Sunday, May 17, 2015
Cinematic Reality: What is real? PART FOUR
CULTURAL CYCLES OF REALISM: ICONOCLASTS
"Star Wars," "2001: A Space Odyssey," "The French Connection," and "A Fistful of Dollars" were all iconoclastic when they debuted.
They challenged the prevailing generic offerings. They challenged the stories that were told. And they challenged the way those stories were told -- even in the case of "Star Wars" and "A Fistful of Dollars," movies which rarefied the myths their directors had enjoyed as children, even as they attempted to replace those myths with something more convincing. More real!
It is interesting to note how a film like "2001," which was considered iconoclastic for its time, could then be seen as part of the status quo by someone like George Lucas only a few years later!
THE CYCLE OF REALISM, FROM INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION TO CONVENTION
It seems safe to say then that cultural shifts in public consciousness are partly responsible for shifts in the public's definition of what constitutes reality in cinema.
Movies like "Star Wars" and "A Fistful of Dollars" were able to break from convention, and, because of their social impact, were co-opted and imitated, until the revolution had become the convention from which future movies would try to break -- even while being inspired by the very thing they would seek to replace!
This is a natural progression in all of the arts as something that was at first innovative and cutting edge in one industry becomes overly familiar and repetitive, and requires a "fresh approach."
But industrial convention is not the only reason for altering the audience's conception of reality.
Cinematic Reality: What is real? PART THREE
CULTURAL CYCLES OF REALISM: GENRE
Here are several movies that were praised for their realism:
"Star Wars" (1977)
"2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968)
"The French Connection" (1971)
One item these movies have in common is that they were reactions to previous offerings in the same genre.
At a time when science fiction seemed to have died in cinema, George Lucas set out to make a space opera that depicted the reality of a war-torn galaxy. His star ships are not the clean and sanitized vessels seen in Kubrick's "2001." They bear scars and the signs of battle. Lucas' "Star Wars" is both inspired by, and a reaction to, Kubrick's masterpiece.
Leone envisioned a West that was populated by sweat and grime, and human sensuality. People as meat, and Catholic iconography that seems to watch apathetically as violence unfolds in public places.
CULTURAL CYCLES OF REALISM: AESTHETICS
Another commonality shared by these movies is the use of new aesthetics to appeal to a sense of reality.
Lucas created ILM to create visual and special effects unlike anything people had experienced prior to the release of "Star Wars."
Kubrick had a team of NASA scientists and optical specialists to create the effects seen in "2001."
Friedkin drew on his background in documentary filmmaking to heighten the reality depicted in "The French Connection."
Leone drew on his knowledge of realism in painting to convey a more realistic West.
"A Fistful of Dollars" (1964)
"2001: A Space Odyssey" was also a reaction to a genre that had become cluttered with atomic monsters and bad latex from outer space. Kubrick wanted to invoke the better aspects of George Pal's realism in movies like "Destination Moon" (1950) and "When Worlds Collide" (1951), while creating a convincing and realistic portrait of humanity's future in space.
 |
| Director William Friedkin pointing |
William Friedkin's direction on "The French Connection" was a reaction to the artificiality of police dramas which had made their way into American living rooms by way of television.
Sergio Leone's "A Fistful of Dollars," too, was a reaction to the Westerns he loved as a child. As Lucas had been with science fiction, Leone was enthralled with the mythic stories of the Western genre; but likewise, he was also critical of their portrayal of a West that seemed too clean and sanitized for his sensibilities -- like Lucas had been of Kubrick and George Pal.
Leone envisioned a West that was populated by sweat and grime, and human sensuality. People as meat, and Catholic iconography that seems to watch apathetically as violence unfolds in public places.
CULTURAL CYCLES OF REALISM: AESTHETICS
Another commonality shared by these movies is the use of new aesthetics to appeal to a sense of reality.
Lucas created ILM to create visual and special effects unlike anything people had experienced prior to the release of "Star Wars."
Kubrick had a team of NASA scientists and optical specialists to create the effects seen in "2001."
Friedkin drew on his background in documentary filmmaking to heighten the reality depicted in "The French Connection."
Leone drew on his knowledge of realism in painting to convey a more realistic West.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
Cinematic Reality: What is real? PART TWO
Reality is important to any fantasy.
Especially cinematic fantasy.
Even if reality is nothing more than a concept that serves as a frame of reference, convincing audiences of the story's plausibility.
"Star Wars"(1977) was a space fantasy. And yet it was praised for being "realistic." Even though we know there is no sound in the vacuum of space.
But the point is that it convinced audiences of its being real, or nearly close to reality.
The film noirs of the '30s and '40s, as mentioned before, were also praised for their realism, yet many of these movies were directed by German directors like Fritz Lang ("Metropolis," "M") who cut their teeth in German Expressionism -- an aesthetic style having almost nothing to do with physical reality.
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| German Master Fritz Lang |
"The Killers" (1946) directed by German émigré Robert Siodmak.
"The Big Heat" (1953) directed by German émigré Fritz Lang.
Having worked in the German film industry for UFA, the Master of Suspense himself, Alfred Hitchcock, was praised for making films that seemed to embody psychological realism -- an approach influenced by German Expressionism as well. Hitchcock's movies are highly stylized, and we can agree that not everyone experiences reality in the exact manner Hitchcock portrays it.
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| Mission San Juan Baptisa from Hitchcock's "Vertigo" (1958) |
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| Matte painting from "North by Northwest" (1959) |
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| The death of Detective Arbogast in Hitchcock's "Psycho" (1960) |
So we can see that realism isn't easily defined. Nor is it restricted to material reality, but it can also apply, as in the case of "Star Wars," to fantasy, or, in the case of Hitchcock's work, to psychology (which is the interplay of both reality and fantasy).
Friday, May 15, 2015
Cinematic Reality: What is real? PART ONE
Reality versus fantasy.
This seems to be a big topic in cinema these days as the discussion has trickled down to the masses, and you hear things like "I liked this movie because it's more realistic."
Or, "I thought the director treated the story realistically?"
But what is "realism" in cinema? What makes a movie seem more realistic than another?
Is it how the director shoots the scene?
If that were the case, then many of the film noirs of the '30s and '40s would be considered "realistic," and yet film noir has become something of a formal style -- a "look" that film students mock, and commercials parody.
Even De Sica's "The Bicycle Thieves" (1948), which became the flag of Italy's neorealism, seems less real today, than it did when it came out.
A perfect example would be Leone's "A Fistful of Dollars" (1964), which seemed to usher in a new age of realistic, gritty westerns. And indeed it did.
But the Leone western has become so thoroughly understood, that its power to convey a heightened reality in the western genre has vanished. To employ his method is to invoke Sergio Leone, and not necessarily to refer to reality in the West. And countless film students and filmmakers like Raimi and Tarantino do this regularly as homage.
Cinema is the world of heightened reality. And because it remains so, every attempt at reality ultimately, over time -- whether it wishes to or not -- becomes cinematic fantasy.
And yet by some magic, by some powerful instinct, there are those directors and writers who are able to convince us that the movie we are watching is indeed the most real of its kind.
The question is how?
Thoughts for you to ponder until PART TWO.
Or, "I thought the director treated the story realistically?"
But what is "realism" in cinema? What makes a movie seem more realistic than another?
Is it how the director shoots the scene?
If that were the case, then many of the film noirs of the '30s and '40s would be considered "realistic," and yet film noir has become something of a formal style -- a "look" that film students mock, and commercials parody.
Even De Sica's "The Bicycle Thieves" (1948), which became the flag of Italy's neorealism, seems less real today, than it did when it came out.
 |
| Image from "The Bicycle Thieves" (1948) |
A perfect example would be Leone's "A Fistful of Dollars" (1964), which seemed to usher in a new age of realistic, gritty westerns. And indeed it did.
 |
| Images from "A Fistful of Dollars" (1964) |
But the Leone western has become so thoroughly understood, that its power to convey a heightened reality in the western genre has vanished. To employ his method is to invoke Sergio Leone, and not necessarily to refer to reality in the West. And countless film students and filmmakers like Raimi and Tarantino do this regularly as homage.
Cinema is the world of heightened reality. And because it remains so, every attempt at reality ultimately, over time -- whether it wishes to or not -- becomes cinematic fantasy.
And yet by some magic, by some powerful instinct, there are those directors and writers who are able to convince us that the movie we are watching is indeed the most real of its kind.
The question is how?
Thoughts for you to ponder until PART TWO.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Turning a Page
It has been awhile since I've posted to this blog. I have grown as an individual, and my interests have changed. I recently read my very lengthy and in-depth analysis of "Batman Begins" in which I discussed the merits of Burton's version of Batman versus Nolan's. While I believe my observations were still relevant, and many of my predictions regarding Nolan's approach to "The Dark Knight" turned out to be spot-on, I believe such observations are too nuanced for a general audience.
There was so much wrong with that post, and so much right with it. Still, I believe Burton's approach is the one that will stand the test of time; though I think Nolan did a fantastic job adding much-needed narrative cohesion to the franchise.
The biggest mistake in that post was my intent. Let me explain.
My interest in cinema is both academic and popular. I love getting into the nitty-gritty details of a movie the way you would tear apart a short story in a graduate creative writing class. I love discussing whether a particular technique disrupts audience identification with a movie, in the same way one might discuss shifts of tense in Angela Carter's "The Lady of the House of Love." I love having such discussions even when looking at a movie like "Orca" (1977). Such subjects are the domain of the writer, and the would-be director, and you can often hear conversations where individuals like Tarantino or Guillermo Del Toro discuss the same.
But general audiences don't really care for such.
They really just want meat. Red, raw, bloody meat. And they want it now.
Just like I do.
So I will be renovating this blog. I will keep my old posts on hand as reminders of how my thoughts transformed over time. Ultimately, my job is to get people even more excited than they already are about movies!
Hope to see you soon!
There was so much wrong with that post, and so much right with it. Still, I believe Burton's approach is the one that will stand the test of time; though I think Nolan did a fantastic job adding much-needed narrative cohesion to the franchise.
The biggest mistake in that post was my intent. Let me explain.
My interest in cinema is both academic and popular. I love getting into the nitty-gritty details of a movie the way you would tear apart a short story in a graduate creative writing class. I love discussing whether a particular technique disrupts audience identification with a movie, in the same way one might discuss shifts of tense in Angela Carter's "The Lady of the House of Love." I love having such discussions even when looking at a movie like "Orca" (1977). Such subjects are the domain of the writer, and the would-be director, and you can often hear conversations where individuals like Tarantino or Guillermo Del Toro discuss the same.
But general audiences don't really care for such.
They really just want meat. Red, raw, bloody meat. And they want it now.
Just like I do.
So I will be renovating this blog. I will keep my old posts on hand as reminders of how my thoughts transformed over time. Ultimately, my job is to get people even more excited than they already are about movies!
Hope to see you soon!
Saturday, April 15, 2006
A Brick of Gold: First Time Director Hits Paydirt
Saturday April 15, 2006
San Diego—Rian Johnson has good reason to smile. Last year, the 31 year-old San Clemente native sold his cinematic debut, Brick, to Focus Features for a cool $2 mil. The deal was sealed after the movie won a special grand jury prize for “originality of vision” at the Sundance film festival. Now, following a limited release, Johnson’s nifty little pic has the nation’s critics buzzing; not since Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000), has so much talk surrounded a new indie talent—talk so thick you could slice it. The big fat question remains: What’s all the fuss?
“Brick is a hard-boiled mystery thriller in the tradition of Dashiell Hammett’s Red Harvest,” the filmmaker explains. The twist? “It’s set in a contemporary California high school because that’s the only way I could truly update the genre without appearing gimmicky.”
“Gimmicky” is how some have described the movie’s dialogue, a hodge-podge of rapid-fire slang lifted from the pages of Raymond Chandler’s and Dashiell Hammett’s yesteryear noirs. In the spirit of those tales, teenagers in Brick don’t talk like teenagers; they spit jive and sling lingo like heavies in 40s crime fiction. The novelty was a gamble by Johnson, who feared audiences might find the choice laughable. Despite a handful of detractors, the critical response has been overwhelmingly positive.
Michael Atkinson of The Village Voice calls Brick a “spectacle of nerve,” praising its use of noir as “a near-tears metaphor for pre-adult isolation, insecurity, and self-destruction.” Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times applauds Johnson’s “absolute commitment to his idea of the movie’s style.” And Rolling Stone’s Peter Travers describes Brick as “the stuff that dreams are made of.” If reviews are scant on plot, it’s because the set-up is standard pot-boiler grist—what makes the movie jingle is Johnson’s spellbinding sensibility.
Last night, the movie premiered in San Diego at the Ken Cinema in Kensington. The overly caffeinated college crowd was hungry for a good mystery; most were local film students itching to feel out the film’s director, curious how he did it. Following the screening, Johnson hosted a Q&A during which he explained exactly how he did it. After graduating from USC’s film school in 1997, Johnson spent the next year writing the screenplay for Brick; the next six years were a whirlwind of setbacks and minor disappointments, as the project saw talent and financing come and go. Eventually, Johnson resolved to raise money from friends and family, with a final estimated budget of half a mil. With financing and talent secure, Johnson and crew began shooting the movie on 35mm in a grueling 20-day schedule. According to Johnson, the actual set-up went smoothly, considering he had six years to pre-visualize and storyboard each shot. Once the footage was in the can, he edited the entire film on his G-4 Mac. Reflecting on the seven years it took to get Brick to Sundance, Johnson noted, “It really was a labor of love.”
The results are nothing short of breathtaking.
Though the movie’s repeated locales hint at budget limitations, the film is a solid piece of craftsmanship, a logically fluid narrative moving quickly from a “whodunnit” to an existential treatise on contemporary teenagerdom. Flashy cuts and wham-bang camera movements are never superfluous; never do they detract from the story, calling attention to themselves. Always in control of his camera, Johnson commands the genre with gravitas and style. You forget you’re watching a novice. For the duration of the story, you’re in the hands of filmmaker.
Not everyone is so quick to agree. An audience member told this writer that Johnson had “nothing without the stylized dialogue.” “If Johnson had made Brick as a regular 40s noir, the movie wouldn’t hold up—the plot’s been done before, and the dialogue isn’t as smart as it is in LA Confidential.” What about the sly parallel between hard-boiled fatalism and teenage angst? “That was never his intention. He even admitted that was a fortunate result of a different intent.” Then what precisely was his intent? In his own words: “The detective film has been done so many times that we only see it as parody these days; my goal was to update the genre so that people take my story seriously.”
Seven years of determination? A special grand jury award at Sundance? A $2 million payoff from Focus Features? And, now, critical acclaim? Hollywood is taking you seriously, Mr. Johnson.
San Diego—Rian Johnson has good reason to smile. Last year, the 31 year-old San Clemente native sold his cinematic debut, Brick, to Focus Features for a cool $2 mil. The deal was sealed after the movie won a special grand jury prize for “originality of vision” at the Sundance film festival. Now, following a limited release, Johnson’s nifty little pic has the nation’s critics buzzing; not since Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000), has so much talk surrounded a new indie talent—talk so thick you could slice it. The big fat question remains: What’s all the fuss?
“Brick is a hard-boiled mystery thriller in the tradition of Dashiell Hammett’s Red Harvest,” the filmmaker explains. The twist? “It’s set in a contemporary California high school because that’s the only way I could truly update the genre without appearing gimmicky.”
“Gimmicky” is how some have described the movie’s dialogue, a hodge-podge of rapid-fire slang lifted from the pages of Raymond Chandler’s and Dashiell Hammett’s yesteryear noirs. In the spirit of those tales, teenagers in Brick don’t talk like teenagers; they spit jive and sling lingo like heavies in 40s crime fiction. The novelty was a gamble by Johnson, who feared audiences might find the choice laughable. Despite a handful of detractors, the critical response has been overwhelmingly positive.
Michael Atkinson of The Village Voice calls Brick a “spectacle of nerve,” praising its use of noir as “a near-tears metaphor for pre-adult isolation, insecurity, and self-destruction.” Roger Ebert of the Chicago Sun-Times applauds Johnson’s “absolute commitment to his idea of the movie’s style.” And Rolling Stone’s Peter Travers describes Brick as “the stuff that dreams are made of.” If reviews are scant on plot, it’s because the set-up is standard pot-boiler grist—what makes the movie jingle is Johnson’s spellbinding sensibility.
Last night, the movie premiered in San Diego at the Ken Cinema in Kensington. The overly caffeinated college crowd was hungry for a good mystery; most were local film students itching to feel out the film’s director, curious how he did it. Following the screening, Johnson hosted a Q&A during which he explained exactly how he did it. After graduating from USC’s film school in 1997, Johnson spent the next year writing the screenplay for Brick; the next six years were a whirlwind of setbacks and minor disappointments, as the project saw talent and financing come and go. Eventually, Johnson resolved to raise money from friends and family, with a final estimated budget of half a mil. With financing and talent secure, Johnson and crew began shooting the movie on 35mm in a grueling 20-day schedule. According to Johnson, the actual set-up went smoothly, considering he had six years to pre-visualize and storyboard each shot. Once the footage was in the can, he edited the entire film on his G-4 Mac. Reflecting on the seven years it took to get Brick to Sundance, Johnson noted, “It really was a labor of love.”
The results are nothing short of breathtaking.
Though the movie’s repeated locales hint at budget limitations, the film is a solid piece of craftsmanship, a logically fluid narrative moving quickly from a “whodunnit” to an existential treatise on contemporary teenagerdom. Flashy cuts and wham-bang camera movements are never superfluous; never do they detract from the story, calling attention to themselves. Always in control of his camera, Johnson commands the genre with gravitas and style. You forget you’re watching a novice. For the duration of the story, you’re in the hands of filmmaker.
Not everyone is so quick to agree. An audience member told this writer that Johnson had “nothing without the stylized dialogue.” “If Johnson had made Brick as a regular 40s noir, the movie wouldn’t hold up—the plot’s been done before, and the dialogue isn’t as smart as it is in LA Confidential.” What about the sly parallel between hard-boiled fatalism and teenage angst? “That was never his intention. He even admitted that was a fortunate result of a different intent.” Then what precisely was his intent? In his own words: “The detective film has been done so many times that we only see it as parody these days; my goal was to update the genre so that people take my story seriously.”
Seven years of determination? A special grand jury award at Sundance? A $2 million payoff from Focus Features? And, now, critical acclaim? Hollywood is taking you seriously, Mr. Johnson.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
The Sick and the Dead: Staying Alive in Hostel Territory
If you prefer more blech for your buck, check out this week's latest theatrical frightfest, Eli Roth's Hostel. The movie follows two American males, Paxton (Jay Hernandez) and Josh (Derek Richardson), on a European vacation packed with sex, drugs, and alcohol. After finding a kindred spirit in fellow wanderer and Euro-native Oli (Eythor Gudjonsson), the two trek to a Slovakian hostel where, local rumor has it, the women will fulfill their every desire. At first glance, everything lives up to expectation--the beer is always flowing, the atmosphere is inviting, and the women are unbelievably gorgeous, and willing. Eyebrows and questions alike are raised, however, when Oli leaves without a "fare-thee-well" and winds up missing. Little do the others realize their newfound friend is being tortured by one of the oldest rules of horror films: the most "sexually liberated" or "obviously ethnic" character is first to die. Too bad for Oli, he's both.
Oli's sudden absence is eventually explained by the presence of an underground gaming company. "Elite Hunting," as a business card advertises, caters to the rich and privileged, offering those with gilded pockets opportunity to act out their darkest fantasies on human abductees. It's obvious these fantasies are of the S&M kind, as each room is arrayed with a variety of mostly sharp, mostly metallic instruments--from dental picks to chainsaws--which can inflict nothing less than pain on the unfortunate. After Josh goes missing too, it's up to Paxton to make the connection between his buddies' disappearance and Elite Hunting. As for the ensuing gore...I'll let you fill in the gaps.
As far as horror films go, Roth's second feature (his first was Cabin Fever) is something of letdown. The characters are marginally developed, just enough to be recognizably above "sub-human." Josh is the closet homosexual, whose precoital fear is mistaken for virginal shyness; Paxton has been blessed with a backstory (as a teen, he witnessed a child drown; its mother's scream still haunts him), endowing him with the movie's only altruistic moment: after narrowly escaping Elite's hunting grounds, he returns, risking life and what's left of his limbs to save a screaming woman from her tormentor. The scene recalls Pulp Fiction when Butch returns to save Marcellus Wallus from his homosexual captors, and hints at the degree of originality at work in Hostel.
In fact, most of the movie's better moments are cinematic regurgitations. Roth tries to slice beneath the surface, playing with familiar themes of voyeurism, fantasy, and wish-fulfillment, but forgetting to say something original of his own. Sensing the vacuous nature of his own subject, Roth falls back on the oldest trick in the book: pointing the finger at the audience and implicating them in the violence. More offensive than extreme close-ups of human gristle on a drill bit is the assumption that viewers are just as morally corrupt as the members of Elite Hunting (even if it may be true); there is a great deal of black and white between watching a Hollywood simulation of violence and violating the human rights of another, no matter how grey Roth wants to make it. By the movie's end, this feels like a weak attempt to ascribe meaning to a story short on substance.
When it works, Hostel suggests the events could happen to you. When it fails, the movie offers nothing more than gross-out gags and telephoto gore. I suspect, despite its failings, many youngsters will be drawn to this movie on account of Quentin Tarantino, who gave Roth his seal of approval. Too bad it's not a more worthy product.
Oli's sudden absence is eventually explained by the presence of an underground gaming company. "Elite Hunting," as a business card advertises, caters to the rich and privileged, offering those with gilded pockets opportunity to act out their darkest fantasies on human abductees. It's obvious these fantasies are of the S&M kind, as each room is arrayed with a variety of mostly sharp, mostly metallic instruments--from dental picks to chainsaws--which can inflict nothing less than pain on the unfortunate. After Josh goes missing too, it's up to Paxton to make the connection between his buddies' disappearance and Elite Hunting. As for the ensuing gore...I'll let you fill in the gaps.
As far as horror films go, Roth's second feature (his first was Cabin Fever) is something of letdown. The characters are marginally developed, just enough to be recognizably above "sub-human." Josh is the closet homosexual, whose precoital fear is mistaken for virginal shyness; Paxton has been blessed with a backstory (as a teen, he witnessed a child drown; its mother's scream still haunts him), endowing him with the movie's only altruistic moment: after narrowly escaping Elite's hunting grounds, he returns, risking life and what's left of his limbs to save a screaming woman from her tormentor. The scene recalls Pulp Fiction when Butch returns to save Marcellus Wallus from his homosexual captors, and hints at the degree of originality at work in Hostel.
In fact, most of the movie's better moments are cinematic regurgitations. Roth tries to slice beneath the surface, playing with familiar themes of voyeurism, fantasy, and wish-fulfillment, but forgetting to say something original of his own. Sensing the vacuous nature of his own subject, Roth falls back on the oldest trick in the book: pointing the finger at the audience and implicating them in the violence. More offensive than extreme close-ups of human gristle on a drill bit is the assumption that viewers are just as morally corrupt as the members of Elite Hunting (even if it may be true); there is a great deal of black and white between watching a Hollywood simulation of violence and violating the human rights of another, no matter how grey Roth wants to make it. By the movie's end, this feels like a weak attempt to ascribe meaning to a story short on substance.
When it works, Hostel suggests the events could happen to you. When it fails, the movie offers nothing more than gross-out gags and telephoto gore. I suspect, despite its failings, many youngsters will be drawn to this movie on account of Quentin Tarantino, who gave Roth his seal of approval. Too bad it's not a more worthy product.
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