Unfaithful: A Close Up’s Worth a Thousand Words

You have cheated on your devoted husband and he knows your ruinous secret. He has gone to confront your lover and in the process found a treasured gift that you had left behind – a souvenir snow globe from your adoring husband that you carelessly re-gifted to your clandestine lover, proving your infidelity. In his rage he has murdered the young rival, hidden the body and returned the globe to your quiet suburban home. Sitting in the warm morning sun, you reflect on the night before: the casual dinner party, the chatty guests filling your living room like a sardine tin and the robust red-headed woman who insists on touching everything she views, including the large shining snow globe you hadn’t realize had been returned until that life-changing moment. As blinding light drifts through the window your relive the scalding argument with your husband that kept you from sleeping last night, full of harsh acquisitions and his stunning admission of murder. What happens now? How do you continue with your everyday life, when everything has irreversibly changed? Unfaithful tells the story of Edward and Connie Sumner, an average, middle aged-couple living in a beautiful large suburb outside of Chicago, who are eventually torn apart by Connie’s betrayal. The scene titled “A Message” shows Edward and Connie the day after the shattering confrontation, going about commonplace tasks until Connie discovers a painful reminder of everything she has lost. Director Adrian Lyne uses skillfully subtle camera techniques, understated acting and an everyday setting to tell the story of the morning after, a time of silent regret and sorrow.

In the scene, Adrian Lyne utilizes minimal camera movement, instead choosing shooting angle as a means of keeping vi...

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...ase of this situation the couple finds themselves in.

In the dull light of the morning, a husband and wife sit in the same modest room, but exist miles apart. Without saying a word, Edward and Connie Sumner exchange more than just a few cautious glances; they take stock of what relationship remains when words run out. Director Adrian Lyne uses varying camera angle and lenses to allow us a participant’s eye view into the heartbreaking scene, witnessing every resigned sigh and teary glance. Void of dialogue, Lyne fills the scene with visual cues using setting and framing to speak on behalf of the actors, packing the room full of emotions aching to break through the surface. Without these skillful techniques, the scene would be left just as it appears: two people, seated separate from each other, content to continue their menial tasks on any given weekend morning.