Thoughts on the Avant Garde

As I consider the merits of avant garde and experimental cinema, I always find myself at a crossroads of exploring the boundaries of film and video outside of the mainstream and making something that people actually want to sit through. So much of what is passed off as experimental is absolute torture to watch.

As much as I love both film and art, I have a very low tolerance for some of this stuff. For one, I think much of it is just not interesting. Saying it is experimental becomes an excuse to point a camera aimlessly at various things and put it together in the name of art. I feel that purpose is certainly quite important when making films of this type. Furthermore, it is not a prerequisite to alienate your audience by purposely confusing, confounding or contesting their attention span.

I have always felt that 90 minutes is the perfect length for a feature film. Anything less and you tend to feel a bit cheated. Anything more and it had better be really compelling for me to want to endure it. That's not to say that there are not films that are far longer than that which I have really enjoyed. It's just that there must be a very engaging plot for me to not begin to check my watch after a while.

With documentaries, exceptions can be made for exceptionally in-depth subjects, such as Ken Burns' various historical pieces, though these mercifully are divided into manageable parts. With experimental, my attention span is much shorter. Typically, 5-10 minutes is about all I can take for most of this stuff. And while I recognize the value and influence of many things that are much longer, you can often get the point in a 1 minute clip.

I'm addressing these issues having just finished looking at the chapter on the history of art cinema from David Borwell and Kristen Thompson's Film History. The reading provided a good overview of the major players from different eras, several of whom we looked at examples from in class. It is however, more or less a list, and calls for some viewing of the cited films to really understand what is being talked about.

The important thing to note is how closely the film and art world are intertwined. Many of the movements in each have mirrored each other, and the artists known for work in other areas such as painting or sculpture, often ventured into avant garde film as well. The movements also influenced one another. The Dada and Surrealist movements in painting led to similar movements in film. And of course this work has without a doubt had an influence on mainstream filmmaking.

So I think that although much of the experimental work out there can easily be marginalized and written off, it is important to look at things with an open mind. It is not the type of thing that I choose to sit around watching endlessly, but that wasn't necessarily the way it was intended to watch. Having just watched some of Luis Bunuel's late films, I can appreciate his early work a bit more. And knowing that the famed cinematographer of Citizen Kane among other great films, Gregg Toland, started working in avant garde offers a different point of view on his work. I think that there is often value in seeking out things that may not necessarily be enjoyable, but can offer insights into other important works.

Bunuel Continued

Going back in time, then forward again. I guess it makes sense when viewing the films of a director who seems so intent on dismantling the fabric of traditional narrative devices in order to tell a story in his own way. Since watching The Phantom Of Liberty, I watched the film that came just prior to that one, the more celebrated The Discreet Charm Of The Bourgeoisie, and more recently I watched the film that just followed it, That Obscure Object of Desire, which as it turns out, was the last film Luis Bunuel made. 

In many ways, these films could be a trilogy. They all share some of the same cast members, and each is a collaboration between Bunuel and Jean-Claude Carriere. Each has the trademark Bunuel surrealist tilt, balancing the plausible and acutely perceptive with the absurd. In many respects, Phantom, is the most overtly skewed from reality, while the other two employ a more conventional narrative approach to point out the hypocrisy and idiocy of human interaction and etiquette. I tend to think that despite its lack of adherence to traditional storytelling, Phantom is the most enjoyable because of the way Bunuel so cleverly bends the rules of logic to great effect. The situations that he comes up with are so poignant and often quite funny.

The other two films serve as bookends of sorts, with a bit more sinister appeal. The main character in both is played by Fernando Rey, who is so brilliantly underhanded and classy at the same time. In both, he plays part of that privileged class, with both money and influence at his disposal, but while in Discreet Charm he seems to always be in control of the situation at hand, in Obscure Object it is quite the opposite.

Interestingly, terrorism is at the heart of both films, the later of which is That Obscure Object of Desire, which was made in 1977, more than a decade before the infamous hijacking of Pan Am flight 103 put terrorism in the forefront of public consciousness. There is much discussion of terrorism in both films, with various manifestations of killings and bombings being depicted within the narrative. In one scene in Obscure Object, we even spot a headline in the newspaper reporting news of a plan being hijacked and blown up. Despite Bunuel's apparent obsession with the subject, he does not treat it as a sacred cow, frequently poking fun at it, for instance with the myriad of acronym monikers for fringe political groups, such as the RABJ or Revolutionary Army of the Baby Jesus.

Obsession does seem to be appropriate though. Particularly in Obscure Object, Rey's character becomes enamored with a woman who seems to constantly be wavering between her undying love and affection and her sadistic torment of him. In true Bunuel style, the love interest in this film is played by two different actresses, who look very much alike. I did not notice it until after I watched the entire film, then went back and realized, depending on the situation or mood of the character, she seemed to be played by a different actress, sometimes within the same scene. It's an interesting idea, and a curious one, though it seems to reflect the capriciousness of the character.  

While these two films are more subtle than Phantom in their surrealist tendencies, there is symbolism everywhere. In Discreet Charm, Bunuel takes great liberty with a series of dreams from the viewpoint of different characters. The context and situations accentuate the elements of fantasy that audiences would expect from Bunuel, with each one getting more outrageous. When each of the sleepers wakes, we discover that the entire scene has been part of their dream, including the previous visions and the subsequent awakening by the different characters within that phantasm, which lead  the audience to believe that it had been their dream. And so the meanings keep stacking on top of one another, continually evolving. It is one of those situations that leaves you wondering, much like Bunuel's work in general, what is fantasy and what is reality?

What is the meaning of this?

Living in a modern culture, surrounded by images, we often take for granted the basic cues that allow us to read a story without further explanation. We understand that when a person walks off screen that they haven't disappeared, they are just off camera, or the scene has shifted focus to another character. But if you show that to a primitive audience that has never seen a film, they might go looking around behind the screen to see where that person has gone. They don't grasp this simple concept because their eye has not be trained like ours has.

When the concepts become more complex and involved, we must examine things more closely to determine what the filmmaker is trying to say through the elements that they place on screen. We are often given subtle visual or auditory cues, from the use of certain colors and locations to music and sound effects. We must draw conclusions based upon an entire set of elements that make up the scene. 

David Bordwell tackles the subject of film form and the meanings that are created through it in the second chapter of his book Film Art. Bordwell is systematic in his approach, which is useful for a topic that is often so subjective. That is not to say that the meaning of certain elements within a film can always be neatly categorized, but he offers a framework to help do this.

He breaks up meaning into four different areas: referential, that is people, places, and events that most people are aware of in order to give a context to the story, explicit, implicit, and symptomatic, which takes explicit meaning and applies it to a broader set of values that are characteristic of a whole society. He also gets into motivation, which meaning also depends on. What is the reason for certain elements being used within the scene? This gets at the way a scene is staged, in terms of the lighting, the color scheme, the costumes as well as camera placement, among other things. At times the characters movement within the scene motivates where the camera will be placed and how it will move within the scene.

Bordwell also touches on two other essential elements in film. He discusses the use of motifs, which rely on repeated elements to create a consistent theme throughout a film that tie the narrative together. He also gets into what he refers to as parallelism, which involves the use of multiple storylines that are connected by common elements. He cites The Wizard of Oz frequently in the text. It is a perfect example of many of these attributes of film form. For instance, the way that the parallel stories that take place in Oz and Kansas play out by using the same actors to play parts in each one. Themes in one are reflected in the other. The film is rich with visual cues that offer us clues to the intended meaning of the film. Of course, these concepts can be applied to any film. Few are as rich with this use of overt visual symbols as The Wizard of Oz, and consequently we often must dig a little deeper to find the cues that offer some link to the intentions of the filmmaker.

The Discreet Charm of Luis Bunuel

Too often when we set out to make a film, or any piece of art for that matter, we are influenced too heavily by the conventions of the medium. We accept that a story must be linear and logical. It must be believable, which is often true. But what about surrealism or the absurd, or satire? These are areas which flout traditional narrative devices in favor of upheaval. One of the masters of this approach is Spanish surrealist Luis Bunuel, who flouted conventions for more than 50 years in making films his way.

The Phantom of Liberty was actually the second to last film that he directed, and is part of his successful run of French language films that he made after years of working in Mexico. This film was made just after The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, which won the Oscar in 1972 for best foreign language film. It was largely due to the success of that film that allowed Bunuel to make The Phantom of Liberty. Bunuel had been known for years for his use of surrealist imagery and a liberal interpretation of narrative structure, but Phantom takes this approach to new levels. The film consists of a series of episodes, each of which is loosely related, though there is never an effort to draw out those connections. As co-writer Jean-Claude Carriere points out in an introduction to the film, he and Bunuel set out to make a film that purposely disregards the conventional rules of storytelling. He states that the objective with each episode was to build the story to the point where it began to get interesting, and then would move on to something else, seemingly less interesting.

 

Despite this, the film is somehow engaging throughout, perhaps because of its looseness with narrative structure and its clever satirizing of modern culture. In one scene, a group is invited over for what appears to be a dinner party, only instead of sitting around a table to eat, they sit on toilets discussing the amount of human waste that is created day after day, and how much will continue to be created as the population grows. When a little girl seated at the table says to her mother that she's hungry, her mother scolds her not to discuss such things at the table. One of the guests then retires to a small room where he folds down a table and eats in private.

Another scene involves a parent looking for their "missing" child. When they go to her school to look for her, she gets up from her seat to let them know she is there, but they try to get her to quiet down while they speak with the school's headmistress about finding her. They bring the child to the police department where an officer takes down a report, looking the child over as he writes down her description in the report. "It's good that you brought her with you," he says. He adds that having her there will help in being able to find her.

The concepts are simple and yet extremely effective in illustrating Bunuel's point of view. There is so much absurdity in life and in the conventions that we accept as normal. It is only when these conventions are turned on their heads that we see that absurdity. This technique borders on satire, but it goes further than that by taking the reality of the situations completely out of context. I found that the intrigue that results helps to compensate for the lack of narrative cohesiveness. 

Next up I'll be viewing the precursor to this film, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. Since that film is generally better known and more celebrated, as well as the earlier of the two, it will be interesting to see how the two compare.

Video, Time, Space, Motion

I think that it is often taken for granted in this modern age how the ubiquity of images and information, particularly video has changed the way we perceive the world. When an event happens in the center of Times Square to the corner of a dark alley, it seems that somehow, a camera is there to capture it. From there it is viewed nearly instantaneously by millions on You Tube, or some similar edifice. 

When we seek some information about any range of subjects, we almost immediately seek the answer with a cursory Google search. It's more of a surprise these days when we cannot find something that we seek through these means. Everything just seems to be at our fingertips. 

And so as we consider how to use video in our work, it is necessary not just to consider it as tool to tell a story or make a piece of art, but it can be much more, or less than that. It is important to look at its inherent qualities in order to fully appreciate how it can be used. 

Margot Lovejoy's article, Digital Currents: Art In The Electronic Age, addresses some interesting aspects of video as it has evolved and developed into a distinct artistic medium. She really gets at this immediacy of video. There is no time needed to wait and see what the camera has recorded. There are possibilities for edited work, real time, closed circuit systems, television broadcasts, DVD or video tape, and now the internet.

She raises the issues that come with these choices. For instance, in order to place art on broadcast television, it must not simply take the approach of the esoteric, conceptual piece, but rather it must be entertaining in order to have a chance of gaining an audience. There are also commercial concerns associated with broadcast, from the costs to the influence of corporate interests. Can you imagine some of these conceptual or performance pieces being broadcast on a major network during prime time, or at any time for that matter? 

The internet presents an interesting case because it is much more free from the commercial aspects than television, but honing in on the audience you want to reach is also more challenging.

Whatever means are used to disseminate the work, the use of video has its inherent advantages, particularly for exploratory work. There is indeed a sense of intimacy with video, and a more pedestrian quality to it. There is not the need for all of the lighting and artifice associated with film. And of course it is cheap, and can be readily worked with and manipulated without a great deal of expensive equipment. It has made the medium more accessible, but by no means easier to successfully accomplish interesting and thought provoking work.

Ultimately, whether work is done with an experimental/avant garde approach or more traditional, these aspects can be useful in finding a way to communicate something visually that is quite original.

roar.

I had a chance to watch The Mouse That Roared this week, having watched Wag The Dog last week. It's always interesting to watch things that play on similar themes, or were done by the same director or actor consecutively. I enjoy drawing comparisons across a number of films or a body of work and find that to be a really useful way to learn more about a particular area of filmmaking. 

In this case, here are two political satires, done about 30 years apart. I tend to think that the quality of films made 30 or more years ago is generally better than those made today. Sure, films today look slicker, with the effects and the better optics and imaging processes that we have available, but they often are much thinner on story and acting, among other things. That's not to say that there aren't any good films made today, it just seems like there is a lot more garbage put out. I particularly think that there are a lot of poorly conceived, diluted remakes out there. But the fact that there aren't too many original ideas left in Hollywood shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. 

As for these two films, I must say that despite Peter Sellers ability as an actor to play three distinct parts, long before the likes of Eddie Murphy or Michael J. Fox did this, the film has its shortcomings. Mainly they are due to the production values. This film was made during that period where black and white was being used less and less, and the Technicolor process had taken on a life of its own, causing many films to have an artificial look. There was not much that was beautiful about some of these films. They tended to look very flat, but not due to the lack of tonality available to filmmakers. In fact, Technicolor generally had excellent color saturation and vibrancy, better quality than even the processes we have available today. It was due more to the lack of imagination and innovation that had been happening during the 40's and 50's, particularly with film noir.

The Mouse That Roared seems to suffer from a lower budget that led to some very hokey looking compositing. There are several really awful looking scenes where the characters are supposed to be walking through downtown Manhattan, but clearly they are just walking back and forth in front of a green screen. There are several other instances like this, but what it lacks visually, it makes up for with a rather clever story, and of course the performances by Peter Sellers. He plays the Prime Minister and Duchess of Grand Fenwick, as well as the rather inept general that commands a ragtag military contingent. The smallest country in the world finds itself on the verge of bankruptcy (sound familiar?) without a market for its domestic wine production. So the leaders decide to "invade" the United States, quickly surrender, and then receive compensation for their "losses" in the war in order to rebuild their country. The only problem is that their plan goes too well, and they end up inadvertently winning the war.

It's quite interesting how a film such as this can remain relevant so many years after its release. In some ways, I think that is the power of satire. History's cyclical nature seems to guarantee that if you have a good idea just a bit too late, it's time will come around again.

Wagging Dogses and Roaring Mices

Earlier this week I checked out one of the better political satires of the last decade or so in Wag The Dog. I can't remember if I had seen it before, though I think I had seen at least parts as it seemed rather familiar. I'm glad that I returned to it at any rate because it really is quite an astute comedy. It isn't one of those knee splapping, guffawing type comedies, but rather subtle and intelligent in its humor, though it certainly has its moments of hilarity.

When I watch a film that I find has a bit more thought put into it than the average movie, especially if it's a director that interests me in particular, I always like to go back and listen to the commentary track if there is one. I always find them rather insightful, and in this case, both director Barry Levinson and Dustin Hoffman, who co-starred in the film were performing the commentating. They were discussing political satire and how few films have been made along these lines, mentioning The Mouse That Roared as one of them. I had heard about this film many times over the years, particularly due to the great performance from Peter Sellers, but I had never had an opportunity to check it out. Ironically, I had forgotten that I recently added it to my Netflix queue, and having just returned Wag, guess what showed up in the mail? I do love it when I can watch movies together that relate in some way, but in this case, it wasn't planned, but I look forward to taking a look and drawing out some of those comparisons in my next post.

One of the things that makes satire such a difficult way to work, but so brilliant when done well, is that it requires a balance of absurdity with plausibility. Satire is not about saying that the rules of gravity don't exist and watching people suddenly start floating around freely. It's about making such a convincing argument based upon a series of contrivances and contradictions that people believe they are floating, even though the rest of us can see just how absurd that is. Successful satires always seem to get at the heart of accepted notions of truth and turn them on their heads to show just how truly, yes, absurd they really are.

If you hadn't noticed, absurdity is the key. Wag does this well because for one, it was written by the brilliant David Mamet, two, it had a great director at the helm in Barry Levinson, and three, the ensemble cast included both Robert De Niro and Dustin Hoffman, arguably two of the greatest film actors living today. Now, all that said, it could have still fallen flat, but instead it sang. You could say that satirizing politics and war are easy targets. The two films already mentioned, along with Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove certainly prove that the material is ripe, but easy, not necessarily.

The trick seems to be pushing the boundaries of reality, without becoming implausible. That's what seems to make it so brilliant. You have to ask yourself, could this really happen? Could we fake a war to save the president from a scandal? And then just as the film is released, we learn about an intern named Monica Lewinsky, and we all scratch our heads and think, did they know something that we didn't? Truth sometimes is stranger than fiction, but it isn't always quite as much fun as this.

Film Style

At this point, hopefully all of the scenes that we have been looking at and the concepts we have discussed in class are beginning to come together and make some sense. Much of what David Bordwell writes in the section from his text On Film Style should be a sort of review. I thought it would useful to see a more in depth discussion of all these ideas in one place. 

Most film audiences do not pay much attention to these aspects of editing and mise-en-scene, let alone have a reference point for the sources that led to these developments throughout history. This knowledge and ability to critically analyze film language and style is what separates the average viewer from a film scholar. And if you want to make good films, that is what you need to become. The more that you see and the more that you research the techniques that other filmmakers are using, the more informed you will be as you set out to make your own work. 

Mise-en-scene, montage, decoupage, deep focus and shallow focus photography; by now, these elements should be familiar to you, and should be useful as you continue to work with the medium, whatever genre or approach you choose. I think it is important not just to understand the concepts, but to see how they have been used and developed in the context of film history. That's why I have shown so many scenes to you this semester, many of which you should notice are mentioned and illustrated with stills in the excerpt from the reading. In order to fully appreciate them, I encourage you to seek out these films and watch them in their entirety to fully appreciate their effectiveness, or perhaps how you might have approached the scenes differently. Just because a film is considered a classic, does not mean that it is beyond criticism. The most important thing is that you are educated about why certain decision are made so that you can use those same considerations in your process of working with film and video.

The Gran and The Grandeur

As is true of just about any class that deals with film studies, it is almost inevitable that some discussion of Citizen Kane will arise at some point. Earlier this semester, we looked at a few example of montage from the film, but the reading for this week hopefully gave you some insight into just why it is that Kane is hailed by so many as the greatest film ever made. I don't necessarily subscribe to that view. After all, it's rather like being asked which of your children is your favorite.

I recall the first time that I watched it, probably more than a decade ago, when I was still figuring out what made great films great. I'm still figuring that out of course, and will be for the rest of my viewing days. But at the time, still in the phase of cutting teeth on the classics, I could not appreciate what made this picture so revered. It isn't a particularly engaging story in some respects. It's dark for one. It's all about a man who is dead and seemed to have very little happiness in his life. Not exactly uplifting stuff. And it isn't a comedy. Not much action to speak of. So what gives?

Well, it wasn't until years later when a special edition DVD was released and I returned to it in order to take a closer look that I got it. I had since watched a lot of other things, which to me is the most important method for learning about film, and by that time I had a better idea of what to look for. That combined with the commentary tracks and slew of other special features pointing out all the details that normally wash over audiences during viewing, gave me new insight. If you can't afford film school, or don't have the time, this is the next best way to learn all about this art form. I should know, because my formal training in this area is quite limited.

Hopefully, the reading for this week, combined with some of the scenes we will be viewing will give you a better sense of where Kane falls for you in the film lexicon. For me it is an astounding achievement of narrative structure, cinematography and mise-en-scene. These are three things we will be talking more about in class as we look at selected scenes. But I challenge you at some point, perhaps after the semester is over, or down the road a year or more, find a copy and view it. Preferably, look for a screening a the Dryden Theater, or some other revival movie house. At the very least, rent the DVD, or better yet, buy that special edition set that I mentioned (really, I don't get a commission, but it's well worth it), and go through it a few times to experience the film and listen to the commentaries. Decide for yourself where it ranks in film history.

On to some more contemporary viewing, I made it to a movie theater for the first time in a long time this weekend for a showing of Clint Eastwood's latest, Gran Torino. There are newer things out, but I had been intrigued by this one for a while, and it was one that both my wife and I could agree on (always an important deciding factor).  I have always found Clint Eastwood to be interesting, both as an actor and as a filmmaker. As an actor, I don't think he gets enough credit for the depth and nuance that he brings to roles. He has been throughout his career, more than just a western or action star. Even in his early work, it was more what was not said at times that left an impression than the lines that he delivered. That is not easy to do.

His interest in directing has fueled some very interesting films that without his support, might never have gotten made. I always go back to the 1988 film Bird, which he directed, about the life of talented but trouble bebop saxophonist Charlie Parker. This film marked a real departure from the roles we know him for on the screen as the man without a name or Dirty Harry. It showed his range and a different sensibility than we have become used to.

So with Gran Torino, my expectations were high. I can't say that they were all fulfilled, but as usual, Eastwood provides a compelling story, in this case, from both behind and in front of the camera. I thought the screenplay at times was lacking, with dialogue feeling stilted at points, though perhaps as much due to the acting from supporting cast as the writing itself. Even Eastwood's performance at times felt a bit forced and uneven, but there were several scenes where his true grit as a veteran of the screen shined through. I couldn't help but pump my fist a bit each time that tough guy emerged to put someone in their place. And I thought the ending was a rather stunning choice, though not entirely unexpected. I think the overall message of change and acceptance, the ability to adapt, and at times stand up for an unwavering principle all rang true in the film. My main criticism lies in the casting. Clearly, aside from Eastwood and a couple of other bit players, the lion's share of the story is carried by actor's with little or no experience. That is not to say that this is not at times an effective way to achieve a greater realism. It has been done many times by both renowned and unknown filmmakers. But it's a delicate balance, and it takes the right sort of story to do it. It's not a particularly interesting film visually, so what I was left with was another opportunity to witness why Clint Eastwood is still one of today's greatest film stars. And who knows how many more opportunities we will have to witness that. 

 

Fishing the Depths for a Bit of Gore

I don't know if I have shared it at all, but I have a bit of what you might call, eclectic tastes. I love music of all kinds, from classic jazz to classic rock. I love foods of all different kinds from sushi to arroz con habichuelas. And so it shouldn't really come as a surprise that in the span of a week I could enjoy a dark romantic comedy directed by Terry Gilliam as well as a pair of Roger Corman gore flicks and throw in a politically subversive satire/mockumentary from Tim Robbins.


First, was Bob Roberts, which not only starred Tim Robbins as a right-wing, folk singing, senatorial candidate, but was written and directed by him as well. As a satire, it was fairly astute in its approach, though I think the mockumentary device has been sorely overused. Don't get me wrong, I love This Is Spinal Tap, and have enjoyed some of Christopher Guest's other work, but much of the rest has just felt like a cheap imitation. Even some of Guest's own work feels like a poor substitute for his early triumphs. Of course, Guest was not the first to attempt this mode of comedy. Albert Brooks did it before Spinal Tap with Real Life, the 1979 spoof of the PBS series An American Family, a disturbing precursor to reality TV that brought audiences inside the home of the Loud Family (yes their name really was Loud). Bob Roberts does seem to work about as well as any of these other films works, drawing out characters through interviews, public appearances and best of all, the corny, troubador style stage performances. Since the character's folk singing is part of the schtick, plenty of time is spent working up some really incendiary conservative talking points into gleeful sing alongs. Depending on your own political bent, I could imagine it being either frighteningly accurate or insultingly oversimplified, or I suppose for some, well, music to one's ears. I found the commentary embedded within the lyrics to be fairly on point, even 17 years after its release.


On to Roger Corman, which, if I have a guilty pleasure, might as well be stuff of this ilk. I got a double feature which inlcluded the rather brief, and twisted, horror flick A Bucket of Blood, and the slightly more polished Bloody Mama. I say slightly more polished, because though I would say the second has significantly better production values and acting, it's always a relative term with any Corman production. To date, he has directed 55 films and produced nearly 400, and has been quoted as saying that the most important aspect of making a film is to turn a profit, or something to that effect. That's not to say that he doesn't want to make entertaining films. He has certainly succeeded in that, producing some truly unforgettable film moments. But to Corman, there is no point in spending loads of money on effects or any other aspect of the production when these costs cannot be recouped. Nonetheless, he always manages to do something interesting with limited resources. Notable in Bloody Mama is a young Robert De Niro, a sinister Bruce Dern and the mama herself, Shelley Winters. If you haven't seen anything by Corman, you should see at least one of his films. I suggest Death Race 2000, with a post Kung Fu David Carradine and a pre Rocky Sylvester Stallone, before he was a star. He didn't direct this one, but he produced it, and it definitely has his sensibilities written all over it. Another good bet is any one of the several Edgar Allen Poe adaptations he directed, with Vincent Price as the star, including a semi-comedic stab at The Raven, complete with a fully coifed Jack Nicholson and Peter Lorre as a part-time raven.


Last, I saw The Fisher King, which was not what I would say is one of Terry Gilliam's best films, though still worth going back to check out. It's one of those films that unless you are a big fan of Gilliam's work, you might overlook. Personally, I think aside from the inimitable humor of his Monty Python days, his best work as a director is clearly the trilogy which included Time Bandits, Brazil and The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen. This film includes much of the imaginitive look and fantasy of those films, but with a more conventional storyline. Don't be fooled by the oversimplified description of a dark romantic comedy. That doesn't begin to describe it. At times, it feels more like a psychotic episode, with good reason. Robin Williams plays a character haunted by paranoid delusions and Gilliam does a phenomenal job of bringing the audience into his world. Jeff Bridges turns in an equally compelling performance, with ample support from Mercedes Rhuel, Amanda Plummer and a cadre of crazies and bums, none of which disappoint.

Pure Savagery, Pure Beauty

Just watched The Savages the other day, with local boy done good Philip Seymour Hoffman and also the very talented Laura Linney. Hoffman by the way, though a great actor, always seems to be an asshole in every interview I've heard with him, included one my wife did through a satellite uplink. And is it in his contract to be about fifty pounds overweight and dumpy looking in every role he does (with the possible exception of Capote)?

But I digress. The Savages is intriguing just by the very title, which makes you wonder immediately, is this an ironic title, or is this a film about uncivillized knuckledraggers. Fortunately, it's the former. The thing that immediately grabbed me about the film is the look that is created, first in the quasi idyllic, or more accurately, sterile environs of the Arizona retirement community where the story begins. There are the rows of identical shrubs and trees that line the streets and the manicured ranch homes painted in pastel colors, enhanced by this golden light that everything is bathed in. And of course there is the time warp culture created for the benefit of the residents to make them feel at home with the music and entertainment from their own era. One of those residents, played brilliantly by Philip Bosco, finds himself in a crisis, with no family to care for him, and a breakdown of mental faculties. Enter his two estranged offspring, played by Linney and Hoffman, who reside across the country on either side of New York State.

The filmmakers play up the contrast of the first loaction with the dreary, cold and rather melancholy surroundings of Buffalo (yes that Buffalo). Not wanting to deal with their father, or each other for that matter, the two siblings bicker over what to do, finally settling on a rather depressing, low rent nursing home. Through the experience, they end up dealing with their own relationship, and making peace with the past. But it isn't one of those easy, feel good stories about redemption, tidying up each loose end in a neat bow. It takes the approach of realism, and there is nothing tidy about that.

I appreciate that position considering the way Hollywood loves to shove artificially sweetened storylines down our throats week after week. It brings me to The Kite Runner, which I had mentioned previously, but hadn't gotten around to actually writing about. I actually enjoyed the film for the most part, and I don't want to completely detract from it. For the first hour and a half or so, it worked quite well. It was a compelling story with interesting characters and did not betray its mission of portraying culture in Afghanistan in a realistic way. But then the disease got ahold of them and they ended up turning to some Hallmark tactics to wrap that bow up neatly.

This is where so many Hollywood movies lose me. They feel like the audience needs to be spoonfed. Like we somehow cannot take a story where some things just don't work out like you would want them to and where not every story line is satisfied. Afghanistan is a pretty terrible place to be right now. There aren't too many good stories coming out of there. So why sugar coat it and try to have me believe that the human spirit can rise above these circumstances? No it can't. Not there. Not now. So when the music begins to swell and the tears are rolling down the cheeks of other movie goers, my eyes are rolling. Give me a break. Don't insult my intelligence by trying to tell me that you can negotiate with terrorists, or that they have a heart somewhere deep down, or that you can outsmart them and escape certain death with a little determination. Not only does it make me lose interest in the implausible circumstances that are unfolding, but it cheapens what was otherwise a really well made film.

I listened to the commentary, just out of curiosity about what the filmmakers had to say about it. They spent a lot of time talking about the struggle they had with deciding whether or not to have the characters speak their native tongues as opposed to English. I have heard this many times recently and it puzzles me. Do filmmakers and studio execs really believe that people are incapable or unwilling to read subtitles in order to see a great story unfold onscreen? True there are those people out there, but this film is not for them. It's for people who like to use their brains for thinking about more complex things than what to order from the value meal. It seems to be an epidemic lately. Well, this is one viewer who is standing up and saying for the love of God, just give me a good story, no matter what language it's in.

Give 'Em A Break!

It's odd the things that pop up on Google images when you do a search. The above picture is relevant for most I'm sure when thinking of spring break. But since I just typed in "break", I also got this disgusting picture of testing newly made cheese for firmness.



I felt it was important to add that disclaimer, or you might think it's something else far less savory. I know I did.

So, whether you plan on being somewhere warm and sunny, making cheese, or somewhere in between, I'm sure there is a bit of relief that you get a week away from classes, if not in mind, at least in body. I know we have covered a lot up to this point in the semester, and you're probably all a little tired of me getting on your asses about treatments and blog entries and all the rest, but now that your have your first project under your belts, I hope that you are at least starting to feel the payoff.

Making movies, no matter how long or short, now matter how big of a blockbuster, or small and simple they might be, it's hard work. I think you're finding that out. But if you put in the time to learn the fundamentals and a little bit about the history and the theories behind why films today look the way they do, you'll be better filmmakers.

I must say that I'm really pleased with the work that you guys are all putting in this semester. I know it isn't all fun and games and maybe you question some of the things we have spent time on, but there is a method to my madness. And I can see that you are all beginning to get it. Keep up the good work I think you will not be disappointed at the results. Have a great break!

Running Down the Screen

This week being what it was, I'm sure everyone was swamped with finishing their documentary projects, so you may not have gotten to look at the reading. If you didn't, you'll want to return to it this week. There will be no assigned readings, since spring break is next week, but when you get back, you'll need to have finished your screenplay and storyboards (which we will be getting more into this week), so this reading will be helpful in further getting down the screenplay format and just understanding how one is put together. As I said before, this isn't a screenwriting class, so I'm not that concerned with sticking to the specific format, but it's good to get in the habit of using some of the techniques employed in the examples we've looked at to lay out your thoughts. I think Syd Field does a good job of laying out just what the function of the screenplay is as well as a sense of the language that is used. Since you are directing your own screenplays, it will be easy for you to understand how to shoot it, but it should also be clear to someone else reading it, namely me, what is happening in the story.

I'm looking forward to seeing what you all came up with for the first project as well as the rest of the work we'll be doing this semester. I happened to catch an interesting little independent film called The Station Agent this week. It seemed to slip through the cracks a bit. I had never heard of it, but it sounded intriguing. It stars Peter Dinklage, who is a dwarf, and has many height centric plot lines to his credit, this one included. He is actually quite recognizable, and likely you have seen him in something along the way. 

The movie does deal quite a bit with his short stature and the inevitable attention that comes with it, especially in a small town, but it probes deeper than that at human relationships that are non-sexual, which is surprisingly hard to do these days it seems. It is understated in so many ways, that it often seems to be wandering, but there is a purpose in the plot line. I always find it interesting to listen to at least a little bit of the commentary on these indies, especially for the talk of production. They are always made for such little money and in such a short time, that it is rather amazing when they look as good as they do, and that they get seen at all. It's inspiring though to hear about the work that is put into making it happen from the standpoint of someone who is into making films. It gives us all hope that it can be done without the benefit of a big studio's backing or a lot of high profile stars, or even much of a crew. 

I have also been watching The Kite Runner, which I had planned to write about, but I keep getting interrupted before I can finish it, so I'll write about that one in a future post.

Films About Shoes

I just checked out an interesting little Iranian Film from the last millenium (1997), called Bacheha-Ye aseman (Children Of Heaven). I always tend to enjoy foreign films, though it can be a challenge that I find it necessary to be in the right frame of mind for. There is always the issue of reading subtitles, which is distracting from following the visual action of the film, but then there are the cultural aspects that cannot be translated easily, which require some effort on the part of the audience to understand. I have always found that film is nothing if it does not edify its audience in some way, however small. I think that the best films leave you with questions and curiosity about the subject matter, to the point where you might even get on the internet or pick up a book and research more about it. So to me, it is worth the effort.

This film contained some of these references in small ways, but really was fairly universal. It told the story of a young boy who is running errands and accidentally loses his sisters newly repaired shoes. He does not want to tell his parents, for fear of punishment, and also due to the knowledge that his father does not have the money to buy new ones. So he works out a system with  his sister whereby they share the shoes. She takes them to school in the morning and then runs to bring them to him while he waits in slippers so that he can wear them to his classes in the afternoon. This little arrangement quickly becomes untenable, leaving them both in one sort of trouble or another. And so the two spend the rest of the film trying to find a way to get her shoes back, or find a way to replace them.

It's an unusual, but very engaging film, because it takes such a basic thing that most of us take for granted, such as the shoes that are on our feet, and spins it out into an 83 minute narrative. But it could just as easily be a short film, taken up from a multitude of different points. It actually reminded me of another film that I saw years ago on POV (a must see documentary series on PBS). It was a short that, as I recall, appeared at the end of the broadcast, in which a boy missing one leg from a land mine accident is shopping for shoes with his mother. A man comes into the store, also with one leg, but missing the opposite leg. He overhears how disappointed the boy is that he cannot have the pair of shoes that he wants because his mother cannot afford them. So he offers to take the other shoe for his foot and split the cost so that the boy can have the shoe he wants. The boy happily puts the shoe on, they pay and leave the store. He thanks the man and they go their separate ways and once the boy is out of sight, the man sits down to take the shoe off, which as it is now clear, was way too small for him, and it becomes apparent in that moment that he bought the shoe not for himself, but for this boy that he did not know, but perhaps saw some of himself in. It's a great little story, which starts with a great, but very simple idea. And in that short span of time that it takes for the story to unfold, it says so much without having to take the time to develop it more fully.

This is the key to making a short film really work is to have an idea of something that can be communicated quickly, without a lot of exposition or development, but that is not predictable. It is important that everything unfolds quickly. I think that the most common mistake that can be made when just starting out. It's easy to get caught up in some elaborate plot with all kinds of characters and locations, but is it realistic to do it in 5 minutes? Remember, you're not making a full length feature, so the scope must be limited. But that does not mean that the impact of the story has to be limited. No matter how short or long a film is, it is all about the effort that you put into it at each stage of the process that will make it succeed or fail.

That is not to say that we cannot learn from a feature like Children Of Heaven, and even find ways to adapt the story to a condensed format. Take any film and break it down into scenes. There are so many great scenes that we remember from films that we have watched. Rarely do we remember all the details within the film, or even the entire plot, but there likely are certain scenes that stick out. We might even know all the lines for that scene. And so that is what you must do in developing your stories, is to find that vignette of a larger story and try to tell it in a concise, yet evocative way.

A Chapter In The Adventure

I hope that by now you all have gotten to the two readings from William Goldman this week. If you haven't read either of these books and you are at all interested in film, (which I assume you all are or why would you be taking this class?) do yourself a favor and run out and get both of them. It's a fascinating look inside the business of Hollywood movie making, with a focus on how to tell a good story, and then write the screenplay. And Goldman is one of the best in the business. He has a great sense of humor, is jaded just enough to make it an interesting read, but not so much as to scare you off from the business altogether. Anyway, I think it was far more enjoyable than some of the previous texts that we have looked at, so think of it as a bit of a break from the more heady stuff.

I chose these readings largely because I think they are insightful, particularly for those who are still learning the craft of visual storytelling, and I didn't want you to be totally bored at this point in the semester, so I thought you might like a break from the high minded theoretical stuff. The first one comes from his earlier book, Adventures In The Screen Trade, which he wrote in 1983, shortly before writing the screenplay to The Princess Bride. I love this story of how he got started because it is so perfect the way he sets it up, and really is significant for anyone just starting out as you all are. The way he tells it, it seems that for him to have gotten into the film business at all is almost like an accident. It just sort of fell in his lap, and when it did, he was so unprepared for it, that he found himself in an all night bookstore in Times Square in a panic, just trying to find a book, any book that could show him something about writing a screenplay. Hell, he didn't even know what a screenplay looked like, much less how to write one. And 40 some years later, he's still at it, with a pretty nice list of credits to his name.

The second reading, from the more recent sequel to the first book, Which Lie Did I Tell? More Adventures In The Screen Trade, gets into the nitty gritty of what actually goes into the screenplay. This is the more technical part, but I think Goldman does a nice job of not getting bogged down too much in details, and focuses more on plot, character development and structure. We'll be looking at these two scenes this week in class, one from Fargo and the other from Chinatown, so that you can get a better sense of how things translated from the page to screen. I think just from reading you can see how important structure is when trying to lay down not just dialogue, but also the visual cues necessary to actually commit that story to film. I don't want you to concern yourself too much with the specific format of the screenplay when thinking about you own upcoming projects, but I do want you to be familiar with layout and technique so that you can incorporate some aspects in your own writing.

We'll also be looking at a couple examples of short films to give you a better sense of how other filmmakers have managed to tell a compelling story in only a few minutes time. It is a challenge, but it all starts with a good idea. So make sure you are thinking about some possible projects that you might want to do for your short fiction piece.

A Montage of Ideas

This week's reading comes from the notes of perhaps the most famous director to come out of the Soviet school of the silent era, Sergei Eisenstein. Other filmmakers employed techniques of montage, but few had such well developed theories about its effects. His writings elaborated on the technical approach that he took in creating his heavily cut sequences and the meaning behind them.

Today, montage has taken on a different meaning altogether. It is no longer thought of as analytical or symbolic, but most often as a tool to condense time or to present a lot of related information in an organized way, such as introducing a series of characters. For the Russian filmmakers like Eisenstein however, the approach was much more developed. It is not simply breaking down a scene into a series of shots, but it is about unifying each element to give greater meaning to the whole. His view is that as a filmmaker, he must find a way to place his audience in the frame of mind viewing his film that he had in making it.

Eisenstein relates his ideology to the paintings and theories of Leonardo DaVinci. For DaVinci, there was an almost scientific method to leading a viewer's eyes from one part of the canvas to the next so that they took in the painting not all at once, but in a sequential order that he felt led to a more complete understanding.



If we look at Eisenstein's use of montage, he found ways to integrate multiple storylines within the framework of a battle scene, beyond just the violent clash between two opposing sides. His most famous example of montage is the Odessa Staircase sequence from The Battleship Potemkin, which we will be looking at this week in class. It is a frantic scene filled with utter chaos, but somehow Eisenstein manages to weave in the struggle of individual characters from the child who is shot by a soldier and then trampled by the crowd and the mother who desperately tries to reach him, or another mother with her infant in a carriage, precariously lingering near the edge of the staircase. There are many other characters that Eisenstein focuses on at various points, even briefly, and through this, he is able to humanize the tragedy, rather than just create a scene filled with violence against nameless, faceless, masses.



I think it is also important to note how Eisenstein views the importance of the actors role in creating this realistic portrayal for the audience. It is interesting to me, because I have always thought of the Russian style as being stylized as opposed to realistic. But for Eisenstein, his method was a way of creating an ultimate realism by bringing all of these disparate elements together, and thereby giving a more complete picture to his audience. I thought it was particularly illuminating the way that he described his approach to a particular scene and thinking of the mindset of the characters in that instance, their expressions and gestures, as well as the sights and sounds that make up the atmosphere of the location. Once again, it goes back to finding that connection with your audience, so that they are experiencing the film through the same process that you went through in making it.

Most of all, I want to drive home the point that there is a significant thought process behind editing a film. It is not just about what seems right, but rather there should be thought put into why each shot is used in the order that it is laid down and how it moves forward the sequence and ultimately the film as a whole.

The Spectrum of Extremes

I have been continuing to return to looking at films by certain directors, somewhat unintentionally in this case, although I often do find that it is a useful study to look at a series of films by a certain filmmaker in order to see running themes or stylistic tendencies. The same holds true for certain actors, or even writers, etc. This week I watch two films on very opposite sides of the spectrum, the first, a comedy geared toward a younger audience, Superbad, and the second, a much more serious political art-film called Before Night Falls.

When Superbad first came out, it looked like it had some good moments from seeing the trailer, however it struck me as one of those movies that gets a slick treatment for the trailer, and then you go to see it and find that all the good material was packed into that short preview. After having seen The 40 Year Old Virgin and more recently, Knocked Up, I figured I would give this one a chance, mainly because of Seth Rogen's involvement as a co-writer and actor in the film. It seems to be a pattern with films like these, that I have a preconcieved notion about a director or actor, or writer and his or her work, and so I avoid watching it because I hate to waste my time, or even to admit that saw it, in part because it is popular. It's one of those film-snob kneejerk reactions "well, nothing by that director could be any good".

I must say that once again, I was proven fairly wrong. In many ways, this film was slightly more on the sophmoric side than some of the aforementioned films. And its appeal was to a much narrower audience, mainly aimed at teenagers and early twenty-somethings, but I think that anyone who has been through high school would relate to at least some of the humor. There were a few moments where I found myself bursting out in laughter, which is always a sign of a good comedy, rather than one that just has you quietly thinking, "oh yeah, that's funny".

First of all, the young actors that are cast possess considerable talent, and fit the roles quite well. Micheal Cera in particular has a subtle quality in his performance that strikes me as both understated and unflaggingly realistic at once. Having seen him just recently in Juno, I see him as an actor whose range and ability will only increase as his career moves along. I also loved the scenes with Seth Rogan and Bill Hader, who played the inept cops that drove around Fogell's character all night. I think there is a mixture of good writing and good ensemble work between cast and crew that know each other well enough to bring out one another's strengths.

Overall, I would say that Superbad failed to live up to the standard set by some of the work that Rogen did previously with Judd Apatow , but nonetheless, it did not fail to entertain.

I also made a return to the work of another filmmaker this week, that of Julian Schabel. You may recall a few weeks ago, I expressed the contrasting views I have of Schnabel, but having realized that my prejudice was rather unfounded in any legitimate basis, I decided to take a look at his reflection on Cuban expatriate writer Reinaldo Arenas, Before Night Falls. There are many reasons to compare this film with his more recent work, The Diving Bell And The Butterfly. For one, both are set in a foreign country, however in Before Night Falls, he chooses to have the characters speak English for the most part, of course, with Spanish accents. I have never understood this. If a character would speak Spanish, then why not have them speak that language? Does he think that the portion of the audience that does not speak Spanish will be too bothered to read subtitles? It's rather silly, because there are certain moments where Spanish is mixed in, and even some French is spoken, but for the most part it is in English. I just feel it dilutes the authenticity of the film a bit, and besides, how does one decide, oh this line should be spoken in Spanish? In Diving Bell, he chooses to have the characters speak their native tongue, which to me is a better choice, though I will admit, it is not my favorite way to experience a film. It does distract somewhat from what is going on in the film, but it's not a significant factor in the overall experience of the film.

Stylistically, this film is not nearly as inventive as Diving Bell, but it is still rather well staged. Both of them being about writers, I think we do get a sense of the passion felt by the artist for his work. I think that the desperation at times and the ultimate tragedy of their situations are handled equally well in both. Both characters are also imprisoned, one by his unusually rare medical condition, and the other is hemmed in throughout his life by his inability to express freely his ideas and his desires, while at other times quite literally being imprisoned. And finally, both succumb to health problems, with their lives being cut short at a time of intense creativity.

Overall, I enjoyed the film, purely from a standpoint of the storyline that followed the characters, but I did find at times it was hard to follow. There were crucial moments where I actually rewound a few times and listened to a particular line to hear it better, but still could not decipher it. This is where it becomes particularly problematic for an actor to speak in English with an accent. It is harder to understand than if they did not use an accent, and there is not the benefit of subtitles to make the message clearer. It's a small, but not insignificant point.

Decoding McLuhan

I realize that this week's reading was another one of those that might have made your head hurt a bit, but I think there are some worthwhile points in there to consider, so it is worth the effort. I should point out that Marshall McLuhan is among the seminal writers and critics on the subject of media culture, from print and advertising, to film, television, and radio. He was a real visionary, and I'm sure if he were still around, he would have plenty to say about the digital age that we now reside in, and of course the influence of the internet.

I think one of the more interesting ideas that he introduces in this piece is that each medium is a rethinking of something that came before it. Television is indebted to radio, as radio is indebted to the telegraph, and so on, and so forth. I think it was rather interesting how he mentions the notion of portable film projectors in our future, keeping in mind that this article was written in the early 1960s, when video tape was still in its infancy, and even that was hardly portable. But in a way, he foresaw today's technology of ipods, smartphones and other portable media devices.

I think that his most salient point is the allusion that he makes to what he refers to as the literate audience. We take for granted certain aspects of film language that we carry with us, just because we have watched so much. But if you take an audience that has never seen a film or never watched television, or perhaps even looked through printed material, we would realize that these skills of interpretation are not innate. Consider the case of the Lumiere short that I mentioned last week, The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat. This is widely considered the first film ever screened for a public audience, and so one might imagine the fascination and even shock that they experienced beholding this technology unlike anything they had ever experienced. The story goes that upon seeing the projected image of a train moving toward them, many of those seated in front of the screen got up in a panic, running for the exits for fear that it might actually come through the screen and run them over. This anecdote may well be apocryphal, but the point remains that these were untrained eyes that were viewing a new spectacle. 

As McLuhan  points out, these things may well seem obvious to us today when we consider basic film structure and storytelling technique, but can the average person really elucidate why something is shot or edited the way it is? Probably not. But they would likely be able to discern something that is not edited or shot well. So it is important for those of us who wish to make films and to better grasp how to effectively use the medium to really make an effort to analyze and break down what we are looking at, rather than just taking the experience for granted.

Is Spring Coming...Ever?

Four of the most welcome words this time of year to my ears are "pitchers and catchers report". It means of course, baseball season is about to begin, and also that spring is just around the corner. This is much needed news in the doldrums of February (the most depressing month of the year if you ask me). There is a sense of renewal that comes with this, from the standpoint of new growth, the old, crusty, sooty snow gets washed away and then there is the hope that this year the Mets won't suffer another implosion and miss the playoffs. A bit too optimistic? Maybe. Talk to me next October.

I figured this was a good time to dust off an old baseball themed flick, Bull Durham. It's interesting, because though I was born in '79, I am really a child of the 80's, and yet I can't help but feel this was one of the worst decades for film. It's a decade that was filled with all the of the self-indulgence that Hollywood could manage, but with none of the grandeur. It produced its share of catch phrases ("E.T. phone home"), top 40 hits ("Footloose") and pop-culture iconography (The Back To The Future series), but little substance. Bull Durham falls into this category to a certain extent.

It's an enjoyable enough movie, particularly watching Susan Sarandon's escapades as she seduces a young Tim Robbins, and later Kevin Costner. Mostly, the thing that is kind of great about the film is that it captures pretty accurately a lot of the gamesmanship and business of baseball at the minor league level, which for a baseball fan, is fun to watch. The dialogue, in particular the repartee that takes place on the field during games gives an inside appraoch to what would normally be inaudible to an audience watching an actual game unfolding from the stands or on TV. There are some clever moments here, such as staging a conversation between Costner's character and Susan Sarandon's while in a batting cage with ball being flung in between them at a substantial pace. It's an otherwise pretty predictable storyline, and isn't particularly imaginative in its staging.

It's not what I would call a classic by any means, but as baseball movies go, it's not a bad one. It's not Field Of Dreams (made just a year later, also starring Kevin Costner), Eight Men Out, or The Natural, but worth a look nonetheless.

Now, if the Mets can only put together a classic season, we might have something.

Outlining the Outline

Hopefully you all had a chance to read the chapter from Alan Rosenthal's book on developing a structure for your documentary. I think there are useful points in there. Some examples are more in-depth than I expect you to get, but nonetheless, applicable to what you are doing. I wanted you to see some excerpts from a script that employs the split column method of placing the sound elements on one side and the visual elements on the other. I haven't typically worked this way, but it is a good example of how to visualize a piece in the planning stage as well as during the process of assembling elements that have already been shot. 

I think one of the most important points to make is that all films, whether they are fiction or non-fiction must have a well defined structure. I think the point that documentaries need not be dry and boring was well taken too. This is all too often the perception because some of the worst examples of "documentary" are the ones that are most prevalent. Turn on the History Channel and you are likely to catch yet another formulaic rehashing of some newly discovered footage of B-52s over Germany during WWII. Not that there is anything wrong with historical documentary or films about WWII, but they can be done in a much more interesting and less predictable way. I think that the popularity of reality television is evidence enough that people hunger for real stories, though this is hardly and example of something "real" or even truthful. Documentary can be both of those things if the time is taken to make it the right way, and it can also be wildly entertaining.

I have spent so much time in class on documentary in part because it has been my main working method, but also because it is the perfect entry point into working with film or video. You can be as creative as you want to be, borrowing elements from other genres, while still being loose in your approach, with some room for less than perfect production values. Also, there are just so many different approaches to documentary to explore. After all, the first films that were made in the earliest days of cinema would qualify as documentary in the purest sense, that is, the "actualities" of the Lumiere brothers (the image above is from one of the more famous examples, The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat). And more than a century later, we are still discovering new ways to explore this working method.

The important thing is to find your own working methods, no matter what type of films you want to make. So be as creative as you can working on this first project, but have a solid plan in place. The more you plan, the smoother and more enjoyable the process of shooting will be.

It was just like in the movies!

Needless to say, it has been a busy, and interesting week. I hope you all got some things done having had last week off from class unexpectedly. God knows I didn't. Let's just say when someone is negligent, runs a red light and broadsides you in a vehicle, no one is standing by waiting to make the hellish process that you were unwillingly thrown into any easier or more pleasant. Not to get into the personal details of my life, but I have been thinking during this process of dealing with my wife's accident how much of life we relate through the experience of movies. 

How many times do we have something dramatic, like a car accident happen to us and without having the words to effectively describe it, we say "it was just like in the movies"? What better way to capture that moment than to relate our experience with something so familiar as what we all have viewed on a movie screen. Immediately, we know exactly what is being described. It all happens so fast in the reality of our lives, we don't even have the time to take it all in. It's almost as if the film versions of our lives give meaning to the reality and allow us to process what is otherwise unknowable. 

At the same time, watching something on a television screen or on a computer or in a movie theater can never compare to the real thing. Working at a TV station, I have shot probably hundreds of accident scenes, many of them fatal. I have seen hundreds if not thousands more on TV. I've watched You Tube videos from security cameras that have captured that actual accident, and of course have seen it dramatized countless times in films. But those experiences pale in comparison to witnessing one. I actually had this experience walking out of the Dryden Theater last year. A car had pulled out in front of a motorcyclist, and with no time to react, the motorcycle struck the car and the driver was thrown from his bike. I heard the screech of tires and crash while looking down to unlock the door to my car parked probably 20 feet away, and  looked up in time to see the guy hit the ground and witness the commotion that followed. Fortunately, the guy suffered only minor injuries, but it got my heart pumping, and I'm used to being around this sort of thing. Come to think of it, it was just like in the movies.

Speaking of movies, I did manage to catch a pretty good flick called The Visitor just the other day. It was a really poignant film that dealt with this whole debacle that our immigration system is, but not in the typical straightforward way you might expect. It began as story about a middle-aged white college professor whose wife has died and children have grown up and moved out of his posh Connecticut home. His conservative lifestyle of teaching and lecturing and writing scholarly books and papers bores him. A trip to his apartment in New York for a week-long conference brings about a series of events that changes his life. When he arrives, a couple is staying there, having sublet the place, unbeknownst to him, and he walks in on them, the woman in the bath, the man angrily accosting him. And in that heated moment of misunderstanding, he pleads "I have keys! I have keys! This is my apartment!" in the threatening face of this stranger with clenched fists. It's another one of those rare moments of panic that many of us will encounter at some point in our lives, but we can only relate by saying, it was just like in the movies!

Ultimately, the man allows the couple to stay while they figure out what to do next. Without spoiling the rest of the story, they become involved in one another's lives in a way that is fulfills this character's life more than the money and prestige that teaching or writing books has brought him. He becomes so engaged in the struggle that results from their immigration status that he goes to great lengths to help them, though there is no way for them to repay him. But we see through his own transformation that he is paid back richly by knowing that he can at least try to help right an injustice. The approach could not have been simpler and more straightforward as far as the way that it was shot and edited. The camera generally was very static, allowing the interactions of the characters to drive the story. Nothing spectacular happened within the film. There were no elaborate CG effects, costumes, makeup or even a lot of added music. It was a very ordinary sort of story, but with an extraordinary message. Watching a film like this is evidence enough that if you have a great story, you don't need to be flashy in your approach to make it transcend the typical fare. The realness of the characters and their interactions make it work. And of course, sometimes just as art imitates life, we relate to art because of what we have experienced in our own lives.