring of Fire,” “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head”) are deployed ironically or emotionally, juxtaposing familiar comfort with impending doom. The diegetic sound design—doors clicking shut, distant whispers, structural creaks—functions as its own character, whispering warning even during stillness.

Ending Explained (Spoilers)

In a finale both spectacular and existential, Bloodlines delivers a fatalistic crescendo. As Stefani and her allies attempt to dismantle the sequence of premonitions, Death still orchestrates a final, astonishing chain reaction. The film doesn’t offer triumph; it offers confrontation. Survivors aren’t rewarded—survival is reframed as temporary reprieve, a chance to acknowledge trauma, not escape it. The rhythmic choreography of death—the causal dominoes—culminates in an almost surreal tableau where Stefani stares at her own flash-forward, no longer running but watching. The ending is less about closure and more about acceptance: understanding that sometimes, seeing fate is not a cure—it’s what amplifies your responsibility in facing it.

 

Superman (2025) — Hope, Accountability & the New DCU (Film Analysis & Ending Explained)

Spoilers ahead, including discussion of the ending and credits scenes.

Gunn’s Superman reframes the character for 2025 not by deconstructing him, but by pressure-testing his optimism in a world that doubts it. The movie’s core tension isn’t “Can Superman win?”—it’s “Can truth and compassion still persuade?” Journalism, civic trust, and public narrative all become battlefields, with Lex Luthor weaponizing perception as much as technology.

What the movie is really about

1. Hope as praxis. Clark’s “Midwestern decency” isn’t naïveté; it’s a deliberate, exhausting choice in the face of cynicism. He listens before he lifts—then lifts because he listens.

2. Power & accountability. The film threads a question through every set-piece: who sets the terms for power’s use—governments, billionaires, or the person who wields it? Lex frames Superman as an unaccountable force; the counterargument is transparent action plus a free press.

3. Community over legend. This isn’t a solitary demigod tale. Colleagues at the Daily Planet, other heroes, and (scene-stealer) Krypto emphasize that “being Superman” is a networked project, not a solo brand. (Critics highlight that the film introduces a dynamic new world while keeping Superman’s “big, beating heart” front-and-center.)

Themes & symbolism

Truth vs. narrative capture

Lex Luthor doesn’t just build machines; he builds frames. The plot repeatedly shows how selective footage, staged crises, and talking-points can push public opinion to delegitimize good faith. Superman’s counter is radical clarity: showing up, explaining stakes, accepting scrutinythen acting.

Two identities, one ethic

Clark and Superman aren’t masks and a “real” self; they’re a single ethic in two registers. At work, Clark practices the same listening and restraint he uses in a fight. The Planet’s investigations matter as much as punches—journalism lands blows that fists can’t.

Compassion as strategy

Fight geography favors protection over domination: blocking blasts, diverting debris, interposing his body. Gunn stages action so that the moral choice is visible in the choreography (who gets shielded, when he takes a hit to buy time).

Style & tone

Gunn’s pacing favors brisk setups → character beat → spectacle. The color design toggles between warm, lived-in newsroom tones and crisp daylight heroism—visually separating propaganda about Superman from the person himself. Needle-drops are sparing; the score nods to legacy while feeling contemporary (press coverage notes that the soundtrack incorporates John Williams’ iconic theme within a new score by John Murphy and David Fleming).

Ending explained (brief, spoilers)

The climax hinges less on “the biggest punch” and more on public persuasion: Superman counters a manufactured existential threat and, crucially, wins back trust alongside the Planet’s reporting on Lex. It’s a narrative choice that locks the DCU to civic stakes rather than cosmic abstraction (trade coverage and explainers call out how the ending re-centers hope and sets future threads).

Post-credits scenes (what they set up)

Reputable outlets confirm two credits tags: a mid-credits and a post-credits scene. Without blow-by-blow spoilers here, the tags include a reflective beat with Krypto and a forward-looking exchange involving Mister Terrific, plus a Supergirl tease—signposting the next DCU chapter while keeping this film self-contained. 

Why this resonates now

Audiences are tired of heroes who apologize for heroism—or who solve everything with nihilism. Superman argues that optimism with receipts (transparency, humility, and action) can still move people. It treats institutions (journalism, public service) as heroic partners, not punchlines, and that feels both old-fashioned and unexpectedly modern.

Craft notes you might miss on first viewing

• Blocking with ethics: Look for how scenes stage bystanders; “save first” is the grammar of his fights.

• Lois as co-protagonist: Investigations drive plot turns; when the public’s mind changes, it’s because reporting lands.

• Lex’s rhetoric: Watch the word choices around “security” and “permission”—it’s soft power masquerading as prudence.

• Sound motifs: Hopeful brass swells arrive not at power displays, but at moments of restraint—a subtle inversion.

Final take

Gunn’s film doesn’t reinvent Superman; it re-earns him. The question “Why Superman?” gets answered not with spectacle alone, but with a demonstration of how ideals behave under pressure.

M

M (1931) is a German thriller that was created just after the technological union of sound and film. Thus, as a sound film, M had room for opportunity and innovation movies before it did not have. The sound in this film plays an important role in that it not only makes things more realistic, it makes the interaction within more human and palpable for the audience. In addition, important consequences arise from the presence of sound in the narrative. The drama and emotion conveyed are heightened in comparison to silent films which largely relied on exaggerated facial expressions to express emotions and title cards to continue forward the narrative.

A prime example of this new use of sound in M is within the editing and use of a voice overlay called a sound bridge. There is a shot showing people in the streets crowding around the news bulletin of the recently discovered murder of a child. Paranoia was clearly ever increasing. One man in the crowd said "you in front, read it out loud!" from which a voice began to read the flyer. A voice which one would assume to be that of a person in the crowd. The voice stops and someone even yells "Louder, we can't hear a word" something which further implies the voice emanates from a man within the crowd. The shot stays on the crowd while the voice begins reading and then suddenly switches over to a shot of several men smoking and drinking at a table with one of them reading the same news from the paper. The voice was that of the man sitting at the table throughout. This is certainly an innovative use of sound and editing. This scene really gives a sense of the large scale paranoia and fear the murderer has induced in every citizen throughout the city while also showing a smaller scale discussion and argument of the matter, relaying to the audience the absolute feeling of contempt everybody feels for the murderer. Therefore, as well as having innovative sound use, this scene serves two very important roles of imparting the feelings of citizens onto the audience in addition to continuing forward the narrative in an efficient manner.

Another interesting facet of this new usable technology in film is one of contrast. Sound is now an additional option, thus the lack of sound (silence in film, which earlier been thoroughly explored) can add intriguing effects. A definitive example of this is the scene where the mother's daughter has gone missing. She yells her daughters name while searching for her, giving a certain sense of  helplessness and terror. Then suddenly the shot cuts to the chair where she usually sits to eat now empty, and then shows her ball rolling down a slope, and then her balloon flying away and becoming entangled in power lines. There is not one bit of sound during this set of shots. The silence gives a feeling of something missing, of something being not right. Therefore the lack of sound in this case serves to reinforce the atmosphere and sense of the wrongdoing taking place. Hence, sound serves as an additional dimension  with room for contrast and more possibilities.

Furthermore, sound is what leads to the ultimate demise of the antagonist. The recognition of his distinctive whistling song "In the Hall of the Mountain King" (the first use of leitmotif in a movie which is used to indicate the presence of the character) by the blind balloon salesman really plays to the fact that sound adds an additional layer to both the film and the narrative.

The ending of the film is quite perplexing aspect and leaves room for imagination. It ends rather abruptly does not give a sense of closure. It almost seems in a way a forceful attempt to add a moral or message into the movie. The apparent sorrow of the victims' mothers and their words of self-guilt serves to fuel the disdain the audience has for the murderer even further. A verdict is not given which causes one to wonder what degree of justice has been served (given the relatively inept police force) in relation to the thieves "kangaroo court".

Do the Right Thing

Do the Right Thing (1989) produced, written, and directed by Spike Lee is a day in the life of a Brooklyn neighborhood and the racial tensions contained within. This film highlights the dynamics of a modern urban neighborhood through a cast of distinct personalities.

This film has a main theme of peace and conflict competing with each other. The opening scene with the female dancing aggressively in a boxing outfit while "Fight the Power" is playing sets a violent and intense tone. The following scene of "Mister Senor Love Daddy" (Samuel L. Jackson) at Love FM in contrast is peaceful and accepting. He acts as a sort of mediating overseer of all events throughout the neighborhood and tries to resolve any conflict and mitigate any tension. Radio Raheem (Bill Nunn) directly contrasts the personality of Mister Senor Love Daddy with his never ending enveloping stream of "Fight the Power" blaring out of his boombox. His overbearing presence is clearly felt and even the camera angles make him appear larger than life. Raheem is a source of tension throughout the film and he can be interpreted as the instigator of the fight. Furthermore, when Lou's Famous Pizza store is burnt down there is a physically manifested division between understanding and conflict between the pizza store in flames and the neighboring Korean store shopkeepers who were able to calm the men looking to attack their shop. Yet, Raheem tells a story with his brass knuckles "love" and "hate" in which the conflict between the two is intense but in the end love comes out victorious. Also, at the close of the film there are two quotes, one by Martin Luther King Jr. which is in opposition to violence in protest  and the other by Malcom X which states that violence can be used in intelligent ways. This theme of love against hate may be used to represent modern society in many ways. Thus, the struggle between love and hate, violence and non-violence is prevalent throughout the film.

An interesting aspect is about the title of the film. Da Mayor (Ossie Davis) tells Mookie (Spike Lee) to "...always do the right thing," but the movie makes it appear that right thing is not so clear. To Mookie, the right thing was to throw the trash can through the window of Sal's Famous Pizza, igniting the conflict further, leading to the arson of the store. Was his intention to get revenge for the death of Raheem? Although he was like a son to Sal, his cultural upbringing must have been more important to him. He felt no remorse for his actions either, as he returned the succeeding day after the arson took place asking for his pay. To Mookie, even money superseded his respect for Sal. To him it seemed like the right thing to do, but some viewers might think otherwise. This may suggest the idea that "the right thing" is in some sense subjective and demonstrates that ethics and morals vary from person to person.

Inception, Memento, and Christopher Nolan as an Auteur

“Let me ask you a question. You never really remember the beginning of a dream do you? You always wind up right in the middle of what’s going on,” is the description of the beginning of a dream given by Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) in the film Inception. Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000) and Inception (2010) are, in a sense, Nolan’s thoughts on the relatively unknown subjects of dreaming and memory visually manifested on the screen. These films have intriguing structures and interesting underlying ideas about psychology and philosophy, which act to bind both films in a deeper ways to Nolan’s distinct filmmaking. Nolan’s creative direction as both a director and writer played a large part in both films and his auteur characteristics are apparent.

Nolan is an expert at throwing the viewer right into the middle of a situation, much akin to the dream. At the beginning of Inception, viewers are put unknowingly into the middle of a dream. While an intense firefight commences it is quickly established that the scene is taking place within a dream, there is some sort of espionage involved with a safe and papers, and there is some sort of device allowing the dream to be shared. In Memento, the first scene is that of a picture un-developing as time progresses in reverse then a man is shot. One only later discovers that this scene actually occurs at the end of the timeline of events of the film. There is no narrator as the concentration is on the diegesis, pulling the viewer in with ideas, actions and an accompanying atmosphere. Nolan has the uncanny ability of being able to introduce many unknown and interesting elements while keeping everything coherent and letting the audience uncover and discover answers scattered throughout.

Nolan seamlessly adds mysterious elements to both films. One must use some degree of deductive reasoning to discover what is occurring through interpreting conversations and finding the small clues Nolan provides. For instance, noticing small details like in Sammy Jenkis’ story in relation to Leonard can give the audience a different perception and insight of the film. It can determine if the viewer believes Leonard or Teddy (Joe Pantoliano) near the conclusion of the film. Nolan uses elements of mystery in both films to raise the tension and give the viewer a sense of discovery and a feeling of investment in the film as the narrative progresses. Some of the mysteries are left open ended without giving conclusive answers. Like Leonard, Nolan himself has specialized in setting puzzles that can’t be solved. It’s not only the case that Nolan’s work is about duplicity; it is itself duplicitous in the sense of both deception and doubling, drawing the audience into labyrinths of indeterminacy (Fischer, 37).

Both films share formal and thematic characteristics which lend to the idea that they were both heavily influenced by Nolan’s design. There are repeating elements in both; a traumatized hero and his antagonist; a dead woman; a plot involving manipulation. Both use primarily medium shots of the characters and both contain realistic looking environments and colors. The “rules” established in both films are crucial to Nolan’s method which determine restriction on the characters. In addition, a physical symbolic element of great importance and meaning is also present in both. The totem in Inception is what allows one to differentiate reality from a dream, it becomes representative of reality. The Polaroid pictures Leonard uses to determine who is who and how he makes decisions, they become a physical representation of memory and a representation of the truth according to Leonard.

Ideas about psychology and philosophy are of great importance to both films and the unique structure of each film plays to this point. Inception explores issues of the conscious and subconscious mind through a form of a new dream sharing technology. It involves various mentally constructed settings shown “spatially” discontinuous in the progression of time. Entire new and malleable realities are created through using the completely blank canvas of dreaming. In the scene where Cobb is teaching Ariadne (Ellen Page) what it takes to be a dream architect and she subsequently alters of the surrounding world it induces the viewer to ponder the very fabric of reality and physics and different realties which could exist. Mal (Marion Cotillard) and the train are projections from Cobb’s repressed memories and like Freud hypothesizes, these repressed thoughts are expressed in dreaming. Inception challenges the viewer to think of grand, universal ideas in addition to specific ones.

Memento is shown as two separate timelines in a discontinuous fashion which are eventually linked together in a consistent, logical way and deals with memory. Leonard is completely unsure of reality and due to his inability to make new memories his reality has similar characteristics to that of a dream. Thus, in a film such a Memento, the past/present/future are no longer in any semblance of succession, but are implicated simultaneously. What Nolan achieves is a utilization of the concept and feel of memory without impoverishing it by simply making it the object of flashbacks (Gargett, 4). The unique structure of the film, in a sense, places Leonard’s disability on the audience. Nolan aims to involve his audience in an overtly disorienting experience analogous to short-term memory loss, emulating the condition suffered by Leonard. How Nolan proceeds to do this can only be through the assembling of a system of relations which once unfolded chronologically and thereby become the objects of memory, but these objects continually fall from under the viewer via the very structure of Memento's presentation: an inversion of time with effects preceding their causes (Lyons, 127-128). Leonard lives his life in discontinuous segments of time for which his memory allows and the film progresses in a discontinuous fashion. Also, the short length of each scene in Memento illustrates Leonard’s short memory span. Leonard attempts to connect these unconnected instants in time by writing down events on the back of Polaroid pictures. Feeling the need to assert his own sense of power and control over a threatening world Leonard constructs repeatedly theories from inadequate information and these theories are invariably at odds with the actual situation, making him ultimately responsible for the disaster that concludes the action (Gargett, 6). Thus, the unique structuring of each film plays an important role to the perception of the movie itself. The boundary of filmic narrative structures is expanded by both films.

Nolan’s films are preoccupied with, to paraphrase Teddy as he says to Leonard, “the lies that we tell ourselves to stay happy” (Fischer, 38). Leonard’s desire to get revenge for the murder of his wife was what keeps him going and gives him passion and meaning in life, so that’s what he continued in searching to do even if he must lie to himself after killing other men. At the ending of Inception Cobb did not care whether his totem fell or remained standing as what he desired to be true, to be with his kids, superseded the absolute truth.

The 10 years of time between when Nolan made Memento and Inception and the large budget disparity between films (~$155 million) did not effect the creative aspirations of Nolan; his ideas continued to thrive. Nolan maintains that, however intractable or ambiguous his films might appear, they are always based on a definitive truth (Fischer, 37). These films contain creative, philosophically and psychologically thought inducing narratives through structurally innovative methods which have clear connections to Nolan’s impact and style. These qualities, by definition, command Nolan to be designated an auteur.

References

Gargett, Adrian. "Nolan's Memento, Memory, and Recognition." CLCWeb: Comparative Literature and Culture 4.3, 2002 Web.

Fischer, Mark. "The Lost Unconscious: Delusions and Dreams in Inception." Film Quarterly 64.3,2011: 37-45. Web. 

Lyons, Diran. "Vengeance, the powers of the false, and the time-image in Christopher Nolan's Memento." Angelaki: Journal of the Theoretical Humanities 11.1 (2006): 127-135. Web.

Singin' in the Rain

Singin' in the Rain (1952) is a meta-musical which captures the struggle a silent film production company has in the process of transitioning into "talkies"(films with actual sound dialogue between characters). This film has a generally joyful and uplifting mood throughout, somewhat of a norm for musicals. The situational humor within and the "making a musical with of a musical" make this movie very entertaining.

As Doane talks about in The Voice in the Cinema: The Articulation of Body and Space, films contain three types of "spaces": the space of the diegesis, the visible space of the screen, and the acoustical "envelope" of the theater itself. She states that most films with a typical narrative only uses the first type of space in order to keep a self-contained, believable narrative. In contrast, Singin' in the Rain uses each of these spaces to great effect. For instance, in the scene where the main characters are in an audience together watching the first "talkie" pre-showing version of "The Dueling Cavalier," the latter of the two postulated spaces are used. In this scene, knowing that you, as a viewer, are watching the actors and actresses watching themselves on a screen within the movie induces a heightened awareness for the viewer of the actual dimensions, composition, projected image, relative placement/orientation, and surroundings of the physical screen itself. This effectively makes the film obviously seem less realistic (not the goal of this musical anyways) as well as adding to the parody/satire that this is a musical about making musicals. Additionally, the aural aspect of this scene, with the idea of actors watching themselves in a theater, makes one aware of the theater in which they are sitting and the acoustics withing. Thus, Singin' in the Rain contains all three types of postulated spaces and therefore certainly is not a traditional film as Doane puts it.

Singin' in the Rain contains a strong sense of humor and satire and as a whole is essentially a parody of the process of making a musical. Lina is the source of much amusement throughout. Lina repeats multiple times "What do you think I'm stupid?" and then soon later she says a clearly erroneous statement and looks around awkwardly. Her shrill voice clearly is at odds with what an audience would want to hear in addition to the directional microphone problem causes the "Dueling Cavalier" pre-showing to be disappointing and humorous. Another example is when Kathy Selden's (Debbie Reynolds) resists Don's amorous advances and he car he leaves the car while talking in a poetic tone and says "...I must tear myself from my side" while his jacket rips on the car door showing irony between what is said and what takes place.