Understanding Mise en Scène

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A French term, mise en scène roughly translates as ‘setting the stage’. Its original usage was literal, describing the layout of scenery and props on a stage. It’s since been adopted by screen mediums to refer to everything you see in front of the camera, including:

• Set (where the action is taking place) 
• Props (the objects that fill the space or are carried by the actors)
• Blocking (where the characters stand in relation to one another) 
• Costumes (how characters are dressed, including hair and makeup) 
• Lighting (the brightness, warmth, and colours with which a scene is lit) 
• Shot composition (the camera angles)

It’s a flexible term with a broad remit. Film writer Brian Henderson once referred to mise en scène as cinema’s “grand undefined term” due to the variety of elements it can encompass. Its focus is on how the individual elements of a shot come together to convey a visual story. 

Done well, it should be “an extension of the [character] and their situation,” says filmmaker Aram Atkinson. Through it, “we can understand what’s really going on under the skin, but we can also understand what’s going on beyond the walls…the context of their life, what’s actually happening in the grand picture. All of these aspects are intentional in theatre and film.”

On one level, mise en scène is what makes cinema (or TV or theatre) an art form. It’s every bit as important as the script. Do it poorly – for example, set pieces, lighting, or costumes that clash with the characters or story being told – and a scene won’t ring true. Ignore it altogether by putting no effort into the visuals, and viewers may as well be listening to a radio play. 

It can also play a role more crucial to the narrative, acting as an important point of  discovery. For instance, if a character describes themselves or their life with delusions of grandeur, the mise en scène informs the viewer otherwise. Think of the 1950 classic Sunset Boulevard, in which Gloria Swanson as the silent movie star Norma Desmond declares, “I am big! It’s the pictures that got small!” A combination of camera angles (which dwarf her in a vast, empty room) and props (she’s stood in front of a wall of framed photographs – memorializations of bygone moments) suggest to the viewer she’s not the centre of attention but an isolated former star living in the past.

Let’s look at the main elements of mise en scène and how they contribute to visual storytelling. 

Set 

Whether a scene is shot on a lush green mountainside, like the aforementioned opening of The Sound of Music, or inside a shuttered drawing room, like the home of Sunset Boulevard’s Norma Desmond, it paints the world the characters are living in. In these examples, the former suggests freedom, hope, and vitality, while the latter hints at seclusion, dysfunction, and reserve. Rom-coms offer great examples of the importance of scene-setting to convey a mood. Would the scene in Sixteen Candles where Molly Ringwald’s Sam finally kisses Michael Schoeffling’s Jake be nearly as romantic without the celebratory cake and titular candles? Probably not. 

Props 

Where would Harry Potter be without his wand? James Bond without his gun? Or Dorothy without her red slippers? Even when they’re not the focus, the objects surrounding a character or on their person need to ring true to who they are. Unlike some forms of theatre that challenge the audience to suspend their disbelief, movies are always visual entities: we need to see an object to believe it’s there. 

Blocking 

Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather is often referenced as an example of how blocking can be used to show the viewer who is in power. The positioning of the characters as Michael takes charge is a vital turning point in the film. A bigger-picture example is Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite, where the entire world of the movie tells us about its characters’ status. When the struggling Kims leave the home of the wealthy Parks, the camera follows their descent through Seoul to their gutter-level home as the rain pelts down around them – it’s a literal journey there to visualise the disparity between the families’ classes. 

Costumes, hair, and makeup

What would Greta Gerwig’s Barbie look like if, against a backdrop of plastic pink dream houses, Margot Robbie was dressed in a tracksuit with her hair askew? It would sit at odds with the pristine doll world being shown, wouldn’t it? How about if the characters in an Elizabethan period drama dressed for a society ball in mini dresses with fake tans and straightened hair instead of corsets, white-painted faces, and tight curls? Of course, it would burst the bubble of the world being created.

Lighting 

Lighting is excellent at conveying mood, and movies often adhere to genre standards when it comes to how they’re lit. On top of the ambient light – the natural light wherever it is you’re shooting – high-key lighting is often applied to musicals and rom-coms, casting a bright, soft sheen over the subjects. Think of the popping candy colours of 2023 hit Rye Lane that make south London’s Peckham look like a grown-up playground. The lighting creates an enticing world that suits the genre. In contrast, low-key lighting is typically found in horror films, giving them a dark, ominous edge. Sure, movies like The Shining and Midsommar subvert lighting stereotypes to create terrifying scenes under bright lighting, but it’s no wonder so many titles in the horror genre tap into our primal fear of the dark. 

Shot composition

Whether you use a high-angle or low-angle shot also indicates several things to the viewer. A high-angle shot, where the camera peers down at the subject from above eye level, can make characters appear weak and vulnerable. Low-angle shots suggest dominance and power. Camera focus, too, is important. A master of this is Citizen Kane director Orson Welles. In the scene where young Kane is playing outside while his parents make plans to give him away, he remains in deep (sharp) focus, reminding the viewer of his innocence and obliviousness to what’s about to happen.

“Portrait of a Lady on Fire” Courtesy NEON

The Grand Budapest Hotel (Dir. Wes Anderson) 

With their coordinated colours and moments of perfect symmetry, most Wes Anderson movies are textbook examples of well-executed mise-en-scène, but none more so than 2014’s The Grand Budapest Hotel. Every costume, prop, background detail, and camera angle seems infused with purpose. 

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Dir. Céline Sciamma)

Sciamma’s sapphic love story becomes a further thing of beauty thanks to cinematographer Claire Mathon’s eye. Like its subject matter, each frame appears as a portrait, capturing the intense relationship between painter Marianne (Noémie Merlant) and sitter Héloïse (Adèle Haenel). The rustic colour palette, focused lighting, and juxtaposing of settings – stiff drawing room with wild coast – combine to make this film a masterpiece. 

Moonlight (Dir. Barry Jenkins)

Filmmaker Jenkins describes the impoverished Liberty City neighbourhood of Miami, where he and writer Tarell Alvin McCraney grew up, as a “beautiful nightmare.” That mood is deftly interpreted with James Laxton’s high-key lighting design (bright as midday sunshine), contrasting with the often harsh and unforgiving world surrounding Ashton Sanders’ Chiron. 

2001: A Space Odyssey (Dir. Stanley Kubrick) 

We’ve already mentioned Kubrick’s masterly horror The Shining, but it’s the penultimate scene of his 1968 sci-fi adventure 2001: A Space Odyssey that is perhaps an even greater example of the elements of mise-en-scène fitting together perfectly. The framing of the scene in which astronaut Dave Bowman moves through the brightly lit, geometric tunnel is just one of several exquisite shots.

Billy Elliot (Dir. Stephen Daldry) 

Daldry shows rather than tells us of the hard, working-class community Billy Elliot comes from through shots of no-frills streets and frantic scenes of the miners’ strikes. He also cleverly juxtaposes Billy’s outfit – shorts and a tank top – with the tutus of the girls in his ballet classes to communicate how out of place his character feels. 

It’s Complicated (Dir. Nancy Meyers) 

Meyers’ enviable interiors are often the first thing people mention when referencing her films. But beyond being picture-perfect, the richly detailed homes she shows off tell the viewer more about the people who live in them than naturalistic dialogue ever could. In 2009’s It’s Complicated, the fulsome, warmly lit kitchen with all its cooking appliances paints the world bakery owner Jane (Meryl Streep) inhabits, allowing the dialogue to focus instead on the romance-driven plot.